She lifted the silver goblet fromher bedside table.The amber gems glowed golden in the early morning light.
This is the chalice Yrsa and I used to summon Freyja. As Nature beholds the blood oath between Bear and Sea Wolf, so shall my goddess móðir.
Cradling the sacred vessel in her bare hands, Brynhildr quietly descended the wooden stairs and paused at the entrance to theseiðrchamber.
Yrsa’s all-seeing eyes lifted from her silent vigil at the ashwood table.
Brynhildr inclined her head in solemn deference and raised the silver chalice, a wordless request to remove it from the tower.
Thevölvanodded once, eyes aglow like the amber gems in the sacred goblet, then returned to her meditations.
Heart thundering, limbs trembling, mouth parched, Brynhildr slipped down the stairs into the waiting dawn.
The wind whipped her hair with the salty tang of the fjord as she approached the trio of primal men, each cloaked in a fierce animal hide over a bare human chest.
Kveld Nightwolf was clad in black wolfskin, the fierce lupine head fixed above his long black hair. Bones and beads braided into his black beard caught the early morning light. Amber eyes smeared with black soot and seal oil, black runes painted down his sinewy arms and across his pale chest intertwined with black hair, vicious scars, and wolf markings. He meticulously carved runes at the edge of the cliff with an elaborate dagger bearing the head of a snarling wolf, whispering words of enchantment as he chiseled the mist-slickened stone.
Agnar’s brown bearskin cloak draped his enormous shoulders, his broad chest bare, thick with hair, woad tattoos, and jagged scars.
Sigurd, like the Bear of Bjarkhölm and the Night Wolf, was naked to the waist beneath his blue wolfskin cloak, his rippled torso streaked with dark blond hair, inked wolves, and theouroborosring, glowing with golden fire.
Forearms clasped in a warrior’s grip, the two Sólhjarta finalists looked up at her approach as Kveld chanted under his breath, his wolf dagger biting into stone.
Themark of the dragonseared her skin under Sigurd’s intense lupine gaze.
Kveld’s deep voice wafted on the wind. “The sun climbs. The stone is carved. The sea listens.” Fierce amber eyes flickedbetween Sigurd and Agnar. “If you would bind yourselves by blood, step forward willingly.” When the Nightwolf nodded to her, Brynhildr presented the sacred silver chalice.
“For the mead…and the blood.” Her voice quavered like her quaking limbs.
From a small wooden container carved with runes, Kveld poured golden mead into the gem-encrusted goblet as he guided them all to the edge of the cliff. “A triplebindrune,” he murmured, indicating the carved stone. He nodded to the golden daggers sheathed at the warriors’ waists. “You will each cut your own palm. Let three drops of blood fall into the chalice of mead, and three more into the stone—one in each rune—as you swear your oath of brotherhood.”
Kveld pointed the tip of his wolf dagger at Agnar. “First, the Bear.”
Agnar unsheathed his blade, sliced his palm, and let three glistening drops fall into the golden mead. As a trio of droplets darkened the carved runes,he swore his blood oath.
“By my blood, blade, and breath, I bind myself to Sigurd.
My sword shall ever be his.
Whatever fate brings him, I shall not oppose.
Should the Sea Wolf of Sjóborg summon, the Bear of Bjarkhölm shall come.”
Amber eyes aglow like the black wolf atop his dark human head, Kveld lowered his bearded chin to Sigurd. “Now the Wolf.”
Sigurd withdrew the golden dagger from his scabbard and sliced the palm of his left hand. He let three droplets of blood fall into the mead, then into the stone, as he voiced his solemn vow.
“By my blood, blade, and breath, I bind myself to Agnar.
My sword shall ever be his.
Whatever fate brings him, I shall not oppose.
Should the Bear of Bjarkhölm summon, the Sea Wolf of Sjóborg shall come.”
Kveld flicked long, inked fingers over each rune, “Gebo, the gift of brotherhood…Tiwaz,the warrior’s valor and honor…andPerthro,the chalice of fate.” As the blood seeped into the triplebindrune, the Nightwolf bound the solemn vow. “A trio of runes, three drops of blood into stone, another three into the chalice of mead. A triad of trinities— nine for the Norns. Now drink …and seal the sacred oath.”
Brynhildr—who had held the chalice and caught the droplets of blood—handed the mead to Sigurd. The sweet honey scent mingled with the coppery tang of iron and the salty brine of the sea. As his feral eyes locked with hers, theouroborosblazed above her pounding heart.
