The trio of gemstones glittered in the firelight. The crisp pine scent of juniper wafted in the herb-laced smoke. The crackle of the flames and the warmth on her cold hands were comforting and soothing.
On unsteady legs, she rose from the chair and poured the remainder of herb-laced mead into the fire. Rinsing her silver chalice with fresh water from the pitcher on her table, she wiped her ritual dagger clean with a linen cloth and sheathed the blade in its gem-adorned scabbard. She snuffed out the trio of candles, collected the three gems from the triangle on the floor, and returned them to the shelf beside her sacred goblet and sheathed blade.
With water she’d heated in a small pan over the fire, Brynhildr steeped a restorative brew of chamomile flowers, angelica root, and crushed yarrow leaves. As the air in her stone cottage filled with the fragrant floral blend of cleansing herbs, she sipped from her steaming cup. Strength slowly returned to her shaking limbs as she analyzed theseiðrvison.
Agnar is a berserker marked for Odin. He is fated to fall in battle to Hjálmgunnar—the brutal king wielding Úlfsbani, the god-forged sword destined to shatter Sigurd’s wolf-blood blade.
Hjálmgunnar is a vassal of King Lyngvi of Götaland, whom Sigurd must slay to avenge his faðir’s murder. In Lyngvi’s name, Hjálmgunnar rules Lindesnes—the kingdom of Sigurd’s ancestors—which my Sea Wolf has sworn to reclaim. Though Sigurd has amassed an army, he will need Agnar’s aid to defeat Lyngvi, avenge his faðir, and reclaim his rightful realm.
I have foreseen Sigurd’s fate.
Úlfblóðr will shatter, but his móðir, Queen Hjördis, retains the remnants of his faðir’s legendary sword Gramr. Sigurdmust find the dwarf’s waterfall cave—and reforge Gramr to rekindle its Volsung power.
Brynhildr finished her restorative herbal tonic and set her cup on the wooden table. She opened her shuttered window and deeply inhaled the fresh saline breeze blowing in from the Mirrored Sea. Dread and resolve clamped her heart at the thought of defying the web ofwyrd.
In my vision, I marked Hjálmgunnar for Odin instead of Agnar. By claiming Hjálmgunnar for Valhalla, I ensure that Agnar wins the Battle of Bjarkhölm. He will then aid Sigurd in reclaiming the kingdom of Lindesnes and defeat the remaining vassals of King Lyngvi.
The image ofÚlfblóðrshattering clenched her heart. The priceless blade was forged in the blood of the great blue wolfBlárúlfrwhosespirit Sigurd embodied as a Sea Wolf. She pictured the scene of him toiling over the forge with the Dwarven blacksmith in the hidden waterfall cave.
Sigurd does not yet know that his móðir holds the fragments of his faðir’s broken sword Gramr—nor that he must help the dwarf reforge the blade to awaken its dormant Völsung power. I have foreseen that Sigurd shall slay a dragon and claim its trove of treasure, including a trinity of priceless enchanted objects.
The winged helm, golden armor, and ouroboros ring.
The very same mark of the dragon which binds our souls through seiðr.
Brynhildr knew she must to speak to Sigurd once she ensured Agnar’s victory at the Battle of Bjarkhölm. But to do so, she would have to assume human form.
Freyja’s warning floated into her mind. “Seiðr may bend the web of wyrd, but only at terrible cost. The threads of your fate are tightly entwined with your Sea Wolf. Indeed, that is whyyou have risen as a Valkyrie. But be careful, kæra mín. Neither the Norns nor the gods are forgiving.”
Smoothingher gown to summon her strength, Brynhildr lifted her chin, left her cottage, and headed toward Kára’s oaken door.
Chapter 14
Defying the Web of Wyrd
Gannets and gulls soared in the clear sky overhead, their guttural cries and raucous squawks piercing the crisp spring air. Patches of melting ice floated in fjord, which glistened like polished steel under a golden sun. The fresh salty breeze filled Sigurd’s lungs and ruffled his braided beard as he moved along the gunwale ofÚlfalkr,tightening the leather thongs that bound shields to the rail of his gleamingdrakkar. The snarling heads of their painted wolves knocked softly against the hull as waves lapped the oiled oak of the clinkered longship.
He paused to gaze down at the triplebindruneKveld Nightwolf had carved into the deck at the base of the mast.Raido,for the fateful journey he and Brynhildr would take aboard this ship.Gebo, the gift of self they had exchanged to one another. AndKaun, for theouroborosfire that bound their souls throughseiðr.
Kveld’s prophecy echoed in Sigurd’s mind.
The Sea Wolf and the Sun Falcon shall defy all for each other… the Úlfalkr ship shall bear them to safety across the sea. With bindrune, blood, and breath, their souls are now bound beyond the realm of fate… and beyond the reach of the gods.
Scoffing in frustration and fury, Sigurd yanked the leather cord tighter, securing the shield against the metal gunwale.
How can she and I sail upon this ship when Brynhildr is an immortal Valkyrie—and I dwell in the mortal realm of Midgard?
Silver fur of his wolfskin cloak shimmering like the streaks in his braided hair and beard, Hródvarr leapt onto the deck of Sigurd’s ship and strode across the gleaming oak to stand at his side. From the reproachful glint in his mentor’s stern gaze, Sigurd knew before he even spoke what Hródvarr would say.
“Five ships is not enough to break Lyngvi in Sweden.” He folded brawny arms across his broad chest, conviction and wisdom blazing in his fierce gaze. “You should accept Hróald’s offer,” he grunted, referring to the Jarl of Bjørndal who had proposed the marriage of hisdóttirHlíf to Sigurd. “With the gifted dowry of ten fully creweddrakkar,plus theoffer of ten of his own ships to aid in your quest—you could sail to Sweden, slay Lyngvi, and avenge yourfaðir.Then return to Lindesnes and challenge Hjálmgunnar to reclaim your rightful inheritance. Not only would you become King of Lindesnes, you would have a beautiful bride…and a political alliance with Jarl Hróald of Bjørndal for your kingdom as well as Sjóborg.”
Sigurd spat over the gunwale into the fjord. “I have no desire to wed.” He glared at Hródvarr, his yearning for Brynhildr flaring his anger and temper. “If five ships is still not enough, then I shall lead another raid along the shores of the wealthy kingdom of West Francia. We’ll sail up the Seine River and pillagel’ Île de la Cité—the Island in the City—of Paris.”
Hródvarr wrapped a reassuring arm around Sigurd’s heaving shoulders. “I know you wanted to win her hand at the Sólhjarta Tournament,” he said gently, compassion tempering his harsh tone. “But the gods had other plans. Brynhildr is no longer the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden—she rides as a Valkyrie. And you, Sigurd Sea Wolf, must wed another.” With a solemn nod, he turned away, leapt from the deck onto the shore, andstrode up the path toward the royal longhouse at the top of the craggy cliff.
Sigurd clenched his fists and clamped his jaw, seething with frustration, futility, and longing. From King Álfr’s northwestern watchtower, the sentinel’s shout echoed over the fjord. “Longship sighted—with the Bear of Bjarkhölm’s banner!”
Cold dread surged through Sigurd.Agnar…he summons me for aid…and the blood oath binds me to answer.
