Tiwaz,for victory and valor.
AndAnsuz,for divine guidance and wolf wisdom from Odin.
Sigurd tested the balance ofÚlfblóðrwith a carefully controlled arc, marveling at how the sword felt eager in his grip. Murmurs of awe rippled through the hall as he stood poised before the king, the weight of the emblazoned blade in one hand and the embellished scabbard in the other. Every detail in sword and sheath alike imbued the bond between Sigurd andBlárúlfr,the fierce spirit of the blue wolf whose blood had tempered theblade, and the brotherhood of theSjórúlfarthat Sigurd now embodied.
He lowered the gleaming sword, breath still heaving from the sudden surge of power. With deliberate care, he deftly guidedÚlfblóðrback into its embellished scabbard. Sigurd clutched the sheathed blade to his chest and bowed deeply before his fosterfaðir.
“My king.” His head remained lowered, his deep voice quavering with emotion. “Your gifts honor me beyond words. I will bear them with loyalty, courage, and the spirit of theSjórúlfar.”
At Sigurd’s table, the eight Sea Wolves slammed fists to their armored chests, wolfskins gleaming in the firelight. They unleashed another fierce, echoing howl, the triumphant bellow rolling over the raucous crowd and out over the icy fjord.
When the king raised his hand once more, a hush of anticipation swept across the silent hall.
An eager gleam glinted in King Álfr’s royal gaze. “For the presentation of my final gift,” he boomed, a fierce grin splitting his silver-streaked dark beard. “We shall assemble around the bonfire at the edge of the cliff where thegoðiwill make an offering to the gods.”
* * * *
Fiery hues of molten gold, crimson, and violet streaked the evening sky as the setting sun slid low over the horizon. A crisp, salty wind whipped across the restless fjord, the briny tang of the sea mingling with the piney scent of juniper and burning herbs as guests gathered around the roaring bonfire at the top of the cliff. Far below, at the base of the rocky outcrop which curved around a sheltered inlet, dozens of King Álfr’s impressive fleet ofdrakkarandsnekkjalongships were beached along the pebbled shore. Sails furled and tied to the masts, the fierce dragon prows gleamed in the brilliant golden light.
Thegoðistood before the stone-enclosed flames, the antlers of his elaborate headpiece carved with wolves, runes, and waves. Grey wolf fur lined his black cloak, the ornate clasp at his shoulder engraved with a snarling wolf whose lapis lazuli eyes glimmered like the silver threads embroidered at the hem of his deep blue tunic. Beads, bones, and fangs dangled beneath his long silver beard, and pouches of herbs hung from the leather belt where a gem-adorned dagger was sheathed at his waist. His weathered face was painted white with chalk, black runes lining his wrinkled cheeks and crinkled brow. Clutched in his skeletal hands, the sacred silver bowl of sacrificial blood was etched with runes and embellished with lapis gems, glittering like captured stars.
Sigurd stood among theSjórúlfar,heart thundering, limbs quavering, the blue grey fur of hisBlárúlfrcloak shimmering like thesilver torc on his arm and the gleaming sword at his hip.
King Álfr led Queen Hjördis toward the fire and joined King Rögnvaldr and Eldsjá, the flame-hairedvölva, before turning to face the gathered throng. His rich, regal voice rippled across the windswept cliff.
“Warriors, wolves, and kin ofSjóborg!Tonight, we honor Sigurd Sea Wolf, who triumphed in the perilous Wolf’s Trial and now stands among my nineSjórúlfar.”
Cold wind whipping his blond hair, braided beard, and wolfskin cloak, Sigurd shivered, a thrill rippling up his spine, as the Wolf King spoke directly to him.
“Upon your sword arm,Úlfhringrmarks you as a Sea Wolf.” The jewels on King Álfr’s royal fingers glittered in the firelight as he gestured to Sigurd’s glistening silver torc.
“Sheathed in wolfskin at your hip, the swordÚlfblóðrbears the blood of the wolf whose blue pelt cloaks you with the spirit ofBlárúlfr.”A fierce grin lit Álfr’s bearded face as he raised hisroyal voice to address the gathered throng. “For my third gift to Sigurd Sea Wolf— follow me to the edge of the cliff.”
Amidst murmurs of excitement and anticipation, the eager crowd followed the king, who majestically led Queen Hjördis, King Rögnvaldr, and the fieryvölvato join the guests gathered along the heathered meadow at the edge of the cliff. Far below, the swirling waters of theÚlffjordenwere gilded bronze in the gold and crimson light. Thegoðilingered quietly beside Álfr, patiently awaiting his king’s signal to summon the gods.
Heart pounding as if it would soar out of his chest, Sigurd stood at the edge of the cliff, surrounded by the wolfskin-cladSjórúlar,gazing down at the sheltered inlet of the shimmering fjord.
Among thedrakkarwarships beached along the pebbled shore far below the jutting cliff, one stood apart from all the rest, for two of the king’shúskarlarbearing torches held vigil upon its wooden deck.
While the other ships lay bare, their shields having been removed and stowed away, the lonedrakkardisplayed blue shields along its gunwales, each painted with the head of a snarling silver wolf which glinted in the dying sun. As Sigurd watched with bated breath, two otherhúskarlarunfurled the blue linen sail, hoisting it to the mast. From its folds emerged the fierce head of an enormous wolf, silver streaks in its grey fur and deep blue eyes snapping in the bronze sunlight, alive in the salty wind.
At the prow loomed a deep blue dragon, its massive head rising in a sinuous arc, a curved crest of ridges lining the serpentine neck. Amber eyes aglow in the golden sun, its fanged maw, sharp claws, and spiked wings were etched with silver runes and snarling wolves, a sea-borne creature of legendary menace and might.
“Úlfdreki.”Álfr’s resonant voice echoed across the craggy cliff and out over the glistening fjord. “May it carry you across wind and wave into skáldic song.”
Sigurd’s legs shook as he stood upon the cliff, the wind whipping his wolfskin cloak.
With this dragon ship, I can sail to Sweden and avenge my faðir Sigmund’s death—by slaying the traitorous King Lyngvi!
As thoughts of victory and valor filled his vengeful heart, the king’s deep voice pulled Sigurd back to the clifftop overlooking the fjord.
“And now, thegoðishall invoke the gods to bless the Sea Wolf and his ship.”
At King Álfr’s nod, the chalk-faced priest led the enthralled crowd back toward the bonfire, where they formed a circle around the enclosed hearth. From a leather pouch belted at his waist, thegoðitossed a resinous chunk of myrrh into the flames. The thick, cloying scent of exotic spice mingled with the fresh tang of the fjord and the saline bite of the sea as hechanted an invocation.
“ONjörðr,God of the Sea, accept this offering of myrrh and grant safe passage over wind and wave to Sigurd Sea Wolf and hisdrakkarship,Úlfdreki.”
The silver bowl of sacrificial blood rested upon a flat hearthstone beside a silver chalice of mead. In the crimson light of the setting sun and the golden hue of the flickering flames, the lapis gems and etched runes in the ritual vessels glittered like the emerging stars.
