Chapter Thirteen #2
Opening my eyes, I offered her a small, knowing smile that she would understand. “Say yes, ja, when your friend asks you to marry him because he loves you as fiercely as Earl Soren and I love each other.”
The seamstress’s hand fluttered to her chest, and her gaze rounded in surprise before a lovely smile blossomed on her face, and she nodded. “Thank you, m’lady.”
Lowering my head in acknowledgment of well-received divination, I returned to my lodge, wishing I could run the whole way, and leaned back against the door the moment it shut behind me.
I released a choppy, broken-hearted sigh that I felt like I’d been holding for years. It was the first time I was back here without Soren, and everywhere I looked held a memory. A shared moment. A look of love or desire. Laughter or frustration. Tales of old or new memories just created.
Sinking down against the door to the floor, I held my head in my hands and finally cried.
Really and truly wept, knowing I could only do this in private now, as I needed to be strong for our people.
Wept for all the moments we would miss while he was away and for those we might never have if he died.
I wept until there were no more tears left and rested my head back, eyeing the lodge that would be ours always, whether he returned to me or not.
If I knew nothing else, I would never love nor lie with another if I lost him. My life would become watching over his people and raising our child. Loving him or her for both of us, forever reminding them who their father, Soren Dahl, was, so that he might live on in their hearts.
And I would do that by being everything he had wanted me to be.
So, for Soren and his people, my people, I opened my fur package and fingered the robes of my calling for the first time in years.
Where most seers preferred black or darker-colored robes, Helvig seers wore white to give thanks to the polar bear spirit that watched over them and shared its strength.
Setting aside my robe, I bathed and cleaned my face of paint, then highlighted my eyes with coal and added fresh black paint.
This time, I put the runic symbol of divination on my forehead, then a single line beneath each eye, representing the shield-maiden still within me.
After leaving my hair down with a few small braids interwoven, I finally put on my long, white, hooded robe.
Taking a long, cleansing breath, I soaked up the wondrous feeling of wearing it again. The rightness of it. Then I knelt beside my trunk, fished a special pouch of talismans from its lining, and slid it into the pocket in my robe.
Knowing Brynhild would come, I went to the large tree out back, beneath which Soren and I had so recently made love, and lowered to my knees on a soft bed of moss, letting my head fall back so that I might taste the wind and fly among the branches.
Among the Valkyries, as I felt them all around me, lifting me in ways most could not feel.
For the first time in far too long, I lowered my head and prayed to all the gods. Truly prayed in a way I hoped echoed through all Nine Worlds to Odin’s ears. To Freya’s. Loki’s. Thor’s. To any god willing to listen, that they watch over my child and my husband. My people. Our country.
Eventually, Brynhild arrived and knelt beside me. She lowered her head and recited her own prayers before looking at me and saying, “Give me your talismans and I will weave them into your hair so that they’re blessed beneath your tree in the heart of your new home.”
I fished the small pouch out of my pocket and gave it to her before we sat facing each other.
A small smile curled her lips as she poured its contents into her palm, and no wonder, given she likely recognized a few.
A piece of the black runic stone from the hilt of Soren’s prized sword.
A tiny bone I had found at the base of a tree she had claimed would make a fine ship during our lovely afternoon getting to know one another better.
A bear’s claw my father once gifted me. A tiny braid made from the hair of Astrid’s favorite husky.
A chip of wood from the first wooden sword Tove made for me when we were children.
All tokens from memorable moments.
“And this,” I said softly after she patiently weaved them into my braids, handing her a small piece of metal shaped like a falcon’s feather.
“Given to me by my mother for the goddess for whom I was named. She, of not just love and war, amongst other things, to keep me strong always.” I lowered my head to Brynhild in acknowledgment of the role she had taken in my life.
“Just as you, my new mother, who’s still here with me on Midgard, will keep me strong. ”
Brynhild blinked back tears and nodded, weaving it in with great care as she finalized a return to myself I never thought I would make.
Her eyes met mine in equal acknowledgment, and she lowered her head in respect.
“Welcome back, Seer Freya Helvig, reborn as Seer Freya Dahl. May the gods watch over you always and shed their light on all the souls you touch.”
We lowered our heads in prayer to the gods, then met each other’s eyes again.
“’Tis done,” I said. Accepted. Welcomed.
“’Tis and I have never been prouder, my new daughter.” Brynhild clasped my shoulders and grinned, effortlessly going from what my seer needed to what my shield-maiden needed. “Now might we share that ale we spoke of earlier before you go greet your people with all the pieces of your soul intact?”
Feeling a sense of lightness despite my heavy heart, I met her smile with one of my own. “I would like nothing more, my new mother.”
So, we did, enjoying an ale in front of the hearth which I had spent many an eve enjoying with Soren, and I was never more grateful for her companionship. Her friendship. Sometimes we chatted and laughed. Other times, I stared into the flames and allowed myself to mourn his leaving.
Yet I never allowed myself to sink too deeply, nor did she.
“Thank you for sharing what will soon be my last ale with me,” I said once we finished. “After tonight, I will have river water boiled for me ahead of time and drink it plain or flavored with berries.”
When she looked at me curiously, I rested my hand on my womb. “’Twill be better for the babe. Safer. So say the gods.”
And they had, though I could not say why, only that it became certain knowledge as I sat before the fire with her.
“As you wish,” she said, trusting in my divination. “Then shall we go greet your people anew and share one last ale or mead with them, so that they might know all of you?”
“Ja, I would like that very much.”
I meant it too, as I pulled on my hood, keeping my talismans visible, and sheathed my blade at my side.
Keeping my shield in hand so that everyone might see all of me, I stepped out of my front door for the first time without Soren by my side.
Pausing, I caught the eyes of my gray wolf through the fog drifts just rolling in, only for him to vanish a breath later.
He had been there, though, and it gave me great comfort.
“Well, then, my friend?” I said, looking at Sten, who sat unwaveringly by the door, keeping guard. “Shall we show them what Soren always saw in me?”
The great black wolf looked in the direction of my wolf as if he saw him too, before he looked at me, and our gazes held in a moment of mutual understanding.
That’s when I knew what I had always known deep down: my wolf was there but never really there, born of mysticism and destiny, forever just out of reach but always with me as I saw my Wyrd through.
Always watching over me, just as Sten did.
Just as he would going forward, as the Norns and Wyrd did indeed unfold after that, and prophecy revealed itself in truly terrifying ways.