Chapter 12
Fólkvangr
The salty wind over the Vesthaf—the wild open sea west of Hrafnfjall—whipped her long blonde hair and the gold-tipped white wings of her Valkyrie swan cloak as Brynhildr rode Himingdrápa through the clouds beside Freyja.
Her móeir did not ride a winged horse, but rather flew, the luminous feathers of her falcon cloak spread wide like otherworldly wings.
As they soared through the mauve-streaked dawn sky, the endless sea rushed beneath them, reflecting the rising sun like a vast mirror of molten gold. Clouds drifted like ethereal wisps across the azure sky, and Freyja’s words floated into Brynhildr’s mind like the whispering wind.
Fólkvangr lies in the distant realm where the sky meets the sea.
Himingdrápa lifted her higher, wings stretching toward the luminous heart of the golden clouds.
The briny breeze over the sea grew warmer, mingling with the fresh tang of the fjord and the heady scent of blossoms, rich forests, and fertile loam.
When they broke through the cloudveil, a green and golden realm stretched before them, bathed in the amber glow of the summer sun.
Mist curled toward glistening cliffs above the sparkling fjord like ribbons of silver.
In the distance, purple mountains rose into clear blue skies, waterfalls cascading from their peaks into crystalline lakes and springs.
Dense forests bordered meadows strewn with wild pink roses and violet heather, and beyond the fjord lay the vast, open sea.
“Welcome to Fólkvangr.” Freyja’s velvety voice was warm and mellow like mead as Himingdrápa landed gracefully in the sunlit meadow. “The horses are free to graze wherever they wish. Your Valkyrie sisters will teach you how to care for yours, for each tends her own horse.”
Brynhildr slid from her mount’s majestic back, reverent fingers brushing the damp feathers of his ivory wings.
She lowered her small trunk, which she had clutched in her lap, to the grassy ground, and Himingdrápa joined two other winged horses who were nibbling clover blossoms near the edge of the cliff overlooking the glistening fjord.
Tails flicking and wings fluttering, they nickered softly in welcome.
Atop the high cliff, an immense fortress rose like sunlight captured in sparkling stone.
The outer walls glimmered with gems of amber, golden hues radiant in the brilliant light.
The peaked roof was sheer crystal, reflecting the sun by day and, Brynhildr imagined, revealing the moon and stars by night.
“This is Sessrúmnir, the Amber Hall where I reside,” Freyja explained, gesturing toward the golden fortress. “It is where we share meals, magic, and mead. Where I shall teach you to wield seier, interpret runes and battle strategies, foresee fates… and above all, select the slain.”
Violet-tipped feathers of her falcon cloak stirred in the soft breeze as the goddess swept a majestic arm across the flowering meadows and sunlit fjord.
“My Valkyries choose those with fiercely loyal hearts who die for love and bring them here to Fólkvangr— to dwell for eternity in peace, paradise, and plenty.”
Freyja’s amber eyes glowed like the golden walls of Sessrúmnir as they held Brynhildr’s rapt gaze.
“But brutal warriors with hearts of rage, who die for glory with bloodlust on their screaming lips… they are taken to Valhalla. Odin wants only the fiercest warriors for his einherjar… in his endless preparation for Ragnarok.”
She brushed a golden lock from Brynhildr’s face and leaned forward to kiss her cheek.
“At long last, you have joined me, dóttir min. I am glad to finally have you among my Valkyries.” Maternal pride and fierce love flared in her móeir’s amber eyes.
“There must always be nine Valkyries,” Freyja explained, “who work together, in triads of three. Though they are immortal— immune to aging and illness—Valkyries may be slain in the human realm by a god, a Dokkálfar Dark Elf, a jotunn, or a troll. Hlokk fell to a frost giant—one of the deadly Hrímthursar—while defending a mortal champion in Midgard.” Freyja sighed softly, her lips forming a sorrowful smile.
“Her soul is here with us in Fólkvangr now… and you have been chosen to take her place.”
Freyja bent to grasp a handle of the wooden trunk which Brynhildr had brought from her private tower in Hrafnfjall.
“Come…I’ll take you to your cottage. And introduce you to Kára and Skogul, the other two members of your Laguz Triad.
Kára will take you to meet the falcons—our messengers to the mortal realm—and Skogul will show you the Mirrored Sea, where you shall learn to foresee fate… and select the slain through seier.”
Behind the glittering walls of Sessrúmnir stood a trio of small cottages overlooking the sea.
The amber veins in their smooth stone walls glowed golden in the summer sun.
Beneath the cottages, the cliff curved around a sheltered, circular inlet with crystalline waters of deep, clear blue.
“That is the Mirrored Sea,” Freyja whispered, sending a shiver of seier through Brynhildr. “Where I watched you grow, from beloved babe to skilled shieldmaiden. And where you may see your faeir…and the Sea Wolf to whom your soul is bound.”
Of course she knows I am soulbound to Sigurd. As the Goddess of Seier, she must have seen the ouroboros…the blood oath we swore in starlight…and the Nightwolf’s triple bindrune, connecting our souls, the ship, and the sea.
Freyja’s voice interrupted her thoughts as they stopped at the stone cottage in the center of the three. “This is now yours.” Freyja opened the gold painted door. “Let’s carry your trunk inside, so you can get settled.”
Within the cozy stone cottage, a small bed covered with furs stood near a stone hearth.
Beneath a nearby window, a wooden table and chair offered a magnificent view of the Mirrored Sea.
On the wall near the entrance door, wooden shelves displayed an array of glittering gems, glistening crystals, brightly colored vials, and fragrant herbs, amidst silver charms and polished oval bones etched with blackened runes.
They set her trunk down on the wooden floor at the foot of her bed.
“You’ll be able to practice your seier lessons here,” Freyja said, running a slender hand across the smooth oak table.
“And interpret runes.” She traced a fingertip over the engraved ivory bones on the shelf.
“While you unpack, I’ll fetch Kára and Skogul.
They live in the cottages on either side. ”
From her wooden trunk, Brynhildr removed her Falkhjarta golden corslet and the Falkskjoldr shield studded with amber, unstrapping from her waist the Sólfalkr sword with which she had disarmed Sigurd.
As she held the golden blade embellished with amber gems and etched with glowing runes, the ouroboros burned above her heavy heart.
You could have defeated me, my Sea Wolf. But you refused to strike me. Instead, you knelt at my feet. And put my glory before your own.
Tempered by sorrow which stole her breath and clenched her gut, the taste of triumph was bitter as bile. As she stood her sheathed sword in the corner by her bed, footsteps sounded at the entrance door.
“Brynhildr, I’d like you to meet Skogul and Kára, your Valkyrie sisters of the Laguz Triad.
” Freyja entered the cottage with two women, each pulsing with latent power.
One was young, lithe, and blonde, empathy shining in her smiling eyes The other was older and taller, her silvery hair braided with blue beads, her scarred face fierce, her warrior body sculpted with hard, lean muscle.
“Kára was a volva before rising as a Valkyrie,” Freyja informed Brynhildr, introducing the younger blonde. “She will teach you to read runes, develop inner sight… and wield seier vision through the Mirrored Sea.”
“Welcome to the Laguz Triad, Brynhildr.” Kára kissed her cheek with a warm smile.
“You’ll have lessons each day with your móeir,” she said, nodding respectfully to Freyja.
“And practice them with me. When you are able to foresee the threads of fate and the hearts of men in the Mirrored Sea, then you shall be ready to ride to Midgard…and select the slain with Skogul and me.”
“Skogul was a ship commander,” Freyja told Brynhildr as she presented the silver-haired Valkyrie.
“She will teach you to interpret battle strategies, warfare tactics, and predict outcomes of mortal combat by observing warriors, kings, and gods. You will learn how to judge worthy hearts and heroic deeds. And select the slain with your spear.”
Respect and recognition gleamed in Skogul’s fierce gaze. “You are the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden,” she grunted, a crooked smile curving her scarred lips. “I shall enjoy training with you.” She gripped Brynhildr’s forearms in a gruff warrior’s welcome.
The tattoos of the wolf and falcon that Kveld Nightwolf inked into Brynhildr’s skin burned beneath Skogul’s firm grasp.
“I’ll leave you three to get acquainted,” Freyja announced cheerfully, heading toward the open door.
She smiled over her shoulder at Brynhildr, the falcon feathers of her majestic cloak glowing golden and violet in the radiant light.
“See you tonight at náttmál.” With a whoosh of wings and a whisper of wind, her goddess móeir was gone.
“Let’s go to the mews, so you can meet our falcons.
” Kára’s lyrical voice was fluid as a crystalline spring.
“Each Valkyrie has a falcon—a spirit bird, bonded solely to her.” Pride shone in her pale blue eyes.
“Vindr is mine—she’s a white gyrfalcon.” Her grin flicked toward the pale blonde Valkyrie.
“Skogul’s peregrine is named Daga, because her feathers are tinged with violet light, like the dawn.
” Kára smiled at Brynhildr, enthusiasm etched across her eager face.
“One of the falcons will choose you.” she whispered, nearly breathless with wonder. “I cannot wait to see which one!”