Chapter 12 #2
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The mews which sheltered the falcons was open to the wind, its amber arches gilded beneath the sunlit sky. Inside, atop branches of smooth ashwood and yew, falcons perched at different levels, their intelligent eyes watchful as Kára and Skogul brought Brynhildr into their abode.
“The falcons return here to sleep,” Kára explained, as an enormous white falcon flew from its perch and settled on her outstretched hand.
“But they are free to hunt in the forests or fish in the fjords.” She stroked the soft feathers of her falcon’s head.
“Just as our horses are free to roam and graze where they wish.” Kára introduced her falcon to Brynhildr. “Meet Vindr—named for the wind. She and I are bonded, as all Valkyries are with their falcons.”
Skogul whistled a single note—like wind whispered over the sea.
A majestic peregrine falcon with violet-tipped wings swooped down from a lofty perch onto the Valkyrie’s forearm.
“This is Daga,” she said proudly, offering the raptor a morsel of meat which she withdrew from a pouch belted at her waist. “Named after the dawn.”
“They are both beautiful,” Brynhildr murmured with an admiring smile.
As her gaze darted around the mews, she spotted a falcon whose tawny feathers glistened gold in the sunlight streaming though the open walls, with hints of deep blue like the sea.
To her delight and astonishment, the bird emitted a sharp, piercing “Kee!” and swept from her perch to land on Brynhildr’s shoulder.
“That’s Gyllin, named for her golden feathers,” Kára told Brynhildr. “Hold out your finger for her to land on. If she chooses you, she will peck your skin and taste your blood.” Her hushed voice dropped to a whisper. “That’s how the bond is formed. Much like a blood oath in the human realm.”
When Brynhildr complied, Gyllin flapped her golden wings in excitement, settling onto Brynhildr’s extended finger with black talons edged in gold.
Her eyes, dark as ancient amber, fixed on Brynhildr, as if searching her soul.
With a swift strike of her hooked beak, she punctured the skin between finger and thumb.
A bright red droplet beaded above the wound.
Gyllin drank Brynhildr’s blood.
And seier spread through her Valkyrie veins.
“She is now bonded to your blood—and through seier, to all who are blood-bound to you.” Skogul’s haunting voice echoed through the open walls. “Including your soulbound Sea Wolf.”
At the mention of Sigurd’s name, Gyllin surged from the mews and soared into the sky, heading straight toward the Mirrored Sea.
“It seems she understands,” Skogul smirked, her scarred grin sharp as a jagged blade. “Come—let us glimpse him in Midgard.”
Heart pounding, seier thrumming, Brynhildr followed her Valkyrie sisters out into the golden summer sun.
“Valkyries select the slain by interpreting fate through seier,” Kára explained as she and Skogul led Brynhildr down the grassy path from the clifftop to the pebbled shore of the Mirrored Sea.
Sunlight danced on its still surface, smooth as polished silver, clear as glass.
“The Laguz Triad reads wyrd through water. And here, in the Mirrored Sea, we view the mortal realm.” Kára swept a pale hand toward the sheltered inlet surrounded on three sides by curved cliffs, with the fjord leading out to the open sea.
“Kneel at the water’s edge,” she said softly.
“Send your seier into the deep… and seek your soulbound Sea Wolf.”
Brynhildr knelt on the shoreline. The hem of her blue gown darkened as gentle waves lapped against it, wetness and cold seeping through the silk and into her skin. Through the ouroboros blazing above her left breast, she sent a surge of seier into the Mirrored Sea.
A vision unfolded upon the calm surface.
She glimpsed Sigurd at the helm of úlfalkr, the magnificent drakkar which her faeir had gifted him as Champion of the Sólhjarta Tournament.
The blue-grey fur of his Blárúlfr cloak shimmered in the golden sun.
Behind him, the deep blue sail—bearing the fierce head of an enormous silver wolf—snapped in the salty wind.
Kveld Knightwolf stood beside the mast, where he had carved the triple bindrune into the deck, joining her soul to Sigurd, the ship, and the sea.
Its power pulsed in rhythm with Brynhildr’s pounding heart.
He is sailing home with King álfr, Queen Hjordis, the Sjórúlfar…and all the warriors who pledged their swords to serve him.
Amidst the five drakkar bearing the Wolf King and his elite Sea Wolves back to Sjóborg, Brynhildr spotted Eyvindr Waverunner at the helm of Sigurd’s other ship, úlfdreki. The snarling wolves carved into the wings of the deep blue dragon at the prow glimmered silver in the golden sun.
As if he sensed her watching him, Sigurd gazed up at the sky.
Seier scorched her skin and seared her soul through the Mirrored Sea.
“Whenever you wish, you may come here to watch him,” Kára murmured into Brynhildr’s ear, bringing her back to the shore at the base of the curved cliff.
“Soon—once your móeir has strengthened your seier, and you have learned to read runes with me and interpret battle strategies with Skogul —we shall come here together as the Laguz Triad. For you to select your first slain.”
Skogul gripped Brynhildr’s shoulder. “Come— your golden armor awaits. It’s time we begin our training.”
* * * *
As two moons quickly passed—each day filled with seier lessons, rune readings, battle strategies, and brutal physical training— Brynhildr adapted to her new life as a Valkyrie.
Every morning after dagmál, she studied seier with her goddess móeir in the Amber Hall, followed by rune readings with Kára in the stone cottage, her skills far surpassing those she had learned from Yrsa.
Afternoons were spent alongside Skogul, training with weapons in her golden armor, observing battles unfold in Midgard through the Mirrored Sea, with Brynhildr applying her new knowledge to foresee and predict the threads of fate through seier.
Each evening, the three triads of Valkyries shared meals with Freyja in Sessrúmnir.
The Valkyries of the Kaun Triad—Gondul, Róta, and Skeggjold—were ominous with their long black hair braided with bloodied bones, pale skin blackened with runes and carved with gruesome scars.
Amber eyes like molten embers, they wielded seier though fire, foreseeing battles and selecting the fiercest warriors for Valhalla.
On dark winged horses, black swan wings flaring with fury, they tore through Midgard, their piercing battle cries screeching like Odin’s ravens.
The Algiz Triad consisted of Sváfa, Hildr, and Herfljótur.
They wielded seier through herbs of the forest, which they also used to heal and protect humans wounded in battle whose fated death was not yet foreseen.
Their long hair ranged from the palest beige, like ashwood, to deep chestnut brown, and their leather armor was dark green like the forest and the herbs through which they read seier.
Unlike the blonde hair and white swan wings which distinguished the Laguz Triad, or the black locks and feathered cloaks which marked the Kaun, the trio of brown-haired Algiz Valkyries wore grey swan wings, their muted hue in harmony with the forest.
One morning, after an especially intense lesson that left Brynhildr still gasping for breath as sparks sizzled through her veins, Freyja spoke to her across the table in the Amber Hall of Sessrúmnir.
“As dóttir of the Goddess of Seier, your divine knowledge now exceeds that of all the other Valkyries.” Amber eyes aglow like the gleaming gems of the Brísingamen necklace at the base of her swanlike neck, Freyja fixed Brynhildr with a mesmerizing stare.
“Seier 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 why you have risen as a Valkyrie. But be careful, kaera mín. Neither the Norns nor the gods are forgiving.”
As a shiver of foreboding sent shards of ice through her limbs, Brynhildr nodded and returned to her stone cottage. Staring out her window into the Mirrored Sea, she wondered why she had been chosen as a Valkyrie and how her power of seier could bend the web of wyrd.
Each day, she lovingly cared for Himingdrápa, cleaning the pristine feathers of his elegant wings, brushing his glorious silken mane, offering him crunchy apples from the abundant orchards in Fólkvangr.
Under the guidance of her Laguz Triad sisters, she practiced riding him, learning to swoop and dive in preparation for her upcoming first trial in Midgard.
She also groomed Gyllin, feeding her falcon fresh fish from the fjord, sometimes accompanying her as the peregrine hunted in the dense forests.
Though the Valkyries resided in stone cottages near the Amber Hall of Sessrúmnir, the endless expanse of Fólkvangr held peaceful villages which sheltered the souls of those who had died for love.
As they had done in life, farmers tilled fields and harvested crops, sharing their bounty with others.
Fishermen hauled in fresh catch from the fjords; carpenters built and repaired wooden huts where families were reunited in death.
Millers ground wheat, bakers baked bread, tanners worked leather, and blacksmiths forged tools and weapons.
Potters shaped bowls and cups, women wove linen and wool, and the Valkyries returned from Midgard bearing silks, spices, and silver—sometimes even a precious object of personal value.
Brynhildr vowed to find the perfect wolf sculpture.
So a symbol of Sigurd could be with her in Fólkvangr.
One morning, as she and Kára prepared to read runes in her cottage, Bynhildr remarked with sorrow, “My broeir Atli does not dwell here.”