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 of úlfalkr, tightening the leather thongs that bound shields to the rail of his gleaming drakkar.
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 triple bindrune Kveld 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.
And Kaun, for the ouroboros fire that bound their souls through seier.
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 Bj?rndal who had proposed the marriage of his dóttir Hlíf to Sigurd.
“With the gifted dowry of ten fully crewed drakkar, plus the offer of ten of his own ships to aid in your quest—you could sail to Sweden, slay Lyngvi, and avenge your faeir. 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 Bj?rndal 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 pillage l’ ?le 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, and strode 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 Bjarkholm’s banner!”
Cold dread surged through Sigurd. Agnar…he summons me for aid…and the blood oath binds me to answer.
The shout from the watchtower had not yet faded when the Wolf King himself strode down to the shore, his fur-trimmed cloak snapping in the salty wind.
Sigurd swung down from the deck of úlfalkr and joined his foster faeir King álfr and the Sea Wolves on the pebbled beach. From the fjord, the longship cut toward land, its banner dark against the pale sky.
álfr’s men waded into the surf, hauling the vessel up onto the shore. The messenger vaulted over the gunwale, heedless of the cold surf, boots splashing into the shallows. Salt-crusted and hollow-eyed from the harrowing voyage, he spluttered the message he’d been sent to deliver.
“I bear a summons for Sigurd Sea Wolf,” he gasped, accepting a waterskin and quenching his thirst. “King Agnar of Bjarkholm calls for aid.”
Sigurd shot an incredulous glance at álfr, then directed his attention back to the emissary. “King Agnar?” he asked, astonishment lacing his voice.
“His faeir was slain by Hjálmgunnar. Agnar is the newly crowned king.”
álfr roared above the billowing sail and banners flapping in the wind. “You and your men shall come into my hall. We’ll share meat and mead—while you tell us the tale.”
* * * *
A blazing fire crackled in the enormous central hearth, wisps of smoke curling into the rafters of the tall, peaked roof.
Battered shields, painted with the fierce faces of snarling wolves, lined the wooden walls.
King álfr held the elaborate ondvegi, Queen Hjordis at his regal side, while Sigurd and the Sjórúlfar sat with the messenger at a nearby table.
With a flick of his jeweled fingers, the Wolf King commanded the envoy to rise.
“King álfr, Queen Hjordis, and the Sjórúlfar of Sjóborg, I have come bearing an urgent message for Sigurd Sea Wolf.” Dark hair and beard slick with sea mist, the messenger bowed first to the Wolf King, then to the queen and the Sjórúlfar, before directing his attention to Sigurd.
“Hjálmgunnar attacked Bjarkhólm, and King Bjorn fell to his sword. My king sends me to summon your aid, for Hjálmgunnar will soon return—with even more ships and men. Without your help, Bjarkhólm will fall.”
Sigurd rose from his seat to address the Wolf King who had raised him like a son.
“My king,” he said reverently, lowering his blue wolfskin-clad head.
“I am bloodsworn to Agnar, the Bear of Bjarkholm, and I must heed his call for aid.” He met álfr’s scrutinizing gaze, resolve steeling his oathbound voice.
“Hjálmgunnar is vassal to King Lyngvi of Gotaland, who murdered my faeir Sigmund. In Lyngvi’s name, Hjálmgunnar rules Lindesnes, the Volsung kingdom of my birthright.
If Hjálmgunnar seizes Bjarkholm, he doubles Lyngvi’s holdings in southern Norway. ”
álfr gripped the intricately carved arms of his ondvegi, the snarling wolves mirroring the Wolf King’s livid sneer.
“Which would pose an untenable threat to Sjóborg.” He cast his shrewd gaze over the nine Sea Wolves seated at the trestle table.
“Hródvarr’s snekkja… Sigurd’s trio of drakkar— úlfdreki, úlfalkr, and úlfhrafn.
” The king spun to Sigurd. “Along with your four ships, I pledge five more, with three hundred men to aid our ally, the Bear of Bjarkholm. Load weapons and supplies, and prepare to depart on the outgoing tide.”
* * * *
Clusters of fresh herbs were suspended from hooks in the ceiling, the cleansing scent of sage, yarrow, and wild thyme wafting in the air inside Kára’s tidy cottage.
Flames flickered and crackled in the hearth where the pine scent of juniper reminded Brynhildr of the seier chamber in her private tower at Hrafnfjall, where she had learned countless lessons with Yrsa.
She swallowed a lump of grief and met the incredulous, stricken stares of the two Valkyrie sisters seated with her at Kára’s polished ashwood table.
She had just informed them of her seier vision, her intent to choose Hjálmgunnar for Valhalla instead of Agnar, and her need to become human to speak with Sigurd.
“Though it is possible for a Valkyrie to assume human form—for a single day or night only—she does so at tremendous risk.” Desperation laced Kára’s dire warning.
“You would have to surrender your swan cloak, your spear, and your immortality…you could be slain as a mortal in Midgard.” She cast an anguished glance at Skogul, then fixed Brynhildr with eyes as pale as a wintry sky.
“Our Valkyrie sister Sigrún chose Helgi as her hero and human lover—and their fates ended in tragic death.” Kára cradled Brynhildr’s cold hand in both of hers.
Concern and compassion blazed on her shining face.
“Become human to guide Sigurd’s fate…share mortal love and pleasure…
but Brynhildr—you must not defy the web of wyrd. ”
Skogul rose from her chair and paced near the open window.
In sharp contrast with her silvery blonde hair, which glistened like pearls in the sunlight, the jagged scars on her livid face were garish and grim.
“No Valkyrie has ever broken the web of wyrd. If you defy the Allfather, you shall incur his wrath. Odin may leave you alive, but make you wish you were dead.” Ferocity gleamed in her fiery gaze.
“Loki still lives,” she spat, her fury blazing.
“Fettered and helpless, bound across jagged rocks in a dark, underground cave. Above him hangs a poisonous serpent, its venom dripping into his right eye in endless, excruciating pain.” Skogul leaned closer, her voice low and deadly.
“Defy Odin, and your punishment could be even worse.”
Though her legs shook beneath the table, Brynhildr stood, her golden corslet gleaming as she gazed out the open window toward the Mirrored Sea.
Sunlight danced on the waves which rolled against the towering cliffs and lapped at the pebbled shore.
She turned to face her two Valkyrie sisters, conviction and courage burning in her fierce falcon heart.
“Sigurd could have defeated me in the Sólhjarta Tournament,” she stammered, emotion clenching her throat and stealing her voice. “But he chose love for me over his own glory—and knelt at my feet rather than strike me down.”