Chapter 1 #2
“I am your grandmother Lova. A Breton priestess who once worshipped among the Druids here at Mont Garrot, in the village of Saint-Suliac.” She gestured to the waterfall cascading down the mountain and into the secluded grotto.
“This is where your mother Ylva created a shrine to worship Divona, Celtic Goddess of the Sacred Springs.”
Another glowing female appeared, her otherworldly features both human and divine.
Long tresses floated around her, as if lifted by wind or water, her ephemeral eyes luminous as the stars glittering against the dark midnight sky.
“I am Sprota, your great-grandmother. A Breton priestess with the gift of second sight through water, just like your grandmother Lova and your mother Ylva.” She smiled softly.
“You, Son of the Dragon, have inherited our ancestral gift. Which you must now wield to foresee your fate.” She motioned for him to follow her into the secluded cave, its entrance exposed and accessible with the recessed waters of low tide.
As Skjold entered the limestone grotto, the deafening roar of the cascade was eclipsed by the brilliance of an ethereal female figure as radiant as starlight. Instinctively, his water spirit recognized the Celtic Goddess of the Sacred Springs as Skjold bent his humbled head and knelt before Divona.
Long tresses of shining blue hair cascaded over her shoulders, the gossamer sleeves of her silvery gown fluttering like wispy tendrils in gentle waves.
Upon her head, a crown of woven willow branches and river reeds was adorned with shimmery pearls and iridescent blue gems that glittered like droplets of morning dew.
With slender, luminous hands, Divona indicated the ebullient freshwater pool into which the waterfall tumbled inside the cave.
Her divine message flowed into Skjold’s very soul.
“Water is a mirror which reflects your fate. Use your inherited gift to view your destiny.”
Under the watchful, otherworldly gaze of the goddess and the áhkká—his female ancestors who had passed on to him their divine gift of sight—Skjold sought the wisdom of water in the sacred spring where his mother and grandmother had once worshipped Divona.
Images appeared amidst the bursting bubbles in the freshwater pool.
Skjold glimpsed a snow-capped mountain jutting over an icy fjord, its towering peak piercing the clouds on a remote island shrouded in mist. At the base of the craggy cliff covered in shadows, he spotted the entrance to a hidden cave.
Inside, amidst a hoard of treasure and a cache of gleaming weapons, he beheld a magnificent shield which caught his eye and sang to his soul.
Shaped like an inverted droplet of water, the weapon was an icy blue, with elaborately etched dark sapphire waves of glowing Nordic runes. In the center of the shield, encased in intricately carved shimmering silver, a faceted pale blue gem sparkled with fiery, wintry brilliance.
More images emerged in the effervescence of the waterfall pool.
A spectacular spear of frosted ash, its shaft etched with glowing runes, glimmered against the wall of the mountain cave where a dwarf with flaming red hair and braided russet beard toiled over an open forge.
Beyond a stone archway, Skjold perceived a small bed and wooden table inside the dwarven blacksmith’s abode.
In an adjacent room, beneath a set of wooden shelves containing hammers, chisels, and assorted tools, an open treasure chest filled with gold and precious gems glittered in the firelight.
As the turbulent waters of the pool churned up more visions, Skjold beheld a snekkja longship with a raven prow, an ominous black sail with blood red stripe down the center, and a band of Rus raiders approaching the mouth of the mountain cave where the unsuspecting dwarf hammered a magical weapon over his flaming forge.
Comprehension dawned amidst the sparkling waters of Divona’s sacred spring.
Skjold had to warn the dwarf of the impending attack, for the Rus raiders not only wished to seize the treasure and the hoard of priceless Dwarven weapons, they had been sent to thwart the long-foretold prophecy.
With the water wisdom imparted from his ancestors, Skjold understood that he was destined to wield the droplet-shaped Dwarven shield.
As he glimpsed his destiny, the prophetic words of the volva úlvhild floated to him from the spirit world of water.
You, Son of the Dragon, must shield the cape and defend the future crown.
The visions in the pool disappeared as his senses slowly returned.
The roar of the waterfall thundered in his ears. Shimmering rays of blue, gold, and pale violet light danced upon the surface of the bubbling spring. Skjold rose to his feet and faced the luminous trio of female apparitions who floated in the surrounding waters where his spirit had ventured.
His grandmother Lova traced an ethereal finger along his bearded cheek and spoke wordlessly into his mind. “Use the wisdom gleaned from the realm of water to shield and protect. Return now to the world of humans and fulfill your destined prophecy.”
Skjold watched in wonder as the ephemeral figures dissipated into the waves of the incoming tide which flooded the floor of the sea cave. He turned back toward the fjord behind him and spotted his mentor, Haldor Falk—Falcon of the Faroe Islands— standing on the distant shore, awaiting his return.
Like a beacon summoning a ship to port, Haldor held a torch which flickered in the wind whipping through the cliffs on the sheltered sides of the sacred fjord.
Skjold sent his spirit back to his slumped body, still sitting in the small ship.
As he regained his human form, he sat upright, breathing deeply of the crisp saline air, gazing up at the swirls of stars in the sapphire night sky.
Gentle waves lapped the hull of his boat.
Echoes of sloshing and the eerie whistle of winds funneling through the cliffs reached his heightened ears.
In the distance, the low, rhythmic pulse of Jaskka’s drum and the melancholy notes of his repetitive, hypnotic chant drifted across the fjord, calling him back to shore.
Amidst the briny scent of the sea, the mineral tang of wet rock, and the pungent aroma of kelp, Skjold sensed the charred woodsmoke of juniper and herbs burning in the tribal fire.
He shivered violently as a gust of cold wind carried across the fjord, his limbs shaking with adrenaline, his skin tingling with the painful joy of being alive after the intense voyage into the spirit world.
A salty crust covered his face, his lips dry and cracked, as if he had been breathing seawater in his sleep.
Suddenly ravenous, he hungered for food, for warmth, and for human touch—the physical ache of being back in his body.
Lifting the two oars, he rowed back to his mentor, standing at the edge of the icy fjord.
Haldor helped Skjold out of the spirit boat and assisted him in dragging the ship onto the sandy beach.
Together, they strode back toward the frosted glen where the villagers were gathered around the fire to witness Skjold’s ritual ceremony and trial.
On shaky legs, his head bowed in humility before the revered elder of the tribe, Skjold approached Jaskka, seated upon an enormous stump of a tree, the all-seeing eyes painted upon his chalk-white forehead observing him from the Otherworld.
The beating of the goavddis drum ceased, signifying the completion of Skjold’s journey.
Jaskka deep voice reverberated into Skjold’s very bones.
“You have crossed into the spirit world, seeking ancestral wisdom through your inherited gift of water. Now that you have returned to the human realm, I proclaim you noaidi. May you always use your sacred power to defend and protect.” Jaskka summoned three elders of the tribe, who emerged from the throng, clad in elaborate furs and antlers, their chalky white faces painted with intricate Sámi symbols and black Nordic runes.
They approached in solemn silence, bearing honored gifts for Skjold.
The first, Ellef, offered a horned headpiece crafted from the antlers of a reindeer, an animal sacred to the Sámi people.
The pale bone was finely etched with three symbols: the Nordic rune Laguz, for water; a paw to represent the sacred Guov?a bear, and the Sámi star, Násti, to symbolize divine guidance.
Ellef reverently placed the spirit helm upon Skjold’s bowed head and stepped aside for the presentation of the next gift.
M?htte’s white hair shone in the moonlight like the shimmering silver in the spirit ring cradled in his outstretched palm.
Skjold accepted the precious gift with a reverent nod, admiring the dark blue lapis lazuli stone set amidst waves of finely crafted silver.
On the inside of the band, the same Laguz, Guov?a, and Násti symbols that adorned his reindeer headpiece were etched into the silver.
The ring’s touch would therefore connect Skjold to the realm of water and the wisdom of the áhkká.
He reverently placed the ring upon the center finger of his left hand, in accordance with the Sámi belief of receiving insight from the spirit world through the side of the body closest to the heart.