Chapter 2
Vitki and Volva
Haldor secured two spears and shields along the inside of the boat, covering them with woolen blankets and pelts, while Skjold stored the wooden boxes and leather pouches containing flatbread, smoked fish, and dried reindeer meat for their imminent voyage.
M?htte, Niillas, and Ellef stood with several member of the tribe, watching as Jaskka placed a morsel of smoked fish on a stone at the edge of the fjord and poured a cup of reindeer milk into the salty sea as an offering to the spirits who would guide Haldor and Skjold on the journey to find the dwarf.
“May the áhkká guide you to fulfill the foretold prophecy.”
As Skjold settled into the small boat, he was struck once again by the magnificence of his mentor’s enchanted armor.
Elongated overlapping plates of rich chestnut leather, shaped and detailed like layered feathers, were embossed with Nordic runes and intricate swirls like sea and sky.
Real falcon feathers were meticulously woven into the leather vambraces on his rugged forearms, the striking appearance evoking wings of Haldor Falk’s shapeshifting ability and avian magic.
His hawklike nose curved like a beak, and painted wings, intricately detailed with shades of black, silver, and grey, stretched across his rugged, bearded face.
Below each of his dark brown, predatory eyes, the Kaun rune—symbol of fire, power, and transformation—glowed in fiery red and orange hues.
Atop his stunning leather headpiece, a striking crest of falcon feathers arose in a magnificent plume above a carved amber image of Freyja, the goddess who had taken the Viking vitki as her human lover, marking him with lifelike tattoos of iridescent feathers etched across his chest and back, as she bestowed upon him the remarkable power of transformation into a falcon and the incomparable ability to command and control all winged creatures.
Skjold revered his otherworldly mentor, Haldor Falk.
Falcon of the Faroe Islands.
Haldor’s piercing gaze held Skjold’s as he launched the small craft out onto the mirrored waters of the fjord and—in a flash of golden light and a whoosh of flapping wings—soared into the silvery dawn sky as a peregrine falcon.
They headed north, following the serpentine path of the sinuous fjord.
Haldor scouted above, periodically swooping down to rest on the seat of the boat before taking to the skies once again.
As the sun began to set, he returned to the small vessel, shifting back into human form and settling onto the seat opposite Skjold.
“Let’s go ashore and set up camp. While you start a fire and lay out the bedrolls, I’ll hunt a couple hares for our náttmál.
” Haldor took up the extra set of oars, and the two men rowed toward an island with a sandy shore and forested ledge where they beached the boat above the hide tide line, looping a leather cord around a weathered tree trunk to moor it securely.
After unloading the bedrolls of reindeer hide, the leather satchels containing their supply of nuts, herbs, fish oil, and dried berries, and the stoppered birchbark container of fresh drinking water, Skjold collected large stones and placed them in a circle, gathering moss, lichen, and timber for the campfire.
He fetched the firesteel tool from the pouch at his waist and slowly coaxed tiny sparks into flickering flames within the stone enclosure.
Haldor hunted in falcon form, plummeting swiftly and silently from the darkening skies, talons extended like razor-sharp scythes as he slammed into his prey.
After two successful strikes, he shifted back into human form and retrieved the large white hares, which he meticulously skinned, retaining the precious fur while cutting the meat into slices to be skewered over the open flames.
Skjold watched his mentor with admiration and awe, then fetched his vitki staff— crafted from the willow wood sacred to his Breton priestess ancestors— from the narrow boat moored at the shoreline.
Clutching the long, curved wooden gandr, he chanted an invocation to conjure wards of magical protection around the perimeter of their camp as he etched a trio of Nordic runes into the frosted, grassy ground.
Laguz, the rune for water, to connect with ákkhá spirits of the fjord and Divona, the Celtic Goddess of Sacred Springs.
Algiz, for sacred protection of the animal spirits in the land, sea, forest, and sky.
Eihwaz, symbol of Yggdrasil, to access the divine guidance of the Norse gods.
His task complete, Skjold returned to spread the reindeer hide bedrolls and blankets near the campfire. Although it was just past the autumn equinox, the nights in the Lofoten Islands of northern Norway were quite cold, and the warmth from the fire would be welcome.
While Haldor roasted the rabbit meat over the open flames, Skjold arranged three flat stones on the opposite edge of the fire, withdrawing a soapstone pot from their supplies and filling it with water, He set the pot upon the triad of stones to boil and fetched the pouch of barley, pouring in a small amount for the porridge which would accompany the meat.
He crushed some juniper berries, simmering them with wild garlic, sea salt, and a drizzle of honey in a small pot beside the barley.
The resinous, piney flavor of the berries would be delicious with the gamey meat.
There was a small amount of reindeer milk left in the sealskin pouch.
He would add that to the porridge when it was ready.
The creamy tang of the slightly soured milk would offset the bitter flavor of the dried lingonberries and bilberries.
Skjold tossed in a pinch of wild thyme to the barley porridge, then settled down upon his bedroll, occasionally stirring the pot while he cracked open a handful of hazelnuts to complete their náttmál evening meal.
“The Blóesmier must have arrived in V?gan by now,” Skjold said, referring to the crew of Freyja’s Falcon, Haldor’s drakkar longship.
He and Haldor had arranged to meet the Blóesmier upon the autumn equinox in the Norse village where the crew could repair the sail, prepare the ship, and stock supplies for the upcoming voyage to Normandy.
Skjold was eager to see his parents, Sk?rde and Ylva, and his little sister Vivi.
He hadn’t seen them in eight long winters since he’d first sailed to the Faroe Islands as Haldor’s acolyte.
At long last, they were returning to the Pays de Caux—the alabaster coast of Normandy where his father Sk?rde ruled as Count in the clifftop castle of Chateaufort.
And since the crew planned to stop along the way south in the Danish trade center of Heieabyr, where they would rest and refurbish supplies, Skjold would also get to see both his Uncle Sweyn, the new king of Denmark, and his younger brother Tryggvi, who was being trained as a warlord in their uncle’s royal hall.
When Skjold last saw his family, he’d been a lad of only ten winters. And now, he’d return home as fierce a Viking warrior as his famous father Sk?rde the Scourge, the Dragon of Denmark. And as powerful a vitki and noaidi as his shapeshifting mentor, the Falcon of the Faroe Islands.
Skjold’s proud heart pounded with adrenaline and anticipation.
Haldor removed the skewers from the flames in the enclosed hearth and set them to cool upon wooden plates he’d retrieved from among their supplies.
“Gr?skegg will oil the sail, caulk the hull, and store plenty of grain, dried fish, and barrels of fresh water. It will take them at least a week, depending on the damage to the ship during the voyage from Tórshavn.” Haldor referred to the village on the Faroe Island of Streymoy where his famous hall, Falkholl, was situated on a fjord.
The crew of Freyja’s Falcon had sailed from that port to the village of V?gan in the Lofoten Islands, where they would meet Haldor and Skjold for the imminent sea voyage to Normandy.
Skjold knew they needed to depart as soon as possible, for autumn storms would soon make sailing on the North Sea increasingly difficult and dangerous.
“What if we can’t find the dwarf’s cave in time to meet the crew?
You said we would need to leave V?gan within the next two weeks, before the seas become impassable. ”
Haldor regarded him with the piercing stare of a peregrine falcon.
“We’ll find the dwarf’s cave. The áhkká will guide you.
” He handed Skjold a wooden plate with a skewer of roasted rabbit meat.
“Today, when I flew overhead, I glimpsed a snow-capped mountain on an island just northwest of here. We’ll reach it by midmorning.
” Haldor ladled some porridge into a wooden bowl and set it on his bedroll before spreading some of the juniper berry sauce over the roasted meat.
Half of his bearded face curled up into a lopsided grin as he gestured to the sealskin pouch on the blanket beside Skjold.
“Pass me the reindeer milk for the porridge.”
Skjold complied, adding the juniper berries over his rabbit meat, and accepting the sealskin pouch from Haldor so he could add the last of the thick, creamy milk to his own bowl of barley porridge. “You think we’ll find it in the morning?” His eager voice wafted on the salty night air.
“I do. Now let’s eat.” Haldor scooped a small portion from his plate and bowl as an offering to the spirits of the forest before digging into his own food with ravenous hunger.
Skjold joined him, savoring the tang of the berries, the rich flavor of the grilled rabbit meat, and the savory herbs in the barley porridge.
They ate in silence, and when they were finished, Skjold collected the wooden plates and bowls, rinsing them in ice cold sea water at the edge of the shore.
When he returned to the camp, Haldor announced, “I’ll take the first watch while you get some sleep. ”