Chapter 9 #2
“This is how úlvhild can summon me, like she did eighteen winters ago, when your mother carried you within her womb. I answered úlvhild’s call—and came to the Pays de Caux to aid your father and Jarl Rikard, when the Frankish king had imprisoned your uncle Sweyn.
” Haldor ran reverent, calloused fingers over the soul-binding sigil.
“Eight summers ago, she summoned me again—to come to Chateaufort and accept you as my acolyte.”
Haldor transfixed Skjold with a fierce, feral gaze. “I want no other woman. Nor have I ever taken another since her. I am bound to úlvhild alone. Heart, body, and soul.”
Skjold stared into the burning embers, reflecting upon this profound revelation. He’d often wondered why his mentor never took lovers in any of the Norse ports or Viking trade centers, like all the rest of the Blóesmier crew.
He is soulbound to her, as I am to Skadi. Haldor will share himself with no other woman. Just as I will never love another but her.
Skjold returned his attention to Haldor, who stood beside the bed of furs to don his woolen tunic. “It has been eight long winters without her. Your hunger for her must be unbearable.”
A violent shudder shook Haldor, a visible confirmation of Skjold’s observance. “I cannot wait to bury myself in her luscious body. And absorb her essence as I give her my own. My hunger is more than primal lust. My soul replenishes through hers.”
At that moment, Dáinn appeared as promised, and began oiling the armor which hung on hooks near the heavy entrance door. Dvalinn, Inga, and Gunnor emerged from the hall soon thereafter.
“Góean morgin! I trust you slept well?” Dvalinn’s braided red beard split into a lusty grin as he glanced at Skjold.
Skjold had the distinct impression that the perceptive dwarf was keenly aware of just how well he had slept with Skadi. And as if his thoughts had conjured her, the lovely Ljósálfar –his soulbound mate—floated into the hearth room.
“Good morning, Lady Skadi.” Dvalinn offered her a goblet of mead and invited her to sit at the table. “Come, join us,” he said to Haldor and Skjold as he sat down on the bench beside Skadi. “Inga will prepare dagmál when she returns.”
“I need to change Durinn’s bandages,” Inga announced, grabbing her pouch of herbs and a few strips of clean linen.
“Then I’ll fix us that pot of barley porridge.
” She smiled at her husband, who was adding firewood to the hearth.
“Gunnar will help you load supplies onto the ship. And fetch fresh water for your voyage.” Inga slipped down the hall into Durinn’s chamber.
Dvalinn raised his horn of mead. “May the Sámi sail and dragon prow carry you swiftly across the seas. And may the ísfir shield and ísfálkr spear enable you to fulfill the prophecy. Skál!”
Once everyone had finished the dagmál of barley porridge with lingonberries and hazelnuts, smoked fish, hard cheese, and oat flatbread, they bid goodbye to Durinn, who still remained abed, his badly injured leg tightly wrapped in bandages.
Inga packed food supplies in waxed linen and boxes of birch bark, which she carried down to the shore where the snekkja was moored to a willow tree. Haldor and Skjold donned their armor and Dwarven weapons, and Skjold escorted Skadi down the stairs.
Dvalinn, Dáinn, and Gunnar loaded the provisions onto the ship, while Haldor shifted into a falcon and tore into the cold, cloudy sky.
He circled in searched of prey and dove into the fjord, spearing a haddock with sharp extended talons.
Returning to the rocky shore, he shifted back into human form, and joined Skjold, who was carving Sámi symbols into the muddy bank where his small spirit boat and the snekkja were both secured.
Skadi had collected water from the bubbling pool at the base of the cascade in the silver bowl she kept tucked inside her deep blue cloak.
She boarded the Dragonfire ship and—sprinkling water from the underground spring over the deck, mast, and sail as limpid notes floated from her lyrical voice—blessed the snekkja once more with her Ljósálfar song of nen glir.
Haldor laid the flopping fish down onto the muddy grass at his side while he knelt before the stone he’d selected to serve as an altar for the sacrificial offering.
With the sharpened point of his ísfálkr spear, he carved a trinity of runes, seeking the blessing and protection of a trio of Norse gods.
Raido, for swift winds and safe waves with the blessing of the Sea God Njord.
Laguz, for Rán to still her merciless net.
And Ansuz, for the guidance and protection of Odin.
Haldor sliced open the belly of the fish, pouring the sacrificial blood into the etched runes as he murmured an invocation:
“Njord, God of Wind and Sea, fill the dragon’s wings with divine breath upon our sail.
Rán, Goddess of the Deep, grant us safe passage over your stormy seas.
Odin, blessed Allfather, grant us wisdom and guide our keel.”
His incantation complete, Haldor handed the fish to Skjold, for him to conclude the ritual by offering it as a gift to the Sámi spirits of the fjord.
Skjold had carved spiral waves for ?áhci, the Sámi symbol for water.
A bear paw, for Guov?a—the sacred animal whose thick white fur now cloaked his own broad shoulders.
And Násti the star, to guide the snekkja ship.
Skjold knelt before the trio of symbols—the sacred number three—and offered the body of the fish as he sought the blessing of the áhkká.
“Sacred spirits of the fjord, I offer you this humble gift. May I see through the Veil of Vision as your waters guide my way.”
Skjold washed the blood from his hands and brushed the mud from his knees.
He and Haldor loaded the spirit boat—the small birchwood skiff with the shimmering mermaid prow in which Skjold had become a noaidi—onto the snekkja, laying the smaller vessel on its side while Gunnar tied it in place with ropes and Dáinn secured it with blankets and furs to protect the hull.
Haldor and Skjold followed the woodsman and redbeard apprentice as they hopped off the ship.
They strode across the rocks to say goodbye to the Dwarven blacksmith whose enchanted weapons they would now wield and whose Sámi dragon sail billowed in the salty breeze.
While Skadi kissed everyone’s cheeks and bid them farewell, Haldor and Skjold shook hands with Dvalinn, Dáinn, Gunnar, and Inga.
Dvalinn’s gruff voice was filled with gratitude as he gripped their forearms in friendship. “You gave blood to defend my mountain, my forge, and my kin. Now you’ve got my Sámi sail and Gunnar’s dragon prow to carry your flame across the sea. May the gods grant you safe passage to Normandy.”
With farewells behind them, Haldor shot Skjold a knowing glance as he headed toward the ship, leaving Skjold alone to say goodbye to Skadi.
Skjold cradled both of her hands within his own and raised them to his bearded lips.
He unfurled her left palm and bestowed a reverent kiss on the fjorún sigil which marked their otherworldly mating.
As the sun sliced through the dark clouds, the droplet of frostfire flame was gilded in golden light.
Skadi raised herself up to kiss his bristled cheek, her breath a warm whisper in his ear.
“Remember your promise, Skjold. Meet me in álfheim the night of the winter solstice. On the eastern bank of Lyrian Lake.”
He swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply, murmuring into her parted lips. “I promise, Skadi. We are soulbound, you and I. Forever entwined in water and flame.”
As Skjold stepped back from his fated mate, Skadi swirled in a whirl of blue flame and violet ice. With a whoosh of wings and a flash of radiant light, the frostdragon soared into the clouds, sweeping over the fjord and out to the open sea.
Haldor and Skjold rowed Dragonfire out of the narrow inlet at the base of Dvalinn’s clifftop cave. And as they maneuvered the snekkja beyond the mouth of the fjord, they hoisted the dragon sail high up the mast. And unfurled it to the western wind.