Chapter 10
Farewell to the Láhpi Tribe
Haldor and Skjold hugged the craggy coastline of the fjord as they headed south from Dvalinn’s N?ttgraf cave, keeping the jagged cliffs of the V?gakallen mountain to their right.
The westerly winds of early autumn filled the dragon sail of the snekkja, carrying them swiftly toward the Sámi village so that by midday, the curls of smoke from the lávvu tents and wooden huts of the Láhpi tribe appeared as they approached the island of Skrova.
Furling the sail, they took up the oars, weaving carefully through the treacherous rocks which rose from the depths of the fjord, maneuvering the Dragonfire ship between the two towering cliffs to beach upon the hidden shore.
As Haldor hopped from the deck of the ship onto the sandy beach, he spotted the Eye of the áhkká—the driftwood talisman with fiery blue gem that Gunnar had crafted and Dvalinn had imbued with Dwarven magic—standing amongst the birch and rowan trees on the northern bank of the fjord.
He smiled at how intricately the Norns had fused the threads of fate for him and Skjold.
Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld have entwined our past among the Sámi people, our present with Dvalinn and Gunnar, and our future—for Skjold to fulfill úlvhild’s prophecy. We all have interwoven wyrds.
Haldor swept his falcon gaze across the village, taking in the women smoking fish on wooden racks, the men repairing boats and fishing nets, the children scampering with dogs and reindeer calves.
At the top of the hill stood Jaskka, his face whitened with chalk, the black eyes of the spirits painted on his wrinkled brow beneath the reindeer antler headpiece which he wore like a bone crown.
Fastened with a braided cord and toggle, his reindeer fur cloak draped majestically over his deep blue woolen tunic and dark brown leather breeches.
Beaming from ear to bearded ear, he strode down the hill, clasped Haldor’s forearms, and pulled him into a paternal embrace.
“Welcome home, son.” Jaskka’s deep voice quavered with emotion.
After a few moments, he turned to Skjold, who stood behind Haldor, and greeted him with affection and awe.
“And you, Lagudi, return with the dragon sail I once gave to the woodcutter who carved the Eye of the áhkká.” He gripped Skjold’s broad shoulders, admiring the white bearskin cloak and lapis lazuli bead on the closure which glinted in the pale sunlight.
“You are the flame it shall carry across the seas in the form of a dragon.”
Máret—who had been like a mother to Haldor—raced down the hill, long braids trailing behind her, joy lighting her crinkled face.
Tears glistened in her grateful gaze as she pressed her hands against Haldor’s bristled cheeks and kissed each one.
“The spirits have answered my prayers,” she rasped, cradling his head against her breast as if he were still a young boy.
“The ákkhá have guided you home.” She spun to Skjold and hugged him as well, kissing both of his blond bearded cheeks.
“We’ll have a feast to welcome you. And you must tell us how you obtained this magnificent ship. ”
That evening, as they sat around the fire and feasted on grilled cod, reindeer stew with garlic and herbs, barley bread with soft cheese, and a lingonberry mash with roasted hazelnuts and honey, Haldor told the rapt Láhpi tribe of the fierce battle against Rus raiders and the Dokkálfar.
Without mentioning Dvalinn or the location of his clifftop cave, he told the tribe how he’d summoned birds to swarm the enemy ship like spears from the skies—as he’d done this past summer solstice, when the Eye of the áhkká had warned the village of a similar impending attack.
While wide eyes watched in wonder, Haldor carefully unwrapped the ísfálkr spear.
“This enchanted weapon never misses its mark.” The deep blue runes and falcons in flight etched along the frosted ashwood shaft glimmered in the firelight like the bright moonstone which glowed beneath the curved beak of the pointed blade.
“I hurled this spear into the dark heart of the Dokkálfar who commanded that ship.” Haldor indicated the snekkja moored amongst the rowan and birch trees at the edge of the shimmering fjord.
“With the help of a Ljósálfar healer, we cleansed the darkness from the Dragonfire ship, which now proudly belongs to Skjold.” Haldor grinned at his acolyte, whose deep blue gaze blazed with frostfire. “Show them your ísfir shield.”
Skjold rose to his feet and fetched the leather-wrapped shield which leaned against a nearby tree.
He removed the protective wrapping and displayed the inverted droplet shape of the silvery shield, its deep blue runes flowing like waves around the fiery Hrímsúl stone.
To demonstrate its power without causing fear or harm, he projected a small plume of frostfire toward the starlit night sky, retracting it back into the enchanted gem.
“This is how I turned the Dokkálfar to stone and reduced the Rus raiders to ash.”
Haldor and Skjold invited the tribe to touch the weapons, but only a few of the elders dared to accept, running reverent fingers over the frosted wood and glowing runes as they murmured blessings and incantations to the spirits.
As the feasting subsided, members of tribe approached to say farewell to Haldor and Skjold, retreating with husbands, wives, and children to their goahti huts or lávvu tents.
Now, as the last of the Láhpi villagers drifted off to bed, Haldor and Skjold sat around the fire with Jaskka, Máret, and the elders of the tribe who had honored Skjold with the spirit gifts when he became a noaidi.
Ellef, who had given Skjold the horned headpiece, similar to the antler crown that sat upon Jaskka’s silver-streaked head.
M?htte, his long, thick hair and braided bead white as snow, who had crafted the lapis lazuli spirit ring which sparkled on Skjold’s sinewy hand.
And Niillas, the hunter and trapper who had presented the magnificent bearskin cloak which draped Skjold’s wide shoulders. At his side, Niillas’ adult son Mikkel sipped from a carved birchwood cup.
Haldor drained his own mug, which Máret promptly refilled. “We plan to leave at first light to meet the crew of my ship in V?gan. But Skjold and I will need help to sail the snekkja, for the short distance across the open sea. Could you spare us four men?”
Jaskka exchanged glances with Niillas, who nodded in agreement and quickly replied. “The four of us will go with you. We’ll trail a small skiff behind the snekkja, for us to row back to the village from V?gan.”
“There’ll be no need for that.” Skjold’s bearded face beamed as he met Jaskka’s inquisitive gaze.
“I’d like to offer my spirit boat—which you, Haldor, and I crafted for my journey to become a noaidi.
I am eternally grateful that you allowed me to live among the Láhpi tribe for the past two summers.
” He reverently raised his wooden cup in tribute to Jaskka.
“Without you, I would not be Lagudi. Please accept it as my gift of thanks.”
Jaskka’s eyes glistened as a tremor of emotion twitched his bristled lips. He bowed his head in solemn silence, acknowledging the gravity of the generous gift.
“And I have this for you.” Skjold offered Máret a leather pouch that he’d obtained from Inga before leaving Dvalinn’s cave. He’d carved three Sámi symbols—the sun, a reindeer, and a healing hand—into the soft leather, polishing it to a glossy sheen.
Máret opened the drawstring pouch and peeked inside.
“Yarrow, wild thyme, juniper, and birch bark. A wonderful collection of herbs for healing. Thank you very much, Skjold.” Eyes brimming with grateful tears, she inhaled the fresh scent of reindeer leather and the sweet aroma of beeswax, humming with pleasure.
“I will treasure it always—and think of you every time I open this pouch.” She secured the leather bag at her waist with a quivering smile.
Skjold bowed his head and swallowed his emotions, visibly moved by her words.
“I, too, have parting gifts.” Haldor smiled softly as he offered Máret a carved wooden container of honey.
The birchwood jar and fitted lid were sealed with beeswax, and he had carved Sámi symbols and polished the wood alongside Skjold when the two of them had sailed the snekkja from Dvalinn’s cave to the Láhpi village.
Máret cradled the carved birchwood in her wrinkled hands, a joyful smile spreading across her beloved face.
“A gift of summer sweetness that is worth more to me than gold. Thank you, my son.” She leaned over and kissed Haldor’s cheek.
Swallowing a lump of sadness, he flashed her a loving smile before turning to Jaskka.
The tribal leader who had raised him as a son.
And trained him to be a noaidi whose spirit soared between worlds through the sky.
Haldor retrieved the whalebone flute that he’d bought on his last trip to V?gan. It was wrapped in soft blue wool, tucked protectively inside a sealskin pouch carved with Sámi symbols he’d engraved himself.