Chapter 32
The Wolf Redeemed
Elfi spotted Bodo rise from his seat beside Sif. He seemed haggard and weary, as if bearing an enormous burden. Thick brown wolfskin draped heavily over his broad shoulders, head hung low, he limped into the center of the clearing.
The feast fell into a heavy silence as all eyes turned to the lone úlfhedinn.
He halted before úlf, his breath ragged in the cool night air.
Slowly, he lifted his harrowed face toward the full moon.
The heavy wolf head of his cloak slipped back over his shoulders, leaving his features bare in the firelight.
From deep within, a long, low howl rose—plaintive, pitiful, and primal.
His mournful moan trembled the trees, drifted over the white-capped waves, and echoed off the craggy cliffs.
A soulful call of sorrow and supplication.
A desperate plea for forgiveness and redemption.
When he lowered his face, his expression was a mask of suffering and shame.
“There is something I must say. Because the truth must be spoken aloud—before gods, wolves, and kin.” As he turned to meet úlf’s piercing stare, Bodo dropped to one knee before him, head bowed low.
“úlf,” he rasped, voice hoarse with regret.
“I betrayed the pack. Not by will—but by weakness. My hand was forced by cursed shadow, yet the guilt is mine to bear. I nearly cost us our lives…and Elfi’s, the She-Wolf carrying Njord’s child.
My failure brought death and Dokkálfar to our gates. And nearly doomed us all.”
Brows furrowed, a scowl distorting his bearded face, úlf crossed sinewy arms over his massive chest, grey wolfskin shimmering silver in the moonlight. His brooding silence hung heavy with judgment.
Bodo slowly rose to his feet and turned to face Elfi.
His voice was rough and raspy with emotion.
“Elfi… She-Wolf of the Sea…You broke the curse in ísland. You saw what I could not. And though my hands were forced to work against my own will, I am still ashamed. I did not know that the troll Narglok had ordered me to retrieve the key to the secret door from Sif. Nor did I know he had made a copy for the Count of Soissons. Nevertheless, the fault is mine. If not for my pride—if not for the ring—the Count would never have entered the castle keep. I failed you. I failed Sif. And I beg your forgiveness.”
Seated between Jarl Rikard and her father, Elfi rose with quiet grace. She inclined her head to Rikard—her liege—and then to Thorfinn, who watched her with somber pride.
Moonlight glimmering on the rune-etched silver of her new armband, she stepped into the grassy clearing, facing the wolf who had come to confess.
White wolf cloak draped around her shoulders, Rán’s necklace glimmering at her throat, she met Bodo’s repentant gaze as the bonfire crackled and the briny wind swept up from the Narrow Sea.
When she finally answered, her voice was calm and clear as moonlight on a still fjord.
“I know your will was twisted by shadow, Bodo. And I know the troll who cursed you is ash. But it was your hand, cursed or not, that obtained the key. If not for that ring, the Count would not have breached le Chateau Blanc.”
Anguish blazed in his dark, desperate gaze as she stepped forward and stopped before him. “Yet the Norns weave strange patterns in the threads of fate,” Elfi said, her voice ephemeral and ethereal. “And through your curse, they laid the path for me to fulfill my sacred vow.”
She paused, resting her hand proudly on the silver torc of tribute with which Jarl Rikard had named her La Louve Blanche.
“Because of you, Bodo, I stood before the Count of Soissons — the bloody bastard who slew my beloved broeir. The coward who abducted my noble faeir. The loathsome enemy who thrice attacked this clifftop castle with Dokkálfar darkness and malevolent steel. Thanks to you, I kept the vow I made over Dag’s grave — and avenged him with Shadowbane, the very sword he once used to train me.
For that…” Elfi choked on a sob, “… I not only forgive you. I thank you. Because of you, my broeir has been avenged.”
Elfi wrapped her arms around Bodo’s shaggy shoulders and held him tight. She kissed his scarred, bearded cheek. In her embrace, he trembled, overcome. “You are forgiven,” she whispered into his beloved ear. “Truly.”
Bodo buried his face in the white fur on her shoulder, shuddering with silent sobs.
He lifted his head, relief and grief warring in his loving eyes.
“Thank you, Elfi. Though you have pardoned me, I have yet to face Njord. I risked you—the woman he loves more than life—and his precious unborn child. I doubt he can ever forgive me for that.” He hung his head in shame.
Elfi gently lifted his chin so that he would look at her. She smiled and kissed his wrinkled brow. “I know he will. From the depths of my mermaid heart.”
After a moment, Bodo withdrew from Elfi’s embrace and turned slowly to face Sif. When he spoke, his gravelly voice was raspy and raw.
“You saved me long before the curse was broken.” He hobbled across the glen and stood before her, imploring her with dark, desperate eyes. “You loved me when I was too ashamed to love myself. Limp and all.”
He approached her like a wounded wolf, each step hesitant, until he sank to his knees in surrender. Lowering his humble head to her lap, he pressed his brow to her hand.
A broken wolf begging for forgiveness, acceptance, and love.
Bodo raised his crumpled, bristled face to hers. Devotion, dejection, and disgrace blazed in his repentant gaze. “That’s why I wore the ring. To make me whole…and worthy of you.”
He took her pale hand within his own calloused, scarred paws and raised it to his rugged lips. “Yet by wearing the cursed ring to win your heart, I lost you—the only woman I have ever loved.”
Bodo rose to his feet and backed away, his head bowed as he stood before Sif.
“Though against my will, I betrayed you. I understand if you no longer want me.” He lifted his humble head and held Sif’s gaze as tears streamed down her trembling cheeks.
“But if even a trace of your heart still remembers mine…” his quavering voice broke on a ragged sob.
“Grant me the chance for redemption. To become the man worthy of your love.”
Sif choked out a cry, lurching to her feet before he could finish. She threw her arms around his wolfskin-clad neck and lunged into his brawny arms with such force she nearly toppled him over.
“My heart will always remember yours,” she sobbed, showering his shaggy cheeks with frantic kisses.
“You brave, broken brute. And of course we are getting married on the winter solstice.” She hugged him tight and flashed a radiant smile at Elfi.
“Alongside la Louve Blanche and Njord. Here at Chateau Blanc.”
Bodo lifted Sif off her feet and swirled her in a circle of joy. “You have made me the happiest man alive. I could not love you more.” He set her gently down on the leaf-strewn ground, then solemnly turned to face Thorfinn.
He bowed his head before Elfi’s faeir, his rough voice thick with remorse and regret. “My lord, I failed you. It was my cursed hand that let darkness into your castle. I beseech your forgiveness.”
Thorfinn rose slowly from the table of honor, his black cloak trimmed with ermine majestic in the moonlight.
The bonfire flickered, casting deep lines across his weary face.
He had lost weight and strength in the Frankish prison.
Elfi’s heart clenched at the misery he had endured because of the despicable Count of Soissons.
Triumphant pride surged at the memory of severing the villain’s vile head with Shadowbane.
Not only had she avenged Dag’s death, but she had killed the fiend who had made her faeir suffer.
Silver streaks in his dark hair and beard shining in the firelight, Thorfinn’s deep voice resonated with command tempered by clemency. “We all carry shame, Bodo. You faced yours, and you laid bare the truth. That takes courage and honor. You have my pardon… but more than that, my respect.”
Bodo lowered his head in reverence. “Your mercy honors me, Lord Thorfinn. I am deeply grateful.” He turned to the Duke of Normandy, the brown wolfskin falling low over his brow as he bowed his head once again and dropped to one knee.
“Jarl Rikard, tonight you honor La Louve Blanche—and I nearly cost her life. I implore forgiveness for the shadow I brought upon your dukedom.”
The silver circlet on Jarl Rikard’s regal head glinted in his white blond hair as he solemnly stood at the table of honor. “Rise, Bodo.” The duke gestured with an opened hand. “Stand with restored honor before all who witness this ducal pardon.”
Bodo regained his feet, adjusting the brown wolfskin cloak over his broad shoulders as he stood before the Viking duke, gratitude and humility ablaze on his bearded face.
“A man cannot live without honor, my jarl. You have restored mine… and with it, my life. I thank you, from the depths of my úlfhéenar soul.”
The bonfire crackled, sending sparks into the starry night sky. Waves crashed against the chalky cliffs, salt spray and crisp wind rustling the golden leaves in the canopy of trees. Seated at trestle tables in the silent clearing, the gathered guests waited, expectant and watching.
Jarl Rikard inclined his head, acknowledging Bodo’s gratitude. He lifted his drinking horn high, the amber beads and etched runes along the metal mouthpiece glowing in the golden firelight. His resonant voice echoed across the silent glen.
“Tonight, we honor Elfi Thorfinnsdóttir—La Louve Blanche, She-Wolf of the Sea.” The duke’s commanding gaze lingered on Elfi, sending a shiver of pride up her shieldmaiden spine.