Chapter 34
Moonflowers on the Vine
The crisp November wind bit at Skjold’s face as he glided down the steep slope from the Dragon’s Leap cave, his birchwood skis carving clean lines through the powdery snow.
He’d shared meal and mead with úlvhild and Haldor, rejoicing in the wondrous news.
He’d bid them farewell, with the promise to return in five days, and was now headed back to V?gan.
Strapped across his shoulders was a sturdy leather harness, its reins trailing behind him and tethered to the small pulka he’d bought from Knút in the village longhouse.
With plans to make frequent trips delivering firewood and supplies to úlvhild and Haldor throughout the long winter, he’d chosen the compact sled to haul loads without slowing his pace.
He was swathed in layers against the frozen mist and stinging wind, his white bearskin noaidi cloak hanging heavy over his shoulders, a woolen scarf wound around his neck and lower face.
Woolen breeches wrapped his long legs, his heavy leather boots lined and covered with soft reindeer hide.
Thick gloves of tanned leather covered his hands, supple yet durable enough to grip the ski poles which propelled him forward.
Or his sheathed weapons, should he need them.
Skjold paused to rest after relieving himself—too much mead, shared in good cheer with úlvhild and Haldor. Though they’d eaten well, his stomach gnawed again with hunger. Indeed, he was nearly always famished.
The pale sun warmed a flat rock near the bank of the fjord, where he decided to rest and eat a few oatcakes he’d saved in his pack.
It felt good to stretch out, for the haul up the mountain had strained the muscles in his legs.
He uncorked his waterskin and quenched his thirst. A cool, briny breeze drifted in from the fjord, catching the fur of his bearskin cloak and the beard on his face.
The sun was low, but he’d make it back to V?gan before nightfall.
He’d rest a few moments, then continue on.
As he ate three oatcakes, washing them down with cold water úlvhild had melted from snow, he reflected on her reaction to the news about Tryggvi. Like Haldor, she’d been overjoyed.
But sorrow had haunted her amber eyes.
The new offer for Svanhild’s hand would reach Sigurd by the winter solstice.
There was no longer the dire concern about enraging or insulting the Jarl of Orkney with Haldor’s rejection of his daughter.
Their uncle Sweyn would be even more delighted to have Tryggvi—his Danish warlord and trusted chieftain as well as nephew—marry Svanhild, securing a political alliance.
Skjold chuckled to himself. Perhaps Tryggvi will even help our uncle conquer Aengaland. My broeir might even become a king himself!
While he pondered why úlvhild would seem saddened by such joyful news, a glimmering image emerged on the surface of the fjord, where sunlight rippled across the gentle waves.
As he had done among the Láhpi tribe during his trial to become a noaidi, Skjold welcomed the water’s cool, inviting embrace.
And sent his spirit into the icy fjord.
A dark green vine swirled in the water before him, its verdant leaves threaded with veins of shimmering silver. Nestled among the curling tendrils, a trio of white moonflowers with deep violet hearts glowed with otherworldly radiance.
Skjold glimpsed úlvhild lying on the bed of furs inside the cave.
Her eyes were closed, her skin pallid, like when they had first carried her up the steep slope and settled her near the roaring fire.
Haldor was huddled over the hearth, chanting as he imbued a trio of glittering gems, which he placed around úlvhild’s still form.
Returning to the fire, Haldor cast herbs into the flames, wispy tendrils of smoke curling upward as he poured golden mead into a silver chalice etched with runes and sparkling stones.
With the pointed tip of an ornate dagger, he sliced his finger, letting three droplets of blood fall into the brew.
Placing the chalice near her feet, he knelt at úlvhild’s side, continuing his invocation.
As the vision unfolded, Skjold saw moonlight bathe the cave in otherworldly radiance. A sliver of silver light shone upon úlvhild’s serene face, and an ethereal feminine form descended upon the moonbeam to hover over the stricken volva. úlvhild glimmered brightly, as if illuminated from within.
Skjold watched in awestruck wonder as the deep green vine he’d seen on the surface of the fjord unfurled over úlvhild’s luminous belly. The three white moonflowers blossomed, their amethyst hearts pulsing at the goddess’ divine touch,
An ephemeral voice floated through the water into the depths of Skjold’s noaidi mind.
“úlvhild shall bear her Falcon a trinity of healthy babes—one for each moonflower on the vine which swirls upon her skin. The blossom above her nafli is the daughter she carries now. The other two, cradled within the curve of each hip, are the sons yet to come. I have restored my devoted volva and renewed the seier that flows in her veins. And with my gift of Freyja’s Bloom, I have made her fertile once more, mending the broken womb that once could not hold. ”
Skjold’s senses returned slowly as the Veil of Vision receded.
The tang of the fjord, the salty scent of the sea.
The bite of the icy wind on his bearded cheek.
The sweet spice of oatcakes and hazelnuts on his tongue.
The thunderous splash as a white gannet plunged into the liquid mirror of Skjold’s vision, seeking prey.
As realization dawned with divine clarity, Skjold whooped with joy, his heart soaring on the wings of the sea bird back to the pale, frosty sky.
Though he had already traveled half the distance back to V?gan and had hoped to arrive in time for náttmál, this profound revelation simply could not wait.
He rose to his feet.
Dusted crumbs from his lap.
And—hoisting the reins of the pulka across his broad back—returned to the Dragon’s Leap cave.
* * * *
“I’m delighted with this silver fox fur,” úlvhild exclaimed, referring to the three luxurious pelts the Blóesmier had obtained for her in V?gan.
“The pale grey and ice blue colors are the same as Skadi’s frostdragon scales.
It’s perfect for her cloak—and there is enough leather for Skjold’s scabbard as well.
” She sat by the fire, stitching the skins together for the wedding gift she would give Skadi.
Nearby, Haldor whittled a section of birchwood which úlvhild would wrap in fox leather to craft a sheath for Skjold’s dagger.
“With his scabbard made from the same pelts as her cloak… our wedding gifts unite them as one.”
As they worked together on the presents they would offer Skadi and Skjold for their upcoming winter solstice wedding, a shout sounded from outside the cave.
“Haldor…úlvhild… I’ve returned!” Cheeks flushed from the icy wind, snow and frost clinging to his thick blond beard and white bearskin cloak, Skjold’s wildly exuberant face peered between the reindeer hides at the mouth of the cave.
With a quick, stunned glance at úlvhild, Haldor leapt to his feet. “Come inside, out of the cold.,” he said, welcoming Skjold back into the cave and helping him out of his cloak, which he hung on a hook beside their own. “What’s happened? I thought you’d be back in V?gan by now.”
“I’ve had a vision.” Skjold gripped Haldor’s forearm, his wild eyes flicking between him and úlvhild. “I sent my spirit into the fjord… and what I saw…” He stammered, his voice trembling with emotion. “I simply had to share. It cannot wait. Please, sit down.”
úlvhild’s heart hammered in her chest. What had he seen? O, Freyja…please let it not be a dark omen …”
Haldor settled down on the furs beside her and squeezed her hand. He smiled reassuringly before turning toward Skjold. “Tell us what you saw.”
Elation blazed in Skjold’s fiery gaze. He leaned forward, piercing úlvhild with a penetrating stare, as if he could see into her soul. “A deep green vine, with a trio of white moonflowers, has unfurled across your belly.” His whisper was haunting and otherworldly.
úlvhild’s mouth went dry, and her limbs quivered. She nodded, unable to utter a sound.
“Freyja spoke to me through the fjord.” Skjold’s radiant smile illuminated the entire cave. “She said that the moonflowers on the vine are the three babes you will bear Haldor. For when she blessed you with Freyja’s Bloom, she not only healed you…she mended your womb.”
úlvhild felt faint. She couldn’t believe what Skjold was saying.
Freyja had healed her womb?
Before she could find her voice, he continued. “The white blossom above your nafli is the daughter you carry now.” He raised her chilled hand to his warm, beaded lips, bright eyes glistening in the firelight.
“And the others—one curled protectively inside each hip—are the sons you will soon bear. Freyja’s gift to you, sweet úlvhild, is that which your heart longs for most.”
His faraway voice echoed from the Otherworld.
“To bear your Falcon’s heirs.”
The cave tilted. Darkness hovered at the edge of her vision. úlvhild’s breath came in shallow gasps. Could it be true? After twenty desolate, desperate years of longing to bear Haldor’s child… had Freyja given her this most precious gift?
Her mind raced, as thoughts flooded like a raging river. She hadn’t bled in two months, but she’d attributed that to her illness. She’d been tired and queasy, but had dismissed it as part of her recovery.
Tears welled in her eyes, slipping silently down her cheeks, the endless years of grief, longing, and loss washing away in a cleansing catharsis. As Haldor gently cupped her chin and turned her crumpled face to look at him, the lovelight in his joyful eyes lit up her entire soul.
“A daughter…” Haldor whispered in awe as he brushed a long lock from úlvhild’s face. “Let’s name her Freyja. For this divine gift.” He leaned in to brush soft lips against hers. “The goddess who healed us both. And created this bloom of new life from ours.”
Haldor’s words wrapped around her like a warm cloak.
. The divine gift of life—Freyja’s Bloom—from the goddess of the seier magic which bound their two souls.
And now, a daughter. A living embodiment of their love.
And a future together at long last. She flung her arms around him, buried her face upon his strong shoulder, and sobbed with joy.
Skjold rose and smiled down at them both. In his contented gaze, úlvhild saw gratitude and fulfillment, as if sharing his vision had been as profound a gift to him as to them. “I must reach V?gan before nightfall. Skadi and the Blóesmier will wonder why I’m delayed.”
Haldor stood with him, fetched three wooden cups, and poured mead into each. The honeyed liquid glinted in the golden flames. “We must first share a toast.”
Accepting the proffered cups from Haldor, úlvhild and Skjold exchanged affectionate smiles.
“To Freyja.” Haldor lifted his cup high. “The goddess who granted me the wings of a falcon,…” His fierce, dark gaze held úlvhild’s. “…who healed the woman I love…” A tender smile spread across his tattooed, bearded face. “And who has blessed us with Freyja’s Bloom.”
úlvhild stood beside him and raised her wooden cup. “To Freyja, the Goddess of Love, Seier, and Fertility.” She beamed, her heart overflowing with love. “And to Freyja, the beloved daughter cradled in my womb.”
Skjold lifted his cup last. “To the goddess who healed you both. Who bound your souls through seier. Who has given you a future together.” His jubilant cheer echoed off the cave walls. “To Freyja! Skál!”
With a kiss for úlvhild and a firm forearm grasp for Haldor, Skjold donned his bearskin cloak, bid them both farewell, and stepped out into the softly falling snow.