Chapter 15 #2
“In here, you are my son and I am your father. What brings you here so early after a festive night?”
Before Njáll could respond, his mother spoke, fluffing the shawl draped over her shoulders.
“I will leave you two to speak. Astrid and I are helping Astra today.”
A growl hissed through his father’s teeth as he palmed the back of his mother’s head, pulling her for a possessive kiss before pecking her temple.
“I’ll be waiting for you, my wild girl,” he said.
Blush painted his mother’s cheeks.
There had been a time when it would have made him groan with displeasure. Now, it made his lips twitch, hoping Freyja’s guidance would be as good to him as it had been to his parents all these years.
Once they were alone, his father’s silver eyes softened as he gestured for Njáll to sit on a stone bench by the fire. The man’s long legs stretched out, and he lowered himself into the space beside Njáll.
“What troubles you? After last night, I assumed you would be locked away for many moons with your pretty kona.”
Kona.
That title fit her perfectly.
Partner. Mate. Wife.
He ignored all the images of forever that rushed to the forefront, needing focus on the now.
“I worry for her. I need your counsel.”
A vein throbbed in his father’s jaw. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. Nails scraped through his beard, and he sighed.
“Tell me the truth of this girl, Njáll. All of it. You arrived saying she was the one Hlif spoke of and nothing more since.”
In all his winters, Njáll had never been able to hide anything from his father. He swallowed, collecting his chaotic thoughts into one coherent stream. He told his father the entire story. How the draugar called to her. The familiar. How he believed Freyja foretold them, and more.
His father stayed quiet, listening as he dragged his thumb across his lower lip.
Njáll ran a hand through his loose dark locks, having not braided them before leaving his home.
A blade carved a hole in the spot near his heart. It ached. The longing to be near his girl grew worse with each passing moment.
But he continued on, telling his father of the dream-like visions tormenting the beautiful girl.
His girl. His kona.
And he had been unable to stop it. Njáll had never thought of himself as weak until then.
Until he couldn’t save her from the nightmare she’d been trapped in.
Silver eyes never left his as he spoke.
When he finally choked out the last emotionally charged word, admitting his failure, a brawny hand gripped his shoulder, squeezing.
“Beautiful women make all men weak. Freyja would not have bound you two if she didn’t believe you couldn’t be all things to each other. This girl will steady your heart and absolve your soul. She will make your burdens less. And you must guard her from herself.”
“What?” Njáll breathed, looking up from where his face rested in his hands.
“It has come. The stirrings have been growing for years.”
Njáll nodded.
“The draugar are a test. Hel and Loki prepare for battle. They are drawn to your kona because her grief has unleashed something ancient within her. A gift and a burden Freyja has tasked her with.”
His father rose, his chest expanding with a slow breath, and Njáll stood with him, following his steps.
In front of them glimmered a war-axe, mounted on the wall beside a tapestry of Odin and Freyja, locked in a shadowy battle.
A callused thumb trailed over the blade, and his father stilled, staring at Njáll with an intensity that reminded him of the day he named him Jarl.
“Njáll. You must prepare. We have waited too long as it is. Your kona is likely having visions of what is to come.”
Blood ran cold in his veins, making his fingers prickle. The force of it almost sent him to his knees as he stumbled, his father’s hand steadying him.
“She may be practicing seier.”
A witch, as he thought.
Priestess. Prophetess. Seeress. Volva.
They held many names, each more feared and respected than the last.
Freyja was the mistress of all Volvas.
“Njáll. If what I suspect is true, your kona is in danger. Untrained seier is chaotic, and that energy is drawing unwanted attention. She must harness it. And you must help her. Or I fear Hel or Loki may rally the draugar to break their chains and cause chaos in our world.”
The words hung heavy in the air, making his stomach churn until bile burned the back of his throat. Njáll glared at the shining axe on the wall, his fingers throbbing from how hard he clenched his fists.
“How do I help her?”
In the last two years as Jarl, he had never lost a battle, never failed to prepare for every outcome. His warriors trusted him. And he trusted himself. But now he felt lost, like a young boy wobbling with an axe too big for him.
“Consult the Volva, Hlif. She will know if your girl truly carries the gift of seier. If so, she can guide her.”
Fingers traced the roughened fabric of the tapestry, tracing the outline of the chariot pulling Freyja. Odin had gifted his father a wolf to challenge Fenrir at Ragnarok, and Freyja chose Njáll to guard her servant on earth.
Sweat slicked his palms. He brushed the evidence away on his trews. While Njáll worried for his flame, he knew of her strength, her unbending will. She would master her gift, and Njáll vowed to shield her from their enemies.
The weight of his silent oath must have shown in his heavily lidded eyes. His father grasped his upper arms, clenching them.
“Have faith, my son. Freyja would not have chosen you for one gifted with seier if she did not think you capable.”
No matter what misgivings he had, he had to carry himself with a confidence he did not feel. For his flame.
“Thank you, Pabbi,” he said, using the name he hadn’t uttered since he started training.
“If she is yours, we will protect her as fiercely as we would any member of this family. All will be well.”