Chapter 4 Sword-Time
four
Sword-Time
Njord
The bare mountain slopes above the tree line were shrouded in thick clouds.
Trudging up a narrow path, Njord’s boots crunched over frost-crusted stones.
A biting wind tore at his coat and made him shiver; even the thick sealskin covering his shoulders did nothing to change that.
He cursed under his breath. Late summer was the best time to travel these mountains, Perhonen had said.
He snorted. Up here, it might as well have been the heart of winter.
But it was said that a seeress resided in a cave high in the mountains.
The farmers dwelling in the lower lands whispered about her, and Perhonen had advised him to look for her.
She said that this mysterious woman was not only a vala as powerful as Perhonen herself—unlikely, for beside his sister and her wife, Njord had met no one matching Perhonen’s power—but she also claimed that the seeress would be able to reveal important prophecies to him.
Things he needed to know if he wanted to find his lost sister.
Gritting his teeth, Njord pulled his hood over his head.
He was traveling disguised as a simple wanderer, but in the damp cold of the mountains, he missed his cozy chambers in his fortress at Nóatún.
He quickened his steps as if a brisk pace would allow him to escape his doubts and worries.
He missed his family, and he missed Jokull.
Like most nights, he’d dreamed of her friendly voice inside his head, of the blue-and-white gleam of her scales as she surged through the waves next to his longship.
He’d find the mountain seeress, and he’d demand answers.
Then he’d be able to bring Ahti and Vellamo home and his young nephews back from their dangerous missions.
And then, he’d avenge Jokull’s death.
Just as he thought he had lost his way, the entrance to the cave emerged abruptly in front of him.
It was a humble dwelling place, nothing more than a jagged opening in the mountainside.
A wisp of smoke curled from within, carrying with it the scent of burning pine and something sweeter.
Honey? Mead, maybe? A promising sign, he supposed.
At least the seeress wasn’t one of the ascetic kind who lived on roots and snowmelt.
Ducking to avoid cracking his head on the low entrance, Njord stepped inside.
He paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light.
A fire crackled at the center of the cavern, its flickering glow casting shifting shadows over walls adorned with peculiar symbols.
Njord prided himself on being well-versed in the art of seier, but he’d never encountered the spells depicted in the seeress’ cave.
She was either a brilliant vala or a charlatan.
Warily, Njord eyed the bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, their scent mingling with the smoke. The air was thick, thrumming with an energy that felt both familiar and strange.
“You’re late, sea king.”
She stood on the far side of the fire: a tall woman with broad shoulders and a braid of dark brown hair that reached her waist. Her striking ice-green eyes seemed to see right through him.
She reminded him of someone. But he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
With an elegant twist of her wrist, she added a powdered herb to a steaming pot over the flames.
“I wasn’t aware we agreed on a meeting,” Njord grumbled.
“And yet, you’re here.”
She laughed; her smile was wide and infectious.
“I’ve come to talk to the vala of this place.”
“I’m Skalmold,” she said, and there was a challenge in her tone, as if she was daring him to offend her. “You’ve come seeking answers.”
“My sister and her wife are missing.” Instead of rising to her bait, Njord cut straight to the matter at hand. He didn’t have time to exchange insults with a half-witted mountain priestess.
Skalmold.
Swordtime.
What a name…
“And you hope to find them in this humble place?”
Bristling, Njord took a threatening step toward her.
“I can pay for your services, vala, but if you think you can fool me with a few riddled words and some sleight-of-hand tricks, you’ll find that I can be quite resentful.”
Skalmold’s smile didn’t falter.
“Come to the fire. Sit. Warm yourself. You look like a disgruntled bear.”
Njord scowled but did as she told him. His knees protested as he lowered himself onto a velvet cushion that had seen better days. Skalmold scooped some of the steaming liquid out of her cauldron and into a wooden cup. She offered it to him.
“Drink. It will help you relax.”
He sniffed the cup suspiciously.
“What is this?”
“Tea. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
She arched a brow.
“Do you want my help or not?”
Grumbling, he took a cautious sip. He’d hoped for a cup of the mead he’d smelled earlier, but the concoction she offered him was as clear as a thin herbal tea. The liquid tasted bitter, with a faint undertone of something floral, just this side of awful. But the warmth of the drink was welcome.
“So,” he said, setting the cup aside. “What do you know about the disappearance of Queen Ahti?”
Folding her long legs beneath her, Skalmold settled onto the cushion opposite him.
“Only what the runes have told me. She and her wife vanished from Saeborg the night the Jotnar tried to raid the citadel. No word, no trace. Her son, Rune, is looking for her. As well as her brother Njord, the Shipbreaker.” She gave him a pointed look.
“And now, the sea god—lord of tides and tempests—comes looking to a humble seeress for aid.”
He glared at her, but she only laughed, a low, throaty sound that made him think of emptied horns of mead and verses sung at the fireplace in the Great Hall of Nóatún.
“Peace, Njord. You were right to seek me out. The answers you’re looking for are not easily found, but they aren’t beyond my reach.”
“Then tell me where she is,” Njord hissed, his anger returning tenfold.
Skalmold shook her head. “It’s not that simple. Your sister’s path is shrouded, her fate entangled with the fortunes of the Nine Worlds. To find her, you must travel the road beyond the stars.”
He frowned. “I told you not to talk in riddles to me! Speak clearly!”
“I’m saying,” she said, leaning forward, “that you must enter a trance. Your spirit must embark on a journey to the realms beyond. Only this way can you hope to glimpse the threads of her fate.”
“A spirit journey? This is your formidable advice?” It was Njord’s turn to laugh. “Don’t you think we’ve tried to find her on the dream road a dozen times before, me and Perhonen alike?”
“Sure,” she agreed. “But if you want my help, you’ll have to take my advice, whether you like it or not.”
For a moment, he considered leaving. She was just like any prideful priestess he’d encountered in his life; surely she wouldn’t be of any help, just toying with his desperation for her own benefit.
But the memory of his sister’s laughter, her mischievous smile, stopped him.
He clenched his fists, the leather of his gloves creaking. To find Ahti, he’d try anything.
“Fine. What do I need to do?” he gritted out.
Skalmold stood, gathering a horn bowl, dried roots, and ash from a sacred fire. She ground them together in steady circles, her voice weaving soft threads of seier into the air.
“First,” she said, “prepare for the journey. Breathe. The fire is your anchor, the smoke your guide. Sit close and clear your mind.”
Njord snorted.
“Clear my mind? You might as well ask me to stop the tides.”
Skalmold grinned, amused.
“Then think of your sister. Hold her image in your thoughts, and let everything else fade.”
He grumbled under his breath but did as she instructed.
The fire’s warmth seeped into his bones as he stared into the flames, their dance mesmerizing.
He thought of Ahti, of the way she sang to the waves, her voice flowing with the rhythm of the sea.
She had always been brilliant as a shieldmaiden and as a vala.
Njord was so proud of her. To think that she was alone now, scared and probably hurt, was unbearable.
Low and rhythmic, Skalmold began chanting. She sprinkled the mixture from her mortar into the fire, and it flared green and gold, casting strange, shifting shadows on the walls. The herbs she burned added a new layer to the smoke, an aroma both sweet and tart that made Njord’s head swim.
“Close your eyes,” she said, her voice softer now. “Breathe deeply. Let the smoke fill your lungs. It will guide you.”
Njord was drawn to her voice. This indeed felt different from the journeys of the spirit he’d embarked on before.
Somehow deeper. More powerful. The air around him was thick, and with each breath, he felt like he was sinking deeper into dark places.
His limbs grew heavy, his thoughts slower, as if the world itself were receding.
“Good,” Skalmold murmured. “Now, listen to my voice. Let it carry you.”
Her words blurred into a melody, rising and falling like the waves. The warmth faded, and the scent of the herbs transformed into the saline breath of the sea. He felt himself drifting, untethered, as if he were floating on an endless ocean.
And then there was darkness.
He wandered, lost between the stars. He’d forgotten his name, his purpose, but something was calling to him, and he drifted toward it as if pulled by a strong current.
A feeling of urgency washed over him, and suddenly he felt like he was swimming, diving, faster and faster to reach whatever tugged so insistently at his soul.
His world flipped, and it took him a moment to make sense of the scene unfolding in front of his scrying mind. He was seeing a raiders’ camp, longboats lying on a beach, and tents erected a little further up.
Ahti!
He was looking for his sister, Ahti.
Was she here?