Chapter 27 #2
I look at her back. Her buttocks glow orange as she searches for something. She bends over to reach for it, making me avert my eyes yet again.
“Relax, girl,” she says. “We are both women. You will understand soon enough. For now, I will wear a robe.”
Ylvin slips on the same thin blue robe she was wearing the day before. She grabs two cups and fills them from a cold pot. An amused expression crosses her face.
“Better?” she asks, passing a cup.
“I… Sorry, I—”
“It’s okay. You are young, you are a novice, you are shy.”
“Thank you,” I say, relieved that I haven’t offended my sex-crazed maniac of a teacher. Her presence dominates the room. I feel like a drop in her river. “So good,” I whisper, relishing the cold yarrow and nettle tea on my tongue.
“So, tell me then, did he hammer you like Thor on a Jotnar?” she asks casually as she sits again, covered this time.
“Well, no. As I said he was soft.”
“That can be good too. I prefer the best of both worlds. Elof can be soft and he can be a monster.”
“Uh… that’s grea—”
“What was your lover’s name?”
“Narve.”
“Did Narve taste you?”
“What? Gods no.”
“Did you taste him?”
“Of course not!”
What’s with this woman? Asking all the details of my sexual experiences. This training is very different from Groa’s.
“Elof and I know to enjoy ourselves. I hope you will learn the same. Not with Elof, of course—he is mine.”
She winks as I feel air drying my gaping mouth. I collect myself.
“Ylvin,” I say. “I don’t mean to be rude but—”
“You aren’t rude, you’re asking a question. Ask it.”
“Is all Seidr magic so sexual?”
She looks into the air.
“Seidr is many things. Sexuality is one of many portals to acquire understanding of magic. It happens to be my favorite.”
No surprise there. I can tell. She seems mildly obsessed, if I was to be honest. Ylvin looks into the air with a grin.
“I have Elof, you know. I didn’t know intimacy before him. You could almost say our relationship allowed me to unlock my powers. At least beyond…”
She stops, shaking her head. How can she possibly end her sentence there?
“Beyond what?”
“Never mind. You will learn.”
So mysterious. I suppress a huff.
“Okay, but why—”
“Why am I asking you all these horny questions?”
“Exactly.”
“My darling,” she says with a smile one might give a crying child. “You are strong. I can tell. You are independent—I love that. You are a fierce young woman.”
“Thank you.”
I’ll take it. She thinks more highly of me than I thought.
“But,” she continues. “You are all packed into a shell. Like an egg yolk that I can’t reach to have my breakfast. You get the point. You need to open up.”
“Open up?”
“Yes, yes, yes. You wear a mask. You mask your thoughts, your feelings.”
What is she trying to say? Of course I mask my thoughts. What am I meant to do? Ramble on like a madwoman? Like her?
“I have to becau—”
“Because you are living with other people. I know, darling, I know. But we are Volvas. We are not slaves. We are not noble ladies. Our honor is a gift from the gods, not the judgment of those around us.”
My eyes widen. She is right—we are not slaves. Silence. Maybe she isn’t so crazy after all. I hold my tongue, hoping she will keep speaking. So I can learn more.
“For men,” she goes on, “sex is a pleasure, an expectation, a simple action. They get to play with their bodies without ever knowing them. Women are forced to push it down, hide it in the depths. But we are Volvas. We know better. Our feminine bodies allow us to connect with nature—in the wild and with the wild—for we channel Freya. Even Odin touches us.”
“I… don’t…” It’s a lot to take in. A torrent of information. Hard to understand.
“So lose the mask. You are a goddess. And if you aren’t, play the part.”
“I will try to—”
“Do you know why I interrupt you so much, Kilda?”
“I haven’t said you interru—”
“Of course you haven’t. Would you ever say it to me? As my student?”
“No, you’re right. Please go on.”
“I interrupt you because you’re predictable. Always the good girl in public.”
“I have to.”
“I know you have to, at the farm, or with your carriages or whatever. But here, you’re with me. See?”
The cat yawns, releasing a little miao as it closes its mouth. Its eyes land on me, half-closed and slanted. A beautiful animal, even if a little gluttonous. Ylvin waves her arm in the air.
“When you pretend, with your mask on, I know what’s coming. I can guess it. Feel it. That’s the construct between us all speaking. Formality. You need to let the wolf within you howl at the moon. Express yourself.”
“How can I—”
“That’s why I asked you about Narve and his hammering techniques. Not because I’m curious—though I am—but mainly to get you to break your predictable pattern of speech.”
“I see.”
“Yes, now you see. And I see you, you see? I’m not here to force you to be anything—not like me, or like Groa, or to be sexual or anything else. I’m here to water the seed that is Kilda, so you finally notice your roots.”
“My roots?”
“Oh my, oh my. You prove my point.”
“What do you—”
She laughs and slaps her thigh. A cruel laugh, almost.
“If you know, you know, Kilda. Don’t you feel it at times? A tug. A pull. Your will?”
“I’m not sure I under—”
“That’s why Volvas need methods. The magic isn’t always available, at least for most of us. We need to tend it like a garden. When you enjoyed yourself with Narve, did you feel it then?”
“It was purely physical.”
“There’s your problem in that equation. Seidr is about connection, not just body parts clumsily slurping at each other.”
What a sentence. That hurt my ears. Quite disturbing.
Ylvin flashes her sharp teeth in a grin.
“Look, I know I am vulgar. But guess what? You are too.”
How does she know?
“I practice Seidr with Elof, and myself, as well. Sex works for me. I prefer that form of connection over, say, sacrifice—especially of people.”
“Sacrificing folk is just sick.”
“I agree, but many Volvas do it. For power. Many jarls do it. For tradition. Especially in the north, but you know how they are.”
“I hear about it,” I confirm.
“Whatever you hear, it’s probably true. I’ve met some decent northerners—barbarians the lot of them. But answer me this, if you please.”
“Of course.”
“Is there a man you love? A man you want to share with? At the very least, a man you lust for passionately?”
“I guess…” I hesitate. “There is one at the farm.”
“At the farm? Or in the woods?”
“At the farm. What do you mean?”
“What’s his name?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Anything you share with me stays in this lavvu, girl. You have my word as a Volva. Let Odin and Freya cut my name from the heavens if I lie.”
That was convincing. Ylvin is practically mad, but she takes her magic seriously. Surprising myself, I find that I trust her.
“His name is Vidar.”
“You love this Vidar?”
I play the sentence again in my head. Who am I kidding? It’s not even a question.
“I can’t say I do. Yet. It’s more…” I fumble the word, it’s hard to say out loud—a girl shouldn’t say it. “Lust.”
“Why not Ari?” asks Ylvin.
“Ari?” I shout as I cover my mouth. The mangy bastard crow? I feel my cheeks flush.
“Yes, Ari. If that man makes love like he cooks, you’ll end up marrying him.”
“Uh… We don’t get along like that.”
“That is not what it sounded like last night, when you were cooking.”
“By Freya, forgive me. I thought we were quiet.”
“I could hear everything. Shouting for you to shut the fuck up did not affect your flirtatious giggles.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” I say, blushing as I look down.
“Don’t be. It was a cute moment. Cute as when my Freyr here was a kitten.”
She strokes Freyr, who leans his head into her hand, enjoying the attention. A happy cat. A fat, happy cat.
“Anyway,” she says as she stands. “All this Volva business has made me hungry, thirsty, tired, horny, you name it.”
“Aren’t we going to enchant anything?”
Ylvin looks at me, eyes confused.
“Enchant? You think you’re ready to enchant?”
“Well with Groa we—”
“Groa isn’t here.” She cuts the air with her hand. “The two of us will do it all, if you’re open to it. Rituals, curses, real enchantments. Trust me. Stronger ones than, ‘blocking the evil eye’ and all that other rubbish.”
“Okay.” Ironically, that is the one Groa was teaching me. “Then I—”
“I will see you later tonight. We will eat. We will drink. We will talk.”
“So… what do I do now?”
“Practice being yourself. Go swim. Be Kilda. I sense it in you.”
She opens the flap to her tent and signals for me to leave.
“Now, fuck off, my darling,” she says with a wink and a grin.
As I bend over to leave her tent, she gives me a light smack on my rump. I turn to her, shocked, but I see on her face that it was meant as a friendly gesture. Playfulness among women. Whatever that means.
“More meat than mine,” she laughs. “Impressive. Those pants look good on you.”
“Uh, thank you?”
“Oh, and Kilda.” Her wolfish smile is back. “Say what you want about Ari. But I think he likes you.”
“Don’t be crazy!” I whisper, feeling myself blush.
“If you don’t ever ride your horse, someone else might steal it,” she laughs as the flap of her tent closes.
Such a maniac. Ride the horse she says. Fine. But a mangy crow? In his dreams.
Here I am, alone in the woods. The lavvu was its own space. My senses are confused being out of its confines.
So, what now? How to practice being myself?
How to be Kilda?