Chapter 22

A Precious Gift

Ylva whispered a prayer as she plunged the amulet into the waterfall pool. “May the waters of her sacred spring imbue this talisman with Divona’s divine blessing.” She removed the pendant, tucked it safely into the silk pouch, and secured it at her waist.

Standing in front of the thunderous cascade, she stared into the frothy depths of the water, her essence flowing into the cool, clear liquid. A sudden darkness—like an impending storm—engulfed her in swirling shadows. As she gazed at the water’s surface, a startling array of images emerged, bursting like bubbles in the turbulent pool.

She recognized the red and white stripes and dragon prows of Sk?rde’s drakkar warships. But once again, she glimpsed a fleet of unfamiliar vessels whose white sails displayed the emblem of a huge black raven. Transfixed, Ylva stared in stunned silence as hundreds of axe-wielding warriors poured from the raven ships onto a bloody, beleaguered beach. Swords clashing, shield shattering, armored knights whose surcoats bore her father’s heraldry—two golden lions rampant on a background of red—battled the invading horde. Alongside her father’s besieged knights, Sk?rde and his men, clad in the distinctive green and silver colors of the Dragon of Normandy, desperately defended a compromised harbor. Paralyzed with horror, Ylva watched as a Viking beast with a disfigured face slashed Sk?rde with a long, sinister sword.

The raven warrior’s malevolent blade sent a pervading sense of evil and doom down Ylva’s spine, making her legs shake with bitter cold. The brutal blow from the attacker’s sword broke rings in the chain mail armor covering Sk?rde’s right thigh. He staggered from the impact, but swirled around, beheading the brute with a savage slice before collapsing on the beach.

While two men dragged a bleeding, wounded Sk?rde to the safety of an awaiting ship, Gunni—his distinctive red hair and long braided beard visible in the bright moonlight—hollered for his men to retreat. As the invading raven warriors felled many of her father’s valiant knights, others scrambled to join Gunni and the withdrawing forces of Chateaufort as enemy arrows rained upon them.

With Sk?rde aboard the drakkar ship, Gunni led the vessels with red striped sails and dragon prows out to sea, hastening away from the disastrous defeat.

Her sense of hearing returned first.

The squawk of seagulls and the roar of the waterfall reverberated in her bones. The salty scent of the sea tickled her nostrils, and the misty spray from the chute dampened her cheeks and hair.

Her vision cleared. Kallez and the guards stood nearby, vigilant and alert. The limestone of the white chalk cliffs glittered in the afternoon sun.

Pulse racing, limbs shaking, she scooped a handful of water to quench her parched throat.

The pervasive image of the Raven Warrior’s deadly sword slashing Sk?rde’s leg wracked her entire body with violent chills.

And a foreboding sense of doom.

Ylva remembered the three runes úlvhild had cast to foresee Sk?rde’s future. Naudiz —struggle, hardship, and endurance. Undoubtedly, the impending battle with the Raven Warrior. Raido— a voyage. Sk?rde’s ships sailing to the besieged harbor. Since her father’s men were in the vision, Ylva realized the attack would occur on Fécamp. Perfect timing, while my father is gone. And the last rune, Kaun— for injury, disease, and destruction. The horrific battle.

And the atrocious wound on Sk?rde’s thigh, inflicted by the Raven Warrior’s malevolent sword.

I must pray to Divona and Rán. And Freyja, whose sacred knife drew my blood for the emerald talisman. I will make offerings to each of the three goddesses and a sacrifice to ensure their blessing.

She waved to Kallez, signaling her intent to enter the cave. When he nodded in acknowledgement, Ylva stumbled across the pebbled beach and staggered into the grotto.

Slices of sunlight bathed the limestone cave in a pearlescent glow. Upon the shelf that Sk?rde had chiseled into the back wall, the carved wooden statue of Divona—the morgen-gifu bride gift from her generous husband—smiled from the sacred shrine. At the goddess’ feet, the nine pear shaped turquoise gems and three silver coins Sk?rde had given Ylva to create this altar glimmered in the golden light, framed by the huge scallop shells they had collected along the shore.

Freyja is the goddess of love and beauty. I will offer her the wildflowers I picked along the path.

Ylva retrieved the sprigs of sea lavender and white starflowers that she had tucked into the bodice of her gown and arranged them on the shelf of the shrine. The sweet floral fragrance mingled with the tang of the ocean breeze. “Dear Freyja, please accept these beautiful flowers and grant your blessing to the man I love.”

Rán—the Goddess of the Sea—may guide and protect Sk?rde’s ships. May she claim the Raven Warrior’s vessels for her dark underwater realm.

Removing her silver coronet, Ylva placed the slender crown atop the statue’s wooden head. She reverently traced her fingertips down the intricately carved swirls of long hair which tumbled to the sculpture’s slim waist, entwining with the smooth twirls of her elegant gown. Sk?rde’s exceptional skill as a woodcarver shone in every exquisite detail of the gleaming yew sculpture, from the delicate features of her pretty face to the ornate chalice cupped in her slender hands, symbol of the healing waters of her sacred springs.

“Rán, please accept this offering of precious silver and protect my husband’s ships at sea. I ask that you bring him safely home to me, that I may heal his grievous wound foreseen in today’s vision. ”

Instinct told Ylva that the Raven Warrior’s sword was imbued with evil. And that she would need to wield all of her extensive skills as a healer to cure the accursed wound.

Her intensive training as a Breton priestess—a Celtic guérisseuse proficient in Druidic healing herbs.

Her newly acquired knowledge of Norse galdr magic through curative crystals, minerals, and gems.

And above all, her Ljósálfar wedding gift of nen glir. The Light Elven song of water. To wield the healing essence of Divona’s sacred springs.

For this, she needed to make a painful personal sacrifice. A truly exceptional offering for a crucial request.

The emerald ring which úlvhild had given her, so that she would conceive Sk?rde’s son, throbbed on Ylva’s right hand.

She remembered the v?lva ’s prophecy that their son would help found a dynasty which would rule for a thousand years.

If she offered this priceless treasure, surely Divona would heed her prayer. But such a sacrifice might render her barren, unable to bear Sk?rde’s child and fulfill the prophecy. And—if he she had already conceived him, would the surrender of the ring cause her to lose the babe?

Ylva slid the fertility ring off her finger and placed it before the goddess. The emerald blazed like verdant fire in the golden glow of the summer sun.

Her voice was a quavering, reverent whisper. “Dear Divona, please accept my sacred offering. A most precious gift and painful sacrifice.” Knees trembling, hand shaking, she nestled her fertility ring among the wildflowers, silver coins, scallop shells, and sparkling turquoise gems laid upon the altar. “May I wield the healing essence of your sacred springs through my Light Elven gift of nen glir . May the Ljósálfar song of water enable me to cleanse and cure my husband’s heinous wound. Please heed my prayer and grant me your divine healing power. Merci, du fond du coeur. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”

The alabaster glow of the radiant, opalescent limestone seemed like a divine benediction from the trio of goddesses. Head humbly bowed, her spirit suffused with prayer, Ylva was startled when a shout of desperation and despair rang in her ears like a clanging, jarring bell.

“My lady…the fire beacon is lit! We must return to the castle at once!” Panic flaring in his wide warrior eyes, a frantic Kallez stood at the mouth of cave.

Ylva’s heart dropped to the sand at her feet.

“Come, my lady. I must get you to safety. Quickly, this way.” Kallez gipped her arm, physically withdrawing her from the cave.

Six guards surrounding her in a protective circle, Ylva was rushed across the pebbled beach and back up the path to the clifftop castle of Chateaufort .