Chapter 36

Freyja’s Kiss

Ylva sat at the table in her antechamber, beneath the wooden shelves where she kept her stores of herbal elixirs, healing gems, and crystals. A triangle of burning candles surrounded her, emitting the mellow fragrance of myrrh, the crisp pine scent of juniper, and the cleansing herbal aroma of sage. Golden rays of the setting sun shone through the open window and glimmered on the sea, a tangy brine wafting into her room on the late autumn breeze.

Earlier in the day, after Sk?rde’s ships had sailed for Fécamp, Maeve and úlvhild had returned to the village, and Sweyn had gone to train with the young warriors and sons of castle knights, Ylva had gone to the waterfall cave. With offerings of fragrant flowers to each of the three goddesses, she had prayed for Sk?rde, Richard, Harald, and the warriors fighting to reclaim Fécamp.

But now, for the very first time, she would pray to a different trio of Nordic gods.

And for them—flowers, gems, and seashells would never do.

For the trinity of Gods of War, she would sacrifice her blood.

Upon the table before her lay the three bones she had carefully chosen. For Odin, she had selected a bone from the leg of a wolf to represent his two loyal lupine companions, Geri and Freki. For Tyr, she had selected the tusk of a boar to symbolize his bravery and tenacity. And for Thor, who had marked Sk?rde with his thunder, she had chosen the horn of a bull for the god’ s inimitable strength and endurance.

All afternoon, she had meticulously inscribed a Nordic rune into each bone with a sharp knife and chisel.

Ansuz , the rune of divine inspiration and wisdom, was now engraved in the wolf bone for Odin. Tiwaz —Tyr’s rune for justice, courage, and victory—was etched into the tusk of the boar. And Thurisaz , Thor’s rune for strength and protection, was carved into the bull’s horn.

Chanting a vardlokkur to summon the Norse gods and protective spirits, Ylva inhaled the sweet scented smoke and sliced the tip of her wedding ring finger with the sharp point of her dagger.

Into the Ansuz rune inscribed in the wolf bone, she trickled three drops of her blood and whispered an invocation to Odin. “Blessed Allfather, grant your wisdom and knowledge to Sk?rde, Richard, and Harald as you guide them to victory in battle.”

Inhaling the fragrant essence of herbs, Ylva hummed her vardlokkur as she placed a trio of blood droplets into the Tiwaz rune inside the boar tusk. “Hail Tyr, God of War, Justice, and Valor! Imbue my verr, faeir, and svátr with your bravery and determination. Lead them to triumph over the foul Frankish enemy who stole my father’s castle.”

Singing and swaying, she summoned Sk?rde’s storm god. “Thor, God of Thunder! Defender of Asgard and Midgard. Imbue my husband’s sword Duradrakk with the lightning power of Mj?lnir!”

Her ritual complete, Ylva stared at the sunlit sea and watched the waves crash against the white chalk cliffs.

Sk?rde’s warriors are arriving now at Fécamp. May the gods grant them strength, protect them in battle, and lead them to victory over the Franks.

She raised the silver chalice of mead she had reserved for a tribute to the triad of gods. “To Odin, Tyr, and Thor! To the valiant Viking alliance! And to victory at Fécamp! Skál !”

****

The mood at the dinner table in the solar was somber. Although she tried to remain cheerful and positive for Sweyn’s benefit, Ylva was so tense, she could barely touch her meal, despite the appetizing array of baked fish, roast pork, garden vegetables, and apple tart.

She knew Sk?rde was wounded. She’d felt the enemy blade slash through the chain mail armor and slice the exposed flesh of his left side. As she now sat at the head of the table, reliving her afternoon blood ritual, Ylva silently prayed that the Norse gods of war had infused Sk?rde with their strength in battle and that he would soon return to Ch?teaufort.

While Bj?rn and his wife Bellerose, who was heavy with child, chatted at one end of the table with four of Chateaufort ’s highest-ranking knights, Ylva sat at the opposite end, next to Sweyn and his governess Helga. Gyda, úlvhild, and Maeve flanked her other side.

Despite her unease, Ylva forced a smile when she caught Maeve’s worried eye.

The steward Petroc suddenly burst into the room, his wrinkled face alight with wonderful news. “Lady Ylva, the fire beacon is lit! Two flames, my lady—the signal of victory. Your husband and father have reclaimed Fécamp!”

Amid jubilant shouts of “Victory!”, knights and ladies jumped to their feet and embraced one another. Sweyn hugged first Helga, then Ylva, whooping with glee and jumping for joy. Although profound relief permeated the previously tense atmosphere, Ylva shuddered with a premonition of dread. She swallowed a lump of foreboding which constricted her throat and impeded her breath.

I must have faith in the Nordic gods. Rán, please bring Sk?rde’s ships safely home. Divona, help me heal his wounds. And Freyja, guide your Falcon and my father swiftly back to Ch?teaufort.

For the rest of the evening, while the entire castle celebrated victory, Ylva kept a continuous, silent vigil in her anxious, apprehensive heart.

“They will be home tomorrow. Or mayhap the following day. Go to bed, say a prayer of thanks, and sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” úlvhild kissed Ylva’s cheek as she prepared to leave the solar with Maeve. The two priestesses were spending the night in the castle, sharing guest quarters at the end of the hall.

“Sure and Sk?rde will be comin’ home on the morrow. And Harald, so’s he can see his son Sweyn.” Maeve hugged Ylva tight and kissed her goodnight. “We’ll have another feast, won’t we now. And celebrate victory!” She whispered in Ylva’s ear. “I hope Gunni is on Sk?rde’s ship. I sorely miss my Viking redbeard.” Hooking her arm through the v?lva’ s, a smiling Maeve led úlvhild out the door.

Gyda had already gone to bed, as had Helga and Sweyn. Eydis and Norhild accompanied Ylva to her chamber, lighting candles in her darkened room.

Norhild unplaited her hair, helped her out of her grey woolen gown, and into a soft linen chemise. Eydis banked the fire in her hearth and folded down the covers on her bed, but Ylva was not ready for sleep.

“I’ll sit here for a while,” she said, settling into the chair in her antechamber at the table beneath the open window. “Thank you both—you may go now. Good night.”

When the door closed, and she was at last alone, Ylva sat in the moonglow and starlight, watching the waves dance on the Narrow Sea, praying for Sk?rde’s safe return.

She must have dozed in her chair, for she was awakened to a sky streaked with the deep indigo, mauve, and purple shades of dawn. Norhild and Eydis rushed into her room.

While Eydis selected a green gown from her coffer at the foot of bed, Norhild announced the reason for the early awakening. “A messenger ship has just arrived. Your husband is returning to port. Haldor Falk is critically injured and needs the trio of Nordic healers to save him.”

Ylva quickly donned the gown, and Eydis ran an antler comb through her long blonde hair, plaiting it into a thick single braid down her back. “I will awaken úlvhild and Maeve,” Norhild said to Eydis. “You take Lady Ylva down to the Great Hall. Petroc has the servants preparing an area to treat the Falcon and Gunni, who is also wounded and aboard ship. I’ll join you downstairs in a few minutes.”

When Norhild rushed off to awaken the two priestesses, Ylva grabbed her satchel of herbs from her antechamber and dashed down the stairs with Eydis .

Inside the Great Hall, several straw pallets had been set up along the wall where a roaring fire crackled in the enormous hearth. Gyda and Dagny, who were preparing strips of linen for bandages, greeted them as Ylva and Eydis entered the vast chamber.

“Fetch buckets of water from the sacred spring at the edge of the forest—where you bathed Sk?rde for the wedding.” Ylva sent two male servants to the bubbling underground spring in the dense woods near the castle.

As the attendants exited the Great Hall, a visibly distraught úlvhild appeared in the doorway with an equally distressed Maeve. Norhild, who had accompanied them, joined Gyda, Eydis, and Dagny in preparing beds and bandages while the trio of priestesses headed toward their herbal workshop near the castle kitchen.

“I’ll gather comfrey, yarrow, and chamomile to cleanse wounds and stop bleeding.” úlvhild turned to Ylva, anxiety brewing in her anguished eyes. “Fetch three curative crystals. Amber, for warmth and healing. Garnet, for love and strength. And amethyst, for spiritual protection.”

Ylva collected the trio of gems while the v?lva selected the dried healing herbs.

“I’ll blend honey and garlic, for a poultice. It’ll prevent the wounds from festerin’.” Maeve lowered a jar of honey from the abundant array of vials and flasks which lined the wooden shelves. Ylva and úlvhild quickly peeled several cloves of fresh garlic to help her, placing them into the stone mortar for Maeve to grind with a pestle. As she crushed the garlic, the potent, pungent aroma mingled with the crisp, clean scent of herbs. “It’s ready for the honey,” she said, referring to the milky, sticky paste in her stone dish. She looked up suddenly at the two of them, fat tears filling her beautiful, bewildered eyes. “Gunni’s wounded…” she choked, trying to maintain control.

“But not critically.” úlvhild hugged Maeve, who dashed her tears away and nodded with conviction.

“Brigid be praised,” Maeve whispered, inhaling deeply to compose herself. She poured honey into the bowl of garlic paste and mixed it to form the healing salve. When she’d finished, she turned to face her two companions, verdant fire blazing in her brave gaze. “Let’s go heal our men.”

Clutching the trio of crystals, Ylva suppressed the persistent, nagging dread that had plagued her all night.

Sk?rde is wounded. Dear Divona, help me heal him.

Armed with herbs, ancient knowledge, and powerful galdr magic, the trio of Nordic priestesses rushed back to the Great Hall.

****

The two male servants had returned with buckets of water from the sacred spring and were now standing along the wall near the hearth. Four Viking warriors carried a wounded Gunni into the Great Hall, settling him onto one of the straw pallets on the rush-strewn limestone floor.

Maeve raced to Gunni’s side and knelt by his bed. “Where are you wounded? Show me.” Her voice quivered as shaking hands gently pushed back the thick red hair which had stuck to the dried blood and grime on his bearded, bristled face.

Gunni grinned wolfishly, a lusty gleam in his dark eyes. “Peel off my chain mail leggings and hose. I’ll be glad to show you everything I’ve got, elska min .”

Maeve suppressed a gleeful, grateful chuckle and waved to Eydis for a bucket of spring water and a basin. As she gently washed the blood and gore off Gunni’s injured face with yarrow soap and a soft linen cloth, Sweyn and Helga slipped into the room and joined Gyda.

When Sk?rde entered the Great Hall moments later, a crowd of castle servants, Viking warriors, and Norman knights followed close behind.

Cradled in his mail-clad arms, wrapped in blankets and a leather cloak, was the critically wounded Falcon. Sk?rde strode across the room to úlvhild and Ylva, standing near a table where they had assembled their herbal supplies.

Ylva’s spirit soared to see Sk?rde strong enough to walk. Her eyes held his, sharing wordless passion and profound relief, before shifting to the wounded bird nestled against his armored chest .

Slender fingers caressed the feathered head as úlvhild soothed Haldor Falk. “Where is he wounded?” she asked Sk?rde without taking her eyes off the vulnerable vitki .

“An arrow must have pierced his right wing. There’s a hole from the puncture, and he’s lost a lot of blood.” Sk?rde carefully placed the maimed Falcon into úlvhild’s outstretched arms.

Nestling him against her breast, she tenderly kissed the bird’s head and whispered words of comfort. “I have you now. I’m going to lay you down on a bed and have a look at your wing.” She carefully laid the Falcon on an empty straw pallet, unwrapping the leather and blood-soaked linen to reveal the crumpled, wounded wing.

A gruesome hole marked the area where the arrow had penetrated the skin. Around the puncture mark, many of the long brown feathers—tinged with the distinctive peregrine shading of black, grey, blue, and white—were missing, broken, or saturated with blood. The exposed, featherless flesh was deep red, inflamed, and horribly swollen. The Falcon was obviously in agonizing pain.

“He can’t shift into human form with such a grievous injury. He’s lost far too much blood.” úlvhild gently wiped the injured wing with a sea sponge soaked in healing waters from the sacred spring. With loving fingers, she scooped some of Maeve’s garlic and honey poultice and spread it gently over the perforated wing. Fire flared in her amber eyes as she beheld Ylva and Maeve. “Haldor Falk is Freyja’s lover. We must summon the goddess to heal her Falcon.”

The v?lva rose to her feet and motioned for Gyda, Sweyn, and the servants to move away from the fireplace. Fetching a handful of juniper berries from the pouch at her waist, she tossed them into the flames and grasped her long wand, standing beside the stone hearth. “Place the trio of crystals around his body in a triangle,” úlvhild ordered Ylva as she began chanting a vardlokkur , thumping her iron staff on the stone floor.

Ylva laid the garnet, amber, and amethyst gems around the Falcon’s inert body and joined Maeve in chanting with the v?lva. The trio of melodic voices blended in ephemeral harmony, floating on the pine scented, sea kissed air. The moonstone at the tip of úlvhild’s staff glowed in the firelight and the early rays of the rising sun.

“O Freyja, goddess of love and healing, hear my plea. Mistress of seier magic, with your tears of amber, shed your golden light of love. Restore vigor and vitality to this vitki . Freyja, heal your Falcon. I beseech you to save Haldor Falk.”

The trio of gems forming the triangle around the wounded bird began to glow and pulse. With a whoosh of wings and a whisper of wind, a shimmery golden light wafted in through the open window. Filling the room with an aura of palpable power, the radiant glow formed an ethereal, feminine figure whose cascading tresses and billowy gown flowed like waves of liquid gold. In the ambient light, Freyja’s exquisite face reflected the celestial beauty of the stars, creating the illusion of her essence being part of and apart from the mortal realm. Around her slender neck, the amber beads of her Brisingamen necklace gleamed like droplets of gold. Draped across her shoulders, her cloak of feathers glittered with thousands of glistening gems.

The goddess floated down to land upon the stone castle floor. She bent over the injured Falcon, lowering her lips to the wounded wing. A golden glow radiated from Freyja’s kiss, spreading healing light throughout the bird’s crippled, crumpled body. The punctured skin sealed itself, an iridescent mark of shimmery violet and golden light replacing the hole pierced by the arrow. Gilded feathers edged with shades of iridescent purple emerged, replacing the ones that had been lost. In a matter of moments, the Falcon raised himself up onto yellow avian legs, clutching the blankets of his bedding with four sharp, pointed black talons. Furiously flapping both of his wings, the vitki shifted back into human form in rippling waves of luminous color and lustrous, shimmering light.

Rugged face painted like outstretched wings, prominent nose curved like a raptor’s beak, clad in his striking dark brown leather armor with its elongated plates detailed like intricate feathers, Haldor Falk appeared before everyone’s astonished eyes. The glimmering goddess lingered, kissed the full human lips above the dark, thick beard, then disappeared in an evanescent wisp of golden, otherworldly light .

Haldor tilted his head and blinked like a bird as he fully regained his human senses. His shrewd, predatory eyes darted around the room, taking in Sk?rde, Sweyn, Ylva, and the others before finally focusing on úlvhild. Recognition and longing gleamed in his intense gaze as he removed the crested coif atop his head and set it down upon the bed.

When she reached for him, he grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms. He cradled her against his chest and lowered his head protectively upon hers.

“We summoned Freyja to save you. She healed you with her kiss.” The v?lva withdrew from Haldor’s embrace and unlaced the sides of his leather chest plate. “I want to see if the wound is fully healed.” She removed the cuirass covering his torso. The linen gambeson underneath was saturated and stained with dried brown blood. úlvhild lifted the garment over his head, revealing the Falcon’s magnificent, expansive chest.

Rippled with sculpted muscles and covered in dark brown hair, the broad breadth displayed an intricate array of interwoven feathers that glimmered with an iridescent shine. On his right arm, where the otherworldly tattooed feathers met bare skin, a mark in the vague shape of lips and soft, downy feathers emitted a radiant golden and violet glow.

úlvhild traced the tattoo with tender fingertips. “ Freyja’s Kiss ,” she murmured with admiration and awe. “Once again, the Goddess of Love has marked you with her divine light.”

Haldor flexed the muscles in his right arm. “It’s fully healed.”

“How do you feel?” Sk?rde’s voice was wary.

“Exhilarated. Energized. Even stronger than before.” The Falcon grinned and stretched his sinewy arms overhead. Ylva spotted more shimmery feathers tattooed across his brawny back.

While everyone gathered around the Falcon, breathless with excitement at the miraculous manifestation of the goddess, Sweyn slipped away from Helga and rushed to greet his brother. When the young boy threw his arms around Sk?rde’s waist, Ylva noted how her husband winced and protected his left side.

I need to get his armor off to see how badly he’s injured.

“ Faeir asked me to tell you that he remained with Duke Richard in Fécamp last night, to honor our fallen warriors with a glorious funeral pyre of tribute. He said he would set sail this morning, so that he would arrive here at Chateaufort tonight, for all of us to celebrate victory together!” Sk?rde carefully hugged a jubilant Sweyn as Ylva rushed to his side.

“Let me see your wound.” Ylva summoned Sk?rde’s personal chamberlain, who was among the exuberant castle servants chatting along the wall of the Great Hall. Jofroi jumped to attention at her summons and strode across the room to help her remove Sk?rde’s chain mail hauberk.

Beneath the armored tunic, the linen gambeson was soaked. But unlike the dried brown stains in Haldor Falk’s lining, the thick padding around Sk?rde’s injured side was saturated with bright red blood.

Ylva walked to the center of the Great Hall and raised her arms to capture everyone’s attention. She waited for the animated crowd to quiet before addressing them as chatelaine of the castle. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are truly grateful that Lord Sk?rde has safely returned to Chateaufort . And profoundly thankful that the Goddess Freyja appeared before us, to heal the wounded Falcon, Haldor Falk.” She smiled at the enigmatic vitki and the doting v?lva at his side . “ Tonight, King Harald Bluetooth arrives at Chateaufort with our victorious Viking army. We shall celebrate with a feast fit for the gods, while Bragi regales us with the enchanting tale of Freyja’s Kiss in his legendary skaldic verse.” She beamed at their castle poet, who had witnessed the astounding appearance of the goddess. “But for now, I ask you all to resume your duties and clear the Great Hall so that Lord Sk?rde and his huscarl Gunni may be treated for their injuries. Thank you for your diligent service. We will gather here tonight to celebrate our victory in reclaiming Fécamp.”

Everyone welcomed Sk?rde, Gunni, and the Falcon home as they slowly exited the Great Hall. Ylva beckoned Jofroi and asked him to fetch a clean tunic and leggings for both Gunni and Sk?rde. He departed at once to comply .

When the chamber was at last quiet, except for the crackling of the comforting fire, Ylva and Maeve prepared to heal their wounded men.