Thirty Two
"You would like me to…Forgive me, Izabela, but I did not think you were…gifted in this way."
Iza suppresses a smile at the delicately-worded reproach. She understands the dubious tone in Esme's voice as, after all, Iza had never shown any aptitude for seidr as a child – and here she is, years after her formal schooling ended, asking about something she still has no aptitude in. In truth, the only parts of Esme's lessons that Iza had ever retained as a child were those on writing, runes, and the legends of their people. Iza learned only what she could apply to her own life, and knowing that seidr was strangely out of her reach, she did not bother to remember anything beyond the basics of how someone else's seidr might affect her.
Iza thinks she must have been a frustrating student to have. She was certainly a baffling one, and continues to be if the expression of polite bemusement on Esme's face is anything by which to judge.
Iza repeats her request. "I would like to learn more about the seidr rituals that are involved in praying directly to the Norns."
"The…seidr rituals?"
"Yes."
"The rituals that would involve…seidr," Esme tries to clarify again.
Iza nods and crosses her arms over her chest. "Yes," she says again, and watches for the third time as Esme furrows her brows.
But Esme has always been a teacher at heart and in the end has no qualms with teaching Iza what she wants to know. Privately, Iza is sure that Esme agrees only because Carlisle is waiting for his own lesson, which Iza understands consists mostly of Carlisle and Esme comparing notes on which healing practices are more effective. Iza does not need a dragon's nose or a gossip's eyes to see that the two are growing quite friendly with each other. She does not see it as a problem. Esme is well-respected in the village, and as a widow she has more freedom than most in the ability to choose her partner – even if that partner happens to be a Saxon who had once been a slave. It helps, perhaps, that Esme is likely past the age where she can bear her own children. Still, Iza has no objection to the pairing should it indeed happen in the future.
She will not be the first to bring the topic up, however, and so keeps her tongue in cheek as she pays attention to Esme's diligent lesson.
Learning how to pray to the Norns with the use of seidr is not something Iza ever thought she would bother learning. After all, with no seidr of her own, learning such a ritual is beyond pointless.
However – now circumstances are different. Iza has a blood connection with a Norn, for one. Iza also has a connection with someone who possesses powerful seidr, for two. And nothing Esme says makes her believe that two people could not complete the prayer ritual to the Norns.
The only reason Iza is the one asking is because, as a man, this kind of information would never be disclosed to Edvard simply because men do not have seidr and would have no reasonable use for such knowledge.
Edvard, of course, is not most men.
Idly, Iza wonders how much Edvard might have benefited from the same lessons Iza eschewed as a child. Probably a lot. He is already so proficient that it is difficult to know how much more gifted he could have been with the right guidance, but Iza suspects that all of Edvard's skills – be is sword or magic – have been hard-won. Perhaps that is why he is so skilled, though. There has never been anyone to cage Edvard's growth.
Iza makes careful note of each point in Esme's impromptu lecture, thanks her once-teacher for her time, and then leaves the little hut in the village to the sound of Carlisle and Esme's tentative greetings. Iza passes through the village as she usually does these days – quickly and without pause. Although it is midday, she returns to the Chieftain's longhouse to collect some tools, noting that her father is once again absent. Their stalemate is still ongoing, which Iza thinks is only natural – now that he is returned, the Chieftain is as busy as usual tending to the village affairs. Truly, Iza can only spare a single thought of her father, her mind much too occupied with other more pressing concerns.
By the time Iza finds herself at Edvard's new longhouse, the sun is high and the riders are engaged in some convoluted contest of skills as they balance on the backs of their dragons. Eko appears to be refereeing somehow, swooping between dragons and practicing the flare of her amber shield. Much to Iza's interest, Eko has managed to mimic both Leiptr's lightning and Kaldr's ice breath over the course of this training. She figures the reason Eko cannot mimic the stone-like quality of Steinn's scales is simply because of the nature of the scales – Eko seems only be able to copy the breath abilities of other dragons. Eko, for her part, is thrilled any time she finds a new ability. Iza is just glad there are not any repeats of when Eko was newly-hatched and disintegrating everything with her talons.
Iza watches the dragons and riders for a moment more, listening to the chirps and shouts and playful growls, and then turns decisively to the longhouse. Edvard is not in his yard and she knows it is too late in the day for him to be hunting, so he must be in his home. Sure enough, Edvard is tending to what appears to be dough for bread when she enters. The clumpy lump certainly does resemble some of the stale bread she has seen the dragons gnawing on.
"Are you trying to break a tooth?" she wonders aloud.
Edvard looks at her with a frown. "This is how Alise does it," he says.
Iza sincerely doubts that, because she has had bread baked by Alise and Edvard is almost certainly doing something wrong if he is intending to follow his sister's recipe. She huffs, puts down the tools they will need for the ritual, and shoos Edvard away so she can fix the mess he's made of the dough.
Edvard watches her, something fond in his gaze, and then asks her about what she learned from Esme. They talk and plan and determine that the best time to perform the ritual is as soon as possible. After all, they need answers before they can move any further along with this waiting game – if they can find answers, that is. There is no way to know if their ritual prayers will be answered or not.
The bread finishes baking long before it is time for the ritual, and so they separate to tend to other things. Iza mounts Eko, her dragon taking high, high to the sky, high enough that the heat of the summer becomes a thought of the past with Eko's speed making the wind cut soothingly cool against Iza's skin. From far above, she can see Edvard taking the others through the paces, correcting their weapons and their aims; this far away, she cannot hear them, but she can see the way Jakob leaps for joy and dances around Steinn after some accomplishment.
Iza cannot help but smile, small but unrestrained. She feels some hope, knowing that she can search in at least one more direction for answers.
Later, it is Eko who says, I will keep the others away. Iza watches as Eko corrals the other dragons into the darkening woods, the long-stretching shadows eating up the dragon scales until they disappear from view. With the sun nearly set, it is almost time for the ritual.
Iza hastens into Edvard's longhouse to gather the supplies. He is already there, checking over the tools with a steeling look in his eye, preparing himself for using his seidr in a way he never has before. Surely the both of them are out of their depths. All the same, they set off together into the forest, going in the opposite direction of the dragons.
Iza and Edvard had debated the best place for the ritual. Most prayers to the Gods were best conducted in the open air, so that the Gods may be unencumbered in their will to answer. There is a small circle of stones not far from the village proper where most prayers are made. However, that circle cannot be used by Iza and Edvard for obvious reasons.
Where should they perform the ritual, then? The seaside? The forest itself? Near to Edvard's home? In the end, the best place they could agree on that would meet all the requirements – quiet, open-air, secluded – winds up being the place where this whole journey began.
Iza and Edvard arrive to Eko's cave as the moon rises. Edvard looks about in interest. "Was it here?"
Iza nods. "Yes. Eko hatched just inside. She was very small – I could carry her in my arms."
"Hard to imagine," he comments.
And yes, given Eko's size now, which must surely be fully grown, it is difficult to imagine that she was ever so small. Would she have looked as small, she wonders, held in Edvard's more muscular arms? Even smaller?
Iza peers into the opening of the cave, and then at the surrounding area. "Inside or outside, do you think?"
Edvard considers this. "Would smoke be a problem?"
"I kept a kindling going for weeks for Eko without any issues."
Edvard hums. "But it could be cramped, should the prayer be answered."
"It is a small cave," Iza agrees. And Edvard himself is tall enough that she is not sure they would both fit comfortably in the cave in the first place. "Outside, then."
Edvard agrees and they set to creating a place to hold the ritual, smoothing out the dirt and flattening the ground and building a wide circle of stones placed a certain distance apart. Candles are placed on either side of the circle, just beside the stones, and an oblong wooden bowl in the middle. The bowl they fill with water, and then each of them provide blood from a shallow cut on their thumbs. Had either of them not have seidr, this sacrifice would have been an animal – but between them, with the blood they have and the magic Edvard possesses, they need only a few drops and a flare of bright green seidr for the water in the bowl to turn as black as the darkest ink.
Iza dips three apples into the bowl, then places them in a neat line. "We call upon the Norns, and beg to hear our prayers," she says solemnly. Beside her, Edvard repeats her words, and then anoints each of the apples with a basking of magic, thick enough that the apples begin to float, side by side by side.
"A path has opened, but a fork in the road has us waylaid," Iza continues. "We seek guidance on which steps we must take next. We beg of the Norns, wise in your knowledge of the past, present, and future, to show us the way forward."
"To the great Norns we make our offerings in return," Edvard murmurs. "Apples, like those Idunn grows, to fortify your bodies. A sacrifice of blood, so that you might have faith in our sincerity. Water bathed by magic, so that you might quench your thirst."
"Hear us, Norns, and grant us audience," they finish together.
After that, there is silence, with only the flicker of candlelight and the wind in the air betraying the stillness of the world around them. The kneel before this makeshift alter for some time – minutes, perhaps, or even hours that are caught between each minute rise of the moon as it climbs higher into the sky. Iza keeps her eyes locked on the floating apples, which is why she is the first to note that the second apple, right in the middle, drops onto the ground with a dull thud.
A palpable tension quickens the air, a pressure not unlike the way the air feels right before thunder claps – and then the apple burns, and turns to ash, and in the next moment a tall woman with eyes of gold and skin as dark as the starless sky appears in the center of the ritual circle.
Immediately, both Iza and Edvard drop their torsos down into deep bows, foreheads pressing against dirt. To look upon a Norn uninvited – well, Iza has written about that in her Eddas and knows better than to commit such a transgression.
The Norn speaks with something like mirth, but tinged with a bitterness of knowing. "Ah. Supplicating yourselves, children of Gods? For what purpose? Do you prostrate to your ancestors to gain permission to marry? There is no need. This match has been known since the emergence of the universe itself."
Iza presses her lips together and pointedly does not look in Edvard's direction. This is the second time in one week that marriage has been mentioned to her and she cannot, for the life of her, fathom why anyone is so keen to rush this subtle courtship between herself and Edvard. Indeed, she does not think they are even officially courting or in talks of marriage since Edvard has not spoken directly to the Chieftain. If anything, any wedding between Iza and Edvard would be an elopement.
But even still – weddings and marriage and elopement are not the point of this ritual.
Perhaps the Norn knows this, because she allows an entertained laugh and says, "You may raise your eyes, younglings. I would like to see you, blood of my blood."
Iza and Edvard comply, because that is what should be done when commanded by a God – by a being who is more than any God, but at the same time less.
The woman looks both familiar and unfamiliar to Iza. A face she has seen before, perhaps in her dreams, but it is not a face she knows. And she knows in an instant this this Norn is not Skuld.
The second apple dropped – so this must be Verdandi, the Norn of the present, the one who sees what will come as it comes, the one who played handmaid to Frigg and whispered in the Queen's ear.
Verdandi looks at Iza and Edvard, and then she smirks. "My, but you do look remarkably like your parents, young Haflings. As is natural, I suppose. Those eyes…Yes, unique, both of you."
Edvard meets her stare head-on. "Have you come to answer our prayer, mighty Norn?"
Verdandi raises a singular brow, and the darkness of her skin appears to glitter like stars. "Answer the prayer from a son of Loki? My, but not even a Lokison who shares not his father's ambitions will be granted my favor…" Verdandi looks then to Iza, and a slow, wide, dark smile spreads across her lips. "A daughter of my dear sister, a darling niece who shares my blood, however…Her prayer I have heard and it is her prayer I shall answer."
"I lack direction," Iza begins, but Verdandi is quick to cut her off.
"You lack conviction," says the Norn. "You know what you must do. You are prepared, but the waiting has made you anxious."
Iza lifts her chin, bold. "I prayed so that I might know when Nidhogg will attack-"
"No, that is not why you prayed!" Verdandi exclaims. "You would not waste a prayer on that which you already know – you forget, Skuldsdottir, that I know what is coming into being, and I knew the moment I heard your prayer what you were truly praying to know!"
Iza presses her lips together, waiting. Beside her, Edvard's gaze is unflinchingly forward, the steady glow of his magic imbued in the ritual circle.
Verdandi drops into a smooth crouch, the golden sheen of her dress spilling over her lap as smoothly as water over stone. She reaches forward, as if to cup Iza's chin, but stops just short of touching her. Iza is glad – to have been touched by Thor's lightning was painful enough, she cannot imagine what it would be like to be touched by a Norn, or what kind of mark that might leave on her skin. "You want to know why Nidhogg must be your problem," Verdandi whispers, almost sweetly. "Why cannot the glorious, powerful Gods in your Eddas not defeat this creature? Why cannot they intervene? Why is it up to you, a mere Halfling, to make a change? Am I wrong?"
Iza does not answer, because Verdandi already knows she is right.
"You are a Changemaker because the Gods cannot interfere directly with their own fate – yet through you, they can interfere indirectly. Nidhogg is chained by his own power and avoids his destiny, as is his wont as a fell creature. Only Skuldsdottir can make the change to break the chains of Nidhogg, and herald the Twilight of the Gods. That is your role, Halfling, and that is what you must do. No other can do the same – and indeed, your birthright is one that not even you can avoid."
Iza frowns, shaking her head as she stares at Verdandi. The Gods cannot interfere directly, but only indirectly? She has to break the chains of Nidhogg? The Twilight of the Gods – why does that sound familiar, even though she knows she has never heard the phrase before?
Something dances on her skin, a ripple of gooseflesh, and Verdandi smiles that strange smile again. "You will know when the time comes," she says, belatedly sparing an amused glance to Edvard, who watches all with a clench in his jaw. "Both of you."
Verdandi stands, her golden dress swishing around bare toes, and clasps her elegant hands together. "All has already been woven into the roots of Ygdrassil," she tells them seriously. "All you must do is play the roles that have been given to you."
And with that – quite without any warning – Verdandi disappears. In her wake she leaves two melted candles, three ash-charred apples, a broken wooden bowl spilling blackened blood across the dirt, and two baffled Halflings, who can only stare at each other in wonder.
Their prayer was answered, but the answer has only left more questions – at least for Iza, whose mind is now fixated on the riddles in which Verdandi spoke.
Edvard quietly takes Iza's hand and she nods, tangling their fingers together as they rise. He presses a lingering kiss to her brow and she closes her eyes, tired yet invigorated, confused yet full of clarity, overwhelmed yet wholly underwhelmed.
At least, she thinks, the ritual actually worked.
A/N: Okay, so knowing that the Norse were pagans, their rituals definitely involved some kind of animal sacrifice and also sex - but since I'm trying to keep this PG and I have no intentions of writing about animal sacrifice, I took a bit of artistic license here. Blood sacrifice is a lot less urhggg, right?
Norse Things This Chapter! Verdandi was the Norn who was in charge of "what is coming into being", so essentially the Norn of the Present. Whether or not she whispered in Frigg's ear I have no clue, but it would make sense. Like the other Norns, there isn't a whole lot known about Verdandi. You could argue that she was the Head Bitch In Charge, since someone who knows what is coming into being would know both the past and the present, and I actually think some literature reflects that. But overall she was a mysterious figure in Norse Myth, alongside Urd, who was the Norse in charge of the past. Of all the Norns, we know the most about Skuld for some reason. Lots of information about Norse Mythology was lost from damage to the Eddas and other historical documents, so there is a lot open to interpretation about the seldom mentioned figures like Verdandi.
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.
~Rae