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Chapter IV

Trouvaille – "A chance encounter with something wonderful, a magical moment"

Origin: French


"What is going on?"

"Vidar has challenged Ranvieg again." Siv replied as the man slouched down beside her on the mossy ground. It was stone cold and still damp in the early, blue morning. The girl snatched a glance at him as she raised a steaming cup of herbal tea to her mouth, the edges of her lips crinkling in amusement.

"Again?"

"Again."

Despite the creases of dawn only just easing from the sky, the Ullacs were awake and gathering to break their fast. Meals were always a communal affair and held great importance, crucial in supporting the familial hierarchy of the clan. The preparation and eating of good food was a pillar of their community. It was, after all, one of life's simplest pleasures, one which was gratefully gathered from the earth's bounty, from the generosity of the Gods. The forest clearing was alive with gentle chatter and the scent of warming porridge. At the edge of the encampment several Ullac men were chopping fresh fire wood, each slice of the axe sending sleepy birds scattering from their nests. The bonfire at the centre of their camp must always be kept alight and burning, even deep into the night. A group of younger members came slouching through the treeline carrying buckets of fresh water from the lake. As was custom, the first bucket was brought to wherever the High Priestess was seated. This particular morning, Eydis and a group of clansmen were gathered around a firepit watching a game of hnefatafl.

Eydis glanced up at Little Oleg as he laid down the water pail. She was sitting cross-legged atop a large boulder, one hand buried into the shaggy fur of one of the Ullac pack dogs. This particular hound was as black as night and, despite his gigantic size, was very sweet. He had always been Eydis' favourite and, due to his protective nature, was never far from her side. Although the dog, Neem, knew Little Oleg he let out a low, rumbling growl. A long bouncing, string of slobber dangled from his panting mouth. Little Oleg hovered a foot away (still not entirely sure of Eydis' pet), tucking his thumbs into the crook of his belt, chuckling.

"Again?"

"Again." Came a chorus of amused voices.

The boy came a little closer, peering over the board and Eydis found herself smiling as Little Oleg's shadow stretched out over the mossy ground. Little Oleg was far from little. He was one of the Ullac's newest recruits and despite being only sixteen or seventeen, he was as tall and broad as a giant. Eydis seemed like a fragile, blue haired bird beside his enormous frame.

Vidar pointed a finger at Little Oleg. "You watch, brother. This time I have her."

Little Oleg's eyes flickered to Siv who shook her head, blue eyes sparkling playfully. "He doesn't."

"Shhhh," He waved them away impatiently, studying the board with a sort of manic concentration. "I am thinking."

Eydis poured a thin stream of pale green tea into a wooden cup and offered it to Little Oleg. "Sit with us, brother."

He did so, folding up his long limbs so that he could better fit on the rock beside the High Priestess. It was a known fact within the clan that Little Oleg was enamoured with Eydis. He was new and young and unable to separate the feeling of being understood, from love. Not that anyone was surprised, it was a feeling that almost every Ullac had experienced at one point or another. Like Little Oleg, most Ullacs had been outcasts in their former lives. They were often isolated by the intensity of their religious feelings and their (often correct) premonitions were looked on with suspicion. There was something within them that was disconnected, alone and misunderstood. Then one day, as if a key had been turned and a piece of them that had long lay dormant unlocked, everything would change. They would suddenly become aware of a force calling to them, a voice whispering over their skin like rain. A family was waiting for them. Either they would make the journey across the mountains of their own accord, using the thudding of far-away drums like a compass, or they would be retrieved from their villages by an Ullac elder. They would climb the mountain, take The Trial and, if they were worthy, receive their brand at the hand of the High Priestess. Each and every Ullac remembered the moment that they looked up into Eydis' alien eyes and finally felt as if they were part of something bigger. They were finally part of a community, part of a family which understood them.

It was late into night when Siv and Faolan had come for Little Oleg. They told him that their High Priestess had heard his soul calling to her and that there was a place where the Gods were worshipped in the Old Ways, the True Ways. So, without question and without looking back, the boy disappeared into the night. Little Oleg's most vivid memory was the moment he ascended those steps to the ancient mountain stronghold of the Ullacs. Eydis had taken his face in her hands; enormous yellow-ringed eyes boring into him curiously, inky braids glinting in the watery sunlight like polished metal.

"You are home now, Oleg." She had told him, in that voice like honey and the rushing of the ocean's tides, and the poor boy had fallen in love with her as easily as he drew in breath.

Little Oleg was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of Ranvieg's voice. He had been watching Eydis' glittering, cat-like gaze on the game board. Ranvieg was a skilled contender, without doubt one of the best, but Eydis had taught her how to really play. The High Priestess rarely played hnefatafl herself, she preferred to observe and besides, she was yet to find an opponent worth taking the time to defeat.

"Either is a poor choice."

"Don't try to distract me Rany, I have a plan."

"I can see your plan. It is a poor choice."

Vidar looked at the High Priestess for confirmation but her amused smile didn't change, she simply sipped her tea quietly. The man cracked his knuckles, darted a piece across the board and then sat back on his haunches with a confused look of both victory and defeat.

Ranvieg tilted her head as she surveyed the board, rolling her tea cup between her hands absently. She was perhaps fifteen years older than Eydis, but her features held an elegance that made her appear far younger. She was an attractive woman; tall and willowy with skin the colour of fresh milk and large scarlet lips. Her dark hair had been pulled up into a coiled knot, displaying the tattoos spilling down her throat and the long bird feathers dangling from her earlobes. Eydis had always imagined that her mother Ginevra might have looked like Ranvieg. Dark and full of grace, all high cheekbones and arched eyebrows.

"You know, brother, you are getting better I will give you that much." She remembered vividly the words Eydis had uttered after their first game. "But you are trying to think two moves ahead, and it is not enough. If your strategy is set in stone, it is stagnant. You are unable to anticipate any unexpected consequence. Tactics of war must be multi-layered, intertwined, always evolving." She reached over and moved a figurine on the game board. "Each choice you make is a step on the road to your final aim. That road may twist and turn," Ranvieg knocked over Vidar's king with a flick of finger. It fell with a dull thud and rolled across the board. "But the result will always be the same."

Vidar groaned, slumping backwards onto the grass and balling his hands into frustrated fists. The gathered spectators laughed at him good-naturedly.

"Give it up Vidas, defeat to our sister is inevitable." Faolan grinned as he stirred the cauldron of porridge that was warming above the fire.

"In the game or in life?"

"Both."

"One day," Vidar declared, pointing up at the sky. "One day, the Gods will allow me a victory."

"Even they couldn't help you, brother." Siv teased him.

"Enough." Eydis swatted her with the porridge ladle faux-seriously. "We have other matters to discuss. Brother would you fetch Hauk?"

Little Oleg nodded, easing himself off the rock and slouching away. Both he and Vidar knew that they would not be privy to whatever conversation came next. The Ullac faction was built on the pillars of equality, but there were certain exceptions. Meetings between the Council, the Original Five, were always private. After a few moments Hauk arrived and the other men disappeared with a lazy farewell wave. Ullac members may be curious about what was discussed by the Council, but they accepted their separation from it without resentment. After all, they trusted Eydis to lead them. Why else would they have abandoned their old lives and crossed the mountains to find her? If she requested privacy, then out of respect, it was always given freely.

Siv spooned out portions of porridge and the Council accepted them gratefully, curling chilly fingers around the warmth of the bowls. Eydis sprinkled a pinch of nutmeg over hers before plunging in her spoon. Neem snuffled noisily at the bowl until Eydis snatched up a handful and offered it to her favourite dog with an open palm. She didn't mind sharing her breakfast. Ullacs shared everything.

"The plans have moved forward."

"Good."

"We believe that the sons of Ragnar will visit the camp tonight." Faolan told her, as if Eydis was not already aware of that fact. She simply stirred her porridge methodically, nodding.

"It would be an ideal time." She confirmed. "We will take advantage of the full moon and hold the Joining Ceremony."

"It is long overdue." Siv's gaze moved to Little Oleg across the clearing. He was reclined in the grass, stray globs of porridge on his cheeks, laughing contentedly at his friend's joke. He looked so young then, chuckling away in the milky morning light. He and several others had become Ullac only a few short weeks ago and the tribe had been too preoccupied with preparations for the raid to complete the final step in their initiation. "They completed The Trial several weeks ago."

"And a perfect time to present the Ullac community to possible allies." Hauk's deep voice rumbled knowingly. It was the first time he had spoken during the Council meeting and the others were unsurprised. He was generally a man of few words; brooding and bearded, more bear than man.

"Exactly." Eydis' white teeth glinted in the early morning light as she smiled, smooth and sharp as an animal's. "Then we are in agreement. The newest recruits will receive their brands tonight."

"Agreed." Came the Council's reply.


"How are even supposed to find them?"

The sons of Ragnar were drinking ale by the harbour. The sun was just on the verge of setting and the fjord was bathed in half-dying daylight. The brothers had decided to forgo the long walk back to their cottage, instead choosing to purchase alcohol from the dock-sellers and recline on the rocks by the edge of the water. It was a good space to discuss their business, the lapping of the waves disguised their quiet chattering and besides, the harbour itself was quiet. Stray warriors trekked back and forward from their boats carrying supplies and a couple of lonesome fishermen remained waist-deep in the water, but otherwise the dock was almost deserted.

They had ventured up to Floki's woodland hideout that afternoon and had left with far more questions than they had when they arrived. The boat-builder was notoriously abstract, full of riddles, but the revered way in which he spoke about the Ullacs had peaked their interest. Floki had danced around his nearly-built boat, grinning and twitching like a lunatic.

"What do you know about them? Should we take it as some kind of sign?"

"Well of course you should, Hvitserk. Do you think that the Ullacs mark just any home?" He shoved a nail between his teeth and ducked under a shallow beam, his attention once again directed at the boat.

"Tell us what you know Floki." Ubbe snapped. He had become tired of the boat-builder's vagueness. He had little patience for riddles. "Why does it seem that everyone has heard the Ullac name except us?"

"Well," He murmured. "Ubbe, perhaps you have forgotten that with youth comes ignorance."

"Floki," The eldest son of Ragnar warned. "I will hear no more of this nonsense. The Ullacs came from nowhere, why should we show them any respect?"

Floki smashed a nail into the woodwork before turning, hooking the hammer over his shoulder and grinning. His dark eyes twinkled impishly. He slouched down onto a ledge and surveyed the sons of Ragnar. "The Ullac name is ancient and honourable. For generations they were the religious faction of Sweden, people said that they obeyed the True Ways, that they could perform miracles."

"Then why have we never heard of them?"

"They disappeared, died out."

"How?"

"It was so long ago no one can say for sure. The Ullacs passed out of living memory, even their sagas faded, but people said that House Dagny pushed them out. They were afraid of the Ullac's power."

Hvitserk and Ubbe exchanged frustrated glances, but Ivar was entranced. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on a boulder. He wanted to gorge himself on information, absolve himself in it, drown himself in it. Each time the Ullac name was mentioned his mind retreated to the girl with a voice like rich earth and polished metal. The girl he hungered for so inexplicably.

"Floki," Ivar ventured. "Why have they resurfaced now?"

"Why do you think? Something has changed, I don't know, I haven't seen…but something is different."

"What kind of something?"

"A new leader." Floki picked at a tough piece of skin at the edge of his fingernail, peeling it back slowly. "The Ullacs vanished for decades, until Brodir's daughter. I would like to know why."

Hvitserk tried to find a comfortable position to lean on the jagged rocks of the harbour but it seemed impossible. Eventually he gave up and simply rested his ale cup atop them instead. The water was reflecting that strange opulent blue-orange of early sunset. It rippled onto the beach where they sat rhythmically. Ivar reached out a hand and traced his fingers across its surface as gently as you would touch a butterfly's wing.

"I was speaking with Alegra-"

"When was that, brother?" Sigurd cut in, grinning slyly.

"Shut up." Hvitserk shoved his brother roughly.

He may not have confirmed Sigurd's insinuation out right, but the brothers all knew of his nightly visits to Lagertha's residence. There was a particular slave there, a raven-haired, copper-skinned beauty, that Hvitserk was partial to. She had been given as a gift by one of Lagertha's noblemen, captured somewhere in the Mediterranean, and spoke little of their common tongue. Nevertheless, she seemed to understand the prospect of want and wanting, because she had welcomed Hvitserk to her bed with open arms and open legs. He had visited her the night before, but as he tangled himself in her warm, wild embrace, Hvitserk had imagined the face of another. Alegra's strong, curving body was replaced in his mind with one much more delicate, paler, silver-haired. One called Sibbe. "Word is that Brodir's daughter visited Lagertha, gave her gifts."

"So what?"

"The slaves say she has not slept, that she is distressed, rattled. She lay in bed all day. Alegra said that she heard Lagertha and Astrid arguing about it."

"What kind of gift could elicit such a response?"

"An hourglass."

A dark, worrisome look was exchanged between the brothers. It was not a gift that any of them wished to receive in their lives.

"Brodir's daughter gifted her an hourglass?"

"So they say."

"That is a bold move." Ubbe rubbed his beard thoughtfully. He swirled the ale in his cup as if it were a magic pool, as if it would reveal to him to answers of life. "I think," He murmured. "That we should meet this witch. She has revealed herself an enemy of Lagertha, she could be our ally."

"She is not Lagertha's enemy." Ivar told them. "An hourglass is not given out of spite, it is given by order of the Gods."

"How do you know so much about her intentions, boneless?" Sigurd hissed.

"Floki taught me the traditions, not you."

"What do you think, Hvitserk?" Ubbe cut in. Frankly he was tired of his younger brothers constantly arguing. He thought them to be immature. At least Hvitserk had travelled with him to Paris, was closer to him in age.

Hvitserk deliberated for a moment. "I think meeting her could be worthwhile." He downed the last of his ale and reached for the jug to refill it. "Even if she were not Ullac, it would not be a bad idea to meetBrodir's daughter."

"There are rumours that the King is looking for perspective marriages, not only for his daughter but for three of his sons as well."

"Why should we care who his sons marry?" Sigurd rolled his eyes, ever short sighted.

"Because if one of them marries Lagertha then our claim to Kattegat will be demolished, you fool." Ivar spat.

Sigurd's mouth opened to retort but Ubbe interrupted before he could. "Ivar is right. The only possible alliance is through his daughter. There is a reason they call her the only daughter of House Dagny. In line for Brodir's throne are his sons, a crowd of male cousins and her."

"So if one of us were to marry her, House Dagny would be our ally." Hvitserk nodded, swirling his ale. He wondered idly if Brodir's daughter looked anything like her step mother, Sibbe. From the look of her brothers, all dark hair and sharp angles, he doubted it.

"It doesn't matter," Sigurd shrugged. His beady eyes squinting because of the alcohol. "The daughter is inconsequential. When Brodir dies surely his oldest son will succeed him. What's his name? Calder?"

"It doesn't work like that," Ivar told him with a tone of acidic superiority.

"He is right. Sweden do things differently under the Dagny regime, they always have."

Ubbe leaned backwards onto a rock and crossed his arms behind his head, letting his eyes slid shut. "The next leader will be chosen from the living generation of relatives, providing they are of age. It is a week-long ceremony, decided upon by Dagny family members, noblemen and religious elders."

"So…hypothetically, Brodir's daughter could take the crown?"

"Yes."

"So, hypothetically," Sigurd continued. "Her husband could also take the crown?"

"Yes."

"Then plenty of people will be seeking her hand in marriage."

"That may be true."

"We don't know if anyone else received an Ullac invitation. If she wants to meet us, we should go." Ivar insisted.

"I think Ivar is correct. We do not know what the marking entails, but we should not squander an opportunity to make influential allies." Ubbe told them.

"Perhaps we should ask her brothers?"

Ubbe opened one eye and glanced at Hvitserk, and the younger brother simply gestured lazily across the beach. Sure enough the twins were slouching over the pebbled, sandy ground towards the water. As they almost always were, Varin and Gudrik were laughing between themselves. Varin hopped up onto the edge of the pier, legs dangling just above the surface, and began skinning an apple with a sharp knife. The sons of Ragnar could hear the echoing of Gudrik's chuckle as he skimmed rocks across the fjord, conversing animatedly with his brother.

"I don't like them." Sigurd muttered mostly to himself. Not that it mattered. His eyes narrowed as Gudrik exclaimed something and Varin threw his head back in laughter, slapping the wooden slats of the pier with one hand.

"Who cares?" Ubbe rolled his eyes and sat up fully. "Varin!" The boy's head turned and Ubbe lifted an arm to wave them over.

The twins spoke between themselves briefly, apparently deciding whether or not to award the sons of Ragnar any of their attention. Clearly they voted in favour because after a moment, they came slouching across the beach. They came to a stop a foot or so away, tucking their thumbs into their belt loops casually, grinning their signature wolfish smiles.

"Ubbe," Varin tilted his head in the other boy's direction. "Hello, boys."

"Come, drink with us." Ubbe offered Gudrik a cup of ale which he accepted.

"Thank you." Varin slumped down onto the sandy ground with the grace of a clumsy puppy and gulped down a swig watery beer. His brother glanced over the brothers coolly, though there was a hint of mischief in his eye that suggested the twins knew why they had been summoned.

"So, what can do for the sons of Ragnar hmm?"

"Nothing in particular."

"No?" Gudrik grinned crookedly. The twins exchanged a knowing look, one which Sigurd interrupted only as smugness. "We thought you might want to ask us something."

"Why would you think that?"

"We heard about your cottage."

As was their custom, the twins seemed to finish each other's' thoughts.

"Thought you might be curious, is all."

"Maybe we are." Hvitserk allowed.

They shrugged in unison, clearly waiting for more information before speaking again.

"What can you tell us?" Ubbe asked, refilling their cups from the ale jug.

"Well," Varin's eyes glinted at them. The sun was finally beginning to set, and the fjord was bathed in blueish-pinkish light. Soon it would become orange, then ink. The twins' cat-like eyes would catch every ray of the ever-changing colours. The full moon would rise, and Kattegat would become alive with the sound of drunken chatter and the scent of roasting meat. "It depends on what you want to know."

"Anything."

Gudrik glanced at his (fractionally older) brother and then shrugged again. "She wants to meet you."

"Your sister?"

"Eydis, yes."

Eydis. The name soaked into Ivar's skin, soothed itself over his tongue and spread out into his veins like a gulp of mulled wine. Eydis. It seemed a fitting name for the girl he had glimpsed, the one with a voice like the rushing of the ocean's tides. Eydis.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"Why us?"

"You are the princes of Kattegat, are you not?"

"We were."

"You are." Gudrik confirmed. "That is why the Great Army is here. They are here to follow you."

"They are here to avenge Ragnar."

"So some of them say, but they are lying."

"My brother speaks the truth," Varin smiled unevenly. "They aren't here to avenge Ragnar, they are here to see which one of you will be the next king of Kattegat."

"Lagertha is queen of Kattegat."

"For now."

"Is this your father's opinion?" Sigurd hissed.

"Maybe. We haven't asked him."

"Your sister's then?" Hvitserk questioned.

"Not necessarily."

"Are all Dagnys so evasive?"

The twins cracked genuinely amused smiles. They replied at the same time. "Yes."

"What is she like?" Ivar asked, as nonchalantly as he dared.

Varin pulled himself off the ground, brushing damp sand from his trousers and setting down his ale cup. "Perhaps you should meet her and find out."

"There is an Ullac celebration tonight. If you really are curious, come." Gudrik handed Ubbe his cup. "Thanks for the drink."

The boys turned to go when Hvitserk called after them. "How do we find them?"

"Follow the drums." Came the reply.


"Follow the drums, he said." Sigurd rolled his eyes bitterly as the sons of Ragnar trampled through the forests. "Follow the drums. Directions might have been useful, but no. Follow the fucking drums. What is that even supposed to mean?"

Hvitserk paused and glanced back at his younger brother. "You can't hear them?"

"Hear what?"

"The drums, Sigurd." Ubbe confirmed. "They're quiet, but they're there."

Sigurd stopped where he stood and looked around the forest. His eyes narrowed in concentration, but after a moment or two he shook his head a little defeatedly. "I don't hear anything."

"It is coming from over there." Ivar muttered, nodding his head off to the right. Granted, Ivar already knew where the tree archway was, but he wasn't going to divulge that information just yet. Better for his brothers to remain in the dark. "Come on."

For how long they walked, the brothers were not sure. The eerie depths of the forest seemed to ebb and flow like the tides of the sea; languid, liquid, full of secrets. The full moon had risen, and the trees were bathed in silvery light. It looked the largest it ever had, as if the moon itself was gorging on the prospect of excitement to come. With each step the thud thud thudding of far-away drums became louder. It drew them forward like a compass. Finally, they came to a halt in front of the archway formed from entwined, twisting branches.

"I think this is it." Hvitserk murmured. His words echoed across the woods, almost reverently.

"But, how?"

Ivar crawled towards it without a word, he knew those who crossed the arch's threshold would simply melt into it and emerge in another world. Let us through. An owl watched carefully from one of the branches, it's dark, wet eyes glinting. As Ivar pulled himself forward the last few feet, the owl hooted softly like a welcome. Although you could not touch or sense the invisible barrier which separated the Ullac encampment from the rest of the forest, Ivar's skin tingled as he passed through it. In a strange way, it was refreshing. Like a cold cup of water on a summer's afternoon. When the youngest son of Ragnar opened his eyes, he had been transported once more. The heat of the Ullacs' central bonfire lashed his cheeks and relief spread throughout his bloodstream. For a reason he could not explain, paranoid thoughts had perched themselves in the deepest recesses of Ivar's mind, like vultures. He had worried that the Ullac boundary would somehow keep him out, as if the invitation had been meant only for his brothers and not for himself. He needn't have worried of course. Ivar could not have known that as he passed through that archway, his life would be forever changed. From that moment on, the life of Ivar the Boneless would be forever intertwined with the Ullacs.

"By the Gods." Ivar's head turned at the sound of Ubbe's hushed voice.

"How does this place exist?"

"I have no idea."

The celebration was not yet in full swing and yet the clearing was full of half-naked Ullacs. The rhythmic thumping of the drums and the shaking of bells filled the air. Ubbe's eyes strayed to a collection of young women. They were barely clothed and their long, wild curls were twisted with braids, twined with feathers and flowers. Everyone seemed to be laughing. The brothers soaked it all in; the noise, the smell of wine, the crackling of the bonfire. It was as intoxicating for them as it had been for Ivar.

"You found us then," Varin's voice carried across the clearing. He approached and grasped Ubbe's forearm with his large hand. "Welcome." The Dagny boy was shirtless, and the jumping firelight reflected off his pale skin. Ivar felt a familiar stab of jealousy. Varin's muscular torso looked as if it had been carved from alabaster marble.

"This is incredible."

The twin glanced around briefly. "Yes well, the Ullacs' like to play hide and seek."

"Evidently they are skilled at it."

Varin chuckled. "Ahh," He gestured lazily in the direction they had come, towards the archway of branches. On the other side was the silver-crusted silence of the undisturbed forest. "Nothing more than a common swindler's trick."

"How did they do it?"

A set of ivory shoulders rocked up and down in a noncommittal shrug. It was clear Varin had no intention of giving them an answer. "Come."

The brothers followed him towards the edge of the bonfire where Gudrik was slouched with a tattooed blonde in his lap. The couple raised a cup in the direction of the newcomers but did not speak. Ivar's attention turned to another woman. She was tall and slender, like Aslaug had been, and her angular face had a great elegance to it. The sons of Ragnar glanced her up and down, quickly deciding that there was something important about this particular Ullac.

"Welcome." She spread her hands gracefully. In the light of the bonfire, they were as white as bone. Are all Ullacs so pale? Ivar found himself wondering. "Please follow me."

"Why?" Hvitserk asked curiously.

"The High Priestess wishes to see you."