Thank you so much for all the reviews, I hope you are enjoying the new chapters. This is only the first part of the Ullac celebration, there is much more on the way.
- E
Chapter V
Numinous – "A powerful feeling of both fear and fascination, of being in awe and overwhelmed by what is before you."
Origin: Latin
"You stand in the presence of Princess Eydis of Sweden, the Sacred Flame, High Priestess of the Ullacs and the Only Daughter of House Dagny."
"There is no need for such titles." Came a husky voice from the semi-darkness of the spacious tent. Ivar's heart was beating so intensely that he could hear the rush of blood pounding in his ears. For some reason his palms were slick with clammy sweat. This moment was one which had consumed his thoughts for so many hours he had lost count. He would finally glimpse the face which accompanied that languid, liquid voice so reminiscent of the open ocean. The voice which seemed to whisper to him in his dreams. "Please come in, sit."
Ranvieg slid the tent flaps closed silently behind the sons of Ragnar. The young men moved slowly across the open space and eased themselves down onto the piles of cushions and fur pelts. Flickering candles burned from within stained glass lanterns, throwing the room into a melting kaleidoscope of colours. The everchanging hues reflected in a pair of enormous cat-like eyes, as wet as tar. Ivar steadied his nerves, preparing to look at her for the first time. He had been distracting himself with the decoration of her tent; the sheer fluttering sheet which separated her cot bed from the rest of the room, the glass jars of herbs, the rune stones. When the youngest brother finally raised his eyes, he was caught immediately in a gaze which stole his breath. The half-obscured figure was reclined comfortably, one hand buried in the fur of an enormous shaggy dog, the other cradling a carved whale-bone cup. Her face was shrouded in the shifting light, but her eyes blazed into him. Two green pools ringed with yellow. Animal eyes.
"Please help yourself to a drink," A pale index finger indicated the jug and cups laid near their feet. "We have no servants here."
"A princess without servants," Ubbe tried cautiously. His tone more curious than he perhaps intended it to be. "How unusual."
The candle light bounced suddenly from an amused set of flashing teeth. Ivar's stare dragged slowly to the ambiguous shape of her mouth, the sharp lines of her teeth. Sharp like a fox's. "We have no need for such things. The Gods blessed us with hands of our own."
"Thank you for the invitation, Princess." Hvitserk inclined his cup in her direction politely.
The brothers felt uneasy. The way those predatory eyes were staring at them out of the shadows made the backs of their necks itch. Eydis' tent was hazy with the scent of burning herbs. Ivar breathed it in deeply. The slight flame-like sensation it created in his lungs made him tingle with anticipation. It was almost as if he could feel Aslaug's ghostly fingers stroking the flesh of his cheek.
"Call me Eydis." Came the voice. Ivar yearned desperately to see the face attached to it, but in the refracting dimness he could make out only the eyes and the glinting of sharp, pale teeth. "We are pleased to receive you. Some showed concern that you may not find us."
"The directions we were given were…vague, it's true." Ubbe admitted haltingly. He took a gulp from his cup, wincing at the unexpectedly strange taste. It had a heavy, musky scent to it. Herbal, unusual. The liquid smoothed itself down his throat and into his stomach like honey. His thoughts seemed to trip over themselves, lucid and twisting like escaping smoke. Ubbe ran his tongue over his lower lip, savouring the flavour, and then drank the remainder of his cup.
"Yes well, my brothers have a penchant for theatrics." Another smile. "But you are here now, nonetheless."
The way her eyes slid over Ivar's face made him itch, as if thousands of ants were creeping over his skin. They glittered intently. She knows. She knows I was here. He hoped that the girl would not reveal his nightly visit to the Ullac camp, nor that he had known all along about the archway of branches. Ivar's fingers twitched absently, and he fidgeted with his wrist brace to hide the involuntary movement. The yellow-rimmed eyes blinked slowly. They missed nothing.
"How did you do that?" Hvitserk wondered. "The boundary I mean?"
"Just an old trick."
It was essentially the same answer that Varin had given, but Hvitserk pressed on. His mind was alive with curiosity and the words spilled out before he could stop them. "What kind of trick?"
"When you entered the clearing, did you notice how loud it was Hvitserk?"
"Yes."
"Do you hear that now?"
There was a pause and Hvitserk cocked his head, listening. "No."
"Why do you think that is?"
"I am not sure."
"How is it possible?" Ubbe mirrored his younger brother, straining to hear the raucous laughter or the crackling of the bonfire but he heard nothing. The glare of the flames could be seen through the canvas walls of the tent. The fabric was thin, so why could no sound be heard?
"Nature's bounty offers solutions to many problems, even to ones you did not know you had. If your eyes remain open, you will find the answer."
"So, you aren't going to tell us?" Sigurd confirmed a little bitterly. His lips were turned up in pouting distaste. "You are as cryptic as your brothers."
"If we simply gave you the answer, you would never look for it yourself." She replied evenly.
"We are grateful for the invitation." Ubbe told her, hoping to smooth over his younger brother's unpleasantness. "But may we ask why you asked us here, Eydis?"
"Curiosity." The cup in her hand lifted and after a sip of wine she continued. "Many things are said about the Princes of Kattegat. We merely wished to meet you for ourselves."
"We are no longer princes."
"Circumstance can change with time. One day you may again wear crowns, if the Gods will it."
"How can you know that?"
"We know many things."
Sigurd swallowed another mouthful of the strange fragrant not-quite-wine and narrowed his eyes. The herbal smoke and the strength of the alcohol made his thoughts muggy. Suspicion was beginning to bud in his stomach and as words began to spill from his mouth, his brothers eyed him cautiously, tension brewing.
"We have heard things about you also."
"Well, Sigurd, that is not surprising." The figure shifted on its mound of cushions, pulling itself into an upright position. Ivar's throat tightened as Eydis' face drew into the light and he soaked in the sight of her as if she were the last drop of water on earth. "Gossip is often spurred by ignorance or fear. People say many things about us." Her tongue flicked out and wetted the corner of her mouth, as quick as a snake. "Some of it is even true."
Ivar had spent plenty of time piecing together an appropriate face to accompany that smooth, earth-like voice. In his dreams fragments of many faces had fitted themselves together, though none of the variations he had created had seemed quite right. Ivar's subconscious had melded together the dark hair and harsh angles of her brothers, the graceful sweep of Aslaug's nose, Sibbe's soft cupid's bow lips. But it had been all wrong. Ivar's gaze dragged over each of her features as if he were trying to memorise them. Her inky blue hair was tangled up into a rough crown of braids and there were smudges of black and gold around her eyes. Ivar's eyes drifted down the swanlike curve of her pale throat, over the exposed flesh of her shoulders and down tattooed arms. The Ullacs certainly favour nakedness, don't they? Eydis' dress, if it could be called such, was a dusky yellow. Like the colour of Autumn Hawbit which grew on the hills in springtime. Aslaug used to love those flowers. The thin fabric was gathered up by a beaten metal collar at the base of her neck and the skirt was slashed daringly up one side, all the way to the hip.
A lot can be told about a man when he meets a beautiful woman for the first time. Especially by which part of that beautiful woman he decides to stare at. Take the sons of Ragnar for example. The moment that they laid eyes on Eydis, each boy seemed absorbed by a different piece of her. Hvitserk's eyes drifted to her hair, the colour of the ocean's depths and he began to imagine another woman. He wondered if Eydis would look better if she had silvery braids and softer angles, like Sibbe. Sigurd's eyes dipped immediately to the curved dagger sheathed on her mid-thigh, the polished metal winking at him in the shifting lantern light. And he wondered if the blade was as sharp as it looked. Ubbe stared at the hollows of her collarbones and wondered about the naked body that was beneath the thin fabric of her dress.
But Ivar was looking at something different. His gaze was caught by her left hand, and the ring which was settled there. And he wondered, who had put it there.
Brodir's daughter reached out with a bare, ivory arm and plucked up the wine jug. Ivar's gaze strayed instinctively to the large rune which had been branded on her upper arm. It had clearly been burned there some time ago because the mark was turning white around the edges. It was the same rune which had been painted on the wall of their cottage; the strong, simple lines somehow managing to look both bold and mysterious. The mark of the Ullacs. The crooked flash of teeth indicated that Eydis had caught Ivar staring at it, but she said nothing. Instead she poured a generous helping of syrupy scarlet liquid into their cups and they gulped it down so quickly that Eydis was forced to re-pour almost immediately. The thick, fragrant drink was addictive by nature. Not that the brothers could have known that at the time. All they could think about was how easily it slid down their throats and warmed their bellies. And, soon their heads were swimming.
"So tell me, Sigurd, what is it that you think you know about us?"
"People say the Ullacs are a cult. They say that you're dangerous."
"I would guess that you do not understand the ancient tongue of our homeland." Eydis tipped her cup in his direction slightly. "Nothing to be ashamed of, of course. Like you, many of our people have forgotten where they came from." The girl leant the crook of her elbow atop a ledge of cushions and surveyed him intently, luminous eyes glinting in the multi-coloured light. She swirled the almost-wine in her cup rhythmically. "Ullac simply means outcast and that is what we are, that is what we have always been." Blood sacrifice and earth magic. That is why people fear them. Two naked shoulders curled and uncurled lithely. "People will always talk of things they do not understand. But I imagine, if you asked them, they would also tell you that our support can be very useful."
"I imagine Brodir will feed us the same words at one point or another."
"He may well. If you choose to trust those words, I cannot stop you."
"You are telling us not to trust him? I thought the Ullacs answered to your father." Hvitserk interjected. The sons of Ragnar were curious, there could be no denying that.
"He likes to believe so."
"So, they do not?"
"We answer only to the Gods."
"Why are you telling us this?" Ubbe asked quietly. "It seems like a conversation you should have with your own family."
She fixed her awful, wonderful gaze on him, assessing his worth. "When the Great Army returns from England, the Viking world will be a different place. A confusing place. You may find yourself in situations you never thought possible." Then she shrugged, almost nonchalantly. "The consequences of Ragnar's death are not yet played out. Only the Gods know what is in store for us." Something in the way her eyes glittered told Ivar otherwise. She knows, he thought to himself, somehow, she knows what is to come.
"Is it true that you gifted Lagertha an hourglass?" Hvitserk asked. The herbs had wound their way inside his mind and he felt almost as if he were speaking while under water. The air in the tent suddenly felt still and close and very warm. Hvitserk fiddled with the edge of his tunic sleeve. For a reason he couldn't explain, he felt a bizarre urge to strip off his clothes. His skin was burning hot. Abruptly it didn't seem strange to him that the Ullacs went around half naked, even on a frosty mid-winter evening such as that night.
"Yes." Came the purring response.
"Why?"
"Her days are numbered."
"As queen?" Ubbe voice was a little hoarse, as if he was nervous for the answer.
The mischievousness in her animal eyes suggested something darker than simply being usurped as ruler of Kattegat, but Eydis gave no answer. Her head tilted to the side, one slender paint-stained finger touching her earlobe gently. "The festival is beginning." With a gracefulness Ivar often equated with wolves, Eydis rose to her feet. His eyes crawled up the vast expanse of naked leg as if he was starving. "There will be time for politics later, now we must celebrate. Come."
As the entrance flaps were pulled open, the sons of Ragnar were met suddenly with the roaring heat, the scent of herbal smoke and the rowdy cries of an Ullac celebration. They stood in awe of it. The sheer hedonistic pleasure of it all. The drumming, the music of fiddles and bells, the dancing women. The sound of laughter. Everything was blurred and colourful. The half-naked crowd melded together, grinding and twisting in a sweat-slicked tangle of moving limbs. Couples lay together on the mossy ground smoking long wooden pipes and sharing languid kisses. The whole world dissolved into this one clearing, this one forest, this one Viking town. It felt as if the gods were there, watching. The Ullacs knew that for some reason, some immortal unbeknownst reason, they had been favoured. And they revelled in it.
"Where are my children, woman?"
Sibbe sipped her wine. "I am not sure, husband."
Brodir's fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his dinner knife. "You know how I feel about lying."
"Perhaps they went to the tavern."
"And they did not think to ask my opinion. How disrespectful."
As he usually was by this late hour, Brodir was drunk. Without his children or noblemen to impress, the King was lazier. His carefully maintained mask had been placed on the table top beside his many-times-empty wine cup. Sibbe was on edge. She had barely touched her food, the anxiety budding in her stomach was numbed only by the alcohol. Perhaps she should have stopped drinking, the way that her vision was beginning to blur indicated that she had already had too much, but she couldn't stop herself. Sibbe knew the hell that was coming her way and she knew all too well that without wine, it would be near intolerable. "My sons are out enjoying their youth and I am here with my lovely wife." He bared his teeth at her. Sibbe used to think it was a smile. "How lucky I am."
"I feel very lucky also." She lied.
"You are not wearing the gift I bought you. A husband might think that his wife was not grateful."
"I am very grateful." Sibbe told him. Her words caught in her throat like a sticky piece of half-chewed food. "Mata took the necklace to polish it."
"Is that true, Mata?"
"Yes, my King." The serving girl hovering by the wall bowed her head respectfully.
"You would never lie to me, would you Mata?"
"No, my King."
"Do you know where my children are?"
"They went out drinking with the sons of Ragnar, my King."
"How inconsiderate of them."
Mata smiled emotionlessly. "Yes, my King."
"Sibbe," Brodir pointed his knife at his wife. "Perhaps you should take lessons from Mata."
"Lessons, husband?"
"She speaks to me with the correct respect."
"I apologise if I have offended you, husband. It was not my intention." Brodir leaned back into his chair, one hand cupping his wine lazily. His lips pulled back into a surprisingly attractive smile. It was one which Sibbe had almost forgotten. As she gazed at him across the table, she remembered how he had looked when they had first married. Handsome. Brodir tapped the edge of his knife against the table top rhythmically. He was calculating, she could feel it.
"Wife, I have become tired." The king pushed back his chair. "I will retire early." Sibbe's heart jumped with relief. "Mata will draw me a bath."
"Yes, my King."
As Brodir swept through the doors and down the corridor, the two women looked at each other for the first time. Mata was young and angular and looked like a real Viking woman. Sibbe admired her for that much, she had always felt too weak to identify as one of their people. The way that people looked at her, the way that they treated her, it was as if she were a bird with a broken wing. Dappled sunlight on the surface of the open ocean. Sibbe's eyes raked over the serving girl, all the time wondering whether she should be worried. Mata was beautiful and submissive and dark-haired like Brodir's first wife had been. But, frankly, Sibbe was grateful. She had craved a distraction for her husband for such a long time. If Brodir found himself a mistress, Sibbe would finally find herself some piece of mind.
"You should go and draw my husband's bath, Mata." Sibbe looked down at her plate. She interlinked her fingers, pressing the wedding band into her skin as hard as she could. Perhaps if it hurt enough, she would feel some shame for being pleased with the situation.
"I will, my Queen." The girl slunk forward until she reached the edge of the wooden table. "I have been given many duties."
"Duties?"
"Yes, my Queen was very clear."
"I did not tell you to do anything with my husband."
"Not you, Sibbe." Mata's astute eyes glinted in a way that Sibbe had not noticed before. Slowly her hand reached out and pulled the fabric of her dress sleeve up to the shoulder. "Eydis sent me."
Sibbe's hand touched her heart softly. "Why?" She already knew why, of course.
"She does not wish to see you suffer." Mata smoothed down the front of her dress with a shrug. "So, do not worry Sibbe. Your husband will not bother you any longer."
"Welcome to the Ullac clan, sons of Ragnar." Eydis glanced back at them. The flickering bonfire light latched onto the tattoo marked beneath her left eye. It seemed darker then, more mysterious. She gestured them to follow her and they did, striding across the clearing towards the edge of the bonfire. As the High Priestess walked Ivar could only stare at her. The daring cut of her dress revealed her entire back, but Ivar was not looking at the curve of her spine nor the muscles which spoke of hard training. No, his gaze was drawn to the four harsh scars which ran across the pale skin. They were old, older than her Ullac brand of that much he was sure. In the jumping light it was difficult to see properly, but they looked to be from a whip. A whipping delivered with great anger.
"You know my mischievous brothers of course." And with that, Eydis walked away. It was only a stone's throw, but it was far enough that Ivar was forced to swallow away disappointment. She was talking to a man; a mountainous, shirtless man with a mop of wild dark hair. The way he was smiling at her, chuckling with her, it twisted Ivar's stomach.
"There's my boy." Ivar's eyes narrowed at the sound of a delighted squeal. A little boy was running towards Eydis and the half-naked man, untrained legs buckling and staggering as he picked up pace. She leaned down and scooped him up, balancing him on her hip and wiping a smudge of mud from his cheek playfully. For whatever reason, Ivar had not anticipated Ullac children. Though he realised quickly that that was a foolish notion. The tribe travelled together, as one. Of course, it made sense that the little ones would come along too. Ivar's eyes shifted across the camp and he began to notice more and more children. They were running wild, like feral animals; all dirty and laughing and free. They darted in between the legs of their parents and stole sips of herbal wine from the communal buckets. They are a family. Ivar reminded himself. The youngest son of Ragnar watched Eydis with the child, a relationship which seemed as easy as breathing and he felt a sudden and inexplicable stab of jealousy. Was this her son?
"Boys." Ivar's attention snapped back to his brothers and the twins. Varin grinned at them, clapping Hvitserk on the shoulder good naturedly. His voice had dropped an octave and his body swayed ever so slightly. During the meeting in Eydis' tent, the party had descended into a more untamed sort of celebration. The alcohol was freely flowing; large buckets of wine were spaced out around the camp and the Ullacs would simply dip a cup into the liquid whenever they felt like it. Eydis' brother had clearly partaken in more than his fair share.
Varin wiped away a trickle of crimson liquid from his chin with a paint stained hand and another smile. His muscular arm wound itself around the waist of an Ullac girl. There were a few of them clustered near the twins; all willowy looking with long unbraided hair and paint on their faces.
"Well, what do you think?" The dark-haired boy asked. "Is it what you expected?"
"Not exactly." Ubbe laughed. His head was beginning to spin and the urge to move, to dance, seemed to overcome him. Gudrik watched Ubbe's fingers twitch, his foot beginning to tap out an irregular rhythm, and he nudged the girl beside him teasingly.
"You've been drinking the brew, huh?" She giggled. The girl had these big blue eyes ringed with smudged black kohl. Eyes as wide and glassy as those should have been innocent but they weren't. The pupils were too large, too dark. They threatened to swallow him whole. The hungry way she was eying Ubbe made his heart beat faster.
Ubbe nodded jerkily. "A little."
"Want to try something stronger?"
"Don't play with them, Signe." Gudrik warned teasingly.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Eydis didn't tell us how handsome Ragnar's sons were." A red-haired girl purred, she reached out and curled one of Hvitserk's braids around the crook of her finger gently. "She must have been keeping you all for herself."
"Oh Alma, you know how greedy she is." Signe confirmed.
If the High Priestess heard (which Ivar suspected she did) she didn't react, her attention was focused on the muddy boy in her arms. Eydis was nodding along as if she understood his incoherent babbling perfectly. Ivar leant against the wooden wine bucket savouring the sights of the Ullac camp. He couldn't have been less distracted by the women crawling all over his brothers. In fact, he was glad. After all, the sooner they disappeared, the sooner he would get a chance to speak to Eydis alone.
"You should be wary of these two," Varin grinned wolfishly at the brothers. "Insatiable creatures, the pair of them."
"We appreciate the human form," Signe told him as she smoothed her hand over Ubbe's muscular chest. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing at all." Ubbe managed. Any thoughts of Margrethe had vanished from his mind. Signe's blue eyes were burning into him, the press of her curving body against his made his stomach tighten. For one night at least, he could forget about the former-slave he had decided to marry.
"Would you like to have some real fun?" The red-head murmured in Hvitserk's ear and the boy nodded shakily. She isn't Sibbe, but she'll do. And just like that, the eldest sons of Ragnar were dragged away into the swell of the crowd.
"What about you, Sigurd?" Varin tucked his thumbs into the crook of his belt. "Any women take your fancy?"
"They're all dirty." He grimaced.
Varin laughed out loud. "That is half their charm, friend." Then the twin took a swig of his wine and shrugged, striding past Sigurd and into the fray.
