It took Herleif and Gunnar nearly an hour to leave the village. After first informing Audhilda of their quick departure, Herleif found himself stopped by many of the warriors that had traveled to Brosmegard as they tried to take their leave.
It seemed that Gunnar really had brought every able-bodied man and woman in the hold, and each of them was eager to greet their Jarl and show their readiness for battle. Herleif made sure to meet and welcome every warrior he could: Raiders, Warlords, and even wild Berserkers among all the freemen sworn to him, now gathered here at his hall.
Brosmegard sat on a rocky shore that opened up to the western ocean where the Bilrost's coast helped form the mouth of the Straight of Andlàngr that led on to the frozen lands of northern Valkenheim. For hundreds of years since the reclamation of Valkenheim by the Viking clans from Ashfeld settlers, Herleif's family had ruled Bilrost as part of the first defense against invading Knights that would sail across the sea from the south.
After all that time of near-constant warfare, the fortunes and power of their hold had at times suffered compared to that of others, but Herleif had always found pride in his family's legacy nonetheless. It had taken time and effort on his part to see Bilrost flourish into the self-sufficient hold it was today, but as a result, his longships had sat moored at the docks rather than be filled with warriors to set sail when the raiding season began.
Now he rode to see whether that would change, to determine if he would walk upon the path of war or peace, all on the word of a young woman touched by the gods or touched by something altogether more mysterious and terrible. He had never been too sure which was the case.
After taking horses from the stable, Herleif and Gunnar road out the village gate with a small entourage of húskarlar, their destination taking them up into the mountains that rose behind the village and away from the sea. A chilling breeze blew off the water and on into the hills. Even as spring began to thaw winter's frigid grasp, snow still covered the ground and coated the pine trees that rose into the air like gleaming white spears.
"I just came down from the mountains, Herleif. I should be bathing in a hot spring right now, not going back into the wild," Gunnar grumbled, cradling his axe in his arms as he rocked side to side in his saddle.
Herleif didn't bother to respond. It wasn't a far journey, but long enough that he didn't want to get into any useless arguments with his brother over his decision to consult with the gods before committing to Erik's invitation.
He knew Gunnar wouldn't understand. To him, the call to battle was answered with immediate action instead of thought or careful consideration. If Herleif had been free to wander the breadth of Valkenheim as his brother was without the burden of governing his hold and safeguarding their people, then perhaps he might feel the same. The chance to fight for glory and wealth certainly had its appeal, but he had to ensure that his people would prosper from such a venture before committing to a decision. With men like Erik and Ivar organizing this raid, he just couldn't be sure.
"It is barely even mid-day yet. Quit your whining and just ride," Herleif grumbled back.
The chill air was sobering as they rode on, and the more his mind was cleared of the ale he and Gunnar had shared back in his hall, the more he was beginning to dread what might be asked of him once he had his meeting with the Shaman who dwelt in the mountains above his village.
Shaman were a strange and dangerous lot. It was said that after the Vikings had fled north due to the Cataclysm that ravaged all of Heathmoor a millennia ago, savage women appeared among the clans. Their ways were wild and bloody, even by Viking standards, and through their strange seiðr, they seemed to commune with a great number of terrible powers than just those of the Æsir and Vanir.
Herleif tried not to ponder what dark mysteries remained hidden inside a Shaman's wild mind but tried to garner what wisdom he could through the cryptic words that were whispered to them from voices beyond this mortal realm. There were usually sacrifices to be made in payment for such wisdom, but if all went well, he would meet with Helge and come back with all of his fingers and teeth right where they were supposed to be.
"It is not that much farther. Helge's camp is just up ahead," he said, pointing in front of him through the trees.
"Why is she living all the way up here anyway? Did you finally wise up and cast her out to live with the other wild animals?" Gunnar asked with a laugh.
Herleif lifted his chin and scratched at his long beard. "No, she left on her own. She said that there were too many voices chattering about in the hall and that she could not hear the ones that mattered. Of course, it was all just in her head. Audhilda was relieved to see her go, and so was I, to tell the truth. She is a damn fine warrior to have on your side in a fight, but I could do without crazy fits. She came to winter up here with Ragnar and Ragna."
"Oh no, you didn't tell me they were up here too!" Gunnar groaned, his head slumping on his shoulders, "One set of biting teeth to worry about is bad enough, but now you've got us walking right into a den of wolves. I have half a mind to wander off again than see any of them, especially that fiend Ragnar. The man needs to be put on a leash, him and that infernal sister of his."
"You are still whining. Afraid Ragnar might feel a bit frisky after dealing with Helge and his sister all winter long?" Herleif grinned over his shoulder. Gunnar sighed and shivered as he sat hunched in his saddle, and it wasn't because of the cold.
They rode through the trees and into a clearing beneath an outcrop of gray rock. Herleif signaled his guards to remain behind while he and Gunnar rode ahead. Not far off, a fire was burning in front of a large tent constructed from hide and fur against the rocky face that loomed overhead. A single man sat huddled over the fire, sharpening an axe and seemingly uninterested in anything around him.
"Hail, Ragnar. I am glad to see that you did not freeze to death during the winter. You Berserkers certainly are a fiery bunch," Herleif said in greeting, getting down from his steed and approaching the man.
Ragnar's head jerked up from the weapon he was working on, his eyes going wide with surprise and then excitement. The wild warrior was barefoot and shirtless in the snow, wearing only a pair of patterned pants, a matching cloth tied around the top of his head, and a pale gray wolf skin over his well-built shoulders. The toothy grin that spread across his lips beneath his mustache and beard seemed to have been taken right off the wolf as well.
"Herleif!" Ragnar exclaimed, his voice full of merriment and joy as he sprang up from his seat, "Jarl of Jarls! King of kings! A warrior chosen by the gods! What the fuck brings you up onto this frozen waste of a mountain?"
Dropping his axe, he rushed up to Herleif, made a jab at his side, feinted, and sent a flurry of blows up his middle. None of them connected with any real force, but Herleif couldn't help but flinch anyway from the quickness of it all. Ragnar took that moment to throw his arms around Herleif and excitedly kiss both cheeks. "Welcome! Welcome! Come and drink with me. Gods know that there's nothing else to fucking do around here. Nothing but rutting, hunting, sparing, and then more of it all over again and again and again!"
"What about sleeping?" Herleif laughed and returned the Berserker's embrace.
"Sleeping? Ha! Fuck sleeping. I can sleep when I'm dead. Now come, have a drink with me!" Ragnar grinned and fidgeted as he returned to the fire and sat down again, grabbing a nearby barrel of ale.
Herleif remained on his feet, glancing over towards the tent. "Actually, Ragnar, I'm here to speak with Helge. Where is she?"
"In the tent," Ragnar grunted with a jerk of his head behind him. Pulling a stopper from the barrel, he poured a mug of ale for each of them, offering one to Herleif. "It's Ragna's turn to sate her needs. Suites me just fine. Crazy bitch nearly rides me to the bone when the mood hits her. Luckily there are two of us here to keep her occupied. Otherwise, I would surely be long dead."
Shaking his head, Herleif politely refused the offered mug. "I must go and speak with her, but I'm sure that Gunnar would be more than happy to sit and drink with you." Turning, he gestured behind him where Gunnar had ridden up and was stepping down from his horse, calling out for his attention. "Is that not so, dear brother?"
Ragnar frowned at first, but as soon as he set eyes on the big Raider, the wolfish grin returned to his lips. "Aha! Gunnar, you savage bastard! Owoooo!" He threw back his head and howled loudly, setting down the mugs, and jumped up to his feet once again and charged towards the larger warrior.
Gunnar saw Ragnar coming and let out a hopeless groan. "No. No! You stay away from me, you mad fuck!" he called out, trying to back away but only bumping into his horse instead. Shifting his feet, he took off around the animal's flank, going in circles as Ragnar happily gave chase.
Herleif stood momentarily and watched, the site reminding him of his two sons playing one of their childish games.
Laughing maniacally, Ragnar grasped at the air as he tried to catch Gunnar, howling like a wolf. "Owooo! Come now, Gunnar, don't be afraid! I want to greet you properly! Owh, owh, owwoooh!" he howled.
As Gunnar tried to make another pass around the horse, Ragnar leaped over the saddle, cutting the Raider off and springing at him. He latched on and tickled Gunnar's sides, ducking and dodging the swipes that Gunnar threw at him. Laughing and howling louder than ever, Ragnar jumped up and kissed Gunnar full on the lips, giving him a good slap on his rump before jumping away.
"Aha! What a joy it is to see you again, Gunnar! It's been such a long winter without having a big strong man to keep me company. I thought I might go insane listening to these women constantly chattering about! Nothing but useless chattering!"
Pulling back, Gunnar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat at the ground. "Ugh, you crazy bastard! Never was one to keep your weapon sheathed. Why couldn't it have been your sister that always tries to greet me like a mad nymph?"
"Ha, now that's a laugh! You know that she has no interest in what either you or I have to offer," Ragnar chuckled, grabbing his crotch and shaking it. "Unlike her, though, I know for certain that a man was not meant to limit himself to the pleasures of just one sex. Not when there is so much to enjoy with both! Now are you going to cower in fear all day from a little hairy man such as myself, or will you sit down and have a fucking drink with me?"
"Yes, Gunnar, quit insulting the man and have a drink. We're all friends here, are we not?" Herleif grinned, gesturing to the fire for his brother to sit.
Gunnar sneered but eyed the cups of ale and the barrel left unattended.
"Ah, you kiss worse than a wench pulled straight from the swamps of the Myre. But maybe I'll think differently after a drink or two, eh?" he grinned, earning a joyful laugh from the Berserker. Slapping Ragnar on the back, they walked over together and sat at the fire to enjoy their ale.
Satisfied that the two men had brokered a peace between them, Herleif nodded and made his way towards the tent but didn't make it far before Ragnar called out after him.
"Ah! Best be on your guard in there, Herleif," he said, pointing past Herleif to the tent. "Keep your weapons sheathed, and no harm should come to you. And I'm not talking about your seax either! Ha ha!"
Herleif gave Ragnar a tight-lipped grin but would not be deterred by ill-mannered jokes and went on his way. Behind him was the sound of laughing and merriment as the two warriors raised their cups in a toast.
Slipping inside the tent, Herleif was first met with an intense wall of heat that stopped him in his tracks. Another fire, larger than the one outside, roared in a pit dug into the tent's center. Its flames licked and danced into the air, smoke rising through a hole that opened to the sky above. From the wooden skeleton frame that supported the burlap and fur casing, there hung over a dozen skulls and bones of animals small and large. All of them were decorated with painted runes and carvings that shone clear and bright in the firelight like trickling blood. Runes of magic, dark prayers, and curses drawing power from living sacrifices, all more ancient than Herleif could imagine.
Sitting by the pit, shirtless and sweating in the orange glow, was Ragna.
Lean and powerful like a wildcat, she stared him down with cold, unflinching eyes even before the tent flap had fully closed behind him. For a long while, the only sound between them was the crackling of the fire, but finally, Herleif willed himself to give a nod in greeting, all while holding his gaze to hers and not letting it waver to anything else.
"Ragna," he said curtly, making no sudden moves.
The Berserker's lips slowly slid apart, showing off a wolfish grin that matched the one her brother had given outside, only this time, there was no trace of good nature or mirth behind it. Her's was a hungry and vicious smile that spoke of the pleasure a predator might find in drawing blood from prey. It was said that when Ragnar and Ragna had been born, the gods had created a passion and fury for war so great that it was too much for just one person to hold within them alone, and so in their wisdom, they had separated it in two, much to the weariness of their poor mother.
Twin Berserker warriors, a wild pair, to be sure. Ferocious and violent on the field of battle as they were rowdy and troublesome in the halls of men. Between the two of them, Herleif had always felt that Ragnar was much more of a people person, with Ragna being pickier about who she decided to entertain herself with. She leaned forward, strong shoulders hunched, elbows resting on her knees. Her tan skin was marred with scars and what looked to be small bite marks along her shoulders and neck.
"Jarl Herleif," she said, slowly drawing out the words in a deep and smooth voice, like the purr of a cat happy to toy with a mouse before devouring it, "Don't you know better to walk in unannounced on a woman before she is dressed? You're a married man, Jarl. What would Audhilda think?"
"My apologies. I was unaware. I am here to see Helge," Herleif replied, his voice low and steady. He glanced around for any trace of the Shaman but found none. The firelight was bright and warm, but the shadows cast about the tent were just as dark, and Helge could lurk within any of them.
Ragna laughed, "Ah, Jarl, you sure know how to break a girl's heart. Know how to make her jealous too, asking after my woman like that. I've gone after men for less, you know."
"Your woman? I thought you and Ragnar liked to share?"
"Helge does have her urges, and my brother has his fun, but I have no doubt that he knows his place in our little arrangement," Ragna grinned, blinking slowly.
"We all have our place in this world..."
Herleif gave a start and glanced around quickly, the disembodied voice sparking a primal fear in him as it whispered from out of the shadows, a hiss as smooth as silk and chilling to the bone.
"Our fates are already set from the moment we take our first wretched cry of life. Then it is a headlong rush to the moment we must simply die. Such is the fate of both gods and men." From a dark corner of the tent, Helge moved into the firelight, crawling on her hands and feet like a sleek wolf stalking through the untamed forest.
Each move she made seemed poised and calculated, her body tense and ready to pounce. Ancient designs of blue paint lined her legs and arms and curled over her eyes and mouth. Her hair was dark and tied behind her shaved head in tiny knots, her lips red like blood, and her eyes smokey with dark shadow.
"Fate can be cruel, yes, but the Norns give us the freedom to do as we wish until we finally meet our end. Why, then, do we spend so much of our precious lives agonizing over death? At least we here know how to enjoy the simple pleasures the world gives us."
Herleif felt no more at ease to see the twin's lover make her way out of the darkness. Facing down just one she-wolf alone was a tense enough experience. He watched silently, reminding himself that they were indeed all friends and that their allegiance was owed to him as Jarl, but there was always something about these three that seemed too wild to think of them as fully tame. Even a loyal dog could sometimes bite its master's hand on savage impulse.
Helge made her way over to Ragna, and the two met like friendly cats sliding up together by the fire. Helge looked back at him from over Ragna's shoulder, draping her arms around the woman as she smiled. "Come now, Herleif, I thought all old men loved to debate the meaning of life and legacy. Don't silence yourself now. Whatever is the matter? Has an Orochi run off with your tongue?"
"Sorry to disappoint, but I have come to discuss a different matter today. You and I have much to talk about." Herleif answered grimly. He squared his shoulders and stood up as straight as possible, putting up a strong front against these formidable women.
Helge rolled her eyes, sticking out her tongue in feigned disgust. "Aw, no fun. No fun at all. You only ever want to talk about the yield of crops and who best to trade with. You're so boring, Herleif! Give me something exciting to talk about. Life! Death! The twilight of the gods! These are the things that interest me!"
Herleif gave the tenacious Shaman a small smile. "How about we discuss a potential raid against Ashfeld? Would that suit your tastes better?"
That prospect did the trick. Helge immediately perked up, rising to her feet and moving around to stand beside Ragna, who remained silent. "Herleif, you surprise me," she smiled, "Finally, you wish to discuss something worthwhile. The gods will be pleased to answer your questions, I'm sure." Turning to her lover, Helge stroked a finger against Ragna's cheek, then swiftly turned her back on the Berserker. "Leave," she said coldly, her attention already turned to several jars and containers that held all the necessary tools for her rituals.
The proud smile that had rested on Ragna's lips at Helge's touch slipped away instantly with her sudden dismissal, and she lingered where she sat in surprise, staring at Helge's back. After a moment, she stirred, grabbing a brown fur pelt and tugging it around her naked torso in a huff. She didn't even look at him as she moved around the fire and stormed past him, letting out a low growl as she tore through the tent flap. Herleif was fine to let her go, hearing a welcoming cheer from Ragnar and Gunnar outside that was met with a harsh greeting and a demand for a drink.
He let out a slow breath once he was left alone with the Shaman, wondering if he should start talking now or wait until she was done gathering up her materials. Mustering his courage, he was about to speak again when Helge suddenly turned and slinked back to the fire.
With a flick of her wrist, she threw a gray powder into the flames, making them spark with life and rise higher than ever. The heat stung Herleif's face, and he leaned back as the light blinded his eyes for a brief moment. When he could see again, the Shaman was beckoning him closer to the pit, smiling with a giddiness that unsettled him. He came forward and sat at the edge of the pit; eyeing Helge, and she came to him brandishing a small knife in her hand.
"Must we?" he asked, frowning down at the sharp blade.
"The gods deal in more than just gold and silver, but in blood, flesh, and bone as well. So too, must we deal in these things when sailing off to war. Our blood must spill to earn their favor before we spill the blood of our enemies. It shows conviction. If you seek their counsel, then it is the price you must pay," Helge smiled, holding out her open hand expectantly.
Herleif grumbled his displeasure but put his larger hand in hers, palm side up, and looked into the firelight as he felt the blade pressed against his skin. He winced as the knife sliced open his flesh but said nothing. It felt like cold fire was licking at the open wound, but luckily Helge quickly held his hand above a pig's skull fashioned into a bowl, catching the warm blood that poured from him. She let him go only once she was satisfied and tossed him a cloth to bandage himself with. He wrapped it around his palm, and his gaze returned to the fire. He couldn't help but notice, though, how Helge held the bloody knife to her lips and licked it clean with relish, sliding her tongue along both sides of the blade until the metal was clean. The Shaman hummed and gave a pleased smack of her lips.
"You taste of power, Herleif. I always did enjoy that about you," she smiled at him. Herleif wasn't quite sure what to think of that, and he fought to suppress a shiver that ran down his spine despite the heat around him.
Without another word, Helge continued her work. Grabbing dried leaves out of a nearby bowl, she tossed them into the fire to burn, turning the smoke dark and billowy. The smell in the air became more pungent, and Herleif blinked as he felt himself slowly become a bit light-headed. Helge crushed dried herbs and mushrooms in her hand before dropping them into the pig's skull with his blood. Strange words began to slip forth from her mouth, muttering some spell that only she knew over the skull. Picking up a wooden pestle, she stirred everything into a thin paste before pouring it into a small cup.
"If you have questions for the gods, Herleif, ask them now," she said, then put the cup to her lips and swallowed the bloody mixture within.
Herleif licked his dry lips, unsure what magic the potion and spell would bring on. "Will they give a straight answer?" he asked, but Helge only continued to drink. Thinking carefully, he finally gave voice to the troubled thoughts that had lingered in his mind since Gunnar had told him of the invitation to go raiding. "Should I accept Erik Golden-Shield's offer to raid Ashfeld? If I agree, will I hold the favor of the gods, or will my people suffer under the boot of a man who cares for nothing but increasing his own wealth?" Then his gaze momentarily turned to the floor, his thoughts and concerns becoming more personal. "And what of my family? If I go, will I ever see them again?"
It almost felt like a betrayal to his people and the gods to ask such a selfish question. He knew that his thoughts should rest on Valhǫll and his family's legacy, but they always seemed to turn back to wanting to be by their side rather than dying in battle.
Helge shook the cup until every last drop flowed over her tongue. Her throat flexed as she swallowed, then tossed the cup away. Silence lingered between them until, all at once, the potion took its hold on her with frightening quickness. A violent shiver visibly ran through her body. The corners of her lips twitched once, twice, and she fell. She dropped in a heap on her back, her body, limbs, eyelids, and lips twitching as she writhed on the floor. Her mouth flew open, and a dry gasp burst forth, followed by a sickening cry. Her body twisted, and her back arched off the floor until she balanced in the air just upon the crown of her head and the bottom of her heels.
Herleif sat frozen entirely, struck dumb by the bloody concoction she used to break through to the realms beyond Midgard. Her small body writhed on the floor, seeming to be in the throes of death before she suddenly rolled over and up onto her hands and knees. Her eyes shot open, but they turned up to show only the whites and thin red veins, her lips curling back to bare her teeth in a horrible smile.
"Shields of gold. Days of ash. You wish to look upon the path that your fate will lead, Herleif Bjornson?" she hissed, her voice sounding far away and unattached from her body.
Herleif slowly rose to his feet at her question, a shiver of unease racing down his spine. In his time, he had stood across the field against Knights, Samurai, and Vikings alike, but nothing had struck him still so entirely as the Shaman's dead-eyed stare and hollow voice possessed.
"What is it you see, Shaman?" he demanded, putting steel into his voice, "What do the voices whisper in your ear?"
"I see, and I listen. The voices never tire of being heard. They scream and cry until their will is done. The path that lays before you will not be one easily tread." Helge smiled, leaning up and spreading her arms wide, "I see, I listen, and I will tell, Herleif Bjornson."
"I see three Jarls who will sail to the mountain of rust and fire, and there they shall fight three giants. I see the first standing proud upon their pyre, dancing as madly as the flames rising around them. The second I hear, with the marching of a thousand footsteps, a mighty host brought under a cloak of lies. Of the third, I neither see nor hear, for you will greet them gladly and will not be known until their dagger is already at your back. All of this I know, but will say no more. No fate can be fully known. The voices cry for so much blood."
Herleif looked grimly into the crooked smile and white eyes of the Shaman, his stomach twisting into knots. Somehow the tent seemed to grow even hotter. His cloak was becoming uncomfortably heavy around his shoulders, and he felt sweat trickle down his neck from under his beard and hair.
"So what does that mean?" he snarled, tossing his hands into the air. "Should I refuse the invitation then? Can I trust Erik and Ivar, or will they only lead me to ruin? Speak, damn you! Enough of your veiled words, and tell me plainly what I wish to know!"
Helge jumped at him, catching him off guard and nearly knocking him off his feet. They fell back together against the edge of the pit, and she scrambled on top of him. She grabbed onto his collar, her knuckles turning white from the strength of her grip.
"Be not a coward, you old fool! Unsheathe your sword and seek out the path of fire until you see your salvation rising with the sun in the east. You are Viking! Trust only in your brothers and in your shield. Your strength will come from nowhere else." She hissed at him through clenched teeth, her breath hot on Herleif's face as she gazed down at him with those dead-white eyes.
Then much to his relief and surprise, her grip around his collar loosened, and she dipped her head to rest her brow upon his chest. She seemed to relax, her body slumping heavy and exhausted. Herleif moved to grab her, but as he did so, her hands slid along his cheeks, fingers curling in his beard as if she were caressing a lover's face. When next she spoke, her voice was very soft, barely a whisper that he could hear over the flickering fire.
"Fear not, Herleif Bjornson, for you are not without the love of the gods or the love of your family. Glory will belong to you, but only if you can overcome those who would steal it from your grasp. They are like wolves snapping at you out of the darkness, hungry for all you have. Do you wish to be rid of them? Then you know what it is that you must do... "
Lifting her head, Helge looked at him again and smiled. Herleif's blood turned to ice in his veins at what he saw.
Blood was pouring from the corners of her eyes, from her nose and ears, bubbling forth from between her lips like a red river as she grinned. Even her upturned eyes were now wholly crimson, filled to bursting with blood that threatened to spill forth over him.
Herleif wanted to scream, to cry out and toss her away in revulsion but couldn't move. His throat had seized up, constricting tight as she gazed at him with that wicked face and stared into him, freezing him to his core. The air around them was thick with heat, stifling his breath, and there was a rushing thump in his ears that grew louder and louder until it felt like the air pulsed with a living heartbeat. To his horror, he realized then that the thumping in his head was the pressure of Helge squeezing his head between her hands. Her fingertips clawed into his face, cutting his skin as her hands began to crush his skull. He tried to pull away, to fight back, but her touch froze him. Her strength was unrelenting, squeezing harder and harder until he was sure he would break. He fought against her with all he had but couldn't get away. No matter how hard he pushed against or pulled at her wrists, he couldn't get free.
Then, at last, she spoke. Her voice was deep, shaking with inhuman power, echoing inside his mind like the bellow of an ancient beast from the deepest cave beneath the roots of Yggdrasil. Each word came on slow and drawn out, taking a terrible effort to say and to hear.
"Take us to war!"
It was all too much to bear, and in the depths of his heart, Herleif knew the meaning of fear as that voice threatened to tear him apart from within. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound could be heard against that menacing power, and he squeezed his eyes shut, not knowing if he would ever open them again.
When Herleif next blinked, everything in the tent was dark and cold. Before him, the fire that had burned so brightly and hot was gone, the tent void of warmth and leaving nothing but ash and chard logs crumbling in the pit.
Somehow he was sitting up again, with Helge cradled limp in his arms like a sleeping child. Slowly he turned his gaze down to look at her, his fear rising again as he expected to see the horror of her possessed face leering up at him again. To his relief, she appeared as normal as ever, peaceful even. Her eyes were closed, and her breathing steady. To look at her now, he would have thought she was nothing more than a sleeping young woman, finding no trace of the great and terrible power that had come forth from inside her mind.
She moved, and he flinched, almost tossing her off his lap. Helge only let out a small sigh, curling up and nuzzling her cheek against his chest. At least, it seemed that she was having good dreams.
There was a sound behind him, and Herleif twisted around. Blinding light stung his eyes, and he grimaced, his hands clutching to Helge's body protectively as his stagnant mind tried to figure out what was happening. The sharp light faded away as a dark silhouette moved into the tent's entrance and spoke to him in a familiar voice.
"Herleif, it is getting late. We should get going if we're to make it back in time for the feast. And don't go acting like we aren't going to have one. You know it's tradition," said Gunnar.
Herleif blinked a few times, his eyes finally adjusting to the daylight shining in his face and seeing his brother clearly.
Gunnar remained where he was, staring back at him and then glancing down at the unconscious Shaman in his arms. "Good thing I was the one who came to check on you. If it had been Ragna, you'd be in for a world of hurt finding you two like this. She's been in a sour mood as is ever since she joined us at the fire," he chuckled.
Herleif squinted his eyes, trying to make sense of what his brother was talking about. He remembered Ragna leaving the tent, but somehow that seemed like an age ago now. "How much time has passed?" he asked, giving a short cough to clear his dry and raspy throat. "Since I came into the tent. How much time has passed?"
Gunnar gave him a confused look, shrugging his big shoulders as he held the tent flap open over his head. "Quite a while. It's well after mid-day now. The sun won't last much longer. We should get going if we want to make it back to the village before dark."
It had still been early in the day when they had arrived at the camp, and Herleif had taken his meeting with Helge. Had he really been sitting there in the tent for hours, silent and unmoving? The thought made him feel ill, but perhaps that was just from going without food or drink for so long. He'd had the meeting he came for, though the answers were still jumbled in his mind. One thing he knew for certain though was that he would very much like to get down off of this cold mountain and back to his hall.
"Yes... yes, I think you are right. Tell Ragnar and Ragna to pack their things. They are coming with us. Helge, too," he said to his brother. Gunnar nodded and ducked out of the tent, leaving Herleif alone with the Shaman again.
Helge looked as calm as ever, still asleep in his arms. For a moment, he wondered if taking her along would be a mistake, but he knew the Berserkers would not leave the mountain without her, and if he chose to go on the raid, he would need their strength. More than that, though, he couldn't help but remember her last words before he had lost control of his senses.
'Take us to war.'
Herleif shuddered to think who Helge might be referring to, suspecting that she did not just mean the warriors of Bilrost. Was it the gods, perhaps? A humbling thought, comforting even to think that they would stand with him in battle, but he could not bring himself to believe it. Nothing had been glorious about that menacing vision, nothing kind in that powerful voice, and that unsettled him. Unlike anything he had witnessed with her before, it had been a dark and evil experience. Such was war, though, he thought, unkind and terrible to behold. If he were to go and spill blood with Erik and Ivar, bringing Helge and her voices along would probably be best.
Gathering his strength, he rose to his feet with a groan of effort and lifted Helge in his arms. She didn't weigh much, but he moved carefully as he left the tent, feeling like he was holding a wild animal that might wake up and sink its teeth into him at any moment.
By the time that darkness had fallen over Brosmegard, Herleif was safely back in his hall. He sat in his high seat from which he ruled his village and hold while the revels and clatter of the feast went on around him.
The hall was alive with merriment and drinking, music, and games, with nearly everyone from the village present, in addition to the warriors from all around the hold. A gathering so large had inevitably spilled out into the hall's courtyard and no doubt continued into the village proper, where everyone could celebrate regardless of station. Ale and mead flowed freely while roasted meat, cooked fish, and fresh bread were brought forth from the kitchens without end.
Herleif sat stiffly in his ornate chair of dark oak and carved sea beasts, drinking from a horn held limply in his hand without care. The events on the mountain still lingered in his mind, and he pondered them with a heavy brow as he quietly watched those around him.
Gunnar sat with Ragnar at one of the many long tables, enjoying the feast promised with his arrival. Together the two warriors joked and laughed, entertaining themselves and other Bilrost warriors with stories of their past battles and great deeds. Herleif's sons and daughter sat with the other village children around an old Skald who had come along with the warriors. They listened to the Skald's tales of honor and glory and songs of many heroes from all across Valkenheim, Herleif and Gunnar included among them at the offer of a few extra gold pieces. In another far corner of the hall, Ragna and Helge sat entwined together next to a small fire. Ragna stared down any man drunk enough to dare approach them while Helge whispered secret things into her ear that they both laughed at with bright smiles.
It was a good feast, but it held little interest to the Jarl hosting it.
Herleif drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, thinking about who it was that had been speaking through Helge that hungered so greatly for blood. He had been the one to awaken those powers and give life to them as he sought answers to his problems. The sting of his cut hand was a reminder of that. Of all the times he had looked for guidance from Helge, none had ever become so frightening as today. No doubt that even after the cut on his hand was long healed, the sight of those blood-red eyes would still linger forever in his mind.
"So, have you made your decision?"
Herleif gave a start and looked over at his wife, who sat to his right. Audhilda was clothed in her finest dress, dark green with white embroidery. A gold and silver necklace hung around her neck, with pendant earrings bearing the image of a galloping horse. Her hair was braided perfectly and curled into a silken wrap, with a simple gold circlet resting around her head. Upon her fingers were rings of gold and bright jewels, with silver bracelets dangling from her wrists. It was wealth fit for a queen, and most of it had been taken on raids from Herleif's younger days. He was proud of the gifts he had brought to her and his family back then. It had all gone to their benefit of the hold, securing his family's power among the Jarls of Valkenheim, but that was years ago now. Looking her over, he suddenly wondered when exactly he had become so cautious when it came to organizing raids.
He stared at her, brows raised after missing her question. "What was that?"
Audhilda slipped her hand into his, covering the bandage around his palm beneath her fingers. "Have you made your decision about Jarl Erik's invitation?"
Herleif frowned and furrowed his brows, turning his attention back to the feast. "Hmm, I am still unsure. It is not an easy decision to make," he said gruffly.
"Do they know that?" she asked with a slight grin, nodding towards the crowd of raucous warriors filling the hall from wall to wall. "They did not come here just for our good food and hospitality, though I know they will gladly take it. Some have already begun loading the ships while you and Gunnar were gone today. They are all just itching to be away."
Herleif nodded, rubbing his thumb against Audhilda's hand. "That they are. It is fine. Gunnar has told me that Erik will set sail for Ashfeld from the Hallowed Bastion. We will set sail in two days' time, and once there, I will speak with Erik personally and settle things then."
Audhilda arched a brow, giving him that look that said his decision would make no sense to anyone but himself. "That seems like an awful lot of work just to talk. It hardly seems very Viking either, worrying so much about going on a raid. I remember a younger Warlord once asking me if I would prefer a gift of a Warden's pendant or a dagger taken from a Peacekeeper's hand. I recall him being quite eager to please," she said with a coy little smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
"Will you ever let me forget? I wish you had asked for the pendant. Those Peacekeepers are more illusive than you would think," Herleif chuckled back, but his smile soon fell. "It is not a question of whether or not I have the stomach to go on a raid. The question is whether or not I can trust Erik and Ivar not to lead me on a doomed endeavor. The Knights of Ashfeld will not just lay down and allow Erik to sail away with all of their gold or for Ivar to cut a bloody path through their land for the fun of it, and neither of them will be sated by anything less. Weighing this, the only thing I am certain of so far is that this will not be a simple raid. It will be all-out war."
Audhilda's eyes grew somewhat fearful as she looked at him, but she said no more, which Herleif was fine with. He was content to sit and hold his wife's hand, thinking silently about the decision that lay before him.
Audhilda sensed this and sat quietly beside her husband, thinking things over. It was a comfortable silence between them, each content to let it linger until some distraction brought them back to the party at hand, but Herleif soon realized that the silence between them had spread further out into the hall, dulling the merriment of the night like a blanket of heavy snow right up to the door.
He became aware that many warriors had their heads turned away from him. He followed their gaze and caught sight of a lone figure standing at the entrance of his hall. The figure was tall and cloaked, so unmoving before the crowd that they appeared like a weathered rock rising against crashing waves, but was, in fact, a woman who had arrived at the hall unannounced. She wore a golden hawk-like helmet that hid her face completely and held a silver spear cradled in one arm with a small shield strapped to the other. By that helmet and pair of weapons, there was no mistaking who this woman was, but the question remained as to why she was there.
Rising from his seat, Herleif looked across the hall at the lone woman and felt cold, piercing eyes staring back at him from under that golden helmet. Audhilda stood up next to him, and further down among the tables, Gunnar did as well. Herleif glanced over towards his brother, hoping for a possible explanation for the woman's appearance, but Gunnar only looked back and shrugged in answer.
Clearing his throat Herleif was about to speak, but Audhilda beat him to it. Her voice rang out loud and clear through the hall, and she raised her drinking horn in greeting. "My husband and I are pleased to welcome such a drengr as a Valkyrie into our home. It is an honor to host such a member of your most noble order. Please eat, drink, and make yourself warm in our hall. You are among friends here."
The tall woman across the hall did not reply but gave a respectful bow of her head before making her way through the crowd. Herleif and Audhilda watched her for a moment longer before they retook their seats. Warriors parted before the Valkyrie's path as quickly as a ship cutting through calm waters until, at last, she came to a halt right before Herleif's seat.
Looking down at her, Herleif wasn't exactly sure what to say. He had only ever met a Valkyrie while they were in the service of another Jarl but had never employed one himself. Now that she was closer, he could see that her armor was old but finely crafted and that the eyes behind her helmet were as blue as ocean waves. They seemed to pierce right through him, judging his worth, seeking his thoughts. There was something unearthly about this woman, a feeling that spoke of a noble power greater than herself.
"I welcome you to my hall, warrior. I am Jarl Herleif Bjornson," he said with a nod in greeting. Again the Valkyrie bowed her head but still said nothing. He paused for a moment longer, giving her a chance to introduce herself, but seemed to only wait in vain. "Who is it that I have the pleasure of speaking with then?"
"Skuld," answered the Valkyrie in a curt and precise manner. Her voice was slightly muffled beneath the plate of her helmet, but it was strong and meaningful nonetheless.
Herleif's brows lifted on his head as he leaned forward in his chair. "Skuld? Meaning debt in the tradition of the Valkyries, is it? Who's debt have you come to collect? As I have said, you are most welcome here, but I have sent no word or invitation to your order seeking salvation for any of my dead. All is well here in Bilrost, and there is no warrior among my clan with fear in their heart of being denied entrance to Odin's golden hall that I know of."
Skuld gave no other answer. Slowly she turned her gaze over to Audhilda and held it there unflinching. Herleif turned to his wife as well, questioning her with his eyes. Audhilda appeared both uncomfortable and resolute as she looked down at the Valkyrie.
"Perhaps we should grant a private audience to our new guest, my Jarl?" she asked, a slight tinge of unease in her voice that told him it was hardly a suggestion.
Together Herleif and Audhilda retired to their private chambers with Skuld following behind. Herleif had his suspicions about what this was all about but kept his thoughts to himself until Audhilda had a chance to explain. He sat at a table near the hearth while Audhilda stood and addressed the imposing Valkyrie on her own.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice. I understand that it is the way of your order to roam far and wide across Valkenheim, but I am glad you made it here as quickly as you did. I trust the journey was not too arduous for you?" Audhilda asked, her voice proud and noble as she addressed the warrior. Skuld remained as quiet as ever, leaving a strained silence that prompted Audhilda to forgo any further pleasantries and continue on her own. "To the point then," she said with a small nod of her head.
She turned and walked to a nearby shelf, where an ornate box sat with the lid closed and locked. Audhilda drew up her ring of keys from her belt, finding the smallest among them and using it to open the box with slow reverence. Reaching inside, she produced an old seax in a dark leather sheath. It was rather simple in its design and decoration compared to the box it rested in, a warrior's tool just as much as a weapon. The grip of the long dagger was slightly worn, evidence of prolonged use by whoever had once wielded it. Audhilda held the seax in both hands, looking down at it with a sort of sadness as she lifted it for Skuld to see.
"This seax belonged to my father, Ander Ottarson. He was a strong warrior, sworn to Herleif's father, Jarl Bjorn Steel-Hide, in his day. He was well-loved by all those who knew him. My father fought in many battles raiding with Jarl Bjorn, and always he returned home with wealth for our family. It was because of this that our station in Bilrost was elevated, and I was considered a suitable match for Herleif when we were young. He was a good man and a good father. A true drengr of Valkenheim."
The strangled emotion in Audhilda's voice made Herleif press his lips together tight as his heart ached inside his chest. He sighed deeply, sitting in his chair without interrupting. Ander's seax had sat in their chambers for some time now, and he knew its importance to Audhilda as a memento of her family long passed on. Skuld's striking blue eyes stared at the dagger in his wife's hands as she continued.
"Years ago, my father was thrown from his horse while out on a hunt in the forest and struck his head upon a tree. He healed from the fall, but the wound to his head left a lasting mark on his life. It was as if Loki had played some cruel trick, taking my father's wit and skill to do anything and leaving a mighty warrior helpless and weak. He had lost himself, easily forgetting where he was and the faces of those who loved him. There were many who wanted to help him, including Jarl Bjorn, but there was nothing they could do to bring back the man my father once was. It was clear to us that the days of my father's raiding had come to an end. My mother watched over him the best she could, but caring for him was like caring for a young child. Some said sending him on his way would be better, but she would not hear of it. I fear now that perhaps it would have been better if she had listened." Audhilda paused a moment to take a breath, looking down at the seax with tears gleaming in the corners of her eyes.
"He had a habit of wandering off when no one was watching. One night, he slipped from his house unseen and must have wandered off into the wilderness or along the shore. Loki had played his last trick, for no matter how hard we searched, we never found any trace of what had happened to him. He had gone off without his sword, his seax, anything that would show him as a warrior if he met his end. I know nothing of his fate to this day, but in my heart, I know he does not reside in the golden hall where he deserves to be."
Audhilda thrust the seax out to Skuld, bidding her to take it. There was a pleading look in her eyes, an unyielding love that a daughter has for her father no matter how long they have been apart.
"You are a Valkyrie. It is you who chooses who is worthy among the dead. My father's misfortune kept him from an honorable death in battle with a sword in hand, a fate that was his by right. But now you might fight on his behalf and earn him back his proper place in Valhǫll. My husband prepares to raid into Ashfeld with the Jarls Erik Golden-Shield and Ivar the Red, and together they will claim great glory and honor in the eyes of the gods. I bid you to go with him. Take my father's weapon, and give him the honorable death that was denied him while he was still whole."
Herleif was struck by his wife's plea, a genuine cry from her heart to see her father honored in the way he deserved. The story of Ander Ottarson was well known in their village and had hung over Audhilda like a dark cloud since his disappearance. He had always tried to be respectful of the subject, letting the name of Ander rest until it became a ghost that lingered in the shadows of their minds. Now though, he realized that he had been wrong to think it was better to forget the tragedy rather than to seek solace for a person held so dear. At that moment, his heart broke and burned with pride for his beloved wife, knowing her to be a true woman of honor.
Skuld looked at the old seax for a moment longer as if weighing its worth, or rather the worth of the man to whom it had once belonged. Stepping up to Audhilda, standing quite a bit taller than the noblewoman, Skuld gently took the dagger from her hands. She held it out in front of her, laying claim to the offering with a respectful bow of her head.
"I accept," she replied calmly, "For Ander."
Audhilda's hands dropped to her sides, and her shoulders relaxed as if relieved of a significant burden. "You have my thanks, brave Valkyrie. Go with my love and the love of all the gods. My father's fate rests in your hands," she said, blinking as the tears finally began to roll down her face.
Skuld slipped the seax into her belt and bowed to Audhilda again, then turned to Herleif and repeated the gesture before leaving the room without another word. Audhilda dipped her chin and closed her eyes, clasping her hands in front of her as she took a moment to compose herself.
"I owe you an apology, husband," she said in a serious tone as she turned and looked at Herleif, "I fear that in pursuing my desires, I have forced your hand to sail with men you do not yet fully trust. Only, I have longed sought such a moment to set right my father's ill fate. When you told me of Erik's invitation, I could not stop myself from seeking out a Valkyrie's help. Can you forgive me, my Jarl?"
Herleif's gaze softened as he looked at his wife. He hated it when she called him by his title. It felt like she was drawing a line in the sand on principle rather than falling back on the love they had for one another.
"You have forced nothing," he said with a wave of his hand, "Far be it from me to stand in the way of what is rightfully owed. Your actions do you credit as a daughter and a wife. If there is anyone who should apologize, it is me for not doing the same sooner."
Audhilda blinked a few times, rubbing a finger against the corner of one eye before holding out her hand. Herleif stood and went to her, taking her hand into his own and bringing her into his embrace. They stood silently for a moment, her head resting upon his chest as he held her in his arms.
"You make me proud, Herleif. I would not let you go so willingly if I did not think it was right. You have done our people a great service by looking after them, but I knew that your fate would always lead you to distant lands in the end. A Warlord's sword will always find its way back into his hand."
Herleif sighed into her hair and breathed in the sweet scent of her perfumes. She smelled of home and comfort, her body warm and easy to touch. He felt both the bitter sting and joyful swell of knowing that she was right and that as much as he wanted to remain here with her in his arms, it was not meant to be. The roaring sea and field of battle called for him, for in his heart, he was Viking. He would always seek the great honor of a magnificent death, one that would always take him away from his family in the end.
"I will be back," he said, as he always did, but they both knew that he might not return one day regardless of what he promised her. Still, it was a comfort that neither of them could do without.
"You had better," she laughed, "You still owe me a Peacekeeper's dagger after all. At your age, this might be your last chance." They chuckled together, and then Audhilda slipped from his arms. "Come, we should return to our guests."
"Go on ahead. I will be there in a moment," Herleif replied, letting his hand linger in hers before she departed the room. He was left alone with only the crackle of the lit hearth and the thoughts in his head to keep him company.
He turned and walked closer to the fire, holding out his hands and letting the warmth wash over him as he stared into the flames. Soon he would be away from this place and his family, sailing headlong into a fight he may not return from. Dark voices and the gods' will seemed to fill his sails, compelling him to go forward without hesitation. Like the fire now before him, he knew in his heart that he would be sailing into the flames of war.