Thralls Of Skuld - Chapter 2: The Divine Order

Thralls of Skuld - Chapter 2: The Divine Order

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“I went to see her, you know. To ask for her help.” Unn said, throwing her head in the direction of the simple wooden hut nestled in between the tall grass and wild bushes. They were returning to Eiklund in the late afternoon, after three days of foraging. Eira wondered how flowers and plants could weigh so much.

“I thought you didn’t believe that fate could be changed?”

It was known that some of the woven threads of destiny spun by Norns led directly to vølur, woman wielders of a high magick form of called seiðr. Although they were inhabitants of Midgard, seiðr allowed them to walk between this realm and the eight others. Eira wondered what had driven Unn to call upon the services of such a seeress.

No one knew why this vølve had come to Eiklund two summers ago. Usually vølur were called upon by those in need, arriving with a following of young girls who helped them practice their seiðr through elaborate rituals of singing and drums. Yet the vølve who now resided on the far border of the Eiklund county had come alone, on her own volition. It had caused some suspicion, but she had made no demands or disturbance to the everyday life of the Danir. 

When a child had fallen woefully ill some months after her arrival, desperate parents had sought out the vølve, and she had performed a healing ritual that had fully recovered the sickly child. After that, people from all the nearby settlements flocked to her. Some even attributed last year’s bountiful harvest to her arrival. Yet many still harbored some suspicion towards the inconspicuous seer at the edge of the village. It seemed too good to be true, that she would have come simply to aid the people of Eiklund specifically. Eira herself had never sought her out, and neither had Unn until now.

“It was not for my own sake. When one of Ulf’s boys fell sick, I did not know what to do.” Unn explained. 

Eira remembered the rattling lungs of the scrawny little kid a few months ago. It had been many years since Ulf had lost his own children to the nøkke. He had filled the hole in his heart by taking in three orphaned boys, one of whom was a weak and sickly child.

Unn continued: “Ulf had come to me, you know he does not trust the vølve or anything magick, since the children…” she trailed off for a second and let the heavy words hang in the air. It felt like a small, sharp dagger stabbed between Eira’s ribs, briefly inserted and retracted again.

“But my tinctures and galdr could not help the child, and I could not bear to tell Ulf that it was beyond my powers.” Could not bear to tell him he would lose another child. Eira knew that was what Unn really meant, from the pained expression on her eyes. “So I took the child to the vølve, without telling Ulf. I thought she would heal the child through her own ritual, but instead she asked if she should teach me how to do it.”

“Teach you?” Eira’s mouth fell open. Unn nodded. “You mean, teach you seiðr?”

Eira looked back over her shoulder towards the vølve’s hut, which they had left behind as they turned onto the main road for Eiklund. The saying went ‘to wield seiðr without the Gods’ permission is to challenge Odinn himself.’ There were stories of both Gods and Jarls going to great lengths to stop the common people from using complex magick without permission. A threat to the nobility of Odinn’s chosen bloodline - and all their lucky lackeys - was a threat to the divine order itself. The commoners who showed magick prowess were plainly killed, while suspects were branded with magick runes that weakened them over time. In the olden days, entire villages had been burned to the ground or swallowed by the earth, vanquishing any rebellion that had existed in the hearts of the commoners.

“Yes, she wanted to teach me -” Unn avoided Eira’s wide eyes staring at her.

“This was months ago!” Eira interrupted whichever meek statement was coming next from Unn. “How could you not tell me?”

“I was not quite sure what to make of it. I didn’t know why she would teach me. It felt like being told a secret I did not ask for. I was afraid of what would happen if people knew.” The muscles around Unn’s brow and jaw had tightened. Eira bit her lip, considering the insinuation. It was true, this could not reach the ears of Jarl Ingmar, their vengeful ruler.

“Well -” A gleam sparked in Eira’s eyes, a curious excitement on her lips. “Did it work?”

Unn nodded again, still not quite meeting Eira’s eyes as she said “The boy is still alive, is he not? And stronger than ever.”There was a trace of pride in her voice.

Eira squealed. “Imagine!” she exclaimed, gaping. She grabbed Unn by the shoulder, bringing them both to a halt in the middle of the road. They were close to Eiklund now, the longhouse on the outskirts of the village visible in the distance. She contained herself and said more hushedly, “You must go back to learn more, Unn.”

Unn bit her cheek, removing Eira’s hand from her shoulder, gently but decidedly. “There is a reason why it is not allowed, Eira.” With that, Unn started walking again, not allowing herself to be influenced by Eira’s intent eyes on her. Eira had wanted to ask her more, but Unn walked away too quickly.

As they entered Eiklund, Eira excused herself from following Unn to her house. She had been absorbed by aiding her friend in the past few days, but knew that it was time to catch up with her warband, to prepare for what loomed ahead. They were leaving to join King Gorm’s army in Southern Selund in just a few days. 

As Eira bid Unn goodbye, Unn told her sternly “Do not tell anyone, okay?” and Eira promised, quelling the beaming curiosity inside herself to pursue this new information further. Imagine, she thought again as she made her way between the scattered longhouses of Eiklund, what real seiðr could do in the hands of the people.

Eira found a band of shield-brothers and sisters from Eiklund and the neighbouring villages, gathered at Ulf’s house. The smokey longhouse was filled with laughter and the smell of roast pork, telling Eira that she had arrived at just the right time. Ulf’s house was always a chaos of people.  The three orphan boys he had adopted chased each other around the house like Sól and Máni, the sun and moon who chased each other endlessly in the sky. The boys screeched and fought until they were sent outside with a yell from Ulf’s wife. People often flocked to Ulf’s house, him and his wife known for their exceptional hospitality. Today was no exception.

When she settled next to Geir, he slapped her shoulder heavily with his large hand and greeted her with a warning, his voice warm and jesting: “We were hoping you would not arrive in time for the discussions. We were planning on sending you headfirst into the Sviar legions, having you test out their powers before the rest of us go ahead.”

“Always the strategist.” Eira rolled her eyes.

“It’s brilliant!” Magnus, a young warrior, gestured enthusiastically between Eira and Geir.

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” A shieldmaiden to Eira’s left jabbed at him, Magnus feigning ignorance over the thinly veiled suggestion. On the battlefield, people grew bonds beyond normal friendship. There was a deep familiarity between the frequently deployed fighters of the jarldom. Sometimes the bond developed further than friendship and loyalty. Most people did not see it in Magnus’ eyes, the utter devotion melting together with his always sparkling eyes and the expected admiration for the famed fighter Geir. For some, it was not even considered a possibility. But Eira was sure of it, and her shield sisters recognised it as well.

“Now tell us Eira, have you finished plucking flowers, so that you can actually discuss this new war with your warband?” Geir said with his roaring laugh. “We need your skills in galdr and runes to bring us to victory.”

The discussions of how exactly they would tackle this new venture continued into the night. Geir was convinced that their new foe, the Sviar, would be strange creatures with unknown powers and tricks. Of course, they had all met many Sviar traders who were as human as themselves, but Geir believed in preparing for the worst.

The coming days proceeded with many preparations before they would all leave to join their neighbours, travelling to the coast of Selund to join the army of their new King. 

So Eira had spent her last days before departure casting runes and inciting galdr in tedious rituals. It was a slow and imperfect process, the outcome never guaranteed. The galdr were rhythmic, metered songs, passed down from parents to their children, or between people of certain vocations. Eira’s verses had been taught to her by other warriors, but she had a special sense for the forceful vocalizations required for effective galdr. The galdr she knew was meant to strengthen the armor of her friends and weaken the weapons of her foes. There was never a way of knowing if it had worked, until they were on the battlefield.

She also weaved protecting words and phrases into wooden shields. Carving destructive runes of Tiwaz for strength and Isa for striking fear in the hearts of their enemies, anointing the runes with the blood of a ritually slain goat. She invoked the many Gods of war, Odinn, Freyja, Thor and Tyr, to grant them prosperity on the battlefield. Eira liked especially to call upon the oversight of Tyr, hoping for a fierce but righteous battle without unnecessary cruelty.

While she had her moments of disdain for the merciless nature of the Gods, Eira accepted the importance of these preparations in swaying the outcome of wars. It was a matter of understanding the divine order of things. Eira had always known her place as a warrior in the world. One must have courage and strength on the battlefield, but they must also know their place within the warformation. A strong shieldwall holds no cracks. This mentality was brandished into the very vocation of the commoner warriors, distinctly separate on the battlefield from the noble Jarl’s men and mages. The common men were blades, sharpened to carry out the bidding of their rulers without question, bound to steel and duty. They were rewarded with the spoils of war, fame and riches, but more importantly, a place in the halls of Odinn or Freyja in their eternal afterlife. This was the sweetest bounty, one which now urged her towards the land of the Sviar with excitement in her chest and courage in her heart.