Chapter 15 - Blót

"So...you are telling me, Odin plucked and dropped this woman into Midgard from another world."

We are sitting at the long table in the tavern, eating our evening meal, which is more roasted white fish and vegetables. Arne is watching me from across the table unabashedly with keen interest, chin resting one one hand, a tankard of mead loosely dangling in the other. He's been rapid firing questions about how I came here and my home world.

"Or perhaps it was Heimdall that let her in..." Arne muses, scratching his chin and squinting his eyes in thought.

Froðe sits at the end of the table to my right, and is moodily quiet. He says nothing and takes a swig from his own tankard.

"Who is Heimdall?" I ask.

Arne's eyebrows hit the ceiling before he gives Froðe a look of incredulity. "And she knows nothing of our Gods, brother. Are you not preparing her for how to live in this world?"

"Heimdall is is the guardian of Bifröst," Froðe answers, ignoring his brother and slicing into some fish with a knife. "Bifröst is the rainbow bridge connecting Asgard, the realm of the gods, to Midgard, this realm, the realm of humans. Heimdall has the ability to see and hear across great distances and even realms, in order to watch over the bridge and detect any approaching threats. He would have likely oversaw your journey here."

Are the gods real in this world? I wonder. Magic seems to exist....so...maybe. The thought of my soul floating along a rainbow bridge on my way here seems pretty wild. But...then again, so is falling through a man hole in Seattle and then landing in a viking world. I shrug and take a swig of mead myself.

"And Skuld foresaw her coming here?" Arne asks, punctuating the "her" with his index finger, causing the mead in his tankard to slush over the brim.

Froðe nods, taking a bite of fish off his knife.

Arne swirls the mead in his tankard, in thought. "The world you describe to me, of where you come from...it does not sound like any of the nine we know of."

Nine worlds? There is still so much I need to learn.

"Looking at you, I would think you came from Alfheim," Arne adds with a lazy grin, before taking a swig from his mead.

Froðe snorts, and I wonder what that means. "You have no shame, Arne."

"Come now, brother, does she not have the divine features of a Light Elf?" Arne says, waving a hand at me and wiggling a golden eyebrow. "With that fiery, ethereal hair of hers?"

I can't help but chuckle at the flattery. "I'm sorry to disappoint you Arne, but...I'm no Light Elf," I say.

"Hmmm...we shall see of that. Wouldn't be the first time the gods decided to walk the human realm," he says, popping a few dried nuts in his mouth.

I shake my head, but can't help grinning at his ridiculous claim. I like Arne. He's a shameless flirt, for sure, but he's easy to talk to and has this energy that just draws you in. It's probably very effective in his lifestyle as a merchant.

Froðe glances between us, then clears his throat.

"You join us at an interesting time, Arne. We have our Blót ceremony tomorrow for Vernal."

Shit, that's tomorrow? I guess the last few days have really flown by. I don't really feel like I helped that much with prep other than learning the ritual song with the other women under Skuld's care, but maybe that was intentional. My stomach drops. What if...a God tries to speak to me again? Through Skuld. I shudder. That was so fucking creepy to see her possessed like that, I'm not looking forward to experiencing something similar again.

Froðe catches my shudder, and his eyes soften. "If you do not want to participate, you do not have to, Beatrix."

I look up at him, surprised. He's giving me a choice?

Froðe nods. "Skuld told me of your last experience. Not even some of the men in my clan could witness such a thing without being alarmed, yet you stood your ground and spoke to the Norn. You did well, fiery one."

Wow, he's actually praising me. I hate how good it feels. I didn't do it for him. I did it because...I was curious I guess. Anyone would want to know their fate, even if someone who looked like they were cast as the possessed girl in The Exorcist was giving you your fortune. Maybe?

"Thanks," I say instead.

"And she speaks to the gods..." Arne says in wonder. "Teach this woman how to fight Froðe, and she will be a force to be reckoned with. Make her a shield maiden."

"Torsten is training me," I say happily. "But I have a long ways to go.."

Arne grins and leans forward. "We should spar then. I would like to see your progress...and give you a few tips of my own. I am not just a merchant, you know," he says with a wink. Froðe rolls his eyes, digging back into his fish.

"Sure, I'd like that," I say, with a genuine smile, before a yawn overtakes me. After sitting down for so long, my limbs have become heavy along with my eyelids. I'm exhausted with all this training. I worked out regularly in my home world, but training with a sword is a full body workout and I have begun to hurt in odd places I haven't hurt before. Like my hands, for example. It must be from gripping the sword and shield.

Froðe makes a pointed look at me. "You should rest. Tomorrow will be a big day, whether or not you choose to participate in the ceremony."

"I'll do it.... I'll participate," I say as I rise from the chair wincing, surprising Froðe, as well as myself. I guess I'm morbidly curious about what a Blót ritual is like, as well as what the gods might say about Froðe's fate.

He nods. "I'll let Skuld know. Now get off to bed. Arne and I have business to discuss, so I will be in later."

Arne's eyes shoot to Froðe at the mention of us sharing a room, but I'm too tired to explain that we have our own beds. I begin shuffling to our room and raise a hand in farewell to the brothers.

"Good night, Light Elf," Arne calls out playfully to my retreating back.

By the time I get to our room, I've gone full zombie mode, shuffling towards my bed with my arms dangling by my sides and my head hanging forward. I should change, I think. I should get these shoes off. Ugh. But that's sooooooo much work. In the time it takes me to contemplate this, I tumble onto my bed, face first. Ow! Fuck I forgot about the cut on my lip. With a groan, I turn my face slowly to the side to relieve the pressure on it. Clothes and shoes still on, feet dangling off the edge of the bed, my eyelids slowly droop until they close and I'm lost to the world. I didn't even bother with the lamp.

At some point much later in the night, I stir from a sound and shiver. In that fuzzy place between being awake and sleep, I feel a fur get gently draped over me, then someone unlacing my boots and placing them on the floor. Then I'm lost to the world again.

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"Rise and shine, my little flame."

I groan. Now what? Is Skuld in my dreams now too?

"We must prepare you for the ceremony today. I'm so excited you agreed to take part."

.....

I feel a staff gently poke me in my ribs.

I reluctantly open one eye, still on my stomach, and peer up at Skuld, who is grinning down at me like a maniac.

"I'm not taking henbane."

Her smile falters just slightly, but she recovers quickly. "That is alright. For you, we might not need it. Like last time."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

I sigh, pushing up off the bed, every bone in my body creaking in the process, and note that Froðe is already gone. Also, the large brown fur that is usually draped over his bed is gone. I look down, noting it's on my bed and wrapped around me. He gave me his blanket. Did he sleep without one?

A ping forms in my heart at that, but I push it away. I glance at our window and note with the amount of light that it's just after dawn. He didn't get much sleep either, did he?

"Alright, Skuld," I say, finally turning to her. "What do I need to do?"

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Hours later, I'm bracing myself against Torsten's hits on my shield, trying to parry and strike with my own sword.

"Aim fer meh head, not meh sword, Lass!"

Fuck! I didn't realize I was doing that.

I groan in frustration, but I do what he says. It just feels so unnatural to swing a sword at someone's head. I never had this problem striking someone in Wing Chun.

"Aye, tha's better! Keep hittin', dinnae stop at one strike!"

I try out a new maneuver he taught me today, cutting with the short side of the sword, twirling the blade up around the left side of my body and slashing with the long side of the sword at the same angle as the first cut. Whack! Woosh, Clank!

He blocks it easily, but nods.

"Good. Use yer hips n' the wieght o' the sword more next time."

"Well now, that's not bad," Arne's voice cuts in, surprising us both, and we drop our swords. "Mind if I cut in, Torsten?"

Torsten nods. "Aye, by all means."

Arne hops down with a swagger and takes the wooden practice sword and shield from Torsten. He does a few twirls of the sword in his hand, then winks at me.

"When he says use your hips, he means rotating them in the direction of your cut to increase the power. You can also sink your weight down into your knees when you make a downward slash. This will also increase the force of your strike."

He demonstrates with a pattern of slashes, one down from his right shoulder, up from his left hip, up from his right hip, and then down from his left shoulder. I mimc it, trying to use my hips to direct each cut up and sinking my weight with the slashes downward. I can feel the difference right away, and grin.

"Good. Now let me show you something even more exciting," he says with a glimmer in his eyes.

It's basically a circular parry, where I move the blade in a circular motion to deflect an opponent's attack away from me, disrupting the trajectory of the sword and giving me an opportunity for a counter attack. Not going to lie, I felt pretty badass when I was finally able to execute it.

After we are done, I head to the flower field to practice archery with the bow and quiver Froðe gave me, while Arne insists on checking out the progress of the bath house with Torsten.

I haven't seen Froðe all day. Part of me wonders what he's been up to. Probably settling trades with Arne with the gold his clan stole from the monastery, overseeing the work being done to establish his settlement, and spying on me with Huginn. I look up the partly cloudy skies, seeing if I can spot him anywhere, but he's nowhere to be found.

Once my arms turn to jelly, I deem that enough archery for one day. I still haven't hit a bulls eye, but I'm consistently hitting the inner circle or next one on the targets.

Skuld told me to meet her back at her home an hour before dark for the ceremony, so I decide to sit for a bit in the flowers. I trace my fingers along the petals of some neighboring lupines, their velvety texture soothing against my skin. This feels like the calm before the storm, so I try to relish it as much as I can. I stay there until golden hour approaches, coating the field in a spectacular glow, before I make my way over to Skuld's.

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We are cloaked in hooded white robes, our eyes painted in kohl, carrying torches as we form a procession from Skuld's home. I wear nothing underneath but my pendant. For a reason unclear to me, Skuld insisted, but I firmly told her the cloak was not coming off. Iona beats the drum in that heartbeat-like rhythm as we make our way to a bonfire set up in the woods neighboring Tír Nairngire, the clans men and women already forming a circle around it. Skuld leads the way, a white fur mantle draped over her shoulders, kohl covering the top half of her face, and a headdress of antlers resting atop her white blonde tresses. As she peers to look back at us, checking in on the procession, the flickering light of her torch gives her the illusion she is a creature from another realm.

Once we join the circle, I can see that there is a pattern etched into the earth at our feet. It looks like...a labyrinth...no, it's a tree, etched in the form of a winding labyrinth within the circle. At the head stands a stone altar, constructed with tall rectangular slabs of stone and a circular one placed atop it. Upon it rests the skull of what appears to be a wolf, carved totems of a one-eyed older man, Odin perhaps, a drinking tankard, a wooden bowl and various stones with runes carved on them. They are surrounded by lit candles. Beside the altar, rests a large twig with many small branches.

The clan is quiet, watching us enter and form an inner circle around the tree. I hear a horse whinny nearby, and turn to see a brown mare held by a rope by Gunnar. I don't see Froðe yet, and wonder when he'll make his grand entrance. Skuld told me the Siedr portion of the ritual would be more focused on the future of his new settlement and the pursuit of a kingdom, but she did warn me that as the Norns were interested in me, that they might also speak of my future again. Great.

Skuld suddenly blows a long horn, pulling me from my thoughts. The note is long and steady, grounding us, and even the horse quiets. The crowd near the altar parts, and Froðe strides into view. He is shirtless, the diagonal scars on his pecks reflecting in the firelight. His wolf mantle is draped over his shoulders and behind him more like a cape, held together with his silver chain and half moon clasps. Despite us women all wearing hoods over our heads, his eyes find mine immediately, and an strange energy crackles between us. I feel this unusual pull to stand beside him, but I remain where I am. A whisper sounds at my ear and I turn to see who it is, but Iona faces forward next to me with a serious expression, her lips sealed. Must have been my imagination.

Skuld steps closer to the altar, her staff stabbing the earth, but carefully avoiding the winding path of the tree. She places something on the altar, but it's small enough that I cannot see from my viewpoint. Froðe's eyes narrow on it, then shoot to me again, but he says nothing.

"Hail Odin the Allfather!" Skuld's voice booms.

"Hail Odin!" The others repeat around us. Alright, sure. I join in too. When in a Viking world....

"Praise him for his mighty strength and courage, and his great wisdom!"

The others shout in agreement and raise their torches. I timidly raise mine.

"He has guided us here, to this lush land rich in resources and treasures. He has granted us success in many battles." The nodding of heads follow this proclamation.

"Oh Gangleri, always curious and seeking knowledge, we ask that you continue to guide us in our journey for a new kingdom. Help us find the path that brings our Jarl to continued success in battle, and glory befit him entrance to Valhalla someday to feast amongst you and the Æsir. We ask that you show us if our path remains steady, if what was promised to our Jarl is still true."

Gangleri...wanderer.

"We bring you these offerings..." Skuld says, motioning to one of the girls, who holds a pitcher of mead. The girl quietly steps forward and hands Skuld the pitcher. Skuld makes a dramatic pour, pulling the tankard far away as the mead pours out. She places it upon the altar, then motions to Gunnar, who brings the mare forward, and my stomach lurches for what happens next.

Even though she prepared me, I want to turn my head away. But Skuld warned me not to, and so I force myself to watch as she pulls out what appears to be a ceremonial dagger, the hilt carved from bone and inlaid with red stones that sparkle in the firelight. She approaches the horse, stroking her muzzle and speaking quietly to her, and a calm settles over the creature. Then, in a swift motion, Skuld slices open the throat of the animal and I fail to hide my wince. But I don't look away. The mare stumbles, her forelegs crumbling beneath her as she falls, and Skuld grabs the bowl from the altar, collecting her blood. Meanwhile, Froðe's eyes never leave me, an intensity starting to grow in them.

Once the bowl is full of blood, Skuld stands, taking the twig near the altar. She begins pacing through the labyrinth, the bowl in hand, occasionally dipping the twig's branches into the blood and flecking it on the etchings of the tree around her, chanting under her breath. When she completes the labyrinth, she returns the altar and dips the twig once again before slapping it onto the stone slabs, sprinkling more blood onto the items. When she then moves to step in front of Froðe, I finally see the item she placed on the altar. It's a wooden carving of a cat. My brows furrow in confusion, as it doesn't seem in place with the other items on the altar that appear to be symbols of Odin.

My attention is dragged back to Skuld as she starts flicking the blood on Froðe's chest, and my brows rise. He stands there solidly and stoically, like it's just an average day. I would not be able to do that....

After Froðe is covered in a mist of red, Skuld turns towards us again.

"And let us also praise Freyja! Freyja, divine goddess of love, beauty, fertility and strength. A god who knows both love and war, we call upon your timeless wisdom and grace as well."

Wait...Freyja too?

Skuld did not mention this....and she's also now walking towards me.

Oh...FUCK NO.

I freeze, my heart starting to thunder in panic. I can't just bounce out of ceremony....I feel like that might end my reign of safety within this community and all havoc might break loose.

Iona, sensing my distress, gently squeezes my shoulder, but I also get the impression it's holding me in place.

Pissed that she did not warn me of this particular part of the ceremony, I glare at Skuld. She holds my glare, smoldering eyes steady, but only does one flick of blood of the twig, but I feel the still-warm substance speckle my chest. I can't help but notice that she flicks blood on no one else before turning away and placing the bowl back on the altar. She then gives us the signal to start singing the ritual song, which we do.

As we sing, we step closer to the altar as a group. I feel Froðe's eyes on me, but I ignore him. He made it sound like I wasn't an integral part of this ceremony last night and even said I didn't have to participate...but I guess that was all a lie. Well I'm already too deep in this now...so I might as well see it through.

Skuld pours another tankard of mead, and hands it to Froðe, who takes a swig. Skuld takes it from him, then motions for me to pull off my hood from my face.

I sigh, but do as she commands, eyes downcast as she instructed we do anytime we remove our hoods. She hands me the mead and I take a sip. It's the mead from the tavern, but there's a slightly bitter aftertaste that's not usually there.

My eyes widen and my heart starts to pound again. OH SHE FUCKING DIDN'T. I look at Skuld desperately, hoping to God that I'm just imagining things and that she did not just spike my mead with henbane. When she does not return my look, my heart sinks, the sting of betrayal sour on my lips...or maybe that's just the after effect of the henbane.

The world sways, and I fall to my knees.