Page 41 of Viking Warriors: Vol. 1-3
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Iwatched with interest as Svolvaen prepared for its festival. UnlikeJul, I sensed it would be a sombre affair. No one was willing to tell me what I wished to know, as if it could only be experienced and not explained.
I made my daily round, bringing more of my salve to Astrid. Torhilde had returned home at last—her husband finding he had need of her, after all. He’d become resigned to the marks upon her skin, having developed sores on his own body. Hers had responded well, as Ylva’s had done—not fully healed, but not the unsightly blister they had first presented.
I looked to Ylva, who played with the baby upon the bed. The child was growing well, evidently of strong constitution. It had contracted not a single mark. The blight remained arbitrary in choosing its victims.
“Gunnolf has said that only those who are well are to attend the festival,” Astrid told me.
“Do you mind?” I asked Ylva, but she blushed and turned away, leaving her mother to answer.
“I’m relieved, in truth,” Astrid whispered. “Ostarais a night of mystery, when the gods bend close and whisper in our ear.” Looking back at Ylva, she drew me to the door, then led me outside. “Its rituals take us back to the earth we came from, to the animal part of ourselves. It’s not for children, or for girls who’ve never lain before with a man. There are no rules onOstaranight. No husbands and no wives; only men and women.”
I guessed her meaning and was taken aback. Eirik had said nothing to me ofOstara,had given me no warning. I thought of theJulfestival and the many kisses he’d received. I’d refused to indulge my jealousy, but they held different significance now. I couldn’t help but wonder if there were any women in Svolvaen who hadn’t enjoyed the attentions of my warrior lover.
“It’s up to you, of course,” added Astrid. “The men won’t touch you unless you invite them, but beware when you do, for the lust of the gods is in them and you’ll feel it in your own blood, too.”
“And you, Astrid? Will you go?”
She gave a small smile. “I will, indeed;Ostarabrings power to the soil and to our own body, too. My husband isn’t coming back and my bed is lonely. Who knows whatOstarawill bring me…”
* * *
“Be still, my love,” said Gunnolf, as he placed the dagger’s edge to her ear. “You cannot attend but I’ll burn your hair on the sacred altar, and Freya will accept our offering.” He drew the blade carefully through her silken tresses, placing the cut strands in his pouch.
“Of course, husband.” Asta accepted his kiss upon her brow.
“And I shall remain with you, my lady,” I asserted. “You’re too close to your time to be left alone.”
As I knelt, Gunnolf’s hand came to rest on my shoulder. Its heaviness prevented me from rising and stilled my voice against argument.
“I think not.” The jarl pressed more firmly as he spoke. “The ceremony awakens us to the pulse of all that lives. It invigorates us with the vital energy of Freya and all the gods. How can you heal others if you don’t allow that energy to awaken in yourself?”
I kept my eyes upon the hem of Asta’s gown.
“Faline shall stay and tend to your needs, wife.” Gunnolf’s thumb extended beneath my hair and found the bare skin at the back of my neck. “Under my eye, Elswyth will come to better understand our ways.”
16
As the sun climbed, Gunnolf lead us into the forest, the horse’s reins loose in his hand. I walked behind, watching the swish of its tail. It was a path Helka had never shown me, light dappling through the canopy, patches of warmth alternating with the shade until the trees grew sparser. Entering the open glade, where the full heat of the spring sun reached us, I felt the impatience of those about me, eyes glancing one to the next, alight with unspoken excitement.
From branches cut and sharpened and driven into the soil, we set our make-shift frames, draping them with skins, above pine needles dry and deep. My gaze was drawn to thehörgr. The huge altar stone emitted power, flattened along its upper edge, bathed in the brilliant light of our unclouded sky.
The men lit a fire, stoked with debris from the forest floor and ringed with stones, to contain the flames. We’d brought food for feasting but none touched it. “For afterwards.” Astrid gave me a sly wink. “That’s when you’ll be hungry.”
She unwrapped the laces of her boots, to leave her feet bare. “Take off yours, and stay close,” she directed, passing me a wooden bowl. “No harm will come if you’re with me.”
“Kneel, women of Svolvaen.” The jarl bid us approach thehörgr, while the men stood behind.
The smoky aroma was sweet, as if from the burning of rosemary and heather, but with a bitter undertone. It enticed me to breathe deep, drawing the seductive smoke inside my body, leaving my head and body light. As the moments passed, the trees seemed to grow taller and the sunlight brighter.
“Give yourselves to Freya, on this day ofOstara,”the jarl continued. “Revel in her blessings, so that your bodies may ripen under her favour.”
From his pouch, he took out the long strands of Asta’s hair, throwing them into the flames, where they disappeared, as if they’d never been. “This symbol of womanhood I burn, asking Freya to accept ourblót.”
At his nod, the men led the horse forward. “This animal I sacrifice, that Freya may bring prosperity to our crops, our livestock and our people.”
The animal seemed to sense what was to come, its eyes rolling in fear, skittering away from the altar, obliging a tighter hold upon its rope. As Gunnolf raised his two-handed axe, I shrank back, wishing not to witness the fatal blow, turning my head.
