Page 1 of Shared By the Vikings

Chapter One

Pointy beaks, mummifiedclaws, and tiny, porous bones scattered over the gnarled wooden table, rattling against each other before settling into the pattern chosen by the gods.

The squat candles to Ingrid’s right shivered as a gust of mid-winter wind blew beneath the door, bringing with it two leaves and a long black raven’s feather. Rain pelted down on the turf roof, sounding as though Thor himself was paying the valley of Ravndal a visit.

A visit in the dead of the night—a visit during the month when the sun chose not to rise from its slumber on the horizon.

Everything and everyone had hunkered down, hibernated, and was waiting for spring to thaw the land and once again provide.

Except for Ingrid. She’d taken to the highest hill to seek providence.

She tugged her hood tighter, the rabbit fur velvety on her cheeks. Being here was dangerous. A girl of her position shouldn’t be consulting the seer of Ravndal. Her destiny was planned. There was no need to question it—or at least that was what the king, her father, would say.

Not that she was afraid the seer would spread ghostly whispers about her visit. Being hundreds of years old, blind, and dwelling somewhere between men and the gods—life and death—the seer had more pressing matters to attend to.

Which is why Ingrid was grateful for this precious moment—the moment where he looked into her destiny and saw the truth. For much as she loved her father, and trusted him, she knew it was truly the gods who determined everyone’s fate.

“Ah, how I suffer...” The seer grimaced and used his palms to tap and assess where the bones and beaks now lay. “To see such things.”

“What do you see?” She fought a rise of trepidation.

He was silent, his bottom lip trembling, as though murmurs of the future were hovering there but wouldn’t spill out.

Ingrid resisted the temptation to demand more information for she knew she must not. The seer wasn’t known for his patience, and she did not wish for him to tell the gods—whose ear he had—that she was an impertinent, ill-tempered princess.

“A bear wishes to marry the wolf, a wolf that is wild and free.” His voice was hoarse, as though his throat had worn out from centuries of casting prophecies.

Ingrid bit on her bottom lip. To her right a string holding bird bones separated by twigs and clutches of heather hung from the roof. She stared at it to again prevent herself from pushing the seer.

“No man or animal can tame a wolf unless the wolf wishes to be tamed.” His voice grew more strangled with each word.

Although his eyes were milky, with no center, the seer stared at Ingrid. “I see a bubbling, broiling ocean.” He held up his hands. “Aegir, the god of the ocean is unhappy. Aegir wishes to rise up, then swallow, sink back down, sink back down into the ocean... be warned.” He sucked in a scratching breath. “Be warned, little one.”

“Be warned of the bear or the ocean?”

“Both!” He slammed his hands onto the table; the beaks and bones jumped, and wax over-spilled and leaked from a candle, the ensuing drip running tear-like down its length. “I cannot do this.” He stood, unfolding a spine that seemed to be held together with dust. His long black robe dragged on the floor as he stepped to the right, using a tall wooden chair for support. “I cannot do this.” Breathy, agonized words.

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