Mist & Moonlight

Chapter 31 | The Prophecy of Mist and Moonlight

The longships glided silently into the harbor at Westfold, the oars cutting through the still water under the faint light of dawn. The cliffs loomed above them, and the old hall sat waiting atop the hill, a beacon of refuge after the chaos of battle. Exhausted warriors hauled Rorik's limp body from the ship, his blood-soaked tunic sticking to his pale skin. His breaths were shallow, barely a whisper, each rise of his chest more labored than the last.

Meryna rushed to the dock with Freydis, Ingrid, and Aslaug at her side, the twins bundled in Meryna's arms. Fear clutched at Meryna's heart as she saw her husband being carried toward them by Vidar, Leif, Eydis, Astrid, and Sigbrand.

"Rorik!" Meryna gasped, nearly stumbling as she ran to his side.

"We fought hard to get him here," Vidar said grimly. "But we're losing him."

Aslaug stepped forward with eerie calm, her silver hair catching the early morning light. The gods had spoken to her in dreams, showing her this moment. She had left long before the battle even began.

"Bring him inside," Aslaug instructed, her voice steady and commanding. "I have foreseen this. His fate lies in the hands of the gods now."

They carried Rorik up the hill and into the hall, laying him on a fur-lined bench near the hearth. His breathing was ragged, and the wound in his side oozed dark blood. Meryna knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she brushed the blood-matted hair from his forehead.

"Please, Rorik," she whispered. "Stay with us."

Aslaug knelt beside him, her expression composed but focused. She set her bag of herbs and salves on the ground and began to work, her hands moving with the precision of one who had tended to countless wounds. She murmured quiet prayers to the gods as she cleansed the wounds with water warmed by the fire.

Meryna watched, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Can you save him?" she whispered, her voice breaking.

Aslaug looked at her with the kind of knowing gaze that seemed to peer through time itself. "His spirit lingers on the edge," she murmured. "I can only do what I am able. The rest lies with the gods."

She pressed a poultice of healing herbs against the wound in Rorik's side and wrapped it tightly with strips of cloth. Her fingers were gentle but unyielding as she worked, stopping the worst of the bleeding, but it was clear that Rorik was slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

"He's in the gods' hands now," Aslaug said quietly, her gaze never leaving Rorik's face.

Freydis stood by the fire, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Guilt gnawed at her insides, twisting like a knot she couldn't unravel. "This is my fault," she whispered, her voice hollow. "If I hadn't left Kattegat... If I hadn't—"

"No." Aslaug's voice was firm, cutting through the room like a blade. She turned toward Freydis, her dark eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge. "Come here, child."

Freydis hesitated, but Ingrid gave her a small, encouraging nod. Reluctantly, Freydis stepped closer, the weight of her guilt heavy on her shoulders.

Aslaug took Freydis's hands in hers, her grip firm and grounding. "What happened was never yours to carry," Aslaug said softly. "Let me show you."

The room seemed to shift, the air growing heavy and still as Aslaug closed her eyes and murmured an incantation. Freydis gasped as the world around her faded, replaced by swirling mist illuminated by the pale glow of the moon.

In the vision, Freydis stood within the mist, her figure bathed in soft moonlight. Shadows shifted around her—Rorik, Erik, and others whose faces she could not fully see. Their paths twisted and turned, crossing and uncrossing like rivers winding through a dense forest. No matter what Freydis did, the events around her moved beyond her control, slipping through her grasp like smoke.

"This is the prophecy of mist and moonlight," Aslaug whispered, her voice echoing through the vision. "It was never within your power to stop what happened, Freydis. You are not the storm. You are the light that guides those through it."

The mist swirled again, showing glimpses of the future—Freydis standing beside Erik, their child cradled in her arms, Erik's hand resting protectively over hers. Leif stood beside Ingrid, their people rallying behind them, the bonds of family unbroken. And in the heart of it all, Rorik stood with Meryna and the twins.

The vision shifted again, showing Erik and Freydis side by side, their paths intertwined. The moonlight illuminated them both, revealing that neither was meant to walk the path alone—their strength lay in their love for each other, and in the family they fought to protect.

The vision faded, and the warmth of the hearth wrapped around Freydis once more. She blinked, finding herself back in the hall, Aslaug's hands still holding hers.

"You see now," Aslaug said gently. "It was never your fault. The gods wove this path long before you walked it. Your role is not to carry blame, but to light the way forward—for Erik, for your family."

Tears welled in Freydis's eyes, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they were tears of release, not guilt. She nodded, her heart lighter than it had been in days. "Thank you," she whispered.

Aslaug gave her a small, knowing smile. "The gods do not give us burdens we cannot bear. You and Erik—your fates are intertwined. You must stay with him."

Freydis turned toward Meryna, who sat beside Rorik, her hand resting on his chest. "He will survive," Freydis said softly, the certainty in her voice unwavering. "I know he will."

Meryna gave her daughter a grateful smile, brushing her hand gently over Rorik's brow. "He has to," she whispered. "We need him."

Leif rested a hand on Freydis's shoulder, his gaze warm and steady. As the night deepened, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting its light over the gathered family. They sat close, the weight of their shared trials heavy, but their bond stronger than ever.