Ease The Dawn

Part 2, Chapter 14

"Oh!" Freydis gasped, turning to look at Brana.

"Did not mean to startle you," Brana said, circling Freydis where she knelt on the grass in a large patch of wildflowers. In one of her gloved hands was a small knife from the kitchen.

"Is this where the flowers in Aethelswith's room come from each week?"

"It is," Freydis smiled. "It might be silly; I realize she cannot see but I feel like I can do little else to help. Plus, it is such a lovely day, I am enjoying being outside."

She moved her two baskets of flowers to her other side, one partially filled with colourful mixed varieties and the other held pure white flowers with thick, green stems.

Noticing Brana's eyes on the baskets, Freydis smiled again, "The wildflowers are for the hall but the white ones are all for Lady Aethelswith. They are her favourite."

"That is thoughtful of you, Freydis. Thank you."

"Of course, she is my queen. Sit," Freydis patted the grass beside her. "It feels uncivilized to stand while visiting."

"I will stand. This is an official visit."

Tipping her face up, Freydis waited for Brana to continue.

"Ivar released the healers."

"Little good they did anyway."

"King Ivar and I will care for her now."

Closing her eyes for a moment, Freydis nodded, "We can work in shifts. The King, of course, will be with her at night."

"King Ivar and I will nurse her alone. You now work under Brigit; however, she sees fit."

"I must insist that I stay with my queen. I cannot leave her while she is in this condition. She has been so kind to me, and I swore to serve her."

"Until the hall re-opens, you will help with store preparations for the winter and anything else that Brigit needs."

Looking away, Freydis stared off into the distance over the sloped meadow bordered by tall evergreens.

"Will that be a problem?" Brana pressed, her cool blue eyes staying fixed on Freydis.

"Of course not," she replied quietly, glancing back. "Wherever I am needed."

"Good. Before you return, would you collect some of the blue flowers with the orange centers? They are Forget-Me-Nots. I, too, know my queen."

----

Shuffling through the wooden chimes, the smell of bile scratched his throat, making his nostrils burn. Stopping, he fought the urge to retreat. The fact that he was standing in the putrid little shack, seeking answers from the old man was proof he had exhausted all other means and the realization nearly turned his stomach. But there had been no signs following his offerings to the Gods, no voices or apparitions giving guidance or warning. The silence after all he had done left him wondering if Ragnar truly had been a decedent. Or, perhaps his own life was, in fact, cursed.

After weeks of sacrifice and urgent appeals, her death still felt promised. At night the dreams of the stag and dark waters, faceless huntsmen had morphed into sheer blackness, with the sardonic laughter of a woman, surely Frigg, mocking his attempts at reweaving their fate.

This could not be their destiny though. He refused to believe that he had received this extraordinary gift only to have it taken. She was everything, his reward, his life, not punishment for his rage; he had to end her suffering.

The Gods would be wrong to take her, he thought. The All-Father wrong. They had never felt her spirit in their rough hands, or kissed her perfect lips or had their cold, bitter hearts warmed by her endless understanding. Closing his eyes, he listened to the wind howl, inhaling through his mouth in an attempt to escape the stench. Panic knocked within his chest as he thought how no man, not even one with the heart of a beast, could survive losing her. His beloved was being extinguished and the Seer had to have answers.

"I have been waiting for you, Ivar," a voice came from the cloaked figure on the far side of the room.

"The Gods told you I would come?"

"No, your thoughts are loud boy king."

"I am no boy," he sneered, looking at the sooty mouth of the Seer's distorted face.

"All men are boys when you are hundreds of years old," he rasped back. 

Holding his tongue, Ivar stood in place, goose-flesh spreading beneath his leathers. Despite the small, crackling fire, the shack was ice cold. With a huff, he moved forward, shuffling his crutch through the clutter, dropping to sit on a coarsely made bench.

"Tell me," he exhaled through his nose, preparing his question. "Tell me what you foresee?"

"Only what the Gods allow me."

Glaring, he rolled his neck, resisting the urge to run his blade through the melted skin on the old fool's face.

"Talk!" he snapped, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled more of the smell of piss.

"You dare stir Odin through the gates of Valhalla?" His voice sounded amused. "To save your Christian?"

"Tell me, old man," Ivar repeated. "What do they require?"

"Everything," the seer laughed, his chest crackling with phlegm. "To win the favour of the Gods you must appease them, but you already knew that."

Frustration and rage threatened to spill as Ivar boiled away within.

"This is the last place I would be if I knew what they wanted," he spoke through gritted teeth. "I have drained the blood of dozens. Countless animals too. I do this to honour them. For her."

"Hah," he croaked, hacking again. "Conceit is like the bones of a scaled fish, young Ivar. Hard to unswallow. You drained that blood for yourself."

"I did it for her," he hissed, pointing his finger.

"Yourself."

"Then tell me what to do. I cannot lose her."

"And yet, she drinks the poison your kingdom pours."

Narrowing his eyes, Ivar shook his head, not understanding. "What are you talking about? My kingdom... They refuse to save her and yet they have the power. What must I do?"

"The Gods do favour courageous women. They see your princess and what she bears. The question is not, will the Gods save her. It is, what will Ivar the Boneless give for love?"

"Blood. Gold. Anything."

The old man's laugh erupted again settling with a cough. "The Gods sail through oceans of blood. Their boats are cast from gold. They have no interest in your spills."

"What do they want!" Ivar shouted in frustration.

"They require the greatest sacrifice for such a call. To settle the seas of your vanity."

"Fine. Who?"

"A king," the ancient one answered as if it was obvious.

"Finehair."

"You insult the Gods. The thirst of Harald Finehair may turn your harbour red but his life will not appease them." Pausing, he tilted his eyeless face up as if listening to the wind.

"I will cut down anyone I must. She is my everything."

"No, she was your beginning and now your fates are tied in the undoing of your making, son of Ragnar. You must choose."

"Choose what?" he snapped.

"To live or to die."

"I choose for her to live."

The Seer shook his cloaked head, "Little birds will perch again when you lay your gold at the feet of Odin."

Squeezing the ax at his side, Ivar's patience was done. 

"Ivar, sacrifice does not part a union forged in love and a woman's love burns in the lining of her heart. Hers, your princess, it burns even in her small bones and tiny womb."

"Enough of your riddles! What kind of sacrifice must I make?"

"The ultimate," the Seer spat back.

"Who needs to die for her to live?"

"You, my King."