Bloodmoon

Part 3

They stood just beyond the open doors of the great hall, the bustling main street of Kattegat beyond. The mid-morning glare caused Lofn to squint and shield her eyes with her hand as she adjusted from the windowless hall and dimly lit bedroom. Stepping forward, she sucked air in between her clenched teeth and tilted her face up, stretching her broad wings out to either side. Her open wings, at least the width of a tall man, flapped softly creating funnels of dust that swirled up from the sandy ground. People stopped and gawked, pointed and murmured. Word of the winged girl's arrival with a gift for the queen had spread quickly, days ago, across the entire city. Gasps could be heard as the town folk stopped, taking in the sight with their own eyes.

Scowling, Lofn took a step back, ready to retreat into the hall, away from the attention of the crowd beginning to gather.

"This always happens when I leave the hall," Ivar announced loudly in a dramatic tone.

Darting her eyes nervously to him, she again scanned the gathered people, not at all impressed with his sarcasm.

"Back to what you were doing," Ivar commanded. "Now!" he roared, his wicked expression turning his features hard. "Follow me to the shore. We will not be bothered there."

Nodding in agreement, she followed Ivar down the gentle slope toward the water. Relieved at the slow pace as the tight muscles in her back and shoulders adjusted from lack of use.

Standing at the edge of the water, the frothy waves lapped at the smooth sand just beyond her laced boots. The cool wind picked up wisps of her long black hair and the fresh air, moving through the feathers of her wings, felt glorious. Her eyes were set on the line of the horizon barely visible at the mouth of the inlet, boarded, on either side, by imposing hillside.

"Tell me everything you told my mother and then summon Hel." Ivar stood behind her, off to one side.

"I cannot swim," she replied softly, her voice sounding as distant.

Looking down to the sand, he stared at the tops of his warped leather boots, unsure whether to repeat his demand.

"I should not gripe... I can fly and I feel free when souring high above the world."

"You feel like you are free?" Ivar scoffed. "How is it possible that a massager of the Gods does not feel free at all times? You were chosen by Odin."

"Ask your thralls working in your hall if they feel free?" she replied, turning to look at him. "If they feel privileged because they were chosen by royalty." Looking back to the sea, she could feel Ivar's glare on her back.

His jaw clenched and he adjusted his crutch under his arm, more out of habit than need.

"I work for the Gods, yes. I follow their orders. But...." Breathing out, she shook her head. "You of all people should understand what it is to be considered special but reminded, every single day, just how different you are."

"When will you summon Hel?" Ivar barked, not wanting to hear another word and not accustomed to being spoken to in such a way.

"Dream on little prince," she called back over her shoulder. "It does not work that way."

"So, you break promises?" he growled, his face contorting.

"I promised you nothing!" she spat, continuing to give him her back.

"This is the angel sent by the gods."

A deep voice cut through the tension. Spinning in its direction, Lofn watched a tall, broad-shouldered warrior make his way across the sand stopping beside them. He was a bear of a man with one long flaxen braid, a pleasant face, and inquisitive blue eyes.

"Bjorn," she whispered loud enough for Ivar to snap his head toward her.

Scanning her wings up and down, Bjorn's mouth parted in disbelief. He shook his head as if not trusting his eyes.

"I should not be surprised that you know my name," he tilted his head to one side, squinting from the sun. "You must know so much that we do not." He glanced over to Ivar. "Has my baby brother been gracious and welcoming?"

Reaching out, Bjorn grabbed Ivar's shoulder, giving it a rough shake. A chunk of Ivar's slicked back hair fell forward across his forehead. Jerking his shoulder away from Bjorn's large hand, he quickly ran his palm over the top of his head, smoothing back his dark hair.

"Quite welcoming," Lofn's eyes locked with Ivar's.

"How should I address you?" Bjorn asked with a subtle smile, taking a step closer.

"Lofn!" Ivar interjected loudly. "Her name is Lofn."

Turning to Ivar, Bjorn shot him an annoyed look. "Thank you... Ivar." Looking back to Lofn, his eyes squinted at her chest. "You are bleeding." Taking another step, he bent forward, inspecting the wet stain below her shoulder on her dark linen dress.

"Your mother is Lagertha. The shieldmaiden," Lofn said in a quiet tone as if she had not heard him.

"Yes," Bjorn's eyes lifted to hers as he straightened. "Do you know her?"

Lofn pressed her lips together. "I know of her. She plays a role in the future of Kattegat."

Ivar's posture flinched at her words.

"I would love to hear more about this. Let me walk you back to the hall so your wound can be checked."

Trudging forward, Ivar stopped with a huff and raised an arm between Bjorn and Lofn, scowling at his brother.

"I will take her back to the hall, thank you, Bjorn. Run along. I am sure Torvi, your latest wife, is wondering where you are."

"Okay, Ivar." Bjorn rolled his eyes, before bowing his head to Lofn. Turning, he started back across the sand toward the hall, still shaking his head at his brother's send-off.

"What did you mean by that?" Ivar snapped, swiveling to look at Lofn. "About Lagertha?"

Lofn lunged forward, her face stopping so close their noses nearly touched.

"Do not question me!" she snapped. "I should have left you at the bottom of the ocean. I would not be stuck in this dust pit of a city with a hole in my chest."

Ivar's head shot back; his forehead pinched at her words.

"Now, be a good boy and fuck off," she spat. 

Stepping to the side, she brushed past him, a thick wall of feathers slamming into his face. Not turning back, she moved across the sand, heading toward the slope to the great hall. 

Scanning the surroundings for observers, Ivar cleared his throat and quickly smoothed back his mussed hair. Adjusting his crutch, he stepped forward, shuffling across the loose sand, trailing as fast as he was able, behind the messenger of the Gods.