It was a good night for a ceremony and seiðkona found herself fortunate. The gods were already here. They did not need to be summoned tonight. In the thunder, in the earth, in the whipping wind and rushing waters they made their presence known.
Under the cover of the high shed, where the iron horses of Sleipnir rested, they decided to make the fires needed.
Out in the back yard, nine women of The Brotherhood congregated. They laid Sam down in a circle shaped by stacked stones, the ritual sheltered by the high, dark trees that embraced the perimeter of the property. Three fires were made to burn. Along the circle, three points from an invisible triangle marked their spots. In the middle, they placed Sam’s naked body. Unperturbed by his attractive physique, the women who assisted the seiðkona drew the sigils on Sam with a paste of cayenne pepper and sulfur, wet his hair with fresh water and covered his eyes thin circular copper coins, one for each eye. These coins held the same symbols as those drawn on his body. They also drew the Valknut on his forehead, one of the symbols of the great Viking god, Odin.
Erika had mastered the practice of seiðr in her late 20s and she led the ceremony to guide Sam back from the danger of See-Walking. Wearing a blue cloak and a head piece of whalebone and horse hair, the seeress Erika stepped into the triangle made by three curved lines, entwined like the shape of the triquetra, where Sam’s slumbering body lay nude and gleaming with perspiration. Even in the fury of the cold storm, his fever remained high and his heart rate rapid.
This was dangerous for him, being unanointed in the way of Odin and Freya, the two deities known to have practiced this sorcery in the ancient ages. The Nine, those who led the charge with Val before, the front riders of The Brotherhood, surrounded him. Nine was the most common number of Valkyries called Daughters of Odin, Choosers of the Slain. The Nine are ethereal warrior women roaming the battle fields choosing which men of valor and worth would die in battle to join Odin in Valhalla. The number was prominent.
Erika, in her capacity as seeress, could still not help but glance towards the house, hoping that Alex was not looking out from one of the windows. The lads knew that the rites of The Brotherhood was sacred and that these ancient practices were sometimes sexual in nature. They respected this nonetheless, yet Erika did not want her husband to see her straddling a naked man, no matter what the circumstances.
Soon, though, she had to focus on waking Sam from the See-Walk before it turned his mind into pulp and left him a slobbering snail for the rest of his life. Erika took her ceremonial staff and stood over Sam as the wild weather swept up her blond hair with static and force. The Nine knelt and began to chant. One of the women began the rhythmic knock on the ceremonial drum, her crooked stick pounding on the membrane to bring forth a deep and hollow sound that reverberated loudly even through the thunder. With its cadence, their voices chanted the prayer to invoke a trance in Erika, their energy focused on the inside of the circle.
She closed her eyes and sank down on Sam, his body burning under her cool skin and she realized just how close he was to dying from the fever the liquid brought.
The gusts howled fiercely, occasionally drowning the gaining canto of the women, but with every stanza repeated they spoke louder the words that would take Erika inside Sam’s See-Walk. Covering his face, her hair whipped the ground as she placed her forehead against his, the bone of her headdress meeting the Valknut on his brow. At once, the power passed between them, a bolt of adrenaline jolting through both of their bodies, an electric charge ever so slight that only the brain’s receptors could feel it. Erika’s mind fused with Sam’s in a meditative state that locked them onto one another. With a rushing jerk, her body went limp on his while the chanting of the women around the circle grew louder and louder with every repetition of the invocation. With every passing verse, they grew more hostile, more fervent in their prayer, so that the gods would pay attention and not forget that the seiðkona had not finished passing through the See-Walk. If the chant would cease for any reason, or even become less audible, the seiðkona would be abandoned in the otherworldly realm and her body would perish within hours.
Inside the house, Dugal and Terry were having a beer with Gunnar. At first it was all small talk, but Dugal could not help but detect the odd atmosphere among these people. They looked like typical patrons at his bar, normal rowdy men with loud arguments and crude jokes, but something about them was unusual.
“Gunnar, I have to know. What is this thing with Sam all about?” he asked halfway through his second beer. Terry froze. He did not think it was a wise thing to pry like that, but he waited for an answer as much as his father did. In the middle of a swig from his bottle, the big widower stopped for a second, holding his bottle in mid-lift as the two guests held their breath. A tense moment passed between the three men on account of the awkward uncertainty of boundaries, but then Gunnar blinked and put his bottle down. Reluctant to let ordinary people in on the secret wars of ancient cults and breeds, he had to take a moment to consider what the repercussions would be if they knew the truth.
With rather dumb expressions on their faces, Terry and Dugal waited and Gunnar almost laughed at their comical and childlike interest.
Dared he tell them? They looked like simpletons to him, when it came to deep and arcane things. He imagined they were decent men of good character, but hardly suited to know what Sam was involved in. Before he could make a decision, Sam’s phone rang. Terry jumped from the alien sensation in his pocket, at first, not knowing what to think, but then he remembered that he had the device with him. He had been unable to make sense of that Nina woman’s message previously as it only displayed one word, followed by ‘text missing’, so he eagerly answered, even though the Caller ID was withheld.
“Hello?”
“Who is this?” a female voice asked. “Where is Sam?”
‘Wow, you don’t waste time with common pleasantries, do you?’ he thought to himself at the woman’s terse response, but he replied politely, “Sam is asleep, lady. Can I give him a message?”
“Listen, I don’t have time for nonsense. Please. Please put Sam on the phone. Tell him it’s Nina,” she said. Terry was not a man of great intuition or intelligence, but he discerned a troubled tone in her reply, as if she was upset.
“Oh!” he smiled, “Nina! He told me to call y…”
Gunnar grabbed the phone from his hand and shouted, “Nina? Nina, where the hell are you? We’ve been worried sick!”
“Gunnar?” she asked. “I need to speak to Sam urgently!” Gunnar frowned. Nina’s voice sounded out of character. Scared.
“Good evening,” a raspy female voice greeted Gunnar. He knew, by reputation, who he was speaking with and his heart stopped.
“What do you want with Dr. Gould?” Gunnar asked calmly. As much as it infuriated him to speak to the iniquitous villain of the Black Sun organization, he had to keep in mind that Nina was in her hands and if he allowed his rage to seep through it could place the historian in serious peril.
“I want the Vision of Kvasir. Bring me the vial and you can take your pet. To make matters more… cordial,” she sighed like a hissing cobra, “…we will send champions, so that we do not have to meet face to face. How’s that?”
“Oh, but I won’t mind meeting you face to face. Your beauty is legendary,” he seethed with hatred, and she was sharp enough to hear it behind the mock compliment.