Ten days later, King Harald Fairhair stood victorious upon the battlefield, with his six bloody Berserkers behind him and his new queen standing to his left. Looking down upon Kjotve as he kneeled at the king’s feet, King Harald demanded his fealty.
Kjotve looked upon the whole of them, eyes black with anger, his body shaking in rage. “You will see that the witch who stands beside you was not worth all of this. You have killed your countrymen, for naught. She will bring you nothing but death and despair, this witch. Trust me in this. She will curse you all and your lands.”
Harald turned to gaze at the round soft blonde curls that created an innocent halo around Gyda’s head. She turned, rubbing the fine hairs of Harald’s beard and smiled at him sweetly. For all that looked upon the pair, it seemed like nothing more than a couple in love. So sweetly Gyda gazed upon her new husband, no one could see the truth in Kjotve’s words until she uttered two words that destroyed the mirage. “Kill him.”
Ryden’s insides froze at her sweetly spoken words. He had heard the beautiful woman truly was a witch and feared she controlled Harald. This moment would be the proof of those tales, and Ryden held his breath, awaiting his king’s reply. Remembering the many battles before, Harald had always shown mercy to the fallen kings of those besieged lands. Ryden had often asked him if he worried about those men warring against him again, to have Harald laugh and tell him that the best members of his court were those he had beaten and then given back limited power.
But now, Harald turned to Ryden, grim eyed and slack jawed. “Take his head, Ryden.” Ryden knew in that moment, his king was but a puppet.
Ryden stood still, unsure of what to do. He had always been loyal to his king, but if the witch was in control, it was not Harald’s true will. Looking at his pack, he searched their eyes, hoping to see in them the answer to his dilemma. He had always followed the orders of his liege, but he felt instant contempt for his new queen. He had not yet taken an oath of fealty to her.
Gyda stepped away from Harald’s side, stepping in front of Ryden, placing her soft hand on his arm. “Take his head, Ryden. It will bring me joy.”
Ryden felt the soft pull from her magic coil through his tightly wound muscles. Tingling down his spine, the soft whisper of her call almost pulled him, as fatigued as he was from battle. Had he not been immortal, she would have easily swayed him. But her call was for naught.
Her eyes blackened as she realized her power held no sway over him. Winds picked up, fanning dirt and pebbles about, stinging as they crashed into his skin. Lightning pounded overhead, and the now blackening sky lit up with each charge of electricity. Gyda’s soft curls whipped about her head as her eyes switched from black to a soft glowing red and iridescent scales swirled along her face.
Looking upon the men standing before her she shrieked. “You refuse me?” She gazed upon Kjotve, twisting her hands in a ball front of her as she gathered energy from her core. With that, a ball of fire stuck Kjotve, burning the man within seconds. Turning around she began to twist her hands before her as she glared at Ryden.
Erulf and Eryck stepped forward, quickly drawing wards in front of Ryden to fend off some of her magic. They were almost too late, as another burst of fire barely missed Ryden’s head. Erulf and Eryck continued to draw wards closer to her to bind her powers, before she could collect more energy. Rayne, morphing into his wolven shape, stalked to the back of the woman, trying to get close enough to cut her down, as Joran and Jakob unsheathed their swords, coming at her from both sides.
Harald stood frozen, unseeing, until Gyda noticed the wolf behind her. Using her thrall, she pulled Harald at her back facing away, to prevent Rayne from striking her.
The wards were not much against her strength, and as she blasted each with her energy, each ward popped and sizzled in bright blue in the air around them as she broke through them. But it was enough to cause Gyda to weaken if only from excess use of her skills, trying to get through the haze of littered wards. It bought the men time.
Drawing all her strength, she laughed at the men. “You may think you have won, but I have Harald. I banish and I curse you.” She rose, her feet lifting from the ground, a purple smoke swirling around her lower body as she floated closer to them. “ Former enn tusen år, vil du ikke finne kjærligheten, vil du ikke finne lykke, og du vil ikke spre din ætt. Og jeg vil finne din elskere, og jeg vil drepe dem alle foran øynene dine.”
Gyda turned around, pulling the dazed Harald behind her, wrapped them both in her soft woolen röggvarafeldur hanging from around her neck and disappeared from sight. Ryden felt as if his life force had been sapped as she left, pulling the happiness from his heart and soul. Looking around at his men, he saw the same distant look haunting their faces.
Four wolves and two bears left the woods that night, never to be seen again in Norway. After over sixty years of blood, battles, and corpses, the Berserkers were unsure of the path they continued to travel, and their oath of fealty, forced on them at birth, was now worthless.
****
Freyja stood before her throne at Sessrumnir watching the thousands of souls within her Hall, eating roasted goat and barley cakes, and swilling mead by the cask full, the rough cheers of the valiant echoing up to the cavernous ceiling. She loved the sounds, her whole body thrumming with the life they brought to her and this place. The golden walls inset with precious gems surrounding them were not as lovely to gaze upon than the ruckus laughter of strong, fierce men.
The Nave was upon them, and the men here were in higher spirits, knowing the veil between the living and the dead would thin on this one night a year. The proud warriors would have their one chance to walk the Earth and see the loved ones they had left behind before returning to her Hall, to celebrate each eve until another year passed and they had their chance once more. The soldiers’ energies fed Freyja, and the love of all things Earthly kept their souls from withering away like rotting flesh from bone.
“My Queen, Odin approaches,” whispered one of the advisors at her left.
He would have to come and ruin my good mood. Freyja rolled her eyes, knowing nothing good ever occurred when Odin left Valhalla. Stepping back, swirling her cape around her, she sat upon her throne with a flourish, holding her head high, wanting to look as regal as possible when the errant god walked into her Hall.
And she didn’t have to wait long.
Thunder roared and lightning flashed as the large double doors burst open with a crack, the sound reverberating through the enormous space. Odin stood in the center, the inky black of night a curtain behind him, illuminating with the occasional flashes of his anger. His golden hair curled and fluttered with the winds, at mercy to his emotions. Lines etched around his eyes, deepened due to his apparent anger, and his golden orbs glowed from across the room. He looked past the crowd, directly at Freyja and her heart stopped beating for a fraction of a second. That was until she told her head to take over for her loins and remember what an arrogant ass he was. Stomping towards her throne followed by his entourage, the sea of people parted, allowing her a view of the deity himself.
“You dare steal from me, woman?” He had barely reached her when Odin erupted in anger.
Freyja couldn’t stand it when Odin’s face puckered up like he smelled rotting fish. “I have not stolen anything of yours.”
“The souls your Valkyrie took this morn? Five hundred souls were to come to Valhalla, the final two hundred were promised to you here at Sessrumnir. Yet, all seven hundred warriors are right here, feasting and drinking instead of seated at my table.”
“Seven hundred souls celebrate here because they chose to come with my Valkyrie, not because I forced them into my Hall.”