The Viking Maiden Box Set

by Kelly N. Jane

  An enormous bed sat against the exterior wall. On either side of the bed, crimson silk curtains covered tall windows with glass panes that looked out over the forest, filling the room with ample light.

  Across from the bed was a table with a cushioned bench that sat near an imposing cabinet with intricate carvings on the doors. Scattered across the table’s top sat many beauty products, and an ornate, golden-handled mirror lay face down.

  Selby walked up to the table and ran a light finger over some containers before stroking the mirror in awe. “Queen Greta, in Jorvik, had one of these. I saw it once when I walked by, but I never thought I’d see something so beautiful up close, let alone touch it.”

  “We should bring it and some jars,” Ingrid said as she stood next to Selby, her hands tucked close to her sides.

  “Let’s keep looking first. Maybe this isn’t her room.” Selby turned and grabbed Ingrid’s arm. “What if she doesn’t live here alone, and someone comes back and finds us in here?” Her eyes were wide as she rubbed at her throat.

  “Let’s hurry, just in case.” The possibility had never crossed Ingrid’s mind, but Selby had a point. Being so focused on sending the woman to the afterlife and finding Eir preoccupied her thoughts and allowed room for little else.

  In the hall once more, they stood in front of the second closed door. The same low hum of the amber rattled against Ingrid’s chest as before. She touched the stone and sucked in a deep breath.

  When she turned the handle, it didn’t move. She glanced to Selby for help. Stepping up, Selby gave it a strong twist, and it wiggled, but still didn’t open. Once again, Ingrid reached out and gave it another try.

  Gripping it tight, she twisted with a grunted effort, and the lever sprang free. Both girls jumped, startled at the sudden motion and how the door swung wide of its own accord. A musty, herbal odor wafted out of the dark room. A puff of dust motes floated in a lazy swirl into the hall, then seemed to migrate toward Ingrid.

  “I don’t like this one,” Selby said.

  Ingrid nodded, but stepped forward as her curiosity demanded to discover what was inside. A cold chill ran up her arms despite her leather gauntlets, and she hugged herself as she stepped across the threshold.

  Cluttered with bottles and jars, the room looked ravaged. Books lay scattered on long tables that were arranged against the walls as well as on another large table positioned in the center. Hanging from wooden beams were bundles of every kind of herb and flower one could imagine. Ingrid pressed her finger under her nose, as she fought to hold in a sneeze from the overload of scents.

  Ingrid drifted further into the room, fascinated, as the hum against her sternum increased. Her fingers skimmed the pages of the open books, and she peered into jars of liquids and powders. Her hands tingled and warmed as she walked among the tables. A pressure formed in her middle as new connections grew inside of her with every step.

  Something touched Ingrid’s shoulder, and she spun to face her friend. Selby’s eyes grew wide as she took a step backward. A headache pushed against Ingrid’s temples, and she rubbed her fingers on either side of her head. The essence in her mind slammed against her thoughts, excited by the energy humming through the air.

  “You. Your bead and your eyes. We need to leave. Now.” Selby stumbled over her words as she lurched forward, grabbed Ingrid’s elbow, and dragged her from the room.

  Ingrid protested and tried to pull away, but Selby kept a strong grip on her and didn’t let go until they were back in the hall. As soon as they were clear of the door, she slammed it closed behind them.

  “What’s wrong with you? I need to go back in there. It’s full of magic, and I need to learn it.” Ingrid’s breathing was ragged, and she clenched her fists at her sides.

  “It’s not safe for you in there. Your bead was so bright. And you looked crazed, like a berserker. Something was happening to you.” Selby did not let go of Ingrid. Instead, she reached out and took hold of her other arm as well.

  She doesn’t understand. There’s something I need in there—I can feel it.

  “You can stay, but I need to go back in. There are books and herbs I should gather,” Ingrid said, forcing herself to keep a calm voice. “For the woman’s burial,” she added.

  The pressure in her head had lightened a bit since exiting the room, but she felt like her hands were on fire and her insides were twisting into knots.

  Selby cocked an eyebrow at her. “I’ve known you my whole life, Ingrid. You can’t fool me when you’re lying, and I’ve seen too much to believe whatever is pulling you toward that room is safe.”

  Ingrid closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. After several deep breaths, her heart rate slowed. The aching need that burned in her thoughts to return to the room cleared from her mind, even though the buzz of the bead still rattled low against her.

  After another long breath and releasing it slowly, she opened her eyes. “Fine, for now. Let’s gather the things from the bed chambers and hurry outside.”

  “Jorg is probably wondering where we are, and that dwarf will have grumbled so much he might want to dig two more graves if we don’t hurry.” Selby tried for a light, joking tone, but her voice cracked before she swallowed hard. “Besides, someone else could still show up. I’d rather not explain why we’re here.”

  Ingrid hesitated and glanced back at the closed door, but then gave a curt nod.

  They hastened back into the bedroom and gathered jars and creams from the table. When they turned to leave, something in Ingrid’s gut drew her attention to the opened door.

  Peeking out from the corner behind the door was the woman’s staff. It was thin and almost as tall as Ingrid with an open basket at the top that was twisted into a point. When she picked it up, her heart raced and the blood in her veins thrummed through her arm. An energy pulsed throughout her body, responding to the staff on a physical level.

  Dizziness washed over Ingrid, and she rested an arm against the wall before she turned to Selby. “I think we have what we need. We should get outside.”

  “What’s wrong?” Selby stared with a pinched expression and clutched the containers in her hands tighter to her chest.

  “Nothing, why?”

  “Your bead is glowing again, and you look pale.” Noticing the item in Ingrid’s hand, she leaned back, taking a half step away. “That’s a witch staff. I saw one when we were in Jorvik. Remember?”

  “Of course, it is. It proves she was the völva and this is her home. There’s an energy coming from it. It’s odd and wonderful, like it’s waking something inside of me for the first time.”

  “Let’s get outside and get you some air. How about I hold that?”

  “No! I’m fine to carry it.” Ingrid tried to calm her voice and sound more relaxed after her initial outburst, but she could see by the expression on Selby’s face that it didn’t work. Not waiting for her to grab the staff, she hurried out the door and down the stairs.

  Jorg had just finished digging when Ingrid and Selby walked up. The grave was much larger in size than the woman’s body to allow the items she’d need on her journey and in the afterlife to be buried alongside her. He placed a few blankets into the pit for her to lie upon.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Plintze asked when he saw Ingrid.

  “Nothing. What’s wrong with you? Have some manners for once, Plintze.” Faint whispers battled the darkness in her mind, but she mentally brushed them away and rolled her neck as she stood beside the grave.

  “She’s a little affected by the völva’s things. I’m not sure what’s happening,” Selby said.

  “Ingrid?” Jorg jumped out of the hole and stood in front of her. His brows furrowed as he examined her face and the white knuckles of her hand clinging to the staff.

  “I’m fine. Everyone needs to quit treating me like a fragile child. I’ve had enough of that in my life, and I’m done with it. Now let’s give this woman the honor she deserves with a proper burial.”

  As she sp
oke, her arms tightened to her body, bringing the staff in contact with the bead. A jolt of energy ricocheted through her, making her wince. With some effort, she managed to cover the effect as irritation.

  Jorg flattened his lips but nodded to Ingrid before turning to retrieve the woman’s body. Gently, he rested her on the blankets, then unwrapped her from her cloak. Selby handed him the various items she held, including the golden hand mirror.

  “Let me see that,” Plintze growled as he reached for the mirror. Jorg handed it over and watched as the dwarf examined it.

  “That’s beautiful filigree work in the gold,” Jorg said.

  “It’s more than that. This is dwarven.”

  Ingrid stepped closer to Plintze, her eyes wide with a shining look to them. “Are you sure? How would she own something like that?”

  Plintze shook his head. “I don’t know how she got it, but I know for sure who made it. What was this woman’s name?”

  “I was never told. According to my mother, she used to travel around to different villages healing and performing rituals, but she was regarded only as a völva. I was very small the last time she was seen in our village. Word spread that she moved far away and wished to live alone.”

  “I want to get this finished so she can move on, and we can, too,” Jorg said, holding his hand out for the mirror. Though he tried to act cool and composed, worry spilled all over his face.

  Clouds moved low over the sky, bringing the smell of rain along with the overcast. The surrounding trees creaked and groaned in the chilly wind.

  Plintze stared at the mirror another few seconds but reluctantly handed it over. Jorg then reached for the staff in Ingrid’s hands.

  Gripped by a desire to flee, she pulled the staff tighter. Her mouth went dry, and she bit her bottom lip. “I think I should keep this.”

  Selby edged closer to Ingrid with slow steps, her hand held out for the staff. “Ingrid, it’s her staff—she’ll need it, and you need to give it back to her.”

  Ingrid’s head ached, and she glanced around at everyone before staring back at the house. Retreating a step, then two, her heart pounded against her chest. She swayed and felt dizzy again.

  Jorg was out of the grave and at Ingrid’s side faster than Selby could reach her from three steps away. Before Ingrid could protest further, he yanked the staff from her hands, handing it off. Once Selby had it in her grasp, she retreated far enough away that Ingrid couldn’t reach it again.

  “Hold this, Plintze. I’ll go get her some water from the barrel,” Selby said, holding out the staff.

  “No. I’ll not touch that. It reeks of seiðr magic. I’ll get the water.” He marched away toward the creek before she could argue.

  “Can you stand?” Jorg asked Ingrid as a little tension faded from her.

  She nodded and gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just dizzy, but it’s better.”

  “Come, sit and rest. You look pale.” He tilted his head, eyes focused on hers as he examined her face.

  “What should I do with this?” Selby asked, holding out the staff.

  “Give us a few minutes, Selby. I’ll be right there to finish,” Jorg replied.

  “Fine.” She huffed and rolled her eyes as she turned and walked away.

  Ingrid settled on the bench near the door of the cabin. Jorg crouched in front of her and brushed his hand along her forehead, pushing strands of hair to the side. For a moment, her worries left, and she leaned into his hand.

  “I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft and sincere. The ache in her chest where the staff had contacted her thrummed lightly. Disturbed by her reaction to the staff, she slumped against the stone wall of the cottage.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. The gods have asked big things of you.” Jorg twisted to sit beside her and leaned back. “It’s all right to trust us, Ingrid. To let us help you.” He shook his head. “I will stand by your side, no matter what happens. Please trust me.”

  “I do.” Ingrid shifted on the bench, turning ever so slightly away from Jorg. “But I need to trust myself. I’m supposed to bind the spell, protect all the realms. How can that be me?”

  She rolled her lip between her teeth and absently wrung her hands together. She’d left her cloak somewhere, and her skin pebbled against her shirt with the cool air blowing around. Raindrops began to fall in a light patter, as it hit the grass.

  “Because you are amazing. You have more strength inside of you than you allow yourself to believe.” He laid his hand on her cheek and waited for her to meet his eyes, “I believe in you.”

  She smiled as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. For one brief heartbeat, she might have believed him.

  5

  Each of them stood staring at the burial mound. Ingrid glanced sidelong, first one direction and then the other, to Selby and Jorg. No one seemed comfortable speaking or even knew what to say. What did one say to send a soul into the afterlife? Was the woman worthy of Valhalla with Odin—or Folkvang with Freya? How were they to guess?

  Finally, Plintze said an odd arrangement of blessings that seemed right—to Ingrid, anyway. She hoped they had done enough to send the woman on her journey with safety and success in the afterlife. With the funeral complete, they walked away.

  Ingrid’s mind was numb with all the thoughts filling it. Who was she? Why do so many of her things cause my heart to race? I need more time in that workroom.

  Jorg brushed the back of his hand against hers as they walked toward the cottage. The thoughts of hiding away and being held in his arms played like a wisp of smoke from a dying fire in her mind. In the fantasy, they pretended they were an ordinary couple with a life of farming and family ahead of them.

  A sneer curled her lip, and she tucked her hands across her middle. That life wouldn’t be hers—couldn’t be hers—not anymore.

  Plintze huffed and stared at the darkening sky as the drops fell faster. Grumbled words muttered low into the air as he strode toward the house. Selby snorted and kept her head low as she followed him. All of them huddled together under the eaves near the door.

  “Should we go inside?” Selby asked, exchanging a look with Ingrid.

  Selby seemed to hesitate because the limits of her ability to cope were stretched thin, but Ingrid wanted to go back inside. A spark in her core begged for a breath of air to flame and grow.

  “Yes,” Plintze said with enthusiasm. “Isn’t it the custom to end a funeral with a feast to honor the dead?”

  Ingrid smiled as Jorg shook his head. “One day, we’ll set out a feast worthy of the gods and discover who loves food more, you or Hagen. It would be a worthy contest!” A laugh bubbled from Jorg’s stomach as Plintze nodded in agreement.

  A tightness gripped Ingrid’s chest as she thought of her brother, who was back home preparing for an attack by assassin elves if she failed. Six weeks remained before Jarrick, the dark elf leader, demanded her presence in Alfheim—or he’d send his enforcers to destroy her village. It would be over in minutes. Broken ships littering the harbor, everyone dead, and all her fault.

  Why would anyone trust me to fix this?

  She shouldn’t have left. If she’d stayed, then Selby and Jorg would have, too. They would be safe, and maybe the elves wouldn’t have cared about her. Disgust with herself twisted her gut.

  She’d put on a brave face and do the best she could. Bind the spell, and then Midgard—and all their families—would be safe. Selby would have her family. Ingrid’s own parents would make sure Jorg was loved, and Plintze . . .

  Ingrid glanced over to Plintze as he waited with everyone. If she hadn’t left, she’d never have met Plintze. Determination washed over her. She set her jaw and stood tall.

  “Wait until you see inside,” Ingrid said as she pushed to stand at the door first.

  Selby hung back from everyone. Plintze and Jorg both glanced at her, unsure what to make of her meek and quiet posture.

  “What’s with you? You always jump to claim Ingrid’s side,�
�� Jorg said, talking back over his shoulder as he pressed past her.

  Plintze offered nothing more than his usual, “Humph.”

  Selby raised her eyebrows, her hands twitching as she picked at her thumbs. “I’ve already seen what’s in there. Besides, should we really go in? What if someone else lived here with her and comes back?”

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen. After what we found in that workroom, I’m positive this is her home, and völvas never marry. If someone else shows up, they will have less right to be here than we do. And in that case—” Ingrid set her shoulders “—we’ll deal with it.”

  Jorg snorted but kept his features neutral. Selby nodded and focused on the ground.

  With a deep inhale and a nod from Jorg, Ingrid opened the door, pushing hard so it swung wide. She stepped aside to let the males walk in ahead of her.

  Plintze charged in first, as if nothing would surprise him. The smell of bread and apples no doubt fueled his hunger after the long day, but he stopped dead in his tracks after two steps.

  Preoccupied with the sights in front of him, Jorg ran into the dwarf’s back and nearly toppled over him. On instinct, he snatched Plintze’s shoulder without looking, preventing him from falling.

  “What is this?” Jorg asked. A dumbfounded stare marked his normally steady countenance.

  Plintze gaped one direction and then the next, his feet firmly planted where he stood. The rest of the group shifted around him further into the room. Selby and Ingrid stepped toward the massive dining table and allowed the boys a better view of the overwhelming interior.

  “Now do you see what I meant?” Selby asked.

  “How is this possible? It looks so small from the outside. One room—no more.” Jorg turned in a circle, taking in the space.

  “This is not natural. That was no ordinary witch,” Plintze said.

  “Völvas train to use Freya’s magic, don’t they?” Ingrid asked.