EPILOGUE

 

Vörnen, 872 AD

 

Sigurd stood on the pier hugging Donna with one arm, Vigdis in front of him. Waves splashed against the hull of the ship that rocked next to the dock behind his sister. A steady breeze filled the sail—the longship was ready to set off. It looked like Njord, god of the sea and the winds, favored Vigdis’s journey.

His goddess looked radiant and healthy with her swollen belly. They were not yet married because Sigurd wanted to make a legendary feast out of their wedding and celebrate it at the harvest festival. He’d invited all neighboring jarls and kings to strengthen their relationships and start new trading alliances. He had learned too painfully the price of clinging to rivalry.

The fortress stood whole and strong. The women had helped to finish it last year, after Donna had left. But ever since she’d gotten back in the winter, she’d managed to involve them more and more, and the village had begun to thrive like never before. The women weaved sails, hunted, and fished. Through winter, they crafted furniture, learned to make jewelry, and carved breathtaking patterns on wood. Some of those who’d constructed the fortress helped build new ships, and the frames of three longships grew daily by the fjord.

The news of Vörnen’s strength and of Sigurd’s victory traveled fast, and new warriors came looking to serve a strong jarl. He’d go raiding in a couple of weeks to finally replenish the treasury and be able to sustain the loyalty of his warriors. Nothing would have been possible without Donna and without the women of his jarldom.

The ship rocked gently next to the dock.

“There should be enough silver to buy you a rich farm in Iceland,” Sigurd said.

Vigdis nodded. Sacks with provisions and sea chests with food, clothes, tools, and enough silver for her new life stood there. Bjarni Bjarnison, the man who had brought the message of Fuldarr’s attack, waited for Vigdis on the boat together with a dozen warriors that Sigurd had given to his sister for protection and for rowing. Vigdis glanced back at the beach.

“This is where it all began.” Pain flickered through her face. “Where he died.”

Sigurd shook his head. “It began much earlier than that. But will it end now?”

“Now that I have seen the consequences of what I did, I don’t want to be a jarl. All I ever wanted was to have some power over my own life and some influence in our house. Father never gave me the chance to do that, and the desire grew like a rot-wound. I thought I wanted to be part of the world of kings and jarls. But this”—she circled the beach with her hand—“I want none of it. A farm, a good husband”—she glanced back at Bjarni and blushed—”and a child.” She gave a warm smile to Donna. “That would be enough. I’ll have plenty of things to manage. Fuldarr’s jarldom is yours, brother. After his warriors saw you in the battle, they know they won’t find a stronger jarl. So you won’t have any resistance once you visit the lands.”

“Do I have your word that you won’t decide to reclaim the jarldom?”

“I swear, brother,” she said in a suppressed whisper, as if a beast slept nearby and she’d wake it up if she spoke any louder.

“Good.”

She hugged him, and the scent of her touched his face for a moment, reminding him of their mother, and his heart squeezed. Vigdis brushed off her tears, turned to the boat, and Bjarni helped her get in. As the men pushed the boat away from the dock with the oars, Donna said, “You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you? Both of you?”

Vigdis’s face brightened. “The journey should take us a couple of weeks. In three months, we should be settled. We’ll come.”

Sigurd nodded. He was looking forward to the abundance of the harvest festival: tables full of fresh vegetables, roasted boars, hares, and deer, smoked salmon, and new mead. The feeling of home and family. His family.

“Goodbye!” Vigdis called as the boat moved further into the distance.

A feeling of peace spread through Sigurd like a cool wave on a warm day. Bjarni laid his arm on Vigdis’s shoulder in the same manner that Sigurd’s arm was on Donna’s. They waved to Sigurd and Donna.

“Do you believe her word?” Donna asked.

Sigurd squinted against the reflection of the sun on the fjord’s surface, following the ship with his eyes. “I do.”

“Why?”

“She’s changed. Not only because she saw the results of her betrayal. But because of love. I can see that as clearly as I see you. Bjarni changed her.” He kissed Donna gently, and his body started simmering with desire. “Just like you changed me. I can even understand why she took our enemy’s side. Every person needs to feel valued and useful, and she did not have that. But I hope you do. I am grateful to have such strong women in my jarldom and especially at my side.”

Donna smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. “I could never have dreamed I’d have such a strong man by my side.”

The boat disappeared behind a mountain, and Sigurd and Donna walked back home. The feeling of peace spread from his chest further into his body. As they approached the fortress, Sigurd stopped Donna by the open gate. As he glanced at the fortress that had brought her here, a feeling of wholeness spread through him, repairing the remains of the wounds in his soul like a healing balm.

He knelt before Donna and laid his palms on her swollen belly. His fingers felt a small kick, and he planted a kiss on the spot. He looked up at Donna from where he knelt, overwhelmed by the love that grew in every muscle of his body and that he saw reflected in her eyes.

“The Norn is weaving a beautiful tapestry from my life,” he said. “Because it’s everything I could ever wish for. You, the child”—Donna’s fingers brushed through his hair, and his scalp tingled—”and something we built together. The fortress of time.”

 

A glimpse into

THE JEWEL OF TIME

 

 

Chicago, 2018

 

The Norn smiled as, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young woman’s hand stretching out to grasp the spindle. The three Norns were having lunch on a bench at Navy Pier, enjoying the view of Lake Michigan and the sun’s rays warming their ancient skin. The woman thought the Norn did not see what she was up to. She needed to gather money fast for her mother’s kidney transplant, and stealth seemed to be her only remaining choice.

But she had no idea that on the other side of that spindle, a young Viking needed her more than air to breathe.

As her fingers touched the golden surface, the woman disappeared, and the Norn began knitting, enjoying the story unfolding in the scarf.