Syn waited, shivering in the cold. Skorradalr’s high wall warded against the mist but it seemed to slither inside, drawn by the magic her mother called upon.

It had been almost an hour and still Syn waited. She'd never interrupt Saxa during her conjuring. Vile horrors could be just beyond the door, vaettir she'd have no chance to defend against.

The door came ajar and out walked a woman looking young enough to be her sister. Long blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin as the like to have never seen the sun. Most would think them twins despite Saxa being older than even her graying husband, Jarl Arvid.

“What is it, daughter?”

Syn hesitated, her eyes transfixed on the conjuring chamber behind her mother. Something eyed her from within, a presence she couldn't see, something hungry. Syn stepped back after embracing the sight now able to see tentacles reaching past the door, each one covered with eyeballs oozing with blood and barbed spikes.

“Speak!” Saxa snapped at her, the word breaking Syn of her fright. The creature, whatever it was, didn't move past her mother. She was safe, for now.

“Father calls on you.”

“Arvid? What does the Jarl want? It better not be more about that god-cursed sword."

Syn shook her head. “The Hastingy are here.”

Syn hurried to stay by her mother’s side as she moved while still looking back. The door to the chamber closed within a few steps, the vaettir inside slithering back inside as it did.

The beast was most probably a trap, the latest in a long line of ways Saxa hid her secrets from the rest of the coven. There was said to be a tomb, a book bound in skin more ancient than the fortress itself and the source of her power. Hundreds of runes were written within, the names of countless vaettir at hand, ready to be conjured with the right price.

Over the years, many had died trying to steal that power and Syn would be the same. Daughter or not, no one defied Saxa, no one defied the Witch Queen.

Soon the smell of tightly pressed bodies filled the corridors. Most of the Wodanar were within the walls of Skorradalr, thousands escaping the raiding of the Vargr Tribe.

More joined Syn and Saxa as they went. A handful of women, some crones and others young girls at first who'd been tending to the sick then several more until a dozen fell in line.

Bruna, the Wodenar's Völva, fell in line next to Saxa. The woman had magic, yes, but she need not whisperer nonsense to scar men or claim visions to lead. She was a true sorcerer, they all were.

Syn found her father on his throne illuminated by the sun shining through the open skylight and a hand massaging the blade of Gramr.

The sword was a thing of beauty. Its long blue blade held dozens of runes, each a mystery to Syn and she suspected to Mother herself. Its handle was white as if forges from bone, but no such weapon could have lasted the hundreds of years the rune blade remained unclaimed.

Gramr’s home was halfway impeded in a great oak making roots just beside the throne. Or perhaps it was apt to say the throne was built so Arvid was never without his precious rune blade.

Men said Odin himself placed it there, waiting for the day a worthy man pulled it free. Syn could almost believe it. The magin holding the weapon was unthinkable, more than the coven could hope to muster at least.

Arvid coughed, spitting a wad of sickness onto the floor and rose, using Gramr to hold himself steady. “Leave now Halvar and I might not feed you to my fucking dogs!”

Syn followed her father's eye, casting her gaze on Halvar who towered over the dozen or so men behind him and seemed unbothered by the threats sent his way.

She saw him once before through the sight. The vision had nearly killed her by how many potions were needed to see past the veil of the man’s two Völva. They were always close by, their own prescience blocking her despite the unerring accuracy of Syn’s perception of the present.

It had all been worth it though to see the rumored Troll of Dilar spoke true. Syn had seen the man with a spear through his gut cutting down a shifter. He fought without fear and maybe even pain like an Aesir god warring among mortals. Probably why he walked into another Jarl’s hall with only a handful of fighting men and his Völva standing closest to him.

Halvar groaned, the sound like scraping stones, like that of a troll's. “Choose,” he said, still relaxed as bows were drawn taut with arrows pointed his way. “Open your gates, let my people in, or come morn Skorradalr will no longer be yours.”

“Just you try and see how high these walls really are,” Arvid cackled but his eyes shifted to Saxa for an instant.

No wonder he'd called for Mother. Yes, the Wodanar had Skorradalr and to siege the Jötunn built fortress would cost a great many men but if The Troll of Dilar led the charge then maybe. So Father’s only hope would be mother’s magic as craven as most men would think the strategy.

And then Syn saw it, a shift in the air around father, a change in his aura and mother’s too as she pressed her will on him. The Jarl didn't seem to fight for even an instant. Surely he must welcome the control and someday Syn’s own husband would too with a potion or two to help things along.

Arvid visibly relaxed and wiped away the sweat cresting his head. “I could break half your people on my walls.” He paused for a moment, mother all but mouthing the words for him. “Or we could come to an accord.”

The older of Halvar's Völva step forward speaking in hushed whispers. An instant of prescience came to Syn at the same time compelling her sight to cast the room into a rainbow of different hues and shadows but the lingering shades and otherworldly power went unseen as she stepped back in horror.

Waves, no, a geezer of black and green swirled around the older Völva. It bellowed into the air showering down like rain, more magin than even held Gramr in place. And in that maltrum, like an ocean spilling from the woman, something looked into her and smiled.

Syn nearly stumbled over her feet as she retreated but the wall caught her. She wanted to run from that thing, no, the vaettir as it laughed at her. But she knew as sure as that the sun would rise there was no escaping something so powerful, not if it wanted her dead.

But why had Mother or the other sorcerers not seen it? Her own sight Syn realized, unable to pierce the veil of time but seeing deeper and farther than even mother’s who just prattle on with father not knowing the power the Hastingy Völva had bound.

A silent chuckle ran through the whole of Skorradalr. Was… was the vaettir laughing at her.

“Wrong.”

Syn didn’t exactly hear the word. It was more like a feeling. She’d been wrong and the vaettir was telling her so.

Syn focused her sight, her breath and heart calming as she found the source of the power. It all spilled from a knife on the Völva's waist. A medium? Could such a powerful creature truly be used as such. Maybe if contained in a rune blade-

“Syn!” Arvid called out, and by the sound of it, not for the first time.

Syn jerked, the shock of it taking her out of the sight. She immediately tried to grasp at it again, to see the unseen dangers, but Odins fucking beard, it was gone.

“Um,” Syn mumbled, sounding all the more like a fool. She hadn't heard a single word spoken.

“Well?” Arvid continued. “Do you wish to marry Halvar?”

Syn’s face felt so hot it could catch fire. Her, marry Jarl Harvid? How did they come to this?

“No!” Halvar shouted and shoved another man forward. “She will marry my son, Hadding.”

“But you are also without a wife and also are a shifter,” Saxa said. “By the time your son becomes Jarl, my daughter could be old and gray.” She could speak on matters of marriage without the need to puppet father.

Halvar gestured with a dismissive wave at Syn scoffing at her. “I need no wife and she is practically still a girl.”

“I'm 19 winters,” Syn shot back but her eyes still wondered about looking for the Vaettir. Its laughter was still there. She could feel the thing’s amusement.

Halvar grunted. “If you want your daughter to marry a Jarl so badly, foster my son.”

“What? I am no boy to be fostered!” Hadding exclaimed but a stern look from the old Völva had him quiet.

Halvar crept forward. “You have no heirs so take mine and make him yours.”

Syn knew that would be a hard offer to turn away but mother wanted more than for her to marry a Jarl. But she still dodded and then father soon after.

There would be a gathering of the covan tonight. Mother wanted more and she would have it. Magic would make sure of that.