Summary
A semi-short historical/fantasy about a half-human, half goddess (A Halfenwraith) goes looking for a human hero to marry. Takes place in a mythical Viking-like world.
This brought a different kind of grunting and laughter from the gathering, especially from the men — but the shield maiden, fierce and brave herself, was undaunted. She proudly raised her uncovered head and spoke clearly for all to hear. “Fine women and comely young maidens he may have had aplenty, good Thorgi, but I seek no such short, casual dalliance — but something much deeper and long lasting.”
Her piercing gaze swept round the hall and everyone there seemed to hold their breath. “I speak of something Fated from birth; older than Time and woven by the Three Weird Sisters at the base of the Allfather Tree. I speak of a great, burning love that has always been and always will be!”
Silence followed the woman’s heavy words, and only the crackling of the fire and the westerly wind could be heard. Then I looked around the high-ceilinged hall. I saw that everyone but the raven-haired shield maiden and myself seemed to be frozen in time — as though all but we two were under the spell of a mighty god or a powerful Wicca woman.
Then I saw the strange glint in the shield maiden’s eye and knew that I also had been bewitched — and that somehow I had fallen headfirst into one of my own tales! Instantly delighted with the novelty of the situation, I gladly accepted my fate and bowed my aged head to the beautiful maiden — for I now saw her for what she truly was — an Halfenwraith, a child born of a union between a mortal and a god.
“Greetings, Lady Halfenwraith,” I said, doing my best to bow gracefully. “I fear my old eyes were slow in recognizing your true nature.”
“You were far quicker than most, Scald Thorgi, for few indeed are the ones who can see through my ‘glamours’ — unless I want them to. My name is Swanhild, given to me by my father, the Warrior-Prince Finn McDuff of the wave-tossed Isle of Skye, and by my mother, the Valkyrie, Brunhild Fairhair, daughter of the Wicca woman, Skaig Coldheart.”
“A noble lineage indeed,” I said. “I am deeply honoured by your presence, lady — but unsure as to why I am so graced? If it is warriors you seek, there are many in this hall more suited than a stiff-limbed old man like me.”
Swanhild laughed at that and casually waved her hand over the dying fire. The flames instantly danced anew, reflecting back in her coal black eyes.
“It is my mother Brunhild that collects brave warriors, Thorgi. I have need of brains, not brawn.”
“Again lady, you honour me — but I am still at a loss as to how I may help you?”
“I have decided that the time has come for me to wed, and you, Scald Thorgi Odinson, will help me win a husband.”
Taken by surprise, I reacted rather harshly. “I am no matchmaker, lady! If it’s a ‘shawkalain’ you have need of, perhaps one of the toothless old hags of the village would do better than I!”
