Maude had no time to prepare before the sharp edge of the silver blade sliced the goat's jugular. A fountain of blood burst from the arteries of the animal, staining the heavy mist red as the seer moved to hold the small bowl under the cascading life leaving the goat. When they started to chant in their off-setting voice, the hair on the back of Maude's neck stood on end. Goosebumps broke out on her skin as the wind picked up, and her braid began to lift at the ends with the force of the gusts.
And still, the seer continued their chanting.
Until all at once, the wind stopped, and the air became still again.
The seer moved to lower their hood, and everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Their face exposed to them all, they looked the way her father had described: shaved head, black paint smudged under their eyes the way warriors would paint their faces for battle, that same black paint rubbed over their mouths, and a large piece of smooth wood shaped like Odin's weapon— the Gungnir Spear— pierced through their bottom lip.
However, the feature that Maude was struggling to digest, though her father had warned her, was the thick, scarred eye sockets that had been stitched closed many years ago when this acolyte had become a seer.
"Do you accept the Allfather, Odin, with your blood and spirit?" The seer asked, their strange cadence settling over Maude the way thick incense would muddle her senses.
"I do," they all responded.
As soon as they spoke, the seer dragged the sprig of rosemary through the sacrificial blood and splattered it over each of their faces once with a sharp flick of his wrist.
"Do you accept Freyr, Frigga, and Tyr?"
"I do," they all repeated. Blood splattered Maude's face again, the sticky liquid heavy on her skin.
"Do you accept Freyja, Thor, Balder, and Heimdal?"
"I do." One last spray of blood coated her face.
Tension broke amongst her friends, but the seer had not moved from their spot in front of her, keeping Maude's bones locked in place. It seemed her part of the ritual was not over.
Quietly, so no others could hear the seer's words to Maude, they whispered to her, "And do you accept Hela herself into your blood and spirit, Daughter of Shadows?"
Paralyzed, Maude could only lift her eyes to the seer in front of her. She took in their mangled eyes and wondered what they wereseeingin their chosen darkness that Maude couldn't. Rather than allow her curiosity to win over her, Maude hardened her face before responding.
"No."
The seer nodded once, the movement so slight that Maude wasn't sure they had done it at all before they stepped back and out of their path. With one robe swathed arm, the seer motioned for them to pass beyond the fence protecting the Temple of the Gods and the resting land for weary travelers such as themselves.
As soon as Maude crossed over the threshold of the fence, the sounds of large traveling parties and the smells of food cooking overwhelmed her. On either side of the path that led up to the Temple of the Gods were groups of other travelers. Some smaller than theirs and some larger had set up campsites and cookfires. Groups of worshippers laughed and cheered, their horns spilling over with mead and ale that only added to the chaotic mix of scents that pummeled Maude as she stepped further into the sacred land.
Every few yards, wooden archways constructed of the same birchwood lined the path to the temple. Each arch was decorated in honor of one of the gods: some were draped in cloth that billowed in the gentle wind, their bright colors calling to Heimdall; rings of keys hanging from their beams for Frigga; flickering flames of gold, blue, yellow, and purple burned at the bases of some arches for Tyr; wildflowers entwined in the birch for Balder; forest cats whose grey and silver long hair blended with the white bark lounged at arches for Freyja as their watchful green eyes tracked their movements.
Everywhere she looked, Maude saw something that symbolized the gods they worshipped. The temple itself, however, was the grandest thing she had ever seen. Its shining golden roof broke through the tree line, the sun that had been eaten by the thick canopy of leaves now beaming brightly on the resting place of the gods. It was a beacon to worshippers who climbed the perilous mountainside in search of peace.
To Maude, it was the final blockade that kept her from the hands of the gods and the fate the Norns wove for her.
Before her, Bryn and Herrick appeared, their awed faces appropriate considering thegalderthat hid this entire scene from those outside. Aeric stopped at her side, his presence a surprisingly soothing balm to Maude's fraying nerves.
"Welcome to Hilgafell."
Though his words were warm, Maude felt a chill run down her spine. As he and the rest of her friends moved around her to step further into the sacred space, Maude remained frozen on the edge. The fact that she was the Heir of Shadows hadn't been shared made the title she had been given at the gates all the more chilling. Daughter, not Heir.
The distinction felt ominous as the seer's words echoed in her ears with a sense of wrongness she couldn't quite identify yet.
And do you accept Hela herself into your blood and spirit, Daughter of Shadows?
27
Herrick hesitated at the entrance of Odin's temple.
When he had been on his knees before the seer, Maude at his side as they petitioned for entry to Hillgafell, he had not been sure what they would find on the other side of the gates. Laughter, flowing mead, and roasting meat had certainly been low on the list of expectations. Herrick knew that he had not been the only one to be shocked.
Liv and Bryn had outpaced all of them, reaching the temple before they could even make it halfway up to the shining structure. Hakon and Gunnar kept pace with him, with Aeric and Dahlia behind them. Maude, however, had been slow in her trek up the marked pathway that ended inside the temple. Whatever the seer had bent to whisper to only her seemed to distract Maude from the rambunctiousness of Hillgafell. Groups of men and women, Elven and human, seemed to speak enthusiastically, laughing often and drinking frequently. It was hard to ignore and yet she walked through their crowds like a ghost.
