Burial
The next morning, before sunrise, Ada stormed into the sacrificial chamber with Lucia. Ada had filled Lucia in on the, according to her, “sacrilegious events” that had happened during the night. Ragnvei had said she wanted to be let out of her commitment in escorting Queen Maud. Apparently Gunnar, her lover, had snuck into the room through the window, bypassing the guards, and tried to talk her out of it.
“I have spoken to King Olav about Ragnvei, and I want you to know two things,” Ada said, speaking to the two handmaidens. “One, we will move ahead with the burial regardless of Ragnvei’s hesitation, and two, because of Ragnvei’s conduct, you will be sacrificed in the most painful way possible, so we can regain the gods’ favor.”
“No!” Ragnvei fell to her knees and clasped her hands together. “Please, please do not do this! Just let me go. I want to live, especially now that I know Gunnar loves me. He told me so himself.”
Ada smacked Ragnvei’s hands down. “I heard he visited you last night. He should be put to death for having meddled with my sacred rituals. I will not entertain a handmaiden’s wish when the doom of Midgard is at stake. There is nothing quite so dishonorable as offending the queen’s precious name. Her burial is a serious matter, not one to be trifled with, or made into a mockery.” She stepped closer to Ragnvei. “You do not deserve to live, you thoughtless, undisciplined, pitiful woman. You are a taker—no, a thief, defaming the queen’s good name. It is actually better for you and society that you are dead.”
Thinking Ada’s words were a little harsh, Lucia placed her hands on Ragnvei’s shoulders, and said, “However, if she will move forward with the right outlook, she will be remembered as a true hero in all the Northlandic Kingdom. Would you agree, Ada?”
Ada paused. “Well—yes,” she finally said.
Ragnvei’s glanced up at Lucia, her eyes turning dazed and lifeless as if she had just realized death was inescapable.
Ada huffed. “It is an honor to die this way. And remember, no virtue is higher than honor.” Ada took Lucia’s arm and led her into the hallway. “Now, we dress your mother,” she said.
Arriving at the door to the queen’s chamber, Lucia’s stomach tied into knots. “May I have a minute?” she asked Ada.
“Yes, but do hurry,” Ada said, squeezing through the double doors.
She did not want to go inside, did not want to face her mother’s dead body, fearing the lifeless image might be all she would remember forever. She traced the intricate workmanship on the copper doors with her fingers. The wooden doorframe was carved with serpents, dragons and swirly Norse patterns, and was decorated with warriors holding their weapons, standing in their extended longships. Southerners consider us Vik people just because we share the same land. She thought it hideous to be associated with those berserkers.
Ada stuck her head in through the door crack. “Well, come on then—”
“Yes,” Lucia said, feeling exhaustion set in. She had barely slept at all last night, afraid she would be visited by mare demons, who would fill her nights with visions of her dying mother.
Lucia entered the death chamber, and as the double doors closed behind her with a thud, she jumped. She saw her mother lying in her bed, lifeless and gray, just as she had envisioned. Every particle in her body told her to run—run far away from this horrific scene.
Ada wasted no time and began directing the servants, handmaidens, and seamstresses, stalking their every move as they scurried to and fro, attempting to fulfill the angel of death’s every request.
“Oil for the queen,” Ada said, approaching Lucia. She muttered a blessing over the small glass bottle and handed it to her. “Cover every part, and I mean every part, of your mother’s body with this.”
Lucia stiffened.
“Do it now!” Ada grabbed her by the hand and pulled her toward the corpse. “Your mother’s spirit needs to know you approve of her leaving Midgard. You must let her go, Lucia, or she will be miserable forever, wandering the realm of the humans when she should be celebrating with the gods. Think of her—not of yourself. You do want her to be happy, do you not?”
The thought of letting her mother go was like a stab to the heart. But Lucia still nodded.
Ada opened the flask and poured some of its contents into Lucia’s hands. “Like so.” She took Lucia’s hands and placed them onto Queen Maud’s cold, blue skin, rubbing the sweet-smelling oil onto it.
After a few strokes, Lucia started to feel lightheaded and queasy. “May I step out? I am feeling quite ill.”
“No, no, no, no! We must finish the preparation of the body,” Ada said.
Just then, Lucia vomited all over the floor and her black dress.
Ada huffed. “Am I surrounded by incapable helpers? Pull yourselves together! You—” She pointed to one of the handmaidens. “Clean this mess up.” She turned to Lucia, a look of disgust on her face. “I expect you to contain yourself, you hear? Now, go change. Nora, you go with her.”
Helping Lucia into the long-sleeved, floor-length, crimson gown, Nora said, “Try not to think about death, Lucia. It will all soon be over.” Her voice trembled, her hands shook, and as she pinned the gold brooch onto Lucia’s chest, Nora pricked her finger.
The old handmaiden said nothing even though Lucia knew it must have hurt. She was bleeding. A single drop of blood fell onto the wooden floor before Nora put the wounded finger into her mouth, preventing more blood from spilling.
Lucia gazed into the full-length mirror and noted how the dress looked blood-red against her fair skin. And then a thought popped into her mind. It is a sign from the gods, she thought. I was not supposed to wear a black dress to the funeral. All of a sudden it was crystal clear and she did not understand why she had not thought of it before.
White for purity.
Green for everlasting life.
Red for how her mother had bled to death, just like her mother’s god’s blood had been spilt on the cross. But more importantly, red for the Aesira blood they shared.
After Lucia was dressed, Nora said, “I can imagine, Your Majesty, that this is a very difficult time for you.”
Lucia glanced at her handmaiden’s reflection in the mirror.
“Whatever you need of me in the coming days and years, I am your humble servant,” Nora said. “If you need me to escort your mother back to Valhalla, I will do that. If you need someone to talk to, I will be a listening ear. I will serve you with the same fervor as I served your mother.”
Nora had been the most loyal of servants, and there was a reason why her mother had chosen her, although Lucia did not know why. Perhaps it was because she was wise or kind or a good friend. But then a thought came to her. Was Nora afraid she might lose her position? A woman of her age and without a family would have nothing to live for, and maybe this was her way to try and secure her position. To take advantage of me while I am at my weakest.
No matter what, and despite Nora’s advanced age, Lucia planned to keep her on when she became queen. Only time will tell how true Nora really is. How true any of my subordinates are.
Maud’s body was fully clothed by the time they returned to the queen’s chamber. Her new burial outfit was an intricately hand-stitched dress made from the finest indigo silk. On her feet, they had placed pointy, silk slippers, embroidered with Maud’s name on them.
Ada commanded a team of handmaidens and guards to lift Maud onto her deathbed. Once she had been moved, they draped the lower half of her body with silk sheets.
“Now, her hair,” Ada said. “It needs to be combed, and then these flowers need to be interlaced like so.” She showed them.
The handmaidens combed the queen's long, golden hair until it shone like strands of sunlight. Next they picked up the wicker baskets containing the white wax flowers, and intertwined them through her tresses.
Feeling braver than before, Lucia stepped closer. Dare she add a few flowers? Her mother looked so peaceful where she rested—almost appearing to be sleeping—and she thought maybe if she shook her vigorously enough, she could wake her. “Where are you now?” A single tear rolled down her cheek as she picked up a flower and secured it behind her mother’s ear. Wherever she was, she was not here.
When they finished, Ada summoned Olav.
“Your father refuses to come,” Vilda said as she entered the chamber, her large chest rising and falling with each labored breath. “And he refuses to say why.”
How could he be so cold-hearted? Yet the truth was Lucia did not know whether she was happy or relieved about the news. The less time she spent with her father, the better, although she did not enjoy Vilda’s company either. In fact, she wished her aunt would move out of the castle and stop being the leech she was. The first thing she would do after she married Soren, was to evict both her father and Vilda.
“Oh, and he told me to tell you that Soren will not be coming to the burial,” Vilda said. “He is in the Southlandic Kingdom again, fulfilling a commission.”
Lucia had only met her betrothed on a few occasions. She was glad she would not have to worry about entertaining him during the worst time of her life, especially since he had a tendency to annoy her. Whenever he would speak to her, he was too friendly, acting as if they were best friends. It was not that he had ever acted inappropriately; he was simply a few shades too informal.
Just as the morning rays beamed through the stained-glass window and upon the corpse, Ada told everyone it was time to start the procession.
Lucia’s stomach clenched in sudden desperation when she realized she would never again see her mother. If she could just keep her here a little bit longer, maybe her insides would not feel as if they were being torn apart. Just a few more minutes, and maybe she would be able to let go without feeling as if she were dying herself. Peering into her mother’s eyes, she lifted her mother’s cold, lifeless hand, and pressed it to her lips.
“I will never forget you. I will make you proud of me, and when we meet again, I swear to you I will murder anyone who will dare to try and keep us apart.” Tears streamed down her cheeks as her shoulders rocked with silent sobs.
* * *
The burial procession stood ready to start in the courtyard within the hour.
“Not a single hair must be out of place!” Ada yelled, her beady eyes searching the line-up. “The queen’s spirit is waiting for us to make a mistake so she can remain here in Midgard and plague us. I am sure you would not want that blame on your heads, would you?” She encircled each wagon, each person, and each animal, as she passed them. Finally, after having checked everyone and everything, she nodded to King Olav at the front-end of the procession.
Behind the king marched Bishop Peter, who was carrying the Bergendal crest ensign. Lucia particularly loved the vivid colors: blue, red and gold. The blue square, her father had drilled into her mind, represented Midgard’s four protecting Sentinors. The brown square represented the four corners of Midgard, and the red dragon holding the sword and torch signified freedom, balance, and light. The circle above the dragon’s head was half-navy and half-yellow, symbolizing the balance between light and dark. Her name meant light, so she had always thought of herself as a being of light.
As they were walking down here, she had heard from Nora that Bishop Peter asked her father to be left out of the “barbaric,” in his opinion, sacrificial ceremony. The bishop had said he was a man of the Christian faith and had put aside his pagan beliefs and rituals. He had also said that his conscience dictated he not involve himself in these Norse burial ceremonies.
Her father’s reply had been simple: if the bishop did not concede to be part of the burial, Olav would burn down the Bergendal Stave Church and banish Christianity from being taught in Bergendal. Bishop Peter had happily complied.
“The Christian Bishop should not even be here. He is a bad omen,” Ada said, coming up to Lucia.
Was he a bad omen? she wondered. Perhaps he was. Her mother had recently joined this cult, and she died. Did she die because she had turned her back on the true Norse gods? If that was the case, why had her father let Bishop Peter participate? Olav had never been a supporter of Christianity while his wife was alive, so why start now?
Twelve deacons lined up in two rows, stood behind Bishop Peter. Dressed in white, silk robes with red sashes around their shoulders, they fit in as much as snow would on a scorching summer’s day.
Behind the deacons was Queen Maud. She lay in her four-post bed, which was set in an open cart. Thousands of white and blue flowers blanketed the dray’s exterior, and four black stallions would pull the queen to her final resting place.
King Olav and Vilda rode their horses behind the queen’s wagon, followed by two white oxen, which would be included as sacrifices in the grave.
Behind the oxen, fourteen horses were individually hand-led by their own handmaiden. The horses would be ridden until exhaustion, and then sliced up and thrown into the burial with the deceased.
Next came the last animal sacrifice, which were Queen Maud’s seven lundehund dogs. They were believed to possess the power to guide her back to Valhalla and ensure her a prosperous journey. Nora had been given the honor of leading the yelping hounds.
Lastly, twelve of King Olav’s guards stood watch outside of the escorts’ wagon. To Lucia’s great dismay, she was to ride with Ada, Ragnvei, and Astrid to the burial. How could it be that she, the future queen was demoted to such a place? However, no matter how much she had vocalized her disapproval to her father, he refused to let her ride up at the front with him. He said he wanted to keep her safe, and that riding in the enclosed wagon, guarded by his four strongest men, would provide that safety.
When Lucia entered the carriage, Ada handed the escorts golden goblets. She had heard of these hallucinogenic drinks and how they would allow the escorts to glance into the spirit world. Even though she desperately wanted to see her mother on the other side of the veil, she would not have taken a single sip had it been offered her. The sacred beverage was only reserved for those who would enter the kingdom of Valhalla, and she did not desire to partake of something forbidden in fear of awakening the gods’ wrath.
Within seconds, Ragnvei had swallowed the goblet’s contents and pleaded for more. Ada quickly filled her cup again, a smile almost appearing on her lips.
The ride in the carriage seemed like a never-ending journey to the valley of death as Lucia tried to ignore the others. However, it was near impossible not to notice how Ragnvei, sitting directly across from her, was fidgeting like an impatient two-year old. The handmaiden clenched her hands around the goblet as beads of sweat trickled down her forehead and she kept looking out the carriage every few seconds, her eyes raking the crowd of onlookers. Maybe she is still thinking there is a way out. The girl is a traitor.
“Why are you not nervous?” Ragnvei finally asked Astrid, her voice slightly slurred now from the drink.
“I have been blessed by the gods with peace in my soul. I am looking forward to escorting the queen back to Valhalla and to going there myself,” Astrid said, her words sounding like a chant.
“So, you are not nervous?” Ragnvei asked, clenching her fists. When Astrid did not answer, she said, “You must be nervous. Tell me. Share with me your—”
“Stop speaking!” Lucia wanted to focus on her mother—on trying to let her go—not on the cowardly handmaiden. Was that too much to ask?
Ragnvei’s eyes grew large. “I am sorry, Your Highness.” She lowered her head and pinched her lips together.
Finally, a moment of peace. She peered out the window and saw the skies lightning up in the distance. Thor was throwing his hammer again, sending a thunderstorm to Bergendal. It must be a sign that he is waiting for the queen’s spirit. That made her heart swell.
Suddenly, she heard a swooshing sound, and just as she turned her head to see what the noise was, one of the guards fell lifeless to the ground with a thud. Before the other guards rushed in front of the wagon to protect their princess, she saw an ax embedded into the dead man’s cranium, half of his ear on one side and half on the other. She was able to shield her face before blood splattered onto it, but Ragnvei was not so fortunate. The handmaiden screamed as she tried to wipe the red liquid off her skin, smearing it in the process.
“Ragnvei!” a deep voice yelled from the crowd.
Ragnvei quieted down and her eyes searched the crowd through the wall of guards. She gasped. “Gunnar!”
Ada flung the door to the carriage open and climbed out. “Stop the procession!” Unable to spot the perpetrator, she approached the guard closest to her. “Ivar! Find whoever did this and kill him!”
“Yes, my lady.” Ivar stomped off in the direction the ax had come from.
Ragnvei kept looking nervously around, and although the drink had made her eyes glazed with drunkenness, Lucia could see she was thinking hard.
Perhaps Ada had not been too harsh on the girl and knew her type. “Do not dare to try and escape, for if you do, I will imprison you and torture you every day until I become queen,” Lucia said.
Ragnvei’s face went ashen and she grew as still as Lucia imagined she would once her throat had been slit.
Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Ivar returned.
“Is he dead?” Ada asked, her voice flat and stern.
“There will be no more trouble from Gunnar today,” Ivar said, wiping blood off his longsword. “He was after the handmaiden, not the princess.” He commanded the guards to return to their stations.
Ragnvei’s face twisted with grief. “Oh Allfather, Allfather—” she repeated over and over, her body swaying back and forth, her hands bracing her chest.
Ada stepped back into the carriage and slapped Ragnvei across the face. “Be quiet, or I will kill you here and now, you coward. This is a disaster! A living maredream has descended upon us! I cannot believe the disrespect you have for the queen and for the gods.”
All of a sudden, Ragnvei’s eyebrows gathered in the center and her eyes darkened several shades. She leapt toward the door, flung it open, and fell head-first out of the wagon.
Not missing a beat, Ivar knocked the runaway unconscious with the hilt of his longsword and lifted her back into her seat. Astrid closed her eyes and started humming. A single tear rolled down her cheek.
Why cannot Ragnvei just accept her fate? Lucia thought as her hands wound tightly into fists. Certainly it would not do her mother any good to have an unwilling escort.
As if knowing what Lucia was thinking, Ada said, “She will comply. Do not worry.”
She doubted the Angel of Death’s prediction was correct, but there was nothing she could do to alter the situation.
The procession was finally underway again and it was not long before they arrived at the Christian stave church. The queen’s wagon rolled up next to the giant longship, which had been completely immersed into the black, rich, and newly exposed soil. Lucia could smell the fresh earth and the smoke from the torches blazing over the platform. A black tent had been erected next to the platform, and it was the place where the escorts would be sacrificed.
Ivar lifted Ragnvei out of the carriage and he, Lucia and Astrid followed the old crone to the far western side of the cemetery where the Valhalla doorway had been erected. The crowd wandered over with them, the excitement in the air palpable as they waited for the first ceremony to begin.
Once he had laid her onto the grass, Ivar threw a bucket of water onto Ragnvei, awakening her.
Ragnvei screamed as she stood up, swiping her face dry with her hands.
“Drink,” Ada commanded her, handing her a gold, ruby-bejeweled goblet. Then, she spoke a chant while waving her hand across Ragnvei’s face. The girl froze where she stood, staring out into thin air, and after Ada had whispered something into her ear, Ragnvei inhaled deeply and drank from the goblet.
Lucia stood next to Ada, but had no idea of what had just transpired. Whatever Ada said, it must have changed the handmaiden’s mind, because now Ragnvei smiled in a trancelike state, awaiting calmly the Angel of Death’s next command.
“Valhalla is beyond that door,” Ada said, pointing to the wooden frame. “Men of Odin, servants of the most high gods, raise these escorts up so they may peer into the afterlife and see who awaits Queen Maud.”
The guards lifted both girls up high into the air, so they could peer over the doorframe.
“What do you see, oh, sanctified escorts?” Ada shouted.
“I see the dead queen’s grandparents!” Astrid sang, her eyes wide with wonder. A few mumbles could be heard from the gathering.
My grandparents? she thought, a bubble of excitement rising on the inside. She stepped closer to the door, hoping to catch a glimpse of them herself.
The guards lowered the girls, and Ada bid them to sip from their goblets again. They both drank more, especially Ragnvei, Lucia saw. Again, the guards lifted the women up at Ada’s command.
“Now what do you see?” Ada shouted.
“I see all my relatives!” Ragnvei yelled. “I—I think I see my dead grandparents in the distance!” Her eyes squinted as she pointed toward the empty field.
The guards lowered the escorts to the ground yet again, and Ada bid them drink one last time.
What will they see now? she wondered. She swiped her hair away from her face, noting how the winds were picking up.
Ragnvei stepped closer to Lucia. “My hands and feet are tingling,” she said, her body rocking back and forth. She laughed.
Yet a third time, the guards lifted the handmaidens up into the air. The crowd had turned deathly silent, but suddenly a female voice in the back yelled, “Valhalla! Valhalla!”
“And now, what do you see?” Ada asked.
“Valhalla, Valhalla, Valhalla,” the crowd began to chant with the woman.
“I see—I see—” Astrid said. “I see Queen Maud in the after world, beckoning for us to come to her!”
“Let us go to her!” Ragnvei said, clasping her hand. “Paradise is green and beautiful.” Ragnvei started to cry. “My tears are tears of joy! I yearn to reunite with the queen and feel proud that I have been selected to help her on her journey to the gods.”
“She is there!” Astrid said, looking over the tall doorpost. “She looks young and healthy, and has a babe, her unborn son, in her arms!”
Even though Lucia desired nothing more than to see her mother and unborn brother, she restrained herself from climbing up the doorpost. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and her heart soared inside her bosom, realizing her mother would go home to the gods and would be waiting for her in the after life. It was a sure sign that this new religion, this new white savior was false. Her mother had come back to tell her to remain faithful to the Norse gods. Now that the escorts had seen it, she knew her faith was true.
The guards lowered the two handmaidens.
“It is time.” Ada smiled.
As Lucia, Ragnvei, and Astrid made their way over to the grave, the people cheered them on. Lucia heard a clap of thunder, and looking up into the heavens, she could see the thunderstorm approaching.
Ragnvei took Lucia’s hand in hers. “I have never felt like someone important, but now I feel like the most courageous handmaiden in all of Midgard.” She swayed and stumbled forward, singing a happy tune.
At least Ragnvei seems at peace, but more importantly, the gods will be happy and my mother will have a new home. Almost at her mother’s grave, she saw her father and Vilda leaning over her mother. They were crying as they held onto each other in their grief. She could not help her tears from coming now, flowing like streams of agony down her face. She let go of Ragnvei’s hand, ran up to her father, and wrapped her arms around him.
Ragnvei stopped in front of them. “I saw your queen, Your Highness, and she is more beautiful and healthy than ever. Your baby boy was with her, and all is well,” she said. Then she looked at Lucia. “Do not mourn, fair princess. Your mother will be in Valhalla soon. We will take her there safely today.”
She nodded and gave her a hug. “Please tell her—I—uh, miss her,” she said, wiping the tears off her face.
Ada grabbed Ragnvei by the arm and continued onward to the tent. Astrid followed closely behind them, laughing, swaying, and singing as she walked toward the place she was to be sacrificed.
Does she realize she is on her way to her death? she thought she did. No wonder her mother had loved Astrid. She is brave and strong and true. If only all handmaidens could be like her.
Once they arrived, Ada opened the flap and signaled for the escorts to enter the tent. She looked over at Lucia and waved for her to join them.
Lucia looked up at her father. She had not thought she would actually have to participate in this part of the ceremony, although she would be brave if she needed to be. When she saw her father’s stern face, she knew the answer and started to walk over.
“No, wait,” Olav said, grabbing her by the arm. “Wait until I tell you.”
Ada turned to the multitude and addressed them. “Any man who desires may now enter and consummate these holy sacrifices with his seed.”
The first man rose from the crowd and walked up to the tent door. Ada allowed him to enter, and only a moment later, Lucia heard a series of moans and grunts, followed by Ragnvei screaming in pleasure. The feisty wind gusted the tent door open, and for a split second, she saw the man standing between Ragnvei’s legs. He was thrusting his hips forward, and Ragnvei was clenching his hips, her expression that of pure ecstasy.
Lucia felt her cheeks burn hot as the deepest part of her core clenched. She stared at the grass, hoping no one would notice how her body was coming to life, how she secretly desired to be the one being taken.
She had never known a man, and would not until she married Soren, although she often wondered what it would be like to be with a man in this way. This ritual happened at every burial. The seed of the man and the woman was the way into this life, and it would give Maud new life and prosperity in the world hereafter.
However, it was the first time she had witnessed this ceremony, and she did not know what to think of the intense sensation between her legs. Was it wrong? Or was this pleasurable feeling a gift from the gods telling her she was ready to give life? Was it a sign she was ready to be the mother of her people?
The man left the tent, adjusting his trousers, and vanished back into the crowd. This happened ten more times, and alternately she could hear Astrid and Ragnvei’s moans. The more she heard, the more aroused she became, until she felt it almost unbearable. Was she the only one reacting like this? Everyone else appeared unaffected.
When the last man exited the tent, Ada signaled to Ivar to enter with her.
“Go now.” Olav gave her a little shove.
She was relieved this part was over. Trying to forget about how she felt, she walked to the tent and entered it. The highly intoxicated handmaidens moaned and wormed as their naked, ravaged bodies lay on two wooden tables. They were both beautiful with large breasts and wide hips, and for a moment, Lucia almost thought it sad that soon they would be no more. But sacrifices must be made for the good of all.
Ada said to Ivar, “Make sure you tell your guards and the men in the crowd to beat their swords and spears on their shields as loudly as they can, so the women and children do not hear the screams of the escorts. Send in your two strongest men.”
Her stomach churned, fearing what was coming.
“Yes, my lady.” Ivar nodded and stepped outside, a gust of wind entering the tent as he opened the flap. Two guards entered and took their spots by Astrid, one at her head, the other by her feet.
Ada picked up a rope from the tool table and handed it to the guard above Astrid’s head. He wrapped it loosely around Astrid’s neck and waited for Ada’s signal. Ada nodded to the guard at Astrid’s feet, and he gripped the handmaiden’s ankles, pressing them down into the table.
“Ouuuch,” Astrid squealed, her voice slurred.
She heard the hammering sound of shields and swords colliding outside.
“May you, handmaiden and chosen escort of Queen Maud, fulfill your purpose this day as we release your spirit from your physical body to usher the queen’s spirit to Valhalla!” Ada’s voice sounded like a mystical trance. She walked over to the tool table again and picked up a wide, triangular, iron dagger. Back at Astrid’s side, Ada raised the dagger high above her head with both arms. “May it be so!” She plunged the blade into Astrid’s chest.
Astrid let out a loud shriek and arched her back in pain. The guard above her head pulled the rope tightly around her neck, and her face turned red. Ada plunged the knife into Astrid’s chest again and again until the sacrifice no longer moved. Blood spilt from the table onto the green grass below. Once she realized the spirit had been released, Ada looked at