Völva
Come,
my daughter, let us dance.
The
moon is full, the night is warm. Come, let me teach you magic.
Remember
what I told you: leave the long house when the moon rises. They will not watch
you go. They know that the moon brings madness, and so do we. They will not
risk my wrath, or yours.
So
let them sleep, my love. Leave them in their warm hall with their skinny
southern wives. We do not need them, we who speak the words. We may have any
man, and will, when I teach you how to dance.
Hurry
across the fields, my dearest, by the paths I showed you. I shall paint your
brow with blood, and anoint your lips. The moon brings blood and madness, and
so do we. Run, my daughter, though the stones will cut your feet. You are a
woman. You will be a völva. You must not mind the blood and pain.
The
night is calling, my love, and the moon is full. I’ll meet you there, my darling,
on the clifftop by the sea. I’ll bring the knife, you bring the lamb.
We’ll
drink his blood, my daughter, and it will make you strong. We’ll stretch his
guts across the stones, and read the fates of men.
By
morning you’ll be back again, in the safety of the day. They’ll know that you
are mine, yes, but do not be ashamed. For you shall be a völva, love, and you
will rule them all. The sky and stars will be your crown, and all the world
your realm.
We
live by blood and magic. We know the fates of men.
Come
dance with me, my daughter. The moon is in your blood. Come dance with me in
madness, and I’ll teach you how to dream.
