The Long Winter of Miðgarðr

Jorunn trembled in her arms and Madlen sensed the shieldmaiden’s pulse race, her muscles tighten, her breath hitch in her throat as she puffed raggedly into her ear. Could this be the moment they had both waited for? Might Madlen be ready to try something new? An impulse became a thought and wangled its way into an action.

Kissing wasn’t something Madlen thought about often, though perhaps more lately than ever in her life. And she never thought about intimate touching or sexual intercourse. Yet from some long-forgotten place in her being, the inclination arose to kiss Jorunn. Maybe she imagined the moment called for it, or perhaps a part of her mind wished to run an experiment. Or could it be the ardent fervor of Jorunn’s devotion? Perhaps a deep tendril of humanity wished to reward Jorunn for her service, as she had asked nothing of the sisterhood for the duties she had performed and always contributed more than she consumed. But might it possibly be the first inkling of desire on her part? Could she have moved her lips to touch Jorunn’s simply because she wanted to taste them, to discover what enchantment she might find there?

Jorunn moaned and melted into her at the simple, intimate touch, but made no move to invade Madlen’s mouth or grope her as the young man of her youthful experience had done. Jorunn’s lips were firm and soft, fiery and cool, responsive without being possessive, sweet with lingering mead, inviting like a summer day, as sure and prevailing as the mountains, ebbing and flowing in a steadfast motion like the sea. They held a world of sensations for Madlen, and she wanted to make the kiss last. Jorunn wasn’t backing away, so neither would she. With the tiniest flick of her tongue, Madlen parted Jorunn’s lips, and the shieldmaiden waited for her, beckoning without demanding, allowing her to take her time.

For the first time in her life, Madlen felt an urgent pulse run through her body. It seemed to start at her feet and run up her calves and thighs, through her midsection and chest, trickling up her throat and cascading through her mouth as she tested the depth of the kiss. Only for an instant, and then she felt the earth move under her feet. At first, she supposed it was the magical trance she’d put herself into until she realized it was something else entirely.

Jorunn broke off the kiss with alarm blazing on her face. She gripped Madlen by the arms and stared into her eyes with the most commanding force she’d ever known a human to possess. “Get to the boats now!”

A roaring rumble followed, and the ground shook harder. “Not without you and my sisters,” Madlen swore. “What’s happening?”

Jorunn didn’t need to answer. Backing away from the awning to her longhouse, Madlen looked up at the volcano looming in the night sky behind it. Suddenly, a terrible black column of coal pitch ash unfurled from the top of the crater against a canvas of moonlit midnight blue, obscuring stars, thrusting upward inside itself until it produced a towering mushroom shape higher than the mountain itself. Before Madlen could process what she beheld, a thundering boom shook the cloister, and every building in it rattled. Her very bones vibrated from the roar.

Unable to do naught but stand and stare, Madlen’s eyes widened as the terrible and awesome sight unfolded before her. Orange lightning flashed within the powerful explosion as fire battled ice in a dance she knew it had performed in the past yet never fully expected to witness.

“Come quickly!” Jorunn urged, tugging on her arm. Others raced out of their dwellings, standing in the open ring of common space encircling the magnificent hof.

While Madlen stared unblinking at Eldríssfell’s roaring jaws, spitting tons of ash into the air, she heard Jorunn take charge.

“Svend, get your family and the other workers onto a boat. Yorick, ensure all the ships have their sails, oars, rigging, and are ready to launch. Thorvald, muster the Red Guard with their rations and weapons to this spot. Ranveig and Byrnjar, help me get all the sisters safely into their vessels.”

The men moved quickly, but the sisters were sluggish to respond. “I don’t understand what went wrong,” Zilmara said when she emerged from the longhouse.

“Helge!” Kolr called as he dashed toward the blacksmith’s house. She rushed out into his waiting arms, followed by her brother and father. “This way,” the warrior instructed.

“Hurry,” Svend commanded the group of domestic workers and fishers who piled out of their lodgings with terrified screams of panic.

“I must go back for my—”

“No, you mustn’t!” Svend insisted and grabbed the woman by the wrist. “You have your cloak to keep you warm. There isn’t time.”

“Sisters, do what Jorunn says,” ordered Galdra. “I will stay behind and hold back the fire until all have boarded the ships. Then I will follow.”

“You cannot hold back the fire giants alone, Sister Prime,” declared Byrnjar. “I shall remain as your shield.”

Then Madlen saw it, like an ice blue snake winding its way through sloughing snow, a thundering river of melt—the glacial outburst flood. That answers one question; yes, the fire will indeed melt the ice. It might miss the camp, following the paths of least resistance, taking the fastest routes to the sea; then again, it could inundate the cloister and the harbor in minutes. No more time to stare in wonder at the enraged volcano.

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the docks if you do not move this instant!” Jorunn vowed, and her hand clamped tighter around Madlen’s wrist.

“I’m coming, my love. Solfrid?” She glanced around with a fretful gaze as realization struck her. It was a terrifying blow from Thor’s hammer to her chest, knocking the wind clean out of her, and Madlen found her thoughts sluggish and misty as if in a fog of disbelief.

“I’m here, Madlen!” Her friend’s voice cut through the whirlwind of sensory overload and Madlen caught her hand. Together, the three of them dashed toward the dock house. There was a whistle and a crash, and then Madlen felt as if she had been stung by a hundred bees. The dock house was gone, crushed beneath a smoldering boulder, steam shooting out from under it as the snow evaporated from its heat. Someone screamed. It might have been her.