Finally, a coin, with, yet again, the same Thurisaz rune pattern as on the hammer. Without touching them, I can sense which items carry magic. This is why Ylvin spoke of learning to mask one’s energy. It isn’t hard to tell if something is?—
“Well?” says Sigurd. “What do you think?”
“The coin—take it away, it does nothing but shine.”
“Really? I was sure it was cursed, looking at the inscription.”
“It is safe to let a child play with it, if they keep it out of their mouth. Simply inscribing an object does not make it magical.”
“Are you sure? I had a Volva make it for me.”
“Forgive me, my jarl, but?—”
“Sigurd, Kilda, call me Sigurd.”
“Sigurd… you were misled. Whoever made this for you scammed you. For an ungodly amount, I would guess.”
“You would be right. So… I can keep it?”
“Yes, you can do whatever you want with it.”
“And the others?”
“May I?” I ask, reaching for the necklace.
“Of course.”
The collar is heavy. Heavier than I would have imagined. The first time I’ve touched gold, a metal so rare that only the richest lords can claim to own it. Freya’s favorite. I run my finger along the clean-cut gemstones, closing my eyes to perceive its use. To experience its anchor. Who shaped it?
Murky images manifest in my mind. Sensations. Claws, ripping. The visions are fleeting, impossible to grasp. Flesh, sticky blood. The forest. A path.
A crystal-clear picture of a large cat appears in my mind. It persists. Thick fur, yellow eyes, black stripes. The black tufts at the tips of its ears make no secret of what animal it is.
A lynx.
My eyes open. I’m gripping the necklace so hard my knuckles are white. The art of Seidr is still so new to me. I have no idea what these images mean. I just feel my energy being drained. I’m sure it’s because of the visions, not the spell on the necklace.
“This,” I say, “is harsh. Violent, like nature. But it isn’t cursed.”
“Are you sure?”
“Not really… but let me inspect the ring, to compare.”
Sigurd nods, gesturing to the silver band.
I pick it up.
Nothing happens. A cooling sensation runs through my arm. It’s magic. Enchanted. I sense that, but I have no idea what for. It’s missing something. It isn’t complete. The hammer and necklace both carry a magical signature that far outweighs this.
“It’s… it’s doing something. No idea what.”
“Is it dangerous?” he asks.
“I wouldn’t think so,” I guess wildly, hoping I don’t seem completely ignorant.
Sigurd opens his palm and I place it there. He puts it on his finger, looking into the blue gem with a grin.
“So, it won’t kill me then?”
