“What?”
“The Alpha has called us all together.”
“All of us?” I smack my lips together and stare at my high school art collage adorning on the
wall. The stained-glass piece depicts a wolf howling at the moon.
“It’s a pack-wide summons. He asked that we take special care with your appearance as you
are to represent your father’s line.”
Had Papa sensed this was coming? Is that why he’d reached out to me from beyond the veil for the first time since directly after their passing? “I’m awake.”
“A bath is waiting. I procured a dress that should be adequate. We will do your hair in a traditional style and adorn your face with the markings of our people.” Her formal attitude and lack of antagonistic behavior put me on edge. There’s no kindness—but a grudging respect.
This is downright sucking up for her. What did I miss? Sit up, crossing my arms.
“The Volva told me to rest. Why should I disobey her orders?”
Her cheeks redden. “Because it’s been demanded by your Alpha. You’ll represent us too when you arrive
tonight. I want to make a good impression.”
“Ahhh.” I relax. I understand her selfishness well. “Gerda must reassure everyone that she’s
taking good care of the pitiful orphan you took in out of the kindness of your heart.”
My aunt clenches her jaws, lips tightening as she tried to hide her true feelings behind a serene expression. “It would only be the truth. They could’ve placed you into a pup orphanage.”
“I would’ve been better off.”
She presses her lips together and growls in the back of her throat. Unrepentant, I shrug.
“I’ll leave you to your bath.”
Exiting the room, she closes the door, hard, and clomps away. Why had she suppressed her agitation?
I don’t like sudden changes. Maybe she’s afraid I’ll act out? Tossing the sheets aside, I move from the bed and pad across the wooden floor.
With the Volva’s words and my father’s revelation filling my head, I go through the motions without thought, a zombie with muscle memory.
What had Papa been trying to tell me? Was that his way of acknowledging my visit with Fenrir?
If I go to the ruins of our home, would that secret space still exist underground? Can I find it?
I sink into the fragrant warm water, allowing the heat to ease my stiff joints, and rinse away the lingering touch of sickness.
With my heightened senses I can identify the nine sacred herbs: mugwort, plantain, watercress, betony, chamomile, nettle, crab-apple, chervil, and fennel floating in the water.
The potent brew wakes me up, rebooting my brain and bringing clarity. I sink under the water to soak my hair and add a deep conditioner.
I pile the heavy locks on the top of my hair in a knot and exfoliate my skin. All eyes would be on me tonight. I won’t let them find anything amiss.
The Ekildson clan was a proud people, revered and respected by many. My failings aside, the name deserved far more accolades than it’s received in recent years.
Taming my curls with my fingers, I slip form the bath and dry off. I enter my room and find a Celtic-style scoop-necked linen dress.
The long sleeves end in half bells allowing for a range of motion in the old world. Symbols of my family are woven into the material in white thread. I remember my mother wearing something similar.
I trace the bind runes line work along the seams of the dress with reverence. Slipping it over my head, I smooth the material down and twist. The full skirt bells out.
A dark brown leather belt is adorned with a silver disk etched with symbols. My finger trails over the three conjoined triangles that make up the Helm of Awe for protection.
It’s the most thoughtful article of clothing I’ve received since my parent’s death. I run my fingers over the hand-spun material and move to the vanity against the wall.
Picking up the black detangling brush, I work through my hair from the ends up to the roots.
Detangling my hair with a brush, I study myself in the mirror. I realize my lips resemble my mothers, thin on the top with a plumper bottom. I feel her with me.
Knock. Knock.
“Are you dressed?” my aunt asks.
“Yes,” I call.
Opening the door, my aunt walks in with face paint and hair adornments she sets on the vanity. I sit up straight and she takes a small comb, parting my hair in sections and clipping it. This should be my mother.
She braids my hair weaving in small silver beads. The action is repeated until four braids on each side of my head remain.
