Blood and Flowers
Her big day had arrived.
Busloads of guests – mostly NordTurFelag brass and their wives- were beginning to congregate at the base of the Temple walkway. Dressed in their latest fashion finery, they stood in awe at the spectacle that was unfolding before them.
It was Ilse’s day to once again tread the fabled “Flowered Pathway” up to the Viking shrine of myth and legend. When she first walked it, she was a little girl willingly offering her precious Virginity to Odin. Today she strode it with the confident steps of a woman ready to take a husband. To once again ask for his blessings in the nurturing presence of Freyja, protector of all wives.
Dr. Ilse Sommerlund looked radiant. She shimmered in the bright Nordic sunshine, looking like a Princess of Valhalla. Standing at the base of the hill on which was perched the most sacred Temple in all of Scandinavia – the Gamla Uppsala – she was ready to commence her climb up a flowered path to partake of its revered mysteries.
It stood looming like a wooden Pagan fortress out of time, as if the Gods willed it forth from the very Earth. The size of a modern navy battle cruiser. Five hundred meters up a verdant hillside on roughly 3000 Hectares of protected national forest preserve. Its imposing edifice mocked modernity with intricate carvings of Norse Gods and the complex and elaborate scrolling that the Scandinavians were renowned for. Its canopy was crafted from heavy longship timbers and covered in huge slate tiles sealed with natural oil- sands bitumen. Its severe roof peaks soaring upwards to the Swedish clouds. It was a majestic, otherworldly shrine like Notre Dame in Paris. Towering wooden pillars at each corner of the building called “Ondvegissular” or “High Seat Pillars”, were carved with runes, mythical motifs and serpents from the Viking Histories or Eddas. These columns connected the structure to the Gods – Odin, Thor and Freyja. They invoked protection, fertility, victory and community. To say the edifice was impressive was to underrate it in the extreme. It was Heroic, a worthy Hall for the inimitable and audacious Norse Gods.
The Viking horn blasted its first “BBRRROOOOOOOOOOMMMM”!
Ilse Sommerlund took her father’s left arm – a bride’s father always walked to her right – and slowly began her 500-meter journey up to the Gamla. She smiled at him and admired his traditional outfit. He was as handsome, fit and trim as when he was an Olympic skier. Dr. Anders Sommerlund wore a long, half-moon cloak fastened at the neck by an elaborate gold Fibula – or hinged fastener. His tunic was blood-red, edged in mink fur and belted around his waist by a wide sealskin wrap held tight by a large gold buckle. In it was nestled a sheathed Seax knife with an Ivory handle, probably hundreds of years old. His high warrior boots were wrapped in bear hide and his leggings were hand-spun linen, gathered at his knees with sealskin gaiters. Around his exposed neck he wore an exquisite gold Valhalla Bear Chain, suspending from it a traditional Mjolnir – Thor’s Hammer.
Her five Varangian Shieldmaidens had helped her design her marriage dress. She wore a full-length Viking Dress of pure white silk with elaborately embroidered shoulders and bodice, dramatically plunging at her breasts and wrapped at her lower waist with a gold rope braid. Over her dress was a full-length white wool half-moon cloak trimmed with Ermine fur and fastened with a large Fibula studded with precious stones. Around her wrists she wore gold cuff “Gotland Bracelets” covered with Runes, the mystical writing symbols of her Gods. Ilse’s hair was braided at its sides and held in place by a gold forehead band woven through with gold leaves and white flowers. Around her exposed neck was a thick gold box-chain suspending a gleaming, tastefully sized Shield of Valhalla amulet.
Ilse’s feet were bare – revealing an exquisite pedicure and red nail polish on her toes. Her lips, toes and fingers were blood red. Nestled in her left hand was the pommel of a hand-forged sword she would present to her betrothed at the Gamla front doors. She rested the blade against her arm which she crooked slightly inward to support the weight of it.
Ilse’s pathway had been strewn with specially steamed soft Ash wood shavings so her feet would feel like she was walking on a Persian rug. The Ash tree was sacred to Vikings. The pathways were bordered with white and red flowers on both sides, painstakingly planted the day before so they’d be fresh and vibrant on this happy day. Behind her were her Shieldmaidens, each splendidly outfitted in Varangian female warrior regalia from the Era of the Byzantines. Fur knee-boots, leather bodices, full fur-lined capes, hand-tooled leather arm guards and Axes in their waist belts. Each being married, their necks and bosoms were covered. After this day, these shieldmaidens would follow Ilse to the underworld and back again if their Lady so commanded. Their faces were painted with blood streaks.
Behind her shieldmaidens walked her betrothed’s Varangian Warriors. They would pause whenever the spirit moved them, thrusting their axes into the sky and bellowing their ancestral battle cry:
“ROOOOOOOOSE! ROOOOOOOOSE! ROOOOOOOOSE!”
The ancient warning of the Varangian Rus to their enemies: We come to Kill.
Each wore leather leggings and hand-tooled, beaten leather breastworks with shoulder guards and wolf-fur arm braces. Each had their traditional battle axe slipped behind a broad belt studded with gold inlays and buckled with a large gold Fibula. Their chests were mostly bare, revealing thick gold neck chains and Orthodox Christian Crosses – an irony always accepted by the Norse who respected the faiths of all nations and celebrated Gods who showed respect to their own deities. The male Varangian Warriors’ faces were painted with the same blood streaks as the bride’s shieldmaidens.
Where did all this blood come from? The Godi supplied it – but it was rumored to be menstrual blood from whichever Shieldmaiden was in her monthly cycle. It was believed to be infused with spiritual essence and sexual power. Of course, the bride and groom partook of this custom. They were eager to get the party started.
Five hundred meters to the Gamla. Five Shieldmaidens. Five Groomsmen. Five horns. The first Viking Horn blast meant “Start Walking” up the pathway. Each blast thereafter would signal the bride had traversed one hundred meters. The last Viking Horn blast signaled her arrival at the Gamla entry doors – where her Groom awaited holding a sword and standing next to the Godi. Here the Bride would present her sword to the Groom. He would accept it and hand to her his sword, signifying his assumption of her protection from her father. This sword exchange having been completed, the Bride and Groom would enter the Gamla and complete their marriage ceremony.
Then the feasting would begin and continue indefinitely. Through his influence with the Swedish government Dr. Anders Sommerlund had reserved the Gamla for three days, assuming all liability and security responsibilities. A caterer was standing by with endless meats and delicacies for every meal of every day – for however long the fete lasted. Herculean quantities of Mead were specially brewed for this occasion. It was to be an event regaled in future Sagas. Ancestors would be toasted for hours – days – on end. Songs would be sung of battles long forgotten in the mists of time. Of sea serpents and the valiant Thor who vanquished them. Later, contemporary Neo-Pagan musical artists like Faun and Handrfjyal would perform. Weaving into the cultural “Skein of Time” things old and new, assuring Odin, Freyja and Thor that their meaning and relevance has endured. That a devoted core of worshippers still looked to them as Gods for men and women of today.
Ilse walked up the pathway looking forward and smiling at her husband-to-be, Hansen. He was sporting a recently grown full beard and long hair – a fashion statement Ilse found deliciously primal. His change of identity from Heinlein to Hansen and physical relocation from the United States to Switzerland was decided by BratvaRus and NordTur – with agreement from the BratvaVarang, who were tasked with keeping him safe. Hansen agreed – first reluctantly, then wholeheartedly. He had nothing in the United States anyway. If it meant a keeping Ilse by his side, he was in agreement. As he hefted the sword he was to present to her, his eyes feasted on her body coming towards him like a vision out of a fevered dream.
The Viking Horn blasted its second “BBRRROOOOOOOOOOMMMM!”
The wedding procession had reached the 100-meter mark on the Ash pathway up to the Gamla. 400 meters to go.
Hansen fidgeted inside his Cuirass – leather breastwork (actually, an old-school, fitted-leather upper body armor) that he wore under a red, fur-edged cloak. The wool tunic he wore next to his skin was itchy. His fur boots and leg-wrappings were amazingly comfortable – and warm. He felt sorry for Ilse, having to walk barefoot up the Ash pathway. It was a beautiful day, but a cold one. His scratchy tunic was open-collared, exposing his neck to the now-cutting winds. Like his Varangian mates, he opted for an elaborate gold Orthodox Cross suspended from a heavy gold box chain. Hansen had to admit – wearing these duds and carrying this sword made him feel bad-ass. There was no other word to describe the events that were taking place but “cool”. He marveled – Vikings sure knew how to make an entrance!
Ilse was about at the 350-meter mark when her father leaned over to her and whispered some words.
“You know, Ilse my darling – I’ve never told you how proud I am of you. Your achievements and life journey has been extraordinary. You are every father’s dream come true. I am a lucky man…”
The bride’s eyes filled up immediately. She squeezed his hand and whispered back to him.
“You have always been my hero and greatest motivator. I could never have hoped for a better Father. I love you with all my heart, Daddy. I have never felt fear in my life because I always knew you would protect me…”
The third blast of the Viking Horn. “BBRRROOOOOOOOOOMMMM!”
Slowly they all moved forward, smiling and reveling in the moment.
The echo of the horn blast had just faded from reverberating off the forested countryside when there was another sound that shattered the sun-flooded serenity of their day. A loud “CRACK” triggered its own echo in the forest. Hansen knew that sound. A rifle report. A high-powered rifle report. Who the Hell was firing a rifle? He was momentarily too stunned to move – then he saw Ilse being completely enveloped by her Varangian shieldmaidens. His own Varangian guards scattered, sprinting in the direction the rifle shot. She was being protected, her Shieldmaidens forming a protective cocoon around her body. Then Hansen saw the soles of men’s boots poking through the shieldmaiden’s cordon.
Man down. The only man next to Ilse was her father.
Her screaming made his blood run cold and he ran towards her, pushing through her female protection wall.
Ilse was kneeling next to her father. Her white wedding dress and cloak were soaked through with bright red blood. Fresh blood. He father’s throat was torn open – obviously from a high-caliber sniper’s round. A shot clear through his neck. Ilse cradled his head in her arms sobbing, whispering “No, No, No No…..Daddy!”
Hansen grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close to him, the three of them gently rocking back and forth to her rhythmic, tear-soaked whispers, “No…..No….No…”
He heard the Shieldmaidens yelling into their throat mics – barking commands – “Get him alive….Drones! We need Drones Now! Get them up! Infra-Red blanketing! Northwest vector! Saturate the field! Saturate the field!”
Then Hansen heard his Varangians respond through his own earpiece.
“Jancek is coming back to protect Hansen. The rest of us are on foot – we’ve got a good head start. Choppers are overhead and the Gamla Estate is surrounded…. we’re picking up a slight infra-red blip about 100 meters away…it’s on foot, moving….We’ve got about 50 men in the forest already. More are on the way. We’ll get him alive – you can swear an Oath on it! Over.”
Copyright, 2025 Jon Croft and his Assignees
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