It was an honor. The greatest honor that could be bestowed on a household and it had come to her own. Thyre breathed in the heady scent of the burning herbs as the old Seer swirled a bowl of incense under her nose.
Eyes fluttered open, the smoke stinging her sight. Thyre gripped the arms of the high seat. She expected to see the goddess with her cats and golden hair, but she could only see her parents standing proud in the gathered crowd.
Cnut and his wife Ingun were now revered among their neighbors. Their daughter's destiny was coming to pass. Soon the bones would be Thyre's to read, the staff her own to wield, and the harp... oh, the harp. Thyre fought the happiness bubbling up in her chest to maintain her meditation.
But the lovely harp would be her own. It would become her lover and life mate. Never would she know a man or bear children. She would only bring forth songs that would please the gods and make the sacred grove bloom. The songs would keep their people safe. Not even the Jarl could boast such power, though he liked to pretend that he did.
The Jarl had the strength of arms. But only Thyre would be able to bring about victory. Only she could turn the ear of the gods to their plights. Her people would live or die by her ability alone.
The Seer, an old man with no name, brought the chalice to her. The bronze edge was lifted to her mouth and Thyre drank deeply, willing the magic to enter her veins.
Soon, she was spinning in a sea of stars. The faces of her parents faded into oblivion. Thyre was invincible, a handmaiden of the goddesses and gods. Then she became a fox.
It was the way of the shaman. Her spirit entered the body of the animal as it skittered through the snow of some foreign place. It was winter, night, she had no way of knowing the exact location.
She hesitated, the wind ruffling her red fur and paws sinking into the snow.
The scent of blood coated the air. With keen, beastly eyes, Thyre scanned the wood. The great mouth of a cave loomed in the shadows. A moan slithered out from inside the cavern. It was a human voice. Male.
It was swallowed by the unearthly howl of a demon. Thyre shuddered as the air filled with gossamer spirits, flooding the cave with cackles. Ghosts. Dozens of starving ghosts.
This place was wrong. She shouldn't be there. Why had the gods brought her to such an evil lair?
She wanted to go home. Thyre wanted to go home. The desire laid thick in her chest till it coated her very bones and left her aching.
The vision ceased, but her mourning for home did not.