Happy Beltane! Happy May Day!
Last night was Walpurgis Night (Walpurgisnacht) and I wrote this flash fiction piece that seemed to have ruminated in my head for a bit. When I realized it was April 30th, well, I knew it was meant to be.
While living in Germany, I’d often heard about the witches in the mountains who’d sweep away the rest of winter to bring in spring while dancing around large bonfires.
I thought, well, since this is already a supernatural day, why not have someone desperate to be seen summon the great Odin himself?
With no more waiting, here is the short piece: Walpurgis Night
In the mountains the volva witches danced tonight to sweep away the remnants of winter, and usher in spring. It was the eve of Beltane, May Day. Even now, I could hear those of the faithful chanting, “Hail Odin, Hail Thor, Hail Freyja!”
But I could not focus on their energies and that what they wished to procure. Time was limited and the veil would not remain thin for long.
Under the guise of night, with a candle as my light, I bent over Procopius’s book, which rested on my lap. The grimoire from 500 A.D. should have crackled under its age, but still, the pages remained malleable and moved as if they were brand new. The thick tome gave precise details to what I needed to do to make contact.
Someone had ensured that it would make its way, remaining useful and magically sealed.
I’d stolen it from the shelves deep in the library. Tonight was the night to meet destiny.
Grounding myself, I sprinkled a circle of salt around me. Sage burned in the saucer before me, and my rune cast rested on the altar. Finally, raising my palms, slowly exhaled, I waited with bated breath.
It would not take long.
The air moved around me. A light cool breeze that carried black feathers to rest at my feet. What lesson waited on the other side? In the small alcove, the candle flickered. A heaviness moved into the space that did not belong there. Foreign, but not menacing.
“Give unto Odin what is Odin’s.” Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the edges of light, but when I turned my head, nothing was there. But these words were not words anyone wished to hear. Odin was not only one of wisdom, but a god of war, of death.
“Do I know you?” It was the first thing that came to mind. I stared down at my scarred hands, my injured body. But my mind was sharp, although conventional wisdom rested outside of my grasp.
He did not laugh at my retort. “Have you not summoned me?”
“I don’t know who you are.”
“Tonight, you shall learn.” His voice was kind but firm, like what one might expect from a Father-Christmas figure.
I felt a hand raise me from my chair and toss me back on the wooden floor. Energy rippled all over me; power coursed through my body, and staring up, I rested at the feet of Odin.
But an old man he was not. Brawny, bold, and irritated, he held out his hand. “Your purpose waits with me. Now rise, for magic awaits us.”
“And what will you have me do?”
Now he chuckled. “A Valkyrie shall rise.”
His words gave me strength, and as I took his offered hands, one wing then two spouted.
I’d quested for purpose, and he’d made me into a harvester of the dead.
Want to see the dancing witches?
Check out this video. I love this video and love being able to share about it! What a wonderful performance, and a must see!