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“Good,” Bera said. “You birthed the head. One more push and the babe will be in your arms.”

Holly panted, her head hanging between her shoulders.

Then she gathered strength and grunted again, piercing the air with an animallike growl.

The babe slid peacefully into the clean linen in Bera’s arms.

“That is it,” Bera said. “Here is your son.”

Einar watched as she turned the babe and slapped it gently on its little arse, and the boy cried. Einar’s heart beat so strongly he thought it would jump out of his throat. The feeling of bliss and love spread through his chest, through his stomach, through his whole being.

“Help her to the bed,” Bera said. “We still wait for the afterbirth, but she needs her rest now.”

On weak legs, Einar helped Holly climb into bed. The furs were covered with a few layers of fresh white linen. The babe was still crying, attached to the cord. Holly looked into Einar’s eyes and smiled.

And then he knew that he hadn’t lost her. He kissed her, happy and delirious from the feeling of trust that filled his chest. He sat by Holly’s side as she leaned back against the pillows, undid the straps of her shift in front, and cradled their son against her bare chest. Bera tied the white thread around the dark rope that connected Holly and the babe.

The boy was small and wrinkled and very pink. Holly covered him with a linen cloth and a blanket Svanhild had made. He stopped crying and nuzzled against Holly.

“He is looking for your breast,” Bera said.

“Oh, sure, little boy,” Holly said.

While she helped the babe find a breast and begin sucking, Einar could not stop admiring every little part of the image before him. His beautiful wife, his son.

His son.

Someone knocked and the door opened a bit. Svanhild peered inside, her eyes wide, full of both fear and curiosity.

“May I, Bera?” she asked.

“Of course, you may,” Holly said. “Come meet your brother.”

Svanhild jogged towards the bed and stood by Einar’s side, regarding the babe with big eyes, then the happiest smile Einar had ever seen.

“He looks like you, Father. What will you call him?”

“We must wait until we bless him with water in front of the gods,” Einar said. “But I already have an idea.”

“What is it?” Holly asked.

She beamed at him, looking like a goddess of fertility, beauty, and femininity. Something had shifted in her—the small wrinkles around her eyes had softened, a glowing spark appearing in their mossy depths. As though she had learned the secret meaning of life and happiness. And she showered Einar in it when she met his eyes.

“Baldr,” he said. “It means strong and bold, and it is also the name of the brave and handsome god.”

“I love it,” Svanhild said.

“So do I,” Holly said, and her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you for giving him to me,” she said to Einar.

“Thank you, wife,” he said. “That is one son. Two more to go, according to your prophecy.”

She grinned and leaned over to kiss him. “Happily, husband. Let’s grow the tree of our family tall and strong.”

Happiness flooded Einar’s heart and soul as he met the soft lips of his wife. And he did not know if he tasted love, peace, or wholeness.

But he would take it all, for eternity, as long as he was with Holly and their family.

Epilogue