Yilva - The Wulfr and the Frozen Sea

Yilva builds a boat to sail on top of a frozen sea and encounters wulfrs.

I put two chapters here but if you only want to review one, that’s fine. If you get through both, that’s even better.



1



A fine dust of snow blew across the dock where Yilva stood, stinging her cheeks. The Ees Jor — a great sea covered by thick ice — stretched to the horizon, its vastness whispering her name. For as long as she could remember, the sea had called to her, just as it had to her father, Kegid, and generations before him.

Her mother, Feryn, came from across that sea. The vytcrahs — her people — were a mysterious race who could wield magic and astral-project into the forms of spirit animals such as hravyns or wulfrs. Hunted to near extinction, they hid themselves from the world.

Only Yilva and her father knew the truth about Feryn’s heritage.

Half-vytcrah herself, Yilva had always been told she lacked the magical gift. Yet lately, she wasn’t so sure.

A breeze shifted, pressing gently against her back, tugging on her braided sandy-blond hair. It was the same wind that filled the sails of boats that traveled on top of the ice, bound for distant shores — the same wind that could carry her to the vytcrah homeland. She craved answers - and the freedom to sail the open sea whenever she pleased. Her father’s stories of trading in far-off places had only fed that hunger.

She left the dock, making her way through the snow along the shore and then up a gentle rise. Ahead, the dark forest loomed — home to the behrgs and wulfrs her father often warned her about.

“Never wander too far into the trees. The behrgs leave nothing behind.” The warning still chilled her, but she stepped forward nonetheless.

Behind a cluster of knotted trunks, she reached the tarp-covered project she’d been working on for the past two weeks. Pulling the cover aside revealed her creation: a four-foot-wide, ten-foot-long boat. She had built it from years of watching her father craft vessel after vessel. She learned all there was to know about ice-sailing from him and was confident she could navigate the Ees Jor alone.

Running a hand over the smooth hull, she allowed herself a small smile. The ship was nearly ready.

“Nice boat!”

She jumped at the baritone voice. Relaxing only when she recognized it, she turned to glare. “Tomod! What were you planning on doing after you stopped my heart?”

He smirked. “I must have really startled you. Can’t blame you, though — building this close to the forest? You want to get eaten by a behrg?”

“I’m fine,” she said, sanding the hull again. “I’m not even close enough for anything to get me without plenty of warning.”

“Safer in the village, though, don’t you think?” Tomod said, sitting beside her. “Unless you don’t want anyone to know about this. That must be it. You could’ve at least told your trustworthy friend. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“No one needs to know,” Yilva said firmly. “Everyone thinks I need permission for everything. I’m old enough to make my own choices.”

Tomod shrugged. “I’m more worried about old Vlurst. His men are always watching the shore.”

“Vlurst couldn’t care less about me. He only cares about getting half of what my father earns from his voyages.”

“Half?” Tomod shook his head. “By Luthos, the Clan of Mok keeps getting greedier.”

Yilva glanced at the moons. “Speaking of Luthos, the great moon’s gaining on Armos. There’ll be a storm in about a week.”

He gazed upwards, then eyed her. “You sailors and your weather-predicting skills,” he muttered.

“You know the legends,” she said. “They’ve never proved wrong. If I’m going out to sea, it’s now or never. I can’t hide this boat forever.”

Tomod’s tone softened. “Then I guess this is goodbye. Are you gonna at least leave a note for your parents?”

“I’m not leaving tonight. I need supplies and maps. And I’m coming back — I can’t leave you in this dull place forever.”

“I like this dull place,” he said. “I’m certain you’ll miss it too after you’re gone for a while. You’ll be wondering, how’s my good friend Tom and all the others I’ve grown so fond of?”

His words caught her off guard, and for a moment she met his gaze, lingering on his face a second longer than she meant to, before quickly looking away.

Tomod had once said her gray eyes looked like storm clouds with flecks of purple flashing like lightning. As children, he teased her that he could always tell her mood, even if she tried to hide it, by how much violet shone through.

Now, his light brown eyes followed hers toward the faint glow of village lights. “Just… be safe. You never know what’s out there.”

Yilva turned away from the yellow glow and looked towards the open sea. “My destiny.”

Once he left, she circled the boat, measuring and re-measuring. Everything had to be perfect. The hours she’d poured into it would pay off soon. She smoothed her hand over the cold wood, her mind racing through every possible thing that could go wrong — wrecking the boat, getting lost, never returning.

She shook these thoughts from her mind and steadied her breathing. “Feelings are fleeting,” she murmured, packing her tools. In the morning, with the wind in her face, maybe her anxiety and doubts would stay behind.

A low growl froze her in place. From the forest, two wulfrs stepped into the moonlight, their yellow eyes glinting. She backed behind the boat — a flimsy cover at best. Her pocket knife she kept within the fur coat she wore felt useless against them.

But instead of attacking, the animals turned their heads toward the trees. Did they want her to follow?

Dreams of wulfrs howling to the moons came rushing back to her. Sometimes, she was one of the wulfrs, but glowing purple. Could these be the same wulfrs from the dreams?

The vytcrahs had a deep connection to animals. She could stay there and hope they left… or trust in the blood she’d inherited and follow.

She took courage thinking of her father. If he could sail into uncharted ice, she could do this.

She stepped forward cautiously. One wulfr was gray, the other grayish-brown.

As she followed them into the forest, the moonlight dimmed, and shadows thickened, under dense branches. The scent of pine mixed with damp, earthy leaves filled her nose as the cold air burned her lungs.

She kept her eyes on their moving shapes, leaping over fallen logs, running as fast as her legs could go, struggling to keep up.

They stopped at a third wulfr lying on the ground next to a tree, breathing shallowly. The other two nuzzled its neck and side. The gray one pointed its nose toward a gaping wound and gave a sharp snort.

“You… want me to heal him?” Yilva whispered. “Or her? I don’t know how. I’ve only just learned I might have magic.”

The gray wulfr growled low and snorted again.

Yilva knelt beside the wounded creature. Fear pressed heavily in her chest — if she failed, the wulfr could die, and the others might not let her leave the forest alive. But she couldn’t walk away from the poor thing.

Somewhere deep inside, a strange warmth stirred in her palms - a magic hidden within. She had to try.



2



The wulfr’s ragged breathing slowed. Yilva stroked its thick, soft fur until her hand brushed the deep gash along its side. She hovered both palms over the wound and shut her eyes.

Nothing had prepared her for this. Her mother could have taught her something, anything that might have helped.

Perhaps Feryn thought it impossible to pass on her knowledge after losing her own magic years ago in a battle that nearly killed her.

Or perhaps her mother truly believed Yilva possessed none at all.

But Yilva knew she had magic. One evening, she’d stared at a candle until its flame swelled—just a flicker at first, one she blamed on a draft or a trick of her eyes. But when she turned to the fireplace, the flames there grew and shrank at her will.

That was the moment she knew: she was one of the vytcrahs.

What's more, the wulfrs had led her there for a reason. Perhaps they knew as well.

But how would she heal it? By willpower?

She pictured the injured wulfr running again through the forest. She pictured its wound closed and prayed to bring those thoughts to life just as she had coaxed the fire.

But when she opened her eyes, nothing had changed.

Her mother had once told her there was power in words. She knew only scraps of the old tongue, but remembered the word for heal.

“Helbrede,” she said as confidently as she could, though uncertainty filled her heart and mind.

The wound remained.

The wulfr’s chest rose one last time before going still. Its glowing eyes dulled to gray.

Her heart sank. She felt the spirit slip away. She wasn’t strong enough. She didn’t know enough. And now it was dead.

No. She had to keep trying.

She focused, but thoughts of the wulfr alive and running turned to fear of it never waking again.

Once again, with her trembling hands over the body, she uttered, “Helbrede. Helbrede. Heal!”

Still no movement. The other wulfrs sniffed at their fallen friend, then lay beside it.

Yilva inhaled slowly, steadied her shaking, and tried once more.

“Oppsta.”

The word came like a fragment from a forgotten dream, answering a need.

Her fingertips glowed faintly. Power surged through her, filling every limb, every breath. Then-

Silence fell over the forest. The crickets stopped. Not even a cold breeze blew by as if the whole forest held its breath.

The wulfr twitched—ears, then paws. It rose stiffly to its feet. The gash remained, the blood frozen in the cold night air.

The wulfr’s eyes held no light. Its face was oddly blank.

She hadn’t healed it. She had brought it back.

The two others pressed close to her, nuzzling her arms. Only then did the black-furred wulfr—the revived one—step forward.

It stared at her, silent, unreadable.

She brushed the dirt from her knees and followed the brown and gray wulfrs toward the edge of the forest, the black one trailing behind.

Moonlight from Luthos bathed the path outside the trees in silver. At the edge, the brown and gray wulfrs returned to the shadows, but the black one lingered.

“Go on,” she said, waving it away.

It hesitated, then turned and disappeared into the forest.

A bitter wind from the sea bit at her cheeks. She hurried past the dock and into the village.

A massive figure stepped into her path.

Vlurst.

“Out late, girl?” His voice rumbled like thunder. His bulky physique loomed over her. “Night’s no place for wanderers.”

She was only a child when the Clan of Mok seized Estigar and made him their leader. No one liked him except his own men, but everyone feared him.

“Just enjoying the cool air of the Ees Jor,” she said lightly, inhaling a long breath to prove it. “It’s better by the dock.”

Vlurst’s gaze shifted toward the shore. “Waiting for your father, I wager. His tribute’s been lacking. Gormok’s not too pleased. His patience wears thin.”

“You’ll have it soon enough,” she said, her smile tight. “If you’ll excuse me, it’s too cold to linger. Dangerous folk might be about.”

He stepped aside. “Hurry home, little ekorn. Pray to the moon gods that your father returns with more than he did last time.”

She clenched her jaw and walked on.

At her doorstep, candlelight flickered behind the window. Her mother was awake.

Feryn sat in the old creaky rocking chair by the fireplace, pale and tired, her knitting idle in her lap.

“A little late to be getting home, aren’t we?”

“I didn’t think so.”

“It’s freezing. I’ll stoke the fire.”

“I’m fine. There are plenty of blankets to keep me warm.”

Feryn rose, leaving the rocking chair swaying. Her once-strong shoulders had diminished over the years, looking almost bony. Her blond hair showed signs of graying. Yet her eyes still held the warmth Yilva remembered from childhood.

“I won’t ask where you’ve been,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

“I was with Tomod,” Yilva muttered—leaving out how briefly.

Her mother’s face brightened. “Oh? Is there something I should know? Any future plans?”

Yilva groaned. “We’re friends. That’s all.”

“Good friends make the best—”

“Don’t say it.”

Feryn chuckled softly. “Just remember, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish. But one day, you may want to find someone to bind with and make a life.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be certain to let you know if I decide to bind with someone. Now I’d like to get some sleep.”

“Very well. We’ll talk more on the morrow.”

Yilva retreated to her room, wrapping herself in every blanket she could find before drifting off.



A noise woke her—something between a croak and a caw. She shuffled to the window, blankets still draped around her shoulders.

A hravyn perched on the branch of an oakn tree, its body glowing faintly blue against the night.

In recent dreams, she’d seen herself as a wulfr with a similar glow but purple. Or perhaps she was merely controlling the wulfr. Was this hravyn someone’s astral projection?

It cocked its head, watching her as she crept outside. The air chilled her to the bones, even with the extra layers.

The hravyn’s eyes locked with hers as if to look inside her soul.

Then, without a sound, it flew toward the Ees Jor. Its glow faded into the horizon like a falling star.

Shivering, Yilva went back inside, the image of the bird etched in her mind until she fell asleep again.



Morning brought the earthy scent of arpna tea.

Her mother stood at the counter, chopping vegetables. “I made your favorite,” she said, nodding toward the pot.

Yilva poured herself a cup and inhaled the steam.

“Any plans today?”

“Not really.”

Feryn set the knife down. “Your aura has changed. It’s turning purple—like mine did when magic first came to me.”

“Are you going to warn me not to use it?”

“You already know the dangers. Just keep it hidden from Vlurst and the Clan.”

Yilva stared at the steam from her tea rather than maintaining eye contact with her mother. “I’ve been dreaming of wulfrs. And last night I saw a glowing hravyn. I think the vytcrahs are calling to me.”

Feryn’s gaze dropped. “And how would you find them?”

“I built a boat. I just finished it last night.”

“Ah.” Feryn tapped her fingers on the table. “Vytcrahs are difficult to find these days. They cast spells to summon storms to hide their villages. What you seek may be impossible.”

“I feel they want me to come. This hravyn I saw last night; I’ve never seen one before. Perhaps it’s a sign from them.”

Feryn took her hand. “This feels as inevitable as the storms.”

“I’ll be safe. I promise.”

Her mother resumed chopping. “Very well.”

Yilva hugged her tightly.

The knife slipped from Feryn’s hand, nicking her finger.

“I’ll get a bandage,” Yilva said, but when she checked the cut, there was no blood. “That’s strange.”

Feryn withdrew her hand. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “The blade must have missed the vein.”

Yilva tried reaching for her wrist again, but her mother withheld it.

“I’m done cutting vegetables anyway,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. Here, I’ll help you pack for your journey.

Yilva nodded. She told herself the cut meant nothing, but unease clung in her chest like frost.