Off in the distance, calving ice trembles and explodes, bouncing off granite, sending ocean waves crashing across the northern fjords of Eyjafjordur. Puffins flee into the cloudless sky. Killer whales expose their white bellies as they leap in the air and dive deep into the reverberating blue ocean to escape. And always the stench of rotten eggs makes its way across the water to the land beyond.

Just beyond the horizon, beneath the ofttimes frozen earth, molten lava courses. Continually through light and dark, it forges a way through millennium old glaciers, melting a pathway through the volcanic rock. Sharp, red hot surfaces create vents the liquid fire rises through, filling the air with odorous sulfur. Gaseous clouds form inches above the ground, fatal to any invaders, and wind their way up my valleys bounded by basalt cliffs

Still further yet across its width, mountains tremble, shake, cry, and break as the Earth-fire comes alive. Thunderous roars fill the air, twisting trees, crashing rocks, splitting the earth. More caustic odors flow from newly missing mountain crowns. Fiery liquids flow down those sides further reshaping the terrain and carving out deep furrows. Immense heat incinerates all it touches: vegetation, trees, and ice. The mountains keep belching, sending scorching lava faster and faster down the slopes. Soon entire valleys disappear beneath hot, red glows. As night approaches, the mountains cough and quietly go to sleep. In the cool of late night and early morning, fires burn out, leaving blackened lava rock on the earth. Steaming vapors find a way through and curl up into small clouds hanging just inches from the burnt ground. 

Protecting and watching.

Long before the dawn of civilization, before today’s world took shape, this island stood here. Long before humans set foot on its shores and rocky landscape, beings lived here. Mystical beings which guarded and protected this isle.

Always this isle is guarded. Land Spirits (Landvaettir) watch. In the North, a massive Griffin roams. A Fire Breathing Dragon guards the East. The South sits under the all-seeing eye of a Giant who stands taller than the trees. In the West, an enormous bull watches for danger. My guardians, forever on duty, ensure the safety of our home. I oversee them all.

And above all, long before names were given, long before humans knew of them, heavenly stars lit this northern world. Given names by the Norsemen, these guiding stars brought far away travelers to these shores. Today, some call them by different names, but one is always known by the same name: the Norse Star. This star and others still shine, in the light and in the dark, upon this land adding mystery to the magical. These beings watch closely even over me.

This is my home.

I am the Gyrfalcon. Greatest of Strength and Speed. I am the Land of Fire and Ice.

I am Iceland.

But once, from centuries far removed, a simple golden red Feather floated down and hid itself here. And now danger threatens all.

– Excerpted from Feathers of the Phoenix: Under the Norse Star Book 2, Silver Quill Publishing, 2025. Reprinted with permission.