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Legends Never Die: Forewarned (ch. 2)
🕑 Added 2022-06-22 15:02:05 +0000 UTCAnother two years passed without incident, making me twelve years old. Everything returned back to normal after my visit to the Wise Woman. Mother had just embraced me when I returned, and Father had told her what had been said. She had said that he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know. I got some teasing from my brothers for being cursed by the gods, but they got bored of it soon enough.
Nothing really changed in my little slice of the world. Brandr, my eldest brother… well, the eldest after our actual eldest brother died, got married to a woman called Asta at the ripe age of twenty. Their first child was on the way.
The marriage brought forth a small change in my world, though. The farm was Brandr's to inherit, and he was already starting his family. No one had said a word about it, but my other brothers and sisters felt a pressure on them now. For our entire lives, we had lived on the farm, but that couldn’t last forever. My older brothers and sisters spoke more about leaving. To marry. To find a trade. For glory. And so on.
No one had left yet, but… next year, I’m guessing that Tormond and Halfdan would leave the farm. Helga and Solveig, my two sisters, had been promised to others. One to a neighboring farm, and another to the family of a renowned warrior. How renowned he could be when all I knew about him was that he was called Kjell was anyone’s guess. Both seemed happy with their prospects and Mother and Ida were happy for them.
Things had not visibly changed yet, but they were changing. I felt it in my bones.
“Eivor, you can’t come. You aren’t a man, yet,” Brandr brushed me off, after I turned to him when pestering Father hadn’t worked out. “Until there’s hair on your chest and face, you’re just a boy. It’s too soon for you to even think about raiding with us.”
I leaned against the doorway, a good head and shoulders shorter than Brandr. Like our father, he had blood-red hair and blue eyes, which were currently narrowed in a glare as he repeated the arguments that he heard Father give me. However, the argument wasn’t dead in the water just yet. “I don’t want to go raiding with you,” I pointed out, even though I absolutely could. In two years, I had grown up and out. I was taller, my shoulders were broader, and at twelve years old, none on the farm could beat me in a fight.
None of my brothers. Not even when they joined up against me. And during the winter months, I had finally beaten Father in a one-on-one duel.
Physically, I was strong enough to fight. But, I didn’t want to. Not yet. Partly because I understood there was a difference between sparring and actual battle. I didn’t want to hurt my brothers and they didn’t want to hurt me. Beyond some bruises, that is. And partly because he was right, I wasn't old enough. I wasn't a man yet. Two more years, and I would be stronger still. More capable. There was no need to rush things.
“I want to go to the Sigurblót. I can just walk back after we’re done and you all go raiding,” I clarified. The Sigurblót was a yearly event that happened every thaw. Everyone would go to the city of Alabu, where people would sell their wares in a huge flux, settle their disputes, and then the Jarl would decide where he would take his ships to raid for the spring and summer. I was only supposed to go when I would receive my armband -- a piece of metal fashioned into a ring that marked me as a man, which I would use to swear sacred oaths.
Asta spoke up from her place in the living room, working on a loom with my mother. “Eivor, why do you want to go to the Sigurblót so badly? You risk the wrath of your father trying to go behind his back like this.”
To that, my mother laughed lightly.
“Punishment has never bothered Eivor so long as he gets what he wants,” she remarked, giving me a knowing look. I gave her an unrepentant half-smile in response. She was absolutely correct there. My independence was a valued trait. Just not so much when I kept disobeying my father to do what I wanted.
“Because I want to go to the city to learn a trade,” I spoke up. Blacksmithing, carpentry -- a trade of value. Not only for crafting experience, but because it made me valuable as a person. I could go anywhere and make a living. Everyone needed blacksmiths and carpenters, because everyone needed their tools made or repaired, and everyone had homes. There were other trades -- bone carving, or tannery if I was desperate, but blacksmithing and carpentry were the most valuable trades there were.
Asta gave me a look, “So soon? You are too young to be worried about how you will make a living in the future,” she said, sounding a bit worried.
“I’ll be a man soon enough, and I don’t want to live on the farm forever. It will be Brandr's soon, and you will need the crops to feed your family,” I said, nodding at her swollen belly. She placed a hand on it, a slight smile on her face.
“You’re welcome to stay on the farm, Eivor. I don’t want to force you from your home,” Asta said, giving me a warm look. I had been unsure about her at first, but I liked her fine enough after getting used to her. She was young. Only a handful of years older than me, but she had a natural motherly quality to her.
Brandr brought me into a one-shoulder hug, “As my wife says, little brother. You are always welcomed here.” he said, reaching up and patting me on the cheek. It sounded like he meant it too. Which is why I smiled up at him.
“So, you would be fine if I stayed here until I’m old and gray?” I asked, and I saw the brief look of panic in his eyes. I laughed at that, and he put me in a headlock in retribution.
“As long as you like,” Asta said as I started to pry myself out of the headlock.
“You’re so nice, Asta. You’re wasted on my brother,” I remarked, slipping out of the headlock as he reached for me. There was a smile on his face as I ducked under a palm that would have slapped the shit right out of me. Open palms were allowed. Closed fists were reserved for actual fighting.
“I changed my mind, Eivor -- you can leave the farm right now!” he barked, giving me a shove as I slipped by him even though he filled the doorframe. Mother shouted at us to take it outside, but Brandr didn’t pursue. Fondly giving him a rude gesture, I stepped outside to see to the farm. The crops had been planted, and the animals had been fed.
There were things that needed doing, but the bulk of it was already done. Upon stepping out, I saw Father already packed and ready. Along with Tormond, Halfdan, Havi, Haldur, and Kirk -- the latter two also being my older brothers. All of the ‘men’ were leaving for the Sigurblót. And, I suspected that all of them would be leaving to raid. Meaning that for the next week or two, it would just be me and the girls.
Father gave me a knowing look but waved me over. “I know I don’t need to tell you this, but you’re the man of the house while we’re gone. Meaning it’s your job to protect and provide for the others,” he said, before he dropped down to a knee in front of me. It said more about how tall he was rather than how short I still was when that put us at eye level. “You’re a strong and clever lad. I know I leave our family in good hands.”
I gave him a serious nod. I had heard him speak the same words to all of my brothers when one by one they became the eldest still at the farm. “They’ll be safe with me,” I told him, earning a smile from Father. I hadn’t realized how rare they had been until the Old Witch, as she was called, reassured him I wasn’t possessed by evil spirits.
The event had been enough to convince me that I should never tell anyone about the messages from the gods, nor the knowledge they gave me. People wouldn't understand. They would fear it, and me, more than they would celebrate me for receiving them. It would have to be a secret that I would take to my grave.
“I know,” Father said, giving me a squeeze on the shoulder as Brandr approached, ready to go. The girls walked over -- my sisters, mother, Ida, and Asta. We all waved them farewell and wished them a safe journey. I watched them go down to the gate, then vanish into the woods. Then, they were gone, leaving us alone for a time.
After they left, things fell into a rhythm. With all the men gone, I had to pick up the slack. The girls helped out some, but I did the lion's share mostly because I had a surplus of quests to do for what would be their chores and tasks. The experience gains were minimal, but compared to my normal progress which felt glacial in speed, I was blazing forward at astounding speeds.
Level 5
Martial: 4
Diplomacy: 1
Stewardship:1
Intrigue: 1
Learning: 4
My stats were determined by the average of the three subcategories. Prowess and Physical Condition were rather high, but Tactics was still very low, so I didn’t have a high Martial stat. The same applied for all of my stats. Increasing them had been slow going in the past two years. I was hopeful that the pace would pick up when I could leave the farm for the wider world when I became a man.
Though, I did learn that reaching a milestone in level gave me an additional perk point to spend on any perk I wanted. Not only that, the higher my level, the better the choices I would have when I reached another milestone. I hadn’t spent my extra perk point yet. I was saving it while I considered my choices for perks.
It also gave me a choice of perks that were called Boons, which were different from normal perks. I had a selection of three Boons -- Gambler's Delight, Skinchanger, and Oakskin. Gambler's Delight would grant me the gods favor every time I gambled. I wouldn't win every hand, but I would win most of them. Skinchanger was a scary option -- it would let me enter an animal and act through them. I knew it was dangerous because I had heard tales of Berserkers that had done so.
Then they lost the ability to enter their human form again, letting the spirit of the bear or wolf inhabit their body permanently. They would fly into a rage, the animals confused as to what was happening, and they would be killed. Hopefully, before they killed anyone else. For that reason, I feared picking it.
Oakskin made my skin as difficult to cut as the bark of an oak. It felt like the safest option, so I picked it.
Now, I had finally gained a perk for Stewardship. And another in Learning. In the Asset Management and Crafting subcategories. My options were rather limited for Stewardship -- just two, between Fast Counter, which would let me instantly count how many of something there was with a glance, and Mental Scale, which told me the weight of something at a glance. Both were useful in their own way.
Gold and silver were the currency of choice in the world, but their value was in their weight. I could chop off bits of a silver candlestick for a pig, for example. How much I paid was decided by how much I shaved off. Eying the weight of the silver someone was giving me, or I was giving them, could cost or save me some money if we couldn’t trade goods.
Learning gave me perks for the trades. Blacksmith, Carpenter, and Tanner. The latter was not an option however, as tanners were outcasts. Mostly because of the smell that lingered no matter how much you scrubbed away. Which is why I wanted to go with Blacksmith or Carpenter. I suppose I could just pick one or the other, but I had already gone to the Wise Woman once for being weird. Not only that, half of the reason for taking up a trade was the connections it gave you. If I walked up to a Thegn or Jarl and told them I was a Smith, they would ask who taught me.
Given I couldn't say the gods taught me, I would have to claim to be self taught. If I was lucky, they would give me a chance to prove myself by making something only a skilled blacksmith could make. If I wasn't, then I would never be given permission to ply my trade.
Regardless, the days went by as I made the most of the surge of experience I was getting. Even after a long day of work, since none of the menfolk could make fun of me for it, I helped out with the weaving too. I also learned there was a lot of gossiping going on between the girls. I learned some things about my brothers, that was certain. Things I would have been perfectly content not to know, even if it did give a small boost to my Intrigue.
Change was one of those things that crept up on you, leaving you unaware until it smacked you in the face hard enough that it rattled your teeth. The change that came to the farm while my father and brothers were away was no different.
“They’re coming,” I heard a soft whisper, making me look up from the goat I was milking in the pen house made for them. My head snapped up, recognizing the voice from somewhere, but it was unfamiliar to me. Like a magnet, my gaze was drawn to the source of the whisper, until I found myself meeting a pair of golden yellow eyes. I recognized them, and the face they belonged to.
In the past two years, that girl in the hovel had grown up about as much as I did, becoming a young woman. She was taller now, having filled out somewhat in both hip and chest. Her face still seemed a bit gaunt, as if it was a rare thing for her to have a full meal. Her long black hair was tied up, a sign that she either already had a husband or she wasn’t looking for one. Soot shadowed her eyes, and beneath her thick clothing, I noticed that she wore the necklace that Father had given the Wise Woman.
I parted my lips, a question just about to leap from my tongue, only to swallow it down. Questions like why she was here, how she had gotten so close without my noticing, and so on could wait. “Who’s coming?” I asked, standing up, grabbing a bucket half-filled with milk that would later be turned into cheese. The girl stood at the doorway, giving me a lingering look, her expression betraying nothing.
“The men that plan to kill you and take what you have,” she answered, backing away before vanishing from sight. The words sank into my heart like a stone. The bucket fell from my fingers as I rushed to the doorway after her.
Stepping out into the evening sun, I didn’t see the girl. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. However, that wasn’t important. People were coming to kill us.
I had no real reason to believe that it was true. It could be a bad jape or something, but I felt the truth of it. Deep in my bones, I felt it.
I broke into a dead sprint to the house, away from the animal pen, and all but busted the door off the hinges as I barrelled my way inside. The girls inside suddenly went silent, looking at me with wide eyes. I met my Mother’s gaze, “People are coming.” I told her, and I saw a brief flicker of surprise before her expression hardened.
She dropped the comb for the loom, “Asta, Helga, Solveig, Eivor -- I want you to hide,” she said, an edge in her voice that offered no room to argue as she went into her room. I followed her in to find her grabbing an axe and one of my Father’s shields. She looked at me, “Eivor-”
“I’m not hiding,” I told her as I grabbed the bearded axe. It weighed about as much as my practice one, only this one had been honed to a deadly edge. “I can fight. You should go with the others. In case they get through me,” I said, my words serious. Mother opened her mouth to protest, only to close it a moment later before offering me a curt nod when she saw the resolution in my eyes.
“There will be no mercy, Eivor. Do not hesitate,” she told me, heading into the main room while I headed back outside. Mother had been a shieldmaiden before she met Father. I never saw that part of her until now. The girls weren’t so lucky in that regard, but between me and Mother, they would be safe. I would protect them. It didn’t matter what I had to do. It didn’t matter who I had to kill.
Anyone that tried to touch my family would die.
I would kill them.
That’s all there was to it.
Stepping outside, I looked out to the forest off in the distance. There were a thousand paces between me and the edge, and I always had great eyesight. Because of it, I saw the movement of people hiding in the trees. People that thought they were concealed by shadows, but the shaft of an axe or the rim of a shield peeking out among the foliage gave them away. They were scouting us out. Waiting to see if there was anyone else on the farm before attacking.
I grabbed my sling before calmly heading to my stash of stones. It was a collection that had been growing over the course of the years -- each one was smooth and perfectly sized for a sling. I slotted in a stone and began to spin it.
Most people preferred bows because of their range. A decent shot could hit a target hundreds of paces away. I was better than a decent shot with a bow, but I preferred the sling instead. People looked down on it, calling it an unskilled weapon, but I’ve found that nothing put animals down faster than a rock launched at them at high speeds. It shattered bone on impact, putting the animal down even if it wasn’t an instant kill. Running was difficult with shattered ribs, after all.
A man peeked out from behind the trunk of a tree, looking directly at me. Our eyes met for a split second, before I flung the stone forward with all of my strength. The small stone shot out in a blur and it hit him like a fist. It slammed into the man’s eye a split second later, striking him with enough force that it knocked his helmet off his head as he fell back into a heap.
I had just killed a man.
I didn't dwell on that revelation for long. I didn't have the time.
I was about to kill more.
A warcry came from the forest before the figures inside began to move forward. Ten of them in total, I think. Based on a quick glance as I loaded up my next stone into my sling, spun the sling over my head, and then whipped it down. Another man went down, his head snapping back as his forehead caved in, crushed from the impact.
“Shields up!” I heard a voice say as the men began to approach through our fields. I loaded up a third shot just as they did so, seeing a variety of painted shields in front of me. Nine left, I thought, before I slung another stone at them, this one aimed at one of the mens' exposed knees. It slammed into my target with bone-shattering force, his leg giving out from underneath him as he let out an antagonized scream of pain. “Charge the brat!” I heard the same man from before shout, but I couldn’t tell which he was.
I stood my ground, calmly loading my sling, and fired it at the incoming raiding party. Another went down, his leg giving out from underneath him. Six left. Then five as I fired again. The distance between us continued to shrink at a rapid pace, letting me get off only one more shot that slammed into the ankle of a charging Viking, but he didn’t fall like the others.
Dropping my sling, I picked up my shield and hefted my axe. My heart beat in a steady rhythm, blood surging in my veins as I took in a deep breath, filling my lungs. Then I promptly turned tail and ran towards the house. I heard the men shout and begin to give chase as I ran through the doorway before rolling my shield towards one of the rooms. The house was empty, at least that was how it appeared when I hid behind the doorway.
A few seconds later, I heard footsteps follow me inside. Through the small gap in the wood door, I saw a man step into my home. He wore chainmail, the links jingling with every step. He faced the interior of the house, not backed up by anyone at the moment. He was the scout. The rest would be waiting outside. I could hear them talking, cursing me under their breath. I had killed a few of their friends. And I was going to kill more.
To prove that point, I kicked the door closed, alerting the one in the room of my presence. He looked back at me, raising his axe as he turned to face me with his shield.
I dodged the swing, tossing my axe to my other hand as I went low. I let the shaft of the axe slide up between my fingers so that I was holding it at the very end, and used the extra length to hook the beard of the axe around his back foot and sweep his leg out from underneath him. He fell flat on his back, the impact knocking the air from his lungs.
The raider started to scrabble to get his shield up, but it was a second too late. The edge of my axe found his throat, where his chainmail didn't cover, splashing hot blood on my face as I ripped it out. I didn't waste a second in grabbing his shield as he bled out, and I rushed by him so that my back wasn't to the entrance of the house just as the closed door was kicked in, splintering the wood. And as soon as it was, I threw my axe, the weapon spinning in the air and catching the man responsible in the leg. He went down, screaming in pain as it lodged in his thigh. I scooped up the weapon the now dead man had dropped and buried it in his skull.
As he collapsed to the ground, leaving me alone standing in the doorway, I saw the remaining three men looking on in disbelief and anger. Lesser men would have run. Their raid had clearly failed with so many of them dead. However, these were Norsemen. Warriors that dreamed of entering Valhalla by proving themselves in battle. To run would shame themselves and deny them the afterlife that they sought.
“If you come in here,” I spoke slowly, my youthful voice belying my murderous intent, stepping on the man in the doorway and ripping my purloined axe from his head. “I’m going to kill you.”
“Or we will kill you, little man,” one of them said. The same one that was shouting orders earlier. He almost sounded friendly. “Young you might be, but you’ve proven yourself to be a warrior. We won’t underestimate you just because you don’t have any hair on your balls.” he said.
My eyes narrowed as the other two started to fan out. “How about this? You come out, and we shall duel. If you win, then the raid will be called off and we can go in peace. If you lose… then either you enter my service as a thrall, or we take everything of value in the house. Including your mother and sisters.”
He was trying to get a rise out of me. I stared back at him -- I didn’t know him. Black hair and a black beard, dark eyes with yellow teeth below a crooked nose. He looked like he needed a good bath to wash off over a year’s worth of dirt. The others looked about the same. Yet they had chainmail.
Chainmail wasn’t common. I don’t think it was a rare thing in particular, but it wasn’t common by any means. Between all the men in my family, only Father had chainmail, and it was a single sleeve of it. It was a tedious and time-consuming thing to make for blacksmiths, which was time they could use to make a dozen axes or a hundred horseshoes. The three men had chainmail shirts, and so did the two men that I had killed. Where did they get it? How did they get it?
“Okay,” I agreed, my voice flat. “But, I want you to understand something. One or three, it makes no difference. All three of you are going to die.” My voice was cold. So cold, it wiped the smile off the leader’s face. I meant what I said, too.
These people were here to kill me and my family. They were here to raid us. To take our belongings, to rape my sisters and mother. If they had their way, Asta’s baby would never grow. Brandr and the others would come back to desolation. I wouldn’t let that happen. Either they or I would die on this day, and it wouldn’t be me.
“I believe you,” the leader said, raising his shield. The others did the same, their expressions ones of grim resolve. With that clear, I stepped out of the house and into an ambush, willing and expectant. The one on the left attacked first, slashing down at me with a yell.
Combat was one of those things that just made sense to me. It was almost like doing sums, in a way. Thoughtless addition. Part of that was instincts that had been ingrained into me for years, after daily spars with my Father or my brothers. Another part was just… experience. It was the same way that I learned to use a sling -- after a while, you just felt when to let go of the stone for it to go where you wanted.
Combat had that same feeling to me. When the man slashed down, it just made sense to sidestep the swipe, hook my axe around the rim of his shield, and yank it back, forcing the man to overextend himself. As he stumbled forward, his life was temporarily saved by the second man attacking me with his own axe. This one, I caught with my shield, letting the edge of his axe bite into the rim.
Jerking the shield to the side, I hacked out with my axe and I caught him at the elbow, just underneath where his chainmail sleeve ended. Blood drenched my face again as his arm fell, the severed limb thumping off my shield as it fell to the ground, his axe still lodged in my shield. He didn’t even have time to scream as I shifted my grip and I moved to step past him, the sharp edge of my axe slashing across his throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling on his blood as he died.
The leader attacked me next, his axe coming down quick as lightning. The boards making up my shield splintered when I caught the blow with it, before he checked me with his shield. He was taller than me by a head, and had about fifty pounds on me. He expected to be able to knock me off my feet with the action. Instead, I lightly bounced back, my feet light and nimble. Letting go of the shield, I grabbed the shaft of the axe still in it and ripped it free. Testing the two weapons with a quick spin in my hands, I readied myself.
An attack came on the left as the first of the three to attack me having recovered, slashing at me wildly. I dodged, the axe missing me by a hairsbreadth each time. I could hear the axehead whistling in the air each time it passed, but I gave ground readily. The leader moved around to flank me, intent on dealing a killing strike while the one in front of me stole my attention. It was a tactic that my brothers used all the time. At least until it stopped working.
I leaned out of the way of another strike from the man in front of me, only this time I struck out with an attack of my own. As his axe came down, I spun the axe in my right hand in a reverse grip, catching his bearded axe with my own, and with a savage yank, I ripped it from his grip like I was pulling out nails, just as I kicked out his leg, my heel striking his knee. It didn’t break it, but it was enough to throw off his balance, letting me dance around him as the leader was forced to abandon his attack.
Then I forced him on the defensive. I attacked the weaponless man with both of my axes, one catching the rim of his shield, ripping open his defenses for the other that followed and buried itself into his face. The leader struck out, trying to take advantage of the time it would take me to pull it free to score that killing blow, forcing me to abandon the axe as he attacked me and nearly took my arm.
I spun to face him. It was clear he was a head and shoulders above the rest when it came to experience. He fought like my Father did. The gaps in his defenses were few. He reacted well to my feints too. He was light on his feet, calm-headed, and strong based on a blocked blow with the shaft of my axe.
Which is why when I struck out, I used a Skill for the first time on a living man. Divine strength surged in my veins as I lashed out with my axe, slamming it into his shield. The shield shattered as if it had been struck by Thor himself, reduced to splinters as it did nothing to slow down my attack. The edge of my axe ripped into his ribs, breaking through his chainmail and cutting through his flesh until it hit the bone on the other side. Ripping my axe free, I kicked him in the gut while he was stunned, sending him sprawling on his ass.
As he hit the ground, he tried to stem the bleeding from the chunk I had taken out of him, blood flecking his lips. “Some women and a boy. That’s what they said. They didn’t… mention that you were a damn drengr of an infant,” he said, laughing lightly, and bloody spittle landed in his beard.
I stood over him as his blood soaked into the packed dirt, my expression blank. “Who sent you?” I asked him, earning a smile filled with bloody teeth.
“Someone… that wants… your farm,” he spoke, visibly getting weaker with each word. My lips thinned -- I had no clue who that might be. I knew owning property was a blessing most didn’t have, but 'someone that wants your farm' didn't narrow it down in the slightest. The land we farmed had been a gift from the Jarl to my father many years ago. It was a valuable thing. I understood that. It made sense someone would want to take it from us. Which is why his answer was entirely unhelpful.
“Who-” I started, only to realize that the man was already dead, staring ahead with glazed-over eyes. I gave him a quick kick to make sure that he really was, and not faking it. He didn't move.
Shit. I should have aimed somewhere nonvital. Because if someone had sent him, then that meant that they could send someone else. My gaze drifted to those that were in the fields with their broken knees. I marched to them, bloody axe in hand. I asked them the same question, only to receive the same answer. Not for a lack of trying, though. They had been kept in the dark. Only the leader knew who sent them after us.
All for the spoils of the women and a fat reward after the deed was done.
“Eivor?” I heard Mother speak, walking into the fields. I looked over at her to see her looking at me with some reservation. Fair, given that I was covered in multiple mens' blood. It was all over my face, soaking into my shirt, all in my hair… It felt disgusting. “What should be done with them?” she asked me, and I think that it was some kind of test. Of what kind, I wasn’t really sure.
I already knew the answer. “They don’t know anything about who ordered the attack. Just that they all came from Alabu, and that they didn’t know each other beforehand,” I told her, seeing her eyes harden at that. “I don’t see a point in keeping them around,” I told her honestly.
He attacked my home. He deserved to die. All of them did.
Mother offered a clipped nod, “Good. Then kill him.” she instructed, her voice even. I looked down at the man, who met my gaze evenly. His fate was sealed. Dying with dignity was his only remaining chance to impress the gods.
I hefted my axe and brought it down on his head, killing him. Ripping it free, I walked to the other I had crippled and did the same to him. As soon as I was done and his blood was soaking the earth, I felt a pair of arms wrap themselves around me, hugging me tightly.
“You did well, Eivor,” Mother told me softly. “You did as a man should -- you protected your family. You’ve become a man now, my son. Not in age, but in deed, which is something some far older than you haven’t accomplished. Do not let this trouble your thoughts. You should be proud of what you’ve done,” she continued, whispering gently in my ear. A reassurance that I had done the right thing.
I killed people. I was drenched in their blood. Out of absolutely nowhere, we had been attacked. My stomach threatened to rebel, but I swallowed it down as I looked out into the forest, my mother hugging me from behind. Killing a man was different from killing a squirrel or a fish. There was more to it. A give and a take, a threat of danger that they could have killed me if they were a bit better.
I protected my family. I earned the praise of the gods. Still, killing men was… different. Very different. I couldn’t say that it was a good difference either.
My gaze darted around, searching for another enemy to come running out from the forest to attack. I hadn’t realized it until now, but I was actually trembling as the surge of strength left me, leaving me feeling weakened and feeble.
Against all odds, I somehow met the gaze of the golden-eyed girl in the treeline. She peered at me from behind a tree, her expression blank as she regarded me some distance away. My lips moved, mouthing the words ‘thank you’ to her.
Her response was the barest hint of a smile tugging at her lips before she stepped behind a tree, vanishing from sight.
This time… I didn't need a feeling to tell me that we were going to meet again. I knew we would. I would make sure of it.
Comments
Adrian Gorgey
I feel like you really nailed that practical Viking outlook. Like, this acceptance that horrible things happen, but there's a sort of matter-of-factness to it, like it's not really personal. Of course they want to kill me for my land. It's good land. Who wouldn't want it? It's hard to define but it definitely reminds me of my Germanic family members.
Kabir Kumar
I like this. I was getting a bit bored of DC.
