My Norse Story Pt. 2

Eylin looked around, stunned, and realized that the Northmen were gone.

Their ships sailed away through the fog of the morning, swift as they’d arrived.

She locked eyes with the only other villager still standing just before he collapsed.

She ran to his side, dropping her weapons, and cradled his head in her lap.

It was Thoren.

He wouldn’t make it. His leg was bleeding, as were his head and everywhere else. But the strongest evidence of his impending end was the three arrows lodged in his stomach. Removing them would merely speed the process, and from the looks of him… It didn’t seem much speeding would be necessary.

“We did it, Eylin. They’re gone.” His low, relief-filled voice sent a pang through her heart.

She nodded, for a moment her throat was too tight to speak.

Tears trickled down her cheeks unbidden.

“Yes, Thoren… We did.” She finally managed. “You fought well, my friend.”

He smiled.

“As did you. I never knew you could fight.” A bemused frown crossed his features before they smoothed out.

“You never asked.” She whispered brokenly, one last friendly tease before all she could do was smile bravely down at him as she watched the life drain from his eyes, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

She sat there for a moment, silent and still, taking in the surrounding carnage.

Every house in the village was either in flames or reduced to the charred remains of the homes they’d once been. There were bodies everywhere she looked, of Northmen and villagers alike.

Judging from the sun's position in the sky, it was still early in the morning. The battle couldn’t have lasted longer than an hour.

How was it possible for such devastation to take place in such a short time?

After a long, long while, she stood, making her way over to the body of her father. She would care for him first.

The moment his lifeless face came into view, a keening wail found its way out of her as she collapsed on the ground by his side.

“Oh, Father.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his limp body and holding him as if she could instill life through the embrace.

“How much more must I endure?” She murmured.

After a while, she finally stood, remembering all too well how to deal with a person’s remains.

Carefully dragging him back to the burned remnants of their home, she set up a funeral pyre in the back and reverently laid him upon it.

She noticed a butterfly floating about and watched as it softly alighted upon the edge of the pyre, its beauty a stark contrast to the ugliness of their surroundings.

She tentatively reached out a finger, wondering what it would do. To her surprise, it flitted up to land on it.

She tried to smile, to appreciate what she held in her hand. But her face wouldn’t comply.

“Will I ever smile again?” She whispered to her small friend. To this day, she swears that it shrugged before floating away with the breeze.

Solemnly reaching for the torch she’d just lit, she brought it down to the pyre, setting it aflame.

As the flames licked her father’s remains and consumed them, she watched, curled up into a ball on the ground, sobbing like she’d never done before.

For the first time in her life, Eylin Eskildsen was really and truly alone.

The smooth, worn wood of the Syreeta’s wheel glided easily under Kjartan’s practiced hand.

He watched his crew bustling about the main deck and forecastle, doing their various duties, and nodded in deference as Bjorn, the ship’s blacksmith, met his gaze on his way down to the battery, which they also used as a forge.

Ingrid was up in the crow’s nest, watching for the first signs of Helgryn Isle.

After months of travel, they were finally reaching their first destination.

Kjartan grinned.

Negotiations would soon begin, he hoped.

The name Kjartan Ironfist was well known, and he had no doubts that the clan chiefs of this small chain of islands would be thrilled to align with his leadership. Each island would still govern itself, as it had been, but his dream was to see all the islands allied not only with one another but also with all the might and authority of the Northern clans.

That way, when the Varakai returned… The lands of the North Sea would be ready, and they would be able to defend their homeland much more efficiently than the last time.

The last war had demanded so much of so many.

He felt a responsibility to do all he could to bring the peoples together.

His fingers tightened on the wheel, steady despite the restless energy humming beneath his skin.

He checked his map, reassuring himself maybe for the hundredth time that they were on the right route. His eyes scanned the horizon as he waited for Ingrid’s signal.

A strange feeling of dread that he couldn’t explain entered his spirit when Ingrid finally called out sight of the island a short while later.

He turned the wheel to the left, veering toward it, but gasped as the growing landmass came into view.

Before long they could see that every standing building was smoking, and even from this distance, he could smell the stench of death.

“What in the realms happened here?” Alvis, Kjartan’s first mate, asked slowly, his tone carrying a note of grim fascination.

Kjartan hadn’t noticed him walking up. He shook his head in reply.

“Captain, look. There are fresh fires being lit along with the older ones.”

He nodded. “Get Bjorn up here.”

Alvis left to do as he was bidden. A moment later, he reappeared above decks with the large man. He was practically made of muscle and even taller than Kjartan himself; his long black hair and beard were braided down to his waist in patterns as intricate as the decorative designs he put into the hilts of his swords.

Bjorn took in the scene before them with a sigh.

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Kjartan laughed humorlessly. “You’re telling me.”

He gazed at the smoking island a moment longer, steeling himself for what they might be about to encounter before returning his attention to his closest friends. He spoke quietly.

“Bjorn, Alvis, pick two more men and meet me by the boats. We shall drop anchor here and row in.”

***

The sickly sweet stench of burning flesh assaulted Eylin’s senses as she put the bodies of her townspeople onto group pyres in the town square. She had originally wanted to do it outside of town, near the forest, to minimize the amount of… leftovers that would be in the way, but soon realized that she didn’t have the willpower or the strength to drag that many bodies that far. They already smelled pretty ripe, burning aside, and she wanted to take care of these remains as soon as possible.

Even this method of just piling them up where she found them was going to take forever by herself.

“At this point, I might as well just go live in the forest and be a hermit.” She muttered with a huff. “It’d save me all this work, that’s for certain.”

After lighting the pyre she’d just finished, she knelt down to rest. Leaning back until her shoulders and the back of her head touched the ground, she relished the stretch in her aching thighs and closed her eyes. The adrenaline had worn off long ago, and now her body was letting her know every single spot she’d been hit or jostled. Every muscle ached, and her head was pounding. Her arm had been shaking for an hour. She’d tied a makeshift bandage to it to help curb the bleeding, but it did nothing for the pain or effects of such a wound.

She sighed.

Her first battle. Something her father had hoped she’d never see. And it came right to their front door.

The thought of Eskild threatened to bring a whole new flood of tears, so she stood and ran to the forest to get another bundle of firewood, hoping to distract herself.

Upon reaching the treeline, she began collecting sticks and branches, cursing the Northmen with every breath.

“Why couldn’t they have left us alone?” She whispered. “Do you hear me?” She cried louder.

“By all the gods, why did you come here?” She was screaming at the top of her lungs now, knowing nobody could hear her, but the action provided a certain cathartic release all the same.

She screamed until her throat was raw, cursing the gods and pleading with them by turn.

Spent and exhausted, she collapsed, dropping her bundle and covering her face with her hands.

Then she heard a twig snap.

Her hand instinctively flew to her dagger, holstered on her belt.

She crept slowly toward the sound, blade raised defensively, scanning the illusions in the leaves created by the midmorning light.

Then the form of a little girl, about seven years old, emerged from within the shadows.

Eylin gasped.

Sheathing her dagger and glancing around quickly, she inched nearer to the girl, speaking softly.

“Hello there, little one.”

There was hope in the girl’s eyes as she came closer.

“Are the bad men gone?” She asked in a small voice.

With a bittersweet smile, Eylin nodded.

“Yes, child. They’re gone.” She opened her arms tentatively and the girl flew into them, holding on to her for dear life. Eylin awkwardly tried to comfort her as she started sobbing violently.

“Th–they ki—they killed Mama!” She blubbered. That was when Eylin recognized her. This was the little girl from yesterday.

She held the girl even tighter, as if she could make it all go away just from this embrace. Oh, how she wished she could.

“I know, child. I know. They killed my father too.”

As the girl began to calm, Eylin leaned back, tilting her chin up so she could look her in the eye.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Tyra.” She sniffed.

Eylin smiled down at her warmly.

“My name is Eylin. Are you alone out here?”

The little girl shook her head, swiping her sleeve across her nose.

“There are more of us. We ran into the trees when the bad men came.”

Eylin’s breath caught.

“Show me.”

The sea was eerily calm as Bjorn rowed their small craft up to the shoreline. Waves lapped gently against the hull, belying the violence of what had just occurred on this island.

The men made their way across the sea in silence, lost in their thoughts and suppositions.

With a soft thump, they hit land and pulled the boat ashore, stashing it in the bushes.

“Be on your guard, men. There are still people about. We do not yet know whether they are friends or foe.” The men nodded solemnly at their captain’s words.

They moved inland, approaching the carnage.

Kjartan’s eyes watered from the smoke as they searched the remains for survivors. Their footsteps made small clouds of ash upon impact.

Alvis began coughing, and Kjartan was one poor inhale away from doing the same.

“What do you think of it, Captain?” Bjorn queried in a low voice, yet it was loud in the stillness of their surroundings.

Kjartan sighed.

“I’m not sure what to think. Obviously, the island has been attacked. But it seems the offending parties have left.” He gestured to the funeral pyres. “There are survivors somewhere. We should find them and find out for ourselves what has happened here.”

Bjorn nodded, his reply a growl.

“I don’t like this.”

Kjartan knelt down, picking up some dirt and ash, letting it sift through his fingers and blow away with the wind.

“Neither do I.”

“Captain, look!” Alvis called out.

Kjartan frowned at the alarm in his voice. After exchanging a glance with Bjorn, they walked over to where his first mate was standing.

When they saw what he was pointing at, they stopped dead in their tracks.

Kjartan’s face paled, and he was gripped by an unease that bordered dangerously close to fear.

A symbol was burned into one of the only standing walls that remained.

A great raven, wrought in blackened lines, stood tall against the stone, a straight-bladed sword resting along its body, its handle gripped tightly in the raven's talons. Curving, wispy, winglike shapes framed the mark, scorched deep as if the fire had lingered there longest. Beneath it were four stark letters.

His family crest.

***

Tyra led Eylin further into the woods, and they came out into a small clearing, where people were putting together makeshift shelters out of branches and trees.

The group was made up mostly of women and children, but a good handful of men were there too, doing most of the grunt work.

“Tyra!” An older woman came running from the rest of the group, sweeping the girl into a tight embrace. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m ok, Grandma. Thanks to her.” She looked at Eylin.

Eylin shifted uncomfortably under the woman’s piercing gaze. With a shudder, the woman turned away, leaving Eylin standing alone, despite Tyra’s protests.

Eylin followed them reluctantly.

“Surely they won’t all be so petty.” She muttered under her breath as she drew closer to the camp.

Conversation halted at her approach. All eyes turned to her.

She swallowed hard at the looks of disgust that some afforded her.

“You.” One of the men spoke quietly. “You’re the one who was fighting, weren’t you?”

She nodded.

He continued.

“You saved my life. One of the soldiers you killed was coming right for us.” He wrapped a protective arm around his wife, pulling her closer. When Eylin met his eyes, her heart skipped a beat. She knew those amber depths better than she’d like to admit. But they belonged to another. These must be Thoren’s parents, Rafe and Helga.

“I… I did my best. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite good enough.”

A pained expression came over his face.

“Thoren?”

Eylin shook her head.

Helga started sobbing, and Rafe held her tighter. A single tear tracked down his cheek, and he lowered his head, speaking soothing words only Helga could hear.

“He fought bravely and with great honor. He did you credit. I know it is small comfort, but… it’s something.” Eylin said, her tone low and sincere.

She shifted uneasily under the group’s silent appraisal.

“Why are you here?” A woman in the back sneered. Eylin didn’t recognize her.

“Tyra found me in the woods, and I asked her to bring me back here.”

The woman hissed in disapproval. Eylin sighed.

“Look… we’re all that’s left of our village. We need to take stock of what we have. Food, clothing, shelter. I know none of you trust me or care to give me the time of day, but… We need to work together. Care for our dead. Clean up our village.” She hesitated. “I’ve already begun some of the work. If you care to give your loved ones the honor they deserve, then you should help me finish.”

With that, she turned to head back to the village but was stopped by a small hand on her arm. Startled, she looked down.

“Please.” Tyra said in a small voice. “Stay. Don’t leave me.” Eylin’s heart twisted as she knelt down to look the little girl in the eyes.

“Don’t worry, child.” She tucked an unruly strand of Tyra’s curly hair behind her ear. “I won’t be far.” She glanced over the other survivors. “So long as they’ll let me be.”

Her challenge was met with a hostile silence until finally, a man who looked vaguely familiar limped forward, addressing them all. She gasped when she recognized him. It was the shopkeeper who had intervened for her in battle.

“I say she stays with us. She’s more than earned it. How much longer must we blame her for the mistakes of her mother?”

Tyra’s grandmother spoke up then, rage and disgust twisting her features.

“Kalman! How could you say such things?” She gestured to Eylin wildly. “She is the daughter of a harlot! Rot runs in her blood. If we let her be one of us now, gods only know what havoc it may wreak.”

Kalman’s expression hardened.

“Skadi.” His tone was low and dangerous. “Set your prejudice aside for a moment. If you can.” He pointed at Eylin. “That girl is braver than all of us combined. While we hid here in the woods, she met our attackers in battle and fought with everything she had.”

Eylin cringed.

The man standing beside Skadi took a menacing step closer to Kalman. “Do not make this decision lightly, Kalman. The fact that she is your niece does not make her trustworthy.”

Eylin froze..

Kalman refused to meet her gaze, deciding instead to stare back at the man, letting out a low growl.

“Leave my family ties out of this, Eero.”

Eero advanced on him further.

“And if I don’t?”

Eylin rushed forward, stepping between them.

“Gentlemen, please. There is no need to get violent. I’ll go back to the village alone if I must.”

Tyra let out a small cry of disappointment, and Eylin hung her head at the sound. She had no choice.

Kalman finally looked at Eylin fully for the first time, and then Eylin saw it. He had her father’s nose. The same eye shape.

He spoke quietly, but his words were crisp and clear, brooking no argument.

“You’re not going anywhere, Eylin. You’ve more than proven yourself. It’s a shame you ever had to in the first place. This village has held you and your family responsible for the actions of your mother for far too long. It. Ends. Now.”

Eero’s hands tightened into fists, but he remained silent and took a step back, respecting Kalman’s position as the acting leader.