My Norse Story Pt. 3

Resting a heavy hand on Eylin’s shoulder, Kalman turned around, facing the survivors.

“No matter what your opinion of Eylin or her family may be, the truth remains. She’s a warrior. Many of us owe her our lives.”

The breath left Eylin’s lungs.

After a long, hard look at the group, Kalman continued.

“Can you still not see past the mistakes of a dead woman and examine the girl standing before you now?”

Silence ensued.

Rafe looked Eylin in the eye, debating something internally for a long moment.

“I agree with Kalman. She is a respectable young woman, and I trust her. Besides… Even Thoren cared for her, and you all know as well as I that he was discerning beyond his years.” Eylin’s lips tightened into a thin line.

Rafe inclined his head to Eylin in deference before turning his attention back to his wife. He’d said his piece.

Reluctantly, many of the group did the same.

The tension in Kalman’s shoulders eased slightly.

“She stays then. Anyone who has an issue with it can deal with me personally.”

Skadi glared fiercely before stepping back.

“You’re inviting ruin upon us all, Kalman. You’re lucky our chief was slain, else you would not be getting your way in this matter.”

Kalman’s only reply was a stony glare and a tightening of his grip on Eylin’s shoulder.

After a general murmur among the group, everyone went back to what they were doing before Eylin’s arrival, all keeping a wary eye on her and her uncle.

After they dispersed, Kalman finally met her eyes again.

“We… Have much to discuss, Eylin.”

She barked out a laugh.

“I’d certainly say so… Uncle.” The word sounded foreign to her ears.

Probably because it was.

With a grim nod, he led her to a secluded space of trees a small distance away from camp.

When they stopped walking, Eylin spoke first.

“Tell it all, and tell it plainly.”

He chuckled.

“You’re just as blunt as your father. I like that.” He took a deep breath. “When you were born, your father and I had… A disagreement. I felt he should arrange a match for you in childhood, securing you a marriage and a future. He felt you deserved the right to choose for yourself when you came of age.” He let out a self-deprecating huff. “Looking back, it was a silly disagreement, really. And none of my business. But that stubborn streak you have? It comes from us. We didn’t speak to one another for years.” He paused, reflecting back on that time. “And then your mother, well… You know well what happened then. Afterward, I reached out to your father, and we made amends as best we could. But if I associated with your family too much, it would have been bad for my own. I couldn’t risk my wife or my sons. You know how this village can be. Your father understood that and respected it. Besides fighting together in the war, we haven’t spoken since.” He closed his eyes, his expression darkening.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” He whispered.

Eylin nodded.

He inhaled sharply, looking away, his throat working around words that would not—or mayhap could not—come.

After a long moment, Eylin finally spoke.

“Did I… ever know you?”

His expression softened, a look of rare tenderness coming into his usually stern eyes.

“Briefly. When you were very, very young.” His worn face cracked into a wry smile. “I used to play with you by holding your tiny little hands and letting you run circles around me, sometimes even picking you up and spinning you.”

She gasped as an image flew to her mind unbidden.

A much younger Kalman playing with her, his rich laughter filling the air. Her father was standing nearby, enjoying the spectacle. And even… Even her mother was watching with a fond smile playing on her lips.

“I remember.” She whispered. “I had forgotten those days... They were so long ago.”

His face lit up.

“Really?”

She sighed.

“Those were happier times, weren’t they?”

His expression turned rueful.

“In a way.”

Eylin met his gaze, holding it for a long while before speaking again.

“Why did you stand up for me back there? You could have just let me leave. It would have been easier.”

He pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.

“No. I couldn’t. I’ve let social cowardice rule my life for far too long. I should have stood up for you back when the town first decided you weren’t worth the dirt you walked upon, when I knew good and well they were wrong. I shouldn’t have waited until now. I was wrong for that. I should have defended my own flesh and blood.”

He reached for her hands, holding them in front of him, sincerity shining in his eyes.

“For that, I am truly sorry. I hope, moving forward, that you can learn to forgive me.”

Eylin hesitated, tensing slightly but not quite pulling away.

He noticed the change and took a step back, giving her space.

“I understand.” He murmured, a hint of sadness coming into his eyes. “Just… know that I'll be here. Ready when you are.” His expression settled back into its normal sternness, but there was a gentleness in his tone. “I've learned from my mistake, Eylin. And I will back you from here on out. Always. We’re all each other has now.”

With that, he turned and limped back to camp, with a confidence in his stride that hadn't been there for years.

As Eylin watched him walk away, she felt a heaviness that she couldn’t quite explain.

Kjartan lifted a hand to touch the mark in the wall but quickly drew back, as if burned by it.

“By Odin’s beard, what is the meaning of this?” Bjorn grumbled.

Kjartan didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

“There must be a rational explanation.” Alvis surmised.

Kjartan huffed a humorless laugh as he studied the design further. “It’s a forgery. It has to be.”

“But who? Who would dare to be so bold?” Bjorn paced as he spoke, his face a mask of fury.

“I don’t know.” Their leader answered, confusion marring his features.

Suddenly, he heard a twig snap.

***

Eylin’s mind wandered as she walked, and she stumbled a bit as a result. She blushed, avoiding her companion’s stares.

Kalman had assigned two young men to accompany her back to the village and help her clean up, while he stayed behind to finish setting up their temporary home.

They had trekked this far in awkward silence, none of them bothering with small talk. It meant nothing. Not now.

When they reached the village, Eylin stopped.

“Something feels off.”

Carson and Finn halted, reaching for the swords Kalman had given them.

“Stay here.” Eylin murmured. “I need to fetch my weapons.”

Reluctantly, they agreed, and she crept into the village square, heading in the direction of where her home once stood. She had left her sword and bow near the pyre she’d made for her father.

She avoided looking at it.

Silently, she strapped on her sword belt and shouldered her quiver, grabbing her bow as she made her way back to the treeline, where Carson and Finn were waiting.

“Let’s go.”

She didn’t wait for a response.

She headed slowly down the street, Carson and Finn close behind. Before long they heard voices.

“But who? Who would dare to be so bold?” The words were agitated. Eylin peeked around the corner to look at the man speaking. He was easily the largest man she’d ever seen, imposing and angry.

“I don’t know.” The man next to him murmured. He was kneeling down, looking at something on the wall. He looked to be a tall man, maybe in his mid twenties. His broad shoulders were drawn tight with barely restrained tension. He had black hair, and when he turned to look at his companions, Eylin could see that his expression was troubled.

It took her a minute to notice the third man. He was standing so still, as if the heavens themselves couldn’t move him.

“Northmen.” Finn gritted out, grip tightening on his sword.

Eylin held up a hand, sensing his restlessness.

“Wait.”

He frowned, but capitulated.

***

Kjartan froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“Did you hear that?”

Bjorn halted midstride. Alvis glanced around slowly.

Suddenly, a young woman stepped out of the shadows. Her fiery red hair was tied back in a loose braid, and her brown dress looked well-worn, patched in numerous places. Her cloak hung loosely around her frame, giving the impression that she’d missed more than a few meals in recent months. And she had a drawn bow aimed squarely at his chest.

Kjartan raised his hands, rising to his full height.

“Greetings, lass.” He called out, eyeing her weapon. “We bear no ill will. There is no need for violence.”

She snorted, advancing a few steps further.

“No need for violence? Look around you. You’ve done enough already.” Her pale blue eyes were colder than ice.

Kjartan frowned, glancing sidelong at Alvis.

“What happened here?” He asked, turning back to the girl.

“Why do you waste your breath asking pointless questions? You know good and well who’s responsible for this. You are Northmen, are you not?”

Alvis took a cautious step forward.

“Aye, we’re Northmen. But we know nothing of what’s happened here. We sailed here thinking to find you well. Not like this.”

Her bow lowered slightly and confusion flickered across her expression.

“Liars!” A young man came rushing at them, sword raised high, heading right for Bjorn. The older man drew his blade quickly, and their swords clashed as he tried to maneuver himself away from the boy, ending the fight before it started.

“Boy!” The girl snapped. That seemed to give him pause. “I told you to stay hidden.” She growled. Sheepishly, he stepped back, retreating to stand by her side.

She raised her bow again, leveling it at Kjartan once more.

“Explain yourselves before I lose my patience.”

Kjartan raised his hands, moving them up and down a little in a placating gesture.

“At ease, lass. I promise we mean no harm.” He noticed the boy’s gaze skitter to a ruin in the opposite direction from where he’d come.

Of course there were more of them.

Keeping an eye on that area, Kjartan took a step back, turning his attention to Eylin once more.

“My name is Kjartan Ironfist. I am the chief of the Northern clans, and I’ve come here on a mission of diplomacy. Who is your leader?”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “You sure have an interesting definition of diplomacy.”

He pursed his lips.

Bjorn huffed. “He asked to see your leader, girl. Will you take us to him or not?”

She coolly transferred her gaze to him. “You killed him this morning.”

Kjartan sucked in a breath.

Alvis frowned. “You think we did this?”

Her knuckles whitened around her bow, pulling the arrow back a little more.

“You claim you didn’t?”

He stepped forward slowly, not stopping until he was right in front of her. The boy tried to get in his way, but Alvis offered only a steely glare in reply. He soon stepped away.

“We docked on this island a mere hour ago, lassie. My captain brought us seeking alliance, not violence. We arrived to find the place in ruins, bodies burning, and a mark on a wall we can’t explain.” He gingerly raised his hand to her bow and eased it downward. She let him.

“Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened the way you saw it?”

***

Eylin stepped back, creating some space between her and the blonde man.

She let out a long breath, considering the men before her. Her gaze flicked to Carson’s hiding spot, ensuring he was staying where she’d told him to be.

Unlike Finn. She resisted the urge to turn and glare at him again. His rashness could have made things end very badly if the big man hadn’t shown so much restraint.

Why did he? She turned her gaze to him and looked into his eyes for a long moment. She saw fierceness, loyalty, fire. But no malice. It wasn’t like when she looked into the eyes of her attackers that morning. In their eyes, she had seen pure evil. In the eyes of these men… She saw something else.

Sincerity.

And that could be a good thing… Or a very very bad one.

Reluctantly, she relaxed her draw arm, letting down her arrow and sliding it back into her quiver. She felt warmth blooming near her wound as she returned her arm to a neutral position. She groaned inwardly. It was probably bleeding again.

Her right hand, her good one, rested not so casually on the hilt of her sword.

“How many are you?” She asked, her voice strained a little from the pain.

The man who called himself Ironfist walked up to join his companion standing before her.

“My crew numbers sixty-one. Sixty men and one woman.” He gestured to blondie. “This is my first mate and good friend, Alvis Bernsen. The rather hot-headed gentleman behind us is Bjorn Kolbeck, my Second Officer, and the ship’s ironsmith.”

He gestured for the man to come stand beside them. He did so somewhat reluctantly.

Eylin resisted the urge to smirk. Looks like he didn’t appreciate being called hotheaded.

She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment, debating.

Suddenly, she nodded once, signalling Carson to come out of the shadows.

He joined them slowly, sword ready.

“I wanna see this ship and verify your story before I tell you where our camp is. We’ll talk on the way.”

Ironfist smiled. “Agreed.” He turned to blondie. “Alvis, care to lead the way?”

The man nodded and they set off.

Eylin cleared her throat, rolling her injured shoulder absently.

“We were awoken at dawn by the battle, Northmen flooding the streets. There must have been at least five of your boats, soldiers teeming from them like ants from a hill.”

She glanced at Ironfist, her voice lowering to a growl. “It was a massacre. Men, women, children. It mattered not who died.” She pursed her lips, turning her gaze to watch her step as they navigated the path to the shoreline.

“And then, it was over. Once they’d dealt sufficient damage, your people turned tail and sailed off into the morning mist as if they were never here.”

She looked over at Finn, who was glaring hotly at Ironfist. She felt like doing the same, but was far too exhausted for it just now.

Suddenly, Ironfist stopped walking, and his men followed suit.

Eylin’s grip tightened around the hilt of her sword.

He looked her in the eyes, searching them with an intensity that unsettled her.

“Why do you believe these invaders were Northmen?” He whispered.

She frowned. “They were dressed just like you. Your style is very… unique, you must admit. Their ships were cold water carracks too, painted with the same dark pitch that’s on all the ships that come from your country. I’ve seen my fair share of them frequent our harbor in years past.”

Ironfist just stared at her, letting the silence hang as if it explained everything.

“What are you getting at?” She snapped.

The ironsmith crossed his arms. “Imposters.” He answered simply, exchanging a glance with Ironfist. Blondie’s expression looked grim.

“By Odin’s beard, speak plainly!” She glanced at Carson and Finn, seeing the same confusion she felt written on their faces.

Ironfist leveled his gaze at her.

“I’m saying we didn’t do this. But someone went to great lengths to make you believe we did.”

A beat passed.

“Prove it.”

***