Helka was the oldest in Selby’s family of eight, and she carried herself with a noble grace, even though she could fight better than anyone. Much of the time, Selby felt lost in her sister’s shadow.
Ingrid decided to distract her friend with a game of fox and geese while they ate.
As she ran to get the game board and pieces, she failed to notice the leather-clad foot that slipped out in front of her to trip her. She fell to the ground, landing on her elbows and the side of her head before rolling and ending on her back.
A tremendous roar of laughter made the ringing in her ears that much more pronounced. Peering up from her posture of submission, she saw the faces of Hagen and his prigs, writhing with pleasure.
Hagen offered her a hand up, but she slapped him away, doing it on her own.
“You need to watch your surroundings, Meyla,” he teased, calling her the pet name her father sometimes used.
“I hope you broke your foot!” She brushed herself off and headed to the shelf, retrieving the game.
“How could I break even a toe from such a small bird?” He smiled and went back to laughing with his friends.
“You should be kinder to your sister,” Jorg said in a low voice, but loud enough for her to hear.
Ingrid shot a glare toward him, but noticed he was the only one of the boys without a smile. What was that about?
She turned to walk back to the corner, only to find herself face to face with her mother. She always seemed to appear at just the right moments.
“You need to go and check on the horses for the night,” Agnethe said to Hagen.
“I already did,” he replied.
The expression on his mother’s face made him decide to check again.
“Leave the game and come with me, Ingrid,” Mother said as she turned toward the door, not waiting.
Obediently, Ingrid followed, giving a shrug of disappointment to Selby as she passed. It was time to face her punishment.
Agnethe walked to the well outside of the longhouse, and, to Ingrid’s surprise, invited her daughter to sit down on the edge, facing her—eye to eye, like equals. They’d never sat like this together, in the quiet of the evening, with only the brightness of the thousand stars overhead, and the far away clanking of the boats in the bay.
Agnethe took hold of Ingrid’s hand, and Ingrid looked into her mother’s face. Instead of seeing a cross scowl, she saw a warm smile.
“I was like you once, Ingrid,” Agnethe admitted. “I wanted to have the adventures of the shieldmaidens. Go on voyages across the sea, defend our homes, be wild and free.”
“You did?”
“Oh, yes, very much. But I learned I had other gifts that had been bestowed on me, and the life of a shieldmaiden wasn’t one of them. You and I are alike in the way we look—have you noticed?” her mother asked.
“Yes.” That doesn’t mean we want the same things, though.
They shared the same light, golden hair, as well as a paler complexion than most of the others in the village. But she knew it was their eyes of bright turquoise that set them apart more than anything else.
They both sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the muted conversations and laughter of those still enjoying the evening in the longhouse. The smell of meaty stew wafted through the door occasionally, whenever someone came or went.
“Hagen looks like your father. Tall and strong, he will make a great warrior and protector of our village, just as your father has all these years. But I’m not a very tall person, and neither are you. I’ve watched you carry buckets of water to the sheep, and they nearly knock you over.” Mother smiled.
“I can do it, though. I’m stronger than I seem,” Ingrid insisted.
“I know you are. But I’m afraid that the strength it takes to hold a shield, and the attitude necessary to throw a spear in the heat of battle might be more than you are capable of.”
It was said gently, but Ingrid bristled with anger anyway. If she worked at it, she believed she could learn the necessary skills. Practice and determination, that’s all she needed to fulfill her heart’s desire.
“I know you don’t believe me,” said Agnethe, “but maybe you’ll understand later. You do have a stubborn heart, and there is so much you don’t understand yet. We can talk about it more another time. For now, please do your work the best that you can, and be on time to help with supper, alright?”
“Yes, I will,” Ingrid promised. “But I’ll not stop learning to fight.”
“And you’ll continue to be covered in bruises, but I’ll not stop you. If you want to try, you are old enough to work this out for yourself. But promise me you will pay attention to how you feel, and stop before your injuries are too severe.” Mother’s eyes held a hint of sadness and something else. Something she wasn’t sharing with Ingrid.
It made no difference in that moment. All Ingrid had heard was that it was for her to decide if she would be joining the practices, and that was what she had been waiting to hear her entire life.
Selby was just about to leave the corner when Ingrid came bounding back into the longhouse. She rejoined her friend, picked up her trencher, and shoveled several bites into her mouth while trying to share her news.
Selby’s eyes widened, and she laughed. “I can’t understand a word you are trying to say. But it doesn’t look like you got into too much trouble.”
Ingrid swallowed a large mouthful. “I said I get to train.”
“Your mother gave you permission?”
“Better. She told me I could decide for myself!” Ingrid kicked her feet and squealed as quietly as she could, but still turned a few nearby heads.
“Oh, this is the best news I’ve heard, ever. We are so going to be the best.” Selby had a grin that practically split her face in two. Her eyes gleamed, and Ingrid could almost read her friend’s thoughts as her eyes drifted toward her sister.
“I’m going to need a lot of practice before I can keep up with anyone,” Ingrid warned. “Don’t go off and make any threats to Helka. I want to train, not die.”
“Why would you say that? You know I’m the perfect example of self-control. I’d never spout off anything I couldn’t back up.”
The two girls stared at each other for a minute. Ingrid wasn’t sure if Selby really thought that about herself or if she was joking until she saw the little tug at the corner of Selby’s mouth. Both girls erupted into uncontrollable laughter, and didn’t stop until they had tears running down their cheeks and couldn’t breathe.
A voice boomed above all the others in the longhouse, and it hushed the girls’ laughter. Ingrid recognized the voice as her father’s.
“We should never forget the heroes of our past. As long as we keep telling their stories, we never will,” Klaus said proudly about honoring the deeds of their ancestors.
Ingrid’s father was the village chieftain. He towered over most of the other men, and Ingrid thought he must be as tall as Odin himself. His hair color was a darker honeycomb shade than hers, and—according to her mother—the deep, dark blue color of his eyes was like the ocean.
She longed to see water that color. The river in front of the village was a murky, greenish-brown that smelled like dirty feet.
Ingrid sat up taller, a broad smile on her face, when Klaus looked in her direction and gave her a playful wink.
“Who should we honor tonight? Gisli the Outlaw?” His voice boomed to the entire house. He looked at Ingrid’s bright, expectant eyes and said, “I know! We have not heard a maiden’s story in a long while. How about the adventure of our own Thorhild in Gotaland?” he asked.
The crowded hall cheered, and Klaus began to wander among the crowd, readying the story in his mind. His face glowed from the hearth fire in the center of the open room, captivating everyone’s attention. Bearded faces, glistening from spilled mead, followed his trajectory, and the light danced around each eager listener as they leaned forward to hear his words. A comforting heat from bodies wrapped in furs hugged
the room.
As Klaus started into the story, the heavy, wooden doors of the longhouse burst open, bringing a gust of wind that made the flames of the fire bounce higher. Ingrid’s heart jumped as her father glared toward the intrusion, and the flash of orange glowed against his face.
Several men stomped into the warmth. Steam rose like a fog off the newcomers, courtesy of the rains that had begun earlier in the evening.
After a tense silence, they were recognized as the search party and the lost hunters, and the room erupted into chaos. Everyone wanted to welcome the lost men, as well as hear the story of where they had been.
Ingrid and Selby ran to help fill trenchers with stew and biscuits, and passed them around as the men settled near the warm hearth. Sweat glistened on Ingrid’s temple from the increased heat and humidity of the room. One man, in reaching for the wooden bowl, laid his hand over the top of Ingrid’s. The contact tingled on her skin and she paused, muscles and thoughts frozen in curiosity.
The touch only lasted a second or two, but it felt much longer as a strange sensation filled her body. Her hands heated like branding irons, an effect that even holding the hot stew could not accomplish.
The man was injured, and for the brief moment they shared a touch, Ingrid felt a pull from deep within her chest, as if something inside her was looking for the man’s pain. She pulled her hands back and put them behind her a little too quickly, causing the man to nearly drop the bowl.
He peered at Ingrid with narrow eyes. “What kind of stew is this?”
“Just the regular skause,” Ingrid said. She looked down and rushed off to bring the hot meal to others.
She avoided going near him again.
Maybe I should tell Selby about this?
Ingrid served more of the men, careful not to touch anyone. She stole a glance at the man who’d made her flinch earlier, and he was eating as if nothing had happened.
No, she’ll think I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy, what else could it be?
She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, and moved nearer to her father.
“Olin, let’s hear the tale of your journey,” Klaus said, laying his hand on the older man’s shoulder as he sat next to him.
The room silenced except for the occasional slurp of meat or mead.
Olin nodded and pushed his food away. He stared into the fire; the flames danced like sprites in his eyes. “On the second day of the hunt, we walked through some thick bog myrtle. We gathered some as we went, to make ale later.” He swallowed and rubbed his hands on his thighs.
“Go on,” Klaus encouraged.
“There was a screeching sound. It was coming from everywhere and nowhere. We tried to pull together, but the bog was too thick. The soggy peat sucked at our feet and slowed us down as we tried to run. The screeching turned into roars, and they grew louder. I’m an old man, and I’ve never heard that sound before. It was like a dagger straight into my ear.”
The loud thump of a fist hitting the table made everyone startle. Some men grabbed at the hilts of their blades, and started to stand, but the man who had slammed down his fist just shoved his way through the people crowded around to listen, and headed outside.
Ingrid’s gloved hand had twisted into her father’s tunic in the tension. She unwound her fingers and wiped them on her apron, but stayed close to her father’s shoulder as he sat in front of her.
“What was it? The thing that made a noise,” Ingrid asked once the man was gone.
“Ingrid!” Hagen glared at her from across the table, and shook his head for her to stay silent.
She huffed and turned back to Olin, but glanced back at the way Hagen’s arm folded around Helka. And the way Helka’s hand clutched his tunic the same way Ingrid’s had her father’s.
“We didn’t know what it was, but we ran. There was a small strand of trees not far ahead where we could take cover, so we headed there. The skies turned dark as the beast flew overhead; we felt a gust of wind and heard a boom as its wings lifted it higher. I was the last to make it to the trees.”
Down the row of tables, someone tried to muffle the sounds of their crying.
Ingrid looked around. Everyone was either focused on Olin or staring off into the dark. All the bodies huddled so closely together accentuated the pungent odor of sweat and fear.
Flinching when a hand slipped into hers, Ingrid met the wide eyes of Selby, knowing they mirrored her own. They squeezed each other’s palms, and turned back to the storyteller.
“The leaves of the trees flapped like a storm each time the beast flew low. It circled us, keeping up its blasted noise. There wasn’t a plan—none of us knew what to do other than hide. Each time that thing came around, it was closer.” He paused a moment. “I’ve only heard stories, but I’d stake my life that it was a dragon.”
Noise broke out around the tables at the disclosure of a beast not seen in generations. Some scoffed that it was untrue while others gasped, but when Klaus demanded silence everyone leaned forward to listen to the rest of the story. Ingrid squeezed closer to her father.
“It’s true, I assure you. All six of us could stand in its shadow with room for more. Its wings spread out nearly as long as this hall. When they were stretched, you could see light coming through them like a bloody haze. The whole thing was the color of fresh, dark blood. Scales at least as big as a man’s hand, and claws on each foot that’d rip anything apart. But the way it swung its head from side to side, its gaze scanning everywhere, told us that nowhere was safe.”
Movement across the table caught Ingrid’s attention. She watched as her mother stepped closer, clutching her middle as if she were in pain, and staring at her husband. Then Agnethe turned her stricken gaze on Ingrid, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.
Ingrid’s own stomach flipped in on itself. Nothing scares her; she’s always so steady. Reliable. She felt tremors roll through her body, but she forced herself to listen again to the story.
“Little Nels panicked. There’s no shame in it,” Olin said, bringing Ingrid’s attention back to him. “I don’t know how much longer I could have stayed hidden, either. His little body slipped right past all of us, and he took off running.”
His shoulders heaved as he breathed in and out. He reached out and picked up his cup, spilling most of the mead as his hands shook their way to his lips.
After he managed a couple swallows, he continued. “We shouted at him to get back under cover, and Lukas started to run after him, but then there was a blast of heat, and the ground shook and knocked us all down.” Olin tried to check his emotions but his voice wavered. “When we could look up again, the beast was gone, and so was Nels.”
Bile rose in the back of Ingrid’s throat. She dropped to her knees, and forced herself to breathe. Selby sat down and leaned into her side.
“Did you try to track the beast?” Klaus asked.
“The ground was blackened like there had been a pyre, and we didn’t know which way to start searching. It seemed best to head toward high ground, so that’s what we did. A few days later, we came across a cave in the hillside. It was empty, but there was a huge nest toward the back. Bones were scattered all around—some old, others so fresh, they were practically still warm. None that seemed like a boy’s, though. We hid outside the mouth of the cave for two days, but nothing showed up. That’s when we decided to start back.”
Nels’ mother moaned and let out a sorrowful cry. Ingrid was shocked to see her standing in the crowd, but she had listened to the story along with the rest of them. Agnethe ran to her, and she and several other women carried away the inconsolable mother.
Olin’s voice was thick as he proceeded. “For three days, we walked in silence; the smallest sounds made us jump. We had settled down to sleep one night, when there were sounds in the dark at the edge of our camp. Next thing we knew, a group of men came crashing through the underbrush. Emotions were running so high it almost came to blows, but it was settled in a couple minutes. They were a hunting party,
too, looking for a couple men they lost. The thing was, the beast they described was black as tar, not like the one that came on us.”
The longhouse was still; only a few sniffles and cleared throats could be heard as everyone sat stunned. There was more than one dragon hunting the skies.
Olin rubbed his face with both hands, then shook his head and stood up. Without another word, he shuffled outside, his arms hanging limply from his slumped shoulders.
“There have not been dragons since before our fathers or our forefathers before them,” Klaus said once Olin had gone.
He was tense. Ingrid could see the muscles in his face moving as he clenched his jaw in time with the fists he was making by his side.
“We saw it. It is out there,” one of the hunters, Nels’ uncle, countered.
Lukas and his father were among the returned group as well, but neither looked up. Sitting with untouched trenchers between their hands, they remained silent.
“I’m not doubting your word, brother.” Klaus stood to set a hand on the man’s shoulder, and gave it a slight squeeze. “They have just been gone for so long, I’m wondering what has drawn them back. Did the others you came across have any ideas about that?”
“No, but . . .” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again. “They did say that they’d seen more than one. There’s no telling how many there are out there.”
Klaus nodded and looked around at the men. “We are glad that you have returned safely. We will mourn for young Nels before we decide what to do next.”
He walked over to Nels’ father, and laid a hand on his and Lukas’ shoulders, offering a prayer to the gods for their grief. Ingrid watched as several tears fell to the dusty floorboards by the men’s feet. While the mist of steam had lifted as the men dried, a new fog fell over everyone in the longhouse—one of sorrow, dread, and anger.
Without any more discussion, Ingrid’s father dismissed everyone for the night, and a meeting was scheduled for the next day. Selby gave Ingrid a quick hug as she left with her family. As Ingrid was getting ready to head to her room, she felt a prickle at the base of her neck.
The Viking Maiden Box Set Page 2
