The man had anticipated her acceptance and took her to the back of his shop, where he had nailed a straw-filled shirt to a post. Here, he had her hold the red and yellow painted shield in her left hand, and then slip her right hand through the leather loop of the hammer before gripping the handle.
Ecstatic, Ingrid beamed like a one-hundred-foot bonfire.
The weight of the mallet felt like an extension of her arm rather than a heavy burden. She thrust up and across, contacting the dummy with an ease she’d never known before. Her training had only ever involved sticks, but she mastered the movements in no time, jumping up in order to come down on an enemy with all of her weight.
The merchant guided her for more than a quarter of an hour. She paid him the remainder of the balance for all three items, and was grateful that she had earned enough to cover the extra cost of the mallet.
Without another thought about what she’d say to her father, she strutted out onto the street. Holding her possessions properly in each arm, she made her way over to the others.
Klaus noticed her first, and walked over to where she stood. “So, what have you got there?” he asked.
“A shield I commissioned for myself,” she answered boldly, without a hint of remorse.
“Ah.” He nodded and jutted his chin. “And what of the other?”
“This was a surprise, but it was made just for me, and I can wield it well.”
“How did you make these purchases?” Klaus sounded stern, but there was a sparkle in his eyes.
“From the extra work I do around the village. I used my own coin.”
“Then you have earned the right to keep them.” He smiled.
Ingrid smiled back. Pride and satisfaction coursed through her veins, knowing she’d made a mature decision and he would honor it.
By afternoon, the shields were all loaded, and the slow journey to the boats began. While the skies now held their moisture, enough rain had fallen earlier to make the busy area sloppy and thick. Wagons slipped and sank into the mud at regular intervals, making progress agonizingly slow.
Ingrid, useless to help with either the large ox or the heavy cart, distracted herself at the market tables. She kept an eye toward the group while perusing beads, pottery, and jewelry. One vendor had hair combs made of gold, some inlaid with jewels or ivory. They were far too expensive for what coins she had left, though, so she wandered on. The next table had containers filled with various colors of body paint. Intricate carvings on the pots made them as beautiful as the contents promised on the inside. Ingrid had never decorated her face like most of the other girls her age did. Selby had urged her to try, but the effort didn't interest her.
Maybe it’s time I tried this? I’d look more mature.
Running her fingers over a small, round pot carved from wood and painted with red, yellow, and green swirls, she was reminded of the grassy fields back home, adorned with their floral jewelry.
“That would be a good choice for you,” the woman next to the table said. She smiled at Ingrid. “A little kohl would make your turquoise eyes brighter.”
Ingrid’s chest tightened, and she flashed a glance toward the wagon. It was stuck in the mud again, and no one was looking in her direction.
I could borrow Selby’s, . . . though it wouldn’t hurt to have some of my own, for special times. “How much?” she asked the woman.
After wrapping the box in a section of linen, Ingrid secured it in her purse. Her two remaining coins jostled alongside her purchase. She looked over to the wagon, still anchored in the mud; everyone’s focus was on getting it moving again. Satisfied with her choice, she tied the purse to her belt and ambled toward the next vendor, across the alley.
Without warning, a hand snaked out from behind and covered her mouth. Another wrapped around her waist and pulled her back into the alley behind the market huts. A girl and a boy stood in front of her. Both were taller and weighed more than her, but they were about her age, as far as she could tell. The warring smells of body odor, bad breath, and general stink came from a third captor, the boy behind her, causing her to gag behind his rough fingers.
Her legs quivered, and her heart pounded against her rib cage. She’d watched this scenario while the girls practiced at home, but it was intimidating rather than entertaining when it was for real.
The boy behind her released her and stepped back, but she could still feel the heat of his too-close body. She stood her ground, hoping they couldn’t see the tremble of her hands. The option of screaming flashed through her mind.
No, I will handle this myself. I need to handle this myself.
“Nice shield,” the girl sneered, and black holes gaped between yellowed teeth. “If you drop it now, I’ll let you run home to your mother.” Dark eyes peered out of tiny slits below bushy eyebrows as their owner spat the words. The girl was as dirty as the boys, her hair matted into stiff ridges above a scar over her left eyebrow.
Ingrid remembered from one demonstration, how Helka had stood poised and ready before her attackers. Mimicking that attitude, she squared her shoulders.
“You can try,” she said with forced indifference. Her gut churned, and a trickle of sweat slid between her shoulder blades. She willed her arms to relax as she tightened her grip on the shield.
“I was hoping you’d stay.” The girl curled her lip into a crooked grin.
The boys stepped back, deferring the fight to their leader, and gave the girls an impromptu arena. The mallet hung by its cord on Ingrid’s wrist, limp against her knee.
Quick as a cat, the girl lunged at Ingrid. On instinct, she raised her shield and pushed her weight into it. Stunned not by the impact, but at her ability to stop the girl, Ingrid’s courage soared.
Smug with her skills, her arm dropped for a brief second—enough for the girl’s hand to reach over and take hold of Ingrid’s hair. Surprised, Ingrid stumbled over her feet as she flew forward.
A solid thud landed on her back from the girl’s other fist.
Disoriented, Ingrid barely kept herself from falling face-first into the mud. Staying on her feet, she spun around in time to use her shield to deflect the next blow. Within a split-second, she leaned down to let the mallet touch the ground so she could wrap her fingers around the handle. Before she could stand up, a fist struck her hard across the face.
Blood filled her mouth, and she felt one of her teeth wiggle as she spat the coppery-tasting liquid. Ingrid jammed the shield’s edge into the girl’s stomach as she lunged for another strike. The girl’s eyes widened, and she grunted as she lost her breath. Ingrid swung her mallet sideways as the girl doubled over; the crack reverberated through her arm with a shudder as the mallet landed on the back of the girl’s shoulder.
The girl’s body lurched forward, and her head slammed awkwardly against a barrel. The girl looked up for a moment before her eyes rolled up into her head and she crumpled to the ground.
Ingrid’s chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Both of the boys stared at the girl in silence for a second until the boy nearest Ingrid reached for her shield. She pulled it back and faltered, but readied for a second attempt.
As if from a slingshot, a body hurtled into the boy from the direction of the main road. The second boy launched himself at the new attacker while Ingrid abandoned the melee and rushed back to the girl.
She dropped to the ground, her own injuries ignored, and huddled over the girl’s wilted body. A light moan and raspy breath proved she was still alive. Ingrid’s shoulders slumped forward, and she scrunched her eyes closed. Blood soaked the girl’s hair and trickled into her ear. Ingrid reached out to touch her, but before she could, she swooshed through the air and was slung, undignified, over a shoulder. Her mallet hung from her wrist as her arms dangled toward the ground.
She had no energy to fight anymore, and bounced along, barely able to breathe, as her stomach was pressed tight. She was dropped behind a stack of wooden boxes around a corner, and strong arms held her down, a barked whi
sper ordering her to ‘stay still’. A few silent moments passed before she was allowed to sit up.
When she was, she found Hagen crouched next to her. His lips were pressed into a tight line, and he huffed angrily from his nose.
“Ingrid!” he growled. “When you wound an enemy in battle, you leave them there to bleed, not rush to their side.”
She turned away as tears welled up behind her eyes. Crying like a baby isn’t going to help.
Hagen blew out a big sigh of air, then said in a soft voice, “You can’t have it both ways, Meyla. Either you fight without hesitation, or you help the wounded.” His voice had lost its anger, and he spoke with tenderness. “If you can’t do that, you will get yourself killed.”
He was right. She hated that he was, but hated herself more for not knowing what to do. It was her first fight; she’d done well and wanted to revel in it. The coppery taste of blood still swirled in her cheeks, and the bruise on her jaw ached. Her heart couldn’t feel joy, though as the look on the girl’s face before she fell crossed Ingrid’s mind.
How could I do that? What if she’d died? “I was so proud of myself. Scared at first, but then . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I thought I was lucky—it was a chance to prove myself.” She put her hand over the side of her face, where the swelling made talking difficult. A warming sensation spread across her cheek, under her hand, and she pulled her hand away. I deserve the pain.
Hagen rubbed her arm. “You have to decide which way it’s going to be,” he said plainly. Concern for her sat thickly in his eyes.
Lowering her gaze to the ground, she answered in a small voice, “I know. I could do it, though. I’m stronger than everyone thinks; faster, too.”
Hagen bumped her shoulder. “You did well. I was going to jump in right away, but there was no need.”
“Humph.” A pleased grunt came from her throat as she let her smile fade.
“Let’s go catch up to everyone.” He pointed to the red and swollen area on her jaw. “You’ll have to explain that, though. Better think of how you’ll tell the story.”
She nodded, too sore for any more words.
They peeked cautiously around the crates before they stood, but the boys hadn’t followed them. Ingrid pushed up from the ground, and winced as her back screamed with the movement. Light danced at the edge of her vision, but she trudged after Hagen. He handed her the shield he’d carried for her.
It was light compared to the weight of indecision riding heavily upon her shoulders.
8
When they reached camp, Ingrid walked to her tent and went inside without another word to Hagen. Images of the fight swamped her thoughts: the vibrations of the mallet as it landed on the girl, the look on her face.
Melting to the ground, she pulled her knees up to her chest, and buried her face in them. What is happening to me? Hagen’s right. I can’t fight like a shieldmaiden if I stop to heal everyone afterward. Frustrated, she let out a loud growl and pounded her fist into the hard earth.
“Troubles?” Selby asked as she crawled through the tent door in time to see Ingrid’s outburst. “That shield-maker did a great job. I can’t believe our shields are so light! Whoa, what’s this?” She picked up the mallet, and noticed that all the mud wasn’t very mud-like. “Is this blood? Did you fight someone for this? I don’t remember you saying you were buying a mallet . . .” Selby rubbed her hand over the rust-colored, crimson and blackish splatters on the mallet, pulling at some of the stickier spots with her fingers. Grimacing, she wiped her hands in the dirt and then on the hem of her skirt.
“I didn’t. The shield-maker made it for me.” She watched as Selby turned the mallet over and inspected it, momentarily forgetting about the blood on it. “I got in a fight on the way back.”
Selby’s head snapped up, and she stared at Ingrid with wide eyes. “Are you hurt?” She fell down on her knees in front of her and pushed her hands into Ingrid’s hair, searching for any signs of injury beyond the bruise on her jaw. Lowering her voice, she sat back on her heels, and mused, “Or . . . did you heal yourself already?”
“I didn’t get hurt, not bad anyway, just a few bruises. The blood is from the girl I was fighting.” Selby gaped at her with eyes so wide they seemed able to fall out. “What? You really can’t believe that I might be able to defend myself and walk away with fewer injuries?” Ingrid pressed.
“It’s not that,” Selby said, biting her bottom lip. “It’s. Well . . . you’ve never done it before. That’s all. What happened?”
Ingrid relived it all over again as she retold the story. “If Hagen wouldn’t have shown up, those boys would have beaten me. I’d be lying in the mud right now. Probably dying,” She finished with a blank stare. “What does it mean? Should I have listened to everyone all along?” She wasn’t really asking, and Selby didn’t answer. “At first, Hagen was angry with me. But after he calmed down, he was kind—a little scared for me even, I think. I’d rather he’d stayed angry.”
Selby reached over and took one of Ingrid’s hands in her own. “He cares about you and is probably just scared. I’m scared for you, too.” She sighed and looked down in her lap for a minute while they sat in silence. “Something is happening to you, and none of us know what it is. You’re changing somehow. Until we know more, I think you should be more careful, and maybe . . .” She swallowed hard. “Maybe, put aside the shield for a while.”
All the air seemed to leave Ingrid’s lungs at once, like she’d been hit in the stomach. She’d lost Selby’s trust and support. The one person who had always believed in her, and had stood by her side against everyone else. The one person who had promised to train with her, to fight with her. The one person she needed most.
“I need some air.” She stood up and left the tent.
She had walked about ten steps when she came upon Hagen and Jorg, standing alone talking. Hagen’s back was to her, but Jorg was standing with his legs apart and his hands balled into fists, as if he were ready to jump into a fight. A warrior’s expression on his face, he wore tight lips, flared nostrils, and narrowed eyes.
As Ingrid tried to turn and go a different way around them, he called her name, loudly and full of anger.
“Ingrid! Stop walking.”
She didn’t turn or stop, but picked up her pace a little. Seconds later, she was grabbed by the arm and spun around to meet the angriest face she had ever seen directed at her.
Jorg’s eyes almost glowed, as if they were made of molten iron.
Hagen caught up and stood just behind his shoulder. “Let’s talk somewhere more private,” he said. It wasn’t a suggestion. The commotion had drawn the stares of several men who were gawking in their direction.
Jorg nodded, but kept a hold of Ingrid as he followed Hagen.
She tried to pull away as he dragged her along beside him.
“Let go of me, you’re hurting my arm.”
“No.”
Glaring at him, she bit her teeth together so hard she thought one might crack, and yanked her arm to free it. She was rewarded with a tighter grip for her efforts, as well as almost tripping on a log she didn’t see.
When they got to the edge of camp, Hagen walked into the trees until he was sure they were out of earshot. When he finally stopped, Jorg let go of Ingrid, and both boys stared at her.
“Why are you even here?” she yelled at Jorg. “Hagen always treats me like the frail little bird Papa thinks I am, but you. You have no right. This is none of your business.”
Part of her instantly wanted to take it back. Deep down, she was happy that he cared and wanted to keep her safe. But he was wrong, and she wasn’t going to show weakness to either of them right then.
“Hagen is my friend. My loyalty to him extends to you,” he said through his teeth.
Some of the anger dissipated from his eyes, replaced by flashes of what looked like hurt, causing Ingrid to hesitate in her resolve. Hagen glanced at Jorg then back at Ingrid, but didn’t say anything. She looked to t
he ground and took a deep breath.
Turning her focus to Hagen, she glared at him. “We took care of everything already. Why couldn’t you leave this alone? There isn’t anything else to talk about.”
“You’re my sister, whether either of us likes it or not some days; that means I protect you. Right now, the biggest danger to you seems to be you.”
“What were you thinking?” Jorg demanded. “You buy a shield and a mallet, then go trotting off through town by yourself? I guarantee those rats have never had the amount of money between them that you spent on your shiny new toys. You’re naïve, and it’s going to get you killed.” He spat the words, then rubbed his temples.
Ingrid grimaced and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth, closing her eyes. She wanted to say she was sorry, that she hadn’t thought of it that way, but instead she kept her head down and let the foolishness of her actions go undefended. Too much was happening. Her brain and her heart were a swirl of questions and emotions.
Finally, Hagen broke the silence.
“You need to think about what you really want, and what you are truly capable of. Like I told you earlier: if you want to be a warrior, you can’t worry about helping those you hurt. You are caught between two places, Ingrid. Figure out what you want. In the meantime, do not walk around alone.” His voice was tender, reminding her of their father.
Hagen had grown up while she was still playing like a child. Pressing her lips together to fight the threat of tears, she only nodded. Hagen reached under her chin and made her face him.
“Promise me.”
“I promise,” she said. Her bottom lip trembled slightly, but she kept her face dry.
“This is behind us, then. We leave town the day after tomorrow—none too soon.” With that, he walked back to camp.
Jorg started to follow, but stopped next to Ingrid. He leaned down, and his lips brushed against her ear when he spoke, causing her knees to slip like sand on the shore. “You are important to me. And not because of Hagen.” He said it too low for Hagen to hear, and then he continued on after his friend.
The Viking Maiden Box Set Page 8
