The Viking Maiden Box Set

by Kelly N. Jane

  Useless again.

  Several days passed at the painfully slow pace. One day, as Ingrid wandered around, offering help with any odd job, a faint odor of rotting flesh pinched her nose. It was coming from off the trail and she ducked between some grasses to investigate. A few feet away, lying in a bed of matted grass was the decaying body of an otter. The flesh was all gone except on the underside, next to the ground. It lay on its back, with all the bones of its skeleton exposed and complete.

  She could see its long spine, curved into an S-shape, and the bones of its front flippers, which looked like human hands. She couldn’t see any teeth marks or breaks marring the bones and it didn’t seem like there had been a struggle.

  She remembered the two otters playing on the shore her first day on the boat, and hoped this was a different one—a poor thing that was either old or sick. She said a quick prayer of blessing over the body, then turned back to rejoin the group.

  Rushing out of the brush and onto the trail, she found herself rejoining her group’s procession behind the three men from Jorvik who had offered their help. Their gravelly voices carried back to her, too deep in their conversation to notice her right away.

  “You aren’t paid to think. If she’s one of them, then they all deserve what’s coming for harboring her kind.”

  “What if she’s not?”

  “Who cares? We were hired to do a job. We’ll need to heat the tar without being noticed—”

  The speaker stopped talking as soon as he spotted Ingrid, sparking her curiosity.

  Before she could wonder too much about their target, another one barked, “What are you doing this far back in the line, young lady?” He had a voice that sounded like a grinding stone.

  “I had to step out of my place for a minute. Is there a problem?”

  “No. But you should get back to where you belong.”

  “I can be wherever I want.”

  Brazen and bolder than when she left home, Ingrid wasn’t afraid of him—even when he took a step toward her. His body reeked of odor, and he was missing most of his teeth.

  A cloud of foul stench floated over her when he spoke. “You’re a feisty one, huh? You should add some sense to go with it.”

  “I’m sure I have more sense than you.” Ingrid lifted her chin and stared into his eyes.

  “Get movin’,” his gruff and even fouler-smelling companion hissed.

  Glaring at each of the men, she walked around them and headed for the front, trying to act casual. They did frighten her, and she didn’t like the look of them. They were up to something.

  What was it they had said? Heat the tar? She couldn’t put it together, and didn’t want to go to her father like a tattling child, so she walked on.

  Later that night, as Ingrid emptied a pail of dirty wash water she heard muted voices near the boats. She snuck toward them, and saw three men hunched on the shadow side of one of the boats, her father’s. She crept closer to see what they were doing. In the dark it was hard to make out, but she could see hemp rope in their hands.

  She had started to crawl away to get her father, when one of them stood up and stared in her direction. She froze. The voices stopped, and the whole world stood still. In the distance, frogs croaked, and an owl hooted overhead, but Ingrid listened in the direction of the men.

  The man that stood up stretched and then crouched back down by the others.

  Ingrid let out a long, slow sigh. She lay down on her belly and scooted backwards as slowly and quietly as she could. One of the men was looking around while the other two did something near the bottom of the boat. She couldn’t see their faces, but she was sure that they were the ones she had come across earlier. They could be doing some kind of repair, but she didn’t believe that—the men she had talked to were not the helpful sort.

  The air was heavy, and the ground was damp. She wanted to get up, to go and get someone, but it was as if her limbs were stuck to the mud.

  “Ingrid!” Selby’s voice rang into the night.

  The men froze in the middle of what they were doing. Selby called again, this time a little closer, and the men crouched low and waddled toward the end of the boat. They reached the trees and bolted into cover.

  Ingrid could hear the crack of branches and the thud of the men’s boots as they ran away from camp. She picked herself up and ran back to Selby and the campfire, leaving the wash bucket abandoned.

  When she reached the ring of light offered by the fires, Selby’s eyes opened wide. “Where have you been?”

  “I went to empty the wash pail, and saw men down by one of the boats. I hid until they were gone.”

  She looked down at herself and realized the reason for Selby’s shock. Mud clung to her from chin to knees. She started to shake as the cold air hit her moist body.

  “What were they doing?”

  “I don't know, I couldn’t see much in the dark.”

  “Should we tell someone?”

  “Let’s wait until morning, then I’ll tell Papa.”

  Ingrid’s dreams were filled with a sense of dread that night. She tossed and turned in a panic, feeling smothered by her furs.

  The next morning was cold with damp fog and a mist that blew across the bending grasses like ghostly smoke. Silvery dew gave everything a slippery cover. A breeze drove the chill to the core of Ingrid’s bones. Voices echoed back against the low sky, giving the impression that they were the last humans alive.

  The incident with the men the night before was on Ingrid’s mind as soon as she woke up. Klaus was hauling supplies to his boat when she found him.

  “Papa,” she called.

  After he set down the heavy box he carried, he walked toward her. “Yes, Meyla?”

  “I don't know if it’s worth mentioning, but I saw three men by our boat after dark last night.”

  “Why are you just now telling me?”

  “I couldn’t see much, and didn’t know if I should alarm you. But the men ran off, and I don’t see them this morning.”

  “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

  Ingrid described the event to her father, and he strode off.

  The hulls of all the boats were checked, but nothing out of the ordinary was detected. After the morning meal was eaten, the arduous task of shifting the boats to re-enter the river began.

  Sunshine had burned off the foggy haze by the time the first boat slipped into the water. Irritated cranes flew up into the sky, and chattering chickadees scolded from the trees. One by one, each boat floated onto the river in position to sail, and they set the oars to work.

  Ingrid lounged on her stomach, her chin resting on the rail while she watched little bugs zig and zag across the top of the water. Then suddenly they were gone.

  She rolled over to see the oar workers struggling against bubbling water. They were entering a small set of rapids. Ingrid suddenly understood where the zippy little bugs had gone—straight into her stomach. She could feel them bouncing around, as if they’d been caught in a jar with no escape.

  Remembering the techniques she’d been taught, she put her head down between her knees and measured her breath carefully. In through her nose, slowly out her mouth, counting. In one, two, three, four; out two, three, four. She kept her eyes closed, but not scrunched tight, and insisted to her hands that they not keep a death grip on her skirts.

  The jostling picked up, and the boats had to spread out to keep the oars from crossing. From her vantage point, Ingrid was unaware of anyone else, focused only on her breathing. She imagined herself floating through the air like a butterfly when that daydream was suddenly popped by a commotion near the center of the boat.

  Ingrid sprang to her feet in instant panic. Wide-eyed, she watched the flurry of activity as people started shoving barrels and crates away from the ship’s center. Horrified, she saw what had caused the alarm: water was coming into the boat.

  First it was a small seeping, but then there was a loud crack, and bubbling cones of water came through the
bottom like fountains. Everyone grabbed whatever they could lift and threw it overboard to lighten the load. Within minutes, it was clear the boat was sinking anyway. It started to lurch from side to side, and people moved about, trying to save what they could. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jorg and Hagen push their way toward where she was.

  Where’s Selby?

  Without warning, the boat was on its side; people, barrels, crates, ropes, shields, and weapons all spilled into the swift, icy river.

  Ingrid caught a quick breath, and then she was tossed underwater. It was impossible to tell which way was up as her arms and legs flailed, and her long tunic and apron twisted around her, fighting to keep her under. Murky darkness surrounded her and blocked all sight.

  Something hard and unforgiving banged against her head. Grasping for anything, her fingers found leverage on some type of wood, and she latched onto it with all her might. Determined, she pulled herself above the surface, and heaved her body onto the top of a broken crate. Most of her body still dangled underwater. Light danced in and out of her vision as she coughed up the gritty, foul-tasting water from her lungs. Exhausted, she could hear voices behind her, but did not dare let go of her support.

  Oh, my head hurts . . . Hagen and Selby, that’s who’s calling me. I’ll just rest a minute, and then I’ll swim to them.

  She closed her eyes, and drifted in the current, farther away from the others.

  Bright light pierced Ingrid’s eyes from beyond her closed lids, and she blinked them open against the unfamiliar sunshine. The scent of honey and jasmine floated in the air as she lay in grass under a beautiful tree, with leaves that looked like they were made of glass—their thin edges tinkling together in the slight breeze to form a sweet melody.

  As confusing as it was, she felt only contentment. Watching the beams of light throw green sparkles through the magical leaves, she wanted to sink down into the soft grass and stay for hours.

  “Hello, Ingrid. I didn’t expect to meet you so soon.”

  A gentle, dreamy voice came from her right. It took great effort to roll her head away from the beauty in front of her. Crossed-legged a few feet away sat a young girl with luscious, flowing, golden hair that spilled onto the grass around her. Not much older than Ingrid, her eyes were a brilliant sapphire blue and crinkled with her welcoming smile.

  “I’m happy you are here, but we don’t have much time.”

  Ingrid pulled herself up on her hip, propping one arm on the thick green ground beneath her. “Where is here?”

  “Asgard.”

  She looked at the young woman with wide eyes, and pushed herself to her knees. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart raced like a rabbit for its den.

  “Asgard? Am I . . . dead?”

  Smiling again and shaking her head, the woman assured her, “No, sweet girl. I’ve brought you here so I can explain a few things before you go back.” She took hold of one of Ingrid’s hands.

  Where are my gauntlets? My hands don’t feel cold.

  “My name is Hnossa. I’m your guardian. You have special gifts, Ingrid, gifts that we have not seen in a millennia. Long ago, it was foretold that one would come who possessed the ability of sight as well as healing. One greater than Groa, wife of the morning star. That person would be necessary to stop a great tragedy in Asgard and Midgard, which could change the future for both worlds. You are that person, my dear.”

  Stunned, Ingrid sat frozen.

  I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.

  “It is real, very much so, and I need you to listen. We haven’t much more time,” Hnossa said.

  “I didn't speak aloud.”

  “Yes, I am sorry to intrude, but it is important that you learn who you are and what you must do.” Releasing Ingrid’s hand, she tucked a strand of hair away from her face and took a deep breath. “I wish I could tell you this in a gentler way, but it is not possible. There is a movement underway by unknown forces that threatens to destroy all the realms. You must develop your gifts, and stop them before they finish their task.”

  A cold chill skittered down Ingrid’s spine.

  “You must be mistaken. I can’t do anything great. I can’t be who you’re searching for.” She clenched and released her fists, clenched and released. She gasped in quick, shallow breaths.

  “I know this must frighten you, but I am here to help you. You are not meant to be a shieldmaiden that is true, because your destiny is something so much more. You are the key to our survival, the only one who can correct the imbalance of our worlds. Develop your skills, but guard yourself. The abilities you own are powerful—there will be those who will want to use you for their own selfish gain. Be wary of those who speak in the shadows. We will see each other again.”

  Every muscle in Ingrid’s body tensed. That was what the woman in the woods had told her, also. How can this be?

  Before she could ask any questions, Hnossa pressed an index finger to Ingrid’s forehead. Instantly she was freezing, wet, and terrified.

  10

  Back in the water, clinging to the crate lid, Ingrid tightened her grip on the rough edge, choking and coughing as the icy river sloshed over her face. The current tossed her small body as if it were a reed pulled from the root, and the rush of water muffled all sounds. Numbed hands made it hard to keep her grip. Pinching her eyes shut, she waited for her watery grave.

  Seconds later, though, the swirling water subsided, and she floated calmly along. Seemingly tired of its own anger, the river pushed her toward the shore.

  Eventually bumping against the soft mud and spongy reeds, she lay her cheek on the slippery wood and allowed her body to relax. Freezing, her teeth started clacking together as she rolled off the board. Using her elbows, she pulled herself up the bank and onto the mucky shore. Her lungs burned as she coughed up the slimy water she’d swallowed. Mud squished between her fingers and the smell of rotting leaves filled her nose. Insects buzzed around her ears and frogs croaked close by. Ingrid sat up but couldn’t see over the reeds. Gray clouds covered the sun, muting all color and pressing cold further into her core. Her tunic was twisted around her legs, and she bent over to work them free.

  A pungent, acrid smell burned the hairs of her nose, and Ingrid froze. Sucking sounds came from beyond the reeds, as if something moved toward the edge of the water. Biting down on her bottom lip, she kept as quiet as possible. Multiple sucking sounds told her that more than one body was getting closer by the second.

  Hunched over, she tried to spy a quiet way out of the reeds. As she looked, the air grew thick like cold gravy. Nothing made a sound; it was as if the whole world held its breath.

  Something warm and slimy dropped onto the back of her neck, and she instantly retched at the smell. She flailed around to get to her feet, but found herself lifted up and hanging sideways.

  A spindly yet strong arm pressed her into a soft, sticky body. Heat rose off the form like a fog, blanketing all of Ingrid’s senses, except the need to vomit. Fluids poured from her eyes and nose in response to the smothering fumes of rotten eggs and dead fish. Her insides compressed as thick, gooey slime oozed over her, and slid down her neck and into her hair.

  Not even the Stinks are this disgusting.

  Whatever had ahold of her met up with the others she’d heard moving, and they began to speak in a language she didn’t understand. Their voices gurgled like boiling stew, and she could hear the dribbling of liquid as the words left their mouths.

  Whoever, whatever, these creatures were, they were repulsive.

  Breathing as shallowly as possible, not daring to open her mouth, Ingrid allowed herself to dangle along, bouncing into the squishy being, until she was dropped onto the ground, landing on her hands and knees with a splat. She tried to stand, but her feet slipped in the sticky mess all around her, and she plopped onto her backside. Lifting her hands, she watched as the sticky ooze rose with them, strings of the stuff stretching and clinging to every part of her like glue. She had to fight th
e bile rising into her throat every second.

  Hair plastered to her face with slime, covering her right eye, she opened the other gingerly. What she found was a sight she was thoroughly unprepared for. Before her were three of the ugliest creatures, she’d ever seen. Not in any story that Hagen had ever told her, even when he’d been trying to scare her in the dark, had such vile, putrid creatures been described.

  They towered over her as they stood in the shadows of several birch trees, their long, greasy, moss-colored hair falling over hunched shoulders. Each face was full of warts and moles alongside long, prominent noses that dripped long, stringy cords of snot onto their bare, rotund chests. Wide, frog-like mouths quirked up into fiendish grins as they stared up and down every inch of her. Ragged pants were visible from under their overhanging bellies, ripped at the ankle, exposing large, hairy feet. Between the four fingers or three toes on each appendage oozed more of the sticky slime. It leaked from their pores and caused trails along the ground wherever they shuffled their feet, the same, sickly yellow color as their skin.

  Ingrid wiped her mouth against her shoulder, with little success. “Who are you?”

  She would have held her nose to block the smell, but her hands were so covered in the stench and slime, she didn’t dare bring them to her face.

  The one closest to her spoke in the language she couldn’t understand, then looked at her as if it was waiting for an answer.

  “I can’t understand you. My name is Ingrid, if that’s what you are asking.”

  “You must excuse our use of the old language. We have not come across humans in a long time,” the same one spoke as before. “My brothers and I have been away, but it is good to be back.” His voice scratched like a wheel without oil and burrowed into Ingrid’s ears. “Ingrid, you say is your name?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and who are you?”

  “Ah, a name is powerful. I will not give up mine as easily as you. We are trolls from the underground. From where do you hail, young Ingrid?”