Ingrid The Viking Maiden
Naomi Jane Kelly
To Sydney and Audrey for following your dreams
To Craig for giving me the opportunity to follow mine
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Also by Naomi Jane Kelly
Acknowledgments
Pronunciation Guide
1
"I am the warrior maiden, Ingrid, the great and strong."
The open grasslands carried her voice along the hillside. She twirled in circles as a cool breeze blew her long, blond hair and tugged at her apron. Bringing the sheep up to the spring pastures was a lonely, boring job, but at least it was outdoors and away from the weaving loom. Spring flowers bloomed in vibrant yellows and purples against the lush green. They floated their sweet messages to the bees and butterflies as Ingrid danced among them.
The usual shepherds, Nels and Lukas, had gone hunting with several others the week before, but the group hadn't returned as it should have. Ingrid was asked to make the trip in their place.
I'm a shieldmaiden, not a shepherdess. I should be protecting the village from raiders and going on voyages to find new lands.
She would have preferred to go along on the mission to find the lost hunters but she wasn't allowed, her father had made sure of it. Most of the girls her age had several years of training in fighting skills, so even if they never left the village, they could protect themselves. Yet, Ingrid was coddled and treated like a breakable doll. No one believed her when she talked about her plans.
They'll be surprised one day. Not everything is about brute strength. Let them underestimate me; I'll show them their mistake.
Being petite and not all that strong was no excuse to treat her like she was too fragile for combat, in her opinion. It shouldn't make a difference that her cold hands dropped things several times a day--that's why she kept them covered, after all.
It's not like I would drop a spear or a shield. Who cares about a stupid broken cup now and then?
Thoughts swirled through her head as she guided the flock along the path to the high meadow that would be their home for the summer. Softly bleating, the gentle creatures plodded along, nibbling grasses, unfazed by their animated guide. Beads looped between the brooches on her tunic clicked together while she danced around, her scissors, knife, and comb hanging from the string like a beautiful utility belt rather than a necklace. Stopping for a moment, she put her hand on them. Women collected beads for various reasons: a particular skill, commemorating an occasion, friendship, or anything worthy of taking notice. Several were carved from stone, some in wood or bone, and a special one of amber hung in the center, larger than the others. That had been the first one she received when she was only five or six years old, from a woman who passed through their village. The woman had smiled at her and told her she was meant for something special later in her life. It was one of the rare memories she had from her early childhood. Most of them were lost to her, like a fog she couldn't see through.
Singing again, she pushed those feelings aside to concentrate on the freedom of the fresh air, making up words to grand adventures where she was the heroine. Her grandmother had been a shieldmaiden, and there were many stories told around the evening fires about her victories. She'd gone to Valhalla when Ingrid was a baby and she was honored by everyone in the village. Ingrid pictured herself inserted into the tales instead--going to battle at sea fighting off warriors trying to steal their ship, or battles to defend their farms and homes. Her favorite saga told of how her grandmother--Ingrid, in her version--had outwitted a group of raiders and led them into a trap, securing the safety of her warriors. Picking up a long stick from the ground, she twisted it around in the air pretending it was a spear.
"I'm light, but I'm fast," she told the sheep closest to her, spinning her makeshift spear around and crouching in a mock fighting stance. "I am the granddaughter of Thorhild, the great shieldmaiden. She was quick and used her wits to win every battle she fought, as I will do someday. Take that! And that!" she yelled. "You are no match for my skills!" Swinging the stick around, the air whooshed, and the bark dug into the palms of her hands through the woolen, fingerless gauntlets she wore. Taking no notice of the irritation, she thrust her spear forward into an unsuspecting hazel bush with a high-pitched battle shriek, infusing the air with the smell of smoky wood and dirt. The sheep continued to munch peacefully on the grass while Ingrid battled on.
In the middle of an intense altercation with a small birch sapling, the little hairs on the back of her neck tingled. She stopped moving and tried to calm the pounding blood in her ears. Her chest heaved in and out from the exertion of her warrior moves. No birds chirped and even the breeze seemed to have stilled, creating an eery quiet. Several clusters of boulders as well as dips in the hillside could provide cover for danger as she scanned the field. The rush of her efforts still clouded her hearing, but she gripped the stick stronger, feeling the bark against the scrapes that had formed on her hands. Instinctively, she spun around, just in time to dodge a pair of hands grabbing at her and dropped to the ground. Rolling over her shoulder and coming up in a crouching position, she heard laughter before her eyes registered the sight of her brother, Hagen, and his three friends. Two more rose from behind the nearest sheep and joined the others, who were doubled over in hysterics.
"A grand shieldmaiden you'll make for sure, Ingrid," bellowed Hagen. "You have saved the sheep from a vicious raiding party."
"Get out of here, Hagen, and let me be," Ingrid flared back at him. Rising to her full height, she still had to crane her neck up to see his square, stubbled jaw, perfect for slapping, if she could reach it with any impact.
Ruffling her hair, as if she were a small child instead of only a couple years his junior, he looked down at her with his gray-blue eyes crinkled by a smile. He pushed her down onto her backside with a thud, then led the boys past her to hunt birds over the ridge. "Keep singing and dancing, and maybe next time the bushes will yield," Hagen called over his shoulder as he trotted away.
One of the boys, Jorg, stopped and smiled at her.
"I thought you looked quite impressive," he said with a wink and a grin, then hurried after the others. Ingrid pressed her lips tight together. Frustrated, coherent words wouldn't form in her brain, leaving her only to growl and give a little screech.
The quivers bounced against the boys' backs as they jogged away, making melodic, clacking sounds as the arrows rattled with the movement. Ingrid would have found that enjoyable if she weren't so angry. After they were far enough away, she willed herself to choke down the lump in her throat.
"I will not cry," she declared out loud to the cottony flock.
When the silhouettes of the boys had disappeared over the hill, she pulled her knees into her chest and let the slight breeze caress her cheeks. Closing her eyes, she smelled the sweet aroma of the fresh grasses as well as the musty odor of lanolin coming from the sheep. It soothed her chafed nerves so she could give thought to the earlier events. Hagen had been able to sneak up on her because she let herself become distracte
d, assuming there could be no danger doing such a mundane job as standing in a meadow with a bunch of sheep. Yes, of course, there were dangers, like wolves, shadow cats, and such, but not likely during the day.
"Carelessness, that's what it was, no denying it. That's my fault," she said, out loud, starting her conversation with the sheep again. "I have to be on alert always. Nowhere is a safe enough place to forget your surroundings." She sucked in her bottom lip and rolled it between her teeth. "You should all take note of that mistake, understand," narrowing her eyes, she pointed her finger at the group. "You will need to be careful when I leave." She walked up to one of the lambs and wiggled her hand on its fuzzy head. Smiling at the peaceful creature, she felt a bit more settled.
Ingrid stitched her needlework in between daydreams and frolics around the pastures. She was obligated to stay with the sheep until Old Einar relieved her, whenever he deigned to show up. Depending on necessity, he worked many different types of jobs for the village. He would be the one to stay in the little cabin wedged into the hillside until the shepherds returned. Ingrid didn't know why he couldn't have taken the sheep up himself, but she planned to ask him.
"I wish Selby could've come with me today," she said to no sheep in particular. Her best friend was loud and obnoxious most of the time, keeping Ingrid and anyone else near them entertained. Ingrid plucked a blade of grass and shook her head as she thought of Selby. She'd let her sassy mouth get her into trouble, again and was spending the day mucking out the empty sheep pens. Ingrid couldn't help but smile as she pictured Selby standing in the middle of the wet dung with a scowl on her face.
I bet she's coming up with all kinds of new phrases while she does that job, and I'll hear every one of them tonight at the evening meal.
Late afternoon shadows crossed over the grasses when she heard the crack of branches just below the clearing. Stashing the soft wool she held into her apron, she lowered herself behind the boulder she'd been using as a seat.
It's only Einar. She hoped she would get another chance to prove herself to Hagen. If he were brave enough to pass this way again. She smirked.
Ingrid hadn't even bothered to open up the cabin, she'd enjoyed the fresh air too much to care about it. Years ago, so the stories said, there were strange, dangerous beasts that had attacked the sheep. No one had seen anything unusual for as long as Ingrid could remember. She released an extended breath, stood, stretched her back, and rolled her neck in anticipation of her walk home.
Einar wasn't the most pleasant person. He didn't wash often and only spoke when necessary. His eyes held a permanent scowl, like a cornered animal ready to strike, which meant no one dared talk to him either. His large, bushy mustache and beard hid most of his face. There was something about him that seemed sad, almost haunted, to Ingrid. She wished she could do something to ease whatever pain he carried inside.
"Hello, Einar." A grunt was all the response she got as he strode past her, across the meadow and to the cabin.
Why yes, I've had a beautiful day out here, how nice of you to ask. It was as boring as expected, but enough about me, how was your day? Ingrid rolled her eyes and skipped to the trail, on her way home at last.
Still early afternoon, eagerness to watch the shieldmaiden practice hurried her. The hour-long trek toward the village took Ingrid through briar bushes and muddy bogs. They could be chest deep for the average villager, but for a girl of Ingrid's small stature the risk of being completely covered was a real threat. The farmlands surrounding the village were filled with fertile soil and produced abundant crops. Twice a year several of the longboats would sail down the river, to Jorvik, filled with supplies to trade or sell. Hagen and his friends had traveled on their first voyage five years ago, but not Ingrid when she'd reached the same age. The spring trip would sail soon, and she had planned a convincing argument for her inclusion. What she would say to persuade her parents occupied her thoughts while she navigated the trail.
The vinegar smell of pickled herring stung Ingrid's nose and reminded her she was close to home. Wood cracked against wood and high pitched shrieks rang out as she rounded the corner toward the center of the village. She pumped her legs faster through the muddy streets until she reached the edge of the practice area, then climbed on top of a barrel, out of the way, to watch. After only a few minutes, Selby hopped onto another barrel next to her. Her coppery brown hair held a couple remnants of straw from her efforts in the pens.
"Are you not going to join in?" Ingrid asked.
"I'll watch with you for a while and see if I feel like kicking some butt later." Both girls grinned at each other, knowing that Selby had bested most of the girls at one time or another. However, no one had yet to win a match against Selby's sister, Helka, or her friend Anka. There was also the little problem that part of her punishment for the day was restriction from practice.
"How are you supposed to get experience if you can't be a part of stuff?" Ingrid whined.
"That's what I said. Now I have extra chores for using my witty mind. Again. Whatever. I was right." Judging by the small cut on Selby's lip, Ingrid could tell that extra chores weren't the only punishment she'd received. Her dad was not a patient man. She gave Selby's hand a quick squeeze and let the topic drop, turning her attention back to the practice.
The shieldmaidens used wooden-tipped spears and wood-carved axes, but the knives were sharp iron. They paired up to work on holding the spear, spinning it to use both the blunt end and the tip to defend themselves and block an attacker. It was serious business, and the blows were hard. Every girl had to be willing to take a hit and continue; a lot of pride went along with every bruise and cut lip. Ingrid watched the camaraderie between the girls increase, as did their skills, knowing they could defend each other when or if the time came.
I should be in there.
Toward the end of the drills, a circle formed. In the center, a few selected girls prepared for mock battle. Today there were five--Selby's older sister and her friend were up against three others.
"Nice try, but only three isn't going to be enough." Selby's pride in her sister was oozing.
"Shhh, just watch," Ingrid chastised. Selby was always a little too loud.
The battle was fierce, each of the girls combating the other. The first girl went down right away when Anka dropped low and swept her opponent's leg, giving Helka the chance to spear her in the chest. They would continue until only one girl remained; partnerships only lasted while they were needed. Ingrid's heart raced like a rabbit running from a hound while watching them until she felt the sharp sting of something slap against her side, turning in time to duck from another swing, as Selby had found a long, thin stick and was using it as a mock-spear.
Selby grinned, her hazelnut eyes glittering, and tossed another stick to Ingrid. "Come on, let's practice for ourselves!"
Without a word, Ingrid grabbed the stick and swung it at Selby's knees. Both girls jabbed, ducked, lunged, and twirled until they were panting and dripping with sweat. In the end, they both fell to their knees in the mud, laughing. When they had rested for a few minutes, Ingrid felt a zing as if lightning struck right into her heart. Throwing her stick to the ground, she jumped to her feet. Few people walked about, and the hollers and cheers of the mock battle were silent.
"Practice is over, and we're late! It's time for supper. I'm going to be in so much trouble!" Ingrid cried out.
"Hurry, and maybe we can sneak in unnoticed!" yelled Selby as they both ran toward the longhouse.
As soon as the girls pushed through the doors, Ingrid met the raised eyebrow from her mother that confirmed her fears were justified. She would be in trouble, but at least not until after the meal. Rushing to help serve the food, she didn't look up again until everyone was eating, then went to her mother and volunteered herself for reprimand.
"Eat first, Ingrid," her mother told her. "We'll speak outside when you're finished."
"Yes, Mama," Ingrid answered, casting her eyes to the floor. It would be
one more piece of evidence that she was not mature enough to handle the duties of a shieldmaiden.
2
Ingrid filled her wooden trencher with supper and went to sit out of the way while she ate. The hot, brown stew filled her nose with the earthy smell of carrots, potatoes, and venison. Guilt for neglecting her responsibilities should have put her stomach in knots, unable to eat, but all she could think of was the fun she'd had sparring with Selby and how hungry she was from the activity. The prickly furs scratched at her as she settled crossed-legged into her favorite spot in the corner, leaning back against the smooth wooden wall so she had a view of the entire room. Tall arched ceilings bounced the sound of voices and laughter around the expansive space. Candle sconces hung every few feet and even with the long, central fire, it was darker where she sat. Shadows played against pillars that towered over long dining tables like guardians down each side of the room. A few minutes later Selby plopped down next to her to eat as well.
"So, how bad will it be, do you think?" Selby asked.
"I don't know. I get to eat first so that's a good sign." She smiled.
"No one in my family noticed me come in," Selby said. "There's too much excitement over Helka's win today."
There was pride in her voice for her sister, but also envy. Helka was the oldest in Selby's family of eight and 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 didn't notice a leather-clad foot slip out in front of her. Tripping, she fell to the ground, landing on her elbows and 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.
Ingrid, The Viking Maiden (Viking Maiden Series Book 1) Page 1
