by T S Florence
The afternoon seemed to pass in slow motion, as the crowd slowly began to disperse, the fruit and vegetables that had been reused and thrown at him had eventually gotten mushy and broken apart, leaving only rocks, which the Mackenzie’s prevented after a while, for they did not want Skald to die prematurely, which would prevent them from giving him the long, drawn out torture that he deserved.
After the sun had set, a man came and unlocked the stocks, and dragged skald through a doorway, and down a set of stairs, where a large iron gate acted as the barrier of a chamber, presumably for criminals, or prisoners, such as himself.
Once the gate was opened, the guard kicked Skald hard in his behind, sending him sprawling onto the floor of the dungeon. A hard piece of bread was thrown onto the floor. Despite the pain he was in, and despite the grubby floor on which the bread lay, Skald ate the bread gratefully, appreciating any strength that it might restore; for this was just another plan, and another game. And as all the games Skald played, he won.
Freya found him in his dreams that night, yet he could not hear her talk. She cried silent tears, slapping at his chest, her look accusing him of betrayal, for leaving her only a day after their marriage. But it was necessary, he begged her to understand. He tried to explain to her that he had to marry her on that day, it was a matter of life or death, almost certainly.
29
Freya
Freya was eventually released from her room the next day, but only on the condition that she left her bow and all other weapons in the room, and a guard be present, at her side, at all times.
“You don’t need to always be so close,” Freya said, smelling the breath of the man whose arm brushed hers, a they walked towards the room in which Jack was sleeping.
“Laird’s orders,” He said simply.
Speaking of the Laird, Freya had not seen Logan or Lucas Sutherland since before Skald had left, and she had questions that she wanted answered. The sight of Jack made Freya’s breath catch in her throat.
His entire face was different shades of purple, making Freya immediately think of Skald, who was now in his position, likely receiving the same treatment.
“Jack,” She said, causing him to stir, slight slits of his eyes opening, though just barely, due to the swelling.
“Freya, I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jack said, quietly.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your aid,” She said quietly, fighting back emotion, knowing that it was not she who should be crying.
“Don’t worry, I’m here now. And you did not owe me any aid,” Jack said.
“But I did. I kidnapped you,” Freya said.
“I chose to go with you. You saved me from Ivar the Cruel, and for that I owe you my life,” Jack said.
“It was nothing,” Freya said.
“I think I remember them trading that viking, Skald, for me, is that correct?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” Freya said, realising that Jack had no idea of what had happened between Freya and Skald. No one did, she realised, apart from the blacksmith and Agnes.
“He’s not such a bad man, for a viking,” Jack said, trying to smile, but failing.
“Hey, I’m viking too,” Freya said lightly.
“I just tease. Now stop looking at my horrid face. Go and enjoy your day so I can get some rest,” Jack said.
Freya knew that Jack did not want her to see him in the state he was in, so she obliged, for the sake of his pride, and left him be, without informing him of the news.
When she left the room, people were running about the castle, shouting words to one another, with men gathering arms and manning the gates.
“What’s happening?” Freya asked.
“Ivar the Cruel,” a man shouted, as he kept running to his station on the castle wall.
Ragnar must be close by, Freya knew, for he was one of Ivar’s most trusted men. She ran to her room, and gathered her bow, changing from her skirts into her clothes what she once wore when she was valkyrie.
“I cannae let you out like that,” the guard said, as Freya exited the room.
She pulled the bow from her back, enjoying the comfort of it in her hand, like a reunion with an old friend, as she pulled the string back, loaded with an arrow.
“You can let me go or you can die,” Freya said.
“I guess you can go,” the man said, bowing slightly, allowing her to pass.
“I’m sorry, but I must really go,” Freya said, feeling guilty for threatening the man.
“Aye lass, off ye go,” he said, helplessly.
The Sutherland army had filled the yard in full force by the time Freya had made her way back outside, with bagpipes playing to lift their spirits, and fill their hearts with courage. Freya saw Logan and Lucas standing at the front of the men, getting ready to address them.
“You look like you’re preparing your men for battle,” Freya frowned to Logan.
“If you saw the way they were set up outside, you’d do the same. And I dinna have much choice in the matter after I allowed ye husband to go with the Mackenzies,” Logan said.
“My husband, how-?” Freya began, before Lucas interrupted.
“Ye had out blacksmith witness it,” he said.
“Of course,” she said, quietly.
“I know Ragnar, please let me go and speak to them, there doesn’t need to be a battle,” Freya said to Logan.
“How do I ken ye won’t stay with them? Ye look dressed for battle,” Logan said.
“To show them I’m valkyrie, still,” Freya said. “And Ivar likely wants me dead more so than you,” so you can trust me not to betray you.
“Verra well. God can only save us if you cannae prevent this battle,” Logan said.
Freya took a deep swallow as she headed out to the gates, alone, to confront the army of mixed race, numbering almost a thousand capable knights and vikings. At the front, she saw Ivar the Cruel, wearing his great white bear fur, with his golden haired princess, Isla, by his side. And to his left, much to Freya’s relief, was Ragnar.
She felt the eyes of every man and woman there, watching her every step. Ragnar smiled as he saw her, waving, despite the fact that they looked as though they were preparing for war. “Freya, I’m glad to see you” Ragnar called, smiling, like he would greet an old friend.
She quickened her pace, walking directly to Ragnar, to inform him of the situation. Before she could say anything, Princess Isla spoke first.
“Is Jack alive?” She asked.
“He’s alive, but badly hurt. He’s in the castle, resting,” Freya said, looking to her.
“I suppose his injuries were your doing,” Ivar said, his dark expression weighing over her like a heavy blanket.
“Not directly, but I take responsibility,” Freya said, glancing away, “It was the Mackenzies. Jack is my friend,” Freya said.
“Don’t be mean to the poor girl,” Ragnar said to Ivar, clasping a hand on his shoulder.
“Where is Skald?” Ivar asked.
“He went to the Mackenzies. He took Jack’s spot,” Freya said, fighting back tears that relentlessly filled her eyes.
Interest took place on Ivar’s face. “You care for him?”
“Yes,” Freya said.
“I knew it,” Ragnar said, defiance in his voice, “Ragnar is never wrong about matters of the heart!”, he referred to himself in third person, slapping his chest.
“We need to save him before the Mackenzies kill him, if they haven’t already,” Freya felt embarrassed at the sobs that wracked her, as she spoke to Ivar.
“And what of these men,” Ivar motioned to the Sutherland army, who stood at their gates.
“They are simply prepared, for they do not know if you will attack them or not. Their chieftain, Logan, believes you may blame him for Skald going to the Mackenzies. I begged him not to go, but he would not listen,” Freya said.
“Skald listens to no one,” Ivar said, with a tight face, and hard jaw.
“Tell their leader to
come and speak to me,” Ivar said to Freya.
Skald
Skald woke to a boot being kicked into his stomach, winding him.
“Up you get, savage,” the man said, as he hauled Skald up, dragging him towards the stairs.
Skald pulled back, causing the man to lose his balance, and headbutted him, feeling his forehead connect with the man’s nose. Despite what he was subjected to yesterday, Skald still felt strong, with a fury he hadn’t felt for years.
A sickening crunch came from the man’s face, as the cartilage was crushed under the force. He cried out in pain, lashing at Skald, but Skald was a viking. A warrior. A savage who would slaughter a man like this on the battle field without a second thought.
Skald knocked the man to the ground, and began stomping on his head, until he felt the bone begin to break under his boot. He left the man in a pool of his own blood, which seeped from his mouth. Skald walked up the stairs, to find the crowd waiting for him. Today, however, the crowd was slightly smaller than the day before.
“Where is the guard?” One man called, as skald walked towards the stocks.
“What’s he doing?” A woman asked, as skald fit his neck and arms into the stock, before pulling it shut on himself.
“Throw your rocks and rotten food, I’m waiting,” Skald shouted, defying these people the broken spirit that they so desperately craved.
“He’s killed the guard,” another man shouted, who stood at the top of the stairs that led into the dungeon.
“Murderer,” a woman shouted, hauling a rock at Skald, but the rock missed by a significant distance, landing behind him harmlessly. Skald laughed at her, and cursed her in his native tongue, causing her to go red faced. She took a cabbage from the person next to her, and threw it, this time connecting with Skald’s head, evoking laughter from the crowd.
“Filthy savage,” a child called from the crowd, as he threw a small apple, hitting Skald’s leg.
“Takes one to know one,” Skald called back, causing the child to throw another apple in anger, but missing the second time around.
“You throw like that old hag,” Skald said, laughing, before feeling his legs get kicked out from underneath him, making him choke in the stocks, without the support of his feet.
“Ye gonna get a worse punishment for what you did to the guard, ye ken,” Fraser said, as he hauled Skald out of the stocks.
“You Scots don’t know the meaning of punishment. This is how we raise children where I’m from,” Skald said, spitting on Fraser’s boots.
Fraser threw a hard fist into Skald’s cheek, causing him to feel dizzy, before dragging him back into the dungeon.
“We’re gonna whip the skin from ye back, ken that,” Fraser Mackenzie said to Skald.
“By the time we’re through with ye, we’ll be able to see your spine through the lack of skin,” he said, laughing, as he walked up the stairs.
Skald sat in the dungeon, feeling the dead man’s wet blood under his hands.
“Time is running out, Ivar,” Skald said quietly to himself, knowing that the Mackenzies would have started whipping him already if they had the equipment prepared. That would take a day, at least, before they would begin, Skald knew.
Freya
Ivar spoke at length with Logan, the two of them quickly coming to appreciate each other’s minds when it came to attacking the Mackenzies.
“I would like to take my friend back with as little harm as possible,” Ivar said to Logan.
“Aye, if they have nae already killed him. You must be prepared for that,” Logan said.
“If my friend is dead, I will tear the Mackenzie castle to the ground and wipe their name from Scotland’s history,” Ivar said coldly.
“Aye, verra well,” Logan said, a bemused look on his face.
“And I do not yet know what I should do with you,” Ivar said, turning to Freya, causing her heart to beat a little harder in her chest, from anxiety. She still had a way to go to become a true valkyrie again, she could see.
“Skald married me,” Freya said, causing Ivar to frown.
“You’re married to Skald,” Ivar said, flatly.
“Yes,” Freya said.
“My warrior, Skald the heartless?” Ivar repeated in the same deadpan voice.
“He has a heart,” Freya said, feeling her face redden with anger.
“I know that,” Ivar said, a smile breaking over his face. “It’s that no one else has ever seen it,” he said.
“Well, I have,” Freya said, dismissing his smile.
“You know, he spoke of you to me once, before he had ever met you,” Ivar said to her.
“He did?” She asked, surprised.
“Yes. He spoke of a fearless shield maiden, Freya, the Goddess of death, who led an army of men through the harsh mountains of Scotland,” Ivar said, his gaze running over his army.
“He was coming for you before he’d ever met you,” Ivar said. “And by the looks of it, he fulfilled his own ambition,” Ivar began to walk to the front of his large army of men.
“We are half a day’s ride from the Mackenzie castle. We will attack with precision, and we will free our blood warrior Skald. Who’s with me?” Ivar roared.
“For Skald the Heartless,” The vikings yelled, beating their weapons on their shields, before beginning to sing their songs of war.
A chill ran down Freya’s spine. These men loved Skald, and they had travelled many days to come and take him back into their fold. But would they accept her, the woman who had shot down one of their most feared warriors, Magnus the Mighty?
“Right, we cannae let these savages and English do all the fighting, can we?” Logan turned to his own men, “Lets go rain a fiery fucking hell down on those damn Mackenzies” he roared to his men, who responded in kind, the noise of the bagpipes resuming, as soldiers marched out of the castle.
Skald
Duncan Mackenzie came to collect Skald in the morning, his hard expression daring Skald to try the same move he had tried on the guard he had killed the day before.
“Tis a nice morning for a good whippin,” Duncan said, as he pulled Skald up by the rope tied around his wrists.
“Oh, you’re being whipped too?” Skald smiled at Duncan.
“You’ll lose that humour right quick when ye feel the hard leather straps tearing strips from ye skin, ye filthy fuckin savage,” Duncan said, pulling hard on the rope as they walked up the stairs, causing Skald to slip forwards.
Skald pulled back on the rope, in an attempt to make Duncan lose his balance, but the man was ready, and stood rigid, his short fat frame proving more difficult to move than Skald had intended.
“Fat bastard,” Skald said.
“Aye, that much is true,” Duncan said, chuckling to himself.
“Fetch me some food before you commence the show,” Skald said to Duncan.
“Ye ken, that’s nae a half bad idea, it will give the people a spectacle when you throw it all back up,” Duncan laughed as they entered the yard.
The sight of where Skald was to be tied sent a shiver down his spine.
Two long, thick pieces of wood were erected from the same stage where the stocks were situated the day before. Ropes were tied from the top of the logs, which Skald knew were for his hands. This way, when he passed out, his body would stay upright, suspended by his wrists, which would allow the man with the whip to continue with his work, whether Skald was conscious or not.
“You built that just for me?” Skald asked, forcing his voice to stay calm, despite the sick feeling in his stomach and mind.
“Aye, I hope ye like it, savage,” he said, “bring the animal some food,” Duncan roared, causing several men to run into the castle.
After a short while, one of them came out with a plate of food. On the plate was a large block of cheese, a piece of black bread, and a carrot. Duncan took the cheese, dropped it onto the ground, before picking it back up.
“I’m verra sorry, but then again, Dogs don’t seem to
mind eating food off the ground, do they?” Duncan said to the crowd, causing men, women and children alike, to laugh.
He then dropped the bread, and then the plate, letting it all fall to the dusty ground.
