CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A week later
The roar of a war horn cut through the air as Donna and Sigurd ate breakfast at the long table, their arms and hips pressed against each other like schoolchildren’s.
Since Donna had begun archery training, they no longer saw each other for most of the day, but their nights were full of fire. When they were apart, Donna felt as if a weight pressed on her lungs. Once back in Sigurd’s bedchamber, she could breath again. They were drawn together like waves to the shore, and held each other close until first light, when it was time to go their separate ways.
They did not speak much, just whispered against each other’s skin as they made love.
And once or twice, when he was deep inside of her, bringing her to ever-greater levels of ecstasy, Donna caught the “I love you” that almost escaped her mouth like a prisoner longing for freedom. It was born somewhere in her chest and rose up her throat like a bubble, only to be stopped by her gritted teeth.
How would she ever leave? How would she live without him?
The horn continued to sing its heart-gripping song as Sigurd’s and Donna’s eyes locked.
Death came knocking. Fear chilled Donna to the bone. She’d give everything to see Sigurd unharmed.
“Don’t you dare die.” Her lips barely moved, as hard as wood.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she forbade them to spill. Sigurd cupped the back of her neck and planted a kiss on her mouth. It had the aftertaste of goodbye, cutting Donna’s stomach like a million knives.
Sigurd stood up, took his ax, which lay next to him on the bench, and shouted, “The enemy is here! To your places!”
He called one of the teenage boys to help him put on his war gear, and they went to the bedchamber. Donna followed him there to take her bow and arrows, and Sigurd told her to put on his leather armor while he put on his brynja, which shone with thin iron chains and must have been as heavy as half a car.
Then they rushed together towards the watchtowers hand in hand. Men were already fully armored, and women archers stood in position.
The fortress was still not finished. The beachfront palisade had a gap on the right side, where Donna and Sigurd had made love two weeks ago. The eastern side was also still under construction, but Fuldarr didn’t know that. The only completed site was the stone arch. Two watchtowers stood solid. The third had only the supporting pillars and was, therefore, useless. Under Thorsten’s guidance, villagers were quickly piling earth up by the gap, planting long spikes into it at an angle. Female archers were already waiting there together with two dozen fully armored warriors.
The gate was still open, and the sight through it stopped Donna’s heart. Eight longships slid towards them at full speed, oars rising and falling. Five or so ships had bright red-and-blue sails, but the rest had different ones: green, and yellow, and plain white.
“He found allies,” Sigurd spat out the words. “Vigdis did not lie.”
Donna thought about the violence and the deaths that those ships would bring. She had to try a peaceful way. “Sigurd, let me go negotiate. It’s what I do for living. I can—”
“You are out of your mind if you think I’ll let you do that. You are no one to Fuldarr and have no negotiation power. What is to stop him from killing you on sight or taking you prisoner?”
Donna clenched her fists. She was afraid for him, and she could not sit and wait for him to be killed. “Let’s go together then. I will be useful. I am from the future, remember? I know tricks. Maybe we can resolve this peacefully so that no one has to die.”
Sigurd bared his teeth and looked up at the approaching ships from under his eyebrows. “There’s more chance that Loki will stop plotting. No, Donna, there won’t be peace today. Blood will spill—Fuldarr’s blood.” He touched the Thor’s hammer pendant around his neck, seeking the god’s protection. “But you are right. We can win some time for the people to do last-minute preparations. Get your tricks ready, maiden of justice.”
Sigurd took Floki and five of his strongest warriors to accompany Donna and him, and they stood on the beach waiting for the ships to arrive.
Donna’s knees shook as the ships approached. Her heart tap-danced, and sweat broke out on her skin in a sticky film. Fear melted her bones. She had never been so scared in her entire life. They said New York was dangerous. New York was a piece of cake compared to this. Real war came at her like a train at full speed. And she could not do anything to stop it.
She could only run. Yes, that was an option. Run, right now, to the arch and disappear in time, back to the safety and the warmth of the twenty-first century.
But she would be damned if she did that. Because the man her heart beat for stood by her side. The bravest, the strongest, the dearest man who had her—body and soul. And she must be brave and strong for him. Someone he could rely on—him and his people. Donna’s chin rose and she gripped the bow till her nails dug into her flesh.
The first ships arrived, and for a moment, no one spoke. Warriors on the boats had already built a shieldwall.
“Fuldarr, show yourself!” Sigurd yelled. “Let’s talk.”
A tall man with long, straight black hair appeared. Something about him reminded her of that night in her Manhattan bedroom, of Joseph, who had gone through her mom and Donna’s life like a tornado, leaving them broken and empty, and never the same. Her chest tightened and her mind went hazy.
“What do you possibly want to talk about, Sigurd? I am about to finish what I had started last year.”
He gestured, and a woman appeared behind him. She was pale and thin, her shiny blond hair gathered up in an elaborate style. This must be Vigdis.
“Maybe you want to see your sister? All right then. Let’s go down, wife.” He jumped down into the water, and several warriors followed him. One pushed Vigdis to do the same.
When Fuldarr’s party stopped ten feet or so from them, Donna understood why Fuldarr wanted to come down with Vigdis. He wanted Sigurd to see her in every detail. A classic move to push the opponent’s buttons and make him emotional. Donna’s feet turned to ice as she saw Vigdis’s face. One eyelid was purple and so swollen that it completely shut the eye. Caked blood covered an eyebrow, a bruise bloomed on her cheek, and a cut split her lower lip. Donna glanced at Sigurd. His face looked as if it was carved from stone, which meant that he was beyond anger. She shifted towards him and straightened her back. If he was about to lose his mind, she should be the one keeping a clear head.
“What did you do to my sister?” Sigurd growled.
“That’s between my wife and me. Rest assured, she deserved it. You are not the only one she betrayed. It seems she can’t help herself.”
Donna saw from the corner of her eye how Sigurd’s hand started to shake, and the bones of his hand tensed so much from the strength with which he gripped the handle of the ax, she feared they’d rip through his skin.
She had to intervene, or Sigurd would explode. “What will it take for you to leave peacefully?” she asked.
Fuldarr’s eyes darted to her and he cocked his head. “And who is she, Sigurd? New wife?”
Donna felt Vigdis’s eyes on her and blushed, catching herself on the desire for Sigurd’s only family to like her. How silly.
“She is not my wife.”
This was true, but it stung Donna a little.
“Then why should I talk to you, woman?”
Sigurd was about to say something, but Donna intervened. “Because I am from the future.”
All eyes fell on her. Fuldarr’s body stiffened and he stared at her. “What?”
“A Norn sent me here from more than a thousand years in the future.”
“Donna!” Sigurd’s voice slapped her.
But she was too far into the plan. She wanted to scare Fuldarr, to intimidate him, to make him unsure and emotional.
“And I already told Sigurd all the secrets and technologies and innovations that he needs to know.”
Judging from Ful
darr’s body language, it was working. His brows knit together, eyes widened in surprise and—yes, small, barely noticeable—fear.
She pressed. “And behind that palisade, there are machines that spit fire and warriors made of iron that fight on their own.”
“You are lying,” Fuldarr growled, but his voice lost its confidence. “You are just a wench.”
“I am telling the truth—”
“Donna, stop!” Sigurd snapped.
Fuldarr’s eyes flicked between them and a slow sneer widened his lips. “What’s wrong, Sigurd? Last year you sent me your sister. Now you are hiding behind another woman’s skirt. Where did you lose your balls?”
Donna’s breath caught. She had not lived with the Vikings long, but she’d already learned that the worst insult to a Viking was to offend his masculinity. Sigurd had already been shaken. Now, he was about to explode. The reminder about his mistake with Vigdis, and what that had cost his family, was too much.
His face was twitching, his mouth distorted in a snarl, and his feet trembled ever slightly, ready to launch himself at Fuldarr.
And die.
Fuldarr saw it, too. A barely noticeable smile stretched his lips, and he lifted one arm, about to signal his warriors. Vigdis’s face froze in desperation. Sigurd’s warriors took their positions, too.
Donna had no time to spare, and just before the crazy Vikings clashed in a massacre, she threw her bow to the ground and stepped towards Fuldarr. “Wait!”
Everyone froze, their eyes on her. Good. A surprise. This would shake Sigurd’s bloodthirst. “Fuldarr, let Sigurd and his men go back to the fortress. If you do, I will give myself to you. I will tell you all the secrets from the future.”
She did not want to see Sigurd’s face. She could not. The pain he must have felt, of another woman betraying him like that, after he had trusted her with his biggest pain, after he had changed for her, after he had started listening to her advice.
She must have just stabbed him in the heart.
But better this than have him and the whole village slaughtered.
Fuldarr’s eyes shot to Sigurd, and from the triumph on their enemy’s face, Donna did not need to see her man to know that the hurt was written all over him. Fuldarr nodded, and with a sinking heart, Donna ran towards him and stood by his side, between him and Vigdis. When she turned to face Sigurd, blood froze in her veins.
He looked as if someone had just stabbed him in the gut, but he still stood in position ready to launch himself at Fuldarr. She had to do something.
“I am just joining the winning team.”
Sigurd’s eyes widened, and his face reddened as if she was strangling him. Tears blurred Donna’s vision. “Fuldarr, I never met a man with such a great army, even back in my time,” she said, her voice trembling. She hated herself. But it was working. Fuldarr’s chest puffed with pride, he believed she was on his side.
So did Sigurd.
His face hardened, and without saying another word, he turned and strode away, his head high, as if Donna did not exist.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Archers, ready!” Sigurd yelled as the gates of the fortress closed with a thump behind him. He climbed the ramp of one of the watchtowers. The women stood, already in position, and drew their bows. “Shoot!” The first storm of arrows poured down on the enemy.
He commanded his mind not to think about what Donna had just done—not now—but the memory sank its claws into him. His chest throbbed from inside as if it was being minced into dinner meat. Across the beach, Donna stood where he had left her. He could feel her eyes on him even from a distance. Fuldarr gesticulated, sending the warriors running towards the fortress. They spilled from the ships like grain from sacks and formed shieldwalls.
Odin, do not let our arrows touch those two women.
Everything about what Donna had just done rang of betrayal. Betrayal seemed to grow on that beach like moss. Vigdis’s. Donna’s. Same place. Same enemy. The thought ground his insides into dust.
The enemy began shooting arrows at them, too. Women around him ducked under their shields, and arrows thunked against the wood and the tower. But Sigurd stood as if nothing was happening around him.
Donna’s eyes locked with his across the field of the enemy, across the wall. Across time.
And now she was in danger.
The woman who had betrayed him.
Sigurd roared.
Fury rose in him from his toes up like a cleansing fire. He’d fight, oh Odin, he’d fight. For his father. For his people. For the woman he loved.
Sigurd had to go where his people were most vulnerable—the unfinished part of the fortress. He hurried down the ramp.
“Odin!” Sigurd yelled as he reached the hill of piled-up earth spikes, many of which had enemy warriors planted on them. But they kept coming, and Sigurd immersed himself in the battle. “Odin!” he called again as he hacked into his first kill of the battle.
Arrows flew—theirs and the enemy’s—and found their targets, splitting muscle and bone. People screamed, got wounded, and died. The enemy’s shieldwalls grew thinner as the women’s arrows found flesh, and gratitude spilled through Sigurd like warm mead at the thought that without the women’s help, they all would have been slaughtered by now. Without Donna’s help.
The thinned rows of the enemy reached the palisade and began their attempts to hop over the wall. Arrows took many warriors, but some landed on the other side, meeting Sigurd’s men’s swords and axes.
Steel clashed, wood split, bones broke, flesh tore. The fortress stood. Most of the enemy’s men who breached the fortress died, but after a time, Sigurd’s men started dying, too. Fuldarr simply had too many men.
And Donna did not stand a chance. She was in the enemy’s power.
In the fury of the battle, everything came down to the essence of things—stab or run, duck or linger, live or die. And something became clear to Sigurd. Donna did not have a reason to go to Fuldarr as Vigdis had. She wanted to go back to her own time, and now she was further away from her goal than ever.
She’d put herself in more danger than she could imagine.
No, she did not betray.
She sacrificed herself. She did it for him. For his people.
There was just one thing to do.
If he killed Fuldarr, everything would stop. No harm would come to Donna or any more of his people.
He needed his best warriors. They’d make a break towards Fuldarr. And if they used the western gate—the arch, which, as far as he knew, was free—and went from the side, unnoticed, they’d have a chance.
Sigurd found Floki and five others, explained the plan, and they ran towards the arch. They went through the gate quietly, and then through the woods towards the rocky western side of the fjord where ships could not dock and the enemy would not know what lay beyond the woods.
When Sigurd and his men walked out of the forest onto the beach, they first trotted without shielding themselves, so that they would not appear suspicious and the enemy would not recognize them from a distance. Most of Fuldarr’s men fought by the fortress, and only a handful stood behind. As they came close enough, Sigurd and his warriors began slicing their way towards Fuldarr, whose full attention was on the fortress.
It was a hard fight; there were twice as many of enemy as there were of them. After a while, Floki screamed and fell, a sword in his chest. Sigurd growled, the pain of losing his battle brother igniting his muscles into a frenzy of revenge. He cut and stabbed and split his way towards Fuldarr. But soon he saw the rest of his warband all lying on the ground.
It was Sigurd now against Fuldarr—and his army. Donna and Vigdis still stood by his side, their eyes round with horror.
Sigurd just had to do that last thing. He was so close. He launched himself on Fuldarr, disregarding the other warriors. They moved towards him, but Fuldarr stopped them with a raised hand.
He drew his sword, and Sigurd’s ax clashed against it. Fuldarr’s face, full of
spite, flashed over him. Sigurd’s muscles screamed and the breath caught in his throat. The hours of battle had exhausted him and planted a dull ache in his body, whereas Fuldarr had only just begun. Odin, give me strength, he thought, and gathering the remains of his power, pushed Fuldarr back and came at him, ax flashing. Sigurd grunted with every strike, the ax rang against the sword like a blacksmith’s hammer.
But Sigurd had overestimated himself. His arms buzzed with exhaustion, and he took longer to strike each blow. Fuldarr used his hesitation to pick up the shield and raise it. Sigurd’s ax stuck in the wood, and Fuldarr thrust his sword into Sigurd’s side. His body exploded in pain, and he fell on one knee, but his father’s brynja did not let the sword through.
With his ax gone, he drew his scramasax. The long and deadly dagger was a weak weapon against Fuldarr’s long sword and the shield, but it was all he had. He called the last of his strength out of every inch of his body—and soul—and slashed low, aiming for Fuldarr’s thigh. But his blade only cut through the air. Fuldarr’s sword came at him, aiming for his shoulder, but Sigurd raised his weapon to block the sword, which met the scramasax and stayed on it. Fuldarr pressed down on Sigurd, who had to put the pommel of the scramasax against his other palm to protect his neck. His blade opened the flesh of his hand, cutting him.
Sigurd’s hands shook as Fuldarr’s sword pushed the scramasax closer and closer to his neck. Sigurd roared and thrust up against him, but Fuldarr only pushed harder, his eyes bulging with the triumph of imminent victory.
The blade came closer and closer to Sigurd’s neck. Fury and desperation boiled in him, but he did not have much strength left. He did not want to die. If he died, the whole village would. And what would happen to Donna and Vigdis? But he was losing, he knew it deep down in his bones. Not like this, Odin.
Then a female screeched somewhere behind Fuldarr, there was a thump, and the pressure on the blade released. Fuldarr’s leg gave way, and he fell on the other knee. With the last of his strength, Sigurd thrust his scramasax deep into the man’s eye.
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