Emily's Saga

by Travis Bughi

  She made a dash for the stairs. They weren’t too far from her, but the path was choked with war. She ducked under a swing from a viking, dodged another dueling pair, and then stopped in time to see another pirate go down to the brutal strike of a viking’s broadsword. The pirate’s face split open, and the viking roared his victory. Then he set his eyes on Emily.

  Just behind him were the stairs.

  “Damn it,” she said, and her heart doubled in speed.

  “Come on!” the viking yelled. “Fight me!”

  The viking twirled his broadsword in one hand while readying a round wooden shield in the other. Emily shot the arrow she had nocked but gritted her teeth when the viking blocked it with his shield. She slung her bow over her back and pulled out her knife. To her surprise, the viking waited.

  “I am Ivan Ivanson,” he yelled, “son of Ivan!”

  Emily stayed silent. The viking waited.

  “Um, I’m Emily Stout?” Emily replied.

  The viking continued to wait.

  “Daughter of Mariam?”

  The viking screamed and raised his weapon to the sky. Emily tensed and bent both knees. She didn’t like charging first, preferring to let her enemy do so.

  The viking lowered his shield and charged her, thrusting forward with his entire body behind his shield. Emily nimbly stepped down and to the side, dodging the onslaught and watching the look of surprise on the viking’s face when she did so. He almost tripped over himself but stumbled to a stop. When he turned around, he snarled at her.

  “I said to fight me, damn you!”

  BOOM!

  Emily jumped as the familiar sound of a pistol went off over her head. Just in front of her, the viking’s face paled in equal surprise when a dark red patch began to form in his gut. He blinked a few times, collapsed to his knees, and then fell over.

  He never once let go of his weapon.

  Emily turned around to see Mosley behind her, and judging by his face, he was furious.

  “I . . . hate . . . vikings,” he said to Emily. “Come on, follow me.”

  Emily tried to protest, but Mosley grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her the few short steps to his cabin beneath the helm, only stopping to dodge a pirate going down to a hurled axe. Mosley flung open his door and thrust Emily inside. He followed in after and shut the door behind them. Through the thin wood, Emily could hear the heavy clangs of metal on metal and the sharp screams of the dying.

  “We’ll make our stand here,” Mosley commanded as he reloaded his pistol. “Bugger the rest of those lads. I hope those mutineers die, but there’s no way I’m going to be taken alive today. I’d rather slit my own throat than die to starvation and cold in The North as a viking slave.”

  “What if the pirates win?” Emily asked.

  “They won’t,” Mosley scoffed. “Best hope we had was with Priscila’s men, and I saw Urbano go down with an axe in his head when the fighting was just getting started. No, no, I’m sorry, Emily, but this battle is already over. Had this been my old crew, we probably could have fought them off, but I wasn’t exactly picky when I was recruiting in Lucifan. Half our side is too old, fat, or inexperienced to fight off a seasoned clan like this. I saw their Captain, a bloody jarl, when I was up at the helm. Big man with thick arms covered in trophy rings. Not to mention the way they snuck up on us like that, in the open sea. Bah! This man’s good. We never stood a chance.”

  Emily didn’t argue. She drew her bow and aimed for the door. Mosley finished loading his pistol, which was a lengthy process that took nearly as long as it would have to load a cannon. When he was done, he aimed it at the door as well.

  They waited a few moments as the screams and sounds of battle thundered on right outside the door. Then the door shook as a body hit it, and Emily’s heart skipped. Two people outside seemed to be fighting face to face, wrestling on the door with everything they had. Emily could hear the grunting of two men, then the sputtering gasps as one choked his last breath, and then just the heavy sighs of whomever had survived.

  Then the door handle jostled and turned. Emily readied an arrow, and Mosley cocked his pistol.

  The door flew open to reveal Carlito. He was battered, bruised, and bleeding profusely from his nose and several cuts all over his body. At his feet was the body of a viking, neither Emily nor Mosley lowered their weapons.

  Carlito smiled at them, limped inside, and shut the door behind him.

  “Why am I not surprised,” Carlito asked through a weak voice, “to find you in hiding, like a coward?”

  “And I’ll just be assumin’ you came here out of bravery?” Mosley mocked. “Come now, you lying scum. Are you really just as dishonest with yourself as you are with others?”

  Carlito gripped his side and chuckled. He limped forward some more, then dragged his battered body off to the side before slumping to one knee.

  “Still angry that I used your own plan against you, eh?” he grinned. “Did you like the part where I told them I’d never risk their lives for wealth? Ha! Ate that up, they did. Oh, but by the sea, that line took some practice.”

  His chuckling grew too strong at that point and jerked some injured body part. He stopped laughing and cried out in pain.

  “You only kept me alive to get yourself another crew,” Mosley continued. “You didn’t want to go to shore in Lucifan and lose your immortality. That’s why you convinced me to try and rob from a sirens’ island not only once, but twice! I never would have done that if you hadn’t convinced me it could be done. All so you could enlist a new crew and get them to rally to mutiny.”

  “Oy! Finally you’re catching on! Better late than never, mate! Not that it matters now. Those vikings will beat down that door soon enough. To think, all my best laid plans, so long in the making, will account for nothing. I’ll bet you wish you hadn’t wasted that bullet on my throat now, eh?”

  “I’ll never regret that shot for the rest of my life,” Mosley replied, “which ought to be ending pretty soon here.”

  They went silent again, and the sounds of death and dying engulfed them. The screams were less frequent now, and Emily feared the battle was almost over. She imagined the last pirates grouping up toward the bow, backs to the railing, holding off as long as they could. She kept her eyes on the door but pulled out a second arrow and nocked it. No need to be conservative now, she thought. Two arrows meant double the chance of downing her foe.

  “Urg, what’s taking them so long?” Mosley snarled. “They must have gone into the hull to start looting. I can’t believe they haven’t tried this room yet. Maybe the door is giving them trouble.”

  As if on cue, the door to Mosley’s chamber banged so loudly and suddenly that all three of them jumped. Emily nearly released her arrows and felt her teeth begin to chatter.

  “Speak of the oni,” Carlito grinned.

  Something solid slammed against the door again, making the boards splinter and crack. Through the gaps, Emily heard the huge inhale of a viking gearing up for a mighty swing.

  “I’ll shoot first,” Mosley said.

  “AHHHH!” came a roar from the other side.

  A huge hammer burst through the door, blowing it open and sending wooden boards flying in all directions. The viking who caused the damage stormed through the partial opening, knocking aside any straggling pieces she’d missed in her swing. She was big and covered in animal skins except for her head, which was encased in an iron helmet so only her eyes and mouth could be seen. She held her mighty two-handed hammer over her head and roared.

  BOOM!

  Mosley’s pistol hurled black smoke into the air, and the bullet crashed through the viking’s chest. She fell to the ground, never releasing her grip on her hammer. Mosley didn’t notice, though. He was trying to reload his pistol as fast as possible.

  “Hold them off!” he commanded.

  The next viking through the door charged in with shield raised. Emily lowered her aim and shot both arrows under the shield. Her aim was rusty
from spending long months at sea, and she knew it, but thankfully the distance was short. One arrow hit the viking’s knee while the other hit his groin. He crashed to the ground and yelled in pain.

  Emily grimaced. The viking would take hours to die from those wounds, but at least he was out of the fight. She wouldn’t risk trying to end his misery, though, because another viking was already headed through the door.

  This was another with a shield raised up. He came in, roaring as if possessed, and Emily drew two more arrows and shot. One hit his thigh, but the viking was able to drop his shield fast enough to block the other. Emily went to reload but realized she’d have no time. She dropped her bow and drew her knife.

  The viking never stopped roaring as he bolted across the room. He held his axe in his left hand, and Emily blinked as she realized she’d never fought someone left handed before.

  The viking barely noticed the arrow in his thigh as he brought his shield forward to slam into her, but Emily ducked the blow agilely and watched the viking rush past her and crash into the wall. She held up her knife and was about to charge in when the viking leapt back at her, swinging his axe.

  She hopped away once, then twice as the viking continued to roar and swing with all his strength. He was fast, and with such big arms, Emily suspected the axe felt like a feather to him. She ducked and dodged, never bothering to parry, for it was instantly clear that she did not possess the strength to challenge this opponent.

  The viking screamed and roared, yelling so much that Emily could hear nothing else. She backpedaled, and the viking pressed his advance. Through his angry shouts, he began to grin. His confidence could be felt, so strong was his feeling of superiority.

  Emily’s back hit the wall, and the viking laughed.

  “Nowhere to run now!” he laughed. “Die, weakling!”

  He swung his axe, and Emily ducked again. The axe slammed into the side of the ship with so much force that it stuck there.

  “Idiot,” she muttered.

  The viking stopped laughing when Emily’s knife stabbed under his shield and into his gut. He groaned and brought his shield arm in to cover the wound, but it was fatal. Emily stepped out of the way as the viking began to crumble. He still held the axe with his left hand.

  He fell to his knees and tried feebly to yank his axe out of the ship. Is he still trying to fight? Emily thought, astounded. The viking’s strength continued to fade, and he collapsed, dangling by his grip on the weapon. His life was draining, and he still wouldn’t let it go.

  “No! His axe!” the other viking on the ground sputtered, still gripping the arrow in his groin. “Stendar!”

  Stendar gave a final gasp of air and released the axe, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

  “Nooo!” the other viking yelled. “No! Stendar! Damn you, girl! Damn you!”

  “Halfway,” Mosley informed Emily, his fingers still loading his pistol. “Keep them held off.”

  The other viking was shrieking now, and Emily looked down at Stendar. Was it really so bad he’d died without his axe? Emily looked again and saw that Carlito was standing, looking at her with fury in his eyes.

  “What have you done?” Carlito yelled at her. “Was slavery not enough for you? They’ll torture us now!”

  “What?” Emily asked, her throat swelling in fear. “What did I do?”

  Carlito didn’t respond, just charged across the room at her. She swept up her knife, but Carlito used his arm to block it, showing no concern when her knife gouged open his forearm. He used his other hand to grab her throat and slam her into the wall.

  “You little wench!” he yelled. “Damn your ignorance!”

  Emily’s throat was pinched closed, and she gasped for air. She tried to wrench Carlito’s hand off while she stabbed his side with her knife. The ugly pirate barely flinched as he grabbed her wrist and pushed the knife out and up against the wall.

  “You always have to make things so difficult,” he snarled. “I was going to make you my wife, too, but no! That was an honor; that was! But no! You’d rather die! Well, fine then! If I can’t have you, no one will!”

  Emily gasped for air and looked to Mosley. He showed no concern, too focused on his pistol, too concerned about the vikings and his own life.

  Just then, another viking emerged through the door. He didn’t roar like the others, but he was dressed exactly like the woman who’d broken down the door: animal skins for armor with an iron helmet that hid everything except his eyes and mouth. He had no shield and wielded a hammer in his right hand. He was young, too, perhaps younger than Emily, but still tall and bulging with muscles from head to toe.

  Really? That strong so soon? Are they born this way? Emily’s mind shouted.

  The viking took one look at Carlito and Emily, and his eyes burst open in what could only be described as a mix of surprise and anger. He let loose a mountainous roar of unbridled rage and charged Carlito in a blind fury.

  Carlito gasped and let go of Emily. He went to dodge but was far too slow. The viking’s hammer crashed into Carlito’s face so hard that Emily heard his skull crack, and Carlito flew back several feet, glanced off the wall and crumbled to the ground.

  The viking didn’t even pause.

  He tossed his hammer, leapt on top of Carlito’s body, grabbed him by his shirt and began laying into him with a series of horrendous punches that could have made an ogre gulp.

  “How dare you!” the viking roared. “You . . . ugly . . . motherless . . . piece . . . of . . . warg . . . waste!”

  The viking punched Carlito’s groaning, limp body in between every word, sending splashes of blood to the floor. Emily coughed as her breath came back, and she ran back to her bow. Mosley was almost finished reloading his pistol, but Emily wouldn’t wait. She wouldn’t give this demented viking the chance to attack her.

  She grabbed up her bow, drew an arrow, and pointed it at the young viking.

  The viking saw this and immediately released Carlito’s ragged body, leapt up and put up both fists, the right covered in Carlito’s blood.

  “Wait, Emily! Don’t!” the viking yelled.

  Emily’s mouth dropped open as she heard her name. She blinked and felt a rush of shock. How did he know her name? She didn’t recognize him—not his voice or his body.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  “Ha!” Mosley shouted. “Done!”

  Mosley turned to the viking and leveled his pistol. The viking, in turn, took off his helmet.

  Emily gasped as she recognized him. She turned her bow and shot the arrow at Mosley’s pistol. It was an accurate shot, striking the gun just as it went off. A tiny hole burst open in the ship’s wall right next to the viking’s head.

  “What?” Mosley gasped. “Damn it, lass! Why’d you do that?”

  “Because,” Emily said, mouth still open in disbelief, “that viking is my brother.”

  Chapter 12

  When Emily had last seen Nicholas, he’d been just as short and thin as her, and his voice had had the light pitch of a young boy. He was the youngest of the family, whined often, and lacked forethought, which constantly got him into trouble. However, he’d been too jolly about life for anyone to be mad at him for long. He’d been, in many ways, the counterbalance to their stern mother.

  That was not the person before her now.

  This Nicholas was tall like his father and older brother, having finally hit his long-awaited growth spurt. His voice had deepened to the point where she no longer recognized it, although the occasional high-pitched squeak made his voice sound broken and cracked. His face, once only lightly scattered with acne, was now covered in the tiny red and white dots. He was no longer lean and lanky like the rest of his family, either. Nicholas’ arms were as thick as Emily’s thighs, and his back was a roadmap of chiseled muscle. His legs were pillars, and his chest had bulked and hardened to the point that Emily thought he’d make a colossus jealous. She found it hard not to stare at her younger brother, whom she’
d once referred to as ‘little Nicholas,’ in complete awe of his transformation.

  He’d made a lot of progress in only a year’s time, but then again, so had she.

  Emily desperately wanted to hear his story, but she had to wait. Mosley was subdued before he could reload again. He didn’t have much fight left in him; his crew’s mutiny had crushed his spirit. The vikings were about to drag Carlito’s beaten body out, thinking him dead until Emily told them he was immortal. They didn’t believe her at first and so stabbed him with a sword, making him cry out in pain. This satisfied them, and they hauled Carlito off along with the viking Emily had injured with her arrows.

  When they found out about Stendar, though, they were livid. They would have killed her on the spot if Nicholas hadn’t intervened. He shouted in her defense, and when she tried to ask what was so wrong, she was ignored.

  Emily was forced to remain in the room, alone, while Nicholas went out to speak with the jarl. They let her keep her weapons, but another viking stood in front of the broken door to block her view, and the wind outside made the conversation unintelligible. When Nicholas came back, Emily demanded to know what had happened to her brother and what was going on with Stendar.

  Nicholas started with himself.

  He had been fourteen when he’d run away from home, travelling to Lucifan with no plan other than to make it on his own somewhere, somehow, doing something. That proved to be far more difficult than he’d thought.

  “I was practically starving,” Nicholas recounted. “The knights wouldn’t take me, leprechauns wouldn’t hire me, pirates thought me a burden; it was a real struggle. The first night I slept in the streets, and it took me everything I had not to cry. The stone was so cold, and I hated being alone. I wouldn’t give up, though, so I kept going. Finally, I got a tip from a blacksmith to try the docks. He said merchants down there are more willing to take on stragglers.”