The Viking Maiden
The Complete Series
Kelly N Jane
18th Avenue Press
Contents
Ingrid, The Viking Maiden
Amber Magic
Realm of Fate
Arcanum
Thank you!
Also by Kelly N Jane
About the Author
Ingrid, The Viking Maiden
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
Chapter 22
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, blonde hair and tugged at her apron. Bringing the sheep up to the spring pastures was a lonely 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, Lukas and his little brother Nels, 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 with the sheep 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 combat training, 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.
Her petite form and lack of strength were no excuse to treat her like she was too fragile to fight, in her opinion, and 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 and nibbled grasses, unfazed by their animated guide.
A strand of beads looped between the brooches on her tunic, and clicked together while she danced around. Her scissors, knife, and comb hung from the string like a beautiful utility belt rather than a necklace. Stopping for a moment, she put her hand on them.
Beads were gifted for various reasons: to note a particular skill, commemorate an occasion, mark a friendship. Ingrid’s were carved from stone, wood and bone, but a special one, made of amber, hung in the center, larger than the others.
It had been the first she received, when she was only five or six years old. A woman passing through their village had smiled at Ingrid and told her she was meant for something special. 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.
She gripped the amber bead and began singing again, making up grand adventures in which she was the heroine. Her grandmother had been a shieldmaiden. She’d gone to Valhalla when Ingrid was a baby, and everyone in the village honored her; stories were told around the evening fires about her many victories.
Ingrid pictured herself in these tales instead—going to battle at sea to fight off warriors trying to steal their ship, or standing firm in battle to defend their farms and homes. In her favorite saga, she outwitted a group of raiders, leading them into a trap, and 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, and I will do the same someday. “Take that! And that!" she yelled. "You are no match for me!"
The stick whooshed through the air as she swung it, and its bark dug into the palms of her hands, even through the woolen, fingerless gauntlets she wore. Ignoring the irritation, she thrust her spear forward into an unsuspecting hazel bush, infusing the air with the smell of smoky wood and dirt, while letting out a high-pitched battle shriek.
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 from the exertion of her warrior moves.
No birds chirped, and even the breeze seemed to have stilled, creating an eerie quiet. She noted several clusters of boulders and dips in the hillside that could provide cover from danger, as she scanned the field. The rush of her efforts still clouded her hearing, but she gripped the stick more strongly, feeling the bark against the scrapes that had formed on her hands.
Instinctively, she spun around and dropped to the ground, just in time to dodge a pair of hands grabbing at her. 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 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 tightly together. Too frustrated for words but a growl escaped, ending in a little screech.
The quivers bounced against the boys’ backs as they jogged away, the arrows within making melodic clacking sounds as they rattled. Ingrid would have found the effect 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 to 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, allowing her to give
thought to the earlier events.
Hagen had been able to sneak up on her because she’d let herself become distracted, assuming there could be no danger in doing a job so mundane as standing in a meadow with a bunch of sheep. Of course, there were dangers like wolves and 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, restarting her conversation with the sheep. "I have to be on alert always. Nowhere is safe enough 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." She narrowed her eyes, and 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 fingers 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, and he would be the one to stay in the little cabin that was wedged into the hillside until the shepherds returned.
Ingrid didn’t know why he couldn’t have taken the sheep to the pastures himself, but she planned to ask him.
“I wish Selby could’ve come with me today,” she said to no sheep in particular, plucking a blade of grass, and shaking her head.
Her best friend was loud and obnoxious most of the time, keeping Ingrid and anyone else near them entertained. She’d let her sassy mouth get her into trouble again, though, 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. I’ll hear every one of them tonight at the evening meal.
Late afternoon shadows were crossing 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.
Ah, it’s only Einar. She was hoping she would get another chance to prove herself to Hagen. If he’s 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, strange, dangerous beasts had attacked the sheep, but no one had seen anything unusual within Ingrid’s lifetime. She released an extended breath, stood, stretched her back, and rolled her neck in anticipation of her walk home.
Einar didn’t wash often, and he spoke only when necessary. His large, bushy mustache and beard hid most of his face, that held a permanent scowl—like a cornered animal ready to strike—which meant no one dared talk to him, either. Ingrid thought there was something about him that seemed sad, almost haunted. She wished she could do something to ease whatever pain he carried.
“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 dull 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.
Her eagerness to watch the shieldmaiden practice hurried her. The hour-long trek to the village took Ingrid through briar bushes and muddy bogs. The latter 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 fertile, and produced abundant crops. Twice a year, several of the longboats would sail down the river to Jorvik, filled with produce and supplies to trade or sell. Hagen and his friends had gone on their first voyage five years ago, but when she’d reached the same age, Ingrid had not. The spring trip would sail soon, and she was planning a convincing argument for her inclusion. What she would say to persuade her parents occupied her thoughts as she navigated the trail.
The vinegar smell of pickled herring stung Ingrid’s nose, signaling to her that 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 a barrel next to her. Her coppery brown hair held a couple straggling pieces 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 it 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 won 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?”
“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 father 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. The fighters paired up to work on holding the spear, spinning it to use both the blunt end and the tip to defend themselves, and to 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 with 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, the shieldmaidens formed a circle. In the center, a few selected girls prepared for mock battle. Today there were five—Selby’s older sister and her friend against three others.
“Nice try, but three isn’t going to be enough.” Selby’s pride in her sister bubbled over.
“Shhh, just watch,” Ingrid chastised. Selby was always a little too loud.
The battle was fierce. The first girl went down right away; Anka dropped low and swept her opponent's leg, giving Helka the chance to spear her in the chest. But partnerships only lasted while they were needed; they would continue until only one girl remained.
Ingrid's heart raced like a rabbit running from a hound as she watched them, until she felt the sharp sting of something slap against her side. She turned in time to duck another swing. Selby had found a long, thin stick and was using it as a mock-spear.
Selby grinned, her hazelnut-colored eyes glittering, and tossed another stick to Ingrid. “Come on, let’s practice!”
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, a zing of fear struck Ingrid’s heart like lightning.
Throwing her stick to the ground, she jumped to her feet. Few people now walked about, and the hollers and cheers of the mock battle had silenced.
“Practice is over! We’re late! I’m going to be in so much trouble!” she 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. She would be in trouble, but at least not until after supper. Rushing to help serve the food, she didn’t look up again until everyone was eating. Then she went to her mother
for reprimand.
“Eat first, Ingrid,” her mother told her. “We’ll speak outside when you’re finished.”
“Yes, Mama,” she answered, casting her eyes to the floor.
This incident would be used as one more piece of evidence that she was not mature enough to handle the duties of a shieldmaiden.
2
Ingrid filled her wooden trencher, 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. The guilt of neglecting her responsibilities should have put her stomach in knots, making her unable to eat, but all she could think about was the fun she’d had sparring with Selby, and how hungry she was from the activity.
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 that she had a view of the entire room. Tall, arched ceilings bounced the sounds of voices and laughter around the expansive space. Candle sconces hung every few feet, but even with the long, central fire, it was darker where she sat. Shadows played against pillars that towered like guardians over long dining tables, down each side of the room.
After a few minutes, Selby plopped down next to her to eat.
“So, how bad will it be, do you think?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I get to eat first, so that’s a good sign.” Ingrid 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, but also envy.
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