by Desconhecido
Eirik’s shield deflected the chief’s short sword and shoved him back. He had no time to waste waiting for the chief to engage him again. He sidestepped him and left him to Cedric. He started cutting a path to Fridgeir. Giermund now had his right. They formed the point of a fighting vee that sliced its way through the unorganized rabble facing them. As expected, the painted men fought like rabid dogs backed into a corner, but were still no match for Northmen. Eirik grinned as blood flew from his sword. His fire growled with pleasure and burned at the back of his eyes. More than one defender fled from his gaze in fear. Eirik left them to others—he needed to reach Fridgeir and Arinbjorn.
* * * *
For the second time, Fridgeir and Arinbjorn stood over a girl and defended her against greater numbers. But this time, they both had their long axes and the wall of the camp at their backs. With only short spears and shorter swords, no one could get close enough to touch them. Until some of the women took up arms. They attacked with the ferociousness of a she-bear with cubs. Too many now, they got inside the reach of the long axes. The northmen switched to using them as staffs. Fending off spears and bashing faces. But they would be overwhelmed before long. Arinbjorn whistled and Eirik answered from only a few paces away. Smoke drifted their way in a choking cloud. The mob in front of them wavered. Eirik’s war cry right behind them sent them scurrying in retreat. Fridgeir nodded and Arinbjorn stood ready to defend him. He squatted down and called softly. “Saibh, Eireann's waiting. Climb on my back so I can carry you out of here.” He spoke softly and prayed she understood. For a moment she stared at him, wild-eyed. Then with a grateful sob, she climbed on. He stood easily, one hand under her to help support her. She weighed more than he’d thought but this way she couldn’t get pulled away from him.
“I need you to cling to me so I can use both hands.” He shifted her slightly and she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He tugged her hands lower before she could choked him too badly. She pressed tight and hung on. Smoke filled the air, with flames licking upwards. Arinbjorn watched his back and others closed in around them. He picked his way across the camp strewn with bodies. He had to watch his footing as blood mixed with dirt to form slick bloody mud. Few of the painted men offered any fight now. Most already lay dead or dying.
They made the edge of the wood and Fridgeir set her down at the base of a large tree.
“Wait here, stay down,” he ordered and took up a defensive position with Arinbjorn and two others. Fire leaped high from the dried brambles and wood. Soon, anyone still inside would be trapped by the burning outer wall. The northmen waited outside to cut down any who offered a fight. Any who didn’t were gathered off to the side, women with the children and the men separate. A group of Northmen laden with what little goods the camp had to offer came out of the smoke. Finally, a last group issued forth, dragging the wounded chief. A very pleased-looking Eirik followed behind him.
“Which one of you speaks our tongue?” Eirik asked the knot of ten or so women. Half that many young children clung to them. A filthy and much underfed woman made her way to the front of the group. She looked different, dirty but no paint to cover her poorly clad body.
“Good! I take it you weren’t born to these dogs?” Eirik asked with authority. One of the better-fed wild-haired and painted women angrily yelled at her and raised a hand to strike. A war axe butt in her gut sent her hard onto her ass.
Eirik nodded and one of his men took the thin woman’s arm and guided her to Eirik. She cowered at his feet. Close up he could see the hint of a swelling belly through the tatters of her clothes. Pregnant.
“Tell them they’re lucky the girl is mostly unharmed. Most of them will live. But this arrogant swine will die slowly as a warning to all. Not even painted men steal from us and live!” Eirik watched closely as she delivered the message. The woman who’d tried to strike her looked as insulted and angry as the man had. A necklace of bones, feathers and crudely fashioned stones made a double loop around the crone’s neck. Intricate whorls swirled around her sagging breasts, across her belly stretched by fat and several pregnancies to disappear under the hide wrap thankfully covering her lower parts. Eirik wondered if she were the chief’s wife or a priestess of some kind. Not that he really cared.
Eirik looked down at the pitiful slave woman. Her thin face and boney hands spoke of a harsh life with too little food. Yet the angry bitch certainly seems well fed enough! It angered him even more. He gave a slight sign to Fridgeir, standing watch over Saibh.
“Saibh, come here. You don’t need to watch this.” Fridgeir guided her just behind a large tree root. She huddled down in the hollow at the base of the tree and buried her head on her knees, arms covering as much of her head as she could. Fridgeir stood over her where he could watch the forest more than the scene unfolding. He’d seen what was going to happen before.
Eirik motioned to Ingvar and Hroald. “String him up, secure his feet. Tell them men of the north keep their word. He’ll die a slow death, sacrificed to our gods.” He cut off the man’s clothes and all the beads, feathers and stones that adorned him. Eirik glanced at the underfed slaves.
Like the woman, this man hasn’t missed any meals! Strong muscle covered his arms and legs but his belly swelled with fat. The chief glared and cursed in his guttural tongue. The wolf grinned back with fire in his eye, toe to toe with the painted chief. Up close, Eirik realized the man’s hair didn’t stick out randomly but formed an intricate pattern. He grinned and started shaving the man’s head. Murmurs of distress started behind him. He’d guessed right, the hair had meaning to them. Cutting it off made a good start. Eirik made a show of grabbing the man by his balls. He flicked the man’s painted penis aside. The wolf locked the gaze from his fire-backed blue eyes on the chief’s and in one swipe, cut his balls clean off. His fire purred with satisfaction, drinking in the man’s screams. He smeared the sack of manhood down the man’s swollen gut from neck to crotch, leaving a bloody trail that destroyed the intricately painted pattern. They plopped to the ground in a bloody pile. The man’s screams and curses fed the fire still coursing through Eirik’s veins. It demanded revenge. The king in him knew that their brutal reputation kept them safe from all but the most foolish, so feeding his fire had a dual purpose. Behind him, he heard the outraged cries of the man’s people. He turned to grin wolfishly at them.
“Now, who else should we take for our trouble?” Eirik looked over the women and children. He pointed with his bloody seax. “Cedric, those other three women, without paint, they come with us. You are now our slaves. But know this, slaves in the north are well-fed and cared for. No one will beat you just because they are angry. And children are gifts of the gods, we cherish them. Even those born of slaves.” He looked pointedly at a sickly thin woman holding an infant whose mewling cries told Eirik it starved as much as its mother.
He beckoned. “You, with the baby—come here.” The angry woman shoved the mother back, screaming at her and nearly knocking the infant from her arms. Eirik took two long strides and grabbed the angry woman by the throat. Her earlobes swung with the weight of crude stone and shell beads strung on leather and threaded through drooping holes in them.
“I think you want to join your leader in a slow death.” Eirik uttered the words coldly. She spit on him and spoke angrily in her harsh, guttural tongue.
“Forgive me, my lord, but she curses you and all your kin.” The pregnant woman spoke sorrowfully, as if the woman’s words had power. But Eirik knew better.
Eirik laughed. “Foolish woman! I carry the fire given by the gods themselves. Your pitiful curses mean nothing!” He called his fire into his eyes and shoved her toward another of his men. “She joins the Great Tree!” He mocked the man’s name. Eirik’s men held her tightly beside the bleeding man. Eirik gave his fire a moment to enjoy the man’s pain and fear. It purred through his veins.
Eirik’s men brought the other two women forward. They wore only the tatters of the clothes they’d
been taken in. They were filthy, skinny and hollow-eyed. It angered Eirik that these savages treated their slaves so poorly. Like they weren’t even human. Eirik looked over the knot of men still standing, six in all, and some scrawny youths just as heavily painted and dirty as the rest. All the men bore some mark of the fight just past, but looked like they might live. They seemed strong enough, but the market for strong men didn’t pay nearly as well as that for women. Not speaking trade speak, they weren’t worth the trouble.
Cedric spoke close to his ear. “Hate to say it, but I doubt even raiders would breed with those bitches. I don’t think even the youngest women would be worth the trouble."
Leif always took the other side. “Hard to say, cleaned up they might not be so bad.”
They studied the women. They were dirty, painted and wild-haired. Who could tell how old they were under all of that? Some had large holes in their ears where loops of leather held stones and shells like those of the angry woman.
Eirik drew a breath. “Anybody want one of them?” He gestured to the women and youths. No one spoke up.
They gathered the four underfed women well off to the side.
Eirik turned back to the chief. “Leif, the knife.” He held out his hand for the intricately decorated blade of extra sharp steel. He motioned and Ingvar and Hroald dropped the cursing and moaning chief on his face. They staked him spread-eagled on the ground.
Eirik knelt so the remaining painted people could see clearly. “Tell them, let this be a warning. No one steals from us, attacks us or gets in our way. Not even painted people. I offer this sack of meat to the gods in thanks for our strength and as warning to all. This will be your fate if you cross us.” He carefully felt for the joints where ribs met spine. A swift cut and the man’s skin and ribs separated from the spine at one side. The chief began screaming and Hroald struggled to keep his shoulders pinned down. Eirik repeated it on the other side. Surprisingly little blood flowed from the deep incisions. He handed the knife to Leif. Carefully he pulled the ribs back and extracted the first lung. The man’s screams weakened with only one lung working. He laid the lung on his back and did the other. The screams turned to a choked gurgle. Hroald let go and the chief thrashed and shook, instinctively fighting for breath that couldn’t come from his useless lungs. Eirik’s fire purred with satisfaction and he smiled his wolf’s grin at the painted people. A few stood frozen in shock, some fell to the ground, puking. One younger-looking woman passed out. The men looked grim but after what they had done to the raiders, they'd seen carnage before. He didn’t have to look to know more than one of the new slaves retched as well. He waved to the men holding them and they turned them away.
He stood and approached the angry woman, now pale and sick, but no less arrogant. She drew herself up with pride and faced him squarely. She didn’t flinch from his reddened eyes. He smiled slightly and offered her a slight nod of respect. He took his knife and raised it to her throat. She raised her chin but never let go of his gaze. He had to hold his breath to stand so close—she smelled worse than a stable that had never been cleaned. Two of his men held her tightly between them. He cut her necklace and wrap from her just as he had the chief. The point of his knife left a trail of her blood welling behind it. She flinched but still held his gaze. He heard sobbing and pleading from the gathered painted women.
The filthy pregnant woman turned toward him, groveling on the ground. "My lord, they plead with you not to take their voice from them. She speaks the words of the forest, the trees, plants and beasts it holds! Without her, they will surely all perish.”
Eirik replied, “And why should I care?”
More hurried pleading from the other women. “Give her back to them and they will go and never bother Northmen again. Take her life and all that is left to them is death.” The woman’s voice grew almost too quiet to hear. “They didn’t say, but without her I know they’ll attack you again with no thought other than to kill as many as they can. Please, my lord, they truly believe without her they are already dead.”
Eirik turned. “You would plead for the life of a woman who no doubt beat you often and fed you as little as possible? I could just kill them all.” His voice didn’t betray his conflict over killing children or having to take them north. Children were gifts of the gods. One didn’t slaughter such gifts lightly. Or leave them to starve or be eaten by beasts.
She looked pale and shaken, her voice trembled slightly. “They’re not evil, just different.” She hesitated. “One could say the same of Northmen.” Her look strayed to the now still form of the chief.
Eirik snickered. “True enough. Tell her then that should I ever see her or her kin again, I will pull the lungs from her back without hesitation.” He felt, more than saw the tension leave the men around him. They hadn’t looked forward to slaughtering the entire camp either.
The angry priestess glared at him but nodded. Eirik stepped back and pointed. “Take your kin and go. Leave this one to the crows as warning.”
The Northmen holding the painted people backed away, and they quickly fled across the stream and into the woods.
“Any of that mess worth taking?” Eirik asked, looking over the gathered loot.
Cedric shrugged. “Some—they did have a bit of coin and a few trinkets of gold and silver. Some still on chains and leather cords no doubt taken from those raiders they slaughtered. I suspect that’s where the better weapons came from as well.” He drew a breath. “We should take back the food they stole but frankly, I’d rather go hungry than eat anything of theirs.”
Eirik nodded. “Well enough—but keep in mind we’ve a long hike back. I don’t want us burdened with worthless trinkets. Let’s move. It’ll be slow going back and I don’t want to be in the woods come dark. Not sure I trust them to hold to their word.”
Quickly the company distributed what they would take and organized the new slaves. Eirik had travel bread and watered wine passed among them. Several chuckled at the shocked looks of the new slaves when they were fed the same as all. No one stepped forward to make a claim at this point, so Eirik collared them as slaves of his hall. Not one of the women protested. Or even looked at him.
* * * *
Fridgeir made sure Saibh got her share of food and that she didn’t bolt for the woods. He could tell from her nervous looks that she couldn’t take much more.
“Hold, little one. I’ll have you back to your sister before dark. She’s safe back at camp.” He held his arm out while Arinbjorn tied a strip of cloth around his wounded arm in a crude bandage. A spear had cut him, fortunately not deep enough he couldn’t still use it. Other shallow cuts and bruises nagged at him, but years of hard training allowed him to ignore them. Arinbjorn looked no better and he’d taken a long cut along his ribs. Fridgeir wrapped it for him.
“Let’s move!” Cedric gave the order, and with the slaves, Saibh and the worst wounded in the middle, they formed a line to return down the trail. Eirik set himself a few paces back, fire-heightened ears listening in case the wild folk returned.
* * * *
The sun slid halfway down the sky to the west, sending rays of light into the shadows of the woods. Waves lapped the beach and gently rocked the ship. Overhead, seabirds soared and called to each other. Birds sang in the woods and a few brave rodents ventured into the camp looking for scraps. The men on the Fire and those on watch held silent, waiting. Eireann tried not to worry or fidget but she’d never been much good at sitting still.
A loud whistle came from upstream. The men around her stood and shortly the rescue party came into view. Men shouted and waved to each other.
The old man issued orders that others scrambled to follow, “Leave those young ones, but Fridgeir’s woman might be of use. Get them unloaded.”
She pulled her skirt up as they dropped her over the side into the shallow surf. Barefooted, skirt hiked up around her knees, she ran up the beach.
Eireann let out a relieved cry. “Saibh!”
Giermund set her
sister down and the girl limped toward her.
“Oh, Saibh! I thought I might never see you again! Are you all right? Did they hurt you?” Eireann held her at arm’s length to look her over. The girl smiled softly and patted Eireann’s hand reassuringly. She looked exhausted but other than a red mark on her cheek, seemed fine.
“They didn’t have her long enough to do more than scare her good,” Fridgeir assured her, “although her feet are pretty sore. We wrapped them in leather but it’s not the same as shoes. We took turns carrying her when we could.”
Eireann smiled her thanks, then guided the exhausted girl to where they’d been sleeping, where she collapsed down with a sigh. No one bothered to bind her hands again. After what she’d just been through, they doubted she’d make a run for it.
Eireann turned to thank Fridgeir. Blood splattered his tunic and pants. She assumed it belonged to someone else until she noticed the bandage on his arm.
“You’re hurt!” She reached for his arm but her bound hands kept her from examining it.
He shrugged. “Happens when not wearing armor in a fight.”
She looked around. The men looked tired and dirty, no few were covered in blood but none seemed badly hurt. She hoped that meant most of it was someone else’s. Four dirty, hollow-eyed women stood head down nearby. She heard the faint cry of an infant.
Fridgeir grinned. “Wasn’t all bad. We’ve picked up a few more slaves and those ragged worms actually had some coin on them. Looks like they’ve been stealing women and whatever else they can when opportunity presents.”