"You need to watch your surroundings, Meyla," teased Hagen, calling her the pet name her father sometimes used.
"I hope you broke your foot!" She brushed herself off and headed to the shelf, retrieving the game board and pieces.
"How could I break even a toe from such a small bird?" He smiled and went back to laughing with his friends.
"You should be kinder to your sister," Jorg said. Ingrid shot a glare toward him but noticed he was the only one of the boys without a smile. He'd said it in a low voice but loud enough for her to hear.
What was that about? She turned to walk back to the corner only to find herself face to face with her mother.
"You need to go and check on the horses for the night," Agnethe said to Hagen. Their mother always seemed to appear at just the right moments.
"I already did," Hagen replied. The expression on his mother's face made him decide to check again.
"Leave the game and come with me, Ingrid," Mother said as she turned toward the door, not waiting.
Obediently, Ingrid followed and gave a shrug of disappointment to Selby as she passed. Now it was time to face the punishment she'd earned for being late to supper.
Agnethe walked to the well outside of the longhouse and to Ingrid's surprise she was invited to sit down on the edge, facing her mother--eye to eye like equals, rather than like a reprimanded child before her elder. They'd never sat like that together, in the quiet of the evening, with only the brightness of the thousand stars overhead and the far away clanking of the boats in the bay. Agnethe took hold of Ingrid's hand and she looked into her mother's face. Instead of seeing someone cross, she saw a smile and warmth.
"I was like you once, Ingrid," said Agnethe. "I wanted to have the adventures of the shieldmaidens. Go on voyages across the sea, defend our homes, and be wild and free."
"You did?" Ingrid asked.
"Oh, yes, very much. But I learned I had other gifts bestowed on me and the life of a shieldmaiden wasn't one of them. You and I are alike in the way we look--have you noticed?" her mother asked.
"Yes." They shared the same light golden hair as well as a paler complexion than most of the others in the village, but it was their eyes of bright turquoise she knew set them apart more than anything else.
"Hagen looks like your father. He's tall and strong. He will make a great warrior and protector of our village; as your father has all these years."
After that they both sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the muted conversations and laughter of those still enjoying the evening in the longhouse. The smell of meaty stew wafted through the door occasionally when someone came or went.
"I'm not a very tall person, and neither are you. I've watched you carry buckets of water to the sheep and they nearly knock you over," Mother said, smiling.
"I can do it, though. I'm stronger than I seem," Ingrid insisted.
"I know you are. But I'm afraid that the strength it takes to hold a shield and the attitude necessary to throw a spear in the heat of battle might be more than you are capable of."
It was said gently, but Ingrid bristled with anger anyway. If she worked at it, she believed she could learn the skills necessary to fight in a battle. Practice and determination, that's all she needed to fulfill her heart's desire.
"I know you don't believe me," said Agnethe, "but maybe you'll understand later. You do have a stubborn heart for sure, and there is so much you don't understand yet. We can talk about it more another time. For now, please do your work the best that you can and be on time to help with supper, alright?"
"Yes, I will," Ingrid promised, "But I'll not stop learning to fight."
"And you'll continue to be covered in bruises, but I'll not stop you. If you want to try, you are old enough to work this out for yourself. Promise me you will pay attention to how you feel and stop before your injuries are too severe." Mother's eyes held a hint of sadness, and something else. Something she wasn't sharing with Ingrid, but it made no difference in that moment. All she heard was that it was for her to decide about joining the practices and that was what she had been waiting to hear her entire life.
Selby was just about to leave the corner when Ingrid came bounding back in. She picked up her trencher and shoveled several bites into her mouth while trying to share her news at the same time. Selby's eyes widened and she laughed at Ingrid.
"I can't understand a word you are trying to say," she chuckled. "But it doesn't look like you got into too much trouble."
"I get to train, I said." She swallowed a large mouthful of dinner.
"Your mother gave you permission?"
"Better. She told me I can decide for myself!" Ingrid kicked her feet and squealed as quietly as she could, but still turned a few nearby heads.
"Oh, this is the best news I've heard, ever. We are so going to be the best." Selby had a grin that practically split her face in two. Her eyes gleamed and Ingrid could almost read her thoughts as her eyes drifted toward her sister.
"I'm going to need a lot of practice before I can keep up with anyone. Don't go off and make any threats to Helka about our skills. I want to train, not die."
"Why would you say that? You know I'm the perfect example of self-control. I'd never spout off anything I couldn't back up." The two girls stared at each other for a minute. Ingrid wasn't sure if Selby really thought that about herself or if she was joking until she saw the little tug at the corner of Selby's mouth. Both girls erupted into uncontrollable laughter until they had tears running down their cheeks and couldn't breathe.
* * *
A voice boomed above all the others in the longhouse, which hushed the girls' laughter. Ingrid recognized it as her dad's. Klaus was announcing that it was a good night to remember and honor the deeds of their ancestors.
"We should never forget the heroes of our past, and as long as we keep telling their stories, we never will," he said proudly.
Ingrid's dad was the village Chieftain. He towered over most of the other men and Ingrid thought he must be as tall as Odin himself. His hair color was a darker honeycomb shade than hers and, according to her mother, the deep dark blue color of his eyes was like the ocean. She longed to see water that color. The river in front of the village was a murky, greenish brown that smelled like dirty feet. Ingrid sat up taller, a broad smile on her face when he looked in her direction and gave her a playful wink.
"Who should we honor tonight? Gisli the outlaw?" Her father boomed to the entire house. He looked at Ingrid's bright expectant eyes and said, "I know! We have not heard a maiden's story in a long while. How about the adventure of our own Thorhild in Gotaland?" he asked.
The crowded hall cheered and Ingrid's father began the tale. As he walked around, his face glowed from the hearth fire in the center of the open room, captivating everyone's attention. Bearded faces glistening from spilled mead followed him, and the light danced around each eager listener as they leaned forward to hear his words. A comforting heat from bodies wrapped in furs hugged the room.
As Klaus started into the story, the heavy wooden doors of the longhouse burst open bringing a gust of wind that made the flames of the fire bounce higher. Ingrid's heart jumped as her father glared toward the intrusion and the flash of orange glowed against his face. Several men stomped into the warmth. The search party had returned, followed by the lost hunters. After a tense silence they were recognized and the room erupted in chaos. Everyone wanted to welcome the lost men as well as hear the story of where they had been. Earlier in the evening the rains had started again and steam rose like a fog off of the returned men. Ingrid and Selby ran to help fill trenchers with stew and biscuits, passing them around as the men settled near the warm hearth. Sweat glistened on Ingrid's temple from the increased heat and humidity of the room. One man, in reaching for the wooden bowl, laid his hand over the top of Ingrid's, causing her to stop, unable to move any muscle. It was only a second or two, but felt much longer, as a strange sensation filled her body. Her hands heated like branding
irons, something even holding the hot stew could not accomplish. The man was injured and for the brief moment they shared a touch, Ingrid felt a pull from deep within her chest as if something inside her was looking for the man's pain. She pulled her hands back and put them behind her a little too quick, which made the man nearly drop the bowl.
He peered at Ingrid with narrow eyes. "What kind of stew is this?"
"Just the regular skause kind," Ingrid said. She looked down and rushed off to bring more of the hot meal to others. She avoided going near him again.
Maybe I should tell Selby about this?
Ingrid brought more men their meal, careful not to touch anyone. She stole a glance at the man who'd made her flinch earlier and he ate as if nothing happened.
No, Selby will think I'm crazy. I think I'm crazy, what else could it be?
She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and moved nearer to her father to listen to what happened during the search.
"Olin, let's hear the tale of your journey," Klaus said. He put his hand on the older man's shoulder as he sat next to him. The room silenced except for the occasional slurp of meat or mead. Olin nodded and pushed his food away. He stared into the fire; the flames danced like sprites in his eyes. "On the second day of the hunt, we walked through some thick bog myrtle. We gathered some as we went for making ale later." He swallowed and rubbed his hands on his thighs.
"Go on," Klaus encouraged.
"There was a screeching sound. It was coming from everywhere and yet nowhere. We tried to pull together but it was too thick in the bog. The soggy peat sucked at our feet and slowed us down as we tried to run. The roars grew louder. I'm an old man, and I've never heard that sound before. It was like a dagger straight into the ear."
A loud thump of a fist hitting the table made everyone startle. Some men grabbed at the hilts of their blades and started to stand. The man who slammed his fist shoved his way through the people crowded around to listen and headed outside. Ingrid's fingers had twisted into her father's tunic while she listened. Letting go, she wiped them on her apron but stayed next to her father's shoulder as he sat in front of her.
"What was it? The thing that made a noise," Ingrid asked once the man was gone.
"Ingrid!"
Hagen glared at her from across the table and shook his head for her to stay silent. Ingrid huffed and turned back to Olin but glanced back at the way Hagen's arm folded around Helka. Her hand clutched his tunic the same way Ingrid's had to her father's.
"We didn't know what it was, but we ran. There was a small strand of trees not far ahead where we could take cover. The skies turned dark as a shadow passed overhead. The beast was flying. There was a gust of wind and a boom as its wings lifted it higher. I was the last to make it to the trees."
Down the row of tables someone tried to muffle the sounds of crying. Ingrid looked around. Everyone was either focused on Olin or staring off into the dark. All the bodies huddled so close together accentuated the pungent odor of sweat and fear. Flinching when a hand slipped into hers, Ingrid met the wide eyes of Selby, knowing hers were equally as open. They squeezed each other's palms and turned back toward the story.
"The leaves of the trees flapped like it was a storm each time the beast flew low. It circled us and kept up its blasted noise. There wasn't a plan, none of us knew what to do other than hide. Each time that thing came around it was closer to us. I've only heard stories, but I'd stake my life that it was a dragon. All six of us could stand in its shadow with room for more. The wings spread out nearly as long as this hall. When they were stretched you could see light coming through them like a bloody haze. The whole thing was the color of fresh, dark blood. Scales as big as a man's hand, at least, and claws on each foot that'd rip anything apart. But the way it swung its head from side to side, scanning everywhere, told us enough that nowhere was safe."
Movement caught Ingrid's attention from across the table. It was her mother. As she stepped closer, Agnethe clutched her middle as if she were in pain, staring at her husband, then turning her stricken gaze on Ingrid. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. Ingrid's own stomach flipped in on itself. Nothing scared her mother; she was steady and reliable. Ingrid felt tremors roll through her body.
"There's no shame in it," Olin said, bringing Ingrid's attention back to him. "I don't know how much longer I could have stayed there either. His little body slipped right passed all of us and he took off running."
Olin's shoulders heaved as he breathed in and out. He reached out and picked up his cup, spilling most of the mead as his hands shook their way to his lips.
"We shouted at him, Lukas started to run after him, but there was a blast of heat. The ground shook and knocked us all down. When we could look up again, the beast was gone and so was Nels."
Bile rose in the back of Ingrid's throat. She dropped to her knees and forced herself to breathe. Selby sat down next to her and leaned into Ingrid.
"Did you try to track the beast?" Klaus asked.
"The ground was blackened like there had been a pyre. We didn't know which way to start searching. It seemed best to head toward high ground so that's what we did. A few days later we came across a cave in the hillside. It was empty, but there was a huge nest built at the back. Bones were scattered all around, some old but others so fresh they were practically still warm. None that seemed like a boy's, though. We hid outside the mouth of the cave for two days, but nothing showed up. That's when we decided to start back."
One of the woman moaned and let out a sorrowful cry. It was Nels' mother. Ingrid was shocked to see her standing in the crowd. She had listened to the story along with all of the rest of them. Ingrid's mother ran to her. She and several other women carried away the inconsolable mother.
Olin's voice was thick as he proceeded. "For three days we walked in silence; the smallest sounds made us jump. We were settled down to sleep one night, and there were sounds in the dark at the edge of our camp. Next thing we knew a group of men ran toward us shrieking battle cries. It was over in a couple minutes. They were another hunting party out looking for a couple men they lost, too." Olin rubbed his face with both hands. He shook his head and stood up. Without another word he shuffled outside with his arms hanging limp from his slumped shoulders.
"There have not been dragons for generations," Klaus said. He was tense and Ingrid could see the muscles in his face moving as he clenched his jaw in time with making fists by his side.
"We saw it. It is out there," one of the hunters answered. It was Nels' uncle. Lukas and his father were among the group as well, but neither looked up. Sitting with untouched trenchers between their hands, they remained silent.
"I'm not doubting your word, brother." Klaus stood to put a hand on the man's shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "They have been gone for so long, I'm wondering what has drawn them back. Did the others you came across have any ideas about that?"
"No. But," he swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke again, "they did say that they'd seen more than one."
Father nodded and looked around at the men. "It is good that you have returned. We will mourn for young Nels before we decide what to do next." He walked over to Nels' father and laid a hand on his and Lukas' shoulders, offering a prayer to the gods for their sorrow. Ingrid watched as several tears fell to the dusty floorboards by the men's feet.
While the mist of steam had lifted after the men dried, a new fog fell over everyone in the longhouse--one of sorrow, dread, and anger. Without any more discussion, Ingrid's father dismissed everyone for the night and a meeting was scheduled for the next day. Selby gave Ingrid a quick hug as she left with her family. Ingrid headed to her own room for the night, but she felt a prickle at the base of her neck and she caught the eyes of Jorg staring at her. He appeared as if he was about to walk toward her, but then he turned and stomped out the doors. Blowing a sigh out of her nose, Ingrid shook her head. She didn't have energy to think about how she might have made Hagen's friends mad at her
right then. She walked to her room at the back of the longhouse and changed into her night clothes, certain she would not be able to sleep that night. Maybe never again.
3
Ingrid plopped down on the bench outside the front doors of the longhouse and waited for the men to gather across from her in the open meeting area. Shielded from a wet drizzle by the roof's overhang, she busied her hands straightening a basket of wool with a set of combs, so it could be spun later. The village well sat near the center of the meeting space and was always busy with people. It made a good mental distraction for her. About twenty boats tied to the wooden docks, or anchored alone in the water, rocked in the gentle waters of the bay beyond the well, all of them different and built according to the family that owned them. The biggest, her father's, sat tall and majestic, ready at a moment's request to head down the river and out to sea. It had the giant head of a dragon carved into both ends, looking as if it could devour anything in its path. Ingrid shuddered at such a creature existing in real life.
She grabbed a big piece of the raw wool in her basket and used the paddle-like combs, with spikes all over one side, to pull the tangled fibers into the same direction. When one section was finished, she set the straightened wool down into a waiting basket on her left and picked up another handful of lumpy wool from her right. Over and over and over. It was a good job while she waited for the men to gather. Selby should show up anytime, so she watched the people milling around until then.
Hagen and his group of friends walked around the corner across from her. His three closest friends never seemed far from his side. The Stink brothers, as Ingrid called them, and Jorg. Sten and Ove were older and younger than Hagen, respectively, but neither could plan an intelligent idea on their own. Sometimes, if they worked together, they might make sense, but that was a rare occasion. They were tall and well muscled and that's all they counted on, constantly rushing into fights without hesitation.
Ingrid, The Viking Maiden (Viking Maiden Series Book 1) Page 2