Emma jumped and stood up. Soon she would let the flames take the nunnery. This plan took root in her breast and filled her with joy. Soon they would die and she would finally be free. Emma giggled and hurried back out to the woodshed.
The night was auspiciously dark, concealing the six ships where they hid in the bay. Sweyn had made his way back and now stood at his foster father, Palna’s side on Ranfaxe’s prow and listened for the last scouts. Åke, Ax-Wolf, and the others stood behind them, at the ready. If they brought good news about King Edward, the attack would begin. Sweyn rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and squeezed it hard. He had made his offering to Thor and prayed for the opportunity to cut down England’s king. He hoped Thor would grant him that favor. Hope was all he could do, for the moment.
The ship rocked beneath their feet, and the only sound was the soft lapping of the waves. No one said a word. Rán’s treacherous daughters could carry sound far, and the enemy must not be forewarned. Like Mjölnir the Jómsvíkings preferred to strike without warning. Finally a faint splash was heard, and dark shadows waded toward them from the beach. The archers had already pulled back their bowstrings, watching the scouts closely until they climbed aboard. Palna waited impatiently for the three men to catch their breath.
Finally one of them, Stigbjörn, looked up at Palna.
“The king was murdered yesterday at Corfe Castle. The dowager queen stuck a sword in him herself. His retinue left the castle, and there aren’t any noblemen or warriors left.”
Sweyn made a face. Damn her for usurping his chance at honor and revenge now that they had finally found King Edward. They were just as late getting here as they had been at Mikklavík.
He could tell Palna was dissatisfied in the darkness. They all needed this battle. The ship’s warriors already bore the valkyries in their chests, and they demanded blood.
“Where is the queen?” whispered Palna.
“Even she has fled, inland with her son,” replied Axe, one of the scouts.
“By the dripping poison of Loki,” Palna swore.
Whispered grumblings could be heard behind Sweyn. He knew the other men were just as frustrated as he was.
Palna rubbed the back of his neck and peered out at the water before facing his men.
“What’s at the church?” he asked.
Sweyn grinned. So, his shivering in the bushes hadn’t been in vain.
“Besides the nunnery there are two noblemen’s estates, three smaller houses, and a village next to the bay,” Sweyn reported. He drew the positions of the buildings as he spoke. “There are plenty of spoils.”
“Soldiers?” Palna asked.
“Of the capable ones, no more than thirty.”
Sweyn held his breath while Palna thought it over and then nodded.
“Spread the word,” Palna announced. “We will go toward the monastery and attack when we reach the beach. I will go first with my men. The plunder is free for the taking.”
Sweyn nodded eagerly. Finally.
“Oars in the water,” Gunnar ordered and raised his arm and then released the dragon boat over the dark water.
Palna put his hands on Sweyn’s and Åke’s shoulders and said, “Remember this when you are leading men into battle. If you don’t release the wolves to take their plunder, they start to bite each other. And the first one they turn on is the one leading them.”
Sweyn nodded and looked expectantly at the lights in the bay.
“Are you ready?” Palna said.
Sweyn’s mouth felt dry. This would be his first real battle. At the other two, he had fought in the rear echelon, against enemies already weak with injuries. Now he and Åke would follow Father in the lead, against proper warriors, sword to sword.
“You’ve trained us well, Father,” Åke responded. “Well, me anyway. Things might not go quite as well for my brother here.” He laughed tensely.
“I’ll show you what I’m worth,” Sweyn said.
This was his fate. He had been born screaming to Thor to let him fight and now it would happen.
Sweyn checked his armor, ax, and pants over and over before he put on his helmet. May Thor give his arm strength. His heart pounded as Ranfaxe slid through the water toward land like a noiseless spear. His sword was still clutched in his sweat-dampened hand, and the power of Thor streamed through his body. Soon the valkyries’ hunger would be sated with blood and death.
Åke stood by his side, manly. His face was pale in the moonlight. A drop of sweat ran from his brow. Sigvard smiled quietly and placed one hand on the gunwale. He had fought the most battles of them all, and he entered them now with the same ease as if he were on his way to a feast.
The warriors stood silently behind them on the boat. Brothers-in-arms were brothers-in-arms.
In the moonlight behind them the dragon ships raced over the water. You could not find more lethal warriors in the world than the Jómsvíkings.
Palna stood on the prow with a piece of Osmund’s bloody cloak tied around his arm. Tonight they would take revenge for what had been done to the chieftain of Mikklavík. Tonight the souls of the dead would be liberated so they could travel to the afterworld.
Silent oar strokes pulled them toward shore. The village lay silent, no movement visible among its buildings. Palna raised his sword, warning that the attack would happen soon.
“Cut the back of the legs. Slice the tendons so they can’t run away,” Ax-Wolf said softly behind Sweyn.
A moment later, Ranfaxe touched bottom. Palna lowered his sword, and as one body all the warriors flung themselves over the gunwale, waded through the water, and ran toward the houses.
A watchman spotted them and started screaming, a shrill howl that roused the entire village. Sweyn pulled the ax from his belt, weighing it in his hand. He measured the distance with his eyes and threw.
It was a clean hit. The blade struck the back of the watchman’s head, and he keeled over dead. Sweyn heard the valkyries’ shrill shrieks in his head as he strode over and pulled his ax back out of the man’s head.
“Good throw, little guy,” Ax-Wolf called to him.
Sweyn smiled at Åke, who slapped him on the shoulder. Then they ran onward. They heard battle sounds from the men from the other ships. The local men approached, running through the darkness with axes and pitiful little knives. Ax-Wolf and Sigvard rushed toward them with a roar.
Sweyn dispatched his opponent with ease. He deflected the man’s ax with his shield and swiftly struck him on the back so he sank down. Then Sweyn raised his sword and lopped off the man’s head. Two down. Quickly he turned around. Åke had already killed his opponent, while Ax-Wolf and Sigvard were fighting side by side next to a larger house. Without exchanging a word, Sweyn and Åke ran over to join them. Sword against sword, they howled out their rage.
When the last of the enemy was killed and lay dead on the ground, Sweyn heard Sigvard cry out. The warrior was pointing to a body, signaling with the death cry that one of their own had fallen. Alfred lay on the ground. He had come to avenge his father and family and had himself gone to join his ancestors.
“It was an honorable death,” Ax-Wolf said, bowing his head in respect.
Warriors from sly captain Ingolf’s ship kicked down a door, and they all pushed their way into a large hall. The men who awaited them there rushed toward them, axes raised. Every death cry, every cry of pain filled Sweyn more with battle fervor. The warriors were black shadows in the darkness. He cut down everything that moved. He parried with his shield, dodged, and struck again and again.
Then everything grew quiet. With a hammering heart, Sweyn lowered his sword and wiped the sweat from his brow while searching for his men.
Åke was ransacking a chest with an insane smile on his face. Since the men were dead on the dirt floor, everything was theirs for the taking. There was no honor in plundering living men. Ax-Wolf tipped over tables and chairs, searching for any more cross worshippers to slay. Sigvard dragged out a woman who screamed and trie
d to hide. He slit her throat with a laugh. The woman died with a rattling gurgle. More women sat huddled in a corner. Screaming and whimpering, they attempted to hide children and half-grown boys.
Sweyn raised his sword. He had killed eight, more than he had hoped, but it wasn’t over yet. The time for pillaging was not yet here.
“Take the slaves,” Sweyn said to two warriors from Ingolf’s hird.
After that Sweyn raised his sword and bellowed out his lust for battle.
“Onward!” he yelled.
Åke, Ax-Wolf, and Sigvard dropped everything and ran to the door. Like a pack of wolves they ran side by side, looking for more fighting.
“Take cover! Take cover!”
Emma set down the bucket of water and walked out into the courtyard.
Sister Hedvig and three other nuns hurried toward the church. They were yelling for everyone to follow them. Mistress Gyrwynne and Megan ran toward the gates along with the servant girls. Then the church bells began to ring.
Her heart pounding, Emma saw the women running across the muddy courtyard while the hens flapped their wings and scattered in every direction and the pigs squealed anxiously in their pen. Liberation from purgatory had arrived. The deep chiming of the bells filled the dawn.
Emma looked at her hands, permanently stained with dirt and covered in calluses, and smiled in astonishment. The moment she had so fervently wished for had finally arrived. The angels of death would send Megan to hell where she would burn screaming for her sins. They would be slaughtered like animals and consumed by flames.
Emma jumped when Sister Elfrida grabbed her hand.
“Come, child. God will protect us,” the elderly nun said and pulled her toward the doors.
They could hear screams and battle cries coming from the village. Several houses had been set on fire, and two horses galloped away across the meadows in a panic. People were running up the hill, looking for protection. Women with babies in their arms, children, and old people rushed into the church, shaking and crying.
“They’re killing everyone. They’re killing children. How can they kill children?” cried a woman with a bloody gash on her arm.
Emma could hardly believe it. Six ships had landed on the beach by the bay. Her heart was pounding so hard she could scarcely breathe.
She grabbed a girl whose face was black and blue, her dress bloody at the crotch.
“Are they Vikings?” she screamed.
“They’re demons! They’re killing everyone,” the girl cried.
The girl pulled free and pushed her way into the church. It was far too crowded in there for everyone to fit, and screams echoed inside the stone walls. Emma’s legs trembled as she eagerly watched the dark wave of doom washing toward them. The stench of fear and urine stung in her nose. Soon it would be over.
“Seek shelter in the chapel,” one of the monks shouted.
Sister Hedvig extended her hand to Emma.
“Help me protect our flock,” she said and gestured to a group of women to follow her.
Emma grabbed hold of two elderly women and followed the nun. They ran into the monastery, past a garden to a little building that was half-sunk into the ground. The monk William, who had brought her to the monastery, stood by the door.
“Take shelter here. God will protect you.”
He helped an older woman down into the darkness, and a woman followed her with a child in her arms and another holding her hand. Soon villagers were pushing to get in. Emma backed away a couple of steps as the aversion in her grew.
This was no place to seek shelter. A prickling premonition shivered through her body.
“Go to God’s house, my lamb. God will protect you there,” the old monk Ambrosius called, showing still more people into the darkness.
His eyes glistened with glory, and suddenly Emma knew she had to run.
She took another few steps backward, to the cloister behind the colonnade that ran along the building, and then turned around. Behind an open door she saw the monks running around in a hall, their arms full of papers, goblets, and candlesticks made of gold and silver. They ran toward a wall and then disappeared into an opening in it.
A moment later, a pair of strong arms grabbed her. Ambrosius and another monk, a fat stranger, dragged her toward the little house.
“You have to take shelter!”
Emma fought for her life. She kicked and bit their hands, but they didn’t let her go.
“We’re all going to die. Soon we will wander in paradise,” Emma whimpered. Again she tried to break free of the two men, but she couldn’t.
“We’ll protect you, child,” Ambrosius said, and they dragged her down the steps to the chapel and shoved her into the darkness.
Emma tripped and fell flat on the dirt floor. No sooner was she on her feet than the door was bolted behind her.
“No! Let me out!” she screamed.
“Quiet,” a voice urged softly. “You’ll lure them here with your noise.”
Emma turned around, her pulse ringing in her head like the church bells outside. Sister Hedvig stood beside a stone altar in the little chapel. Women and children crouched on the floor around her. A few men rocked back and forth as they prayed. There was a narrow opening over the nun’s head that let in a tiny bit of daylight. It was too small for Emma to escape through. The ceiling was sturdily built from wooden beams and straw. She was trapped. On the verge of fainting, she sank to the floor with her back to the door.
The church bells had stopped ringing. Even the smallest of the children were quiet, sitting in their mothers’ laps. Like gray shadows they waited in the darkness while Sister Hedvig knelt before the altar and prayed to God.
Then they heard a woman’s shrill scream, which stopped abruptly.
Fear was like an icy hand. It was all her fault. She was the one who had wished fire and death upon these poor people, and now she was going to die with them. The Vikings would kick open the door any minute and slaughter them. Emma joined Sister Hedvig’s whispered prayers.
“Holy Mary, Mother of God. Pray for us sinners now in our hour of death.”
There was nothing she could do, nowhere to escape to. They heard sword strike sword outside. Men’s death cries fell suddenly silent. Sister Hedvig crossed herself and then stood up with a bundle in her hand. Her face was calm and there was no fear in her eyes. She serenely pulled out three knives and passed them out to the mothers around her.
“Go to God with strength. Spare the children from being violated before they ascend to paradise.”
Crying, one mother put the knife to her daughter’s throat. The girl couldn’t have been more than three or four, but she still screamed for her life when she felt the metal against her throat.
“Don’t do it,” Emma cried.
The woman started to sob. Then she dropped the knife on the floor and hugged her daughter.
“Let go of your fear, Emma,” Sister Hedvig said. “Rejoice and surrender yourself into God’s embrace.” Her voice was calm and peaceful.
They heard a crackling sound, and smoke started to find its way in through the roof. The building was on fire. Soon they would be engulfed in the flames. Crying, Emma curled up in a corner. God was punishing her for wishing fire and death on the people here. Now she was going to burn with them.
Sister Hedvig stood by the altar with her hands held high. Her face, with the yellow eyes of a demon, was contorted. She laughed at the people’s death screams, licked her lips with a long snake tongue. And suddenly Emma understood. This monastery was the devil’s work. These holy, noble people were demons who lured in innocent souls in order to devour them. Rage grew inside her.
“I curse your false God!” she screamed.
The fire had taken true hold of the roof now. Flames were spreading over them. Sister Hedvig smiled serenely as she lifted the candle from the altar and threw it at the straw, which immediately flamed up with a roar.
“And I curse you, you devil!” Emma screamed.
/> The demon disguised in false piety had lured them all to their death. One woman stood up screaming and tried to put out the fire but the others remained seated, paralyzed, as the smoke curled around them.
Damn these Christians and their faith in God. Damn the heretics.
“I reject God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit!” Emma cried and then coughed until she was in tears. The heat was starting to become unbearable, and sweat poured down her body. “Hear me, gods of my forefathers, help your daughter,” she yelled.
Around her, people screamed as they caught on fire. Many of them crowded around the little window, trying in vain to get out.
Wheezing, Emma inhaled the smoke and screamed again: “May the gods help me! I demand it in the name of my ancestors!”
That very instant she felt a peculiar silence envelop her. The screaming and the noise of battle and the all-consuming flames disappeared.
Emma was floating in a peaceful darkness where there was neither heaven nor earth. Here there was no dread, no fear, no sin or joy. There was only time spiraling slowly onward through infinity.
She was rescued. Like an unborn baby she rested in the safety of her mother as the infinite pulse rocked her to settle her and filled her with a blessed tranquility.
“My child,” said a strange voice, so barbarous and powerful that infinity was shaken to its core.
A female being hovered in front of Emma, dazzlingly radiant in shimmering light and terrible in the power emanating from her in heavy waves.
Emma drank in this power. Brutally it filled her, penetrating deep into her soul. Like a fire it burned away what she had been and was going to become. Then the being opened its mouth and transformed everything into a roaring boom that flung Emma screaming back into the chaos between life and death.
The oaks whispered greetings as Sigrid walked through the unfamiliar woods. Beams of sunlight pierced the canopy of leaves like golden spears, and her dísir, almost completely transparent in the light, hovered at her side and urged her to follow them. Sigrid smiled at the playful creatures, sheer as air, and let them lead her deeper into the trees.
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 5