The valkyrie Mist had aided Anund’s warriors in battle. The seeress that Sigrid had glimpsed must have been powerful if she could summon Mist to her.
Orm pulled off his helmet and, still out of breath, wiped the sweat off his face, smearing blood spatters across his face and into his beard.
“It was really lucky that your daughter got Freya to send us that wind,” Orm said.
Toste cocked his head and gave Sigrid a questioning look.
“I prayed to Freya, and she sent the storm dís,” Sigrid said with a happy smile.
Toste furrowed his brow. Then someone called his name from a distance.
“We must offer a bountiful sacrifice for this kindness,” he said quickly and then hurried away to the man who had called for him.
Sigrid took a deep breath, the triumph simmering in her blood.
Warriors walked through the woods, thrusting spears into still-writhing fallen enemies. Other warriors attended to their wounded fellows or carried the dead toward the carts. Jorun and Alfhild helped a man with an injured leg. Sigrid walked into the trees to take a closer look at the devastation.
“Don’t trouble your eyes with what’s out there,” Axel told her.
Sigrid shook her head. Did he really think she was going to hide from what had happened?
“A Scylfing never shirks,” she replied and bowed her head to Erolf from her father’s hird, who was solemnly carried to the carts by his comrades.
May he find joy and peace in the afterworld.
One of Anund’s fallen fighters lay a stone’s throw away, his eyes staring vacantly. He couldn’t have been any older than she was. Sigrid bit her cheek. It was the first time she’d seen an actual enemy from Anund’s clan. They were the sworn enemy of her family, but he looked just like one of them.
Lives had been lost for her sake. All because she was going to marry a man she’d never seen. Sigrid gulped when she spotted a man with his belly slashed open. Pale blue intestines billowed out onto the ground from his gaping wounds.
Nausea turned her stomach and she vomited, nearly on top of the dead man. Axel gave her a thoughtful look, and she quickly turned her back and strove to suppress her discomfort.
“The valkyries’ cruelty is not beautiful to behold,” Axel said.
Sigrid couldn’t reveal weakness now, not after the mercy she’d been shown, not when the goddess had taken lives to protect her, not when everyone’s eyes were on her. The storm dís had saved them. Without her they would all be lying dead on the ground.
Sigrid sought and met Axel’s eyes again. “They do what must be done, as we do,” she said.
Just then Toste came running up the path looking hounded.
“We have to move on,” he yelled, pointing to the dark smoke rising into the sky beyond the treetops. “Rune’s farm is on fire.”
Palna was talking to his brother when Emma stepped into the tent. Both men quieted and watched her expectantly. The smell of uncertainty was so strong that it was hard to breathe, but she saw the desire in Palna’s eyes and felt it just as clearly as the heat from the fire.
“Your payment,” the chieftain said, tossing a leather pouch to her, which she caught neatly.
Emma glanced absentmindedly at the silver pieces. In her previous life, she would have done anything to own such riches; now she hungered for something completely different.
Kára’s presence was strong inside her. Like a raging river during the spring melt, Kára flooded every part of her mind and caused a hunger greater than Emma had ever felt. Like a ravenous animal, the forces tore at her body.
Palna reached for a wooden cup and watched her expectantly.
“My faith in the old ways has shown me many things, but I’ve never seen anything like what happened by the bonfire. Are you human or dís?”
Emma inhaled the pungent scent of his manliness. A scar ran over his chest, likely from a sword blow he had sustained. A burn mark the size of her palm was also visible on his shoulder, and at his waist a scar covered a sunken hollow in his flesh.
“I’m both,” she said, pulling off her dress to stand naked beside the bed.
“Think this over carefully, brother,” Gunnar said warily. “No one knows what she may entice you to do.”
“I’m sure I can handle whatever she’s got,” Palna said, leaning back. He undid his breeches and pulled out his cock, paying no attention to his brother as he left the tent. The hunger—the pushing, ravenous hunger—engulfed Emma in its darkness, and without hesitating she straddled him.
“May Frey give me strength,” Palna panted, sinking down by her side. His body was full of wounds and bite marks, as if a wild animal had devoured him.
Emma leaned over him and slowly licked off a drop of sweat that was running down his thigh. Then she lay down on her back, her heart pounding in her chest. Sweaty and exhausted with pleasure she felt Kára withdraw, sated.
Everything is as it should be.
Emma leaned forward and kissed Palna’s scar. His vitality was like glowing coals in her, fueling her strength and bearing the burden of the Wild Stormy One within her.
“I’m tired as if I’ve already gone to the afterworld. What have you done to me, valkyrie?” Palna’s face was gray from exhaustion.
“The best I could,” she smiled.
When Acca used to sell Emma’s services to men, she could only lie still and wait for the pain of their sweaty pushing and groaning to end. With Kára inside her, she had conquered the chieftain, ridden him, and controlled every action as she drank in his vitality.
And yet he was grateful and tenderly stroked her hair.
“Is my sister right when she says that you were sent from the hidden realm to aid us in our struggle against the Christian cross?” he asked with gravity.
Emma lay down on her back and peered up at the hides that made up the tent fabric above her head. It was a big question, but Kára was silent and offered no answer.
“The Most High will always be at your side,” Emma finally said to soothe Palna’s curiosity.
The words pleased him, and he kissed her hand.
“Tell me about your father,” he said.
Her father? Emma licked Palna’s fingers. They tasted like salt from sweat and her.
“He was a Viking who raped my mother, despite her being of Danish blood.”
“That kind of thing happens in war.”
He tenderly stroked her breast and let his hand continue on down toward her abdomen. Emma felt Kára awaken, and she hungrily moved her breast toward his mouth.
“Do you know how old you are?” he asked before closing his lips over her breast and biting her so she whimpered.
“I think I’m fifteen.”
He changed breasts and started playfully nibbling so that enjoyment sped through her body.
“And you were born in Jórvík?”
She sighed, annoyed. Why did this matter?
“No, in Mikklavík by the border of the Danelaw. I tell people Jórvík because no one’s ever heard of my village. There was a war and the Vikings had come to take back the land that had been lost. My father raped my mother in the village and then I came to the world.”
Her mother had hated her for the disgrace of what happened. She had hardly fed her and hadn’t been able to look at her, no matter how much Emma begged and cried from hunger.
Palna released her breast. A trickle of blood ran from the scratch marks she’d made on his back. Red-hot with life, the trickles found their way down to his waist. She carefully licked up this life force, groaning as the taste filled her mouth.
Palna got up and poured himself a cup of mead.
“Did I do something wrong?” Emma asked, wiping her mouth as the intoxication from the blood filled her.
Palna didn’t answer, just looked at the wooden cup in his hand.
“Mikklavík was burned to the ground,” he said briefly. “Everyone is dead.”
Her mother was dead. Emma lay back on the animal skin rug
and tried to remember her mother. She could clearly picture the hatred in her mother’s face whenever she reached out her childish arms, and how she had turned away when Emma was sold to Acca. She also remembered her siblings, their warm, heavy bodies in her lap, their arms around her neck, and the way they smelled as babies.
“Were the children dead?” she whispered.
Palna nodded.
Emma tightened her lips. “Things will be better for them in the afterworld,” she said.
“True,” Palna responded, and took a swig of mead.
He just stood there, frozen. It was clear to Emma that he was hiding something.
Palna has visited Mikklavík before.
A stab of disgust surged through Emma.
“What else are you hiding about my home village?” she asked.
Palna cleared his throat and emptied his cup in one go. “I fought in Mikklavík when I wasn’t much older than you are now. What we did in that village was not honorable. We were wild after having lost many of our brothers.”
Emma sat up with Kára’s roars of laughter echoing in her head. Slowly she began to comprehend the significance of what he’d said.
“You were one of the men who raped my mother?”
Palna looked at her wanly. Then he shrugged, as if the whole thing were unimportant.
“It was a long time ago. Worse things have happened.”
Emma took a deep breath, sucking the air in through her teeth. Her thighs were still wet with his seed. She had ridden him greedily, hungered to have him inside her. Shame filled her with more disgust.
“Did I just bed my own father?”
Palna studied her.
“No, that’s hard for me to believe,” he finally said. “You don’t look anything at all like my daughters.”
That doesn’t mean anything.
She huddled up and clung tightly to that consolation, as paltry as it was.
“How many of you were there?” she asked.
“Lots. Father gave us a real beating afterward for desecrating Danish blood. It wasn’t something I was proud of.”
He’d raped her mother. Her mother and her siblings were dead.
That doesn’t mean anything. You’re mine now, Kára said.
Palna sat down on the bed and stroked her naked thigh while Kára, whispering, swept away her shame and sorrow.
“No point in thinking about the past,” he said. “Better to enjoy the delights of the present.”
Emma grabbed his hand and looked him in the eye. “How many of you were there?”
“A lot. I don’t remember who.”
He got his hand free and slid it up between her legs. Emma moaned reluctantly.
More, we need more.
“You’re not related to me by blood, I swear,” Palna said.
Kára surged through Emma like a wave and lifted away all reflection, and like someone drunk she spread her legs and let the dís open her arms.
The din of battle approached relentlessly along with the smell of smoke from Uncle Rune’s burning farm. Sigrid clenched her teeth and walked on beside the carts carrying the wounded. There was no doubt in her heart that Freya would yet again give them a victory and that they would reach the ship. That’s not what was bothering her like an unhealed wound, but rather how Anund’s men had attacked them.
Jorun sat with Stig from Toste’s hird and tried in vain to do something about the gash in his chest. All the while, she waved away the flies buzzing hungrily around the blood that seeped through the bandage on his leg wound. Alfhild gave three other wounded men water and urged them to drink even though they didn’t want to. Her face was gray, either from fear or from the stench of the men’s wounds. There was no trace of her usual gaiety. The oxen trudged ahead slowly as the carts’ wooden wheels bumped along the path. The warriors continuously scanned the surrounding area, ready for the battle that would soon come.
Beyond the treetops the dark smoke rose to the clouds. They would be there soon.
Toste had ridden ahead with his warriors to help his brother while Axel and several of the Svea faithfully remained by Sigrid’s side. They said that they would be strong enough to overcome any warriors who attacked, but Anund had carefully planned his assault, and he seemed to have good information about their journey.
Sigrid urged Buttercup, who trotted along behind her, and picked up her pace so that she caught up to Ulf, who was still riding even though his horse was tired.
“What if one of us has ties to Anund,” she said under her breath.
Ulf scoffed and shook his head. “You speak as if you understood the business of men. None of the Scylfings would betray their own people.”
“How do you know that?”
If Ulf were a quicker thinker, he would have realized that the whole idea was worth considering and entirely possible. Many Scylfings had lost family members to the Svea and were not happy about her marrying King Erik.
“Because everyone voted for the alliance with Svealand at the Thing. There was no dissent among the chieftains; no one spoke out against the idea.”
Ulf spoke to her as if to a feebleminded child, but Sigrid had never allowed herself to be silenced by him.
“If you were deceitful enough to serve Anund in secret, then would you speak out against all the chieftains at the Thing, or would you remain silent and listen so that you could give Anund the information he needed?”
“There is only one way to Rune’s place. Anund may have had men keeping an eye on us who saw us leave home. With a fast horse, the spy could give plenty of notice.”
Sigrid nodded. What Ulf said was possible, apart from one thing.
“A spy would never have been able to ride through our lands without being seen. The farms are too close together.”
Ulf shook his head and urged his horse on so it trotted ahead and moved up the line, away from her. Sigrid sighed.
Grant us wisdom, Vanadís, because some of us could really use it.
“I think there’s a lot of merit to what you say,” said Axel from behind her.
Sigrid turned around in surprise. She had spoken so quietly that she hadn’t thought the messenger would hear her.
“What should we do about it?”
The din of the battle was louder now, and the smell of smoke spread through the trees. The scouts they had sent on ahead came galloping back down the path.
“Wait and watch,” Axel said and put his helmet back on. “There are more pressing matters right now.”
He rode off to meet the scouts.
“Are we going to die?” Alfhild called from the cart.
“No, but we’re getting close to the fighting,” Sigrid answered and mounted Buttercup.
“They’re going to kill us all. We’re going to end up like him.”
Alfhild made a gesture toward the wounded warrior she had been tending. He now lay dead, his eyes staring vacantly. Soon she began to cry, cowering beside the body. Jorun took her hand to comfort her as if that were going to help.
Sigrid clenched her jaws. The last thing they needed right now was crying and blubbering.
“Pull yourself together, Alfhild. The goddess is protecting us. You must believe that.”
“How can you say that when it’s not true?” Alfhild said, looking at Sigrid as if she were crazy. “If she’s watching over us, how could she let him die?”
“Watch your words, kinswoman,” Jorun told Sigrid. “Not everyone has your strength and faith,” Jorun said, putting her arm around Alfhild’s shoulders and glaring at Sigrid.
Sigrid shook her head. How could anyone lose their sense and resolve on this day of all days? Their lives had been saved. What more of a sign did they need?
“If you’re going to cry, then do it silently,” she said and urged Buttercup onward.
She rode over to the men who had gathered by the edge of the woods farther up the path.
“It’s over,” Ulf told her without taking his eyes off the hillside below them.
/> Sigrid took a deep breath and looked out over the devastation.
Rune’s farm sat on a peninsula that jutted into the river. A tall wooden palisade, burning on all sides, surrounded several houses that seemed to have escaped the flames. What was burning instead were the buildings outside the palisade, a few wooden scaffolds by the shore, and two ships down by the water. The smoke lay thick over the clear blue river, like fog on an autumn morning, and no other ships were visible. Without ships, she thought with worry, their journey was over.
But they had won the battle. Sigrid saw bodies in the grass but no fighting going on anywhere. The Scylfing warriors and other fighters she assumed must be Rune’s people were walking toward the gates in the palisade.
Sigrid wiped the sweat from her brow. Victory was had, but at what price? With a heavy heart she followed the men down the hillside and over to the farm while the carts followed with difficulty.
Standing beside his brother Rune, Toste was sweaty and red in the face after the battle. His ax and armor were stained with blood, as was his beard, and beneath the sweat running over his face there were cuts and gashes. His shirtsleeves were torn open, and he had a small wound on his arm, so small that he didn’t seem to notice it.
“Once again we have driven the enemy away, and we didn’t lose a single man,” Toste announced, and the warriors around him raised their axes. Like a pack of dogs they barked at the sky.
When they quieted, Toste once again looked at Sigrid, his eyes dark with anger.
“I swear in your name, daughter, that after I return to Skagulheim, each and every member of Anund’s clan, women and men, will be dispatched to the afterworld. My sword will not rest until it is done.”
The men yelled even louder, raising their axes to the sky. Sigrid simply touched her heart in response, showing that she was moved by his oath.
“Thor will give you victory, Father,” she replied and coughed as the wind turned, bringing a cloud of acrid smoke with it.
She sincerely wished that all of Anund’s brutes would be destroyed. Only now did she comprehend the scope of their ill will and their thirst for Scylfing blood.
The Unbroken Line of the Moon Page 10