“If any of those men try anything, I will carve out their hearts!”
Ari couldn’t control his anger any longer. He jumped up almost flipping the table. “For Odin’s sake, pay attention to what I’m telling you, girl!” He gripped the back of the chair and tried to calm himself.
“Fljótdís, I do not doubt that you can protect yourself. But you cannot slaughter every man in town. Remember who you are and your ambition to serve. I persuaded Harald to allow you to come with us on the next raid. Do you really think he will accept you as one of his warriors if you start to kill off his men just because they want to bed you?”
Fljótdís downed her mead in one gulp. She needed courage right now. His offer was strange, uncomfortable and still not above suspicion. It made no sense to her. He wasn’t behaving as she expected men to behave and that gave her cause for real concern. How could she trust him, this man who had admitted to her that her father had not had faith in him? She watched him closely. Such sincerity, genuine or a cruel game?
“Accept my offer of protection, Fljótdís. Be like a daughter to me and no one will dare to lay a finger on you while I am alive.” He strode over to the hearth and threw a huge log into the fire with a vengeance, causing a wild storm of sparks to fly upward toward escape. “I know I am not half the man your father was and I would never presume to take his place in your heart.”
He turned to her, his eyes weary but full of wisdom. “I know many things, things I can teach you since I have no son. If you accept my help, I would be honoured. If not, then...” He turned back to the fire. “Then may the gods help and protect you because no one else will.”
When she gave him no answer, he shook his head and prepared to leave. But he paused in the doorway, his sight locked on the rugged terrain beyond the river.
“Tonight at dinner Harald will discuss his raiding plans with his men. If you do not come, I will assume that you have rejected my offer. May Odin guide you, Fljótdís. Far vel.”
He was gone. Fljótdís sat down at the table, still staring at the door as she turned her knife over and over in her hands. Ari was right, painfully right. She had no one and Father had warned her about this. If she had passed the test and taken Ari’s head, now she would be one of them, a King’s guard. But even with all that, would she really be safe, surrounded by men for so long, alone? And the question still remained in her mind of whether the King would have really stood by his word if she had ended Ari’s life. She would never know.
She poured herself another cup of mead and looked at the dead rabbit. The joy of rabbit stew was gone. The beautiful sunny morning was gone as well. The weather had turned and it reflected her mood. The river, filled with the golden light of the sun this morning, was now grey and wild once more. Somewhere far in the distance, Thor crashed his hammer. Were the gods speaking to her, giving her counsel, or warning her?
Chapter 4
The Great Hall rang with the shouts and raucous laughter of warriors. They drank and celebrated, waiting for the arrival of their King. Fljótdís paid no attention to them. No one even noticed her as she entered the Hall dressed in warrior’s clothes and a long grey cape. She searched the room with her eyes, hoping to locate Ari. Many of these men were known to her and many more she didn’t know at all. But nowhere did she see her new “protector.”
She had to wonder if it had all been a lie, a cruel joke at her expense. Resigned to the situation for the moment, she decided to move further into the crowd, but a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder. She grabbed the handle of her sword.
“I assume you have accepted my offer,” Ari said for her ears only. “Or have you come to entertain the crowd?”
Fljótdís gave him a withering look and let her sword slide back into its scabbard. “I’m here only to entertain myself.”
He laughed and patted her on the back, nearly knocking her over with his strength. “Come, little vixen, the King will be here soon.”
They joined a group of warriors at one of the tables. All eyes were on her and she bristled. It was going to take time to deal with this. If she were truly one of them, it would be much easier. But who she was now was nothing but Ari’s protegee, his female protegee, although that was probably not what they were calling her behind her back. She could only guess at their many ribald jokes.
How was she ever going to convince King Harald that she was worthy of respect, worthy of going into battle with the others as their equal if she was regarded as little more than a whore in men’s breeches?
The revelry stopped as King Harald and his guards entered through the main door. He didn’t wear his crown today. This wasn’t an official meeting. Greeting some of his closest friends, he sat down in his chair and the men all raised their horns to his health. He raised his horn to return their salute.
“Glad to see all you bastards gathered here.”
There was a sense of ownership as well as comradery in his words as he surveyed the crowd. His gaze stopped at Fljótdís. The look he gave her said nothing, and yet there was something going on behind his eyes. He nodded to Ari and returned his focus to the men gathered before him. He came down and walked from man to man.
“Next week, before Skadi buries us in snow and ice, we will raid, my friends.” A cheer went up from the crowd and Harald gave them a look of satisfaction. “We will go south and bring back a mountain of riches!”
There was another shout of approval.
Fljótdís watched the King pace back and forth in front of his forces. This was a man of power, the man she wanted to serve. But she didn’t want to be just one of his warriors. She wanted to be like her father, loyal and protective. It was why her father had taught her such skills so that later she could take his place. It was her mission, the aim of her life. All she needed was patience. But patience was not one of her virtues.
A fire of anticipation burned in the King’s words. “We will take four ships and surprise those fools. We will kick those bloody gates down!”
Fljótdís didn’t hear the rest of the King’s speech because she was lost in her own thoughts, a strong memory from her childhood.
It was a wonderful, sunny morning in the harbour, the morning of her father’s return.
“Fljótdís!” He raised her in the air and kissed her brow.
“Father! You’re back!” She laughed, tickled by his long beard.
Gunnar smiled like a man who could only feel such happiness if he adored his own daughter more than anything else in this world. All the light of the Nine Worlds danced in his eyes.
“I told you I would return, little one, and I never break my promises.” He held her tightly.
She touched her father’s scarred cheek. In spite of his scars and even because of them, he was a handsome man, the most handsome man in the world to her eyes.
“How long were you sitting on that cliff this time, my little flower?”
She smiled proudly. “As long as I saw the sails on the horizon growing from a small point to a large ship, Father. Did you bring treasures?”
Her father laughed and looked back at the ship filled with plunder. “Yes, I did.”
She gave the ship a considering look. “Not as much as the last time, I think.”
Father rolled his eyes. “Fljótdís! You greedy little girl! But I brought something for you this time.”
She could hardly contain her excitement. “For me?”
“Yes, my little Lady of the River.”
Father took a small package out of his pocket and presented it to her. Fljótdís gave it an estimating look, then untied the leather ties which kept the forest green piece of silk together. When she unwrapped the cloth, she held something of pure beauty in her little palm. It was a hairpin made of silver. Its preciousness was astonishing, ornate flowers crafted in knotwork and decorated with vibrant blue jewels. It shone like blue ice as the jewels’ colours danced in the sunlight, sparkling like forget-me-nots in early spring. Never in her little life, she had seen such beauty as t
his.
“Father, it’s...” Fljótdís threw her arms around her father’s neck and hugged him as tightly as she could. “Thank you, Father.”
He hugged her close and kissed her cheek. “You’re welcome, my little treasure. Now, let’s go and say hello to our King.”
“All is well, girl?”
Fljótdís drew in a sharp breath at the sound of Ari’s question. She nodded, but her thoughts still darted between the past and the present.
“To our good luck!” the King shouted.
“Skål!” Came the reply as everyone drank his horn empty.
As always, once the talk about raids and plans was done, it was time to feast with drinks, food and songs. The Great Hall echoed with celebration. Music filled the air and the celebrating grew louder with each emptied barrel.
But Fljótdís wasn’t in a feasting mood. Besides, she had to stay sober. And as she kept a watchful eye on Ari, she saw that he was doing the same. She had to wonder why.
She leaned closer to him. “Only a single horn for you on this big occasion?”
There was a definite hint of a tease in his smile. “Someone must keep an eye on you.”
Fljótdís leaned her back against the wall and folded her arms. “I can keep an eye on myself.”
Ari laughed with a kind of rough but pleasant humour. “True. But we will need all of these men for our raids. And it will be better if you don’t make eunuchs of them all.”
Fljótdís gave him a dark look, but he shrugged it off. He kept his eye on particular men in the crowd as he spoke to her.
“What were you thinking about just now as the King spoke?”
She frowned and stared into her drinking horn. “Nothing.”
Ari didn’t give in. “I think that nothing of yours was something, something important to you. Maybe it’s better for us both if you tell me about it.”
Fljótdís cast him a look of warning. “Everything is alright. I need some fresh air.”
She left the Great Hall and stood outside, breathing in the cold evening air. It smelled of rain on the way. The horizon came alive with a great lightning flash. A few moments later the sound of thunder rolled over the fields. Fljótdís smiled. She loved such storms, although it was strange to have thunder so late in autumn.
“I can’t remember ever seeing anyone so happy about the prospect of a big storm,” a male voice said from the shadows beside her.
She rousted herself quickly, not pleased with this intrusion on her privacy. It was a young man. She couldn’t see his face clearly since it was hidden, perhaps intentionally?
“Then you haven’t seen much in your life, I suppose,” she shot back at him.
“Ah, a sharp tongue as well.”
She couldn’t see his grin, but she was sure it was there. “My tongue is nothing when compared to my blades.” He wasn’t the only one who could smirk in the dark.
He finally came out of shadows. She didn’t know this man. In the light of the torches, the colour of his hair struck her as golden and his surprisingly blue eyes were full of mischief. Indeed, he wasn’t much older than she was.
“I am sure your weapons are quite lethal, woman.”
Fljótdís raised her chin proudly as she used to do when arguing with her father. “Do you want to try them?”
The man laughed and she caught herself thinking that she liked the sound of it.
He took a step closer. “And if I chose the tongue instead of the blades, perhaps my thrashing would be more satisfying for us both.”
She stepped back but strangely didn’t feel the usual alarm which overtook her when a man tried to cross the line. Nevertheless, memories of the funeral night attack emerged from a dark corner of her mind.
“Is that the way you want to die, by the lash of a woman’s tongue? Not with a warrior’s honourable death? What about Valhalla?”
Another step closer...
“One kiss of yours and I’ll gladly walk the Halls of Hel.”
This was a courageous man. And very impudent. She should teach him some manners.
“That does not sound very pleasurable for either of us, warrior.’’
“But worth it.”
He was very close to her now. She could smell the scent of the leather he wore, a hint of sea air, good ale and venison, the scent of a man who lived life to the fullest. There was a strength about him that both attracted her and gave her caution.
She carefully pulled out her dagger and held it firmly at her side. One step closer and this man would never be able to satisfy a woman again. It was in her eyes and the language of her body. Without a word, she warned him to not come closer. But he did it, completely ignoring all the signs and the unmistakable promise for punishment. He stepped so close, almost pushing her against the wall.
“One kiss,” he whispered in her ear. “And you’ll be done with me.”
“I will be done with you indeed because I will cleave you from your balls to your skull.”
He looked down and saw the dagger hovering too near things he treasured dearly. He swallowed hard and raised his sight to hers.
Her smile was bright with the challenge. “Lost all of that romantic honey, brave one?”
“Let’s just say it dampens a man’s spirit just a bit when there’s a knife hovering next to his balls.”
He gave her a considering look and throwing all safety to the wind, he grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her, jumping back quickly afterwards.
She didn’t cleave him as promised, but one swift move and her knife left a long, deep trail on his cheek. She fought for breath, whether from anger or the impact of the kiss was unclear.
In a spirit of celebrating his victory over death, he pulled her closer again. But this time Fljótdís didn’t resist. She let the knife fall out of her hand as she grabbed his hair to deepen his kiss. The flame from her heart spread all over her body and she felt a surge of primal lust. It was a wild and desperate kiss, a kiss that said they would never see each other again.
The kiss ended, leaving them both stunned and breathless, and he gave her a smile. “It was worth the risk.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Even at the cost of your balls?”
“Even at the cost of my life.” He smiled at her one last time and disappeared back in the shadows.
Fljótdís leaned against the wall. She felt weak in her knees. Her body still burned as she savoured what was left from the kiss. She had been a fool. She had surrendered, even though she had promised herself a thousand times that she would never surrender to a man. She had to wonder if he had even been real. But her body gave her indications that he had been very real, perhaps too real.
“Gather yourself, stupid girl,” she scolded herself as she retrieved her blade and smoothed her tunic. She took a deep breath. It was time to return to the Hall and she had to wonder if this encounter would somehow show on her face, making her an even bigger laughing stock.
Ari met her with a benevolent but suspicious paternal expression. “Was the air fresh enough for you?”
Fljótdís blushed from her head to her toes. She gave him a dark look and slapped the back of his head as she sat down at the table again. Her mind still reeled from how easily she had just discarded her own standards, and so quickly. She gave Ari a wary sideward glance, wondering to herself if she had been set up and if he had played some role in what had just happened. It made her uncomfortable to think that Ari might have some influence over everything in her life now and that nothing truly belonged to her anymore, including the secret workings of her own heart.
Chapter 5
The ships tossed from wave to wave like wooden toys. Lightning illuminated the sky so often that it nearly blinded the eyes of those onboard. Soaked to the bone, they fought with this monster of a storm. The sea hissed and writhed like an enormous serpent and the crashing of the thunder made their ears ring. The shouted commands could barely be heard. This was a storm worthy of the Sagas.
This was her firs
t real experience with an angry sea that was fully capable of killing her in a heartbeat. Father had often taken her for small trips along the shore, but it had been nothing like this. She felt sick and frozen to the bone. Rain blurred her eyesight and soaked through her leather clothes, leaving her shivering hard and her teeth chattering. She was exhausted and her eyes ached from the never-ending lightning. The wind was like the lash of a whip against her face.
But as miserable as this voyage was she couldn’t deny that it made adrenaline rush through her veins. It was a very exhilarating feeling. She just hoped that there was enough gold on the ship to please Rán in case the goddess decided to take them all to her underwater halls.
She leapt back as the lightning hit very near her. If she had reached out her hand, she could have touched it. The whole world was nothing but blinding light. Such light radiated lethal power. Even though the lightning hadn’t harmed her, she felt an electric charge across her skin, felt the little hairs on her arms rise and singe in alarm. Her entire body was hit by a wave of stinging, tingling sensation. It wasn’t about fear. She was just surprised that Thor had hit his anvil so close to her and yet he had spared her life.
Ari shouted to her from his position on the other side of the boat.
“Are you alright, Fljótdís?”
Still dizzy and disoriented, she wanted to shout back that she was alright, but the sound didn’t come out. All she could manage was a nod.
Ari’s smile was a mix of pride and concern. “Thor likes you, my girl.”
But the seas were in a vengeful mood. They had decided to destroy both ships for reasons of their own. The old god Aegir wasn’t pleased with their journey through his stormy waters, perhaps. The ships creaked and convulsed from side to side, flying and plunging wildly from wave peak to watery trough.
In time, the storm relented and moved on to look for easier conquests. These ships would not go down to Ran and Aegir’s realm this day. The men thanked the gods for this welcome salvation and spoke of the grateful sacrifices they would make when they reached the shore. A smudge of light came up from the east. Dawn was near and it was most welcome.
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