Fljótdís watched as the King and Ari engaged in an animated conversation just out of earshot. They were disagreeing about something. Then, in a turn of mood, Harald patted Ari on the shoulder and the warrior nodded. Her mentor came and sat beside her, giving her a stoic look.
“How are you managing with all of this, Fljótdís?”
She shrugged and did her best to give him a smile. She was worn out, but in spite of that, she felt good and very much alive. Such an adventure made her blood pound through her veins. It was a feeling of power, a pure feeling. Having the gods decide her destiny on the high seas came with an unexpected rush of freedom. She had survived.
“All is well, Ari. I’m strong.”
His expression darkened and he spoke in a whisper as if he were warning himself as much as her. “The gods could have put an end to you with that lightning strike.”
A shudder ran down Fljotis’ spine at the impact of his words, but she refused to let fear rule her. She picked a stray chip of wood from the ship’s planks and tossed it into the sea as if to dismiss the entire event. “It was a small matter. It was quite far from me.”
“It was close enough to steal your eyes, and you know it. Next time, stay back from the water!” His stern words caused her to look away from him.
Fljótdís knew his anger came in large part from concern, but that didn’t make her any less frustrated with his paternal attitude.
“Maybe I should hug the mast, then, eh, Ari?. Thor never aims for the mast, right?” She saw that she had gotten to him with this one, but it didn’t give her much satisfaction. “I am not made of glass. And I am not a child. I don’t need a wet nurse to watch over me. I am safe.”
He sighed and raised his palms as a sign of defeat as he rose to leave her. “You are an impossible female, Fljótdís. And I think at times, you are your own worst enemy.” With that, he returned to matters of navigation, something he understood far better.
The day on the ship felt neverending and there was still no sign of land, not even a seagull. Many grabbed sleep while others rowed. As the hours dragged on, Fljótdís gave in to exhaustion. She was not spared from her dreams.
She was lying in the sand, her body tired and broken. She didn’t want to open her eyes, didn’t want to see anything. But bright sunlight pounded against her eyelids. Something touched her toes, something cold and wet. It was not a good feeling. She could hear things in every small detail, the whispers of the wind, the sound of rhythmic waters washing across the rocks. Waves teased against her feet. She opened her eyes slowly until they got used to the sun’s glare.
Where the Hel was she? All she saw was an endless shore of white sand in every direction. She forced herself to sit up. Why was she so weak? Had the ship gone down in the storm after all and now she was the sole survivor, marooned in some strange land?
A loud commotion interrupted her thoughts. The sound of shouts and war cries came from behind her. She glanced back and saw two great armies in the heat of battle. One side had golden weapons and armour, the other great weapons of steel and wooden staffs. There was a surreal quality to the scene as if it were part of another place and time. She was bearing witness to it all, and yet, somehow she doubted that the combatants could have seen her if they had looked in her direction.
She should go help, but which side? She knew nothing of the honour or intentions of either faction. On top of that, she had no weapons.
It was in the middle of these realizations that something rose between her and the sun, throwing her into sudden and ominous shadow. The darkening made her skin go cold, despite the heat of the sun. She turned to find an ethereal figure dressed in a dark cape looming before her. The shadow person held a golden spear, but the spear bearer’s face was hidden beneath a hood. Still, she sensed that it was a woman. The enigmatic figure touched down lightly in the sand without making the smallest sound.
The woman moved closer and she crawled back away from her, her every instinct warning of mortal danger. She wanted to run, but all she could do was crawl. It wasn’t enough and this messenger of death inched nearer with every breath.
The dark figure raised her golden spear and pressed its tip against her chest. Her heart pounded in complete madness until it felt like it would burst and she raised her arm to protect herself, putting the symbol of the Valkyrie between herself and this mysterious enemy. The cruel woman held her heart prisoner beneath her spear, and with her other hand, she pulled back her hood...
She awoke with a start. At first, she was overtaken with panic. Wide-eyed, she looked around. She was still on the ship. Her eyes locked with one of the men who sat near her. He held out a waterskin. Fljótdís hesitated for a moment but accepted it. It was filled with very strong ale. It was just what she needed right now and she drank deeply. She gave the skin back with a nod of thanks and moved toward the front of the ship, where the wind was fresh.
She took comfort from the great carved dragon’s head that guarded the ship’s bow, a sentry to scare the sea monsters away. It was an intricate piece of art, wonderfully spiritual and ornate. As soon as they reached land, the dragon’s head would be taken off. They couldn’t risk scaring the spirits of the land. She wished it had the power to guard her against her nightmares.
Her thoughts kept flying back to the unsettling dream. Perhaps it had been a warning that she had caught the attention of the Valkyries. That could mean only one thing, her death. She didn’t fear death. But she wasn’t ready for it yet. She had things she needed to do first. She needed more time.
A single touch to the cold silver knotwork of Mjölnir’s pendant around her neck gave her peace and she focused her sight to the horizon. Perhaps the dream had been a different kind of warning, a warning that she could never again allow herself to retreat or doubt herself. In order to convince the King that she was a warrior, she was going to have to prove it to herself, perhaps a thousand times over.
A dark blurry line appeared on the horizon. She blinked and shaded her eyes.
“Land!” she shouted.
Soon the cry was echoed by others. Some shouted with joy, some hugged and clapped each other on the back. Some thanked the gods, while some already drank mead.
“Hei!” King Harald was quick to order everyone back to their duties.
Nothing killed good spirits so much as an endless trip at sea. And nothing improved spirits so much as a small line of land in the distance.
As she watched the small seam of the land grow wider and larger, Fljótdís sensed that someone stood behind her. She turned to find the King and bowed her head respectfully.
“My King.”
Harald smiled and laid his hand on her shoulder. “May the gods bless you and your sharp eyes, daughter of Gunnar. It was one mad sail.”
She gave him a reserved smile. “We are favoured by Thor, my lord.”
“Indeed we are.” The King nodded at Ari who joined them. “Your ward just said that we are favoured by Thor, Ari.”
Ari crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the boat. He looked down at Fljótdís. “She is quite favoured by Thor herself, I think.”
The King gave her a considering look that spoke of estimation and a touch of curiosity. “Then we are lucky to have her on our ship. Are you ready to fight, Fljótdís?”
The question was not as simple as it sounded. It held a note of challenge and a tinge of something that made her think he had made a bet of some kind regarding her possibilities of success.
“I am ready, my lord. My hand will never hesitate again.”
Harald laughed, but there was something cold about his humour. “I like the sound of that.”
As was his way, the King’s mood changed quickly and he became very serious.
“I spoke with Ari. I want to see how you fight. This raid is very important to you. If you prove yourself worthy, you may have a bright future. But you must demonstrate your courage and your skills in real danger. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord, I
promise I won’t disappoint you.”
The King gave her a long look that revealed nothing of his true opinion. He left things at that.
It was all she wanted, a chance to fight, a chance to prove she was worthy of protecting the King’s life with her own, no more hesitation, no more over-thinking things, just fierce and deadly battle with no quarter. It was her last chance.
The boats reached the shore. The sand was the colour of harvested wheat and the beach was lined with dense green forests. In the distance, a ridge of high cliffs could be seen. Fljótdís wanted to see it all. She jumped out of the boat and followed Ari through the water, slogging along behind his long strides.
It was a temptation to fling off her boots and sink her feet into the luxury of this velvety beach. But she knew she must be cautious. Father used to say that her eyes were bright as those of an alfr, a light elf. And right now her eyes were keen and watchful as she surveyed the forest for any sign of movement that could mean danger.
Ari gave a wave of his arm to get everyone’s attention. “We will make camp in the forest, not far from our boats. Ulrik, Thorn, Helgi and I will go and evaluate the surroundings. We’ll give the sign if things are safe and some of you may go hunt for some dinner. Even so, remember never to let your guard down. Pay attention to what goes on around you. There can be no mistakes.”
Every common thing the Northmen did, except for battle or preparing for it, always had an air of chaos about it in a good way. Laughter, songs, loud word exchanges and friendly insults which sometimes cost a limb. But this time, only when Ari had assured everyone that the place they had chosen for the camp was safe did the noise start.
The King’s tent was set up first along with a few smaller ones. Most of the warriors slept outside by the fire or near the trees. Some even slept in the trees. A few took their hunting bows and disappeared into the woods. Others went to keep the watch around the camp’s borders. Those who stayed in camp sang bawdy songs about buxom women they had left behind and the coveted glories of dying in battle.
Fljótdís saw Ari talking to three other men. She waited until they had finished their conversation before approaching him. She needed to know what his plan of action was going to be. But she also knew she needed to be subtle about getting such information.
“Will you go inland, then?”
Ari nodded, checking his weapons for readiness. It was very easy for him to see through her tactics. “We need to find the closest village so we can plan our strategy. And no, you cannot come with me. Not this time, Fljótdís.”
Her hopes were crushed. She wanted to be useful and she had no intention of sitting around camp stirring the dinner stew.
He hid a smile at her sorrowful expression. “Next time, Fljótdís. You must prepare for your first fight.” He departed with the other three men.
She tried to bury the feeling of abandonment. It was just a foolish walk to find the closest village. She understood why Ari hadn’t taken her with him. And yet she couldn’t help feeling a bit betrayed. The taste of it was very bitter.
At times, she felt like she was nothing more than a pawn in some kind of chess game Ari was playing with the King. No one really respected her. Even the shieldmaidens whispered dark rumours about her, hinting that there was something unsavoury about her relationship with Ari.
She caught the hard gaze of one of the shieldmaidens who now worked on the fire. It was too much. If battle didn’t kill her, this restless feeling of not belonging would. She grabbed a bow and a quiver of arrows and left the camp.
She felt the need to hunt something down to ease all her anger. She swore at every branch that snapped beneath her boots as she made her way through the forest. This was not the way of a good hunter, but she didn’t care.
As she neared a small clearing, flags of warning went up in her mind. She stood very still and held her breath. There in the thicket ahead was a handsome stag. It was enormous and the crown of antlers on its head was almost not of this world. This was the most stunning animal she had ever seen.
She cocked an arrow and aimed at the graceful animal, sneaking closer. To her surprise, the stag raised its head and looked straight into her eyes. It was mesmerizing. But in the next instant, she blinked and the animal was gone, almost as if it had never existed at all.
She cursed in frustration and threw the bow to the ground. Why must she always be a victim of her dreams and her imagination like a foolish child? She wanted nothing more of all these dreams and fantasies and disappearing stags. It was time for reality. So why was she still a captive of all these illusions and unreadable signs? With no proof to show, she couldn’t even share the story of sighting such an extraordinary animal. She would be laughed at for telling childish fairy tales.
She looked at the ring on her finger, entranced as always by its strange rune patterns. She removed it and balanced it in her hand, willing it to give her answers and direction. But it revealed nothing to her. Perhaps it was a source of bad luck instead of a treasured heirloom.
“Why aren’t you here, Mother? Why aren’t you here when I need you? Why weren’t you here when Father needed you? By the gods, have I inherited failure from you? Is that why my life is in ruins? Is your blood to blame?”
The restless roar of distant thunder was the only reply. She returned to the camp empty-handed and empty-hearted.
Chapter 6
They kept a watchful eye on their target. It was a small village, but a wealthy one since it was on an important trading road that led to the local kingdom’s heart. It was protected by a number of guards of varying ages and sizes. King Harald’s forces counted forty-two seasoned warriors and six battle-hardened shieldmaidens. These poor villagers would be no match for them. The attack would be swift and merciless.
Ari glanced at the warriors around him and made his commands in a firm whisper. “We will take them by surprise, overtaking them as silently as Nidhogg sneaking around the roots of Yggdrasil.”
Fljótdís gripped her sword’s handle. This was it. The gods had given her her chance. One wrong move and she would be forever shackled to a life of servitude and domesticity, a life she wanted no part of if she survived at all. She kept her eyes trained on Ari. She had to watch him and learn everything she could from him, courage, intelligence, strength and speed. She must stay close to Ari and to King Harald.
Harald looked over his forces with pride, his smile exuding confidence and a lust for victory. He spoke for their ears only. “Tonight, my brothers and sisters, we will fight. And the gods will celebrate in the Halls of Asgard, seeing our rich plunder.”
Everyone nodded in silence, strengthened by the King’s words, and Ari gave the sign to advance. They moved slowly, staying in the shadows of a birch grove. A loud crack of thunder shattered the air and the men smiled. Thor was on their side. When with the first flash of lightning they were only a few steps away from the village, the inhabitants noticed them at last. A warning bell sounded and the village guards rushed forward.
The Northmen stopped. Ari gave Fljótdís a quick glance and a grin. He took a large battle horn and blew it so loudly that Fljótdís was sure the sound probably echoed to the bottom of the Yggdrasil. She realized how much he reminded her of Heimdall, son of Nine Mothers, always on the watch.
With this mighty sounding of the horn, the Northmen surged forward with their ferocious attack. A few of the village guards tried to defend themselves with arrows, but the Northmen easily protected themselves with their shields as the injuries on the other side mounted. When steel met steel, the cries were loud, echoing through the whole village. Breaking bones and skulls, lost limbs and broken ribs and death. There was no quarter from either side.
She stayed close to Ari. But now she was in the middle of the village, watching the chaos around her. Her sword red with blood, she looked at the dead guard at her feet. She didn’t feel sorry about it. This man was an enemy. All these people were enemies. And if she slew enough of them, maybe she would earn some respect f
rom those she wanted to regard her as an equal. Without warning, she was attacked from behind. She jumped aside from the village guard’s mighty swing and stepped back.
“Come to Papa, little girl,” the guard mocked her as he swung his sword again. But she successfully avoided his attack. The man’s blade cut through the air, but he was big and slow and that would be his undoing. With one agile move, Fljótdís darted behind him and thrust her weapon cleanly through his body.
“I’m nobody’s little girl,” she whispered into his ear as she withdrew her sword. With a look of utter shock and surprise still frozen on his face, the guard collapsed at her feet.
There it was again, that strange power surging in her veins. It made her feel strong, invincible and wild. She looked at the blood on her hands. It didn’t trouble her. She was born to do it, to kill for a just cause, to win every battle. And she knew she was born to lead one day.
She caught her breath and looked around. Where was Ari?
When she saw him, he was surrounded by five strong guards, all bent on his death. She didn’t have to think twice and she was already next to him with one of the guards dead on the ground before he even noticed she was there. Her smile of enjoyment was not lost on him.
The air was thick with screams and the crack of thunder as dirt mixed with blood and rain. Complete chaos ruled over this village, the chaos of loss and victory.
The stench of death hung over the village like a shroud in the pouring rain. Lightning illuminated the battle driven faces of the Northmen as they killed everything in their way. King Harald chopped off men’s heads like trees in a forest on a sunny summer’s day. It was all a vicious game to him. Covered in blood from head to toe, a wild fire burned in his eyes. It was a fire of bloodlust and a hunger for conquest. Everywhere he walked, someone died screaming. King Harald was the bringer of sorrow and painful death. His axe never tired, turning this peaceful day into a day of horror and carnage.
Fljótdís- Daughter of the North Page 5