There was a huge commotion at the gates. The enemy had arrived. It was time to fight, for the King, for the village, for her honour and to please the gods.
The King drew his sword and raised it high. “Do not fear Death, my friends. When you reach Valhalla let it be said, ‘I fought for my home, I fought for my family, I fought for my land and I fought for my King!’”
There was a roar of approval.
“The Gods of War will be with us! Hail, the Gods of War!”
“Hail, the Gods of War!” came the thunderous reply.
She watched as Ulfson’s men broke down the gates. The noise was overwhelming, but for her, the world grew silent. She saw the enemy come closer and closer without a sound. There was no fear left inside her. This all felt right and she was ready for whatever was going to happen next. She was prepared. There was a deadly calm inside her. She was born for this.
Something had broken inside her there in the barn as she stabbed that man to death. She wasn’t sure what, but with his death, the part of her that felt obliged to preserve life had passed into the ground along with her blood. She was free of that now. All she knew was that the trip to Ulfson’s village had changed her, for good or bad only time would tell. For now, all she had to do was stay alive.
“Advance!”
The warriors spurred their horses into a full gallop as battle cries and the thundering of hooves split the air. The men brandished their weapons high in the air in this last instant of unbridled strength and determination.
She rode with them, swinging her sword, cutting down every enemy she could. It was chaos, madness. The air reverberated with the screams of the horses and the cries of agony of the wounded. The blood of her enemies was everywhere on her body. She jumped off her horse and let it run away. She preferred fighting on her feet. It was hard for a horse to move in such a mess. She brought down two riders. It was impossible to tell how things were going. The dead and wounded on both sides were too covered in blood and dirt to be distinguished. Were they winning or losing?
“Fljótdís!” She heard a shout from not far away and saw Ari fighting with four men at the same time. “Help the King!”
She saw Harald at the town gates fighting a number of Torvaldson’s men. They were trapping him into a corner. She leapt over dead bodies and slashed at everyone who stood in her way.
When she reached the King, she crossed her blade with a bald man. His physical strength was so stunning it knocked her down. She raised her sword to protect herself, but before she moved, the man’s head rolled off his shoulders. King Harald offered her his hand. She took it and hurried to her feet, stabbing one of Ulfson’s personal guards who had just raised his axe behind Harald’s back.
The King nodded his thanks. “We work well together.”
He dove back into the fight and so did she. They fought brilliantly and in the next moment, Ari was there with them as well. Shoulder to shoulder with her mentor and with her King, this was her dream, her moment of glory that she has ached for all these years. This is what she lived for. And it was what she would have died for.
Again this strange power ran through her. She felt invincible. She felt strong, as if she had been born on the battlefield, as if she had fought all her life. The blood of her enemies on her hands was empowering. It was a primal, wild feeling and she embraced it with all her heart. The battle filled the river with blood. It was a storm of fire and steel and death. It was cruel and merciless and it was the definition of war. She saw it for what it was and had no thought of backing away from it.
It felt like the number of Ulfson’s warriors was endless. Many fell from her sword and many times she was brought down. A few times she even lost her sword, but each time she grabbed it and got back up. She stood her ground and fought fiercely. Her skills were witnessed on both sides. She fought better than most of the warriors here and her courage was without question.
She briefly lost track of the King. She found him again in the corner of the wall, fighting with too many. She quickly finished her opponent and ran toward the King. But halfway there, she was stopped by a huge warrior. He was built like a giant. Even Ari wasn’t this big and the blade in his hand was sharp as ice.
He gave her a lethal grin and came at her. “Meet your death, little girl.”
She jumped aside, avoiding his weapon. He turned around, searching for her and swung his sword. Fljótdís again jumped aside, but let out a shout more of surprise, than pain. His long blade had slid across her leg, leaving a wound. She forced herself to not think about it and swung her sword, now on the attack.
He blocked her attack, meeting her blade with his. Using his enormous strength, he forced her down. She leaned back slowly under his strength, tightening the grip around her sword’s handle. The force was like holding back the weight of a huge rock. It pressed her further down. Her legs felt weak and her backbone felt like it would break. She must stand her ground. If he got her to the ground, she would die. Giving up wasn’t an option and while all of this was happening, the King was in danger. She must not fail. She had to save the King.
To her surprise, the giant let out a long howl and turned around. Fljótdís heard the sound of a sword piercing through flesh.
Ari stood in front of the giant. The giant’s sword had pierced his chest. His eyes shone like polished steel. His long blond hair was soaked red with blood. His face was fierce, yet full of pain.
“No,” Fljótdís whispered. She couldn’t move.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not Ari, the only one who had ever been kind to her after her father’s death, the only one who had helped her to become who she was now.
Like in a very bad dream, she watched Ari collapse to his knees as the giant raised his sword to take his head. With a battle cry of anger that tore from her core, she grabbed her sword and thrust it as deeply into the giant’s back as she could. Pushing deeper and deeper, she turned the blade around inside him, cutting muscles, breaking bones and destroying his organs. She grew stronger with each howl of pain he made until he finally collapsed on the ground and was still.
Fljótdís fell to her knees next to Ari. She fought back her tears, knowing he would not approve of them as she took his hand.
“Please, Ari, stay with me.”
He gave her the best smile he could and glanced down at her blood-soaked sword. “I’m so proud of you today.”
Fljótdís’grabbed her knife and looked around, remembering that they were still in the midst of battle. But they were surrounded by a force of Harald’s men, those who were especially close to Ari. They fought back anyone who even dared to step closer. The loyalty of these men went far beyond any borders. These men were loyal to their King, but they were even more loyal to Ari.
“Don’t talk, my dear friend, save your strength.” Even as she said it, she knew it served no purpose.
“I won’t need my strength anymore, Fljótdís.” His painful cough was wet with blood. “Valhalla calls to me. I will have all the strength I need there.”
She swiped away her stubborn tears and kissed his brow. “Then you must wait for me there. Promise me you will, Ari.”
Ari’s smile faded. “Yes.”
“Ari!” The King’s voice broke through the crowd. Harald knelt next to Fljótdís. “Ari, my friend...”
Fljótdís couldn’t meet the King’s eyes.
Ari’s words were urgent. “My King, I have a request...”
“Anything you want, my friend.” The King took Ari’s hand.
Ari looked to Fljótdís. “She must...take my place one day. She’s very young...but many saw her...fighting today. Let her learn, my lord.”
Harald nodded. “I will grant your wish, my old friend.”
She tried to burn Ari’s face into her memory. First Father, now him. She had thought that Ari would be at her side forever. There was still so much to learn from him, so much to find out. And now he was going to leave her on her own.
“Fljótdís.” He could
only whisper now and she leaned down to hear him. “Remember, warrior woman, listen to the song of your sword...”
He didn’t have the strength to finish. Fljótdís caressed his brow and finished the sentence. “...that sings of who you truly are, not the songs of men. I’ll remember.” She gave him a smile that hurt to her soul.
Ari nodded. He searched for his sword and Harald pressed it into his hand. His eyes looked to the skies and there they stayed, empty of light now. The flame that had always lit them had gone out. Strong hands, once so skilful with a sword, now rested calmly.
Fljótdís looked upward. For a moment she thought she saw a golden light and the whirr of wings. She couldn’t swear to it, but she knew in her heart that the Valkyries had come for him. Ari had died honourably in battle. He was now in Valhalla, feasting with her father. She just wished she could go with him. She wanted to be with Ari and her father. She saw Valkyries in her dreams almost each night, but in spite of that, they didn’t take her. Instead of her, they took away everyone she loved.
“Fljótdís.” The King’s voice was very close. “The battle is not over yet.”
She rose slowly, reluctant to leave Ari’s side. The King ordered his men to take Ari to a safe place so they could give him a proper farewell later on. Fljótdís looked around. The battle still raged. Ari’s death had stopped the world for her, but now it all returned with a vengeance. The noise was incredible, the clash of steel, the cries of pain and the smoke, complete destruction still reigned.
She took her sword in hand and cut down anyone who got in her way, driven by pain and revenge. All she felt right now was a wave of burning anger that couldn’t come close to filling the emptiness inside her. Killing felt like the only right answer now.
Harald’s men slowly prevailed. Many died on both sides as the tides of battle shifted back and forth. Fljótdís wondered if it would ever be over. She was beginning to lose her appetite for it. It was time for it to end. But just as she finished one of her opponents, she heard a voice from behind her that made the adrenaline flow afresh.
“Hello, little bitch.”
She turned around. A man stood in front of her, dressed in a dark cape as were all of King Torvaldson’s men. But she knew this one and he was going to be trouble.
“Rigvard.” She readied herself. With the mood she was in, this foolish bastard had no idea what he was in for.
Rigvard slapped his axe against his palm and gave her a lewd grin. “You once insulted me.”
She gave a snorting laugh. “Only once? I must not have been trying very hard.”
She sensed someone behind her back and whirled to put her sword through the warrior’s chest, then quickly turned back to Rigvard just in time to block his attack.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she demanded as she engaged with him with ferocious efficiency.
Rigvard’s smile wavered. “More than enough for a whore like you!”
She answered him by pushing him back with such strength that he started to lose his balance. It was all she needed to issue his death sentence.
She hit him in the balls and he let out a loud howl. When he struggled to defend himself, she gave him another heavy hit, this time with the handle of her sword and he fell on the ground. She smiled her satisfaction as he writhed in pain. She grabbed his head and pulled it back.
“Such a foolish death, isn’t it, killed by a silly little bitch?” she whispered in his ear.
With one swift move, she cut his throat before the bastard could even understand what was happening. She watched him collapse to the ground and smiled. A traitor’s death befitting a traitor.
Only now did she remember that she must protect the King. She hadn’t been herself for the last few minutes, but it was time to take responsibility for her future and honour the memory of those who had given her so much knowledge. It was hard to find anything in this chaos, but she spotted the King fighting with three men.
Harald had his hands full and he didn’t notice Ulfson’s stealthy approach from behind. Ulfson’s axe was raised and at the ready. Fljótdís sliced through those in her way and ran as fast as she could until she stood behind Ulfson.
“Astrid sends her love.” The Earl spun around, immediately crossing his axe with her sword.
His grin was laced with lethal intent. “You! I have my chance to fuck you at last.”
She returned his grin, slashing his shoulder with her knife as she pressed him back with her sword. “I think not, you traitorous son-of-a-bitch. My turn!”
The Earl stumbled back and bumped into the King. He didn’t even manage to raise his axe before Harald pierced his chest through with his sword. Ulfson lurched forward and met another blade, a blade guided by the rage and pain of loss Fljótdís felt now. Another thrust from the King’s sword took Ulfson to his knees.
“Go to Hel...” the Earl rasped through bloody teeth.
The King gave him a dark and cruel smile. “Not today.” With one swing of his axe, Harald took this man’s head. Now that Ulfson was dead, those who were left of his army either lost their lives or threw down their weapons. At last, Harald’s men claimed victory.
As the commotion died away, they saw Fljótdís standing next to their King. Her face was covered in blood. Her long black hair hung loose and in disarray across her shoulders, rising on the cold breeze. In one hand, she held her sword at the ready and in the other she held a dagger soaked with blood. Tall, graceful, her eyes still burning with the power and impact of battle, she was the personification of vengeance and victory. The bodies were piled at her feet and for the first time, she was looked upon with true respect and awe.
The blood of battle had given her rebirth. She was her father’s daughter and her mother’s daughter. She was Ari’s badge of honour. But now she was a woman of the sword beyond them all. She was a woman of power, of strength and of purpose. She was now a woman of legend.
Chapter 11
Fljótdís pulled back the arrow and pressed the bowstring against her cheek, taking careful aim. The frigid wind whistled around the arrow and she instinctively compensated for its influence. The tip was coated in tar and the head burned with a bright flame, a flame whose only duty was to set the ship on fire.
She let the arrow go and heard it make contact with the vulnerable wood of the vessel’s hull. The fire’s appetite and confidence grew. From that one tiny flicker, the ship became an inferno.
The ship glided into the distance, its roaring flames fading from sight, and people started to leave, one by one. But she remained on the shore, watching, committing the sight to memory like one of Ari’s lessons.
Nothing endured. Everything was taken away in the end. She would never forget that, never trust anyone to be there for her, to be on her side. The Vǫlva at the tavern had warned her about trusting. She put no stock in the riddles and lies of a Vǫlva. But in this alone, there had been wisdom.
Her tears were dry now. Ari would have wanted her to be strong with the heart of a true warrior, to be invincible, to earn her place beside him and her father in Valhalla. She would make them proud. She would be a guardian of the King and she would not be a woman of tears.
“Until Valhalla unites us all again,” she whispered, watching as the last ashes were carried away by the river. The river she had once so adored was now a symbol of death, a tomb of the only people she had ever loved. All she had now were memories. And she would be sure those memories never drifted away.
She returned to the town. Music and laughter came from the Hall. As always, people were celebrating. But her heart was too heavy for drink and merriment. Instead, she went straight to the King’s quarters. He had asked for her to visit him as soon as the funeral was over. She knocked at the door and was given his permission to enter.
The King stood beside the fire, gazing into the flames.
She waited in the doorway respectfully. “You asked to see me, my lord?”
With a wave of his hand, he invited her to come closer. She put
her bow in the corner and came to stand beside him.
Harald pointed to the flames dancing in front of them. “Look, what do you see there, Fljótdís?”
She stared into the flames, searching for whatever visions he wished her to see. The flames only reminded her of battle and loss and she gave him no answer.
“I have decisions to make, difficult decisions. What advice do you offer me?”
She gave him a wry smile. “Are you asking for the advice of a simple girl who has seen only eighteen autumns, my lord?”
The King nodded in all seriousness. “I am.”
A bit taken by surprise, she considered her answer carefully. “The wisest choice would be to negotiate peace, my lord. Right now we cannot afford an all-out war with all the Earls.”
Harald crossed his arms. “And what exactly can we afford now?”
She watched the flames dance. “Explorations, reconnaissance, raids to gather riches and strength for what is to come.”
“So it is your opinion that war is unavoidable.”
“I fear so, my lord. Sooner or later, Torvaldson will regain the will to seize your lands. You must be strong and ready for him.”
His smile was opaque. “No, Fljótdís, we must be ready.”
She frowned. “Forgive me, my lord, I’m not sure I understand.”
Harald kept his eyes trained on the glowing embers. “I will keep the promise I made to Ari. You must understand that I cannot make you Captain of my guard and Commander of my warriors because of your young age, but you will remain at my side. And when the time comes, you will lead my men into battle.”
She was being given an opportunity to achieve greatness, greatness to perhaps even equal that of her father and Ari.
“I’m most grateful, my lord.” She bowed her head slightly.
Harald nodded back smoothly. “Together we will bring our enemies to their knees. I know it.”
Fljótdís- Daughter of the North Page 11