Fljótdís- Daughter of the North

by Sanita Trumpika

  Harald frowned. “Oh, don’t be so serious, my people. It’s a time to celebrate this night together with the gods!”

  Music started to play again and people returned to their celebrations, but the mood in the Hall was tense. They didn’t know what to expect from their King and they weren’t very happy about his attitude towards Fljótdís. Yes, she surely deserved death for what she did, but this was no way to treat a free woman, especially a woman of her status. It was clear to everyone present what punishments the King had already visited upon her. She was under a death sentence, so why had she not been put to death long ago? What was the point of all this big display?

  Harald sat down on the floor next to her and rocked her back and forth by her hair. He held a cup of mead in front of her. “But come now, I have been very rude. I didn’t even offer you a drink. Have some mead. That is your favourite drink if I recall.”

  She had no intention of playing his sadistic game and she refused to look at him. But she had to pay for that.

  He grabbed her jaw and forced her mouth open. “I told you to drink.”

  She choked on the mead, but he didn’t stop till the cup was empty. Before she could catch a breath, he grabbed another cup and forced her mouth open again. But this time instead of swallowing it, she sent it straight into his face.

  The music died again. Everyone stared at them in shock and anticipation of what might happen next. Harald hit her so hard that she rolled down the steps to the Hall’s wooden floor.

  She spat the blood from her mouth and found enough strength to fight back up to her knees and with a great struggle, she rose to her feet. She faced everyone now with more than just rage in her eyes. It was something powerful and dangerous and it made everyone take a step back as they remembered the old rumours that she might be favoured by the gods, no matter her current state. She turned around to face Harald. He was vivid with rage.

  Her voice rasped from the pain and abuse, but she spoke loudly enough for all to hear.

  “I swear to my father and to all the gods that you will pay for your crimes and your cruelty, you and your people. I will haunt you until the end of your days and beyond. By Thor’s Great Hammer, I will turn your bones to ashes even if I have to crawl back from Helheim.”

  She could smell the fear in the Hall. Amazing how little it took for everyone to be truly terrified by her words. It was a good way to show them all that she wasn’t broken yet, that she was still strong, despite Harald’s best efforts to destroy her. She wasn’t strong enough to fight, but she was strong enough to speak the truth for them all to hear.

  Harald’s laughter cut through the silence. He laughed hysterically, but no one joined him. When he realised that he was alone in his humour, he stopped. “Music! Now! I want to dance!”

  The musicians exchanged looks and started to play a joyous tune. But the people were no longer in a celebrating mood. They stood and waited to see what would happen next.

  But there was no next for Fljótdís. Her feet no longer kept her standing and she was ready to hit the floor. But someone caught her. She looked up at the face in front of her. She didn’t know this man, but she saw pity in his eyes.

  He wasn’t ready to stand by for what was happening. He had fought side by side with her, admiring her for her spirit and skill. But now, she was just a woman, torn, covered in blood and bruises. This was no way to treat a woman, any woman. But he knew that he must be careful with the King. Things were very fragile and on a dangerous edge.

  He spoke cautiously and humbly, still holding her. “My lord, perhaps it’s enough for one evening?”

  Harald loomed over him. “Enough, Huginn? Enough of what? The celebrations have only just begun. Do you dare to question your King’s actions and desires?”

  There was lethal fury in the King’s eyes. Huginn had a family to support, so he didn’t protest further when the King wrenched Fljótdís from his arms.

  She didn’t care any longer. The comforting darkness was closing in over her again and she was absolutely ready to give herself up to it. But pain held her back from it. Harald now held her pressed against one of the big carved pillars that kept the Great Hall’s roof in place. His hand was around her neck, not tight enough to kill her, but strong enough to freeze her in place. Her ribs felt cracked from the merciless impact of the pillar’s carved snakes.

  He was breathing hard with anger as he threw a cup of mead in her face. She sputtered and gasped for breath.

  “Oh, I have only just started with you, whore. Don’t even dare to pass out.” He cast a glance over his shoulder. “Now, who is ready to have some fun with our Commander?”

  The Hall went quiet again and everyone merely stared at Harald.

  “What? No one?”

  Harald dragged her to the middle of the Great Hall, holding her close to his body, his arm like a vice around her neck. She was facing the people, but she couldn’t see anything. Once again she was robbed of her eyesight. She felt his hand down under her dress and the terrible pain he had done to her earlier in the room made her want to scream. But, even now, she would not give him the satisfaction.

  There was great generosity in his tone as he spoke.

  “You can have this whore for the rest of the evening, if you like, as my gift in honour of the celebration day.” He looked down at her with a lewd smile. “We already had a bit of fun earlier, didn’t we, honeycake? But to show what a generous man I am, I will gladly share. So, who wants her? Maybe you?”

  She was brutally thrown into someone’s arms. She felt the arms catch her, but nothing more happened.

  “No? Then maybe you?”

  No one moved. She felt thankful for that, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could take it. She couldn’t handle any more rape. There was only one thing she wanted right now and that was to die.

  She heard Harald’s voice as he grabbed her by her hair and dragged her across the room.

  “Your King is disappointed in all of you, truly. You are so boring. Suppose it’s my turn again, then.”

  She tried to stand up on her feet, knowing what would happen next, but it was useless. She had no strength left. She was thrown to the table, her legs parted and she closed her eyes, preparing her body for more excruciating pain. She prayed to every god that these would be the last moments of her life.

  A woman’s voice broke the silence of the crowd. “Enough, Harald. Let her go.”

  He hesitated.

  She didn’t make a sound, but the tears in her eyes wouldn’t stop. She wanted to be with Erik, with all the people she loved. She wanted to drink in Valhalla with Father and Ari, Ulrik and Helgi and Hakon, with the men she had fought with, side by side, the men who had fallen in battle protecting her life with their own. Was it too much to ask?

  How could a death such as this ever let her join them? She would die broken and helpless, without a weapon in her hand, without taking her enemies with her into death. Her last hope of joining those she cared about had been stolen from her. She had fought a thousand battles, but it was this final one that mattered the most. It was the one that defined her right to call herself a true warrior in the eyes of Odin, and she had lost this fight miserably.

  Harald released her. She collapsed to the floor and stayed there. She looked at the ceiling and thought she saw a black raven. Perhaps Odin was here after all, or maybe his Valkyries if there could be any justice in this world. She knew it was time to go. The fighting was over. And then, there she was, the woman from her dreams, looking down at her, reaching out her hand. Her brown eyes were warm and so was her smile.

  She smiled back. She was ready to go. But then, like the breaking of a spell, the woman disappeared and another face floated in front of her. It was a face she had hoped never to see again, Irena.

  It was the last thing she saw.

  Chapter 28

  Fljótdís opened her eyes. She was still alive, another disappointment. Would this life never end? She tried to move, but something held her. He
r legs were bound. Her arms were numb from the rope around them and something foul-smelling was in her mouth. She felt sickness coming up.

  A woman’s voice… “Don’t move. It will only make it worse.”

  Where was she? She found Irena sitting next to her in furs. She looked around trying to understand where she was. The cold hit her and she realised she was no longer in the Hall.

  There was no emotion in her stepmother’s voice. “You’re in a tent. You will receive your punishment.”

  Good, death was coming at last. It was a relief.

  Irena caressed the blood matted hair from her stepdaughter’s forehead. “Look what he has done to you. He has his fun with you and I have mine. Such an amusing little plaything you’ve been for us both. I would say things can’t last forever, but that’s not always true. Nothing of this would have happened if you had chosen me. You could have been sitting in velvet and furs, nibbling grapes and sipping fine wines. But never mind. No more chances.”

  She withdrew something from the folds of her lavish gown. It was the Thor’s pendant and Fljótdís’ anger redoubled. Irena let the pendant hang in front of Fljótdís’ eyes.

  “But see what I have here, sweetling. I shall always treasure it as a keepsake of this very special day.” She put it back in her pouch. “You know how fond I am of jewellery.”

  She wanted to tell Irena to go to Hel, but it wasn’t possible. She moved and terrible pain cut her from her womb to her stomach. Tears rose in her eyes and Irena didn’t fail to notice them with a smile.

  “Excellent, things are progressing nicely.” Irena pressed down firmly on Fljótdís’ stomach, which only increased the pain. “Soon you will have much bigger things to worry about. Just imagine, if I had let you produce a whelp. Have you never wondered why rutting with Harald and your beloved Erik had never saddled you with a child?”

  Fljótdís frowned and looked up at her stepmother. What was she saying? It was the herbs she took from a Healer that had kept her free from pregnancy.

  Irena smiled. “I’ll tell you a secret. It’s because of me. I took care of it as soon as you had your first sign of womanhood. It was easy to add a few little things to your drinks.”

  She couldn’t believe it. Why had Irena done this? So the herbs she had taken for so long had had no effect on her fertility, it was all Irena’s doing?

  Irena pushed down hard and Fljótdís screamed against the rag in her mouth.

  “That’s right, dear, it hurts, doesn’t it? As well it should. There are so many kinds of death, even the slow and painful death to a womb. Can you feel it writhing and withering inside you? Yes, I’ve made it so you can never conceive a son or a daughter. Do you think after my son died I would let your father’s blood spread into the next generation? No. If I couldn’t have my child, then you would have none. My work is done.”

  Several men entered the tent, and Fljótdís tensed.

  Irena scoffed at her reaction, pleased with her dread. “They won’t do anything to you unless you try to fight them. In which case…But then the damage is a bit ugly, isn’t it? I don’t think even they would wish to partake of that ripped and bloody thing now. But, men will be men. Untie her and take her out. We’re ready.”

  Fljótdís watched Irena leave, so weak that she couldn’t even summon up the hatred in her heart. The men untied her legs and hands and took the mouth gag away. She didn’t resist when they picked her up. She went on her own feet, each of the men holding her tightly by her shoulders. Another two followed, stepping around the trail of blood she left behind. No one said a word or even a whisper.

  She was in some strange glade. Trees made a perfect circle and all around torches were stuck in the ground. In the very middle stood a huge rock. It was flat, like a big, round table. She knew this place. It was hallowed ground, a place of sacrifices. The trees that surrounded the glade on all sides were sacred ash trees.

  They led her to the stone. It was covered in new blood. A sacrifice had already been made. Now it was to be her turn. She felt relief when they pressed her to her knees before the stone. Now, at last, she would die. All that had happened to her in the last couple days had been too much to bear. The humiliation had been too great. It was time to find comfort in death.

  She raised her eyes and looked at the King and her stepmother standing on the other side of the rock. Irena was extremely serious, dressed in a blood red cape and her face painted with the blood of an animal. Harald, on the other hand, stood there smiling and looking very satisfied. There was something very ominous in his eyes.

  “Your time has come,” he said with great mockery.

  She didn’t lower her eyes. “I do not fear death.”

  Harald said nothing but just kept looking at her.

  Irena brought forth a large goblet and came to Fljótdís. “Drink.”

  Fljótdís looked at her and the men’s grip on her arms became stronger. They would make her do it anyway. She took a sip. It was blood. It wasn’t the first time she had drunk animal blood.

  Irena poured the rest of the blood on the stone and gave a sign to the men. They pushed Fljótdís down on the cold stone. Irena noticed the ring on her finger. She ripped it from her hand and threw it to the ground, kicking it into the deep snow.

  “Hold her down,” Irena commanded. “Do not let her move.”

  Her arms were spread out. She heard Irena behind her. The Vǫlva tore the back of her tunic down to the waist.

  So, it wasn’t only death. It was to be the Blood Eagle. She should have expected it. This old punishment was only rarely used anymore, but this was an exception. But even the Blood Eagle couldn’t scare her if it could be her pathway to death. She was ready.

  The knife that touched her shoulder was burning hot. She flinched when it cut her skin and the grip of the guards became stronger. They pressed her harder against the stone. She clenched her teeth and didn’t make a sound, telling herself that this was no different from wounds on the battlefield. But it was different. The smell of blood from the stone made her sick and she felt it rise in her mouth.

  But something was wrong. She knew well what the Blood Eagle entailed. And this wasn’t it. Irena’s knife was carving something only on her right shoulder. Circles and rings and runes. She felt blood stream down her back. What the Hel she was doing there?

  “Great Hel!” Irena pushed the dagger deeper into Fljótdís’ flesh. “I summon thee. I’m in need of your assistance. With the sacrifice I have given you, seal the curse with your mighty staff.”

  A curse? She understood nothing, but she started to feel pain, not only on her back but in all of her body. It streamed down from the wound in her shoulder to her arms and legs. It was pain that became stronger with each moment.

  The sound of drums beat in her ears.

  Irena’s voice rose. “Hel, goddess of death! Witness this. May she never be seen, heard or felt by any human being in this world. May only the wind hear her cries and the mountains see her suffering. May she walk the Earth from the beginning of this day to the End of the Worlds. May the Gates of Valhalla remain closed to her forever and when she tries to end her life, may she rise again in a never-ending circle, robbed of life and robbed of death. Unseen. Unheard. Unfelt from now till Ragnarok comes.”

  A curse? That was Irena’s big plan? She knew her stepmother was a Vǫlva, but such a curse was something only the gods were able to do. It was complete nonsense.

  But the pain said something else. Now it burned throughout all of her body. She tried to hold back a scream. It stole her breath and made her shiver to her bones. She felt cold overtake her body. It was terrifying. She heard Harald’s voice in the distance.

  “See, whore? I told you I had something special planned for you. Death would have been too easy. Now you are going to wander through this world alone. And I’ll give you one last thought. You are mine. I was the last one to have you. And it will stay that way till the end of time. Remember it.”

  She wasn’t sure if he said
something else because there was a ringing in her ears. Every cell of her body screamed for relief, but it didn’t happen. She felt like she was burning in ten thousand flames. She couldn’t hold back a scream of pain when the torch touched her shoulder and a dark curtain fell across the world.

  The glade was covered in snow. This storm had all the signs of Skadi herself, the Goddess of Winter and the Mountains. The blizzard howled like the cries of a thousand wolves and lightning flashed as if to set the whole world on fire. It was one of those rare moments when thunder and snow happened at the same time. The trees trembled to their roots in the great wind and snow swirled like a maelstrom in the glade.

  The weather cared nothing about the woman lying on the stone. Her body was covered with snow, snow that was stained the colour of blood. The wind played with her dark hair. She didn’t move or open her eyes. It appeared that the woman was dead. Her pale face was peaceful in spite of the mad weather punishing the world around her.

  A tall female figure stood nearby, her face concealed by a huge fur hood. Her ice blue eyes watched the woman lying in the snow. She was so little, so human. The giantess Skadi walked toward the stone cautiously, her rich fur cloak dragging through the snow behind her. There was a great bow on her shoulder and a quiver of arrows on her back. She had come to Midgard to hunt, a common practice, but her attention had been distracted by a truly extraordinary barrage of thunder.

  She had just come from a nearby town where the power of the lightning’s rage had brought down the fires of Muspelheim upon every house and hall, setting them all ablaze and burning them to nothing but ash. For most, the lightning had struck so fiercely and quickly that there had been no escape. People ran screaming into the streets, their bodies engulfed in horrific flames. The dead were dragged smouldering into the blizzard’s frigid air, but the cold did nothing to save the countless victims. They died in hideous agony.

  The sufferings of humans touched her very little. Humans were a bothersome and petty race, and they had probably brought this disaster down upon themselves through drunkenness or foolishness. But the sounds of torturous screams coming from what looked like it might have been the Great Hall of the town piqued her curiosity and she watched without emotion as two individuals crawled from the building, the woman’s lavish golden hair and the man’s crowned head aflame and their cries of terror like something from Ragnarok itself. Their extravagant clothing had attracted the fire’s scorching appetite and the humans tore away at their garb, desperate to be rid of it. But it was to no avail as the lightning struck the ground all around them and the merciless flames’ hunger exploded and swallowed them with amazing speed.