Conquered Shores
By
Brooklynn Rivers
Copyright
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Conquered Shores
Copyright 2012 by Brooklynn Rivers
ASIN:
Cover Design by Barbara Allen
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Dedication
A special thanks my sister and best friend, N.R. Allen, for supporting me in this writing endeavor.
Table of Content
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Chapter 1
Shannon slid out from underneath her blankets and stretched. There was nothing better than waking up from a restful sleep. After one last yawn, she rolled on to her feet and padded across her room. She had better get going before Uncle Neill and the others woke up. He wouldn't allow her out on the beach by herself especially during the Raiding Season. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, she thought, grabbing the tattered dress that hung on the wall.
After slipping the long tunic over her head, she crouched down on the floor and searched for her shoes. There they are, she said to herself, slipping each foot inside the leather, wiggling her toes for a snug fit. With a basket in hand and a spring in her step, she shuffled over to the window and silently crawled through. Hopefully she could sneak out of the main gates and make it down to the shoreline without getting caught.
Hugging the side of the hamlet, she turned the corner and looked around to make sure no one was around. So far, so good, she grinned. The village hadn’t stirred, and there was enough time to slip through the gates before anyone could notice she was gone. Thank goodness it was still dark.
If Uncle Neill found out that she had disobeyed him again, then her punishment would be severe. And that was something to avoid. Skimming down the dirt path, Shannon remembered the stern talk he had given her about going down to the ocean alone.
“Shannon,” he said, “Ye have got to stop this nonsense. Ye don’ realize how dangerous it is.”
“Nothin’ is goin’ to happen.”
“Ye don’ know that.”
“I cannae live ma life in fear, Uncle Neill.”
“I’m not sayin’ ye should hide from every little thing, but don' ye remember what happened to yer parents?”
“I don’ want to talk about it. Yer the only father I’ve ever known,” Shannon whispered sadly, “I cannae even remember what they looked like.”
“Shannon,” he said softly, “Ye were so young when they died. My brother was a good mon and yer mother was a kindhearted soul. Neither one deserved to be cut down by those cursed Vikings.”
“I know that,” she murmured.
“Vikings are the scourge of the sea. Stay away from the ocean, Shannon. It’s no place for a young lass to roam about…”
Shannon shook her head trying to forget her uncle’s haunting words. She wanted to erase the dark thoughts of Vikings from her mind. For years, her clansmen had lived in fear of raids and attacks, but she refused to allow that rule her life. It was time to move on and leave the past behind.
Creeping down the narrow path, Shannon thought of the ocean and the adventures it held. She loved the sea—it called to her. The sound of waves crashing on the shore tempted her. Gentle breezes whispered tales of mystery that coaxed her onward, leading her to the water’s edge.
Now where’s that loose board, Shannon thought, gliding her fingers across the rough wood of the wall. She slid her hand along the planks and pushed on a few of the thick timbers. There it was. She smiled and leaned on it with her shoulder.
Free at last, she said to herself, slipping between the boards. It was time to get going before daylight breaks the sky. The sun would rise over the hills, and Uncle Neill would head into the fields like he did day after day. With any luck, she’d slip back through the gate before he noticed anything suspicious.
She shuffled down the trail watching a faint light pierce through the haze. Fog drifted over the rolling hills while the salty air tickled her nose. A slight breeze brushed over her skin as she strolled toward the meadowland. The wind tousled her auburn hair while a thin layer of mist kissed her face, teasing her senses.
It's going to be a beautiful day, she thought, spying a large mushroom that peeked out from the grass. A pot of mushroom soup served with a piping hot loaf of bread and goat cheese would make a delicious supper. Hopefully there were enough of them to make it worthwhile.
Shannon scanned the ground and smiled. One, two, three—mushrooms were everywhere. The promise of good fortune was shining down on her today. She sighed and plucked each one from the ground, tossing them in her basket.
“Just one more,” Shannon whispered, spotting something out of the corner of her eye—a morel mushroom.
She leaned over and pinched off the top, leaving the stem in the soil. A morel was a rare find especially that close to the shoreline. They usually grew in the woodlands, cleverly hiding in the rich soil. She held her prize in the sunlight streaming through the thick clouds.
That’s interesting, she sighed, examining the mushroom closely. It didn’t look like the typical ones she had found in the fields. The sinewy texture captivated her, hypnotized her every thought. Its shape and dark color exposed every uneven coil and whorl. Suddenly the spiraling filament transformed into wisps of smoke…
Flames rose from the village as darkness filled the sky. Thick ash hung in the air, smothering her gasps. Cinders exploded everywhere. Screams echoed through the air as livestock ran wildly through the dirt path.
“Shannon!” a voice cried, “Get out of here!”
She turned and gasped. Viking berserkers raced down the path, slashing everything that stood in the way. Their battle cries pierced her ears. They were closing in.
Don’t just stand there, she thought, feeling her heart pound fiercely. Run!
Her legs, paralyzed by fear, sunk deeper into the ground. Blood surged through her veins. Sweat trickled down her forehead. Smoke blanketed her, muffling her screams, drowning her in a sea of horror. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.
Suddenly, a Viking warrior darted out from the flames. His face was masked by a helmet—his bare chest rippled with muscles. He was racing toward her, and there was nothing she could do. She was defenseless, vulnerable to his attack.
He stood in front of her and snarled. Shannon could hear his raspy breathing, sense his need to destroy. His stare sent an icy chill down her spine.
Don’t look at him, she thought. Try to run away.
It was impossible. His hold over her was too powerful to resist. Locked in a heated battle, she knew there was no hope.
“Submit to me." His voice echoed through her brain.
“Never,” she whispe
red.
With one swift move, he brought down his sword…
“No!” she screamed, snapping out of the trance.
Calm down, she whispered, clutching her chest. It’s just a vision. Everything was going to be fine.
The nightmares had gotten worse, and the images had grown more vivid than before. At first, she was haunted by dreams only at night, but now they plagued her during the day. No matter what she did, nothing could prevent them from happening.
She caught her breath and calmed her nerves. Bad dreams were nothing out of the ordinary, but this was something different—something sinister. These were too real. After losing her parents, she had been cursed with dozens of them. In the beginning, she believed they were memories of the Viking raid that happened years ago. However, when she was alone at night, Shannon often thought they were messages sent from her parents. Perhaps they were warnings of what was yet to come.
Snap out of it, she thought, swallowing a lump that had formed in the back of her throat. It was time to forget about such horrible things and move on. Shannon had to keep going and collect her thoughts before superstition consumed her.
She needed something to wash the terrible image from her memory—the sea. Shannon heard the sound of ocean waves lapping across the beach. Lochlan Cliff was just a stone’s throw away. The salty mist teased the tip of her tongue; the smell of fresh air blowing in from the sea calmed her. The ocean had a way of cleansing her mind of any unpleasantness.
Shannon peered over the cliff watching the waves ebb and flow, pushing toward the beach—back and forth, up and down—forming white peaks on the tide. They crashed onto the shore dragging grains of sand back into the ocean. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to concentrate on something peaceful and serene. Seagulls. She pictured a flock of gulls gliding gracefully across the sky.
Submit to me.
A loud shriek pierced the air, shattering every nerve in her body. Shannon opened her eyes and scanned the terrain. She peered up to the sky and saw a falcon soaring above her. The tethers hanging on its legs danced wildly in the wind. It circled her, spiraling closer and closer. Another screech permeated the air then suddenly it swooped down toward her.
Blood surged through her veins. Sweat moistened her brow. With only seconds to spare, Shannon dropped her basket and fell to the ground, covering her head. Leather straps whipped across her shoulder. A frenzy of feathers slapped her body.
“Get away!” she screamed, swatting the air frantically.
All of a sudden, it flew away flapping its wings rapidly. She peered up from the tall grasses and saw the falcon gradually climb higher into the sky.
“That was too close,” she gasped, feeling her heart thump hard against her ribcage.
A twinge of uneasiness rippled her core. This was an omen—a terribly bad omen. No one in her village owned such a creature. She swallowed hard. There’s only one race of people who used falcons to hunt and track prey.
Vikings.
Shannon scrambled to her feet and tried to steady her nerves. The falcon bellowed out another haunting cry, sending a chill down her back. Her blood ran cold, wondering if it would come back and attack again.
Looking up at the sky, she watched the bird dart over the murky sea ascending far into the clouds. It weaved effortlessly through the fog that drifted above the ocean waters.
Shannon peered into the distance and shuddered. Something ominous dotted the horizon—a dark spot floated on top of the waves. It bobbed up and down on the waters drawing nearer to the coastline. A wave of nausea swept over her—it seemed to grow larger.
"That’s no fishing boat," Shannon whispered, studying the vessel as it raced closer to the shoreline. No Irish vessel could skim the water like this one. She shielded her brow and gazed into the depths once more.
“Oh no,” she breathed, watching an outline of a dragon’s head emerge from the mist, “They’re here.”
Terror washed over her as voices drifted up from below. She looked over the cliff and saw several Viking boats resting on the beach. Her throat tightened, her jaw tensed.
“God have mercy on us all,” she whispered.
Terror ripped through her body. Panic flooded her soul. They were coming, and there was nothing she could do about it.
She crouched down, hearing footsteps slosh through the sand. Swish, swish. The sound of cavalry marching in perfect rhythm made her skin crawl. Swish, swish, swish swish—they’re getting closer.
Shannon inched back from the ledge and slithered into a thicket as a platoon of Vikings head eastward. Her heart sank knowing they were marching toward her village. She held her breath and watched them disappear into the woods.
Please don’t let this happen, Shannon thought, squeezing her eyes shut. Something had to be done before they reached the gate. Don’t panic and stay calm, she told herself. There had to be a way to get back to Bennetraige.
Wait, she thought. There’s a shortcut through the midlands. Her eyelids flew open.
“Devil’s Gap.”
If Shannon could pass through Devil's Gap, then she could warn the clan before the Vikings could get to Bennetraige. Was she out of her mind? Crossing it was nearly impossible. Many had tried, but none succeeded. But what other choice did she have? She’d rather die trying than face a Viking’s sword.
She sprang from the thicket and dashed through the meadow, wading through tall grass. Adrenaline rushed through her body. Sweat moistened her skin, tension flowed through her veins.
Hurry it up, she thought, feeling her lungs spasm. She sprinted faster, leaping over rocks and trudging through sand. There’s no time to lose. Devil's Gap was only a few yards away.
Shannon dashed toward the rocky embankment, barreling through the brambles. Tall grass lashed at her shins like a leather whip. Tiny pebbles bruised her feet, cutting into each sole. Keep going, she said to herself, pumping her legs harder. She was almost there.
With one more thrust, she finally made it to Devil's Gap. Shannon stopped and looked over the edge. She caught her breath and peered into the darkness. Her knees trembled uncontrollably as she stared into the mouth of Hell. Sharp rocks jutted out from the walls like jagged teeth ready to devour her. It was incredibly dark and dangerous. The crevice was so deep that she couldn’t see the bottom. There was no end.
It looked impossible to get across, she thought, sucking in a deep breath. Doubt consumed her. Panic flooded her mind. Could she do this? Did she have the strength to make it to the other side?
“Dear God,” she prayed, clutching the cross around her neck, “Grant me a miracle.”
Swish, swish…
She hurled her feet over the ledge and skidded down the side, knocking a few pebbles loose. Her heart fluttered wildly as stones bounced off the cavern wall, echoing through the darkness. An icy chill bellowed up from below, freezing her skin. The smell of earth clogged her nostrils, but she still continued on.
Be careful, she thought, putting one leg over the other. Shannon had to go slow and tread softly, or she could plummet to her death. She caught her breath and skimmed along the rocky wall.
Easing her way through the maze of serrated rocks, she weaved down the slope carefully. After making it to level ground, she looked around for a way out. Something strange caught her eye—a stream of sunlight spilled out from the hollow fissure that split the wall.
A tunnel—a way out.
With no bridge to cross, it was impossible to get to the other side. Shannon looked around, trying to figure out a way. She swallowed hard and looked down into the dark abyss. It was incredibly deep and frightening. The only way to get over was to jump. Her stomach tightened, knowing that she had no other choice.
“Ye have gotten this far, Shannon of Bennetraige,” she said to herself, backing up to get a running start, “It’s no turnin’ back now.”
One.
Two.
Three.
She bolted across the ledge and felt her feet leave the ground.
For a brief moment, she was as light as a feather, flying high through the air. Within seconds, she crashed onto the rocky shelf and scratched her knees, bruising her legs.
“There’s no time to worry about a few scrapes,” she murmured, “Keep movin’. Don’ let ‘em win.”
Scrambling to her feet, Shannon sucked in a deep breath and exhaled. She had made it to the other side.
“Follow the light,” she whispered, trampling down the tunnel, brushing off thick cobwebs that blanketed the fissure, “Bennetraige isnae much further now. It's nae too late to warn them.”
Heart pounding against her ribcage, she ventured into the narrow passageway and weaved through the stalagmites that jutted up from the cavern floor. Keep going, she told herself, feeling a few patches of moss under her feet. It’s not much farther.
After weaving through the rock terrain, she felt bright sunlight splash her face. Go, she urged herself, run faster. She had to reach Bennetraige and warn the clan.
Shannon bolted from the mouth of the cave and sprinted through a field. The celtic necklace around her neck bounced wildly with each frantic leap. Wind whipped her body mercilessly, slashing at her flesh like a dagger. Faster, Shannon panted. She had to intercept the Vikings.
After climbing to the top of the hill, Shannon saw the impenetrable gates of Bennetraige rise from the meadowland. A strange sense of relief mixed with pride overwhelmed her. She did it—she beat the Vikings at their own game.
Shannon dashed down the side and darted toward the east end. She picked up the pace and pushed on. Within minutes, she saw the wall staring straight at her. Where is the board, she thought, running a shaky palm along the timber. There’s no time to spare. With a gentle push, she found it and nudged it forward. After squeezing through, she shuffled inside and saw several villagers wandering along the path. The first thing she had to do was find her uncle—he’d know what to do.
“Shannon,” a voice called out, “Where’ve ye been?”
“Braelin, have ye seen my uncle?”
“Yer uncle? What’s wrong? Ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost.”
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