Conquered Shores

by Brooklynn Rivers

  “It’s worse than that,” she said, looking around nervously, “Vikings are headed this way!”

  “Vikings?”

  Suddenly, hundreds of flaming arrows rained down from the sky, setting thatched roofs on fire. “Run!”

  Shannon grabbed Braelin’s hand and dragged him through the streets trying to find a place to hide. Smoke tainted her nostrils, screams droned in her head. She had to find shelter before succumbing to the flames. There was no place to go, nowhere to hide.

  Ashes floated in the air. Each time she inhaled, soot invaded her mouth. Smoke smothered every breath.

  “Hold on to me. Don’ let go!” she coughed, grabbing Braelin by the hand.

  “Where’re we goin’?”

  “St. Mullin’s Monastery.”

  Shannon raced down the footpath dragging Braelin behind her. She looked on either side and saw others joining in the race to the high tower. Her heart pounded out of her chest. Fear surged through her veins. Hopefully, they could make it there before the monks barricaded themselves inside.

  Then she saw it—St. Mullin’s Monastery. Its grey walls could withstand anything. Each stone was so thick that nothing could penetrate it. The tower had stood there for centuries, and no Viking could bring it down.

  “There’s the door!” Shannon yelled, keeping a firm grip on Braelin’s hand, “Run!”

  Before they could dash inside, the monks closed the iron door and bolted it shut.

  “No!” Shannon yelled, pounding her fists against the iron.

  “Let us in!” another voice rang out from the mob.

  Shannon slammed her body against the barrier and screamed.

  “Help us! Open the door! Open it!”

  “Shannon,” Braelin called out, tugging on her arm, “Grab the rope!”

  She looked up and saw a thick rope dangling from the high tower window. “Jump!”

  She leaped for it, feeling the end of the twine graze her fingertips. This can’t be happening, she thought. Her stomach filled with terror while the monks pulled it back into the window.

  “No!” she cried, “Ye cannae do this!”

  Shannon screamed and dug her fingernails into her palms. The monks had stolen any last hope of escape with the tug of a rope. They had taken the town’s wealth and barricaded themselves within the tower walls, leaving everyone else to face death.

  “Damn!” she cursed, beating on the iron door.

  “What do we do now?” Braelin asked.

  Shannon looked down and saw fear in the little boy’s eyes. Horror filled the pit in her stomach. Blood pulsed through her temples. She swallowed hard and glanced over her shoulder. A band of marauders barreled down the footpath toward them.

  “Go!” she screamed and grabbed his hand.

  Shannon and the others scattered, frantically sprinting down the path, jumping over those who lay in the streets. Axes hurled passed them. Arrows flew above their heads. Vikings flooded the streets of Bennetraige.

  “They’re coming!” Braelin squealed.

  “Don’ look back!” she screamed, darting around a hamlet.

  “What do we do now?” he asked breathlessly, hunkering down behind the hut.

  Shannon stopped to catch her breath. Her eyes burned from the smoke. Every muscle in her body ached from the strain. She looked around, wondering what to do.

  “We’ve got to hide.”

  “Where?”

  “Follow me.”

  She loosened her grip and edged along the hamlet wall, searching for the door. Suddenly, a shrill whistle cut the air as a spear split the wood just inches from her face. Her knees buckled as the crack of the timber ricocheted in her ears. Shannon’s stomach tightened.

  “Shannon!” Braelin cried, “Are ye alright?”

  “I’m fine,” she whispered, trying to hide her terror, “Let’s go.”

  Shannon clutched the boy’s hand once more and ducked under the vibrating spear. She rounded the corner and saw the entrance on the other side. They could hide in the hamlet until the raid was over—that was their only hope.

  She turned to him and said,

  “Listen, Braelin, we’re makin’ a run for it. This is our only chance so stay close to me. Do ye understand?”

  “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “We can do this,” she whispered.

  "On the count of three?"

  "We better run fast."

  “One, two,” she counted, taking a deep breath, “Three!”

  Shannon and the boy darted for the door, racing to get to the other side. Stones crunched under her feet. Adrenaline pumped through her body. They were almost there. Safety was just a few feet away.

  Suddenly a sword-wielding Viking jumped out in front of them, stopping Shannon in her tracks. Her legs tightened. She could barely breathe.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he snarled.

  “Get away,” Shannon yelped, knowing she had to make a stand or die.

  “You don’t look like much of a challenge to me,” he laughed.

  Shannon stared at him, knowing what he wanted to do. His piercing glare from within the metal helmet told her what she needed to know—she couldn’t bear to be claimed by such a Viking. There was no way she could win this battle, but she had to try.

  “Think again!” she screamed, darting to the other side.

  With one quick shove, the barbarian pushed Shannon down. She hit the ground hard sending a wave of pain racing up her back. He lunged for her, but she rolled away.

  She needed a weapon. Anything—something that could take his head off!

  From out of the corner of her eye, Shannon saw a broken broom handle. She quickly scooted to the door and snatched it.

  “Take this, ye bloody barbarian!” she wailed, slamming the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees.

  Shannon sprung to her feet wielding her weapon with both hands. With one powerful swing, she cracked him on the side of his head. She walloped him until she knocked him out cold. Pride swelled in side her knowing that she had beaten a barbarian.

  She tossed the broken broom handle to the side and caught a glimpse of something through the smoky haze. Someone was standing just across the street staring straight through her, burning a hole through her soul.

  “Shannon!” Braelin yelled.

  “Wait.” She stopped in her tracks. “Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  From out of nowhere, the sound of a falcon’s cry pierced the air. Shannon trembled as it dove out of the grey cloud that blanketed Bennetraige and lit on the warrior's arm. An icy chill raced down her spine.

  “Shannon!” Braelin screamed, “Come! We’ve got to hide!”

  Shannon stood there, frozen in terror. Her lips started to quiver. Her limbs grew numb.

  “Shannon!” Braelin’s voice echoed.

  She turned and scuttled inside. Her nightmares were about to come true, she thought. Something dark was about to befall her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  Chapter 2

  Gunnar Ravenshield shook his head in disbelief. His eyes had to be playing tricks on him. Dirk Bjornsson had never lost a battle in his life, but today a woman had brought him to his knees! Bjornsson must not have been man enough to handle her, he thought.

  Sure, she had shown courage, but this girl wasn’t Viking. Perhaps there was something else going on. One thing was for certain, she had impressed him. He hadn’t seen such strength in a woman in all his years of pillaging the coastal shores of Ireland, England and beyond. Her valor sparked his curiosity, incited his lust. A woman warrior was a rare find and shouldn’t be ignored. Something inside his core told him to pursue her.

  “What say you, Andor?” he asked the bird perched on his forearm, “Let’s see what kind of fire she has.”

  After the bird took flight, Ravenshield slowly waded through the sea of mayhem, making his way to the tiny hamlet. She was hiding inside, but it wouldn’t take long to flush her ou
t.

  Marching up to the hut, Ravenshield glanced down Bjornsson sprawled out on the ground. He spied the splintered broomstick that lay beside him. Dirk was going to suffer a terrible headache once he woke up, he thought. With a spin of his heel, he stepped inside.

  It’s too dark to see clearly, so he took off his helmet and waited for his eyes to adjust before going farther. Shadows danced on the walls. The room was eerily quiet. He wondered if she could be leading him into a trap.

  He moved slowly, trying to be quiet. Broken pottery crackled under his boots. Blazing embers danced inside the hearth. Silence blanketed the room.

  Where could she be? Perhaps she had found a way out, he thought. Impossible. He wagered that she was hiding, hoping he would go away, but that was far from his mind.

  “Where are you hiding, wench?” he growled, “You’ve backed yourself in a corner. There’s nowhere to run. I will find you.”

  Gunnar heard a faint noise coming from the back of the hamlet. It had to be her. She was making this into a game, and he was more than ready for a challenge. He was determined to win this battle no matter what the cost.

  From out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure crouched down on the other side of the room. The silhouette looked too small to be her. Shadows were deceiving, Ravenshield thought as he stepped forward. It was her. He could feel it.

  Crash!

  Something hard slammed against his head, jarring his skull. A flash of pain surged through him. Stars exploded in front of his eyes. Shards of pottery rained down over him, cutting the side of his face.

  He shook his head and tried to remain calm. Stay in control, he told himself. A Viking never succumbed to pain. The girl was smarter than he realized, but it would take more than a hit on the head to deter him.

  Ravenshield looked around the room and waited for his vision to clear. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw something move. In a flash, a young boy darted from the shadows and dashed by him, running out of the door. Good, he thought. She was alone, and that was the way he wanted it.

  “I commend your bravery, but now you are defenseless,” he growled. A stinging sensation rippled across his cheek. Warm liquid oozed down his jaw. He reached up and smeared a tinge of blood between his fingers.

  “I’m not as helpless as ye think!” Another clay urn soared through the air, smashing against the wall.

  “Come then,” he challenged, “Fight me if you dare.”

  Shannon jumped out of the shadows and ran toward the hearth. She grabbed a piece of firewood from the embers and swung it around. Flames leapt into the air threatening to burn his skin.

  “Back off!” she yelled, jabbing at him.

  Ravenshield retreated. “You fight like a Valkyrie.”

  “Get out!” she ordered, whipping the torch at his midsection.

  “You cannot win this.” He jumped back. “You have no place to go.”

  Shannon glanced at the door, knowing she would have to get by him in order to escape. She thrust the flames toward him again.

  “Ye can go to hell!”

  Ravenshield dropped to the floor and rolled away. He sprang to his feet and growled, “You’ve proven to be a worthy adversary to my friend, but can you defeat me?”

  “I’ll flog ye,” she spat, waving her weapon from side to side, “Just like I flogged him.”

  “Let's see what you can do with this.” He unsheathed a dagger and tossed it from one hand to the other.

  Shannon’s stomach rippled, seeing the steel glint in the firelight. He had another thing coming if he thought she would give in with out a fight. It was now or never. She brandished her flaming sword with all of her might. Flames danced wildly. Embers flew through the air.

  Keep going, she thought, watching him recoil. The door was just a few feet away. The battle was almost over. She was almost there.

  Suddenly, Ravenshield reached out and deflected the torch with his elbow, propelling it through the air. The fiery missile slammed against the wall with a thunderous boom. Cinders exploded, setting a tapestry on fire. The flames licked at the material, consuming the fabric inch-by-inch.

  He seized a bucket of water beside the hearth and threw it on the fire, choking out the flames. Tossing the empty pail to the side, Ravenshield turned around and saw her tear off toward the door. In a blink of an eye, he reached out and grabbed her.

  “Let go!” she yelled, wriggling in his arms.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he snarled and pushed her to the ground.

  “Ye filthy barbarian!” she screamed, scrambling across the floor.

  “You do have spirit.” He reached down and grabbed her ankle. “I’ll give you that.”

  “Let go!” she squealed.

  Ravenshield dragged her across the floor effortlessly.

  “I’ll let go,” he grunted, picking her up and setting her on the table, “When I’m good and ready.”

  “What are ye…” she started, feeling his hands grab her knees, “No, no!”

  “I have won this battle,” he spat, pushing against her, ripping her dress, “You will submit.”

  “Never,” she cried, raising her hand to slap him. “Don’ ye touch me!”

  Ravenshield caught her palm and held it to the table though she struggled to break free. He ran a few of his fingers through her long auburn hair, carefully removing a piece of debris that dangled from the thick locks that enveloped her face. With a flick of his forefinger, he sent the leaf on a wispy journey through the air, landing softly on the ground.

  “I’ll touch whatever I want.”

  Gunnar laced a handful of hair between his fingers and pulled her closer to him. He captured her lips with his own, tasting the moist cavern of her mouth, feeling her tremble from his forceful embrace.

  Suddenly, a sharp pain seared his bottom lip. Fire rippled in his mouth. He recoiled and howled so loudly that it shook the walls.

  “You bit me!” he exclaimed.

  Shannon screamed, kicking and writhing beneath him.

  Anger surged through every ounce of Ravenshield’s body, melting any compassion he had possessed. No Irish wench was going to get away with humiliating him. No matter how bravely she had fought, she was going to pay.

  “You will submit to me,” he snapped, ripping the front of her dress.

  Ravenshield stopped and stared at the blemish on her breast. Was it a birthmark? A tattoo of some kind?

  He ran a finger gently over it, tracing what looked like a head of a dragon. “What is this?”

  “Get yer filthy hands off me,” she growled, shoving his hand away.

  “Were you born with that mark?” he asked, stripping off his armor and tunic.

  “Leave me alone,” she barked, squirming off of the table.

  “Nevermind,” he said hurriedly, “Put this on, and do not let anyone see that.”

  “What?” she asked. He pulled the tunic over her head and fastened the belt around her waist.

  “Just do as I say,” he said in Gaelic, donning his armor, “Your life depends on it.”

  Shannon stared at him in disbelief. How could this barbarian know her native language? He must be smarter than what she had given him credit for. What difference did it make? She had to escape by any means possible.

  Suddenly, another Viking barged in the room, winded and worn.

  “Ravenshield.” He held his hand to his head. “Kill her and go. We have enough loot. The village is burning to the ground.”

  “This one is coming with us,” he said, sheathing his dagger.

  “Wait,” he wheezed, staring at Shannon, “This is the same wench that bested me. I want to teach her a lesson.”

  “No, Dirk,” Ravenshield snapped and grabbed her by the arm, “I’m claiming this one. She belongs to me.”

  “Let go!” Shannon howled. She tried to pull away, but his grip was too powerful.

  He dragged Shannon out of the building, keeping a firm grip on her arm.

  “Please let me
go. Please…”

  She looked up and gasped at the horror that lay before her—bodies littered the ground. Livestock ran everywhere. Death and destruction reigned over the quiet village of Bennetraige. Her premonition had come true.

  Submit to me...

  Never, she thought, walking down the dirt path. No matter what happened, she would never submit to a Viking.

  “Move faster,” he barked.

  Just look down and try to block it out, Shannon told herself. But no matter how hard she tried, the temptation was too strong. She glanced up and saw a thick cloud of smoke rise from the hamlets as they burned to the ground. Cries of her people saturated the air.

  She watched as a dozen or more clansmen marched by, shackled and chained. Shannon froze. An icy chill ran down her spine. Little Braelin was among the captured. She tried to swallow the lump that had formed in the back of her throat, but she choked instead.

  This was too much to bear. Bennetraige had been sacked, and those who survived had been taken prisoner. Those damned heathens had destroyed everything and left nothing behind.

  “Move.”

  Someone gave Shannon a shove, prodding her on. She bowed her head and shuffled down the path slowly, losing any hope for survival. This was worse than any nightmare imaginable. It was too late, no one could save her. Her only wish was that her uncle had escaped into the Blackstairs Mountains. Hopefully, he was able to lead some of the clan to safety.

  She had finally made it to the gates of Bennetraige. Shannon's knees weakened. She gasped. The gate had been breached, nearly destroyed. Thick logs had been reduced to splinters.

  The fortress couldn't protect her anymore. Her heart pounded furiously. Once she stepped through the gates, her life would be forfeited. She would become a slave forever.

  “Go,” he ordered, latching onto her arm, pulling her through the gates.

  A terrible feeling swept over Shannon the moment her feet crossed the line. Where were they taking her? What were they planning to do?

  “Hand me those shackles.” A stocky fighter tossed a set of chains over to Ravenshield.

  The sound of clanging metal echoed loudly, making her head throb with tension. Wake up, she told herself. This could not be happening. Not to her. It’s just another horrible dream, she thought as her eyes started to moisten.