My palms are raw and my back aches, but the empty blue of the ocean sets my mind at ease. It’s been four hard days of rowing since the raid, with those on the oars given little time to rest. But I don’t mind. The constant motion has given me scarce time to think about that night. Though my thoughts still find a way to stray there, and I catch myself thinking about Alden laying in the sand, breathing his last.

We left the beach not long after Chief Braniel and the other warriors returned. Only two of our number didn’t join us. Chief Braniel wanted to search for them, but Einer convinced him it was time to leave. They were new Wolf-brothers, men from across the White River that I didn’t know well, but I still hope they’re out there somewhere. Gunnar thinks they’re dead, but I saw how fast Olen could swing an axe. The thought of some frightened Bladorian taking him down doesn’t sit right with me. If they are out there somewhere, I pray to the great Wolf and Bear they find their way home.

Home. Despite our constant rowing, Hafthan is still many leagues away. Right now, the longships are headed for the island of Sul. There we will store our spoils and prepare for the next raid. It’s also where I will be made warrior. I know I should feel pride at being officially named a man, but I can’t shake the uneasiness in my gut. Three men I’ve put to the sword, one a farmer, the other a scared boy. Only the first man I killed was a proper fighter, his spear and armor marking him as such. Are these deaths truly all I need to be called a warrior? To be called a man?

I look over to Einer who rows across from me. We’ve spoken little despite being within constant earshot of each other. And the way he looks at me, it’s like he’s ashamed. Probably because of the boy I let live. Einer is one of the few from our village sworn to the sword, and as Swordfather’s greatest student, losing his respect would be worse than a fatal blow. But I can’t talk about it now, not with our brothers rowing beside us.

Especially Briar.

My blood rushes thinking about him. He had to know I didn’t want to fight. That’s why he twisted things, just as he’s always done. Ever since we were little children training under Swordfather, he’s been a constant thorn in my side. But after Father died last summer it’s like he’s redoubled his efforts. The fact I was allowed to join the raid on my first voyage has to be eating at him. I hope he’s there when Chief Braniel names me. Maybe I’ll ask if he can stand right beside me, just so I can savor the look on his face.

“All things are lost in anger.” I take a deep breath, Swordfather’s advice battling against the rage in my heart. Eventually Swordfather’s wisdom wins out and I’m left staring blankly at the horizon. A few gulls fly overheard, their little white wings shining in the bright midday sun. Still watching them, I catch a whiff of smoke. Rubbing my nose, I try and dismiss it. I’ve been smelling ash and smoke for days now, after all. But then I spot the thin grey line rising in the distance.

Sul is burning.

***

Chief Braniel is first off the longships, his great axe slung over one shoulder. He bellows orders at his men to form up around him. Those on our boat spring to action, our weapons drawn. We follow Einer as he leaps into the shallow water, his boots splashing in the surf. But when we charge up the beach, one of our clan appears over the ridge and halts us.

“Calm Braniel,” Sarl says, holding out an open palm. “Fight is already done.” He glances over his shoulder. “But the fires are not quenched. Come.”

We follow Sarl down the slope. Sul village spreads out before us, dozens of thatch roofs dotting the field ahead with a great longhouse taking up its center. Two of the homes are burning, the fire threating to spread. Joining men gathered around a well nearby, we each take a bucket and rush toward the inferno.

“What happened?” Chief Braniel asks, axe still at the ready.

“Silver Serpents,” Sarl replies, saying the name with utter contempt. “They attacked when the sun was small in the sky, set quick fires and fled.”

I toss water into the blaze, but it does nothing. Looking about, I see the others are also having little success.

“Why would the Serpents attack us?” Braniel finally lays his axe down, the motion looking a little deflated.

“We don’t know. But we’ve got four held in the hall. We can let you be the one to question them, if you like.”

Braniel smiles. “And I thought this day would be boring.”

There’s a crash, and the walls of the burning house collapse. Luckily, the fire in the neighboring home is nearly put out. Panting, Einer steps up beside me.

“When you find a moment, we need to speak,” he whispers, a dark look in his eyes.

My chest tightens with the possibilities of that conversation. “Very well.”

“Kasten!” Chief Braniel calls, waving me closer.

I approach slowly, Einer’s sudden request slowing my steps. Joining him, the Chief smiles.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. As soon as this business with the Serpents is settled, I’ll gather the clan and name you.” A great oak of an arm slaps down across my back and the Chief pulls me into a tight embrace. “Your father would be very proud of you.”

“Thank you, uncle.” I reply, struggling to breathe.

“Braniel, we should question the prisoners as soon as possible. Those we captured are shaken and I fear time may harden them.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Chief Braniel releases me, and I stumble back, doing my best to suck in air without looking like a fool. Sarl stands beside me, wiping sweat from his brow, his linen shirt positively soaked through. It’s hot, but he seems to be the only one so worn out. He was left to watch the village in our absence. That kind of responsibility must weight heavy on a man.

Chief Braniel arches his back with a grunt, his great shoulders popping as he stretches. “Ah, very well, Sarl. Never were the patient one, were you?”

Sarl shrugs and turns to those gathered about us. “The rest of you! Get this fire put out and under control!”

I’m about to head for the well when the chief grabs my wrist. “Hold a moment,” he rakes a hand through his thick, greying beard, eyes squinted as if in deep thought. “I want you to come with me. Loosening lips is a good skill to learn. And importantly,” he smiles. “It will be fun.”

I shake my head. “I’m not sure. I—”

“Ah, just come with me.” He pulls me along beside him, then turns back to those struggling with the fire. “Gunnar, you come along too. And grab my axe, we may need it.”

Sarl waits for us ahead. Once we reach him, the three of us follow him up a path that winds toward the village center.

Little children gather along the way, staring at the chief from the path’s edge with admiration and awe. Sul island has no chief or king, but Uncle Braniel visits every raiding season. He brings them wealth from the southern lands, and they love him for it. As he nods and waves at warriors and children alike, I can’t help but smile at the soft expression on his face. He looks so much like Father.

Like most men of Hafthan, Father was a raider. As the chief’s younger brother, he had more than his fair share of opportunities for glory on the battlefield. He died at sea during a storm last raiding season. His whole longship went down with him. The day we received the news is the only time I remember the village being so quiet. A great pyre was built for him, effigies burnt within to honor the lost sons and daughters of Hafthan. He was a hero, a legend. I worry sometimes that each step I take somehow dishonors his memory. For he was a warrior in the truest sense. Brave, proud, and powerful. The way the children and young warriors of Sul look at Chief Braniel, it’s just like how those back home used to look at Father.

Sul’s only longhouse stands dominate in the village’s center. I’m told it was built long ago by Ulrend the Name Taker, first high king of Hafthan. The old stone walls are a deep shade of grey, covered in etchings and markings I do not recognize. Carvings of dragons and battles long past dominate the great oak doors. Standing before them, I’m reminded of our people’s grand martial history. Pride swells in my chest.

“They are in one of the back chambers,” Sarl says. “We have no jail here, so they were hastily weighed down with irons. We removed their weapons but be careful. The Serpents are both swift and treacherous.”

“Chief Braniel,” I say as Sarl pushes the massive doors wide. “Who are the Silver Serpents?”

His face immediately grows dark “Arthan mercenaries,” he says Arthan with a slight growl, his face twitching. “They’ve vermin. Worse than the Bladorians. Worse than the scum on the bottom of my boot.”

“Agreed,” Gunnar huffs besides us, Braniel’s axe a massive thing in the old warrior’s thin, wrinkled arms. “But why would they attack a little village like this? They are far, far from home.”

“Perhaps they wanted to steal our battle loot?” I chime in.

“A reasonable guess, Kasten. But raiding season just started. If they wanted to steal from us, the cowards would have waited.” He scratches at his beard, a furious expression building on his face. “And they’re mercenaries. They don’t piss unless someone’s paying them to do it. No, they didn’t do this alone.”

The oak doors part and warm air rushes from the opening. Inside a great table dominates the center of the room. Various Bear-sisters are busy readying the table, wine goblets, plates and platters clinking to life. Great tapestries spread across the walls, each telling the story of a clan’s founding. Banners also roll from the ceiling, the blue of our clan, the Sea Claws, is the largest of them all.

“Already preparing a feast?” Chief Braniel smiles, his face relaxing.

The smell of roasted meat hits my nose, and my stomach groans.

“They started as soon as they realized you’d returned. The villagers are grateful for your spoils and your protection.”

“And I’m glad to give it. Gunnar,” Braniel turns to the old warrior. “Give Kasten my axe and go fetch sister Ryka. Tell her she’s urgently needed in the kitchens.”

He laughs and something about it twists my gut.

Gunnar hands me the chief’s axe with sweat smeared palms. The long hunk of metal is even heavier than it looks, and I struggle to hold it steady. He sighs when he looks through the longhouse doors, no doubt relishing the idea of another trek up and down hill.

I follow Chief Braniel to the back corner of the longhouse where a series of thick doors jut from the wall.

“Wait out here a moment,” Sarl says, producing a key from his waist.

“Why wait, you said yourself they are near to cracking already.” Chief Braniel pops his knuckles.

“I must make sure they won't try anything. If our chief was to come to harm because of my lax preparation, I could never forgive myself.”

“Nonsense. I can handle a whole band of the Serpents, the sniveling worms.” Chief Braniel goes for the key, but Sarl snatches it away.

“Please! Please, chief. Let me just be sure.”

Chief Braniel makes a sound somewhere between a grunt and growl. “Have it your way, Sarl.”

Sarl bows before slipping the key into a small hole below the door handle. We don’t have doors like this back in the village, and the metallic click I hear is new to me.

After Sarl disappears beyond the door, closing it behind him, Chief Braniel sighs. “Wait here. I need a drink.”

I watch him as he strides to the closest bear-sister and starts demanding wine. Beyond the door I can hear Sarl talking to the prisoners. It’s faint, but I make out the words Raid, Promise, and Family more than once. Just as Chief Braniel returns, goblet of wine in hand, Sarl emerges. His face is pale, his brow still thick with sweat, but he smiles.

“They are ready for you.”

Chief Braniel chugs down the wine. Wiping his mouth, he tosses the goblet to the ground and holds out an open palm. “My axe, boy.”

He takes the hunk of metal in one hand, treating it as if it weighs nothing. His other hand claps me on the shoulder, the great paw nearly knocking me over.

“Time for a little entertainment before dinner,” he says, opening the door.

“Be careful of their treachery, chief. The snakes love to lie.” Sarl backs away, rubbing his hands together as if a sudden chill has taken him.

“Sarl I’m starting to believe you should be a Bear-sister with all this worrying you’re doing. This isn’t my first tangle with the vermin, and you know that.” Chief Braniel turns to me, eyes taking on a sinister glare. “Come Kasten, let’s skin us a few snakes.”