With the sun just breaching the horizon, Venna returned to where Orn, Erik, Brenda, and Selti were resting. She tapped Erik on the leg. “I’m going back to check on the village and to find your father. You stay here and protect them.”

“No Mother, I’m coming with you. You can’t go on your own.”

“OK, if you come with me, who protects them?” she asked, looking at Erik with her eyebrows arched. “Well? Who?”

Erik bit his bottom lip and looked away, his eyes welling up. Orn stirred, looked around, and sat upright, memories of the previous night rushing back. “Father!” he cried out before Erik had the chance to clamp his hand over his mouth. He looked around wild-eyed, but after a few moments, calmed down. His sudden outburst woke Selti and her mother. Venna informed them of what she intended to do. However, it was Orn this time. “I’m coming with you.”

“No!” said Venna emphatically.

“I’m not needed here. I’ll hang back and stay out of sight. But you might need help with something.” As he spoke, he looked at her, half determined and half pleading. “I’ll just follow you, anyway.”

Venna looked at him in consternation, then she grudgingly relented. She told him quietly, but forcefully through clenched teeth, “You stay out of sight, got it?”

“Got it, Mother. I swear.”

For a few more seconds she eyed him, and moved off, with Orn trailing her by approximately sixty feet. Orn stayed low. He still had a dull headache, but he didn’t know why.

They approached the scene where Venna had fought the three men. Two of the men she killed, though she didn’t finish the one she knocked down. Orn saw her slow down, searching. He stopped there and crouched lower, straining his eyes to try spotting what she was looking for. While he looked around, among the trees, he thought he saw a blonde girl. He blinked and tried to focus, but it appeared she had moved back into the trees. He thought of calling out, but decided against it.

After a short time of searching, it appeared Venna didn’t find what she sought. She moved on to the village. As Orn drew closer, here and there, he would spot a villager lying in the grass as they neared the dwellings. Some were face down. The rest faced up, vacant eyes gazing at the sky. Many of the residences were smouldering ruins, half collapsed in on themselves. The broken house frames were like charred fingers pointing to the heavens in accusation.

Orn was trying his best to keep himself under control. His headache, the smell of smoke, and the sight of the dead bodies were making him feel nauseated again. But he fought to keep his heaving stomach in check as he held back tears. He thought focussing on his mother would help distract him, so he tried that.

His mother amazed him with how she moved. With the cat-like grace, she was all business, stopping here to check on someone, stopping there to check on someone. Stabbing an enemy’s body to make sure they were dead. She moved from person to person with cold efficiency. He couldn’t believe this was his mother. It was as though she were a different person wearing the loving face he’d known his whole life. He thought to himself ‘This was Mother before Erik and me’.

Soon, one survivor, an older woman of the village, started cautiously venturing forth and moved towards Venna. Then she fell to her knees, praising the Gods, as recognition dawned on her face. Orn figured it was safe to come closer, so he did.

Once it appeared to be safe, other survivors began emerging from hiding. He could hear them recount the horrors of the night before. The attackers violated some women and butchered around half of the villagers, including children. The invaders took some of their menfolk with them.

As Orn listened and watched his mother, he could see her shaking slightly, her jaw clenching and unclenching. The only time he had ever seen her this angry was when she learned that one of the village men was beating his wife. That man had a rather bad day, and wound up rejoining the Halder military. He felt safer there, away from Venna.

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Soon enough, Venna held her hand for quiet. “I’m certain that they have left now. I need you to spread out and look for survivors. Search everywhere, but try to leave everything as it is. We need our leaders to see what happened here.”

A few started objecting, citing the need to put their loved ones to rest, but Venna stood firm on it. “We need our rulers to have an unfiltered, raw account from witnesses that aren’t from among us. I know it is hard, but I am sure the spirits of our dead are screaming to take their revenge, and so this scene must remain to anger and inspire those most capable of taking it for them. The jarl will send soldiers, and they must see what we endured this night.” Her face was stern, and she stood erect, but nothing could hide her eye whites reddening, and the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks.

A persistent young woman kept vying for Venna to listen, to which Venna finally relented. She recounted to Venna how the foreign soldiers used her six-year-old son as a child hostage. They threatened to kill him to convince Vylder to surrender, so Vylder surrendered and they took him. She pleaded with Venna to find him. A momentary flash of despair crossed Venna’s icy cold veneer. She recomposed herself, gave the young woman an assurance to do her best, thanked her, and then continued giving instructions to the remaining villagers. “Once we’re done here, gather up any serviceable wagons and horses and we will make our way to Bosberg.” The Villagers agreed, and they all started searching in different directions.

As Venna looked around the square, she spotted it — Vylder’s hammer. She froze momentarily as her heart stuttered, causing a twinge of pain in her breast. Slowly she walked over to it and, almost with an air of reverence, picked it up. She passed it to Orn, and with determination in her eyes, said, “When we find your father, we will return it to him.”

One of the older men, Mr Hagen, approached Orn and Venna and said to Venna, “I saw one of them bastards, limping towards the coast, where your lads do their fishing. Right ugly sod, he was, face all busted up.” Her eyes flashed at that. She thanked him curtly and started rushing off in the direction he had pointed to, with Orn trailing behind.

ᚲᚺᚱᛟᚾᛁᚲᛚᛖᛊᚱᛁᚾᚾ×ᛟᚱ×ᛟᚱᚾ

As they reached the shoreline, the raiders led Vylder onto the ship. However, he resisted at the point where he could still see Gracchus, and try as they might, nothing the men could do would move him. He glared at the fat Nevan, refusing to move until he let the boy go. The Nevans tried beating him, shoving him, yelling at him, but the giant man would not budge a single inch.

Down on the shore, Gracchus noticed Vylder refusing to go below and saw that he was glaring at him. Realising the cause of the giant’s resistance toward his men, Gracchus, while giving a meaningful look at Vylder, released his hold on the boy. He threw his arms out wide, took a step back. The boy was quiet the whole time, not from bravery, but from sheer terror. He had made water in his pants when he felt the sword pressed against his throat. Because he was so terrified, he stood there, unable to move. Gracchus coaxed him a little, speaking in a gentle voice. “Go. Go on, you go now.” He gestured toward the beach. The boy hesitated for a few more seconds, and then reluctantly took a first step, and another, and soon was in a full run towards the trees.

Once Vylder had seen the boy running toward the trees, he relented and allowed the men to force him into the hold, where they tied his ankles together and secured him to the bulkhead. They were taking no chances with this gigantic man.

When Gracchus saw the giant taken below, he looked to the man nearest to him guarding the gangplank and nodded. The man understood, unslung his bow, knocked an arrow, and taking a bead on the small retreating figure, loosed his arrow. It arced and then struck the boy in the upper right shoulder. The boy grunted as it knocked the wind out of him and then he lay still.

Gracchus clicked his tongue and shook his head as he chuckled to himself. ‘Fucking barbarians,’ he thought to himself. He spat on the ground to punctuate his contempt. His gaze scanned the beach, and he thought, ‘Where the hell is Vannur?’ After a few minutes of scanning the tree line, he turned to the man who had loosed the arrow. “Have you seen Vannur?” The man merely shook his head in response.

‘Damn it, man!’ he thought to himself. The false dawn was already setting the horizon to glow, and he wanted to put to sea before sun up. He waited a short while longer. Much longer than he would have for anyone else.

Finally, he cast one more glance over the shoreline, sighed and climbed aboard. He ordered the remaining fighters to put their shoulders into the keel and push the ship off the beach. The men pushing scrambled up the ship’s sides as the grinding sound of the keel scraping pebbles ceased. The galley’s oars extended out the sides, making the ship look like a strange insect crawling along the water. As it moved out of the shallows, and past the cresting waves, the ship slowly turned to face out to sea. The black square sail hoisted and bellied out, and the ship sailed out to sea.