“Mirajane Eriksen! Get your head out of the clouds, and keep gathering crops! The weather is about to take a turn for the worse! Can’t have those potatoes go bad because we didn’t bring them in in time!
“Yes mama! I’m sorry!” yelled Mira. Rolling her eyes, and sighing, the girl went back to pulling potatoes. Dirt coated her tanned forearms, and her silver hair was just as dirty. She’d been at this for hours! Ripping potatoes out of the ground wasn’t the girl’s idea of a good time. She preferred going with the hunters. Archery was a passion of hers, and there were few rushes of adrenaline better than sneaking up to within 10 meters of a Megaboar, or elk, and getting a clean kill.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, young lady! Or I swear by the Allfather, I will tan your hide, and feed you to the Seawolves myself!”
“Yes, mama.” Mira moaned. She was 50 meters away from her mom, how did she know? “Allfather bless it. That woman’s eyes are too good.”
“Just another day in Jotunheim. Who decided to plant so close to ice season? No one asked me! Just “go here and plant this Mira,” “Don’t go into the woods Mira””Don’t sneak up on me Mira” “You’ll never get a husband if you scare everyone half to death, Mira.” I could have told them we were planting too late. Being 17 sucks. No one trusts you.”
With a sigh, the girl bent down, and kept at it. Maybe the hunting party would be back soon! She could bug dad and Uncle Bjorn for some stories. It would at least break up the monotony. Maybe a Valkyrie would show up, and take her away! That would be nice. But no Valkyries had shown up in their little farming village for decades. No one had been chosen since her great aunt’s third cousin.
Releasing a sob of frustration, she went back to her task.
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It took two more days to finish gathering all the crops, but finally, they were done. The hunters had worked with a frenzy to catch as much meat as possible, the fishermen had caught enough Novamantas to feed a small army. Their wives had been cooking food, and brewing beer for days in preparation. The village was ready to celebrate Cerelia, the harvest festival.
Mira spent most of the time dodging Iosip, the fletcher’s son, and helping her mother prepare the food. Iosip didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t interested in him, just the bows his father made, and was convinced they would marry next year, when she came of age. Even worse, none of the women in the village seemed to believe her, when she said she didn’t like him either. As far as they were concerned, she and Iosip were already engaged.
“I’ll run away from this village before I marry that idiot” she thought, ducking behind a loom, to escape him, yet again. “Mama will be angry, but anything is better than that”
After her narrow escape from Iosip, she went to her family’s cabin, grabbed her bow, and quiver, and started to clean them with an oil coated rag, muttering “Lets see how long I can spend here, before mama finds me and puts me to work again.”
It didn’t take long. Less than twenty minutes later, Mira was dragged out of the house by the ear, back to the fire pits, and forced to help gossiping old ladies peel potatoes, and shuck corn.
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A Massive bonfire raged in the village center, as people danced and caroused through the dirt path around it. Many villagers were pounding wood and leather drums, a young man played the panflute, and most people were singing. Alcohol flowed freely, and food was consumed merrily. Mira did not join in. After dodging Iosip’s aggressive attempts at asking her to dance, she slipped out of the village, and made her way to the docks.
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Sitting on a the splintering boards, she let her toes brush through the water, enjoying the chill of the evening air, and the distant sounds of music traveling to her.
Staring out into the still, dark waters, she saw something in the distance. A small silvery glint, very different from the moonlight reflecting off of the waves. “It’s nothing” she tried to convince herself. Despite her own statement, she kept staring out at the water. There it was again! It was faint, but there was a flash of silver again. Focusing on the spot, she saw dark outlines. They were hard to spot, on the black sea, but there were three shadows creeping up to the shore.
Her blood ran cold.
Not caring for the splinters she was getting, she leapt from the dock, and tore off back to the village. “RAID! RAID! SEA WOLVES! RAID! She shouted, as she ran through the bonfire, towards her home. Scrambling to her room, she pulled out her bow, strung it, and slung her quiver on her hip. With a little effort, she climbed the wooden house, and jumped from roof to roof, towards the dockside path. Finding a good spot, concealed by the dip of the roof, she readied an arrow, and waited.
Shouted orders echoed through the village, as men gathered their weapons and armor. They formed a shield wall in front of the bonfire, while the women and children moved quickly out of the village, to shelter in the woods.
Muffled noises came from the docks, followed by the tramping of feet getting closer. A giant of a man, with dark brown hair, fading to grey, clad in silver armor, brandishing a massive war axe, stepped into view, followed by . . . by Allfather. . . that must be at least 60 warriors!
The man spoke out, in a deep, gravely voice “In the name of King Hrothgar, the Elder, I Kjartan, claim these lands for the Khmere. Lay down arms, and surrender. I can’t make any coin off your corpses after all.”
Mira’s breath hitched. Panic filled her. “What did you do, you dumbass?” she asked herself. “Could have run with the rest of the women, now you’re stuck on a roof, with angry raiders in front of you. You never think things through, do you? Stupid! Stupid girl!”
Trying to steady her breath, she waited for something to happen.
The village head opened his mouth to respond to Kjartan, but was interrupted by a loud rumble. All heads turned towards the sound, and stared. A sleek shape hovered in the sky, bright light shining from it. The air shimmered behind the object, and from the side, two figures leaned out of a door. Both wore armor, but it was a design she’d never seen, only heard about in the stories. A dark blue, in stark contrast to the light emanating from the object. One figure held a long war spear, her hair blowing in the wind, two long horns on her head reflecting the ambient light. The other was a man, maybe a head or two smaller, with pointed, furry ears poking out of the top of his head, and a bushy tail poking out of his armor.
“The Valkyries! The Valkyries grace this battle with their presence!” One of the raiders shouted. The magnificent sight bolstered Mira’s spirits. She may be forward of her village’s shield wall, uncomfortably close to a bunch of raiders, who wanted to sell her as a slave, but the Allfather hadn’t abandoned her.
Nocking an arrow to her bow, she calmed her breathing, drew it back and released. The arrow flew true, slamming into the shoulder of Kjartan. With a shocked gasp, he tilted his head, looked at the dart, and fell to his knees. This action broke the stalemate that covered the battlefield, with the arrival of the Valkyries.
“To Valhalla!” the villagers cried, and the shield wall marched forwards. Screaming with apoplectic rage, the raiders charged as well. Mira readied another arrow, chose another target, and joined the fray.
Screams and wails, curses and insults formed a cacophony of sound. The trampled dirt of the village’s roads became slick with bloody mud. The sheer size and violence of the raiders force the villagers back around the bonfire. Men on both sides were dying, trampled by the scrum. Mira spent her time running from roof to roof, firing her arrows at any target that presented itself. Raider after raider fell to her arrows. Eventually, the raiders caught sight of her. One individual pointed her out.
Panicking, Mira reached back for an arrow, but her hand came back empty. She was out. A wordless scream of terror and rage escaped her, as she watched, almost in slow motion, a raider draw back his arm, and throw a spear. The dyed cloth tied to the spear shaft caught her eyes, fluttering in the stream of air, and the spearhead catching the light of the Valkyrie’s mount seemed so vibrant and beautiful, the whistle of the spear as it drew closer to her was so loud. With a crunch, something slammed into her chest. The force of the throw took her off of the roof. Laying on the ground, the house separating her from the battle raging on, Mira experienced the worst pain of her life. Daggers of pain radiated from her chest, to her arms, and legs. She had no strength left to move. With a shuddering gasp, darkness took over.