Valhalla | H.S Short Story

The Fifth Part

Blood rushed to her ears at the thunderous roars echoing through the air, the flattened earth beneath her feet shaking as if Hel itself may crumble its way towards them, lurking underneath.

The sneer gracing Varin's face was one of pure distain and evil. An expression that Aisley was sure would haunt her in her sleep. Leering at her, taunting her.

Varin wanted to destroy them. To feel the life leak from Harrý while his vile hands wrapped around what was his.

Harrý all but carried his Freyja from the hall, the uproar of the city still felt and heard in the air, stagnant and drowning. She couldn't see. Couldn't hear. All she could sense was sorrow and pain and loss.

He was saying her name, trying to get her to come back to him but she was so far from him. In reaches that even his comforting touch could not grasp. He steered her through the streets.

"...Aisley..." His voice was a mere echo. "My love..." Wisps in the harrowing wind. "I'm sorry."

But she was reaching far inside of herself, trying to find strings of hope and strength. But she was empty yet so full of sheer pain and the little life forming inside of her begged her to hold on.

The Jarl was dead. And now it was on her husband's shoulders to ensure that the fate of their home did not fall into the wrong hands. For if he failed, he would fall. It simply wasn't an option. Her Vikingr. Her loving, sacred heart. He couldn't do this to her.

They stopped by his mother's house, and Thyra was flustered and confused, knowing nothing of what had gone on in the hall. Aisley scooped up her cubs in her arms, holding them near while Harrý hugged his mother.

She knew how important this holmgang would be to this family. Her family. A bloodline that had severed a tether in their own not long ago.

This was revenge. He would send Varin to Hel, even if it meant his own soul entering Valhalla.

"I feel Iver is better. He no longer has a fever, touch his skin. The boy is healthy."

One will fall.

It did little to settle her worries, no matter how much relief she felt for her little baby boy. Thyra had a way with medicine and had no doubt aided him in ways she could not even imagine.

"I will not let my father's death be one of shame, mother," Harrý said, kissing Thyra's cheek. "Varin will pay for his father's sins, least of all his own he dared tonight."

"I will watch for your victory, Vikingr. Your father's blood and might live on within you. A hungry wolf is bound to wage a hard battle."

And with many farewells, they went home, silent as their babies slept in their arms. And Aisley didn't dare put them to bed. Wanting to hold them and feel this for as long as she could. She could hear Bjorn howling in the distance. Could the wolf sense the change in the winds?

Aisley watched him, a pit in her stomach, a tiny heartbeat in the swarm of it. Her mouth opened but he was suddenly up, grabbing empty leather sacks and shoving several belongings into them. Clothing, she realised. Only of hers and the cubs. And gold. Lots of gold.

"Aisley," He crouched in front of her, his hands smoothing over the children's heads, kissing them with a deep sigh. "should I fall tomorrow, take our boat, go to England, where you will be safer. Torsten knows to take you to the docks and sail you there. Remarry, do whatever you need to do to keep yourself and the cubs safe. Tell them that they are everything to me. Tell them every day. Should Varin win, he will kill you all. If I fall—you run. Promise me."

"Please—"

"Promise me."

She stared at him, tears in her eyes at their new reality. They had it so good. So, so good, and now it was being taken from them.