TOSKA | Sihtric Kjartansson

𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈.

LUNDENE, EAST ANGLIA ( 886 )
— modern day London, England

THE VISIONS AND NIGHTMARES HAD VANISHED the moment that Zvora had put her feet on English soil, filling her nostrils with the fresh air that smelled of burned birch wood and the tinge of a conifer forest nearby.

It looked different than Jelling, that was for sure — there were no sandy dunes, no swampy marshes and the ground under her feet felt solid, earth that wasn't going to give away. Zvora inspected it, leaned down and let her fingertips touch it. Beyond the almost peaceful place where their ship had anchored lay the city which Thore and two brothers had captured — Lundene.

Zvora had heard the men talk about their disapproval that they hadn't harboured in the town itself, that they had to get off their ship on a gods-forsaken riverbed outside of the outermost corner and that they had to wait until some of their men returned with the horses they needed for their way.

They had spent their time guarding the goods they had brought with them, observing the land that some of them saw now for their first time. It wasn't much to see, the real adventure would start when they would reach Lundene, the city of plunder and the pearl of which they always talked.

Zvora wanted to witness it with her own eyes, impatiently tapping her foot against the ground. She also wanted to see Thore again; Ylva's words still echoed faintly in the back of her mind. He would know how to silence them of that Zvora was sure and she knew that she would've to  continue her work as his seer and consultant. This prospect filled her with anticipation and made her stare in the distance more often, yearning for early signs of the men's arrival with the horses.

When Arne and Ulf finally returned with the horses that would bring them into the city, Zvora wasn't as hesitant as Aethelwynn who still held Dagný in her arms, watching the men and animals with a strange expression.

"The slaves will walk," Arne proclaimed when he saw how Aethelwynn eyed an unridden horse. "Thore's daughter will be carried by the seer."

Zvora nodded, extending her arms towards Aethelwynn who handed Dagný gladfully over, letting her arms rest for the first time in days while Zvora tucked the child into the layers of clothing that covered her and bound her tight to her chest. The baby was still peacefully dozing, her blue eyes every now and then fluttering and with her lips nibbling at her fingers.

One could almost not believe that she had just come off a ship.

When Zvora tore her gaze away from Dagný she allowed herself to look at Aethelwynn, her eyes framed by dark circles and her cheeks hollower than Zvora could remember. She looked even more miserable when Arne began to bind her wrists together with a rope, fixating her at his own saddle before he mounted his horse and inspecting if his construction would work.

When he felt Zvora's inquiring stare at him he only shrugged.

"She is from here. She speaks their language, she could flee."

Aethelwynn narrowed her eyes, clenching her jaw until even Zvora could hear her teeth clashing together.

Zvora had almost forgotten that this country was Aethelwynn's homeland. The land where she had grown up, where she had spent her childhood and still held memories. Maybe her family still lived somewhere, counting the days when they would finally hold their daughter in their midst again.

Arne knew better than to believe in Aethelwynn's obedience, turning his head back at her every now and then when they had begun to ride over the remains of streets that were made out of cobblestones or simple earth over which the horses had to walk.