Toki's Saga

CHAPTER ONE - The End of the Beginning

"It has now been just over 18 years since my sister and I met Hauk and he took us to safety from our homeland and into the clan of the Wulfhar.

We come from Denmark, but with each passing moon the memories of that place and the devastation we left behind us fade into distant haze. Apart from some nights, when it is foggy or I am weary from a hard day, then it is as fresh in my dreams as the day I first met Hauk.

When my sister and I returned to our farm from visiting our relations who lived 4 days riding away, along with our elderly female servant, we came back to find our home had been devastated by raiders, possibly even our own countrymen. Our long house had been ransacked all valuables and food had been taken. The outhouses burned to the ground, the cattle, sheep and swine living there were gone, as were the horses and hounds. Our father was wealthy, but he was no warrior, he was a farmer and famous for the fine, strong horses he bred. We found him, throat cut, in the doorway of our house, trying as should any father, husband and master to protect what was his. There was no sign of life left at all in this place where Freya and I had been born and where we had grown up.

Freya was 15 years old and I was 12, already trying hard to be a man, and although I loved him dearly I wanted to be something more than a farmer, as my father had been. But that day in the horror around us I cried like a child and Freya was the strong one as she held me and called me "chickie" as I had been in our early childhood. Freya was the one who made us mount again our weary horses and head back along the path we had travelled with light heart only one hour earlier.

We spent an uneasy, cold and hungry night, taking turns to watch for wild animals, with no weapons save a large stick and one small knife. We sheltered against a rocky outcrop, with no fire in case it attracted unwelcome guests. The next day the rain began.

The path we were travelling followed the coast and an early morning fog had risen up the cliffs and spilled over onto our path. We walked along the path, Freya, Anna and I, the fog deadening the clop clop of the horses' hooves. It was slow going, Freya cautiously peering ahead, so we did not ride off of the edge of the path and plunge to our death on the rocks below. Suddenly there was a break in the fog, just enough for us to stop and look out to sea, and there moored not more than the height of 20 men below us, was one of the feared dragon ships!

Freya went pale, Anna began to moan, but was hushed quickly by an impatient gesture from my sister. She turned her horse and we huddled together.

"We must be quiet, the fog is our friend, we can not see anyone else, but then neither can they see us. We don't know where they are, but it is likely they are safely on board waiting for the fog to lift." Whether she believed her words or not, it bought strength to us. Freya indicated that we should dismount and we slid to the ground. Freya muttered a quick prayer to her namesake for protection and I silently begged Tyr that I live through the next few minutes.

We set off, along the path, on foot, leading our horses. They were already skittish; unhappy with the fog, but now they seemed to pick up on our tension. The surrounding silence was suffocating; my own breathing seemed to deafen me. I strained with every nerve to hear a sound, to see if I could hear the sound of the dragon ship crew.

"They may be friendly!" a hopeful little voice inside my head said. My fathers body, the burning shed, the total destruction, the pictures swam before me.

"No they won't" said the realistic me.

Then they were there, moving as silently as we had been, coming along the path towards us. I had one small moment of gratification to see the startled look on the lead mans face, at seeing us, but in an instant, he had weighed us up, two children and an old woman, and realised his advantage. He smiled. It was not nice. There were four of them. The lead man held out his hand. "Come" he indicated. He could have been letting us past, so we could continue on our way, but I knew he wasn't, he wanted us to go to them, like lambs to the slaughter. I gripped my small knife tighter in my hand. Freya leaned against her horse, cowering slightly, and shook her head.