A Viking's Rage

Chapter 3

Aiya didn’t remember much of the battle as she was hauled off the ground, her hands tightly bound behind her back. Her vision swam, and her ribs throbbed with every jarring step.

Through tear-blurred eyes, she took in the scene around her. Smoke choked the sky, blotting out the sun as flames consumed the village she had known all her life. Bodies lay scattered like broken dolls, some charred beyond recognition, others drenched in blood. Faces she had known since childhood stared lifelessly at the sky. The coppery scent of blood mixed with the stench of burning wood and flesh, making her stomach turn.

"Svaergangr," Dagr muttered, his gaze fixed on the darkening sky. His voice carried a quiet reverence, but his sharp eyes soon returned to her. "Nafn?" he asked.

When Aiya didn’t respond, his brow furrowed, and he repeated himself in halting English. "Name?"

She glared at him, her voice cold as ice. "Aiya."

He tilted his head, considering her for a moment. Then, gesturing toward Noah’s body lying crumpled on the ground, he asked in his native tongue, "Hvem er gutten?"

She knew what he meant but refused to give him the satisfaction of a meaningful answer. "No one," she replied, her tone sharp and unforgiving.

Dagr smirked at her defiance, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Are you frightened?" he asked, his voice laced with a devilish edge.

Aiya held his gaze, her shoulders stiffening despite the pain coursing through her body. "There’s little I fear now," she said, her voice steady.

His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something unreadable, but he said nothing more. They continued toward the looming dragon-headed ships she and Noah had spotted earlier. The flames of the burning village licked at her skin, the crackle and roar of destruction surrounding her. She passed a small boy clinging to the lifeless body of his mother, his cries piercing the chaos. Aiya recognized the woman as the blacksmith’s wife, her ebony hair streaked with blood, a fatal wound carved deep into her skull. The blacksmith had taught Aiya how to wield a blade in secret, but now he, too, was likely gone. Anger flared in her chest as she realized the child would starve if left behind. How could these so-called warriors abandon a child to such a fate?

Reaching the ship, Aiya was thrown face-first onto the rough wooden deck, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. A sharp boot pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her in place. She gritted her teeth as Dagr leaned down, his voice a low growl in her ear. "Bo hvor du er," he said, his breath hot against her skin.

She didn’t understand the words but knew enough not to resist. She remained still, her cheek pressed to the damp wood, her bound hands aching as the ropes bit into her wrists.

The ship’s crew moved with ruthless efficiency, loading their stolen goods and captives as flames painted the shore in hues of orange and red. When the longship finally set sail, Aiya dared to roll onto her side, taking in her captors for the first time.

The men were giants, far larger than any she had ever seen. Many wore thick armor reinforced with animal hides and furs. Dagr stood out among them. Bones adorned his leather vest, trophies from battles fought and won. His long black hair was braided down his back, the sides of his head shaved to reveal a vivid dragon tattoo curling around his skull. Though his features were striking, his pitch-black eyes betrayed a cruel and savage nature. The dark paint smeared around them only heightened his ferocity.

Ragda, in contrast, was smaller but no less intimidating. His blonde hair was intricately braided into multiple smaller plaits that cascaded over the crown of his head, the sides of his scalp shaved clean. The pattern of braids formed a spiraling design that gave him an air of both elegance and menace. A jagged scar stretched from his neck to his jaw, a testament to a battle that had nearly claimed his life. His piercing blue eyes scanned his surroundings with sharp focus, a glint of intelligence and curiosity in their depths that set him apart from the others.

"Vi kommer hjem! This raid has been prosperous; the Jarl will be pleased!" Ragda called to his men, his voice booming. As he strode past the women they had captured, his gaze landed on Aiya. He paused, his lips curving into a smirk as he glanced at Dagr. "Vaenn. Nafn?"

"Aiya," Dagr answered, his tone disinterested.

Ragda narrowed his eyes, intrigued. He walked toward her with deliberate steps, the heavy thud of his boots making her stomach churn. When he reached her, he grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet with ease.

"You're hurting me!" she protested, her voice shaking with both pain and anger.

Ragda ignored her. He dragged her below deck, the narrow space dimly lit and cramped with barrels of supplies. Slamming her against the wooden wall, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her cheek. Her bound hands pressed painfully into her back as she struggled to hold her composure.

"You’re very beautiful," he murmured, his finger tracing a line down her cheek.

"What does that matter?" Aiya snapped, her voice filled with defiance. "Release me!"

He chuckled darkly. "You think you can make demands?" His grip tightened, and a smirk curled his lips. "If I wanted you, there would be no one to stop me."

Aiya’s heart pounded, but she refused to show fear. She glared at him, her eyes burning with fury.

"I like your spirit," Ragda said, his smirk softening slightly. Leaning in close, he whispered something in his native tongue, the foreign words sending an unexplainable chill down her spine.

"I don’t understand you," she said, her voice trembling despite her resolve.

"Aiya the Beautiful," he repeated in English, his tone mocking yet strangely gentle. Then, without warning, he released her and led her back to the deck.

The fresh sea breeze was a relief, cooling the heat that had risen to her cheeks during their exchange. Ragda stopped abruptly, pulling a small blade from his belt. Aiya froze, unsure of his intent, but instead of striking her, he moved behind her and cut her bonds. The ropes fell away, and she gasped as blood rushed back into her numb wrists.

"Go," he ordered, gesturing toward the other captives.

Reluctantly, Aiya obeyed, her steps unsteady as she rejoined the group of women huddled together. She sank to the deck, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her head on them. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, and despite the pain in her body, her eyes began to close. The rhythmic rocking of the ship and the muted sobs of the others lulled her into an uneasy sleep, her dreams drifting back to a time when life was simpler and free of chains.