Valknut

CHAPTER|1 The Stuff of Nightmares

"Nae!" she screamed as she saw the sword impale the heart of her husband. Brilliant and blinding flashes of lightning streaked through the dark skies, simultaneously illuminating the scene and adding macabre shadows. Her knees failed her and she fell to the ground, hands clasped tightly against her breast. The booming thunder was muffled by the pounding of her heart. She was torn; her impulse to run to where he had fallen, fought with her instincts to shield their son. With her mind overruling her heart, she reached for the boy and covered his eyes with her hands. She struggled to hide from him the sight that had, just seconds ago, shattered her world beyond repair. 

Stubbornly, the boy refused. 

He wanted to see, to carve in his memory, the face of the man that now sneered at his father while slowly twisting the sword. With one smooth motion, the man pulled the blade from his father's chest, before raising his arm and cleanly beheading him. 

The boy held back his own tears as he tore his eyes from his father's remains. He needed to memorize every sight, sound and smell from this night. From his mother's tears to the acrid smell of blood in the air mixed with the promise of coming rain, and smoke from the houses that burned in the distance. From the screams of villagers begging for mercy and the unforgiving dark sky, illuminated in patches where fires rose with their finger like flames. Fed by what remained of life as he had known it, the flames reached higher and higher into the blackness; ever greedy, claiming more and more. 

With each flash of lightning, he could see the blue and orange banners of the McDermott clan, pinned atop spears, held by menacing soldiers who sat on their horses. They sat motionless, like statues watching as horror was inflicted on defenseless people. His ears registered the clinking sound of metal clashing with metal, wood and flesh as the battle raged on. 

When his father's murdered turned to them with the same devious smirk and hollow eyes, the boy barely registered his mother's anguished cry. Before impending doom reached where they stood, the thundering of horses forced the man to glance up. Behind them, Sir Conor McEvoy followed by the lord's personal soldiers rode up to circle the boy and his mother like wolves surrounding their young, ever watchful, protective and fierce. A strong arm went around the boy's waist and lugged him onto a horse before turning around and riding hard into the darkness. As he turned to view the scene one last time, he saw his mother being retrieved in the same manner. 

With the remainder of the cavalry catching up to where Sir Connor stood like a shield, the murdering knight had little choice but to flee to the safety of where his men were now re-grouping. 

Nothing further could be done for the villagers that had once worked tirelessly under his father to build their village. Men would be slaughtered, women and children enslaved and livestock herded in preparation for the long journey back to the McDermott's. Homes would be ransacked and everythingeven remotely useful would be stolen. 

With Lord Tristian MacShane now dead, this land and everything around it, now belonged to Sir Fergus McDermott. Kieran MacShane had been the only child blessed to his parents. With no known male relatives to avenge his father's death, it now became the boy's responsibility to rebuild that which had been destroyed - and he was only six winters old! He couldn't feel more empty and lonely than he did on this night. 

As the darkness claimed the riders, the emotions on Kieran's face went from being sorrowful and guilty to being stoic. His heart was full of hatred, like a slow poision that was inching its way across his whole being. His head wouldn't stop picturing the painful death of the man that stole his life from him. As they continued northward towards the safety of other Pitcish tribes that surrounded his once home, they called out to able villagers and soldiers to follow quickly. 

By now, the huge fires were nothing more than a distant red on the horizon. His eyes sought but he could see nothing of his former home. The boy swore upon all that he valued that the day would come when he would once again meet his father's murderer. Bloodfeuds were common in his time. But never once did Kieran imagine that at six, he would be swearing to one. 

It wasn't long before the remainder of the cavalry joined Kieran. His mother now on her own horse, rode up to him. Quietly, they rode into the unknown.