Aiya was thrown onto the back of a towering black horse. The Jarl mounted behind her, his powerful hands gripping the reins as he kept her firmly in place. The ride began in tense silence, the rhythmic clatter of hooves echoing through the fading city streets.
As they left the bustling heart of Hafrafell behind, the landscape grew sparse. Poorly tended farms dotted the countryside, their inhabitants retreating indoors as twilight descended. The air grew colder, and shadows stretched long over the land. Aiya felt her fear growing with every passing moment. Where was he taking her?
The journey continued for what felt like hours until they reached the edge of a dense forest. Nestled among the trees was a decrepit hut, its walls sagging with age and neglect. The moss-covered roof appeared ready to collapse, and a crooked wooden door hung from a single hinge. The sight sent a chill through Aiya’s body.
Lowzow brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, dragging Aiya down with him. She stumbled as her feet hit the ground, but he steadied her with an iron grip.
“Do not be frightened, child,” he said in a tone that was anything but reassuring.
“Then tell me what’s happening,” she demanded, her voice trembling despite her attempt at defiance.
“You will know soon enough,” Lowzow replied, leading her toward the foreboding structure.
The air inside the hut was thick with the smell of decay and damp earth. Aiya’s stomach twisted as she looked down—her feet were crunching over bones. Animal and human remains alike littered the floor, a macabre display that made her want to turn and run. But Lowzow’s grip on her arm kept her anchored.
“What is this horrible place?” she whispered.
“I’ve brought you to the Seer,” Lowzow said simply.
From the shadows, a hunched figure emerged with unsettling speed. The Seer was grotesque, his twisted frame draped in tattered furs, his face obscured by layers of grime and shadow. In one gnarled hand, he clutched a small gold dagger. Without warning, he lunged toward Aiya.
She cried out as the blade flashed, slicing through the fabric of her dress just below her navel. The Seer stepped back, his milky eyes widening as he stared at her exposed skin. There, just beneath her belly button, was a faint mark—a birthmark that could easily have been overlooked.
Aiya clutched at her torn dress, her heart racing. “What is happening?” she demanded, her voice breaking.
The Seer hissed, retreating a step. “This cannot be,” he muttered, his voice rasping like wind through dry leaves. “The child of prophecy was male! I have never misread the gods before!”
Lowzow stepped into the dim light, his face calm but triumphant. “And yet, here she stands before you, K Vik Indi,” he said, his tone mocking. The Seer flinched at the insult, but he did not deny it.
“My lord,” Aiya stammered, “what is going on?”
Lowzow turned to her, his eyes studying her face with an intensity that made her shiver. “As you wish, my lady,” he said, his voice tinged with a strange reverence. Then, to her shock, he bowed deeply, his once-commanding presence now oddly servile.
Aiya blinked in disbelief. Did he just call her “lady”?
“I have searched for you for nearly ten years,” Lowzow continued. “You were taken from your rightful place, and I thought you lost forever.”
“Taken?” she echoed, her mind spinning.
“Sit down,” Lowzow instructed. Reluctantly, she obeyed, her legs too weak to protest. He began his tale, his voice steady but weighted with emotion.
“Our lands were once consumed by war,” he began. “The Norwegians sought to push westward into the English isles, but the Danes would not yield. Among the fiercest warriors was Einar den Røde—Einar the Red—a Viking of unparalleled skill and loyalty. He led a small but devoted army, holding the Norwegian forces at bay. But the war turned when a shieldmaiden joined the fray: Aiyowind, fearless and beautiful. She was the daughter of the Norwegian king, yet she betrayed her own blood, allying with Einar to end the bloodshed. Together, they united their forces and drove back the Norwegian armies, ensuring the Danes' victory.”
Lowzow paused, his expression darkening. “Einar and Aiyowind were wed, ruling over their lands in harmony. Years later, they had a child—a child who, it was foretold, would fulfill the gods’ will and bring about Den Danske lov, uniting our people and the English under one rule.”
Aiya’s breath caught as his words sank in.
“But their peace was short-lived,” Lowzow continued, his voice dropping. “The Norwegians, angered by Aiyowind’s betrayal, stormed their castle. Einar and Aiyowind were slain, their armies scattered. The child—the heir—vanished. Some believed the child was killed in the chaos. Others whispered that the child had been smuggled away, hidden to fulfill the gods’ prophecy.”
He turned his piercing gaze to Aiya. “I believe that child is you.”
Aiya recoiled, shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly. “That’s impossible. I’m no heir. My mother was no queen. This mark is nothing more than a birthmark.”
Lowzow’s expression hardened. “You carry the mark of the heir. It is no coincidence.”
“The heir was supposed to be a boy!” the Seer snarled from the shadows, his voice laced with fury. “She cannot be the one, Lowzow!”
“She is,” Lowzow snapped, his voice cold. “And you will see it.”
Aiya felt the walls closing in around her. This was madness. She couldn’t stay and listen to another word. Without thinking, she bolted from the hut, ignoring Lowzow’s shouts behind her. She mounted his horse in one fluid motion, her hands fumbling with the reins as she turned the beast northward, away from the city.
She didn’t care where she was going—she only knew she had to get away.
YOU ARE READING
A Viking's Rage
Fiction Historique[2018 Watty's Shortlist] In a brutal world ruled by cruelty and power, Aiya is nothing more than a slave-her life defined by servitude and pain. But when her ruthless Lord betrays her and Northumbria falls under siege by Norse invaders, Aiya's life...
