Foxfire (The Blood Oath) old version

Chapter 26: The Island of Bones (new inclusion)

 . . . Bryn . . .

The hull of the ship was stuffed round with shields. Bryn placed her shield in the last opening and signaled the Captain to sail. The heavily bearded man ordered for the sails to be dropped and the girls scurried in obedience.

In the distance, she watched as the iconic roof of the Dragonhill grew smaller and smaller as the ship moved in the direction of the wind. It was the royal residence, the only home she has known, surrounded by a heavy fortress many had come to know as Moat Hardwater. The ship moved further offshore that even the port of Hjamaarch, Bjaarmaland's capital, was only a small rock from afar.

Bryn rubbed her hands together to warm them in the cold. She pushed up her cloak of wolfskin to cover her upper body. Her eyes trailed the twenty women party that was sailing with her. Like her, each of them was on a journey to succeed in their sacred trials to earn the rank of a Swordmaiden.

Here, there were no princesses or Highprinces or royals, no Highborn or lowborn, no servant or master. They were all equal as they sailed to meet their triumph or doom.

Every woman or girl had a different task. Bryn knew a good number of them would never see their home again, but the women of Bjaarmaland never shied away from a glorious death-- at least that was what they called dying with a battleaxe in hand.

The chill of the cold was far more painful out in the sea. Most Bjaarman born were native to the sigil of Destruction. Their bodies burned an inner heat that helped them thrive in the cold tundra of Bjaarmaland. Bryn could see that her fellow, maidens-in-the-making, have been defeated by the cold. They were suffering in silence, shivering their pride away.

"Someone burn a flame so that we won't all die here before we even begin," Bryn said.

One of the girls came forward. Bryn observed she was still a novice bloodwielder, as she had to use a blade to carve her sigil of Destruction on her palm. The girl shot balls of fire upon a hearth on the ship's deck.

"Careful Alessia," the Captain yelled, "watch the flames so that you don't go setting the whole ship on fire."

"Yes, papa," the girl smiled and sat beside the hearth.

The ship rocked sideways as it climbed waves of ocean water. Bryn came around and sat beside the girl. She dropped her warhammer on the wooden floor and brought forth her hands to feel the warmth of the flames.

"I know who you are," Alessia glanced at Bryn, "all the women and the girls know who you are, part of the reason they are keeping their distance."

Bryn studied the girl for a moment. She looked to have been in the world no more than seventeen winters, no older than herself, though the girl seemed too scrawny to have even considered being a Swordmaiden.

"Not interested in small talks," Bryn frowned, pulling her gaze from the girl.

At a corner on the deck, one woman pulled a lute and began to usher a somber music into the cold night air. The melodies made her remember her mother, Swanhild the Fair. Though a swordmaiden, most memories she had of her mother was one which they spent watching her play the lute than fencing with practice swords.

There was no debating the fact that her mother was the brightest light in the House of King Borias Blackmane. The Earls feared her more than they did the King. Bryn had learned a lot from her mother and one lesson that had stuck was to wear the armour of ferocity to hide a heart soft as a flower's petal.

"Enough of the music," Bryn barked.

The woman stopped immediately, as if she was a slave commanded by a master.