A Viking's Rage

Chapter 18

Aiya’s night was restless, her dreams tangled with fragmented memories and unanswered questions. Roel’s absence weighed heavily on her mind; she wished desperately for his counsel. His cremation ceremony loomed, and she was unsure of the customs that lay ahead. Ragda had convened the people of Hafrafell to prepare for the sendoff, and she had noticed several female slaves stepping forward, led away without explanation.

Earlier that day, Ragda’s uncle, Indride, had arrived. His presence unsettled Aiya, and she couldn’t help but sense a dark shadow trailing him. His role in the family remained unclear, but his piercing gaze left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

The day was overcast, the heavy clouds threatening rain. Aiya dressed in a simple black wool dress, a fox-fur cloak draped over her shoulders for warmth. From her dwelling, she could already hear the distant sound of drums and the haunting resonance of a man’s voice singing to the gods:

“Liv av kvar ein død
Død av kvart eit liv...
Hjulet syng om ringar...”

The song's cadence stirred something ancient within her, even as she struggled to grasp its meaning.

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The Ceremonial Send-Off

Stepping outside, Aiya was met with chaos. The streets were alive with people dancing, drinking, fighting, and feasting. Fires burned high in effigy, casting flickering shadows on their faces. She made her way through the revelry, weaving between huts and crowds until she reached the docks.

Two separate arrangements awaited her: a grand longboat for Roel, laden with treasures and weapons to accompany him to Valhalla, and a simple raft of sticks and logs for Dagr. Roel’s longboat was surrounded by mourners and followers, each contributing gold, jewels, and weapons for their fallen Jarl. Five women in white linen stood solemnly beside the boat, their eyes closed as if in prayer.

Ragda approached the women, his expression unreadable. An elder woman beside him carried a bowl of thick red liquid, flicking it onto the women with a coarse brush as she murmured incantations. The women remained calm, even serene, as Ragda moved behind the first one.

He raised a small ceremonial knife high into the air.

Aiya’s breath caught. The knife gleamed against the gray sky before slicing cleanly across the woman’s throat. Blood spilled onto the deck of the boat, and her body was gently placed beside Roel. One by one, the women met the same fate—chosen to serve their Jarl in Valhalla.

When the last woman was laid to rest beside him, Ragda spoke with power in his voice.

“Odin has prepared a feast in your honor, my father. Now the Valkyrie summon you home.”

At his signal, the men pushed the longboat from the docks. The crowd cheered, tossing flowers into the fjord as the boat floated into the distance. When it reached the water's horizon, flaming arrows lit its pyre, the flames consuming Roel and his possessions.

Nearby, Dagr’s raft was unceremoniously shoved into the water. Four archers loosed their arrows into its dry wood, and the blaze took quickly. Aiya watched as the bodies burned, her heart heavy. Though Roel’s passing deserved honor, she found herself envying the dead, for their struggles were over. Her own path was only beginning.

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A Feast of Chaos

Night fell, and the festivities escalated. Large wooden figures blazed against the darkness, and sacrificial blood drenched the ground. Women carried platters of meat and bread through the crowd, while men seized them hungrily. Ale flowed freely; no one, not even the children, was without a horn. Toasts to Roel echoed through the air, accompanied by raucous singing.