Escape to the Forbidden Isles

Chapter One: The Banishment That No One Would Forget

In the fading twilight, a rickety, creaky old boat slowly sailed north in the middle of the Norwegian Sea. Only hours before, the boat had been cast out to sea, its passengers doomed to death by either starvation or the freezing cold temperatures that haunt the Arctic Circle in the dead of winter.

The boat held roughly twenty Vikings, banished by their evil leader and his ruthless warriors. Of the twenty Vikings, half of their number were mere children. At first, they were furious, but soon their anger changed to fear. There they were, a handful of banished Vikings, with little more than their boat, a few axes and swords, the clothes they wore, and a loaf of stale bread. It was late summer, and although it was still warm, winter was approaching – and fast. With their options dwindling, they decided to sail to the Forbidden Isles. No one knew how the Isles got their name – it could just be a legend. Last year Leif, the younger brother of Torolf the Cruel, Chief of Malicious Island, had seen the Isles on a fishing trip. Since Leif was the only man aboard who knew how to get to the Forbidden Isles, he was made leader of the desperate Vikings.

After ridding his tribe of his younger brother as well as his brother's extended family, Torolf the Cruel stood on a cliff top and watched the old, decrepit boat sail slowly away. He grinned wickedly. Finally, he had his revenge. For fifteen agonizing years, he had planned and plotted hundreds of schemes to kill his brother, but none of them had worked. This HAD to work. Death by starving and freezing had to be the worst. Thinking of the reason for his revenge filled him with rage. Fifteen years ago, the beautiful Iona, his favorite maiden, had chosen his scrawny brother over him, the most sought-after Viking in the Arctic Circle. He grabbed a rock and crushed it in his hands. He hurled the fragments at the ship disappearing over the horizon. How could Iona have chosen Leif? He was half the size of Torolf, not a third as strong, and a terrible swordsman to boot. The only thing he seemed to excel at was avoiding all of Torolf's traps and plots. Torolf sighed. At least he would never have to see his infuriating brother ever again. Or so he thought.