Thyri (A Vikings story)

Chapter one

I stood on the shore, watching the long wooden ships make their way up the canal closer to the docks, the cold breeze whipping through my dress and sending the coldest chills up my body. I could make out the shapes of the wooden heads on the ends of the ships, the Viking flags raised high and waving proudly in the wind. I knew very well what this would mean; the sudden destruction of my village would come only in a matter of moments and most if not all of us would be dead. I was suddenly too scared to run as I knew I should be doing, to go and warn as many of my people as I could, but I knew I would never make it in time; the Northmen were coming and I couldn’t stop them. Taking one last look at the sea and the ships, I slowly turned and made my way back to my village to warn the only people I could and that was my mother and father. When i reached my home and went inside, sharing the news of the intruders, we agreed that the only thing to do was to wait it out and allow the worse to happen, which in time it did. We sat, huddled together, listen to the screams and cries of our people being slaughtered. I should have been afraid; we should have been running as the others were, but I knew there was no point; there was nowhere to go. If the gods wanted us dead then so be it. After some time the screaming died down and was replaced with a great wailing crying and pain. I could only imagine what it looked like out there among the living and the dead. The bloodshed, the damage; it must have been chaos and so much confusion all mixed into one. But all those thoughts quickly vanished with the sound of voices outside our door. They seemed to be arguing among themselves, but it was unclear over what. When the door flew open from the force of a mighty kick, my parents and I were greeted by an intimidating man with handsome blue eyes, a full beard, and a long braid. He was extremely tall and clean which said to me he was not responsible for the shedding of blood. I felt a bit relieved.He smiled at me when he noticed I was cowering away from him like my parents were. Closing the door behind him, the tall Viking began to pace our small home, looking around then over to me, his eyes glowing with curiosity. “Are you it? Is there no one else?” he asked, his voice deep and fierce, but I could sense a form of gentleness. I nodded; my mother continuing to sob as she clung to my father’s side. The northman continued to stare at me, this time walking over until he was standing before me, his great height towering above me. He was dressed in black battle gear, the leather scrunching with his every move as his axe hung low at his side. He was so close to me that my nose brushed his chest and I could smell the deep aroma of leather and sweat mixed together. I was not afraid, but rather too intimidated to look up and meet his eyes, and that did not stop him from forcing me to look at him. He clipped my chin between his longer finger and thumb, tilting my head back until our eyes met. I took in a deep breath, captivated by his striking features; his blue eyes holding mine so intently I thought they would shatter like glass. They felt like a deep ocean in which I was  being tossed around by its monstrous waves. I feared this man before me, but I also wanted to collapse into his arms and hide in safety of them that I suddenly felt. “You are brave as you are beautiful,” he said without taking his eyes off me. I didn’t know how to answer. I had never been told by anyone that I was even attractive, yet this man before me who could have any woman he wanted was standing before me telling more than so.His face softened as he gave me a weak smile, the feeling of my cheeks warming up caused me to grin slightly in return. Then the door suddenly flew open once again and three more northmen appeared while a fourth followed behind using crutches for support and leaned up against the door frame. He seemed to be in great pain I noticed, when he looked up and over to me, his eyes very blue and full of mischief. If this was who I thought it was then the stories of him were infamous. Ivar the Boneless I think his name was, the crippled son of the great Ragnar Lothbrok, Viking king of Kattegat. If it were true then the others had to be his brothers. The sons of Ragnar were strong, brave men like their father, so the tales claimed that were told around our tables. Their raids and victories which they did in their father’s name; the bloodshed and terror they spread wherever they went was at times thought of only as myths. But here they all stood in my home, staring at me and my father and mother, contemplating our fate. If they were to kill us why hadn’t they done so already? Finding the courage I spoke, against my better judgement. “What is your Viking? Which son of Ragnar Lothbrok are you and what, exactly, is your purpose here?” I asked the one who still stood before me. Grinning, he turned and looked over his shoulder at his brothers who all but the one called Ivar appeared impressed. “Brave one aren’t you, speaking to the son of a king this way. You know who we are then?” he said, wrapping his large hand around my throat and squeezing so I was forced onto the tips of my toes to look at him. Even though he sounded and acted cruelly, his face said something very different. The one closest to him who was gripping a bloody axe and covered in the blood of my people, the markings on his face streaked and smeared, cleared his throat and spoke up first. “I’m Ubbe and the one who stands before you is our eldest brother Bjorn. This is Hvitserk,” he continued pointing to his right, “and next to him is Sigurd. That one over there,” “Is Ivar the Boneless,” I interrupted Ubbe. He grinned and nodded in reply. “Yes, that’s right. Ivar is our youngest brother.” I glanced over at Ivar, his stare was hard yet strong, and even though he was a cripple, he certainly didn’t carry himself that way. I knew his brothers both feared and respected him to a point, and that maybe I would be wise to do the same, but against my better judgement, I only held Ivar’s stare refusing to cower away in fear. Once he realized his method of intimidation wasn’t working, he scowled in frustration, a low growl escaping him as he quickly broke our visual connection. “Maybe you should just rape her brother, and then kill her before she has the chance to carry your seed,” Ivar taunted, a sick smile spreading over his face. My eyes shifted back to Bjorn who continued to hold me by the throat that was by now growing increasingly uncomfortable. The look Bjorn was giving me told he was possibly contemplating the idea and I began to quiver. Licking my lips, I did the only thing I knew to do, and that was to defend myself; even if with words only. “You can try Bjorn,” I said defiantly, watching as a look of surprise swept over Bjorn’s face. “Or better yet why don’t you Ivar? I have heard the stories regarding you and how you enjoy watching the suffering of others,” I continued looking back to Ivar just in time to watch the smile fade from his face. He stood straight up, attempting to come at me, hands clenched tightly to his crutches. “Easy Ivar; she’s just a girl,” Hvitserk said, pushing him back up against the door. Ivar gave in to his brother’s demand and relaxed himself a bit, but he continued to stare at me in a way that, for a moment I was afraid. “Don’t tempt me. I would kill you, slowly and painfully, and not think twice nor would I feel any remorse,” he sneered, then pulled a knife from his pocket and began to play with it. Bjorn finally released me and I dropped to my feet, rubbing my neck from all the discomfort. “Enough, she won’t die today,” Bjorn said turning from me and looking to his brothers. “She is coming with us and will be a gift to my mother.” “What if Lagertha doesn’t want her?” Ubbe asked. “The we will all have her. It had been some time since we have all had a woman,” Sigurd answered, a mischievous smile sweeping over his face. I shuddered at the thought of him touching me. “Lagertha will want her,” Bjorn reassured Ubbe. Tears filled my eyes at the realization of what was happening. I was being taken and forced into the life of slavery to these northmen and their queen and there was no guarantee of safety or even survival for me. I turned to my father and mother who took me into their arms, holding me tightly. “Come brothers; let us round our people back to the boats. We are done here,” Bjorn said walking over to the door and pulling it open. The sounds of death had long faded and the light of fire and the smell of smoke filled the air. But before Bjorn left, he turned to me and said, “Say your goodbye. I will come for you when it is time to go.” Following after his brothers, Bjorn slammed the door closed, shutting the book forever to the only life I had known.