Bloodmoon

Part 7

The thundering of his heart and ragged breath rang in his ears like a macabre chorus. The sharp clashes of weapons cut through the daze that swamped his mind after his body was slammed to the ground. He sunk his sharp front teeth into his tongue looking for a focus as he fought the lulling desire to succumb to darkness. It would be so easy to exhale and give in to the peace of sleep or death, offering him a chance at rest. The metallic taste in his mouth helped steady his senses, coating his teeth red like the blood in his eyes, making his bright blues look wild.

Lifting his head, he cried out as he saw his chariot tipped over on its side. His white horse, now smeared with mud, thrashed on the ground with an unnaturally angled leg. Somewhere in the distance, his brothers were fighting on the far side of the clearing. They now had an advantage and were overpowering the dwindling army.

Adrenaline coursed through Ivar's veins as he rolled from his side onto his back and stared up at the pale blue sky. Blinking, his thoughts connected as the sound of Lofn's voice speared through his mind,

Ivar! Move!

Sucking in air, he withdrew the picks from his belt and twisted his torso, driving them into the ground and began crawling back to his overturned cart. Dragging himself, and deaf to the screams coming from his own mouth, he moved in the opposite direction of a line of Saxon soldiers stocking up the hill toward him. Green tunics covered by chain mail armour, swords and bows pointing, they marched determined to deliver retribution to the crippled heathen who had unleashed such violence against their king and country.

Pulling himself to sit, Ivar slammed his back against the wooden cart, snarling as the iron helmets appeared over the crest of the hill. Licking his lips with flared nostrils, he clanged his picks together.

They cannot hurt you Ivar! Lofn's voice floated again through his mind.

Tipping his head to the sky, he screamed into the air causing the line of green to hesitate. They eyed him tentatively as he continued to shriek and threaten, goading them in a language they could not understand.

The first of their arrows were released, flying toward the heavens, curving gently back toward the earth; Ivar, their target, watched from below. All at once, the arrows stopped, halted frozen, mid-flight, in perfect formation as if the points had sunk deep into some imperceivable wall, they hung suspended in the sky. A flicker in the air, felt more than seen, pulsed above them like a silent flare of flash-less lightening. The arrows instantly dropped, point down and plunged into the soft ground just feet from the soldiers standing arm to arm.

The mocking, maniacal laughter of Ivar snapped the wide-eyed Saxons back from their confusion. Both fear and shock skewed their expressions as they stared at Ivar's jeering face. More than half of the men stepped backward; some turning fully to retreat but all were startled, snapping to look up to the sky as a shadow flashed overhead. The sun's ray flickered as a dark-winged woman soared above the overturned chariot and the youngest son of Ragnar. Horror struck the soldiers as their minds fought to identify a sight their brains could not understand.

Lofn's ear-splitting shriek ripped through the air and their gloved hands flew up to the cover their ears, the high pitch sound tearing through their senses. Weapons were dropped as most fell to their knees, still clutching their heads, trying to block out the noise. With her mouth wide in a scream, her powerful wings beat in short bursts lowering her to hover just above Ivar. Veering forward, her dark feathered wings, snapped the air, driving her straight toward the Saxons.

Like a breaking wave, a spray of blood misted the air, as her dagger sliced straight through the line of stunned soldiers. Those, who had stepped back were spared and turned to run, others stumbled, falling frantically to the ground.

Circling the top of the hill, Lofn's nearly black eyes focussed on her fleeing targets and she dove toward the ground, hitting one straight on, knocking him backward and crashing into the ground. With a sharp hiss from her snarled lips, she grabbed the point on the soldiers' helmet, tipping his head back and sunk her teeth into the man's windpipe. Growling, she thrashed side to side, like a lion stripping a bone.

The hollers of rushed voices broke her frenzy and she tore her teeth free. Releasing the lifeless body, she stood and turned to face a stunned Ubbe and Bjorn, their eyes scanning her berserk, unhinged appearance. Not caring about the bloody gore coating her mouth and dripping down her throat, she barked orders for them to take Ivar to safety. Confounded, they silently nodded running passed her to Ivar, who sat mesmerized against the chariot. As if spellbound, his blue eyes shon, staying focused on her as he was loaded over the shoulder of his eldest brother. Keeping her eyes locked with his, she could no longer hold her emotions, and tears filled her ebony eyes, streaking down her blood-smeared face.

"Lofn!" he screamed still slung over Bjorn's shoulder. "Come with...!" his voice fell silent as he watched her turn and run away from them.

Leaping into the air, her wings caught lift and she coasted just above the ground until she slammed into the back of another retreating soldier. The faint cry of the struggling man was snuffed as Ivar watched her rip the man's head free from his body. Moving into the trees on his brother's back, Ivar lost sight of her as she dropped the head and turned toward another soldier who was screaming and running for his life.