Raid

III

Aksels eyes flew open; gazing into the cloudy overcast sky, the cawing of ravens surrounded him on all sides. He inhaled violently; the facial hair around his mouth moving back and forth with each breath. Nordic knots and runes peppered his arms and chest. Age having shown itself through the wrinkles on his forehead and the creases beside his nose. The sides of his head had been shaved, resulting in a short, dark brown, fuzz. The top was significantly longer; having been swept back and tied in a small ponytail. Over the years of practising Glíma, his arms and chest area had grown well defined.

Halfway through the second gasp, the stench hit him like a train and he choked on all of the saltwater that resided in his mouth. His first reaction was to wretch; trying to vomit up whatever was causing such bodily disgust. The bile began making its way up to his stomach and he sat upright, supporting himself with both of his arms on the ground behind him; the mail attached to his helmet clinked together, giving Aksel an unconscious anxiety. Pain shot through every inch of his torso along with the majority of his legs. He bled from multiple places on his abdomen; only noticing due to the sharp pain he felt when breathing.

The sight of his surroundings compelled him to lean sideways and empty his stomach. A vile downpour of watery, bitter, dark-green vomit splashed against the chainmail covering his mouth and began dripping onto the sand. In frustration, he hooked his first two fingers through the eyeholes of the helmet and tore it away from himself; letting it fall on the beach. No sooner had he done this than that he felt his head begin to float above him. Then he spat the remnants of the puke from his lips, trying to keep it off of his beard and raised his head.

Corpses. Bodies of Saxons and Víkingar lay sprawled out over the beach on which he sat. Ravens fought one another over the right to feast upon the fallen. Aksel took in large breaths through his mouth, until the thought of death coating his mouth and tongue forced its way into his mind. Blood was soaking into the sand and dirt, being lapped up into the sea by the ever-encroaching waves of saltwater coming from his left; a dogs tongue lapping from its bowl.

He moved his head around to the sea; his head felt like a toy top being spun around on top of his neck and his head fell lower; preparing to vomit once more. He inhaled slowly; trying to focus on keeping his insides inside. He threw his right arm over himself in a fit of determination and he fell prone on the ground, facing the sea. It felt as if each individual mail link was gnawing at his flesh, it hurt to breathe. He saw 3 knarr on the shoreline. Þeir eru hér, he exhaled to himself, góð góð. and let his head fall on the sand.

Braum woke to the sounds of screaming and yelling outside his hus. His head turned to look around his house instinctually, Fæder? Modor? he asked, partially not expecting an answer. It had been several years now and the young boy had matured into a young man. His face was sharper and more defined, as were his muscles. His arms were more toned than the rest of his body as a result of all of his practice smithing. He threw his feet over the side of his cot, flinging his quilt off of himself and made his way down the hall to his parents room. He leaned his head inside, ready for one of them to start yelling at him to leave. But their bed sat empty and unmade; his parents always made their bed before they began their day as an example to him.

He turned around and began back to the main room of the hus as children outside could be heard screaming. For the first time since he had woken, Braum noticed how unusually hot it was. The summers never got that hot in East Anglia. Suddenly, the front door flew open and stopped with a loud THUDD, Braum jumped at the noise and looked. His mother stood there, her eyes wide, sweat caked onto the features of her face, Sun! Weve to go now!. She yelled gesturing for him to follow. Braum, sensing the overall urgency of the situation, moved over to his mothers side. Her hand found his wrist; it clamped on tightly as she pulled him along up the hill along with the panicked crowd of their neighbours.

He could smell the sweat of everyone in the crowd; the air thickened with dread. People were screaming, yelling and running everywhere. If he had thought that his mother mightve heard him over the chaos, Braum wouldve inquired as to what was happening. He kept looking back behind them at what they were running from but all he could see over the heads of the townsfolk was a large column of thick, almost black smoke. Why such panic over a fire?, he thought to himself. By this time the crowd had dispersed slightly and he could see what was happening in the centre of town and his heart sank into his stomach.

Down the road, a huge pale man wearing mail and leather over his body with an axe, shield on his back, and hair growing off of his face ran into Godwins father and held him by the tunic. Godwins father raised his right arm in retaliation; preparing to strike at the heathen. The heathen dropped him and caught his right arm just above the elbow. With his left hand, the man attempted to shove the heathen away but before he could step into it, the heathens axe was brought down; burying itself in between their neighbours shoulder and neck area, shattering his clavicle. His tunic grew a dark shade of red around the wound and the father, realizing his defeat, fell to his knees. Then two more warriors ran into Braums view from behind a house.

Braum still didnt think she could hear his cries, but he couldnt wait any longer, Modor!. He yelled this while trying to pull away from her grasp to draw her attention. She didnt respond; he didnt know if he was right or if she was ignoring him because she knew the answer to what he was going to ask. He pulled on her arm again, MOMMA!!!, her head jerked out of reflex slightly; moving her ear closer to her child. Where is Fæder?. Braum could see the beach next to their village now; he and his father had many fond memories there. Except now there were what looked like 3 ships shored along the beach; a kind of which hed never seen before. His mother replied back to his question, Ne child,, Braum didnt like that answer, Ive no answers to your questions now.. The two ran along with their fellow Saxons toward the hope of safety.

Night fell early that day, though there was no sleep to be had once the light faded.