Winterfire

Chapter One

Chapter One

Lucan

It is not true that the more cruelty you face, the tougher you become. Actually, the more times you get hit in the head, the faster you get at ducking. That’s the only excuse I can offer as to why I didn’t try harder to get away when the Danes chased me.

Oh, there were a lot of things I could have done. First, I could have just bolted – nobody was holding on to me. Maybe if I’d run, the one carrying Lif would have dropped her and then both of the men would have come after me. Lif could have gotten back to the rowboat; at least one of us could have escaped. Second, why didn’t I just reach down, grab a handful of sand, and throw it at the one beside me? Why didn’t I try to hit him or kick him, or struggle in any way? Instead, I just walked along, as though we were friends enjoying a stroll on the beach.  I didn’t even drag my feet.

They took us to the village square and tied us to a tree, along with several of our neighbors. I didn’t see anyone from either one of our families at the tree, but I hadn’t seen any of them among the people lying bloody and dead on the ground between the tree and the beach, either, so they might have escaped. Honestly, though, I hadn’t actually looked at the bloody bodies too closely.  I still couldn’t believe what was happening. Most of Beal was burning, my friends and neighbors – maybe even my family -  were dead. Tall, blond brutes with silver rings on their arms and swords –swords! – in their hands chased and yelled and grabbed us. Sometimes, they even laughed at their sport.

At the tree, we were a sorry lot: wet and dirty, crying and cold. There were not many Vikings; from the day’s chaos, I had thought there must be dozens of them. I learned my first lesson in warfare that day: a few men with weapons could easily overcome an entire village of people without them.

 Some of the men came from the village, bearing a bag of food I guessed they’d stolen from the houses still standing. “Lucan!” said a familiar voice. It was Mrs. Stevens, my mother’s friend. Her face was streaked with dirt and soot, her clothes, torn.

“Mrs. Stevens,” I said. She leaned forward, pressed her face against my cheek and whispered in my ear. “I think your family—Lif’s too—got away in the early commotion. Lif’s father was on his roof, and he saw the them coming. He yelled to warn us, but it all happened so quickly! All of a sudden, Beal was swarming with strange men with weapons, attacking us! Lots of folks ran into the forest, but I wouldn’t go without Mitsy. I told your mother I’d catch up with them later, as soon as I found my dog. I still haven’t found her.”

“I’m sure she just ran off into the woods,” I said.

“Do you really think so?” Mrs. Stevens said. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s all I have.  We should be able to sneak away soon, shouldn’t we? They can’t watch us all the time.”

“No,” I lied. Hadn’t she seen what these men were capable of?  

We spent the night tied to the tree. The air was still, but the cold pressed against me from all sides. My bare feet were so cold that they no longer felt as though they belonged to me. The men had built a roaring fire, but it was too far from the tree to offer much comfort. Lif and I huddled together, and she fell into a fitful sleep. I stayed awake. My attention was drawn to two ravens in the branches just above my head. None of the other captives seemed to notice them. None of the Danes – Abbott Highbald had called these men Danes - seemed aware of them either. There was something familiar about the black birds. I realized I’d seen them before. That very morning, they’d been perched in my mother’s little pear tree near the door of our cottage, their weight bending the spindly branches. I stared at them. They stared back. Their glittering black eyes were unblinking. They began bobbing up and down on their branch, and the movement was making me dizzy. I must be getting tired, I thought, and I closed his eyes and leaned my head on Lif.