I matched Myra’s pace and found my first mark. A fair-haired Herja with the deep grooves of a sword blade etched into the silver armor on his chest. When he saw me, he locked his eyes on mine, adjusting his course to collide with me. I ran straight for him, grunting as my feet hit the ground and then I pivoted, letting my axe swing over my head to propel me to the side. My feet lifted off the ground and I curled my arms in, the blade finding his hip, and then I hit the ground and rolled.
A boot caught me in the shoulder and I cried out. When I spotted him, he was lying on his back with his arms out to his sides, looking at the sky as feet ran past. I came over him, pulling my axe from his flesh, and the blood ran freely, pulling the light from his eyes.
Myra freed her sword from a body nearby, hobbling with her right side sinking. Two more warriors were headed for us. I took the shield off a body on the ground and sank into my heels, lifting my axe. I waited for the first woman to come close and crouched, toppling her. She flew over the shield and I swung my arm, my axe driving into her back.
Myra was on the ground below the other Herja. He was about to bring his sword down on her.
“No!” The panic ignited in me like the earth breaking open under us.
I jumped over the woman bleeding out on the ground and dropped the shield on top of Myra. She curled up under it and I turned to face the Herja. His sword came down between us and I lifted my axe to stop it. It caught the blade with a force that made my axe slip through my fingers, falling to the ground beside me.
The knife in his other hand swiped toward me and I tried to slide back, but the blade cut into my side, below my ribs. I looked up from the blood pouring out from beneath my vest and took my arms out wide, tackling him at the waist. We rolled until the sword left his hand. When I fell onto my back, Myra was standing over us with the shield. She lifted it up and brought it down on the man’s head with a guttural scream. His bones crunched beneath the weight of it and his body went limp next to me before I crawled to my axe.
The warriors left standing were headed to the beach, where the last group of the Herja were pinned on the rocks between the village and the water. We headed toward them. I ignored the sting at my side, the blood pumping through my body so hard that I could barely feel it. Myra took the first Herja in our way and I took the second, my eyes landing on the water, where bodies were floating, knocking into each other in an ocean of red.
Aska. Herja. A tall, broad Riki with dark hair pulled back into an unraveling knot.
The howling wind of a hole opened up inside of me and I ran into the water, grasping hold of the body and turning it over. But it wasn’t him.
I reached for another.
And another.
My heart stopped beating in my chest and I forgot the sound of the fighting around me. I forgot the smell of blood soaked into my armor. I searched frantically, turning bodies over in the water around me until a sob broke from my chest.
Myra pushed her way toward me.
“I can’t find him,” I stammered. A Herja came into view behind her and I wiped at my face to clear my vision. “Down!”
She obeyed and I pulled the knife from my belt and threw it. The blade sank into his neck. I pushed through the water and left him clutching at his throat.
“Eelyn!”
I heard his voice and everything stopped. The water. The fighting. The wind. I looked to the beach, trying to find him, but saw Iri first. He brought his axe down in an arc, landing on a Herja on the beach.
“Eelyn!”
And then I found him. Fiske stood at the water’s edge, looking at me, his chest heaving up and down. His sword hung at his side heavily, the glittering red of wet Herja blood dripping from its edge. His eyes met mine and my sword sank to my side in the water. My body suddenly felt weak. Heavy. The relief unwound every straining, aching muscle. And then his eyes changed. His lips parted, his face twisting. And I knew that look. I remembered it. From the day we saw Halvard tied to the horse, blood running from his nose.
The weight of a body crashed into me, knocking me off my feet, and my sword sank to the sea floor. I was underwater, sunlight breaking through the clouds and lighting the red water like a pink veil around me. Legs appeared beside me and hands plunged down, taking hold of my throat and squeezing. The bubbles erupted around me as I screamed. The man was a blurry outline above the surface, his face gnarled up, teeth bared. I thrashed beneath his weight, kicking, trying to find a foothold. But there was none. The sand and rocks shifted beneath me, giving way as my fingers clawed at his arms. I could feel myself growing weaker.
I writhed, trying to slip free, but the Herja was too strong. His hold was too tight. And when I stopped moving, I watched my hands float up in front of my face, my hair lifting in golden streaks before my eyes. The thoughts slowly left my mind, my face relaxing, and I set my gaze on the sky, past the man’s face, as the cold seawater poured into my lungs.
The sunlight gleamed on his silver armor and the bright light widened and grew until it was everything. It swallowed me.
Something rocked me in the water, and the hands unclenched, leaving me. I blinked slowly, and the man was gone. There was nothing but wavering sky. I came up out of the water and I could see his face. Fiske. The square line of his jaw widened as he shouted, looking into my face. I couldn’t hear him.
And then the water rushed up out of me, the salt burning in my chest and throat. He pulled me to him, and the sound came back. The water, the village, the warriors. He lifted me up, with both arms around the middle of me as I coughed, choking. I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on so tightly that the wound at my side seared with pain.
He let go of me, his hands coming to my face, turning it from side to side. They moved down my arms, checking my skin. He looked over me carefully until he found the gash below my ribs. I hissed as he spread the skin to see how deep it was.
“I’m alright,” I panted, pulling him back to me.
He pushed his palm into it firmly, and my blood spilled out between his fingers. “You’re alright.” He repeated the words, almost to himself.
I pressed my cheek to his, trying to catch my breath, and his other arm lifted me up. We pushed through the water toward the beach. Myra was making her way toward us from the side, a gash on her forehead bleeding freely. Behind her, Iri stood on the rocks and the final whistle sounded. The one that signaled it was over.
I looked at the village. My village.
It sat crippled on the shore. Lifeless bodies littered the paths and floated in the sea around us. But Hylli still stood, filled with the Aska and Riki left standing.
FORTY-SEVEN
I took Runa’s dark, shining hair into my hands, combing through it with my fingers. She sat, looking into the fire in Inge’s home, and when a single tear fell slowly down her cheek, she wiped it with the hem of her skirt.
It had only been five weeks since her mother died in the battle in Hylli. I knew what it was to lose a mother. And I knew what it was to find one again. I looked up to where Inge sat across from us, weaving a crown of early spring wildflowers for Runa’s head.
The journey back from Hylli had been a long one. When the fighting was over, we went back to the Herja camp where the captured Aska and Riki were waiting. We brought the wounded Riki back up the mountain and those that couldn’t be moved stayed in Hylli under the care of the only two Aska healers left. But the thaw had come a week early, and as soon as the snow began to melt, Runa said she didn’t want to wait to have the wedding.
I wound the intricate braids up on top of her head and Inge fit the crown over them, yellow and white blooms floating up above her like butterflies. She wore the dress her mother was married in, a pale blue wool with golden trim. She looked like a goddess, standing against the snow-covered mountain in the meadow.