I see tall, giant men everywhere; my heart pounds as fear rises in me. There is no way to escape with so many surrounding me. Some are laughing and mocking the others, holding the riches belonging to dead men, my townsmen. I can say for sure they would all be cursed. Their behavior is disgusting and appalling, as their wealth has not been won in valor or glory, but with cowardice, killing unarmed men from behind and without a reason.
Other men in the boat have their eyes feasted not on the gold, but the vast openness of the gray ocean around us.
As I look from one savage to another, my eyes fall on people whom, at first, my mind does not register. My gaze continues to move further until I realize I have chanced upon faces belonging not to the savages but my friends, Margaret, Samuel, and Elizabeth.
I am elated to see them. There are other children with them, and the more I look, my face muscles tense and happiness disappears. I swallow hard, staring at their hands which are bound behind their backs with chains connecting one child to the next.
Oh my Lord, they are treating children as prisoners. What will they do to us?
I start thinking of escaping with them, but they are also guarded. An older man with a long beard is sitting slumped in front of them, slim and frail as if he is about to pass out and clonk his head on the floor. He doesn’t appear to be a tough adversary. I just need to kill him and run with them, and we can figure out the chains later.
I have to help them, their faces are pale and sad, their eyes wide with unshed tears, even Margaret, the happiest among us. She is silently sobbing; her shoulders shake as she tries to control her trembling bottom lip.
Tears fall on my fingers as I let go of my shoulder and look down at my hands. No bulky chains.
Seems I am not bound like they are... What does this mean? Why do I get this privilege of free hands? Perhaps they plan to torture me for stabbing one of their men, or they think I am already dead, my thoughts are borne of my desperation.
I doubt they thought me to be dead, as they would have tossed me overboard. The stench of corpses brought diseases. I clench my fist, and my fingers wrap around the soft blanket. I then glance down; it is the black fur coat. This is his coat. His disgusting coat. That heathen’s. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I make a move to slide away from it when I notice someone approaching from the corner of my eyes.
My gaze follows his movement and I see the face of the blond Viking, the one with the sun tattooed on his forehead. He kneels to my level, examining my face, and my fear nearly chokes me, cutting off my breath.
He smirks, the corner of his lips rising, and speaks their devilish tongue as his eyes lower to my neck. “So young...so fragile, yet he marked her with such brutality. Poor thing. Does not have a very bright future when you think about it. He will be breathing down her neck like a dog in heat once she grows a pair of decent tits.”
Whatever this man has said, it causes the others to bellow and chuckle. Some even point at me with their swords. My eyes wander around the boat to find a pair of blue eyes glaring at the blond man. It was he. The man who had bitten me like an animal.
I look at him with much hatred and touch the throbbing wound on my shoulder, my lips folding into a sneer. He has caused this. I am here because of him. If I had not run into him, I would have been with mother now.
The blond Viking stands up, his eyes still on me as he guffaws. “She is sneering like a wolf pup taken from the tit of its mother too early. Interesting lass, perhaps not all English.”
His words cause the rest to chuckle, and as for the devil who had bitten me, his glare worsens. The blond looks away, folding his hand behind his back and threading his fingers together before leaning against the sail of the boat. His blue eyes have a sparkle, probably from being the center of attention of these savages.
Then another Viking speaks, this one with short dark hair and a beard as he rolls a gold coin between his finger and thumb. “Frey, I have a question for you. Why take her as your wife so young? What’s her purpose if you can’t even fuck her yet? What’s so special about the silver-haired little girl? There are so many women at home, begging to get into your trousers. So why her...? Some bratty girl from England?”
The savage with the moon tattoo looks up, and his gaze travels from me to the man who has just spoken. He replies in his foreign tongue, “She is the first woman to have successfully harmed me. I can see it in her eyes to be a fine shield maiden with some proper training. She isn’t like the rest of her people as Leif here has mentioned. Maybe one of the fathers or mothers before her was one of us. She has a strong will. Though, I fear she might be a little too wild at the moment.”
The blond Viking then gets in a word as he chuckles some more. “Wild is not good for you, brother. I thought when you finally pick out a wife, she would be the one taming you down. Not making you even wilder than what you already are.”
The man with the crescent moon on his forehead grins slightly at whatever the blond has said as his eyes cast away from the group to me again, and I instantly glare at him. “She already has caused my wolf to surface before the full moon has even risen. I suppose wild women aren’t good for me or better yet, for my wolf.”
In this situation, I don’t know what to do. I have nowhere to run, and everywhere I look, these men and women have a weapon close to them. So, all I can do is sit and try not to call more attention to myself.
I pull my legs to my chest, and my eyes waver from person to person around the boat. Are they going to make us their slaves, or are they selling us to others for something worse, like use us in devilish rituals?
“Say, the girl must be hungry, Frey. She’s been out for nearly three full days. The bite probably traumatized her body. No one has been bitten so young, not to mention a human girl. Do not forget she is much more fragile than us.” A woman with long black hair tied back in a ponytail speaks, her eyes narrowed at the man who had bitten me. With a sharp jawline and big brown eyes, she sits on one of the many benches next to another Viking rowing the boat.
The Viking next to her is a man with bright blue eyes, the color of the ocean, and black paint under his eyes, partially running down his cheek. He looks mean, with narrowed eyes and lips constantly pulled down in a snarl. On one side of his shaven head, blue vines crawl up his skin.
He speaks, his voice deep, rough, and rugged. “What are you talking about...? No one has been bitten so young? How old were you when I marked you, Eira? Eleven? Twelve? You seemed to handle it just fine.” He leans toward the woman, his upper lip curling back, showing his teeth in a smile. He continues, “And not long after, I fucked you too, being still a young lad myself. Couldn’t help it. Especially with you eyeing the chieftain’s youngest brat.”
The man’s cold blue eyes focus on the man with the sun tattoo, but the blond doesn’t seem to care as he glares back, his arms crossed over his chest.
He then speaks to the man—I wish I knew what they were spitting back and forth. “How many times must I tell you, Dag? I have and had no interest in Eira. We’ve all known since childhood she was to be yours. Plus, I like my women to have curves and at least have something for tits.”
Then the man next to the woman places his hand on her thigh, and I cringe at such behavior in public as his other hand holds on to the oar. His fingers curl around her thigh tightly.
The mean-looking man yells, his face scrunching up in a sneer, his voice making me flinch. “My Eira has plenty a beautiful body. Better than any of the whores you sleep with. You’re just jealous you can’t have her.”
“Yup, I must be blind.” I hear the blond speak again, and the other growls as his muscles tense.
“Aye, you must, as you seem to favor the mead hall wench.” The man has a smirk on his face while retorting the words.
The blond man, whose posture has been relaxed the entire time, tenses, his eyes narrowing in anger. His lips begin to pull up in a snarl, and I can see his large canine teeth, which makes me shrink back, despite the fact that his sneer is directed at the man rowing. Though, before anything can escalate, the woman next to the man puts her hand on his chest.
She sighs, annoyed. Her voice is soft but clearly aggravated. “Leif, his tongue will bury him someday, but we are at Sea. Select a piece from his treasure. We are all friends, and I do believe there is something there for your pretty lass.”
The blond Viking’s anger vanishes, and he turns his head away before stating something loudly in a foreign tongue that I wish I could understand. “I am a free man, but I will take you up on your kind offer for his tongue’s insolence.”
I do not fail to see her eyes roll, unlike the blond Viking. She says softly, her voice still containing annoyance. “Anyway, Frey...you get my point, feed her. The poor girl must be starving. And keep an eye on the bite wound. Look out for infections... She’s human. Anything can happen, our Gods will not protect her.”
“Duly noted.” I hear the other man with the crescent moon on his forehead say a few words, and I turn my head toward him. He then walks to me, holding an apple in one hand and a knife in the other.
My heart pounds in my chest with his every step, and I instantly stiffen as he walks from the front of the boat to the back where I am.
My eyes focus on the knife. I am going to be his dinner, and after he is done stabbing me, I will be nothing but a pig with an apple stuffed into my mouth.
I draw away as he nears, and my back slams against the side of the boat. My eyes widen, and I can’t help but cower in fear and moan aloud. The searing, throbbing pain returns in my neck. When I can’t pull back any further, he gives me a devilish smirk before kneeling in front of me.
He then coos something at me, but yet again I don’t understand his tongue. “I won’t hurt you... Well, except for this...” He taps the side of his neck, most likely talking about my bite. “You should be grateful about that and bear it proudly. A couple of years’ time, you will understand more.”
As he speaks to me, his knife gracefully slices through the apple, and he cuts a piece off before offering it to me. His hand reaches out and pushes the fruit to my lips. My stomach feels empty, and the slice looks appealing and smells good to me.
I open my mouth to eat the fruit and hear a familiar voice yell out to me, “Don’t eat it, Ellie! It could be poisoned.”
I immediately close my mouth, refusing the food, and turn my head, looking in the direction of my tied-up friend. The man guarding the children glowers and stands before them, striking her on the spot. She whimpers, and I glare helplessly, grinding my teeth.
I try to stand up to teach the man a lesson, my anger getting the best of me, but immediately I am shoved back down by the man kneeling in front of me.
He grins some more, the knife held in the same hand in which he is holding the apple. “Not so fast, lass. Don’t go challenging someone you can’t take on.”
I glare at him too this time, my fear waning, but the mark bestowed on my neck throbs, reminding me not to get him angry again. My eyes also fall on the scratches on his face that I gave him. They should have been much worse, but they seem to be thin scabbed lines now.
My mind races, trying to figure out what exactly he is. What I saw before passing out was not my imagination. He had the teeth of a wolf, but now looking at him, his teeth seem normal other than the fact that his canines seem to be a lot longer than the average man.
I also see his jaws move, most likely eating what I didn’t. Then it isn’t poisoned as Margaret had said?
I give him a look of suspicion, and he shifts slightly, sitting down across from me, and slices off another piece from the apple. He then says in his native tongue, “Go on—eat, lass.”
My stomach growls, tempting me to eat what he has offered again, and my head turns to see Margaret’s red-stained cheek from the harsh slap she suffered earlier.
I would like to refuse this man’s food, but as I look up to see his foreboding blue eyes, I decide it is best not to anger him, so I take the apple slice from his fingers and eat it quickly.
As I eat, I can’t help but glance over to Margaret along with the other children. I start to feel extremely guilty as I chew and swallow the food, and he seems to praise me in his native tongue. “That’s a good girl. Go on, eat up.”
He keeps on cutting the apple into slices and offering me, and much to my dismay, I let my hunger cloud my judgment. I eat what is put in front of me, in fear this might be the only thing he gives me in a long time. As he cuts most of the apple’s flesh, he sets the knife down on the boat’s deck and nibbles the core directly.
I can’t help but feel my gaze linger on what could be used as a potential weapon. Then my eyes look at the man who sits in front of me. I push my knees to my chest, and as I quickly move for the knife that is set down, he grabs it before I can and grins devilishly at me while speaking in his native tongue. “You gave yourself away with your eyes...”
He waves the knife at me, and I curl my lip at him in frustration. He tuts at me some more as he stands and sits on one of the barrels filled with treasure that he stole from my home.
He grins before he eats everything he can off the apple and tosses the core into the ocean. “Better luck nice time,” he says snottily to me, and I just know it’s snotty from the tone of his voice.
I look away from him, deciding to ignore this devil, angry at him and myself for being so noticeable with my actions. I then hear the cry of seagulls above my head, so I glance up to find them flocking overhead. I can only stare and wish I had wings. Then I would be granted so much more freedom than I had at this very moment.
With the flying birds above, I sit up more and notice all the greenery now in front of us as the boat approaches land.
My eyes observe our surroundings, the many trees dotting the land and the large waterfalls flowing down from the top of the mountains. I am awestruck, but I quickly stop myself from gawking, remembering these are most likely the devil’s lands.
In the distance, a horn bellows, and many of these men smile. Some of them stand to wave their arms in glee, then the Viking with the crescent moon on his forehead speaks, “Welcome to your new home, little lass. Hope you like it here because you won’t be leaving.”
He grins and stands, traveling to the front of the boat, and since I don’t understand his words, I have a feeling they were all but pretty.
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