Chapter 1.

A twig snapped. Something rustled in the tall grass. 

The doe Eylin had been stalking for the last hour lifted its head gracefully, craning its neck to nibble at a tree branch. 

She nocked her arrow, pulling it taut, the string making no sound save a soft creak. She held her breath, waiting for just the right—

There! She loosed her arrow, aiming just behind the foreleg, piercing the deer’s heart through the chest. Her lips twisted in a humorless smile as it staggered through the bushes, finally falling dead about twenty feet from where she’d shot it. 

She crept over to the spot where the deer’s body lay. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, as always, not quite sure who she was talking to. The gods, perhaps? No, they didn’t deserve her allegiance. The ancient spirits, maybe? No, that didn’t seem quite right either. Regardless of who was responsible for this provision, she was thankful. This would put food on the table for the next two weeks, even longer if they stored it right.

Deftly quartering the meat, she packed it away in the bags she’d brought and disposed of the carcass. 

The walk back home through the village was the same as usual. 

Some women at the market paused their shopping to gossip when they saw her pass. The innkeeper paused in his sweeping, but refused to meet her gaze.

Eylin glanced up to see a little girl of about six years old staring at her with wide, curious eyes. She began tugging excitedly at the sleeve of the woman standing beside her.

“Why is nobody talking to that girl, Mama?”

The woman's lips hardened into a thin line. She spoke lowly, but Eylin still heard her words clearly.

“Because of her mother, dear. Now come along, we need to go home.”

Eylin looked on in dismay as the woman pulled the child away, soon disappearing down the street.

She continued her journey in silence, not noticing that one man’s gaze lingered on her longer than most.

“The gods be with you, dear girl. Even though I am not.” He murmured under his breath as she went out of sight around the corner. The tired soul turned back to his sweeping with a heavy heart.

Finally reaching her home on the outskirts of the village, she padded in quietly, careful to not disturb her father, who was likely still sleeping. 

He slept a lot these days, as the pain in his leg grew worse with the change of the seasons. 

She dropped her bag of venison on the table with a thud and sank into the chair beside it, relishing the few moments of respite before she would have to carve the meat into smaller chunks and store it… Likely some in salt, some seasoned and air-dried for jerky. 

Their house was a small one, with only one bedroom and a kitchen that doubled as a living area with a table and two chairs. There had once been four chairs, but the other two had long since been used for firewood. In the bedroom, there were two small pallets set up that took up most of the room. One for her and her older brother, and the other for her parents.

Now only Eylin and her father occupied those beds. 

Hearing a soft thump from the bedroom, Eylin stood and went toward the sound.

“Back already, daughter?” Her father asked, allowing her to help him up from the bed.

She smiled.

“Skaði be blessed, yes. She sent a doe straight to me.”

He snorted.

“You’re the best huntress on the island, trained by none other than me.” His leathery face cracked with a grin. “Don’t give a goddess all the credit.”

She chuckled. The two had always held a… loose view of the gods. If they existed, they hadn’t done much for them. If they didn’t… They couldn’t be any worse off than they were now. Arkyn was the devotee in the household, and look what it got him. 

“Now come, girl. Let me help you put this meat away. These old bones need to be good for something.”

She offered a small smile in reply, but it lacked genuine mirth. 

The man was only 40, but a well-placed sword point to his hip four years ago had made him hardly able to walk, let alone work.

The image of him limping home that day, bloodied and battered, rose unbidden to her mind. Visions of her townsmen after that battle, their cries as they were being tended to by physicians, and the heartbreaking news they had returned with. The memory left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Shoving down the emotions rising within her, Eylin stood and joined her father at the old wooden table, dipping the strips of meat he cut into the bowl of salt and spices she’d prepared earlier, and hung them on the hooks above their cobblestone fireplace. 

She stoked at the fire before turning back to the table, which reminded her of another pressing need. She would have to go out for firewood soon. 

One of the young men had helped her last year, in hopes of gaining favor with her father, and that had failed spectacularly. Thoren was a nice enough boy, and she certainly could do far worse in the husband department, but… Eylin shook her head, dispelling that line of thought.

She would never marry. Simple as that.

As for this year, she would have to get the wood herself. Winter waits for no man… or woman.

It was already getting colder, the days shorter. It wouldn’t be long before most of the animals she hunted would become scarcer by the peak of winter. She could only hope that their food stores would last them until spring. 

“You’re quiet today, daughter.” Eskild’s tender voice cut through her reverie. “Are you alright?”

She fumbled the meat she’d been holding, dropping it into the bowl, glancing up to see the concern in his emerald eyes. His long blonde braid was clearly a few days old, locks of hair slipping haphazardly from it. Her fingers itched to fix it and make it neat again. She was quite particular about such things.

“Yes, Father. Just tired.” The lie came easily.

She knew how it ate at him to not be able to provide for them, knew the guilt he felt that she had to do everything.

So how could she tell him that she was sick of it? That she was sick of this way of life, of being their sole provider?

But there was nothing to be done for it. Such was their life now.

So no. That’s not what Eskild needed to hear. Not now, not ever. 

She corrected her oversalted mistake pensively.

As far as her father would ever know… She was simply tired. 

After a minute, she reached  a hand across the table to clasp one of his with a small smile.

“I’m fine, Father. Truly.” She squeezed gently. “I’m just so glad you’re still with me.” This, at least, was true. 

He smiled gently. 

“You are my greatest blessing, daughter. If there are gods in this realm, then they have smiled upon me in this one way: in giving me you.”

“And in giving me you.” She replied simply, meaning every word of it.

***

That night, as Eylin lay on her pallet, she stared out the window that was in the wall beside her, letting her thoughts drift. 

She was in another world, thinking of life when it was happy. 

Her father, Arkyn, and herself. The three of them against the world. And they put up a formidable fight too.

A small smile of pride twisted the corner of her mouth. 

They were good together, the three of them. 

The smile turned wistful and then into a grimace.

“Why, Arkyn? Why did you leave me?” She whispered into the darkness, confident the soft sound didn’t reach her father’s sleeping form.

But little did she know, Eskild was just as restless as she was, and as her broken whisper reached his ears, followed by the stilted sounds of muffled tears, his heart broke. 

“Eylin.” He spoke her name softly, but she still startled.

She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Yes, Father?” She willed her voice to remain even.

“Come here, child." His tone was soft.

She rose, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. 

“I’m hardly a child anymore, Father.” 

With a small shake of her head, she settled in beside him, snuggling in close, as she had when she was small.

“Perhaps not, but you’ll always be my little girl, Eylin.”

She chuckled, snuggling closer.

“You’re too predictable. You’re only ever this sentimental when something’s on your mind.”

“Ah, you know me too well, daughter. You see through all my tricks.”

“Only because you taught me most of them.” 

That made him laugh. A full, rich laugh, such as she had not heard in far too long. 

She couldn’t help but grin.

“I love you, Eylin.” There was a note of sadness in his voice that she could not comprehend.

She frowned at the sudden change in his tone.

“I love you too, Father. More than anything.”  She glanced  up at him. His wizened face was drawn with worry, and his eyes were filled with something she couldn’t name.

“What is it, Father? What’s wrong?”

He sighed deeply. 

“I do not know. I just have…” He shook his head. “A feeling. One that tells me everything we know may well be about to change.”

 He gazed down at her with a look of protective fierceness such as she had not seen since the last time he went to battle. “And I want you close by me when it does.”

She nodded slowly, glancing over at her sword and bow, which were leaned up on the wall next to her pallet.

And as her eyes finally closed in sleep, she couldn’t dispel the same strange sense of foreboding.

Chapter 2.

The acrid odor of smoke filled the air, making Eylin’s lungs burn. 

“The fireplace!” She cried out as she leapt out of bed.

“No, not the fireplace.” Her father replied in a low tone, standing as quickly as he could and reaching for his old sword hanging on the wall. 

Then the sounds of clashing metal and mayhem assaulted her ears, and a sudden, raw fear that she didn’t want to acknowledge filled her soul as she realized what was happening. 

“Not again.” She breathed.

She looked at her father and saw what she felt mirrored in his eyes before they hardened with a resolve she’d never seen in them before. He leaned forward, resting a hand heavily on her shoulder as he met her eyes fiercely.

“Arm yourself. Do what you can here in the village, but promise me that every move you make will take you further from this madness. Make your way to the forest. You might be safe there. I will hold them off for as long as I can.”

Her eyes widened. 

“But Father, you can scarcely stand!” Her nostrils flared, and she bent down for her weapons. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, Eylin. You are.” The sternness in his voice surprised her. 

She drew up and looked him in the eye, paying no heed to the cacophony outside. 

“If I do, that means I’ll never see you again.”

His eyes brimmed with tears, and his arms enveloped her in the tightest hug of her life. 

But then, just as quickly as he’d done so, he pulled back.

“Now go. Go!”

She gave a slow nod, forcing her chin not to tremble. 

She scurried to the rear door but turned to look back at her father one last time. 

Something unspoken passed between them in that moment. Something Eylin would remember for the rest of her life.

Turning back to the door, she broke into a run, making a beeline straight for the forest, trying to ignore the sounds of battle behind her. 

She didn’t even make it to the treeline before she stopped. 

Looking back at her town, she saw for the first time the houses on fire, the ships docked at the shore, and the invaders pouring from them, flooding her village.

They were dressed in furs. 

“Northmen.” She spat the word to be carried away with the wind. 

“Sorry Father… But I never actually did make that promise.” She murmured, dashing back to the village, joining the fray. 

She scarcely noticed the glint of the morning sun on steel before— 

Clang! A sword met hers. 

Her attacker lunged, knocking her momentarily out of balance. 

His beady black eyes looked down on her, and repulsion filled her at the sight of his greasy, stringy hair and the stench of his rotting teeth. 

She found her footing and dodged his next strike. And the next. And another, until she found her opening. 

Her first attack found no purchase, her sword glancing off the man’s armor pitifully. 

He took advantage of her position and moved to take her feet out from under her. 

She jumped the swinging blade, but he grinned, as if expecting that. He shoved her back, and she staggered, falling and losing her grip on her sword. She watched helplessly as he kicked it out of reach.

He advanced on her and raised his sword. Just before the death blow was dealt, another sword joined the fight. She recognized her rescuer. He was the man sweeping off his porch yesterday.

She watched in horror as the Northman quickly rounded on him.

Using the distraction the man provided, she reached for her sword and scurried away from them. “Thank you.” She breathed, forcing herself to turn away when the Northman brought his sword down upon the man, slicing deep into his leg. She wanted to stay, to help, to do something. But she knew that would dishonor his rescue. 

Willing herself to move, she faced off with attacker after attacker, the agonized cries of her countrymen spurring her on. 

She noticed a Northman cornering a small group of children, murder glinting in his eyes.

In that moment, her sword was no longer a sword. The weapon she held became an extension of her being as she fought her way through the maelstrom, praying she’d reach the children before she was too late. 

Her movements were fluid and swift as she confronted the children's attacker. But he found an opening and used it.

She hissed at the blow, feeling blood trickle down her arm, but sidestepped his next strike.

She growled in frustration, swiping her blade across his throat, dispatching him.

But she could not revel in her victory.

“Run!” She cried to the children as she noticed a shadow on the ground. Turning, she found the source of it bringing his blade down upon her.

She met it with her own and gave a cry as she shoved it away from herself. 

He lowered his sword for a moment, leering over her form. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, ain’t ya? I’ve always taken a shine to redheads. What say you drop that sword, and… Well I’m sure we could arrange something or other."

With a shudder of utter disgust, she ducked underneath his sword arm, coming up behind him and plunging her steel between his shoulder blades. 

“I say you shouldn’t underestimate a pretty face.”

She didn’t take the time to watch his form slump over because her attention was stolen by another Northman striking a man down to fall on his knees. 

A crippled man. 

“Father.” She whispered. 

Her entire body froze, her blood running cold. It felt as if time had stopped, her aching arm hardly a thought in her mind.

She saw nothing but the two men, heard nothing but the sound of the Northman’s dagger being unsheathed. 

When he drove the blade into her father’s side, she felt the blow herself.

White-hot fury surged through her being, and with a battle cry to match the greatest, she charged the man who killed her father. 

Steel clashed with steel. Eylin met every strike with one of her own, each return more vicious than the last. 

A glimmer of uncertainty found its way into her opponent’s eyes. 

She took advantage of it and struck blow after blow, each one weakening his blocks until she pinned him against a wall and stopped, both of them panting heavily, her blade pressed up against his in a cross.

“What are you?” He whispered,  something unreadable flickering over his expression. 

“I’m just a girl whose father taught her well.”

She drove the fist of her good arm into the man’s gut, disabling him long enough to swing her sword and relieve him of his head. 

A strange sound met her ears next. 

Silence. For a moment, utter silence. 

Eylin looked around, stunned, and realized that the Northmen were gone. 

Their ships sailed away through the fog of the morning, swift as they’d arrived. 

She locked eyes with the only other villager still standing just before he collapsed. 

She ran to his side, dropping her weapons, and cradled his head in her lap. 

It was Thoren. 

He wouldn’t make it. His leg was bleeding, as were his head and everywhere else. But the strongest evidence of his impending end was the three arrows lodged in his stomach. Removing them would merely speed the process, and from the looks of him… It didn’t seem much speeding would be necessary. 

“We did it, Eylin. They’re gone.” His low, relief-filled voice sent a pang through her heart. 

She nodded, for a moment her throat was too tight to speak.

Tears trickled down her cheeks unbidden.

“Yes, Thoren… We did.” She finally managed. “You fought well, my friend.”

He smiled.

“As did you. I never knew you could fight.” A bemused frown crossed his features before they smoothed out.

“You never asked.” She whispered brokenly, one last friendly tease before all she could do was smile bravely down at him as she watched the life drain from his eyes, a slight smile tugging at his lips. 

She sat there for a moment, silent and still, taking in the surrounding carnage. 

Every house in the village was either in flames or reduced to the charred remains of the homes they’d once been. There were bodies everywhere she looked, of Northmen and villagers alike. 

Judging from the sun's position in the sky, it was still early in the morning. The battle couldn’t have lasted longer than an hour. 

How was it possible for such devastation to take place in such a short time?

After a long, long while, she stood, making her way over to the body of her father. She would care for him first. 

The moment his lifeless face came into view, a keening wail found its way out of her as she collapsed on the ground by his side. 

“Oh, Father.” She whispered, wrapping her arms around his limp body and holding him as if she could instill life through the embrace.

“How much more must I endure?” She murmured.

After a while, she finally stood, remembering all too well how to deal with a person’s remains. 

Carefully dragging him back to the burned remains of their home, she set up a funeral pyre in the back and reverently laid him upon it. 

She noticed a butterfly floating about and watched as it softly alighted upon the edge of the pyre, its beauty a stark contrast to the ugliness of their surroundings.

She tentatively reached out a finger, wondering what it would do. To her surprise, it flitted up to land on it.

She tried to smile, to appreciate what she held in her hand. But her face wouldn’t comply. 

“Will I ever smile again?” She whispered to her small friend. To this day, she swears that it shrugged before floating away with the breeze.

Solemnly reaching for the torch she’d just lit, she brought it down to the pyre, setting it aflame.

As the flames licked her father’s remains and consumed them, she watched, curled up into a ball on the ground, sobbing like she’d never done before. 

For the first time in her life, Eylin Eskildsen was really and truly alone.