Chapter 3. 

 The smooth, worn wood of the Syreeta’s wheel glided easily under Kjartan’s practiced hand. 

He watched his crew bustling about the main deck and forecastle, doing their various duties, and nodded in deference when Bjorn, the ship’s blacksmith, met his gaze on his way down to the battery, which they also used as a forge. 

Ingrid was up in the crow’s nest, watching for the first signs of Helgryn Isle. 

After months of travel, they were finally reaching their first destination.

Kjartan grinned.

Negotiations would soon begin, he hoped.

The name Kjartan Ironfist was well known, and he had no doubts that the clan chiefs of this small chain of islands would be thrilled to align loyalties with him. His dream was to see all the islands allied not only with one another but also with all the might and authority of the Northern clans. 

That way, when the Varakai returned… The lands of the North Sea would be ready. 

The last war had demanded so much of so many. 

His fingers tightened on the wheel, steady despite the restless energy humming beneath his skin. 

He checked his map, reassuring himself maybe for the hundredth time that they were on the right route. His eyes scanned the horizon as he waited for Ingrid’s signal.

A strange feeling of dread that he couldn’t explain entered his spirit when Ingrid finally called out sight of the island a short while later. 

He turned the wheel to the left, veering toward it, but gasped as the growing landmass came into view. 

Before long they could see that every standing building was smoking, and even from this distance, he could smell the stench of death.

“What in the realms happened here?” Alvis, Kjartan’s first mate, spoke lowly, his tone carrying a note of grim fascination.

Kjartan hadn’t noticed him walking up. He shook his head in reply.

“Captain, look. There are fresh fires being lit along with the older ones.”

He nodded. “Get Bjorn up here.”

Alvis left to do as he was bidden. A moment later, he reappeared above decks with the large man. Bjorn was practically made of muscle and even taller than Kjartan himself; his long black hair and beard were braided down to his waist in patterns as intricate as the decorative designs he put into the hilts of his swords. 

Bjorn took in the scene before them with a sigh. 

“Well, this is unexpected.”

Kjartan laughed humorlessly. “You really believe so?” 

Alvis shot him a mock glare that would have been funny if they weren’t gazing at such carnage.

After a long moment, Kjartan turned to his friends, speaking quietly.

“Make ready the rowboat. We shall drop anchor here and the three of us will row in.”

***

The sickly sweet stench of burning flesh assaulted Eylin’s senses as she put the bodies of her townspeople onto group pyres in the town square. She had originally wanted to do it outside of town, near the forest, to minimize the amount of… leftovers that would be in the way, but soon realized that she didn’t have the willpower or the strength to drag that many bodies that far. They already smelled pretty ripe, burning aside, and she wanted to get this done as soon as possible. 

Even this method of just piling them up where she found them was going to take forever by herself. 

“At this point, I might as well just go live in the forest and be a hermit.” She muttered with a huff. “It’d save me all this work, that’s for certain.” 

After lighting the pyre she’d just finished, she knelt down to rest. Leaning back until her shoulders and the back of her head touched the ground, she relished the stretch in her aching thighs and closed her eyes. The adrenaline had worn off long ago, and now her body was letting her know every single spot she’d been hit or jostled. Every muscle ached, and her head was pounding. Her arm had been shaking for an hour. She’d tied a makeshift bandage to it to help curb the bleeding, but it did nothing for the pain or effects of such a wound. 

She sighed.

Her first battle. Something her father had hoped she’d never see. And it came right to their front door.

The thought of Eskild threatened to bring a whole new flood of tears, so she stood and ran to the forest to get another bundle of firewood, hoping to distract herself. 

Upon reaching the treeline, she began collecting sticks and branches, cursing the Northmen with every breath.

Spent, she collapsed, dropping her bundle and covering her face with her hands. 

Then she heard a twig snap.

Her hand instinctively flew to her dagger, holstered on her belt.

She crept slowly toward the sound, blade raised defensively, scanning the illusions in the leaves created by the midmorning light.

Then the form of a little girl, about six years old, emerged from within the shadows.

Eylin gasped.

Sheathing her dagger and glancing around quickly, she inched nearer to the girl, speaking softly.

“Hello there, little one.” 

There was hope in the girl’s eyes as she came closer.

“Are the bad men gone?” She asked in a small voice.

With a bittersweet smile, Eylin nodded.

“Yes, child. They’re gone.” She opened her arms tentatively and the girl flew into them, holding on to her for dear life. Eylin awkwardly tried to comfort her as she started sobbing violently.

“Th–they ki—they killed Mama!” She blubbered. That was when Eylin recognized her. This was the little girl from yesterday. 

She held the girl even tighter, as if she could make it all go away just from this embrace. Oh, how she wished she could. 

“I know, child. I know. They killed my father too.”

As the girl began to calm, Eylin leaned back, tilting her chin up with her finger so she could look her in the eye.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Tyra.” She sniffed. 

Eylin smiled down at her warmly.

“My name is Eylin. Are you alone out here?”

The little girl shook her head, swiping her sleeve across her nose.

“There are more of us. We ran into the trees when the bad men came.”

Eylin’s breath caught.

“Show me.”

Chapter 4.

The sea was eerily calm as Bjorn rowed their small craft up to the shoreline. Waves lapped gently against the hull, belying the violence of what had just occurred on this island.

The men made their way across the sea in silence, lost in their thoughts and suppositions.

With a soft thump, they hit land and pulled the boat ashore, stashing it in the bushes.

“Be on your guard, men. There are still people about and we do not yet know whether they are friends or foe.” The men nodded solemnly at their captain’s words.

They moved inland, approaching the carnage.

Kjartan’s eyes watered from the smoke as they searched the remains for survivors. Their footsteps made small clouds of ash upon impact.

Alvis began coughing, and Kjartan was one poor inhale away from doing the same.

“What do you think of it, Captain?” Bjorn queried in a low voice, yet it was loud in the stillness of their surroundings. 

Kjartan sighed.

“I know not what to think. Obviously, the island has been attacked. But it seems the offending parties have left.” He gestured to the funeral pyres. “There are clearly survivors somewhere. We should find them and see how we can help. They may have the answers we seek.”

Bjorn nodded, his reply a growl.

“I don’t like this.”

Kjartan knelt down, picking up some dirt and ash, letting it sift through his fingers and blow away with the wind.

“Neither do I.”

“Captain, look!” Alvis called out.

Kjartan frowned at the alarm in his voice. After exchanging a glance with Bjorn, they walked over to where his first mate was standing.

When they saw what he was pointing at, they stopped dead in their tracks.

Kjartan’s face paled, and he was gripped by an unease that bordered dangerously close to fear.

A symbol was burned into one of the only standing walls that remained.

A great raven, wrought in blackened lines, stood tall against the stone, a straight-bladed sword resting along its body, its handle gripped tightly in the raven's talons. Beneath it were four stark letters.

His family’s ancient crest.

***

Tyra led Eylin further into the woods, and they came out into a small clearing, where people were putting together makeshift shelters out of branches and trees.

The group was made up mostly of women and children, but a good handful of men were there too, doing most of the grunt work.

“Tyra!” An older woman came running from the rest of the group, sweeping the girl into a tight embrace. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m ok, Mormor. Thanks to her.” She looked at Eylin. 

Eylin shifted uncomfortably under the woman’s piercing gaze. With a shudder, the woman turned away, leaving Eylin standing alone, despite Tyra’s protests.

Eylin followed them reluctantly.

“Surely they won’t all be so petty.” She muttered under her breath as she drew closer to the camp.

Conversation halted at her approach. All eyes turned to her.

She swallowed hard at the looks of disgust that some afforded her.

“You.” One of the men spoke quietly. “You’re the one who was fighting, weren’t you?”

She nodded hesitantly.

He continued.

“You saved my life. One of the soldiers you killed was coming right for us.” He wrapped a protective arm around his wife, pulling her closer. When Eylin met his eyes, her heart skipped a beat. She knew those amber depths better than she’d like to admit. But they belonged to another. These must be Thoren’s parents, Rafe and Helga.

“I… I did my best. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite good enough.”

A pained expression came over his face. 

“Thoren?” 

Eylin shook her head.

Helga started sobbing, and Rafe held her tighter. A single tear tracked down his cheek, and he lowered his head, speaking soothing words only Helga could hear.

“He fought bravely and with great honor. He did you credit. I know it is small comfort, but… it’s something.” Eylin said, her tone low and sincere.

She shifted uneasily under the group’s silent appraisal. 

“Why are you here?” A woman in the back sneered. Eylin didn’t recognize her.

“Tyra found me in the woods, and I asked her to bring me back here.”

The woman hissed in disapproval. Eylin sighed. 

“Look… we’re all that’s left of our village. We need to take stock of what we have. Food, clothing, shelter. I know none of you trust me or care to give me the time of day, but… We need to work together. Care for our dead. Clean up our village.” She hesitated. “I’ve already begun some of the work. If you care to give your loved ones the honor they deserve, then you should help me finish.”

With that, she turned to head back to the village but was stopped by a small hand on her arm. Startled, she looked down.

“Please.” Tyra said in a small voice. “Stay. Don’t leave me.” Eylin’s heart twisted as she knelt down to look the little girl in the eyes.

“Don’t worry, child.” She tucked an unruly strand of Tyra’s curly hair behind her ear. “I won’t be far.” She glanced over the other survivors, shaking her head before standing to keep moving.

“Wait!” A voice called. She stopped, turned. It was an older man, probably around her father’s age. He looked… vaguely familiar.

Eylin gasped as she watched him limp forward through the throng, who parted before him respectfully. He was the one who saved her life during the battle.

“She stays with us. She’s more than earned it. How much longer will we blame her for the mistakes of her mother? She was but a child then!”

Tyra’s grandmother spoke up then, rage and disgust twisting her features.

“Kalman! How could you say such things?” She gestured to Eylin wildly. “She is the daughter of a harlot! Rot runs in her blood. If we let her be one of us now, gods only know what havoc it may wreak.”

Kalman’s expression hardened.

“Skadi.” His tone was low and dangerous. “Set your prejudice aside for a moment. If you can.” He pointed at Eylin. “That girl is braver than all of us combined. While we hid here in the woods, she met our attackers in battle and fought with everything she had. I would have stayed and fought with her longer if I hadn’t been forced to lead.”

Eylin cringed.

The man standing beside Skadi took a menacing step closer to Kalman. “Do not make this decision lightly, Kalman. The fact that she is your niece does not make her trustworthy, nor does your new position make your opinions true.” 

Eylin froze.

Kalman refused to meet her gaze, deciding instead to stare back at the man, letting out a low growl.

“Leave my family ties out of this, Eero.”

Eero advanced on him further.

“And if I don’t?”

Eylin rushed forward, stepping between them.

“Gentlemen, please. There is no need to get violent. I’ll go back to the village alone if I must.”

Tyra let out a small cry of disappointment, and Eylin hung her head at the sound. She had no choice.

Kalman finally looked at Eylin fully for the first time, and that was when she saw it. He had her father’s nose. The same eye shape.

He spoke quietly, but his words were crisp and clear, brooking no argument.

“You’re not going anywhere, Eylin. You’ve more than proven yourself. It’s a shame you ever had to in the first place. This village has held you and your family responsible for the actions of your mother for far too long. It. Ends. Now.”

Eero’s hands tightened into fists, but he remained silent and took a step back, respecting Kalman’s position as the acting leader.

Resting a heavy hand on Eylin’s shoulder, Kalman turned around, facing the survivors.

“No matter what your opinion of Eylin or her family may be, the truth remains. She’s a warrior. Some of us owe her our lives.”

The breath left Eylin’s lungs.

After a long, hard look at the group, Kalman continued. 

“Can you still not see past the mistakes of a dead woman and examine the girl standing before you now?”

Silence ensued.

Rafe looked Eylin in the eye, debating something internally for a long moment. 

“I agree with Kalman. She is a respectable young woman, and I trust her. Besides… Even Thoren cared for her, and you all know as well as I that he was discerning beyond his years.” Eylin’s lips tightened into a thin line. 

Rafe inclined his head to Eylin in deference before turning his attention back to his wife. He’d said his piece.

Reluctantly, many of the group did the same.

The tension in Kalman’s shoulders eased slightly.

“She stays then. Anyone who has an issue with it can deal with me personally.”

Skadi glared fiercely.

“You’re inviting ruin upon us all, Kalman. You’re lucky our chief was slain, else you would not be getting your way in this matter.”

Kalman’s only reply was a stony glare and a tightening of his grip on Eylin’s shoulder. 

After a general murmur among the group, everyone went back to what they were doing before Eylin’s arrival, all keeping a wary eye on her and her uncle.

After they dispersed, Kalman finally met her eyes again.

“We… Have much to discuss.”

She barked out a laugh. 

“I’d certainly say so… Uncle.” The word sounded foreign to her ears. 

Probably because it was. 

With a grim nod, he led her to a secluded space of trees a small distance away from camp. 

When they stopped walking, Eylin spoke first.

“Tell it all, and tell it plainly.”

He chuckled.

“You’re just as blunt as your father. I like that.” He took a deep breath. “When you were born, your father and I had… A disagreement.” He let out a self-deprecating huff. “Looking back, it was a silly thing, really. And none of my business. But that stubborn streak you have? It comes from us. We didn’t speak to one another for years.” He paused, reflecting back on that time. “And then your mother, well… You know well what happened then. Afterward, I reached out to your father, and we made amends as best we could. But if I associated with your family too much, it would have meant ruin for my own. I couldn’t risk my wife or my sons. You know how this village can be. Your father understood that and respected it. Besides fighting together during the war, we haven’t spoken since.” He closed his eyes, his expression darkening.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” He whispered.

Eylin nodded.

He inhaled sharply, looking away, his throat working around words that would not—or mayhap could not—come. 

After a long moment, Eylin finally spoke.

“Did I… ever know you?”

His expression softened, a look of rare tenderness coming into his usually stern eyes.

“Briefly. When you were very, very young.” His worn face cracked into a wry smile. “I used to play with you by holding your tiny little hands and letting you run circles around me, sometimes even picking you up and spinning you.”

She gasped as an image flew to her mind unbidden. 

A much younger Kalman playing with her as he’d described, his rich laughter filling the air. Her father was standing nearby, enjoying the spectacle. And even… Even her mother was watching with a fond smile playing on her lips.

“I remember.” She whispered. “I had forgotten those days... They were so long ago.”

His face lit up.

“You really remember?”

She sighed.

“Those were happier times, weren’t they?”

His expression turned rueful.

“In a way.”

Eylin met his gaze, holding it for a long while before speaking again.

“Why did you stand up for me back there? You could have just let me leave. It would have been easier.”

He pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.

“No. I couldn’t. I’ve let social cowardice rule my life for far too long. I should have stood up for you back when the town first decided you weren’t worth the dirt you walked upon, when I knew good and well they were wrong. I shouldn’t have waited until now. I was scared. I’d only recently married the chief’s daughter… All eyes were on me. It would have disgraced the chief and his family if I had associated with you. I was wrong for that. I knew that then, and I’m doubly sure of it now. I should have defended my own flesh and blood.”

He reached for her hands, holding them in front of him, sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“For that, I am truly sorry. I hope, moving forward, that you can learn to forgive me.”

Eylin hesitated, tensing slightly but not quite pulling away.

He noticed the change and took a step back, giving her space.

“I understand.” He murmured, a hint of sadness coming into his eyes. “Just… know that I'll be here. Ready when you are.” His expression settled back into its normal sternness, but there was a gentleness in his tone. “I've learned from my mistake, Eylin. And I will back you from here on out. Always. We’re all each other has now.”

With that, he turned and limped back to camp, with a confidence in his stride that hadn't been there for years, even despite his new limp.

As Eylin watched him walk away, she felt a heaviness that she couldn’t quite explain.