The sea foam sprayed above the hull, drenching the poor souls who were seated in the front few benches. Rowing was not necessary; the wind had picked up enough to carry us onward at great speed. Despite it being late springtime, the air was frigid. The wind stung my cheeks as we plowed through the waves ever faster toward England. It was as if the vessels that bore us forward felt the increasing anticipation among the men and spurred on to match their intensity. I drew my fur around my shoulders a bit more and sunk my chin into the cradle it made on my chest in an effort to force away the cold.
Why had the Gods seen fit to plunge me headlong into this journey? Simple: Ivar was a merciless puzzle-solver. He claimed my presence was required on our venture across the sea for his own reasons, and thus, I would be joining the Ragnarsons on their raids in England. Unfortunately for me, my people saw budding relationships as requisite reason to join in on these journeys, and so I was to work with the women and children in the encampment gathering food, hunting game, and mending leather. They believed my presence in England foretold of a marriage between Ivar and me, but they couldn't have been more wrong. He merely did not want to let me out of his sight until he had me figured out. He was wasting both of our time. I would just bide by myself until we returned to Kattegat.
Truth be told, this "holiday" as I had decided to call it would not be entirely in vain. I would take this opportunity to study the local foliage to discern their different properties and uses. It was always useful to gain knowledge of such things if one wanted to truly master the world of plants. When we reached land, I would immediately sneak away to search out new poisons, salves, and elixirs. I lived for this.
I was not entering into this venture entirely without protection though. I had spent my last three weeks in Kattegat before departure securing the largest arsenal of ingredients I had collected yet. I had brought a purse of a few marisko rootstocks for sedatives when the men shook with the pain from their wounds. They were difficult to find, but three weeks was plenty of time to gather what was needed. Another satchel held an ample supply of the overly-abundant mjødurt, a small queenly plant of tiny white flowers clustered together. The whole of these plants was useful in some form or another, but the root was my main prize in this specific instance. When chewed, it could cure headaches, small pains, and prevent wound sickness from setting in. It helped that it also gave off a pleasant aroma reminiscent of ale to ease the men's frazzled nerves and transport them home in their minds. Floki had taught me that plants could only solve so many ailments, but a peaceful mind could cure anything. Lastly, my prized possession was a small vial of powdered tysbast. Although the flowers had already bloomed in plenty, it was still too early in the springtime for the leaves to appear. The entire plant was known to possess poison in varying deadly doses. I had settled for what I could find and cut down at least ten stalks for grinding. Lucky for me, a small pinch of this powder would kill a grown man by causing his throat to close around his last breath. I was no stranger to tysbast. She was a true weapon of Hel.
When I had brought my assortment before Floki for his approval, he commented proudly,
"Out to save and out to kill, ay, Hel? I have taught you well."
"The Gods will see your instruction put to good use on this journey, I can feel it," I responded warmly. It was good to know that he was coming along as well. I would have felt lost without him. I held him in the same regard as one would a father or fond uncle after my own had died on a raid with King Ragnar some years ago.
"I ask you now before the sacred roots of this earth, Hel. Will the mjødurt be taken raw or in hot broth?" Floki quizzed. Ha! He thought he could trick me.
"Both! But it loses some of its potency when in hot broth," I answered triumphantly. He mussed my hair in a sign of affection, and my hands quickly shot up to fix my braids before he could ruin them further.
"Come, there is more I must teach you before I release you on the world," Floki led me to a circle of trees behind his hut on the water's bank. He reached inside the hollow of an old, mossy tree to produce a sleek bow and five arrows. They were clearly used but seemed tried and true.
"Oh, Floki! You know I do not fight like our people," I immediately declined.
"I know, but this is not a regular fight. These Christians—while small of mind," he gave a high-pitched giggle at that, "fight from a distance. When we get too close, they become weak. And what do weak men do when they are afraid?" he quizzed again.
"They become foolish," I replied.
"Not only foolish, but rabid. You must learn to keep them away. And we will do that with these," he referred to the bow and arrows in his hands. There was logic in his words. As much as I despised the hand-to-hand fighting of my people, I would have to become something slightly more than the shadow warrior I was.
I gave a great sigh and released in a huff,
"Fine." Floki let out a scream of laughter. He set the arrows down on a stump beside him to free up his hands for the bow.
"Now, this is the proper way to hold the bow. It takes little effort to achieve the results you want, and so that is why it is perfect for someone of your stature."
Floki spent the rest of the afternoon teaching me the principles of shooting arrows with a bow, and by the end of the session, I could release an arrow at full speed in the general direction of my intended target.
"Look! Floki! I hit a tree!" I shouted excitedly while slapping his arm to get his full attention.
"I would say you more grazed it," he tried to deflate me.
"He would have been dead before he hit the ground, the scum!" I continued to yell. There was no deflating anything; I had hit the damn tree!
His eyes grew smaller as a bright, beaming smile overtook his face,
"I am proud of you."
My eyes looked back up to the never-ending sea before us. It was so vast. How could Ragnar have made the crossing so many years ago in good faith that there was something on the other side? He either had true faith in the Gods to give him good fortune or was severely addled in the brain. The longer our journey stretched, the more I leaned toward the latter explanation.
I reached into the lining of the fur I wore and removed from a hidden pocket a small onyx stone blessed in the name of Hel. Its singular black tone was somewhat soothing in the unknown that spanned ahead. Floki had given it to me right before we set sail saying it would help control my erratic nature and nervous temper. I doubted it. I was seventeen years old, and I had still not figured out how to do that. But I trusted in the stone just the same. The guardian of Helheim would keep me safe—she knew what I was meant to do in my lifetime.
"What will we do when we reach land?" I asked aloud. I had never been part of the raids before, so I was unsure of my role in them. Sigurd was the first to speak up,
"Once we decide upon a suitable place to anchor the boats, we will set up a camp somewhere nearby. Then the warriors will go forward to raid."
"So I will remain in the camp?" I confirmed. That would be the perfect situation to allow me to go out and explore the plant life surrounding our landing site.
"No," Ivar quickly jumped in to dispel any hope of our separation, "You will come forward with us." A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"What purpose would that serve? You know I am not a shieldmaiden," I reminded him. I knew he did not need reminding, a boy as smart as him. He had to have another reason for wanting to bring me on the most dangerous part of the raid, but what?
He motioned with two fingers for me to come closer to where he sat, which was across the width of the ship. Once I had reached him, he patted the seat next to him while he leaned back against the furs behind him. I sat down beside him wondering what could possibly be his reasoning for so ill advised a decision. He tipped his head closer to my ear and whispered,
"Perhaps we will see your hidden talents on this raid, hmm?"
Gods, he was practically purring. He wanted to figure out my abilities so badly he was willing to put me in danger to figure it out. I had to admire his determination.
"You are incredibly strong-minded, Ivar, I will give you that. But like I said before, you will not figure out anything I don't intend for you to," he darkened at the prospect of not finishing this game soon, "Put me in harm's way, fine. But it'll only aid me in the end." He raised his eyebrows in interest. Damn, I had spoken too freely. I had hinted at my endgame. I knew I could achieve any one of my aims if I was delivered into the hands of the enemy. The enemy was a people, and I knew how to play people. On the other hand, the battlefield was a place where smarts were stripped away for the most part leaving you with only your basest of faculties. Unless I was able to hide, I would die. He was unfazed by my declaration,
"Good. Then let us see how this raid 'aids' you, as you said." So there was no escaping this. To Hel with his insatiable mind! Well, I knew where I would be once we had landed: on the beach, practicing my marksmanship.
I held true to my internal promise. We landed a few days later on the sandy shores of a cloudy bank with hardly any wind. Even with the cover of the clouds, I still had to squint my eyes because of the bright sunlight shining through. As soon as I had divested myself of the large fur I wore most of the crossing, I made my way into the nearby tree line with the bow and arrows Floki had given to me, intent upon bettering my skills before battle. I found a ring of trees similar to that in which Floki taught me and selected a tree to bear the brunt of my endeavors. After firing my first set of five arrows, I hadn't hit it even remotely. That was not a good sign. I ran a decent distance to collect my arrows and bring them back to the original circle of trees to start all over again. I raised the bow once more, slipped an arrow into the cradle, and pulled it back with a bit of struggle.
"You're never going to hit anything if you keep releasing it like that," a snide voice came from behind me to the right. I yelped shrilly in surprise. Upon turning, I saw that it was the source of my torment in the first place—Ivar. He was seated upon a tall stump within the circle and looked as if he had been there for more than a few moments.
"Gods, Ivar! Why must you sneak up on me like that?" He gave no indication that he heard my complaint and instead modeled the correct posture.
"Look at me. Bring your elbow down, you look like a stricken hen," he coached. I bit down on my tongue to prevent a sharp comment from escaping. He was helping me after all,
"Keep your left arm straight and rest the arrow tip lightly on your thumb. Now, take a deep breath in, find your target, breathe out, and… Release." A sharp whoosh was heard almost immediately after his instruction followed by the satisfying thud of the arrow sinking itself into the target.
"How in the Gods' name—Ivar! You genius! I did it! I don't know how I did it, but I did it!" I practically sang his and my praises. I ran up to the stump he sat on to give him a hug, but immediately halted myself. He was not a man of embraces. He gave me an odd, scathing look as he watched my fitful behavior. I quickly recovered and offered my arm out in a symbol of friendship. He scrutinized me even more heavily for several long moments. Finally, he reached his arm out to grasp mine and solidified our bond. I still hated the man, don't mistake me, but this was the first step in the right direction of forming an alliance that would benefit us both in the future. It was up to me to show him the potential we would have together. His gaze held my own aloft with its intensity, and I felt the favor of the Gods descend upon us. It was warmth, excitement, and the promise of more. He must have felt it too because his eyes widened in surprise. He immediately dropped my arm, effectively cutting off the sensation.
There were only some events in my life that shook me to the bone, and that was one of them. It appeared my estimation of our future in the world together was true beyond an inkling of a doubt. We would go very far.
Ivar left shortly after our exchange by using the newly-fashioned crutches Floki had made for him to drag himself back to the camp. I remained behind, concerned that only exhaustive practice would keep me safe the following day. I shot arrow after arrow, collected them up, and shot them all again until I was convinced that I could hit my intended target with general accuracy. I may have just been able to sustain myself long enough to live.
I gathered the things I had brought with me, retraced my path through the wood line, and rejoined the villagers in our now fortified campsite. Large wooden spikes spread outward in a square around it with tents dotted throughout. Several fires burned and stew could be smelled cooking. Already the women had caught some small game to stock up on and were skinning it for use in the near future. We were certainly an efficient people, that was for sure. I wasn't terribly hungry, but I figured I would need my strength for the next day.
I received a bowl full of simmering rabbit stew and a piece of bread from one of the nearby circles and sat down to eat what I could. After a few bites, I felt my nerves get the better of me, and I could eat no more. I kept the bread in case my appetite changed in the morning, forced two more hearty bites of the stew for my own sake, and returned the bowl to the woman who had given it to me. I moved over to the Ragnarsons' tent. Space was a luxury not afforded on raid, and because I was considered Ivar's quasi-betrothed, I had the added pleasure of bedding down with him. I had come to terms with that undesirable fact over the course of our journey here.
I moved inside to take in the surroundings and saw where I was to sleep. A small cot lined with furs that was clearly intended for two small children or one incredibly large man. In our case, it would be two fully-grown adults. I sighed. Any peacemaking I had done in my head was now undone. This was… unsatisfactory. I was no prude. In fact, I enjoyed the attention men gave me. However, Ivar was not my lover, and I had no intention of giving him my body. Even if it would be fun, it would hurt my standing in his mind, and I had far more important things to accomplish with him instead of sex.
I walked over to the godforsaken piece of furniture and sent up a silent prayer to Freyja for comfort this night as well as protection on the battlefield the next day. As an afterthought, I prayed for purity, innocence, and protection from passion to Balder's spirit in Helheim. Anything would benefit me at that point.
The Absent King's sons were still in the makeshift hall planning for tomorrow how they would reap the most plunder. I used this as a chance to braid my hair away from my face for the attack, make myself ready for sleep, and laid upon the cot. I intended to fall asleep despite the early hour of the evening so that I would not have to be awake for Ivar's imminent arrival. Perhaps I could sleep through the whole ordeal. I sent up one more silent prayer to Niorun, goddess of sleep and dreams, for good measure.
I came to my senses sluggishly and without much measured control. I was rolling about on a semi-hard surface while something heavy kept me underneath it. I struggled for a few moments, but paused to take a steadying breath.
I was on the cot still with the furs draped over me. Someone—Ivar, had pulled himself up onto it and was readying himself for sleep. This meant pushing me over until my face was almost in the wall of the tent. It appeared Niorun had failed me and I was awake; she always was a shifty goddess anyway. I looked back at him,
"Could you have been any rougher getting into bed?" Irritation colored my tone even though I whispered. He was not bothered in the slightest.
"That was rough for you? That's not very promising."
"What?" I spoke louder this time.
"Hush, now. You'll wake the rest of the tent," he muttered as he laid his head upon the pillow and closed his eyes. I rolled over completely, my movement causing the cot to almost bounce him onto the floor. He shot his right arm out to steady himself while simultaneously leveling a glare in my direction.
"No," I demanded, "What was that supposed to mean?" He continued to scowl at me—eyes low and lip curled scornfully.
"Gods, you are so bothersome. It was a joke, Hel, you twit," he deepened his voice in threat before continuing, "Now, you have one more opportunity to turn over and go to sleep before I make you sleep on the floor." I narrowed my eyes at him. I would make him regret that. Right at that very moment. I lowered my voice until it was gravelly with feigned desire while maintaining a pleasurable lilt for a man's ear,
"But, Ivar…You brought me all the way here from Kattegat," I trailed my hand ever so slowly up the front of his leather tunic and punctuated my next words by walking my fingers up the last few inches, "It took four—long—weeks." I rolled onto my stomach, pushed myself up, and swung my left leg over his hips. I was in charge of the situation now. Ivar's eyes had widened to the size of eggs by the time I had made it to straddling him; this must've been the last thing he had ever expected me to do after being told I would sleep on the floor. He would see soon enough that everything I was as a person was the last thing he ever expected. Oh well, until then…
He narrowed his eyes scrutinizing my face and awaited my next unpredictable move. Siggy had taught me well. Men were so easily led, and he was no different.
I closed my eyes excruciatingly slowly and tilted my head toward his as if I would kiss him. Once I was sure his eyes would close as well, I snapped my own back open. Surprisingly, his were still open—still watching me. Smart man. But that wasn't really new, now was it? I whispered while looking straight into his unforgiving stare,
"You and I will never lay together as wedded couples do. You will never hold me close to you knowing that I am yours. We will never share deep secrets and make undying vows. We are—and will always remain—nothing like lovers," I finished with relish. I was eager to see his upset reaction.
But it never came. Ivar's probing stare transformed into a gleeful smile, and he let out a short, breathy laugh. That was unexpected. His smile dimmed to a smirk as he lifted his head closer to mine and conceded,
"You fascinate me, Daughter of Mischief."
That was not good.
Unable to bear his presence any longer, I immediately flopped off of him with an exasperated huff, rolled onto my side, and stared at the wall of the tent until I heard his breathing slow. It was only then that I felt safe enough to allow myself to fall asleep. I vowed never to pray to Niorun again.
We moved as a large group across an open field to the next set of trees a good distance away. The Ragnarsons led the march with Ivar held aloft on a shield. He was no weakling, and anyone could see that in the way his eyes were set on the path before him. A spire could be seen shooting up from beyond the treetops. Björn had informed me that the taller the structure, the greater the chance of finding gold. And the "silly crisscross" as he had called it at the top meant even more treasure. I chose not to inform him that I indeed knew the meaning of the cross and its significance for the Christians. They believed their Jesus had died nailed to one himself. Æthelstan had been the one teach me this fact as well as at least a thousand more about his God and religion. Siggy thought it would be useful for my education; she knew what the future held for me. She understood all the tools I would need to accomplish my life's purpose, so she sent me to Æthelstan for instruction in English. He was a sweet, quiet man. I enjoyed learning from him because he took the time to ensure that not only did I learn exactly precise pronunciation, but also a myriad of his customs and a smattering of his culture. For what is language without the correct context in which to employ it?
I carried my bow and arrows close to my side and prayed Thor was watching over me this day. My fingers itched for the moment I would see an English man draw near so that I could smoothly sling an arrow to fly at him. I would take no chances this day.
Surprisingly, the trek to the holy place was uneventful and before long, our horde was released to rampage at will. There was no danger here. Every robed man the North men encountered was unarmed and usually running for his life. I had nothing to fear. I followed Ivar and his shield bearers into the central chambers within the large structure. What else was there for me to do? So much for his plan to force my hand and show my abilities to him! There was no need, foolish boy.
We walked through several clean, light halls that were obviously well cared for. It was a shame to see them covered in blood and lined with the bodies of the men who had inhabited them. No matter; death was life and so on. Lost in my own thoughts, I glanced up to my right where a large wooden door was left slightly ajar. Through the gap I could see hundreds of vials lining wooden shelves with little slips of paper indicating their contents. I would rejoin Ivar and his men later; this was where I needed to be.
I pushed the heavy door further open to reveal the place of work of what Æthelstan had described to me as an "alchemist." Alchemists were essentially more advanced practitioners of what I myself was doing, so I felt at home in this workshop. I only wished I had brought a satchel with me to smuggle some of the vials. I had not wanted to be weighed down in any way that would prevent my taking action to save my own life or one of my brothers' or sisters'. I inspected the rest of the room—mortar, pestle, stalks of herbs strung along a wooden rack for drying, a system of scales and weights. There! A satchel! I could not believe my good fortune. I snatched it up, opened it to see various pieces of paper filled with scrawling lines, and made room for the more interesting vials.
Æthelstan's instruction proved to be quite effective as I easily recalled the English letters and the sounds they made in my head. It took a bit of sounding out, but once I had gotten a word or two put together, the meaning easily followed.
'Choose what will help you survive; not what fascinates you,' I reminded myself. I focused my attention on the slips of paper depicting a skull meaning fatal.
'Monkshood—I'll take that. Foxglove—and that. Deadly Nightshade—definitely that.' I had no idea what any of these beautiful, poisonous growths did, but I'd be damned if I didn't take my holiday as a chance to find out. A woman's weapon arsenal can never be too small.
With only three plants of distinctly different appearance, they would be easy to tell apart without their labels. I had learned to trust myself and my abilities at a young age, especially that of memorization. I secured the three vials and placed them carefully between the pieces of parchment in the satchel to prevent damaging them as I walked. Just then, a loud cacophony of shouts and clanging weapons filled the echoing halls of the holy place. It seemed as if the English had mounted some sort of defense. I thought that was unusual for a place like this. At least, that was what Æthelstan had told me.
I collected my bow and arrows and peered out the door before bringing myself out into the hall. I followed the sounds that were coming from my right as I slung an arrow through the bow for added assurance. The yelling was dying down, and as I rounded a corner, I saw a cluster of men in armor lying in a bloody heap upon the floor of a large room meant for worship to the Christian God. My kinsmen surrounded them, breathing raggedly and staring at Hvitserk as he held his sword to the throat of a frightened English man,
"Where is the rest of the gold?" He must've thought this man was meant to guard the treasure.
"Please!" the English man begged in his foreign tongue, "King Egbert has sent us here to make contact with the North men! He wishes to strike a bargain! Please!" Clearly, nothing he was saying made any sense to the North men's ears, and Hvitserk only grew more agitated and pushed the sword heavily into the man's neck. This earned him a hearty, albeit strained scream. A bargain? For the Ragnarsons? How could that possibly end up any differently than another massacred settlement? Looking over at Björn, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Ivar, I remembered that these men were not Ragnar and they deserved a chance to not make the same mistakes. And I could be the one to lead them to their glory. Now was as good a time as ever to step in,
"And why should the North men listen to your traitorous King?" I demanded in English. All of my people's attention was on me, and the English man looked at me with wide, hopeful eyes. I continued unaffected, "He has already proven himself disloyal by slaughtering our people who cultivated this land. He has no legs to stand on with us."
"Please, my lady! He has information—very important information—for the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok," he pleaded. At the mention of his father, Ivar's head snapped over to make eye contact with me,
"My father—what does he say of my father?" He had a good ear for English already if he could understand his father's name in the odd, slithering tones of this foreigner.
"He says King Egbert has very important information for you and wishes to strike a deal to prevent us wreaking further havoc on his shores," I explained. Ivar bristled at the notion of dealing with the unfaithful King.
"Our people have made a deal with him once before and look where that got them. We should—" I cut him off,
"Yes, yes. I've already been over that with him."
"And?" I turned to the English man again,
"Well? What sort of information does your King have?"
"He knows of Ragnar's fate—what has happened to him some years back, why he hasn't returned home to his people." His knowledge of King Ragnar's absence was proof enough for me that King Egbert was not bluffing. I expressed the man's words and my estimation of their validity to the Ragnarsons.
"How do we know that it isn't a trap?" Ubbe asked. Björn lifted a brow and smirked at him,
"That's the fun part: we don't."
In the end, it was decided that Björn, Ubbe, Ivar, and I—along with a small group of men—would accompany the haggard English man to King Egbert's castle while Hvitserk and Sigurd would take the loot back to the camp. From that point on, I only spoke to relay any questions the brothers had to the English man and return his answers in kind. As we walked through the forests of Wessex, I gazed around to take it all in, spotting plants of note here and there, and making a record in my head for when we would pass this way again. After a while of doing this, I found myself unable to concentrate anymore. There was an odd sensation in my shoulders—almost a nervous tension that sent a shiver up my spine. I raised a hand to my neck to check if anything was there, but there was nothing. I looked behind me and realized what had been the cause.
Ivar's blue-green eyes held me in captivity, and it seemed as though they had been doing so for some time now. He was studying me again, and when he saw me look at him, he smiled proudly. I lifted my chin to show him I was still content to carry on with this journey, and anything I did was my own choice. As I brought my head back around to continue walking forward, I couldn't help but admit to myself,
'He had said this raid would cause me to use some of my abilities. It might have been my own decision…but he was right. You have won this battle, but the war is far from over, Ivar the Boneless.'
A/N: I truly appreciate your question about timelines. Being the completely selfish person I am, I decided to finagle timelines a bit to suit the story (i.e. Siggy living a bit longer than in the show to provide Hel with her instruction), but ultimately, each character will meet their same fate... To some degree. I hope that helps!