Four Months Later
The wind danced lazily through the distant, swaying stalks of wheat and brought its serene kisses up the crumbling stone tower to pass through my hair. The sun hung low in the sky and emitted idle warmth. It was high summer, and some time had passed since I arrived in this faraway land.
I brushed a hand lazily against the window's ledge noting the lack of dust upon it. I certainly hadn't cleaned it recently, meaning the maids had been in to clean again during one of my many long absences from the chamber. The King really had been too kind in putting me up in so fine of quarters.
I had been counting on it.
Judging by the strained but warm terms we had parted on last, it was no surprise he would take great pains to see to my comfort. He must've wanted something in return, but had made no mention of it to this point. I could only guess as to the nature of his intentions based on the prolonged, poorly hidden glances he continued to send my way. For all the intelligence that man possessed, he was certainly presumptuous at times. Surely his mistress, the former Princess Judith, took good enough care of His Royal Highness in that particular area. He had no need for a heathen woman from the Northlands to warm his bed.
I had taken to sighing over the outdoors in my chambers recently. At first the safety and comfort the well-kept room offered was a welcome change from the expansive void I had encountered on the open waters of the crossing. After a few weeks though, my Viking spirit demanded respite from the mundanities of court life.
I craved to take long walks similar to the ones I used to take with Lagertha. Anything to stretch my legs and give my lungs a healthy burn, but it seemed these Englishmen were decidedly averse to the idea of a woman taking any sort of liberty.
The guards had cited my safety as being a primary concern in why I wasn't allowed to take my leave of the castle. I conceded readily as my energies would be of much greater use in executing my vengeance than arguing with a dull crowd of sentries.
That was enough idle staring out upon the countryside; there was work to be done.
Entering the dusty church caused my eyes to adjust painfully to the seemingly pitch black interior. The only light entered through a small hole behind the altar that was about as high as two men stacked on top of each other. It afforded enough illumination for his holiness to read from the holy text upon his holy platform in this so holy a place.
I tired of the pomp these Christians subscribed to. Of course, they had no idea that I still worshipped the gods of my people. To them, I was Helena, the miraculous convert from the Northlands. I was dutiful, quiet unless spoken to, and most importantly, I put on an air of mild stupidity. The English were a skittish people if a woman was found to be too smart.
The King himself thought I possessed all the intelligence of a loyal dog—a bitch on her hind legs before the royal court whenever he so pleased. Better to keep the royal horde entertained than suspicious. People tended to turn a blind eye when they felt their own superior intelligence was the most brilliant thing in the room worth taking a gander at. And that was exactly how I preferred it.
I would need as much invisibility as possible when it came to this issue of the "heathens" as Egbert commonly referred to them. He was, of course, putting on airs for his courtiers. I could tell the aging monarch had a soft spot for us Vikings, which I supposed was why he took me in so quickly.
I could remember the waning ambition behind his eyes when we had first made landfall so many years after his initial encounters with the great Ragnar Lothbrok, may Valhalla keep him well.
And even though I knew I was as cunning as a turnip in this King's eyes, he still gazed upon me fondly whenever we were in the same room simply because of my heritage.
Even now as I descended the stone steps into the main atrium of the church, the King rounded in his seat in the first pew, his eyes alight and his hand already waving me over to join in next to him. My attention was diverted for only a moment when I felt and then saw the One Eared Woman tossing a look meant to have all the stinging power of salt behind it. I felt nothing and thus betrayed nothing myself. Ignorance was a common trait amongst these English folk, and I played at it well.
I skirted the length of the chapel and entered into the same bench as the King, ever the dutiful lapdog.
"Helena, sweet girl, what kept you?" he practically purred. I saw Judith's shoulders tense out of the corner of my eye. I truly had no claim to the King before me, just his attention, and that was enough to send her reeling. Silly woman. She may have been my senior by some years, but she could act so juvenile at times. Men were not meant to wield too much power over women—one would think getting her ear cut off would have taught her that.
"It was just such a beautiful day out, Your Majesty. I couldn't bear to leave it a moment too soon," I whispered conspiratorially.
The King patted my leg, an all too familiar gesture in so rigid a setting. I could hear the disapproving scoffs and gasps that resounded in the tall structure.
'Play the part, darling,' I reminded myself bitterly, "They are Christians after all."
I hung my head low in shame and pretended to hide a blush that swarmed my complexion by placing both hands on my cheeks—the perfect Christian reaction. The rabid congregation seemed to ease up at seeing that at least one party was ashamed of her participation in the wanton display.
King Egbert for his part appeared completely uninterested in the unspoken exchange that had just taken place and turned back to the front to allow the priest to carry on in his ministrations.
This had been a daily part of my life for about the past two months or so. There was no escaping the King's lecherous advances, but as long as they remained innocuous, I didn't truly mind them.
Of course if they didn't, I would have to play along in that respect as well. I prayed for continued favor from Freyja in keeping this relationship as neutral as possible. Though I masqueraded as a devout Christian, I knew the Gods must still hold me in some favor. My mission in England might have been one of revenge, but they had to love me still. They simply had to. I couldn't imagine what I'd do with myself if they didn't.
I wouldn't think on that now; I would think on it tomorrow.
The service took its usual hour and a half, a shorter one than those given on the week's end when the devout had more time to give to their single god. I made my proper exit, but the King insisted upon joining me once we had made it back to the castle. He wished to check up on the work I had been conducting with the resident apothecary in cataloging and describing the variety of herbs, salves, tinctures, and charms we used on a regular basis. The King had many things to preside over, and the palace apothecary was no exception.
As we descended a particularly winding stone staircase that opened into a subterranean floor of the castle, I could feel the pressure of public ventures falling off my shoulders around me.
It's not that I hated the landed gentry of Wessex. They were certainly stupid, but their unwavering scrutiny gave me plenty of cause to practice my deceptive abilities—something I had clearly fallen out of practice with in Kattegat. This was the reason I had failed to persuade Ivar to take me even somewhat seriously despite all my attempts.
But here, in the dark storehouse, I could be my true self. The King and his resident practitioner, Bald, found me to be somewhat of an unexpected savant when it came to the medicinal arts. Because of my contributions, the pair had allowed me to partake in aiding Bald to compile his new publication on the body and its interactions with various materials.
There was not much this man knew that I didn't, and so our experience of working together was more of me cleverly disguising ways to feed him breadcrumbs that would lead to useful discovery. Every time he thought he found something new, which would yet again be another tidbit I had given him without him knowing, he would order me to compile it into our growing work. He really was a pompous man.
His only saving grace was his intelligence and subsequent knowledge of foreign gods. We once held an hours-long conversation on the many adventures of the Silver-Tongued Loki all while decanting water of roses. I will admit he did surprise me once by explaining the many merits of analyzing a man's urine to determine the cause of his illness, something I had not known nor would I have been willing to practice prior. For as much as he annoyed me, he made up for it in the sharing of knowledge.
"Bald! Good man!" the King shouted by way of greeting as we entered the moist underground chamber.
"Ah, Your Highness!" the fat man whirled around and bowed deeply as his spectacles fell from the bridge of his nose, clattering to the floor unceremoniously. I almost snorted aloud at the sight.
"I've come to see what progress you've made on the catalogue," the King spoke authoritatively. As soon as Bard spun around to fetch our latest addition to the pile of papers, Egbert shot a wink in my direction. He enjoyed making others look like fools, that much was obvious.
Pretending not to notice except for a small smile that overtook my lips, I turned to shut the heavy wooden door behind us.
"Your Majesty, as you can see, we've recently begun our treatments for cuts and wounds to the legs. All external, no internal illnesses yet," his words blended together into the hot air of the warm room as I lent my attention to the recently imported ginger root from the East that needed preservation.
As I always did when my mind was allowed to stray, I returned to my last night in Kattegat.
I had walked out that night in the hall. Walked right out to the shoreline of Kattegat and stared agitatedly into the murky distance. I could barely make out the outlines of the surrounding peaks against the starry sky, so dark were Nótt's robes.
I was so high on the perceived slights of who was once the person I was closest to that I barely registered the near fatal cold of the night. My skin seemed like it was on fire. Nothing made sense except for the one phrase echoing again and again in my mind, 'I must win. I must win. I must win.'
What Ivar had dealt me was an insurmountable loss. He had taken from me my position at his side, a place that was meant to be mine as we conquered the known world together. Maybe even further.
He had made me feel unloved despite the divine ordination bestowed upon me by our very own Gods. A selfish boy had made me forget the love that those in Asgard held for me by touting some ungodly woman in front of me.
'Imustwin, Imustwin, Imustwin,' the chanting had picked up pace tenfold in my mind.
"How?!" I screamed at the open air in response.
As if waiting for my outburst, the wind picked up and swept around me, disturbing the once peaceful scene.
Once my entire body was engulfed in the billowing gale, I looked up to where it seemingly flowed. This must have been wrong because the air came crashing back down on me and outward. Outward into the distance. Outward over the black depths in front of me.
My eyes looked forward to barely make out the same shoreline from before, except now my hair was flying all around my face. I could barely see through the whipping strands. I raised both hands to cup the tendrils behind my ears, and it was at that exact moment that I saw it.
A small bolt of lightning out over the open sea.
I would have thought it a firefly had its accompanying thunder not struck my heart at the same time. Such a sound should have been impossible given the sheer distance, but I knew there was more at work here than just the forces of nature.
The lightning struck again and once more I could feel it resounding in my ribs. It physically shook me this time, gaining in its intensity, though it seemed that the bolt was no closer than the last.
"The sea?" I asked aloud, unclear on the instructions that the divine were so clearly putting in front of me, "I should go to the sea?"
'That certainly makes a great deal of sense considering I've got no boat and no intended destination. I mean, honestly! These Gods and their harebrained schemes—'
The lightning hit yet again as its thunderous anger resounded deep in my stomach. Only this time it continued to strike for what felt like a small eternity and held a particular shape as it did so.
A strange creature was brought to life before my very eyes in the white hot, jagged branches of the lightning bolt. It appeared to be a dragon of some sort with two legs and a barbed tail. I could practically see it opening its silvery mouth to delivery a ferocious roar into the never-ending void.
I had never seen anything like it before—or had I?
Yes! On a red background with a golden body, yes! This was the symbol I saw raised amongst the ranks of the kingdom the Ragnarsons had just raided in England—this was the symbol of Wessex!
Amidst the swirling chaos that continued to rush around me, I asked the heavens quite sardonically, "So you want me to go to Wessex then, ay?"
A final clap of thunder sounded as if to drive the point home. I didn't fail to notice that no lightning had preceded it.
"Alright, alright," I conceded in resignation, "I can't imagine what my going to England will solve, but I'm sure you all—"I gestured to the air irreverently, "have some grand scheme in mind."
'Show some respect, girl,' I heard Siggy scold. She sounded almost fearful.
My anger far outweighed my fear at this point. I felt as if I would never know fear's cautious prudence ever again. I would never again know what it was like to be forsaken by the mortals of this plane. I would rise, untethered.
And that was it. Therein lied the key to what exactly needed to be done on distant shores.
I must go to Wessex to take what should be mine anyway. I would ruin Ivar and his brother's careful planning from the inside out. I would build my own empire separate of what they could ever hope to conquer, and I would ram it into their skulls. I would triumph, I would gloat, and I would claim my place in Valhalla.
'I must win, I must win, I must win.' The steady phrase resumed its repetition in time to my heartbeat, and it became my single point of focus.
It was all I heard for the rest of that night as I stole one of Floki's many boats and gathered the necessary provisions for the journey. I barely recalled shouting to Garmsen to stay put when he tried swimming out after me. I felt no remorse, only rage.
My revenge would taste bitter—how I longed to have it.
I did not remember how long it took to make the crossing. I did not remember most of the details of the journey. When I emerged from the boat, it was like I woke up from a dreamy haze. The food and water I had packed were mostly untouched, yet I felt no pangs of hunger.
I did remember the English guards that demanded to know from whence I had come and what purpose I had for turning up on their shores. I did remember that I told them I had news for the King, and that he must hear it right away lest they should wish to hang.
The King—to his credit—betrayed no suspicion upon my arrival and took my story at face value: I had escaped from the Great Heathen Army that was preparing to ravage all of England. That I had been the only one to try to remind the savage Ragnarsons of our promise not to do any further harm to the kingdom that had so graciously allowed us to leave uninhibited the first time, and for this they had threatened to kill me. I could not be part of so crude a deception (how ironic), and so I fled at the first available opportunity to warn His Majesty.
Egbert lapped up my tale like a babe does his mother's milk. Fool.
Once the King knew of my particular talents in medicines and herbs, he sent me straight to work at Bald's side. At first the aged physician refused, but he relented at Egbert's insistence.
"Woman are much smarter than we give them credit for," Egbert reasoned, "Indeed, they are often much smarter than they want us to know." I had turned red against my most valiant efforts at that.
Since then, I—or rather, Helena—had access to all of the King's functions. He trusted me, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. It was almost too easy.
This particular afternoon, the King had called me into his study to go over the details of his soon-to-be campaign against the North Men. No matter which scenario we discussed, we still came out with even odds against the Vikings. Of course, I wasn't here to give wise counsel, I was merely here to recite what I knew about my people's skill in combat and tactics. The poor thing, I knew he was having a time of it, but I refused to point out the obvious way to an easy victory.
"Tell me again how they fight, Helena. There must be something we're overlooking," he coached in an exasperated tone.
"Yes, Your Majesty," I replied dutifully and launched into yet another explanation of more of the same. Midway through, my speech was interrupted.
"Father!" Prince Æthelwulf burst into the chambers, completely oblivious to the meeting that was going on. What a shame. I thought he had a brilliant mind, as skilled a tactician as any father could hope to have in a son. The King might have done well to listen to him every once in a while.
I watched the prince pause to take in the scene before him—his father and a young maid standing over a large map with pieces meant to represent fighting forces scattered about. Once he had figured out what was going on, he looked between us and cleared his throat to speak more composed this time, "Father."
"Yes, my son. What is it?" he asked languidly. Egbert was used to such outbursts.
"It's the North Men," he replied. Egbert's interest piqued at this.
"Well?"
"They've landed in Northumbria, father. They've killed King Ælle. They split open his ribs and hung him bare for the world to see."
"Christ have mercy on his soul," Egbert offered witheringly. I saw no fear in his eyes, only acceptance.
"They will be headed here next, Father. We must ride to stop them," Æthelwulf commented. The King looked to be in a trance. His gaze was a thousand yards away.
"Father," Æthelwulf brought him back gruffly.
"Yes, yes," he started, "Go on. Let me know when you are fully prepared to meet the heathens, and I will give you my blessing," Egbert conceded as he looked back down toward the map and began shifting pieces.
"Very well," he agreed and left directly.
The North Men were coming. The North Men were coming to Wessex. The North Men—my people—were coming here.
My legs almost gave out under the weight of this knowledge. I had expected them to come to England, surely, but not so soon and certainly not in so outrageous a manner.
No matter, I would just have to hurry along the preparations for their arrival. I would be ready if it killed me. England was mine, and no heathen horde would take it from me.
Certainly not a horde with Ivar as its head.
That night I lay my head on my pillow and tried to find sleep, but every time I shut my eyelids, I saw two blue-green orbs staring menacingly back. I welcomed their evil.
A/N: I'm back. I hope I'm not gone for long again. As way of penance, I've prepared for you a list of songs that I used to compose this chapter. I hope you can dig it:
1. Kyson - You
2. The Black Keys - Little Black Submarines
3. Margot Bingham - Farewell Daddy Blues
4. Sarah Klang - Sleep
5. 78violet - Hothouse
6. Tom Odell - Magnetized
7. Stoffer & Maskinen - Vi To Er Smeltet Sammen; This song epitomizes the entire story. Bless.
I truly don't mean to be a flake. I need to make writing/completing this story a priority in my life again. I hope you can choose to stay with me. Thank you :)