Elmenham, 873
Grey clouds hung over Elmenham as Valdis rode into town, followed by Finnr. Bereft of any sunlight, the once bustling town was a little subdued; the late summer flowers seemed to have lost a bit of colour, even. Only a few people walked Elmenham's muddied roads. They all looked upon the two riders with mistrust and scorn.
One of the two guardsmen standing watch at the entrance of the village raised his spear. "You! Stop there!"
Valdis sighed. She should have expected such a welcome. "You know who I am," she told him. "I was betrothed to your—"
"Of course we know who you are," the other guardsman said, coldly. "That doesn't mean you're worthy of stepping one foot inside of Elmenham after all you've done."
"Listen, you—" Finnr said, prompting his horse forward.
Valdis held up her hand to stop him, shocked that he'd even risen to her defence. "It's fine, Finnr," she said. "These people have plenty of reasons to doubt our intentions." She let out another sigh, looking at the man who had first addressed her. "Yet we've found ourselves in need of your help."
The guardsman narrowed his eyes at her. "Have you, now? And why should we help you, Dane?"
"Because otherwise your lord will have died in vain," Valdis said.
That did the trick; the two men exchanged a wide-eyed look, before turning toward Valdis, mouths agape.
"I want to finish what Oswald started," Valdis continued. "But to accomplish this, I need help. I need to people of Elmenham to stand with me."
There was clear hesitation on the part of both men. Then, the youngest of the pair stepped aside, as if to let her through.
"Eoppa!" his companion hissed.
"What?" the latter retorted. "Why not hear what she has to say? If it's something Os—Lord Oswald would have wanted, then…"
"Thank you," Valdis said. She was surprised to find herself truly meaning these words. "Would you help gather the villagers in front of the longhouse?"
"Er, yes, I can do that," the one named Eoppa said. In response, his fellow guardsman struck him in the ribs with the point of his elbow, and Eoppa winced. "L-Leave it to me, my lady."
Thankfully enough, Eoppa did as instructed, and not long after Valdis found herself standing in front of the longhouse before the whole of Elmenham. A vast array of emotions showed on the wan faces looking at her. Mistrust. Fear. Hatred.
My people looked upon Oswald the same way, Valdis thought, dully. He had not deserved their scorn—but she had certainly earned his people's disdain.
"Good people of Elmenham," she began, putting aside her concerns, "I know you've suffered a great loss—"
"Do you, really?" a broad-shouldered youth interrupted her. "How could you know?"
"Oswald was our ally," Valdis countered, "we grieve his passing and—"
"You Danes are the reason why he's gone!" an elderly man shouted, saying that particular word like a curse. "You have some nerve, coming back here to make more demands of us!"
Was that how Oswald had felt? How had he done it? How had he convinced a group of people who despised his very kind that he was the right man to lead them? "Yes," she agreed, "but thanks to his sacrifice, we—"
"Without you pagan brutes, our poor lord would still be alive!" an older woman raged. "He would still be alive to marry a good Christian woman instead of some heathen she-wolf who treated him worse than the dirt on her shoes!"
Valdis felt as if she had been struck. Yes, the thought came unbidden. If not for Valdis, Oswald would probably have married a woman who would have shared his beliefs, a woman who would have valued his kindness, cherished it even. The man had been served a poor fate the moment the Nornir had decided to weave the fabrics of their lives together. The realization was sobering.
Finnr opened his mouth, clearly about to give a rebuke, but Valdis put a hand over his arm to silence him.
"That is true," she said. "Oswald died because of us. He found himself having to fight because we've pushed him to that brink. And for this I apologize. To all of you."
Valdis felt the eyes of every man, woman and child upon her. How these people had loved their young lord, not just for the fairness of his rule, but because he was one of their own. The elderly had known him since birth; how many looked upon him and saw their old lord's beloved, precious son? And the village's youths had grown alongside him; some might have been boyhood friends raging that he had met such an unfortunate end.
Valdis suddenly realized that she shared something with the men and women assembled before her—with the God-fearing Saxons of Elmenham. Looking upon their faces, she thought of the handkerchief, safely tucked away in the pouch above her heart. The people of Elmenham wanted to avenge Oswald—and so did she. That realization struck her with the force of a storm, nearly sapping the air out of her lungs. The last time Valdis had desired something so strongly, she had rebuked Rued as a husband and sailed away to England with the few people she still loved in cursed Midgard.
"I apologize," she said, with stronger conviction. "I apologize and I ask, humbly, of you: will you fight with me? Will you help me finish what Oswald started? Would you help me protect East Anglia in his name?"
One young man scoffed. "Would you die for East Anglia?"
"Of course," Valdis said, without hesitation. "I can think of no death more glorious than one found while avenging the only man willing to stand for this kingdom while the rest of us bickered and cowered."
The young man's eyes were full of suspicion, but he nodded all the same. Beside him, a few youths were talking among themselves. Their angry mutters rose in intensity, and soon they were staring at Valdis with the same look of fiery determination.
An older man walked up to the front of the crowd. "I'll fight at your side, pagan. That's the least Lord Oswald deserves."
"I'll fight, too!" a youth said. "To avenge Oswald, and to drive these devils from our lands!"
"He saved my sister from these brutes," said one of the guardsmen they'd met at the entrance of town. "Let's do this! For Lord Oswald!"
"And for East Anglia!" the first man exclaimed, raising his fist in the air.
"For East Anglia!" another shouted.
And finally, finally, the crowd took up the chant, "For Oswald! For East Anglia!"
"For the king!" Finnr roared beside Valdis; gods, she'd never seen such naked emotion upon his face. "Let's give these bastards what they deserve!"
The Saxons shouted in assent, their clamours rumbling in Valdis's ribcage. Such righteous power she heard in those voices—the people assembled before her were not the sheep she'd written off as meek prey when she had first set out from Denmark. Oswald had once told her that his people were descended from raiders who had invaded England from beyond the sea, wrestling it from the Britons' control.
Now she believed it; in front of her were the sons and daughters of these proud warriors.
Valdis's hand went to the pouch around her neck, for some reason. Oswald had given her a pretty, precious and utterly useless gift—simply because he believed she was someone deserving of kindness and beauty. Valdis couldn't even remember the last time she had been shown such a thoughtful attention. She tightened her grasp around her pouch, feeling—no, she could not allow herself to feel anything, not while there was still so much at stake.
Once this was over, Valdis would stop and consider that strange, unknown thing she had lost when Oswald had fallen to his death at Dunwic. She would grieve for what was not to be.
She would allow herself to mourn a pair of kind blue eyes—to mourn the warmth she would have wanted for herself and the children she would have borne.
Burgh Castle, 873
Valdis was no stranger to battle.
She had fought, from an early age, to protect her hometown from raiders. She had fought to lay waste to other villages, murdering at Rued's behest like the mindless beast he'd made of her. And she had fought against the brave, but doomed souls of King Edmund's army as they defended East Anglia from the Ragnarssons' great army.
Those memories should have filled her with pride, but they were tainted, twisted with shame and self-hatred. Valdis found no glory in these past battles, only fear—her own, and that of the people she'd cut down.
Tonight, however…
Tonight righteous anger burned in her veins, and she held her head high as she led the Saxon fyrd hoping to breach Burgh Castle. The first approach was the most crucial—and most dangerous—part of their operation. Archers were posted over the walls around the entrance. Valdis's Saxon allies were fully exposed to the volley of arrows while the ram worked to make splinters out of that hefty wood gate. The fastest they could tear their way inside, the more of Oswald's people she could protect from an agonizing death.
The more she could bring home, safe and sound.
Valdis felt the impact in her very teeth every time the great log rammed into the gate. Still, she kept yelling, "Again!" Her muscles burned as she and the others toiled to move the battering ram. "Push, push!"
Up the ramparts, she could see the archers lifting their bows once more. Valdis's breath caught in her throat.
"SHIELDS!" she shouted, raising her own shield above her head. As death rained down upon them, she heard the Saxons screaming in fright and pain. Still, to their credit, none faltered or ran, even as some of their companions fell at their feet, bodies riddled with arrows.
When the archers were done firing, she barked another command, voice hoarse from the shouting, and the Saxons moved to slam the battering ram on the wood. With a satisfying crunch that she felt to the marrow of her bones, the gate exploded. Her Christian allies roared in triumph; at these ferocious sounds, Valdis's lips almost formed a smile.
"Press on!" she screamed. To spur her companions forward, she rushed headlong into the gap left by the ram, finding herself faced by a group of raiders. She hacked and tore her way through, heart suffused by a strange, serene kind of rage. Soon enough, the fyrd had encircled their remaining enemies, making good use of the element of surprise to finish what Valdis had started. She took a moment to regain her breath and assess their surroundings; they'd breached into the castle courtyard.
Valdis's blood thumped in her ears. That meant superior numbers on the part of their enemy.
"Regroup!" she commanded. "Form the shield wall!"
The Saxons raised their shields just in time to break the wave of enemies crashing upon them. Valdis planted her feet in the ground, unwilling to give them even the barest of inches. She pushed with all the strength she had, screaming all the while.
Despite the ferocity of their enemies' wrath, they held on. They held on. Valdis felt a burst of pride, a swell of jubilant vindication. That was what she had been born to do, that was what the songs always sung about. Valdis could die tonight and meet her parents in Odin's golden hall without any shame weighing down her heart. She'd never felt freer than in this moment.
Then, a terrible noise sounded in the distance, a great explosion that nearly tore at Valdis's eardrums. Dust and debris were blown in the air, while screams flared from the harbour. Valdis blinked the ashes out of her eyes, finding flames rising toward the moonless sky; that was where the sea gate had been, she realized, heart pounding. Through the fire and the smoke, she could see the silhouettes of many masts rising above, like a sea of trees looming over the water. Eivor, Finnr and her brothers had finally come.
By the gods, those raging flames should have been frightening, but to Valdis's eyes, they were beautiful, sending a shower of sparks across the darkness of the night sky. Still, the Saxon fyrd halted. Oswald's people were looking at the fire overtaking the harbour, pure terror etched on their faces.
Valdis turned to them. "Do not fear!" she shouted. "Eivor and the others have brought the flames of your Hell to our enemies! Keep faith! Your God would not let his children be slaughtered so easily!"
That did the trick; her Christian allies roared in renewed ardour, raising their weapons in the air. If the Christ-Lord does not watch over his flock, Valdis thought, then I will. For Oswald's sake. In Oswald's stead.
And they fought. By the gods, they fought, with a fury that would have made their ancestors proud. The thrill of battle sang in Valdis's veins, drowning out the sounds of death. Later they would mourn, later they would rebuild, later they would sow the fields anew. This night belonged to the wolves.
Eventually, the Saxons began to falter. They moved a little more slowly, stumbling on ground slick with rain and shaking on weary feet. Valdis moved to the front, as if she could protect the whole of the fyrd by herself. Her enemies grinned as they saw her standing alone, and one even let out a low chuckle. The smirk was abruptly wiped off his face when the blade of an axe buried itself between his shoulder blades. The man fell with an undignified splat in the blood-soaked mud.
His companions fared no better. From behind them poured an army of screaming drengir, swords and axes held aloft. These men and women bore the black standard of the Ragnarssons, the gold emblem of the Boar clan, the blue shields of the Raven clan. At their head was a familiar figure, dark war paint covering the top part of her face.
"Valdis!" Eivor called as she removed her axe from the neck of another opponent. "Well met!"
"You and your warriors are a sight for sore eyes, Wolf-Kissed!" Valdis replied.
"Does that include us as well, sister?" Broder was following Eivor, a cocky smirk etched on his lips.
"Don't push your luck," Valdis said in mock chiding.
"Save the banter for later, you two," Brothir said. He blocked an oncoming attack with his shield, then countered by burying his axe in the man's flank. With a grunt, he kicked the man off his blade and said, "The battle is not yet won!"
"It soon will be!" Broder exclaimed with great glee.
Valdis turned to look at the fyrd. "Onward!" she said, banging her axe on her shield. "Onward!"
And so, Saxons fought alongside Danes, pagans fought alongside Christians. Only a few moons ago, would have Valdis even believed what the Nornir had woven into her future? No, she would have not. But here, in the heat of the moment, Valdis was proud to have been chosen for such a fate.
They pushed back the last of Rued's men into a corner of the courtyard. Pure hatred burned within Valdis at the sight of these wretched cowards. How she wanted them to suffer for the torment they had put her through! She bared her teeth, barely constraining her shudders of rage. It would be so easy to snap the thread of their lives with the bite of her axe—
From behind her, there was a great exclamation of surprise, then the whole of the army stopped, many pointing at the rampart just above their head. On a raised platform stood a tall, dark-haired man. Blood rushed out of Valdis's cheeks at his sight. Rued. Rued still lived. At his feet another figure was kneeling. His face was covered in grime, and his hair was so matted and dirty it was difficult to see what colour it was. With great difficulty, Rued's prisoner raised his head, finding Valdis's gaze from across the distance.
Blue met green, and Valdis felt as she was falling, falling from a great height, much like the owner of these eyes had fallen to what should have been his doom. Her anger faded, the flames of her rage submerged by a force as soothing and powerful as a river in spring. Fear and relief flooded her instead, fear and relief—and that strange, unknown feeling, the one for which she still had no name.
"He lives…" Eivor said, in quiet disbelief. Then, she shouted, raising her axe, "Oswald lives!"
The fyrd answered with the same fervour. "He lives!" the Saxons cried, lifting their weapons much like Eivor had done. "Our king lives!"
Valdis could see a flash of fear in Rued's eyes as he watched the rage rippling through the fyrd. He tightened his hold on Oswald, taking a step back.
"E-Eivor! Valdis!" From this distance, they could barely hear Oswald's hoarse shout. "I-Is that…"
Rued struck him across the face, and Valdis' heart clenched at the agony showing on Oswald's fair features.
"Shut your arse, twig-spine!" Rued roared.
"Stand fast!" Eivor cried. "This will be over soon!"
"Worry not for me!" Oswald called back. "You must stop—"
"Silence, fool!" Rued said, grabbing him by the throat. Then, to Valdis's great horror, he began to drag Oswald away, hiding him from their view.
"I cannot get to him in time," Valdis said, with some despair. "Eivor, please—"
The fierce drengr nodded, rushing toward the platform with almost supernatural speed. Valdis forced herself to move forward as well, despite the fear holding her heart in an icy grip. Oswald's fate was up to the gods, now—hers and his.
Valdis fought with renewed ferocity. She fought as she had always done—for the sake of her clan. But she also fought for the courageous men standing—and dying—by her side. She fought for a chance to live in a world where kindness and beauty could thrive, a world where something other than violence existed, a world where she did not have to answer every insult with the point of a knife.
But most of all, she fought for Oswald—for the man who had almost made her believe such a world was possible.
