Ah, for the purposes of this story we must pretend that everyone speaks the same language. Sadly, they didn't, but since this isn't going to be a New York Times Best Seller, I don't mind twisting history too much.
Never fear, Salin will get to Berk soon. Enough. Stick with me, she'll end up there in the next chapter, which I write as I...write? Still. It's a work in progress. =)
The morning had started like any other, hearing the rooster crow and dressing in the semidarkness.
I drag a coarse dress over my head, tousling the dark waves.
"Salin?" Piper's small voice cuts through the quiet of the cold morning. "Help me dress?"
I help her out of bed. Ever fragile, she seems always to be cold and I do all I can to make sure she won't catch sick.
Her copper hair shines as I wrap a thick blue cloak around her shoulders.
Suddenly, she looks up, very fast, snappish. "What is it?" I whisper, bending down and cupping her chin.
"Nothing." Her voice is worried. She is seven now, and should not have to know the fears of the world. "I just thought I heard something."
That's not nothing, I think to myself, but hold it back. "Well, it's good you didn't," I say, guiding her out of the room.
Then I hear a scream.
It's a woman's scream, long, unbroken, of pure terror. A warning. They're here! The woman's voice breaks as she shrieks, in fear, agony, or both, and suddenly it is cut off, stopped as quickly as it started.
I wrap my hand around Piper's mouth and she whimpers and then I'm pushing her down the wooden slats of the stairs, glad we hadn't put on our shoes. Her grey eyes open as wide as they can, showing whites all around.
"Shh, shh," I say, sounding strangled even to myself. "Come on!" She's too slow, her feet and legs often ache of cold in the morning. I scoop her up, and she clamps her tiny arms around my neck.
She's light as anything and I clench her to my chest and run down to the cellar.
It's cool and earthy and pitch black. I would go back for Mary, but we have instructions never to get her in a Viking raid. We are to protect ourselves.
I drop Piper as soon as we're underground, bolting the thick wooden door shut and piling crates against it. "Get in the barrel!" I hiss, lifting her again and instructing her to bend her knees. She fits with no problem and I strike a stone against the wall, lighting a candle.
"No matter what happens, stay here," I order, then slam the candleholder down haphazardly, like it was left on by accident, close the top of the barrel and lay on the floor, feigning sleep. "No matter what you see or what you hear, you have to stay in the barrel."
My heartbeat quickens. We probably won't survive. This is routine, sometimes. There are not so many raids the cellar is a second home, but familiar and safe.
My head is resting against my arm, my hair splayed around me. I don't want to risk getting up to fix it, and even my skirts have risen up.
Oh God, spare me. Please. I have to take care of Piper. She won't live long without me. Spare me, O Lord. I can't leave her. She won't make it. She's lost so much already, don't rip us apart too.
This goes on for hours, it feels like. I almost drift to sleep when the sounds move closer to the house.
There are metal sounds above the ceiling, like swords being drawn or someone sharpening an axe. Then footsteps stomp directly above us.
"Whet deh ya thenk is under ther?" hoarse voices discuss this point and my breath freezes in my chest. I can't give myself away.
"P'ro'bly jus' storege," another voice agrees.
"Or treasure," one says seriously, which elicits a round of laughter. And you've never thought who might be listening.
"We sho'ld check, anyway. Could be people in ther."
"'S no' lik'ly. We sho' go. No'bdy hidin'll be mch use."
"W'll, I'm l'king."
I quiet, still and silent. Piper's panicked breathing breaks through the haze of fear I myself feel, and suddenly I know what to do. I have to protect her at any cost.
Carefully, I get up, gather my skirts, pat down my hair, and slip out the door to the cellar as if I'd only gone down for breakfast cheese.
The Vikings are tromping around upstairs, and I open the trapdoor slowly, sedately, attempting for distracted.
There are four of them. They are much scarier than the stories have portrayed them to be. Huge, shining helmets with horns spiraling out, freakish, voluminous beards, tunics of mail, garish, painted shields, axes, knives and swords. They freeze. As do I.
"What are you doing in my house?" I ask this with such superiority they look affronted.
"Bag 'er."
From there it is so unreal I can't believe it is happening to me. Two of them rush toward me, and I can hardly raise a hand to defend myself before my wrists are behind my back and someone's shoved a gag over my mouth.
"Mmmmmmmmmm!" My scream is muffled through the fabric. I buck and writhe, trying to break free.
The men are shocked to have a fighter. Quickly, with muscles of steel they hold my arms and legs together, and I'm swinging between them. If my skirts were hanging open like this usually I would have been mortified, but I'm blindsighted with anger and fear and adrenaline from protecting Piper.
All the energy drains out of my body and I moan lowly, and one of the men ties a blindfold over my eyes. I can't see where I'm going, only that I am being born on men who wish to take me from my home, and I can do nothing about it.
A tear leaks out, but I blink it away furiously. This is no time to be weak.
When we get onto the ship, my stomach rolls, but I'm hanging between two Vikings upright now. I lean forward, moaning quietly. I have never been near the water, and I feel sick.
I want to retch, and one of the men actually removes my gag and blindfold so I can throw up over the side.
It's only bile, since I've had nothing to eat. Tears rush out of my eyes at the way it burns my throat, and I feel my teeth, trying to rinse the taste away.
Someone hands me a waterskin, and I drink from it gratefully, the cool water rushing past my tongue.
Then I look up.
I have no idea where I am, no way to get my bearings. The landscape is different from what I know. We're miles away from anywhere I've ever been. I can't save her. I'm never going to escape. They'll never let me go.
I'm on the strangest ship I've ever seen, wooden completely, smooth and fast and narrow, a mighty painted dragon prow. I have to say it's well constructed, silent and effective in its purposes. So effective I'll never see home again.
Piper's probably dead by now, and I'm bound on a vessel of the sea.
"Where are you taking me?" my voice is low and scratchy.
There is some quick, harried conversation I can't understand due to the heavy speaking and accents. Shortly, one man finally says as clearly as he can manage, "'ome."