Chapter 2
Ragnar
Once I'm out of the longhouse with my men, I watch as Freydis is led away by Astrid. She turns around, flashing me a smile before walking away.
Vargi, my clansman, leans toward me as I watch her go.
"Ragnar. What in the gods' name are you doing?"
I turn to Vargi.
"She is a fine-looking girl," I say.
Freydis is average in height, fair-skinned, with long blonde hair and light blue eyes.
A wide smile appears on Vargi's face as my other men approach.
"You noticed too?"
My men look pleased. I had been expecting this—expecting to meet her unmarried. The Seer had seen it right. My half-niece is the only woman who can break the curse affecting my people since the day we were born.
"But we still need further evidence that she truly is the one," Vargi says.
"She is."
"We must see the mark—to know if she truly bears the blood of a god."
God's children, they're called. Mortals born touched by the gods with a drop of their blood. Such people are rare—and dangerous. Freydis is one of them.
But Harald no longer worships the old gods. Like many of our kin, he has turned to Christianity.
Ivar grabs Vargi by the shoulder, and both of them share a smile.
"What if the gods saw fit to mark her on her arse?" Ivar asks, and both men laugh like fools.
They had to contain themselves when we arrived in Fellur. I could see how eager they are—the hunger to finally claim our way out of this nightmare.
This is the end of a long journey. For years, I have searched for the cure to the curse plaguing my people. The curse that drives the beast within us mad.
When the curse is upon us, we black out, lose ourselves to madness, and wake up soaked in blood. We wake up naked among the dead—people our beasts have slaughtered.
The curse worsens during the full moon, but some Elders can calm the beast with wolfsbane. Even that fades over time. The more doses we take, the more we need to quench the madness.
Then came the witch. Old and half-blind, but strong in the old ways. She told us everything: to break the curse, we must kill Freydis.
"We cannot do this," I said. But even as the words left my mouth, I knew it was already too late. We've come too far to turn back.
Ahead, Astrid speaks to Freydis, and she turns to us every once in a while, smiling.
Everything we are, all our lives, rests on this young girl.
"What?" Ivar asks. "What can't we do?"
"She's one of them now," I hiss. "A believer in Christ."
"Aye, and I trust you have enough sense not to go telling her or her kin our little plan."
I turn to Vargi. He is the sensible one between them.
"I want you to court her."
He snorts.
"Nay. You should court her yourself. The only help I can offer is laying with her—and even that won't win her heart."
"We won't stay long," Ivar says. "Two weeks. That's all we've got before we capture the girl."
"Capture her?" I ask. "You speak as though she is an animal."
"What would you have me say? If she doesn't fall for you in time, we do what must be done. We can't leave her to her father. He'll marry her off to a Christian king, and then we're all damned."
"Keep your voice low. The men here are no fools."
"We'll speak of this when we're alone," I say, looking around as I walk toward the longhouse.
...
Later that day, after we had lunch, Harald and Freydis joined us on horseback, and we rode away from the longhouse.
I saw a long spire in the distance—strange and a foreign feeling came upon me. As we drew closer, the woods cleared, and I saw the church.
Tall as a watchtower and made of wood, with a pointed roof that reached to the sky. A cross sat atop it. There were statues around the church—not of gods, but of men and women with wings. Christian folks call them guardian Angels.
The scent of incense hung in the air.
Harald dismounted, crossing himself like a priest. Freydis did the same, bowing her head.
Harald said. "Do you know this place?"
"I have heard of it," Ivar said. "The Church of Christ. But we surely do not know the tale."
Harald smiled and turned to Freydis, who had just risen from her knees.
"Freydis, can you tell them the importance of the church?"
Freydis approached us, her face flushed as she glanced at her father before turning to us.
"This is where we come to lay down our burdens. To speak with God—not with blood or sacrifice, but with prayers."
A small frown formed on my lips. I turned to Vargi. His face was hard.
"This is where we come to ask for forgiveness. Even those who have sinned deeply can be forgiven."
I find myself torn between flattery that our old gods could be compared.
"God offers a kind of power that heals wounds the old—"
"We respect your faith," Ivar cut in, "but the old gods run deep in our blood. They're our strength in battles."
The priest stepped out from the church, saving us from any further solemn contemplations.
My eyes stay focused on Freydis, wondering how I am going to win her heart.