Thick, black smoke and orange flames rose above the Bergendal skyline. It was a savage yet beautiful sight, Lucia thought, riding toward the devastation, as the wind carried the scent of burnt flesh and ashes. The closer they came to the city borders, the more people lay slain, their fresh blood blemishing the pure snow. Clamoring voices abound—cries of war, of mourning mothers and fathers, brothers and friends. Bergendal was burning like it had never burned before.
Snow descended heavily from the heavens, mingling with floating cinders. Lucia could hardly bare to keep her eyes open as they rode past fallen Bergendalers—men, women. The children were the worst to see, their small bodies lying lifeless in the snow, stabbed through and through. Eyes open, vacant expressions. Small hands and feet and bodies that should be about playing, laughing, and making mischief, not waiting to be thrown into a mass grave, which there surely would have to be after this slaughter. How could the Vikings have done this? She searched the streets and the fields to see if she could spot one of the barbarians. There were no Vikings in sight, but the trail they left behind could not be missed. She squeezed the bundle in her arms. At least she had saved one.
Harold had slept the entire way, which she was grateful for. Though he weighed hardly nothing at all, still Lucia’s arms had begun to tire shortly after they had started the journey back. Now, hours later, her arms felt as if they would fall off, and she had not breathed a word of it to Silya. The hateful Sami woman would never know what sacrifices Lucia would make for this child. She did not deserve to know and she would never understand how Lucia could love this babe with all her heart and so soon.
Once they were well within the city limits, Silya jumped down and took both horses by the reigns, guiding them forward. The creatures neighed and flicked their tails, and Lucia felt the beast’s muscles tense beneath her legs.
“Whoa, boy,” she said, stroking the beast’s upper back to try and soothe him. A stallion galloped toward them at full speed, its eyes shining with terror. Silya raised both hands up into the air, and when the horse slowed, a young man fell off with a thud. The man’s white tunic alb was soaked with blood at the waist, and he moaned as he slowly turned onto his back.
Silya rushed to the man and knelt beside him in the snow. “I heard there have been local Viking attacks. Is that what has happened here?” she asked, lifting the young man’s head and placing it on her lap.
“The church—they are burning down the church,” he said, his voice labored and panting. “I am a deacon of the Lord. Save the church!”
Then something occurred to Lucia. Bergendal was being attacked because the people had let the Christian faith take root in their hearts. Of course the gods would be furious and eradicate the blasphemous religion. They would not allow such deception to flourish ad so they had sent the Vikings to cleanse the evil out of their midst. In a way, they had become the gods’ army in Midgard. But they should have spared the children.
“Come with me.” Silya started to lift the man up onto Miika.
“No, no, do not take me back to that place. Oh please. They will kill me!” He gripped Silya’s arm. “Please, I do not want to die today.”
“We will take you to Brandersgaard with us then,” Silya said.
“Thank you,” the deacon said, his voice whimpering.
After Silya had helped him onto Miika, they continued toward Brandersgaard. On their way, Harald started crying, but no matter what Lucia did to try and make him stop, he would not. He is hungry, she concluded. She needed to find milk for him soon.
Riding into the street leading up to the place she had spent the last several months, her breathing turned shallow. They hate me. They hate me. They hate me! When they arrived, Silya secured the horses to a nearby tree, and helped the deacon off the horseback.
She helps him, a man of God, but not me, the queen of this land? Lucia thought. She struggled to climb off the horse, her arms exhausted—shaking—from holding Harald for so long. Gripping onto the reins, she eased off the saddle, but she could not stop herself from falling when her hands slipped, and feet hit the ground. In the fall, she must have squeezed Harald, because now he was screaming at the top of his lungs, crying as if he were dying. Lucia stuffed a finger into his mouth, and he started to suck on in right away. But when there was no milk, he began to fuss.
Silya walked right past them without so much as a glance, leading the deacon toward the longhouse.
Lucia trailed after them. Her clothes and hair were wet, and her stomach felt as hollow as the empty barn to her left. Arriving at the entrance, she noticed that there no longer was a door. All that was left was an open space with deep axe-like gouges on the doorframe. Stepping inside, she shivered just as much as she had outside. The abode did not look at all like Brandersgaard. A portion of the roof had been torn or burned off at the front of the room. Snow entered through the hole onto the loom, turning it white where it stood as beams of subdued moonlight streamed in through the gaping hole. The longhouse was still standing, regardless of all the fire damage to it, despite the fact that it look like someone had taken a hundred axes and chopped the walls to smithereens. It was unusually murky inside and Lucia coughed as she entered the smoke-filled room.
“Hello?” Silya’s voice sang, sounding muted and hesitant. She helped the deacon sit down by the hearth. Its crackling sound permeated throughout the main room and its flames rose twice as high as they usually did.
They walked slowly to the back of the longhouse. Shelves and cupboards were tipped over, but there was still no sign of Ailia or the others.
A voice could be heard in the dark. “Silya?”
Lucia followed Silya back into the main room, and just as they arrived back at the hearth, Sigrid peeked her head in through the front door.
“Sigrid!” Silya ran across the room, between the rubble and ashes, and threw her arms around the thrall. “Are you well?”
“Yes, I’m well, but they’re are dead,” she cried.
“Unni and Brander?” Silya asked, her voice cracking.
“They haven’t returned from their travels, but Ailia is gone. The Vikings took her,” Sigrid said, her face twisting in agony. “The Vikings took my Ailia.” She buried her face in her trembling, soot-covered, bloody hands and cried.
“Many souls will return to Valhalla tonight,” Lucia said, coldly. “All because of this new God.”
Silya scowled at Lucia and then she turned her attention back to Sigrid. “Did Soren come back yet?”
“Yes. He took Ivar with him to go after Ailia,” Sigrid said. “Though, they didn’t know where to start looking. They thought maybe they’d head to the Viking settlement south of here.”
“Strange, we did not see them on our way,” Silya said.
Harald began to fuss again. “I need to find milk for my child,” Lucia said.
Silya glared at her. “Do you not remember what I said?”
Lucia gasped. “How dare you treat me, a queen, this way?” She would not take this blatant contempt for another moment. She secured her grip around Harald, stormed outside, and started walking—to where, she did not know. All she knew was she could not stand to be near that coldhearted Sami woman any longer, and she refused to stay in a Christian household for even another second. If she remained, the gods might become wrath with her, and if that happened, it would be better for her if she were dead.
The snow came down heavily, splotches of white fluff falling and sticking to her clothes and hair and face. Arriving at the street, she saw Bishop Peter heading toward her in the distance. She wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the heathen as possible. I have to get away. There are too many Christians in this wretched town!
She took a left and headed toward the Fest Hall, hoping perhaps she could stay there. But when she was almost to the hall, she saw that it had burned to ground, nothing but ashes and embers remaining of the gigantic longhouse.
Where should she go now? Her feet were frozen cold and caked in snow. Harald had not stopped c
rying since she left Brandersgaard, and no one had approached her and offered to help her. Many were dead, but those who were not were either mourning the loss of loved ones or trying to clean up what little was left. She still hadn’t found a drop of milk for the baby, and he would starve soon unless she fed him something. She knew no one in Bergendal and if she kept wandering the streets, she would surely freeze to death and the babe with her.
She wandered in circles, just trying to stay warm, bouncing the child up and down even though it was useless trying to cam him. The longer she walked, the angrier she grew. They did this to me—the queen! I should have their heads for this! Her heart leapt at the thought. Should she kill them?
Yes.
However, she did not want to return to that wretched place no matter the reason. If she did not kill them, what could she do to punish them? She thought long and hard, and then the answer was revealed. If she killed herself, they would regret how they had treated her. Their guilt would eat them alive, and would be a constant reminder of how horrible they had been to her. And not only that, this way, Lucia could take her power back and refuse to be the victim, refuse to be used by her parents and by Ailia and Soren. Ailia did not deserve a sister like her, who would risk her life to protect her. And so she would end her own life so no one would ever have power over her again.
On a mission, she searched among the bodies, looking for a dagger or a knife. It was an honorable death—was it not? Will the gods accept me into Valhalla? They would, because she had died to honor them.
She pulled a dagger out of a dead man’s chest and found a forlorn, halfway burned down barn. I will do it in here. She tried not to think about what she was going to do, but her body nearly convulsed as laid the screaming child onto the floor. She knelt down on the floor and took her mittens off. With shaking hands, she held the dagger up high above the infant.
“Odin. Thor. Freya,” she said. “I offer this child’s and my soul to you as a blood sacrifice. Please accept this act as proof of my devotion to you.” She sucked in a deep breath and held it, letting the dagger hover above the babe’s heart.
Is this my destiny? To die instead of rule as queen? To be made a fool of by my sister and her lover? She gasped as she clutched the dagger’s handle, as she squeezed her eyes shut.
She let out a scream, wrestling with herself whether she should see this through or not. Once life has been taken, it can never be given back. Was this her fate? Oh, Odin! The wisest of all gods. Tell me what to do! Tears streamed down her face.
“This is not why I was born,” she said out loud. “This is not why I was born!” she screamed as loud as she could. I am queen! I am queen! I am queen! Aesira blood runs through my veins!
Her eyes popped open and she flung the weapon aside. Yes, Aesira blood runs through my veins. There was someone who might want her: Eiess. The empress might now see the value in her. Eiess was her enemy, yes, but so were her parents. They betrayed me! My sister and her lover betrayed me! Together, Eiess and she would be unstoppable. Had The Empress of Darkness not thought of that? Perhaps if she suggested it. Perhaps…
Would Eiess imprison her if she returned to the castle? She might, and then it would all be over. But return to Brandersgaard? Never. And if she stayed out here, death would take her and her child soon—even tonight perhaps. But if Lucia went to the empress, suggesting a partnership, like Vilda had done, perhaps…
31
Caged