The fog was heavy and low to the ground as Kendra stepped outside, keeping her movements stealthy so as not to waken her family. Nols, the dog, ran up to greet her, and Kendra quickly offered him the bone she had brought to keep him quiet. Across the way, Kendra could barely make out old Elbert. He was supposed to be keeping watch, but she could tell that he was fast asleep, propped up against the pig sty. She drew her cloak tight against the chill of the early morning air and began walking briskly. Only moments later, though, Kendra’s chest fell as she heard the tell tale sound of her three year old brother, Aidan, softly crying her name.

“Aidan, go back inside.” Kendra whispered, harshly, as she shooed at him with her hand.

Aidan’s face screwed up, signaling the immanent arrival of a temper tantrum, and Kendra heaved a sigh of capitulation. It was either take him with her, or give up her chance to go at all.

“Aidan, you have to do what I tell you to do,” she hissed, as she grabbed him by his shoulder, noticing that his shoes were on the wrong feet, “Or I won’t take you to see the kittens later.”

************************************************************************

The fog still hadn’t lifted by the time that Kendra and Aidan reached the banks of the river. She worried that Osric wouldn’t let her practice as she directed her little brother towards a cluster of rocks nearby, instructing him to play quietly.

Her excitement knew no bounds as she rushed over to the small fishing hut and pushed open the door.

“Osric, I’m ready.” she declared.

Osric was seventeen to her fifteen, but, out of all the boys in their settlement, he was the only one that didn’t treat her as if she were just a silly girl.

“Has the fog lifted?” he asked.

“No, but we can still do it,” she tugged at his linen shirt, “I want to. Come on, it’ll be fine.”

“Not if you cut my arm off, it won’t.” Osric teased. He got to his feet.

Kendra smiled. He almost never said no to her, thankfully.

As he followed Kendra out, Osric grabbed the two swords that were propped against the hut’s wall. He tossed one to her as she led them over to a clearing.

Before she started, she glanced over to make sure that Aidan was still where she’d left him. He was.

She raised her sword and got into the position that he had taught her during their many training lessons. As they swung and parried, Kendra could see from the surprised expression on Osric’s face that she was getting better and it made her heart sing. She’d been practicing every single moment that she could with the wooden sword that she’d had Elwin, the settlement’s carpenter, make for her in exchange for darning his leggings.

Osric suddenly lunged at her and grabbed her free arm, pulling her off balance. Kendra’s reaction was automatic. She allowed him to pull her closer, and allowed him to sling his arm around her throat. She waited, still, until she felt him relax, and then she reached up with her free hand and wrapped her fingers around his arm, leaned forward, hard, and tossed him over her and down to the ground.

Triumphantly, she held her sword tip to his chest, “Looks like I got the better of you, Osric.” she smirked.

Osric groaned, as he reached for her. Kendra took his hand in hers, intending to help him to his feet, but he yanked her down to him, instead.

“Looks like I got the better of you, Kendra.” he whispered, as she lay on top of his prone body.

Startled by the close contact with him, and the intensity of the unfamiliar emotions that she was keenly aware of, Kendra shoved off of him and quickly stood up. She didn’t think of Osric in that way, she silently reminded herself. She was not like the other women in their settlement. She wanted to be a warrior, not a wife.

Suddenly, the sound of waves sloshing against wood, and men’s voices whispering unfamiliar words as they drew their swords, drifted up from the fog enshrouded river bank.

Osric jumped to his feet. He grabbed Kendra’s hand and started pulling her away from the river bank, stopping only long enough to pick Aidan up in his arms.

As the Vikings rushed up over the bank, Osric and Kendra ran towards the forest that encircled their settlement, only stopping when they realized that they hadn’t been seen. Panting, they paused amongst the tall trees and looked out towards their small village. They could already hear the screams of their people as the Vikings poured into their homes.

Wide eyed, Kendra wondered if her father, and the other men of the village, had had enough time to grab up their weapons.

“My father warned of this,” Osric whispered, harshly, “He told the council about the Viking raids that have been happening down river, but they didn’t listen.”

“They posted a lookout.” Kendra reminded him.

“Old Elbert,” Osric scowled, “He was probably fast asleep when the Vikings arrived.”

Kendra lowered her eyes.

Suddenly, flames licked the gray sky, and terrified screams echoed towards them.

Kendra could take no more. She ran past the cover of the forest, out into the clearing, towards the only home that she had ever known, her sword held firmly at the ready. She reached her house, but it was already burning, as was every other building. Acrid smoke stung her eyes as she peered out at the main thoroughfare, which was abuzz with movement, as a few villagers fought against the Viking onslaught.

Kendra slipped around the corner of her burning home and slipped inside. The smoke was heavy, but there was only the one room to search. Her legs bumped into something and she stepped backwards and knelt down; she gasped as she realized that it was her mother’s lifeless body. As a strange cry tore through her, Kendra stood up and turned in a circle, searching for her father. She found him slumped in the corner, with his head nearly severed from his body.

Consumed with a rage that she had never known, Kendra ran out of the collapsing building with a banshee cry coming from deep within her soul. She wanted, needed revenge, and she would have it.

In front of her, a Viking was preparing to slaughter a pig, and Kendra brought her sword up and rushed towards him.

Suddenly, her arm was gripped in a vise so tight that she had no choice but to drop her weapon as she cried out in agony. As she was lifted up into the air, Kendra fought back, kicking and pummeling at her capturer as he flung her over his shoulder. She squirmed and grabbed at the man’s long hair, pulling on it for all she was worth until he flung her off of him. She scrambled to her feet and searched for her sword as the man loomed above her. Just as she found the weapon and reached for it, she felt an incredible pain in the side of her head, and her world faded to black.

***********************************************************************

Kendra woke to a rhythmic rocking that was unfamiliar to her. She kept her eyes closed, as she listened carefully. She heard creaking sounds, and waves sloshing against what she could only assume was the hull of a sailing vessel. Men were talking quietly, in a language that she couldn’t understand. She tested her limbs, concluding immediately that her hands were bound. Furious, but mostly terrified, Kendra finally peeked through her lashes. She was on the Viking vessel. Some men were rowing, while others appeared to be sorting through piles of loot that they had stolen from her settlement. The thought made her remember that her parents were dead, and her throat closed up as she fought against the tears that threatened to give her away to her capturers. She thought, instead, of Osric and Aidan, fervently hoping that they had stayed safely hidden in the forest.

************************************************************************

Days later, still tied at the wrist, Kendra was picked up and thrown over the same Viking’s shoulder. He carried her off the vessel, through a bustling village. Both men, and women, called out to him. A few approached them, wanting to have a closer look at her as she hung upside down, bobbing against his back. Finally, he came to a thatch covered house and he shoved open the door and took her inside. He dropped her roughly on the dirt floor.

A woman gasped, and appeared suddenly in front of Kendra.

She was middle aged, with graying hair and a face that looked worn from a lifetime of hard work in a harsh environment.

Kendra watched the man and woman, who were obviously husband and wife, discuss her arrival.

It was quite obvious to Kendra that the woman was furious, but the man was unwavering.

As they continued their argument, Kendra looked around her surroundings. The house was one long room, with a firepit in the center. Rough hewn benches were pushed up against the walls, and, here and there, rugs covered the dirt floor. There was a sleeping platform along the opposite wall, and cooking pots and water vessels were stacked in a few wooden boxes.

Kendra returned her gaze to the arguing couple. The man was coming toward her, a short knife clenched in his fist. She squealed in fright, assuming the worst, but he only grabbed her hands and cut her bonds. He raised up, spoke harshly to the woman, and stormed back out. The woman glared at her, then pivoted and stomped off to the far end of the room. Kendra closed her eyes, fighting back tears. She was not going to give up. She was going to keep her eyes open for an opportunity, and she would be strong enough to take it when it arrived. She was a warrior, after all.

**********************************************************************

The harsh wind blew so ferociously, and the air was so cold, that Kendra felt like she was being pelted by thousands of tiny ice daggers as she trudged through the high drifts of snow. When she reached the root cellar, she pried open the door with nearly frozen hands, trying not to notice her dirt encrusted fingernails. She gathered turnips, potatoes, and apples into her apron, knowing that once she reached the main house again, she would have to build up the fire that Berta had let die down, and prepare and cook the food she’d just gathered, as well. She would also have to scrub the pots and dishes after, and mend clothing well into the evening. And, if she were lucky, maybe Berta and her husband, Ivor, would drink themselves into oblivion for the night, leaving her in blessed solitude to cry herself to sleep.

When Kendra entered the house, Ivor was sharpening his weapons and he looked up, watching her as she put the vegetables and fruit on the table and went to warm her raw, aching hands at the fire.

Kendra furtively looked to see what Berta was doing, and she felt nervous when she saw that the woman was sleeping. Lately, there was something in Ivor’s eyes that scared Kendra, and, even though she despised Berta, she still felt comforted by her presence.

Determined not to show fear, Kendra threw another log on the fire and poked it into brighter flames. She went to the table and took up her small knife to begin slicing the vegetables for the stew. She glanced over at Ivor. He was looking at his wife. He sat down his sword quietly, stood up, and looked in Kendra’s direction. Kendra’s heart started to race as he walked towards her.

When he reached Kendra’s side, he clamped his hand over hers, prying the knife from her fingers. She opened her mouth to scream, but he quickly clamped his hand over her mouth and forced her, face down, against the table. She squirmed wildly as she felt him fling her layers of heavy skirts up, and kicked her legs apart. Kendra could feel him tugging his pants down, and she struggled with all her might, but she knew it would be in vain.

Suddenly, a scream of insulted rage assaulted her ears as Berta rushed towards them. Kendra heard a thud, and Ivor released her as he collapsed to the floor. Crying and gasping with relief, Kendra raised herself off the table and stood upright. Berta slapped her, so forcefully that Kendra felt her head rock backwards as the searing pain shot across her face, but she didn’t care. She welcomed the woman’s rage, in fact, for it was preferable to what Ivor had been about to do to her.

***********************************************************************

Summer came slowly to the north, and, as the warmer air blew across the land, the Viking village came alive. Kendra was grateful. With Ivor out of the house all day, tilling the ground for planting, she was allowed a bit of peace while she moved from one back breaking chore to the next. Often, if she could, Kendra would do her work outside in the sun, so that she could watch the men when they practiced their fighting skills. She was picking up a lot of ideas watching them, and, now that she could understand a great deal of their language, she made sure that she was nearby whenever they were planning their raids.

Kendra saw Berta approaching, and she stopped daydreaming and hunched over the basket of herring that she was preparing to dry. She tried desperately to stay on Berta’s good side, knowing that Berta was the only thing standing between her and Ivor’s, despicable intentions.

“After you finish that, you need to do the washing,” Berta informed her, “And hurry, I want it hung to dry while the sun is high in the sky.”

Washing clothes was laborious, and, by the time that Kendra had wrung out the last item, her hands were red and sore, and her arms ached from scrubbing and wringing out the sopping pile of bed linens, rugs, and clothes. She picked up the heavy basket and headed to the communal clothes lines. She hung everything as quickly as she could, noticing a group of men at the clearing near the tree line, beginning to weapons train. She glanced back at the house, checking to see if Berta was watching her. She wasn’t. Kendra picked up the basket and walked quickly, purposefully, towards the edge of the clearing, ducking into the trees before slowly making her way up to where the men were practicing. Deep in the shadows of the trees, Kendra sat on the upturned basket and watched, enthralled, as some of the men and boys swung their powerful weapons, and others ducked and parried, lunged and retreated. She stood up and grabbed a stick, imitating their moves, determined to do them so many times that they would eventually come as naturally as breathing to her.

“Stupid girl.”

Startled, Kendra stopped in the middle of a lunge and whirled around, her heart nearly stopping when she saw Ivor step into the clearing.

“You are practicing the wrong thing, girl,” he chuckled, his hand caressing his beard, “You must learn to please a man, not handle a sword.”

“Berta will be angry.” Kendra warned him, using the only weapon that she had.

Ivor stepped closer, “It’s high time you learned your place here, girl.” he growled, as he reached for her.

Kendra thrust her pathetic stick up and hit him in his chest, but Ivor knocked it aside and grabbed her. He shoved her against a tree, “This time, girl, I won’t be stopped.”

“Ivor!” a man’s voice snapped.

Ivor instantly released her arms and stepped back away from her.

Dag, Berta’s father, came closer. He looked Kendra up and down, before turning his displeasure on his son-in-law, “You will force yourself on this girl, Ivor, when you have a willing wife at home?” he asked, his anger clear to see.

“She was begging for it.” Ivor whispered, harshly.

“You lie!” Dag hissed, “I saw the whole thing, Ivor,” He took Kendra by her arm, “I will take her back to your wife, and you will not follow. Not for a long while.”

**********************************************************************

During the night, Kendra was forcibly shaken awake. Groggily she opened her eyes. The room was dark, save for the pale light cast by the fire that needed to be fed to life again. Berta was the one doing the shaking, Kendra realized, as she rolled over.

“Get up. Come with me.”

Kendra stared at the woman, uncertainly. What was going on? Was this some new punishment, some new form of torture that Berta had come up with?

“Hurry!” Berta insisted, as she tugged on Kendra’s arm.

Kendra slowly got to her feet.

Berta shoved a bag into her hand and pushed her towards the door.

Confused, Kendra opened the door and stepped outside. It was still dark out, but she could see a figure of a man looming before her. She turned back, but Berta shut the door in her face.

“Follow me.” the man said, and Kendra recognized that it was Dag.

With no other choice left to make, Kendra followed him, her mind racing with fear. Were they casting her out, with only the small bag of rations that Berta had given her? What was she going to do, here in a harsh land that she was still mostly unfamiliar with? Would they not give her a weapon? She would surely not last a winter without a weapon.

Dag led her down towards the fjord, where the ships bobbed silently on the dark water. He stopped, gesturing at one of them, “You will go. It is for the best.”

Kendra’s mouth dropped open. Was he expecting her to sail away on one of the ships?

Sensing her bewilderment, Dag gestured for her to follow him onto one of the ships. He took her towards the back and pulled a tarp up off of three long storage boxes. He opened the far back one, “You will hide here. There is a raid planned, leaving early this morning. Berta told me that they are going back to where Ivor said that you were from. You must go.”

************************************************************************

The days inside of the box were some of the most harrowing of Kendra’s young life. The relentless darkness and the pitching waves made her dry heave, but it was the terror of being found that caused the most anxiety, for she knew that the Vikings would certainly kill her, but only after they tortured her first.

The moment that the boat neared land, Kendra knew it, because the mood of the men aboard suddenly grew increasingly boisterous as they prepared for their raid.

Alone in the box, Kendra waited, listening as the boat was brought to shore and the men finalized their evil plan. They would sleep through the night, and attack the village before daybreak. If she were smart, Kendra knew that she would wait until the men left on the raid before she made her escape. But, as she lay in the box, quietly miserable, she came to the decision that she couldn’t do that. She had to try to help the unsuspecting villagers. They would be sitting ducks, like her own people had been, with no warning of the atrocities that were about to rain down on them. She had to warn them. She just did.

Gradually, the sounds of the ship settled down, and eventually faded to silence. Even so, Kendra forced herself to stay in her hiding place for awhile longer, just to make sure. She knew that there would be a guard posted, so she lifted the lid slowly and peered out of the crack. It didn’t look good. The sail had been taken down and was now used as a tent over the ship deck. The sleeping men were everywhere, with some of them lying asleep on the deck, and others propped against the sloped walls, their necks bent at odd angles. Kendra gulped. She had to try, she reminded herself. She didn’t have a choice. As stealthily as possible, she lifted the lid and crawled out. It wasn’t until she was at the front of the ship, looking out at the guard who was sitting on the prow, that she thought to breathe again. The Viking was whittling on a piece of driftwood, using the light of a torch that had been stuck into the side of the riverbank, to see.

Kendra sighed. She would need to get around him somehow. An idea came to her, but she knew right away that it was a long shot. If she failed, she knew that she would be killed before she even made it up the bank. With trembling fingers, she reached down and picked up a tankard. She crept out past the edge of the tarp and launched it as hard as she could off the opposite side of the ship. It landed in the water with enough of a splash to make the guard get up to have a look. Kendra hastily climbed over the edge of the ship, and dropped down onto the muddy riverbank. She struggled along, staying close to the ship until she spotted a safe place to start climbing the bank.

**********************************************************************

Kendra spotted the front entrance torches of the village, but it looked miles away. Would she even make it? She took off running, only stopping when she had no breath left, and the pain in her sides were screaming at her to stop. Even then, she kept moving, walking until she could run again. How much time did she have, she worried, as she finally neared the village. A man leapt up from his bench as she ran towards him. It was obvious from his stilted movements that he’d been fast asleep only seconds before. He’d even left his sword propped up against the wall.

“Halt!” he cried, as he searched his empty hands, realizing, rather comically, that he didn’t have his weapon.

“Vikings!” Kendra said, “Vikings are coming!”

She turned and pointed behind her, where a dark shadow was now lining the horizon.

The two of them wasted no time running up and down the two streets of the village, screaming at the tops of their lungs as they pounded on the doors. Men poured out into the streets in their nightshirts, women cried as they carried their sleeping children in their arms, and Kendra feared that even with her warning, they were ill prepared for the horrors that awaited them. She approached a man standing in the street, seemingly in a daze, “You have to get the women and children to a safe place,” she told him, “A safe place. Do you know of one?”

His expression was blank as he stared at her.

“I do,” a young woman said, “I know of a place.”

“Gather the women and children then, and take them there. Hurry. You must hurry.”

*********************************************************************

The Vikings arrived with an onslaught of savagery that the villagers had never known. Because of Kendra’s warning, a good number of the women and children had been led away, but those left behind were thrown into a hellish nightmare. Kendra heard the Vikings arrival, even before she saw them. She ran into a barn and grabbed a pitchfork, woefully aware that it wasn’t much of a weapon. She ran back out onto the street. The village was already alight. The sound of swords clashing was music to her ears, though, because, this time, the people were putting up a fight.

She heard a scream behind her and she turned, her eyes locking on Ivor. He was pulling his sword out of a villager. He lifted his eyes and saw her. Kendra lifted her pitchfork as he roared angrily, and started towards her, swinging his sword threateningly.

Suddenly, a man stepped out of a doorway and Kendra glanced over at him. He shoved his hood back, revealing his face, as he whispered, “Kendra?”

“Osric?” Kendra’s voice cracked.

Osric smiled. He threw a sword to her, as he brandished his own.

Kendra caught the sword, relishing its heft as she drew it around in front of her and fell automatically into a crouching stance as Ivor thundered towards her. She was ready. She was a warrior.