The day began with death. The acrid smell of it curled in Svani’s nostrils like an agitated snake in its hole. She chewed on her lip, leaned against the bulwark and watched the color of the morning turn red. Smoke and the sound of screams billowed towards her in waves on the breeze from the village on top of the ragged cliffs. Gulls shrieked overhead, spinning in a frenzy at the disturbance. The light wind lifted the blond tendrils of hair that had fallen loose from her braid.
The sharp tang of bile burned in the back of her throat. Her stomach rose and fell in sickening jolts, excitement and revulsion jostling for dominance. She could not blame the dip and rise of the longboat beneath her feet. For sixteen years she had been torn between the two emotions, like a fraying rope between two dogs.
A figure broke from the smoke swathed hill top. A woman, her face a red mask from a head wound, staggered from the ruin of her village. Even from the long distance, Svani knew the woman had reached the end of her life. She didn’t have to see the man who came out after her, swinging his broadsword.
Svani turned away, rubbing the goosebumps on her pale arms. She swallowed the bile and steadied her stomach. Her chest twinged as the woman's soul detached with a cry, a small sound in the distance. Svani never had to look to know when death fed its greedy maw. The grass would now be blossoming with brilliant red. She had seen it a hundred times.
She took a deep, smoke choked breath. Thank the gods they were on the last raid before sailing north. She hated to be left alone at home when her father went raiding, but she hated attending the viking season nearly as much. They would return home and spend a quiet winter in the longhouse, warming by the fire, eating good food with the neighbors and telling clever stories as the snow fell.
“Heren, ofer heren!” she heard a man yell. Turning back to the mainland, Svani saw a group of Anglemen racing towards the longboats. There were seven of them, and they leaned forward hungrily as they ran onto the beach. Did they think they could take one of the ships while all the men were ashore? She drew her battle axe from its place on top of her sea chest, grabbed a shield and ran to the prow. Her stomach flipped.
She swung over the bulwark and splashed into the shallows of the chill sea water. The men slowed but did not stop. Some wiped the sweat and blood from their eyes. They all looked haggard and in shock. Svani’s wet boots squelched as she waded ashore. Her pulse drummed in her ears.
She reached dry sand and brandished her axe. She did not know the Anglemen’s tongue to speak them a warning, but she hoped her stance would make her intentions clear. She would not let them steal her father’s ship. One man laughed. Perhaps they thought it would be easy, taking a ship from a girl. Her stomach burned with anger. They greatly underestimated their chances. They had never before dealt with a daughter of the North. Svani bared her teeth.
“Need some help?” The new voice seemed to vibrate like a bowstring in the tense air. A Northman stood on the bulwark two longboats over. She thought he looked familiar, but could not place his name in the heated moment. Had he been there all morning, guarding the ships? He jumped into the shallows and jogged towards them, a long sword held easily in his hand. The Anglemen erupted into action.
Three rushed Svani and she managed to duck past a wide swing. Svani had a sense of blurred colors and anguished cries as the fellow Northman took the other Anglemen. She clipped one man in the hamstring as she spun around him, then sunk her axe head deep into the belly of another on the upswing. The third man swung hard and fast while she struggled to free her axe from a tangle of ribs. She ducked and raised her shield. The blade deflected with a sharp clang, and Svani punched the shield forward to throw the man off balance.
