Blood Harvest |A Vikings Fanfic|

Fifteen

Alexys' heart was being crushed under the pain she now knew Rain was enduring, her steps were slightly less confident, her eyes lower when she passed others in the camp. They thought it had to do with Ivar – perhaps she had had a falling out with him of some sort and was thusly in a state of doom and gloom, but she paid them little mind when they stared. They had moved towards York, as was Ivar's dream and subsequently had become a goal of Alexys' as well. Her solemn walk halted suddenly as Rain ran by; she had been summoned by the Ragnarssons and had determination on her face.

Their eyes hardly connected as they passed, though the younger of the pair watched her go. She was needed to translate and Alexys rubbed her hand against the binding leather of her knife. With nimble fingers, she pulled the blade from its place and twirled it skillfully. In three days' time, they were raiding York.

They bested the walls with ease, using ladders and skill in combination. The doors thundered open when Ubbe thrust them outwards. Alexys and Ivar riding in with death on their mind. Hvitserk and Rain fought side by side, it was not so rhythmic as when she and Alexys were at battle, but they still were observant of each other and consequently managed to kill many. Blood streaked their faces as they tore into the heart of the city, wildness in their eyes.

"That way," Alexys gestured, Ivar taking the turn sharply.

"Watch them fall," Ivar chuckled devilishly and she smiled at her crazed cripple.

As the action slowed, they came to a small church in which a Christian celebration was clearly taking place. Rain scoured the doors for any sign of reinforcement, but as she drove her foot into the seam of the entrance, it became clear that there was none. The pounding of the wood against the walls startled the people inside, a chorus of cries echoing through the building. They knew the look of the Northmen and at the first scream, the slaughter commenced. Blood became the new paint of the holy walls and terror replaced the prayer. Hvitserk seized a nun by the leg, dragging her with an evil look about his face.

Before he could act further, her head became detached from her body and there stood Rain, the life blood of her victim over her face like war paint. She let out a dark chuckle and Hvitserk stared at her, amazed and horrified in one collective gaze. Rain licked her lips and began tugging bracelets and golden things from their owners. A low cry echoed through the church. It was that of a child, a boy no older than a year and he cried loudly, tears on his cheeks. The second son of Aslaug and the youngest child of Thor watched as Rain turned towards the little one, stepping over corpses and wiping her face.

Dread and doubt coursed through the eyes and bodies of Hvitserk and Alexys, for they knew not her intention for the child. Rain locked her dry lips and glanced to Ivar, who was pouring a melted cross into a man's mouth, then looked back to the small child. Her arms wrapped gently around the small boy, rocking him until his cries began to silence and her eyes were empty. There was no forewarning as to what would come next. She muttered little soothing phrases into his ear and brought her hand against his neck, carrying the little thing to the small group of weeping women.