Aeleva; The Viking Saxon

Chapter 17

I didn't know where I was going but I had to run.

We came from the west so I headed east. My legs carried me through the trees, branches stung my knees and I hurtled into the darkness. I ran and ran until I could no more. Until my body gave out. Until I fell to the ground and could not find the strength to get back up.

Then I screamed. I screamed from the rush of battle. I screamed from the pain of running from Hagen. I screamed for the grief and agony of losing my whole family... and falling in love with their murder.

I was detestable. I was abhorrent. How could I have been so foolish? So flippant of my family. How could I have so easily forgotten their image and love, to then love their killer?

How dare I become the very thing I loathe. The one enemy to my people.

Why on earth was I here?! In these woods. Covered in blood. Wearing Dane clothing. Fight for Danes. With Danish weapons.

How did this happen? I searched and searched the darkness for answers that would not come. I wanted some sort of purpose for this whole ordeal.

I longed for my old life. For my mother to hold me and play with my hair and tell me everything would be alright. I longed for the comfort of Marden. To hear the Kentish bird songs and hear the Kentish waves break on the Saxon sand. To hear the far-off voices of Saxons and the Christian bells, calling for the prayer of God.

I cried and I cried from the torment and the pain in my heart.

I curled up under a tree and let the tears fall from my face. My mind was exhausted, but if I tried hard enough, I could hear the sounds of the woods around Marden. And I listened to the winds blowing through the Saxon trees, and the scurrying of Saxon animals until the dark arms of slumber encompassed me.

The next morning, I awoke begrudgingly. I had no strength. No will. I lay there in the dirt feeling empty. Numb to the world. I had cried all my tears.

My thoughts went to my family again and the memories we shared. There was no warm glow when I thought of them. Their memory brought no comfort. It only deepened my misery. My body ached and my head throbbed. I checked myself over for injuries and was surprised when I had nothing but scratches.

I sat up and leant against the tree. My shoes were covered in filth. Just as my brother's always were; Osric. I straightened up at the reminder of my older brother. My letter might have made it to England by now. Perhaps even a monastery.

The thread of hope that my brother was still alive was the only reason I got up from that tree and started walking.

In my emotional turmoil last night, I had lost my bearings. The only compass I had to me was the sun and so I walked south. The only reason being I had come from the rough direction of the north.

I was glad of the summer sunshine as the warmth seeped through my clothes and kissed my skin. The forest was alive around me, enjoying the sun as much as I was. Birds were singing their melodies and animals darted across my path. I was deep into the woods and so could not follow any path but I believed I was headed in a rough straight line.

After hours of walking and picking berries on the journey, I arrived at a dirt track. It followed along a small stream. The path was a small one, not a busy main road. Maybe it was not even a path. Hesitantly I decided to follow it south, if anyone was to walk it then I would jump into the bushes for cover.

As I walked, I thought of all the things I could remember of my home. I thought of how my father had worked for hours on end in the wheat field. I knew it would be time to harvest. I wondered if anyone had harvested it or if it was decaying in the fields, the work of months just rotting away. I wondered if it would have been a good harvest, or if most of it would have to go to the Lord, to pay our way. I thought of how my mother made our bread from the ground ears. I remembered the recipe and my hands absentmindedly kneaded the imaginary dough in my hands.