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Eivor woke with a start, her hand immediately falling to the non-existent axe on her hip. She lay still for a moment, heart racing, vision filled with nothing but black. She was home, in her bed in Ravensthorpe there was no battle to be fought. Then why had she woken so suddenly? Her heart hammered in her chest, a warning drum beat of a danger that did not seem to exist. The stillness felt oppressive and she wondered if this was the madness of battle, a bloodlust that never left some Vikingr even years after their blades had stilled.
Then she heard it, soft and low though it was, their wolf was growling. She sprung to her feet, her bare toes hitting the cold wood below her but this only heightened her senses. Chewy never growled unless there was danger, she’d seen field mice tease the beast and he barely raised an eye, but if he was growling there was a foe she could not yet see or hear.
She took a single step forward when she smelt it.
Their Longhouse usually smelt like a thousand different things, a stew always simmered on the hearth for weary travelers to fill their bellies, the scent of steel from their sharpened blades, the fragrant tang of Tekla’s mead seeped into the rugs beneath their boots and the musk of sweat that always seemed to linger. But this smell was like none of those, this scent was heavy, acrid, a sickly sweet smelling odor that tickled Eivors nose and made her want to vomit. She knew this heady smell well, it was the scent that burning wooden homes made, the odor of battle and the ransacking of a village.
She sprinted for the opened door, her bare feet sure but silent, years of honing her skills making her nearly impossible to detect. Chewy was standing in the doorway, hackles raised in the moonlight, teeth barred and as she reached the entry her heart nearly lept out of her chest and her breath tore from her lungs in a stilted gasp.
Her home was alight.
Nearly a third of the buildings were up in flames and it continued to spread as she watched horrified. Nobody seemed to have noticed, for the small hours of the morning and a feast in their stomachs had made most of her clan drunk and merry as they made for home. She settled herself and grabbed a small ax that sat propped against the wall that was used to call a feast. She began to beat fervently on the bell that normally signaled glad tidings but her clan needed to wake up or they would all perish in Hel’s fiery vengeance. Randvi was the first to arrive behind her, wearing nothing but her underclothes. Eivor was dressed no better, a pair of fur belted trousers and her bindings.
“Eivor,” Randvi chided her voice rough with sleep, “What on earth are you- by the gods.” Randvi clutched at Eivors arm, her other hand going to her mouth in shock.
“Take over, I’m going to help put out the flames.” Eivor thrusted the axe into Randvi’s hands and took off for the nearest home. Petra and her brother were already up, no better dressed than Eivor but at least had the wherewithal to put on boots. “Make for the river,” Eivor yelled as she passed, not waiting to see the horror on the hunters' faces.
By this stage most of the town was awake, voices screaming and yelling to one another in alarm. The entire Easthand side of the village was in flames, everything from the cartographers to the pig farm. Eivor grabbed a horn hanging on one of the posts and blew into it, her warriors immediately stilling their panic to look at her.
“Get the children to the Longhouse, then form a line from the river to the flames.” She dashed to the water as her clan did what she had instructed. She watched from the corner of her eye Alvis and Tekla begin to herd up the children who looked like they’d rather be helping than leaving. Eivor tried not to notice that not all of her clan were here yet, fearing that some may have already perished in the flames that threatened to destroy her home.
She grabbed several buckets that littered the shore when Merton arrived with more clearly grabbed from his home at the fishing hut.
“Start filling these and pass them along the line,” She instructed Merton who was quickly joined by Gudrun who filled the first bucket and passed it to her husband who began to pass it along the line of villagers to the cartography hut. Eivor arrived just as the bucket did and she grabbed it from Haytham who had taken the head of the line. The smell was worse here, her senses completely overwhelmed as bits of paper rained down on them from the sky. She got as close as she dared, the flames licking at her skin as she poured the bucket over the house. It barely made a dent, more flames almost immediately replacing the ones she’d just extinguished.
Hytham joined her side as more buckets began to arrive as she tossed her now empty one to Rollo who sprinted as fast as he could back to the shoreline for it to be refilled. A few of her younger Jomsviking had designated themselves runners with the empty buckets back to the water without her even needing to ask and despite the terror that was gripping her heart, she couldn’t help but feel a momentary proudness for how quickly her clan had reacted.
Randvi arrived just as the flames had finally begun to succumb to the many buckets of water they had now smothered it with. Eivor met Randvi’s eyes, the horror and realization clear on her lover's face, the older woman squeezed her arm before grabbing her own bucket and beginning the fight as well. The battle was over before it had even begun, it would take the entire river to quell these raging fires, a few measly buckets wouldn’t be enough.
A huge crack erupted in the air followed shortly by the entire front wall of the cartographer's home collapsing forward, Eivor felt a strong hand grab her shoulder and pull her out of danger just in time as the burning timbers toppled to the earth. Randvi was panting, eyes wide in fear as she let go of Eivors shoulder and grabbed another bucket. Eivor shuddered, swallowed thickly then turned to face her waiting clan.
“These homes are lost,” Eivor said gruffly, her throat burning from the flames and the acrid emotion of failure. “We must turn our attention to the ones closest to the fires.” She pointed to the Assassins Bureau, Tove’s ink shop and Gunnars Forge. “Start getting as much water as you can onto those homes and put out any flames that come towards them.” She watched as they immediately began to follow her command, the shouting of instructions and encouragement almost loud enough to cover the sounds of devastation behind them, the flames cracking and splitting half of her village. She grabbed Randvi’s hand as she made to follow the others and pulled her close so that only she could hear.
“Do a head count here and the longhouse, we are missing souls, I need to know how many.” Eivors voice cracked under the admission of the fear she’d been harboring since she’d first woken up.
“Of course my love,” Randvi replied solemnly before stealing away as silently as always. A table Maiden by day, a valkyrie by night. Eivor swallowed heavily before joining her clan.
The going was relentless, Eivors hands bled raw from the buckets and her muscles screamed in protest. The fires still raged behind them, the dry summer gorse fuelling Hela’s fury and making their task near impossible with every bush they extinguished another seemed to burst almost simultaneously into flames. Her men were tired, the buckets coming slower and more water lost through exhausted careless actions, she knew she would have to order a retreat soon. They had done what they could for now, they would have to let the flames run themselves through and will to Odin that the rest of the village be spared.
“That’s it!” Eivor yelled over the sounds around her, her deep voice commanding silence from everyone and even the fires it seemed. “We can do no more, everyone to the Longhouse!” Some looked to protest the retreat but the expression on Eivors face stilled their tongues and most of the village did as tasked. Several remained behind, her closest advisors to offer counsel.
“There’s nothing more to be done but hope that Hela spares us,” Gunnar said grimly, his eyes watching as his young wife made for the longhouse without him.
“Eivor with your permission I would like to grab some things from the Bureau, just in case?” Haytham asked a little breathlessly, his old wound from his doomed fight with Kjotve still plaguing him even years later.
“Go,” Eivor replied quietly, her gaze fixed on the burning embers that was once her home, “How did this happen? Where was the night guard?” She asked Eydis who’s head was in her hands, wearily she looked up at her Jarl.
“I do not know Wolf-kissed, but I will find out,” Her face turned stern as she said it. “When I do they wil-”
“Eivor!” Randvi’s voice cut sharp across the night and immediately the warrior stood to attention watching as Randvi ran as fast as she could from the direction of the river. “It is Swanburrow, you must come at once she is trapped.” The older woman turned and made off just as quickly as she arrived whilst Eivor and those with her followed.
Petra the fastest of them stole ahead of even Randvi as they made their way to the farthest side of the village. How had they not noticed this before Eivor thought as her bare feet ran across the scorched earth, Swanburrow was her sworn charge after the death of Hunwald, if anything happened to the woman Eivor would never forgive herself. “By Eir, please keep her safe,” She muttered as she ran.
The house itself was nearly destroyed, whilst the flames had seemingly died away, the wood was black and charred like a dark seidr. Through the cracks in the wood they could see burning embers still shining bright orange as they caused wreckage within. They could hear a female voice calling for help between choked coughs for breath. Eivors anger and fear immediately replaced her calm resolve as she watched Randvi’s scouts Norvid and Sunniva simply standing by and not helping.
“What are you doing? Help her!” Eivor practically roared as she strode over to the scouts who shared a terrified look.
“We tried Eivor, the wood is molten hot, Sunniva burnt both of her hands trying, the entrance is blocked by a large beam, we could not lift it” Norvid was nearly in tears as he spoke, his shame at his own failure clear to see.
“We must get water from the River then” Randvi said frantically, turning to Petra and Gunnar who both nodded and made for the water.
“There isn’t time for this,” Eivor growled, striding forward without pausing to consider the consequences of what she was about to do.
“Eivor no!” Randvi called behind her in horror as realization dawned on her.
But it was too late, Eivor had already decided what needed to be done, she would not stand by whilst another of her village died, not if she could help it. She ignored the calls behind her as more of her warriors realized what she was doing. She quickly pulled the fur belt from her waist, and wrapped both of her hands in it as she grabbed the beam. She could feel the heat immediately, it licked the skin on her face and the smoke choked her lungs. She let on a yell as she lifted the beam high above her head, ignoring the sweat that trickled down her face. She managed to catch it on a metal wall sconce that had long lost its horn but not yet its place on the burning wood. The beam slammed against it hard, but it did not fall, it was not a perfect solution but would be enough to get the injured woman out. The fur in her hands fell away in pieces, succumbing to the immense heat. She felt blisters erupting on her palms but ignored it, it was no more an inconvenience to her than the burning of her bare feet which were surely cracked and bleeding from hours of abuse.
Despite the flames it was dark inside and it took Eivors eyes several moments to adjust before she finally spotted the younger woman trapped underneath another large wooden beam.
“We will get you out Swanburrow,” Eivor choked out between coughs, the stench of burning flesh was almost over powering but she wouldn’t falter now, not when she was this close. Swanburrow let out a mournful moan. Eivor quickly scanned the area for something to cover herself with. But everything was nearly ash, she swallowed thickly.
“By the gods Eivor your hands” Randvi gasped, her arm covering her face as she stepped inside followed closely by Gunnar.
“We must get the beam of her so we can pull her out,” Eivor replied, ignoring the comment and the burn in her fingers, worse than what she feared. They tried using another piece of wood to lever the beam but it snapped almost instantly. The tall candle stick bent under the weight and the chains they tried wrapping round fell straight through the wood above them. With each passing second Swanburrows cries grew weaker, the heat more oppressive and the coughing worse. They were out of time.
“None of these are working,” Petra panted as she wiped soot and sweat from her brow.
“Eivor, maybe there is nothing more we ca-”
“No.” Eivor snapped, stopping Gudrun mid sentence. Those with her started to argue amongst themselves, trying to come up with new solutions whilst Norvid held Swanburrows hand where she lay on the floor dying in front of them.
“We could try the wood again?”
“It'll only snap”
“What about one of the masts from the ships?”
“That’ll take too long.”
“I will lift it.” When Eivor spoke, everybody listened and this time was no exception.
“Eivor,” Randvi said in warning but the Wolf-kissed ignored her.
“I will lift it, as soon as it is up, you will slide her out. No more arguing, no more time for debates. This is what we are doing.”
“Eivor,” Randvi tried again, stepping past the others and grabbing her by the wrist, “Your skin is bare, you will burn in seconds.”
“We only need a few, there is no other way,” Eivor’s face was set, voice strong and Randvi felt her heart jump into her throat. She couldn’t watch this, but she would not look away.
“On my count,” Eivor said standing alongside the wood, her resolve fixed. “We’re coming Swanburrow, hold on a little longer. 1,” She bent down feeling the searing heat coming off the beam and trying to ignore how painful this would be for both her and Swanburrow. “2,” She hooked her left arm underneath it, not yet touching but ready. She calmed herself, this was just another battle, another foe to defeat and she would not falter. “3.” She lifted with all of her strength.
Using only her left arm, she heaved the beam as high as it would go and rested it against her shoulder. It was incredibly heavy and her mouth opened in a yell as she rose to her feet. The pain was unbearable, as if someone had branded her skin with a hot poker, or a demon had her arm in a fiery vice grip and would not let go. She twisted her head away, feeling the burnt wood press against her unscarred neck. From the corner of her eye she could hear Swanburrow screaming and writhing in agony as the flesh on her back ripped clean off. Eivor screwed her face up, her whole body shook in pain and exertion. The blood roared in her ears, her vision blackened and she felt herself sway.
“Eivor, she's out, you must drop it!” She could hear Randvi’s frantic voice high above the others telling her to let go, but how could she? She was one with the flames, her entire left hand side bonded to the embers, she’d seen how Swanburrow had fared, she would be the same. She teetered. Her body pitching sideways as her left wrist gave way. The beam rolled down her arm like a fiery wheel and she could hear someone screaming in the distance. Her eyes rolled in her head and she tried to hold on but the pain was all she knew, the agony more than anything she had ever felt before and she fell. And despite knowing the ground was close to her, she never met it, she just kept falling.
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“We must take the arm, if we don’t the blood poison will kill her.”
“No! That is her decision to make, I know, I never had the choice!”
“She won’t be able to make a decision if she is dead, and she isn’t you!” The woman’s voice was shrill and aggressive, it made Eivors head hurt and she wanted to sleep again.
“She is strong Valka, she will survive this. And don’t tell me what I already know” The male voice warned, one as familiar as home but she could not recall the name of who it belonged to.
“Both of you stop, this isn’t helping.” Another female voice, softer but as strong as an axe spoke. She knew this voice, she would always know this voice.
“Randvi,” She breathed, her throat burning in protest. She heard several voices gasp, but she was not yet strong enough to open her eyes.
“I am here.” Something strong gripped her right wrist and she wished she could return the pressure but her muscles felt like stone.
“Eivor, welcome back,” The male voice said, she cracked open her eyes and Sigurd smiled tightly down at her, his eyes doing little to hide his discomfort.
“Sigurd,” Eivor said in a whisper, her throat sore with every syllable.
“Shh Eivor, please try not to talk.” Randvi’s hand smoothed back her hair and she knew that she must be badly injured, this side of Randvi, the soft gentle side was reserved only for her when they were alone, but she was comforting her in front of the man she was once married to.
“What-” She coughed, and the pain hit her immediately. She gasped in agony as her entire left arm lit up in pain so acute it stole her breath and she could not get enough air into her lungs. She groaned and tried to sit up, she thrashed in torment from the all encompassing ache.
“Eivor!” Hands gripped her tightly and black spots appeared in her vision, “You must not move! You will pull the skin,” Randvi was holding her hand, Sigurds face was dark and Valka, who she had not noticed was pressing both of her shoulders into the bed behind her.
“Be still Eivor, be still,” Randvi was speaking softly in her ear, her voice cracking in emotion. Eivor tried not to move, but her whole body felt tightly coiled like a spring ready to snap at the tiniest bit of pressure.
“Can you give her something Valka?” Sigurd asked, his good hand pointing helplessly at his fallen sister. Eivor’s vision was growing blurry, through tears or pain she wasn’t not sure, she kept her eyes on Randvi’s face, trying to read something in her lover's gaze but all she saw was raw concern which made her heart flutter in her chest.
“If I give her something she will sleep again, we need to talk about what happens next.” Valka’s gravelly voice was more stern than Eivor ever remembered. Something had happened, something terrible, she just needed a moment to remember what it was so she could help deal with it.
“She is a strong Valka, she can hate me for it when she wakes up. I will gladly shoulder that, but she is in pain now, she can make the decision when she is ready.” Randvi didn’t look away from Eivor as she spoke.
“If this fever doesn't lift, she may not get that chance,” Valka warned but moved anyway, a blood red elixir already in her hands. “Drink this Eivor,” She chided softly as Randvi helped hold the phial to Eivors chapped lips. She spluttered at the foul tasting liquid and tried to get away, but Randvi’s grip was firm and the mixture was poured forcefully yet carefully down Eivor’s throat. Once it was all gone, Eivor felt the pain fade away almost at once, as if she had been placed on a barge and been sent out to sea. The whole room felt as if it swayed beneath her and when she tried to ask if the others felt it no words came out.
“Sleep my love, please come back to me soon.” Randvi whispered against her brow before placing a chaste kiss there. Eivor wanted to ask where she was going and why she was going alone, but the sway beneath her worsened and all she could do was screw up her eyes and pray the waves didn’t carry her too far from home.
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Eivor jerked awake, her entire heart racing and her brain scrambling to catch up. She cracked open her eyes to see mostly darkness, a small fire burning in the hearth her only source of light. She didn’t recognise where she was, certainly not her room in the longhouse, the bed was smaller, the sheets rougher against her unclothed back and the walls were missing all of her adornments.
What on earth had happened? Had she been captured and left in this blackness as her cell? She lay in the dark trying hard to remember what had happened. She didn’t notice it at first, her location the more pressing of matters. But the longer she lay still, the more apparent the throbbing became. Her arm was on fire, as if Hela herself had it gripped in her fiery hold and refused to let go. The more she woke, the worse it got and she let out an involuntary gasp in pain.
Then she remembered everything.
Her eyes snapped open and she fought against the furs weighing her down to sit up. Her arm screamed in abject agony but she ignored it. Her home had been burning and she needed to know what had happened to her people.
Getting to her feet was harder than she expected. She fell the moment her legs tried to support herself and her injured arm clattered into the wall beside her. Black spots erupted in her vision and she fell forward against the same wall with her forehead pressed against it. Pain like she hadn’t experienced since she was a child flared up so fiercely she could do nothing but dry retch.
That was how Randvi found her, vomiting up the last of the fluids in her body as she tried not to faint.
“Gods Eivor!” Randvi exclaimed in shock, immediately running to the fallen Drengrs side. “I cannot leave you for a moment it seems,” She soothed angrily as she grasped Eivors uninjured side and hauled her with surprising strength back into bed.
“No- I can’t- need to be up-“ Eivor tried to struggle but there was a roaring in her ears and her vision blackened. She lay panting hard on the bed, as Randvi tended to her arm.
“You have opened some wounds, I will need to get the healers to dress them again. Please do not move.” Eivor wasn’t even aware of Randvi leaving nor her returning with several women who chided her in the same motherly tone that Randvi had seemed to have adopted when speaking to her. She wanted to scream and shout at them, but she was in too much pain. Each bandage they peeled off felt like they were physically peeling off her skin. A rag had been unceremoniously shoved into her mouth but did little to quench her screaming.
“She will wake up the other patients.” One of the women said, before sheepishly saying a muttered “sorry,” Eivor didn’t see the exchange but she imagined that Randvi must have fixed her with a stare so fierce that she could do nought but cower and grovel, Eivor had been on the receiving end more times than she liked.
Thinking about Randvi helped marginally with the torture she was being accustomed to. She could hear herself screaming and crying out, could feel fresh tears on her cheeks, but all of these things felt so far away as if she was watching them outside of her own body.
She wasn’t sure when she actually lost consciouness, or if she even had completely but rather that her mind had simply switched off to protect herself from the torture. She lay as still as she could, her breathing still ragged in her ears, but she was no longer aware of any other presence near her other than Randvi. Both of her hands held her right one, and she could feel the scar Randvi had on her thumb beneath her fingertips. It was comforting as she swayed between the world of consciousness and sleep. She wanted to so badly but she needed to know the question that had been on her lips since she’d woken. With the greatest difficulty she managed to open her eyes and seek Randvi out who looked as exhausted as she felt.
“How many?” She rasped out, her throat raw and aching. Randvi’s carefully guarded expression didn’t change, as if she’d been waiting for this question as well.
“Four.” She replied simply, the grip tightening on her hand the only outward sign of Randvi’s agony. Eivor’s jaw clenched hard and she felt her eyes water. Four, such a small number but almost infinite to her. Four lives lost to the flames that had ravaged her home. Four lives that were lost without honor, there would be no hero’s welcome for those souls that banged on Odin’s door, for he would not answer.
“Swanburrow?” She asked, the weariness of the grief and agony, both physical and mental, was pulling her down and threatening to consume her. Randvi’s stoic face didn’t change, Eivor was almost impressed at her resolve and strength.
“One of the four.” Eivor closed her eyes, the pain too much to bear. Her skin burned in agony and it was for nothing, she had failed, she had failed so badly in her duty. She was sworn to protect Swanburrow for Hunwald and now she was only a memory, just a reminder of her greatest mistakes. She let the aching of her arm and the agony in her chest lull her into a tormented sleep.
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Eivors dreams were afflicted. Hunwald and Swanburrow weaved in and out like demons swathed in black. They plagued her, whispered insults and plucked at her skin. She felt like her entire being was on fire like the one that stole Swanburrow in the night and every time she opened her mouth to beg their forgiveness they forced their hands around her throat and stole the breath from her lungs. Their silent judging, their crucifying of her honor laid her completely bare and she cowered naked in the darkness of her mind.
She tried to wake, but when she did the images only grew worse, her body swathed in sweat whilst hands held her down and pulled all the skin from her body as she writhed in agony unable to get away. Voices called her name, she begged to answer but nothing came out of her mouth. She was lost, drowning in the pain and the agony unable to move. She begged for Randvi, but she did not answer, she cried out for Sigurd but he was silent. Time lost all meaning as her very soul was ravaged and every bit of torture she had inflicted on others was done to her ten fold. She prayed for death to Odin, to Freyya to all of her gods and even the Christian one begging for some sort of release, for mercy from this fiery storm. But all were silent to her pleas and the horror continued without ease.
She gasped for water, her throat as scorched and dry as the home she’d failed to save but in penance for her failures no release was granted and she lay parched, her mouth filled with dust and the crushed up bones of those she had failed. Her body convulsed, every muscle tightly corded desperate for some kind of moisture and she writhed alone in her head. When she thought she could take no more the torture would begin anew, over and over until she couldn’t even remember her own name. Her eyes rolled into her skull under her closed lids and she thought no more lost to the endless agony.
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Something was different this time when she awoke, and her heart thrummed wearily in her chest. Gone where the images of slain foes, and lost friends. The fire that had plagued her was no longer present and although exhausted beyond anything she’d ever felt, she was conscious enough to remember things more clearly than she had in a while. She groaned when she moved, her left arm was strapped tightly to her body and she could not move it an inch. She sighed and lay back against the coarse pillow under her, that simple movement had knocked the wind from her lungs and a wave of nausea washed over her. She breathed heavily through her nose, eyes clenched shut until it passed. She tried again, it was extremely difficult forcing herself to sit up when part of her body wasn’t cooperating but she managed to pull on the sheets below her with her right hand and force her tired and weary body into an awkward sitting position. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, willing herself not to throw up. She ignored the cramp in her muscles as she slowly slid her legs to the edge of the bed. The light from the small window highlighted the greyish skin of her ankles and calves. She was wearing nothing but bandages around her chest, feet, hands & left arm and a pair of underclothes that fell to her knees. She sighed when her bandaged feet hit the cold ground below them.
The room wasn’t one she recognised, it was puritan bare with no Viking adornments. The only furniture was a simple bed, table with a metal jug and cup on it and a pile of bloody rags in the corner. This was definitely not home, and if she had to guess, it was not any Norse or Dane establishment either. The symbol of the Christian God had been hammered onto one of the walls and she couldn’t for the life of her work out why she’d be somewhere like that. What had come to pass that she found herself here? Was it friend or foe waiting for her beyond the wooden door?
Getting to her feet carefully she expected the dizziness and was not disappointed by the sheer intensity of it. She took a single step forward and her legs shook violently, nearly threatening to send her tumbling to the earth but she did not falter. Each step felt like learning to walk for the first time, her limbs trembled and the sweat poured from her brow. She was unabashedly panting by the time she reached the door, and had only a moment's thought that should there be an enemy beyond, she would likely not have the strength to fight them.
The hallway was as empty as her room, but she could hear whispered voices that made her ears prick and the odd cough echoing around the cold chamber. Her feet slapping against the cold tile almost covered the sound of her labored breathing but she didn’t stop on her quest to find answers. It felt like an age but she finally made it to yet another door where she could hear loud voices behind it, she swallowed thickly before twisting the handle. Immediately her senses were overwhelmed, the sounds, the smells, the brightness of the room made her head spin and she leaned heavily against the door frame to stop herself from falling over. A familiar flash of red entered her vision and she was swallowed up by the reassuring pressure of Randvi against her body.
“You are awake, I feared you’d never come back.” The table maiden whispered into her ear with a voice cracking under the weight of a thousand emotions.
“Where did I go?” Eivor responded as similarly affected as Randvi. She was so overwhelmed by everything and the pain that she just focused on the woman in her arms. Randvi pulled back slightly, her blue eyes swimming with tears. Eivor could count on one hand how many times she’d seen Randvi cry, she wanted to wipe them away, but her left arm was still bandaged to her side and her right was desperately clutching at Randvi’s furs to stop herself from falling.
“Somewhere I could not follow.” Was Randvi’s sad reply, before she wrapped an arm around Eivors uninjured side and led her to a large table in the middle of what appeared to be a bustling kitchen.
“Ah the mighty Drengr returns to us,” A voice laughed behind her and she was surprised to see Sigurd leaning up against the wall, a goblet of something steaming in his hand.
“Sigurd,” Eivor whispered, embarrassed at the weakness in her voice. Her brother smirked at her before joining her at the table, his long legs tucking carefully underneath with ease.
“You look like fresh shit little sister,” He said with a smirk, if seeing her with the woman who was once his wife bothered him, his face did not show it, for which she was both a little ashamed and glad, she did not have the energy to fight him on this. She smiled fondly at his words, as coarse as they were, they were said with affection and despite the ache she felt, they were oddly comforting.
“No worse than usual then,” Randvi added, sitting beside her and forcing a cup of something hot into her hand. Clearly the friendship between Randvi and Sigurd had remained as promised and she once more found herself on the wrong end of their teasing. She allowed herself a moment of stillness, breathing in the warmth of the liquid under her fingers, and the more reassuring heat of Randvi pressed firmly against her uninjured side. She had a thousand questions, but for now she was content to be the butt of her family's jokes.
“Where are we?” She finally asked, the broth in her hand restoring a little of the energy she had lost making her way to this room. She was beginning to feel more like herself, and despite the constant ache she was ready to hear the truth. Randvi and Sigurd shared a look that did not go unnoticed by Eivor, her frown deepened as she watched two of the most important people in her life clearly debate how much they ought to tell her.
“You are in Lincoln, being tended to by the Acha and the sisters of this hospice,” Sigurd was never one to mince his words and for a moment everything stilled. The realization of being sent to a hospice was a bitter one to swallow, the Hospice of the Christian God was usually where the near dead were sent. She fought to keep her anger in check, had her own clan simply given up on her and shipped her off to die without honor? She swallowed thickly remembering Swanburrow, no they were right, she had no honor left. And here, Lincoln of all places, the former home of Hunwald, a place where she had once visited with him searching for his father. Well the irony stung worse than any blade had, she wanted to get up and run away, the realization too much.
“Stop it,” Randvi chided softly beside her, proving once again to Eivor that she was more than mortal, clearly capable of reading her mind, “You have been very ill, walking a line between this world and the next. But the mighty Eivor does not get to die like that, not without axe in hand. When word got out you were injured, the whole country begged to help you. It was Swanburrows family that carried you here, and Hunwalds people who cared for you. You are not at fault for their deaths, only you put that blame upon yourself.” Randvi gripped her chin hard, staring into the very depths of her soul, ashamed at what she would see there Eivor tried to look away but Randvi would not let go.
“What of Swanburrow?” Eivor asked thickly instead, her head was reeling and her soul hurt with more than sadness that despite her failings, the people of Grimsby and Lincoln had wanted to save her.
“She was given a proper warrior's burial by her family.” Randvi replied simply, letting go of Eivors chin and wiping a non-existent piece of dirt from her white bandages. “You have been here for several weeks.” She added cautiously, her blue eyes shining with an emotion Eivor was too tired to read.
“Ravensthorpe?” Eivor muttered mutely, the realization that she hadn’t been there for her clan weighed far heavier on her than she thought.
“Several of the homes had to be rebuilt, the stock pile of resources you had built up allowed us to move quickly. The actions on the night spared many of the other properties though the forge will need to be relit.” Sigurd answered matter of factly. Eivor could feel a cold dread run through her body and the accompanying shiver made her wounds ache. She found it oddly comforting, she had failed her clan when they had needed her most. Her first real test as Jarl and she was not there for it. Rather the man who was once their leader was instead.
“Eivor, you did everything you could. You musnt blame yourself.” Randvi repeated softly, though Eivor could sense its half heartedness, she would always shoulder the weight of this failure and her lover knew it.
“Randvi is right, Eivor.” Sigurd added, adopting the same tone of voice as his former wife as if speaking too harshly might push Eivor back into the unconscious state she’d been in for weeks. “The night watch fell asleep and paid for it with their life, a new rota has been implemented to stop this happening again. Your quick actions saved the village, and your diligence to always have supplies on hand meant the rebuilding work was completed in days rather than weeks.”
Eivor didn’t reply, it was easier to keep quiet than it was to admit all of the hatred and guilt she was holding inside. She knew Randvi had an inkling, her hand was rubbing soft circles on her back but she shied away from the contact, she didn’t deserve the comfort, she sought refuge in the feelings of failure that threatened to pull her undone.
They talked some more, Randvi and Sigurd held most of the conversation whilst Eivor grew more and more despondent as the tiredness ate into her like a rot. She was practically slumped against Randvi, her unfinished broth stone cold in her hand. She barely remembered the two of them helping her to her feet, the morning light was starting to peek in through the shuttered windows as they practically dragged her back to the dimly lit room she’d woken in. Randvi stayed with her, helping her under the covers as if she’d done it a million times. Eivor didn’t want to sleep anymore, half afraid that she would not wake for weeks again and half afraid that she would not.
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The next few days passed in a blur of pain and anger. The wounds on her hands and feet were healing nicely, so said the nuns and Valka who had been staying at the Abbot as well to aid her. But the issue was her arm. It had been strapped tightly to her side as she had been gripped by a blood poison which had caused her to thrash about constantly reopening the fragile burns. Valka was adamant that the arm would never heal right, that the wounds went deep to the bone and would cause agony and sickness for the rest of her life.
“You really should consider removing the arm.” Valka had said bluntly one day as Randvi and the nuns had helped hold Eivor down whilst they had changed the bandages. Eivor felt sick every time she looked at the mutated molten black skin that had once held some of Svends finest work and now his memory too had been lost to the fire.
“Valka,” Randvi had snapped angrily as Eivor thrashed on the bed, a piece of cloth shoved unceremoniously in her mouth doing little to mute the screams.
Eivor hadn’t answered, she couldn’t, the pain too intense to form words. But she thought Valka might’ve had a point. The arm had been healing badly, tying it to her body had kept some of the wounds from reopening but the healing skin had left it tight and unmoving. Her fingers bent inwards the burnt skin on her wrist grotesquely reshaping her arm into something barely recognisable as human. She thought of Sigurd often, how well he had coped without the loss of his arm, but he was no warrior anymore. Would she suffer the same fate? All her life she’d only ever known how to hold her axe and her hammer, how could she without both of her limbs? But the alternative was a misshapen mockery of a human arm, useless and agonizing.
“What should I do Randvi?” Eivor asked the older woman as they sat outside in the sunlight in the courtyard of the hospice later that day. “The arm is dead, but what sort of warrior would I be without it?”
“You would be no less of the warrior you were before, you have always faced adversity and you have always triumphed, this is just another battle.” Randvi replied quietly, her red hair blowing softly in the late summer wind. Eivor thought she had never looked more beautiful. “You are not Sigurd, Eivor.” She added firmly, causing Eivor to look away in shame.
“I don't want to lose it, so much has already been taken from me, I refuse to have pieces of me chipped away as well.” Eivor stood abruptly, swaying slightly as she did but quickly finding her balance. “I want to fight again, I want to lead our clan again, I want to hold you properly again. I don’t care what pain it costs me to do that.” Randvi stood up as well, her robes swishing lightly around her like a valkyrie swathed in blue. She stepped forward towards Eivor, her forehead resting firmly against the smaller woman’s.
“Then we will find a way.” She said simply, her eyes closed and breathing in the warmth of Eivor, alive and with her.
“I love you Randvi,” Eivor replied, stepping back slightly to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Randvi’s ear, “I know I do not say it enough, but I do, with every bone in my body. Thank you for staying with me, I promise I will get stronger, I will make you proud.”
“Oh love,” Randvi answered, grasping hold of the hand Eivor had on her cheek, “you have always made me proud.” Their kiss was soft and sweet, full of promises for the future and the hope of better days to come.
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“You know my feelings on the matter, Eivor, but if you wish to save the arm, there are a few things I can do. But they will not be gentle.” Valka looked resigned and not at all surprised that Eivor had decided to fight for her arm. In fact, she had already prepared an elixir that would help.
“When have I ever been known to like anything gentle Valka?” Eivor said with a wink though her heart was hammering in her chest at the thought of more pain. The arm had been laid bare and it looked as bad as ever. The skin was charred black and red, still bleeding in places that wounds had reopened when the wraps had been removed. It would no longer flex straight and her fingers would not even wiggle held tightly in place by the badly healed skin.
“This is a creation of my own making.” Valka said solemnly holding up the foreboding black liquid, “It was designed to quickly pull the skin of an animal. I have diluted it and I will pour it over your arm. I will then make cuts into the tightest areas and allow the arm to stretch properly. Hopefully allowing you the use of it once more.”
“If this doesn’t work?” Eivor asked, swallowing thickly.
“Then you will be in agony for the rest of your life, or you will lose the arm, the choice will be yours. Do you still wish to try this?” Eivor looked at her twisted arm and the knife in Valka’s hands. She knew this would be excruciating, but somehow the thought didn’t put her off as much as it should have. She deserved this pain, for all the lives she’d taken and the ones she’d failed. She would weather this storm and she would rise above it once more. Just like when she was a child and became the wolf kissed, she would become a phoenix, rising from the ashes of this mistake.
“Yes, I’m ready.” She bit down on the piece of leather Valka had shoved carelessly into her mouth. It was just the two of them, Randvi had instructed the nuns that no matter what anyone heard, they were not to enter the room. Then she had sat herself outside the door, close should Eivor need her, but unwilling to watch.
Eivor watched with apprehension as Valka poured the solution directly onto the sensitive skin of her arm. At first she relaxed slightly as the pain she was expecting didn’t come and nothing seemed to happen. She was about to remove the leather strap and laugh when it started. It was a cold dull ache to begin with, as if a Jotun had gripped her tightly and refused to let go. Very soon though she let out the first grunt of pain, the cold burn becoming a searing agony that seemed to bite through her very flesh right down into the bone. She was openly screaming when Valka dug the knife deep into her wrist, the tendons in her bicep, the crease of her elbow. The blood poured thick and warm as the freezing cold seeped further into her. She was thrashing about, her good fist almost colliding with Valka’s face until Randvi had appeared from nowhere, grabbing her and holding her tightly.
The pain felt never ending, she begged for it to be over but as soon as it would start to lift, Valka would begin all over again. The mixture would be poured on her bleeding arm, the knife would draw deep welts on her skin and Randvi would hold her tighter whispering into her ear that it would be over soon, just a little longer. But it wasn’t over, and everytime she thought she couldn’t take it her mind would spit at her “You wanted this. You begged for this. You took the easy way out.”
She retched violently, Randvi had just enough time to tip her sideways and allow her meager breakfast and the leather strap to hit the floor with a sickening thud. Her breathing was ragged, her screams unabashed and when her eyes rolled up into her head she was glad that Randvi was there to catch her.
She was out for only a few minutes, but it had been long enough for Valka to redress her wounds and to quietly leave the room. Randvi had cleaned up her mess and was sitting reading a report beside her on a chair by her bed.
“Is it done?” She rasped, her voice tired and sore from her screams. Randvi sighed and put the letter down.
“The first session is over, yes, Valka says you will need several more before she’ll know if you will get the full range of motion back.” Eivor tried not to reel at the idea that this was only the first of many, she was strong yes, no stranger to pain, but she wasn’t sure if she could take that again. Randvi refused to meet her eyes and Eivor knew she was mad at her.
“You think I’m wrong to do this? Or vain?” She asked picking at the loose threads on her bed clothes. Randvi sighed heavily again, suddenly looking a lot tireder than Eivor had ever seen her.
“I think you are doing what you believe is right. I do not think you are doing this out of vanity. You and I both know you do not think any less of Sigurd because of his injuries, nor do I think you would allow this to hold you back, you would find a way to still be you regardless.” Randvi paused, biting her lip.
“Randvi?”
“I can’t do this, Eivor, I can’t be the one that holds you down whilst agony is inflicted on you. I can’t be that person that holds you so tightly you are sick.” Randvi stood up suddenly and started pacing around the room. “It isn’t fair on me and I won’t do it.”
“Ran-”
“No!” Randvi cut her off sharply, her pale cheeks flushed red in anger. “I do not want to hear what honeyed words you have to say. If our roles were reversed could you do it? Could you hold me whilst someone tortured me even if it was for my own good?” Eivor looked at her hands, the bandages on her right had been removed the previous day and the skin was still pink and new, the first stages of healing.
“No. You know I couldn’t.” Eivor admitted swallowing thickly as her jaw clenched tightly.
“Then don’t ask it off me.” Randvi breathed, her voice cracking with unshed tears. Despite the warm summer day the room felt like Jotunheim itself and Eivor shivered violently. “There is a matter in Ravensthorpe that needs attention.” Randvi said without any emotion after an eternity of silence. “It is nothing for you to worry about, a trading issue, but- But I have neglected my duties there for too long.” Eivor looked at her with a frown deepening in between her brows.
“You are leaving.” She said rather than asking, already knowing the answer.
“Yes, this afternoon.” Randvi replied simply not meeting Eivors eyes. “I will write to you Eivor, I’m not leaving you.” She stressed making her way back to the seat by the bed. “You need time to heal Eivor, and I need to make sure there is a home for you to come back to. I can’t do that here.”
“But Sigurd-” Eivor mumbled quietly before Randvi cut her off again.
“Sigurd is in no place to lead. He has already returned back to his travels now that you are on the mend. I cannot stay here any longer, not whilst Ravensthorpe has no leader.” Eivor felt like Randvi had punched her in the stomach, taking all the breath from her lungs. But she wasn’t wrong, when Sigurd was gone all those years ago Eivor had been there, then when Eivor had been sent on her endless task to build bonds here in England Randvi had been the one at the head of the table, the one leading their people, the perfect Jarlskona. Now she needed to be that again.
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Randvi’s first letter arrived only three days after she had left. When she had kissed Eivor fiercely, leaving her breathless before getting on her horse, and then, along with Sunniva, had disappeared into a heat haze on the horizon. Eivor had sat staring at the same place for hours before her growling stomach had finally reminded her that she hadn’t eaten all day. Her arm hurt but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.
Randvi’s letter had been hastily written, she’d made it home, there was a small incident with a rogue bandit but he had been swiftly incapacitated with a quick blow from her hammer. The clan was safe and well, they sent their love. She would see her soon. Eivor had crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and squeezed it as hard as she could. She didn’t reply.
The second letter came a week later, Valka had left it until after their session and she had been nearly crying in pain when she’d read it. Randvi had dealt with the trade issue, Azar had offended some wealthy Saxon who hadn’t delivered on his end of the deal. Normally Eivor would’ve been the muscle they’d send to fix it but some of her Jomsviking had been sent instead and the issue resolved surprisingly peacefully. They had started to stockpile for the coming winter, the harvest was nearly ready as summer turned to fall and their supply of wood was poor given they had used a large portion of it to rebuild. She missed her, and hoped that her sessions with Valka were going well. Eivor didn’t crumple this letter up, instead she let it fall onto the fire in her room watching as the words were eaten up by the embers just like Swanburrow, just like her arm. She didn’t reply.
By the time the seventh letter came nearly three months had passed, two months of endless agony and never ending pain. The torture had been immense and the results disappointing at best. The arm could straighten now, but the hand was still tightly coiled and the constant cutting off the skin had made her sick more than once. The worst was four weeks prior and it had left her with nasty smelling sores that bleed in just a breeze and she was unable to do any of her treatments for several weeks nearly undoing all the work she’d done. Randvi’s letters were more of the same, a running commentary of the daily goings of her clan, if it bothered her that Eivor hadn’t replied to a single one she didn’t let it show. She still missed her and was looking forward to her return. Eivor had tried to reply, but she was tired and sore, and felt more like a failure than ever.
Not ever returning was starting to look more and more appealing but she wouldn’t do that, not to her people, and especially not to Randvi. She was impatient, Valka told her often, that she was pushing herself too hard but she had never been away this long before without a valid reason such as war, and the longer she stayed away the more worried she was about going back. Would they blame her? Would they even want her as their ruler? What state would she be going back in? No, instead she burnt this letter like all the rest and went back to her stretching exercises. The sweat dripped down her face and burnt the tender skin on her arm but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going back until she was better, she couldn’t.
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Randvi hadn’t been at all surprised when Eivor had not replied to her letters. She was a woman of few words at the best of times preferring actions over conversation but as the weeks rolled into months the ache in her heart grew heavier and heavier. Valka had kept up a steady stream of letters on Eivors behalf, Randvi wasn’t sure her lover was aware of the exchanges, but she clung to the messages tightly, the last vestiges of hope that Eivor was alive, she was healing and she was safe. The clan missed her terribly, they missed her warm laugh, her kindness, the way she’d throw a feast on a whim and drink them all under the table. They missed the way she would drop everything to help someone in need, to build a new house, fix some sails or just chat with the children. Randvi had started to send letters from the clan along with her own, she knew Eivor had a penance for self loathing and hoped that the warm wishes from her clansmen might spark a response, she remained silent.
The clan missed her but it was nothing compared to how she felt. She longed for the Drengr, their bed was cold and growing colder by the day as winter settled heavily around them. The first snow had already blanketed the clan in its deep white coat and she shivered violently as she stared out over the town in misty morning. She wanted Eivor back, she didn’t care in what capacity, she had missed her before but the strength of her emotions took her breath away. Perhaps it was that they no longer had to sneak around Sigurds back or that they could be together properly but as each day passed and Eivors silence continued she felt little pieces of herself break away. She remained ever stoic on the outside, the perfect Jarlskona keeping her clan safe and fed whilst their Jarl was away. But inside she was growing restless, anxious her skin crawled with anticipation and she didn’t know why.
Chewy had been acting strange all morning, his low growl had just broken her from her train of thought and she lightly rubbed a hand through his mane.
“What is it boy? What do you sense?” She knew he couldn’t understand her, not the way he had Eivor, but it was as if he knew she was lonely and hurting; he had barely left her side since her return from Lincoln, and would curl up at her feet at night. He growled again and she squinted out into the dark winter morning, her eyes straining to see what he could see. The wind moved the trees around her, a horse neighed at the stables and she could just make out the dark shadow that was Valka’s hut beyond. Her hair stood on end and she reflexively let her hand fall to the small blade on her belt. Chewy growled again and then he pounced bounding into the darkness with a snarl on his lips. Randvi’s heart stopped, what silent invader had come to their door? Everyone was asleep, could she rouse the men without being noticed. Chewys growling suddenly stopped, and instead he let out a yelp. Randvi drew her knife and sprinted out after him into the dark, the barely lit torches led her way until she spotted the great white beast on his back, legs in the air.
Randvi’s run stuttered to a stop. A dark stranger knelt beside him and was giving the dog a thorough belly rub, Randvi felt her heart catch in her throat, Chewy only ever rolled over for one person.
“Do you wish to cut me Randvi?” A gruff voice called out, the stranger stood slowly, the hood on their cloak falling down to show their face. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” The stranger grinned, the scar on their cheek glinting in the dawning light.
“Eivor,” Randvi breathed, barely daring to believe the person who occupied all of her thoughts was there. She wasn’t sure who moved first but in less than a breath they were in each other's arms, both of Eivors strong and secure around her. She cried, when she felt it, burying her face into the feathered cloak around Eivors shoulders and breathing her in.
“I’m sorry, Randvi.” She could hear her saying, “I’m sorry it took me so long.” But she shook her head against the skin of her neck and held her tighter.
The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind and a feast. The whole clan was delighted that Eivor had returned and she was passed from person to person who all wanted their pound of flesh. Randvi met Eivors eyes often, smiling softly and laughing gently at the pleading grimace on her lover's scarred lips, despite her teasing she knew she was loving the warm welcome dearly and although she had many questions for her, she let the rest of her people have their time first.
Eivor looked strong, a lot of the muscle she’d lost in the last six months had been built back up and her injured hand, still gloved in her black leather ravens clan bracers, seemed almost normal as she sipped on her mead and shook people’s hands. Only Randvi noticed the slight tremor, the way she shook her fingers out under the table when no-one was watching.
Much later, when the sun had set and Alvis had been delivered safely home his latest poem slurring on his lips, they were finally alone.
Eivor looked tired, she stood with her right hand on the chair that sat at the head of the room, her chair, the one she had earned so deservedly. She had taken off her cloak, dressed in her leather trousers and ornate armor. She must’ve been warm, the sweat pooled at Randvis lower back and on her forehead like a crown.
She stepped behind Eivor, her arms slipping around the drengrs shoulders and rested her head on her right side. “It’s still yours Love, it’s been waiting for you.” She whispered before placing a lingering kiss on the old scar on Eivors neck, she felt her shiver beneath her ministrations.
“I think I need to earn it again,” Eivor replied simply before twisting in the hold and letting her hands drop onto Randvis' hips, “I think I need to earn a lot of things again.”
“Listen to me Wolf Kissed, and listen well.” Randvi took her face with both hands. “You have earned that seat, your title, your respect and my love ten fold.” She kissed her lips lightly, “you will never, ever have to prove to me that you deserve it.” She kissed her again more forcefully this time, satisfied when Eivors hands pulled her impossibly close. Those same gloved hands slid up under the shirt on her back and she shivered as they walked backwards still kissing. Her back hit the wall with a soft thump prompting Eivor to pull away though still close enough that every breath they shared.
“Shall we take this to your chambers?” Eivor whispered against her lips, her hands tugging impatiently at the waistband of her furs.
“Definitely,” Randvi replied not at all surprised when Eivor picked her up as if she weighed nothing, her legs tightened around her hips as her Jarl carried her to their room.
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Later that evening, as they lay panting slightly, skin beginning to cool in the frosty winter air. Randvi was able to get a proper look at Eivors arm. It was worse than she could have imagined, one giant grotesque scar that seemed to go on endlessly. The skin was cracked and raw, a permanent ghastly reminder of the fire that nearly took Eivor from her. She kissed the skin lightly, feeling the warrior shiver underneath her.
“It is bad.” Eivor stated simply, her light blue eyes shining in the candle light.
“Like Hel’s damnation”, Randvi replied, placing another careful kiss on her bicep. “A constant reminder that the great and mighty Wolf Kissed can defeat anything,” She chided softly, laughing as Eivor rolled her eyes.
“Valka says it will still need treatment in the future, that the skin will never heal properly.” Eivor said it slowly, as if scared about what Randvi’s reaction would be.
“I can’t promise I will help her do that to you, but I can promise that I will be there for you after, always.” Randvi answered firmly. Eivor nodded, Randvi could see her jaw clenching with unshed emotion and so she burrowed herself even closer into her. “Sleep my love, we can face our next battle in the morning.” Eivor only grunted and held her tighter. Tonight they would have this moment of still calmness, and whatever they faced next, they would do it the way they always had, together.