INGRID
I was sprawled on the cold earth, abandoned by Sten and Ulf, left to perish. Agony surged through my shattered leg. Fjornâs words echoed in my mind, fresh and biting. He had countless opportunities to discard that Saxon woman, yet he chose to make her his wife.
My fingers clawed at the loose soil as I dragged my injured leg behind me. I reached a tree and hauled myself upright. Grasping my leg with both hands, I pushed hard, a scream tearing from my throat as I felt the bone realign. The warmth of my blood seeping into my linen pants was a stark reminder of my predicament.
~Fjorn will regret not killing me himself~, I thought to myself as I struggled to stand. Under normal circumstances, it would be a four-day journey to the nearest clan. With my leg in its current state, it would likely take me seven.
Bending over, my weight on my good leg, I grabbed at a long stick, testing its sturdiness as my mind wandered to the past. Our childhood in our homeland was filled with laughter and camaraderie. Thorsten, Fjorn, and I were inseparable, always causing mischief in the market.
But everything changed when a seer visited our town.
Everyone queued to have their fate revealed. I can still recall the dark tent she resided in.
âEnter, child, and let me reveal your destiny,â she croaked, her skin etched with the passage of time. âDo you wish to see love? Or your fate on the battlefield?â
âLove!â I exclaimed, echoing the desires of the other girls and women in line. I wanted to know if the boy I fancied reciprocated my feelings.
âI see a boy with long braids, holding you close, making you his wife. His name is written in the stones,â the seer declared, casting the stones onto the table. I couldnât decipher them, but she turned to me with a twisted smile. âHis name begins with a T.â
From that day forward, I pursued Thorsten relentlessly. I would quarrel with any girl who dared to look at him the wrong way. As we matured, I watched him step into the role his father had left behind. I knew I could never love anyone as deeply as I loved him. And I was certain he loved me just as fiercely.
I pushed off from the tree, my gait slow as I hobbled along, still wary of the stickâs sturdiness. My mind was filled with a swirling storm of thoughts, each one tied to a different memory from my past.
I remembered the day Fjorn convinced Thorsten to sail to this godforsaken place. I begged Thorsten to stay where we were, but Fjornâs promises of gold and land clouded his judgment. We had only been here a few months, still constructing our home, when the Saxon men attacked.
It still made no sense how we could have been caught so off guard. We were preoccupied with building and learning the territory, not to mention too secure in the belief we knew everything we needed, but we should have been more watchful. No, we just should never have come here.
An arrow pierced through the chest of Thorsten, even as he slaughtered two Saxons easily. I cradled the only man I had ever loved as he bled out, watching the light fade from his eyes.
The Saxons paid dearly, their whole thriving village reduced to nothing but rubble in less than a few hours. No one was left alive, but it didnât alleviate the pain of loss coursing through me. I tried not to blame Fjorn, but as my world crumbled, his only seemed to improve. I watched him for months afterward, drinking and laughing as if nothing had happened.
Then, one night, I waited for him to become stumbling drunk, as he often did, boasting about his prowess as a warrior. My anger reached a boiling point, and I couldnât bear it any longer. I decided to kill Fjorn.
As I stood over him, knife in hand, ready to plunge it into his heart, a memory of my last moment with Thorsten froze me in my tracks. âProtect Fjorn, I beg you.â
Tears welled in my eyes. I yearned to see Fjorn dead, but how could I betray Thorstenâs final wish? I paced his tent all night, knowing that if I killed him, I would be next. I donât know when I fell asleep, but I awoke to Fjorn accusing me of trying to seduce him. It was a better accusation than the truth.
The throbbing in my leg snapped me back to reality. Varg, my only ally, was dead, and I was out of options. âIâm so sorry, Thorsten, but Fjorn and his Saxon bitch must die,â I whispered, pulling myself to my feet and heading toward the Viking village.