Bile welled in Meldun's mouth, the waves slowly churning the sickness through the corners. Once he could take no more, the putrid yellow fire spilled forth from his gaping maw.
"Your anger shows itself, Meldun" warned his oar-mate, Islief.
The reek clung to his beard and the taste of human rot bathed Meldun's tongue as he continued to relieve his stomach of its contents. Cold salty fish, the only meal he had stomached in the last day, returned to its home. If Aegir had been hosting one of his feasts far below the sultry depths, the god would not be pleased.
His anger churning again inside him, Meldun wondered if the gods were not already displeased with this band of warriors. Nine weeks had passed since sail had been set to join their king in Ísland. The northern island would stage the raiders for the western shores of Bretland and the lesser island of Írland.
"If ever we make land, I intend to bury my axe into the nearest living man. Be warned Egil, I may find myself beside you." The threat towards the sponsor and captain of the party filled the ears of the nearest men. A low grunt of little attention grumbled from Egil, his focus remaining on the fog surrounding them and his eyes darting from sea to sky quickly.
"My stomach would be full and my thighs slick with the stink of a Saxon whore, had we taken Eyjaleid to meet our king. You have cursed us by following Uthafseild. The sea takes us prisoner." raged Meldun, irritation boiling at the lack of respect the young man paid him.
The enraged man had pleaded with Egil to take the route that would keep land no more than a day's sail southward, the Eyjaleid. The raiding party instead took the direct route of Uthasfeild from the western shore of their homeland, Noregur. The route had left them open to the sea, and to the whims of the gods.
Egil continued to ignore Meldun, now exposing his posterior towards the man as he reached his hand into the churning sea. Meldun began forward, axe in hand. An iron grasp took hold of his arm as silent words reached towards him, "Stay your temper lest you find the waters more homely. Continue your whining and I will toss you in myself." Meldun returned the glare of Islief, knowing the man well enough to understand that his threats were not idly made.
"Remove your hand or I shall offer it as sacrifice to the sea."
Isleif remained seated, grasping Meldun only a moment more before returning his hand to its warm home in the pit of his arm. The men were friends but the fog had set a rift between the two.
Sitting beside the bear of a man, Meldun wrapped himself in the shared blanket Islief had kept warm with. The cold had already taken a quarter of the men and he did not wish to join them. Their bodies lie at the bottom of the ocean, keeping the god Aegir company and attending his parties. They would not see Valhalla. They had not died a warriors death.
An eternity of prissy celebration seemed a worthy end for such men, whom could not weather the cold.
The raiders had been stranded in a fog without stars or sun to guide them, wind to push them, or hope of land to keep them sane. Only now that the waves began to roll again did Meldun understand that his hell had only just begun.
A warm wind blew against the ship. Every man could smell what was coming for them and instantly began to secure what little food and drink the ship retained. Men bound the sails as others began to deploy their oars.
Egil smiled at the men and, as his voice washed salty and ragged over them, the fog faded behind their long ship. A dark tempest covered the horizon.
"Thor has come for us."
A drumbeat began to keep rhythm, a medium pace that the men knew would not last long, as swells began to quickly thrash their ship. Steering directly into the nearest wave the men propelled the ship over its briny crest, attempting to weather the storm and keep their ship from capsizing.
Ocean sprayed the men as they battled the waves, lightning flashed as Thor hammered the sea. Egil had clung to the bow, carved in the likeness of a Wyrd. As the ship plunged into each successive trough, it seemed as if he had tamed the mighty serpent and road it into battle, attempting to conquer the terrible storm.
All thought of mutiny escaped Meldun. The rumors had been true. Egil was no man, he was the son of a god, his father punishing Meldun now for his thoughts of betrayal. Thor would not allow such a death for his son, but the god would certainly not save the oarsman if the ship were to sink into the ocean.
After nearly half a days struggle to survive, the storm lessened and the swells shrank. Meldun propped himself against Islief, arms limp and numb from the cold wet oar. Three more raiders had gone to join Aegir.
Islief handed him a leather flask of mead. The honeyed taste reminded him of distant memories as it flowed into his gullet. Thoughts turned to the warmth of a woman under him, moaning and writhing. Her scent had perfumed his bed as the warmth of a gentle fire had warmed his back.
Images of blood stained hands filled his mind.
Savala had bore him three children, but she would bare him no more. He had loved her, as much as a man could love a woman. She had kept her home in order, had known how to read, and had kept his appetite sated but Savala had died an ugly death at the hands of thieving cowards during a raid by a neighboring village.
Until vengeance had been sought, he could not stand to think of the woman. His rage and sorrow of her death overwhelmed any joyful memories of the woman he might entertain.
Meldun would seek council with King Floki upon arrival inÍsland. He knew the men responsible would present themselves at the raids, as was demanded by the king.
Meldun decided, for the moment, to leave the matter where it belonged, smoldering with a black flame in the depths of his heart. It would be best to think of more trivial affairs, lest his anger spill forth again.
"Bjorn, when will your wife give you some little bears? My daughters will need men to marry" Meldun asked Islief using his nickname.
"Soon, or, if not, you shall have to settle for one of my Saxon bastards." replied Islief, musing at the thought.
"It could be worse, I might have had to settle for a Celt bastard. Those red headed whores are quite fiery as you may well remember. Their sons would be half demon in heart." The man chuckled, remembering how a captive Celt prisoner set the old bear's crown ablaze as he attempted to plant his seed. Islief palmed his bald head, still hoping to feel the sandpaper texture of nonexistent scruff.
"Such a bastard would slit my throat from the womb."
"That is if the she-devil did not rip your throat first, Bjorn. Ha! Maybe such a beast of a woman would be best suited for such a bear of a man!" The two chuckled together.
"So long as she is loose enough to accept my Bjorki, she will suit my needs." The two continued to chuckle in silent tired spasms.
"Take the women but leave me the whores, I fear your little bear would make them useless." Meldun jested.
"There will be plenty of whores for us both among the Angles."
"If ever we arrive in Bretland, I intend to prove you wrong."the man boasted.
The thought of plundering the loins of women brought other more serious thought to mind. The oarsman sat in silence and contemplated what plunder he would retain after the voyage. Without sponsorship, he would not have sailed to war with the others but such contracts retain a price.
All plunder returned to his home would be divided in halves. The king would first decide what he wished to tax, Egil would then take his half, and the remaining fourth would be divided between the surviving men. The raiders were not prepared for such a long voyage, few slaves would be taken. Such odds did not bode well for Meldun.
His eldest daughter, Dalla, needed help running their home. With the untimely death of her mother, Dalla had been forced into her duties as head of the family until his return. Poor as he was, Meldun had already turned down two offers for the hand of his daughter. How could he afford to pay her dowry when he could not afford to lose her.
Meldun would not speak of such hardship to another. To show worry would be a shame to him and his daughter, but Islief understood and that is why the bear had not formally proposed for his bastard sons to tie the families together. Meldun would not refuse such an offer, as many fathers would, but it would still be an insult to propose such an illegitimate union. Meldun would have to make the offer before Dalla became a spinster or the other families began to speak of incest.
A new wife would be the solution. Meldun had been offered a suitable bride by a number of families, but he could not come to trust any of them enough to enter into such an alliance. His home stood on the outskirts of their village and, if attacked, his home would not be saved by those that lived within the village walls. How could he trust that the families whom had forsaken his home once would not forsake it a second time
. If only the bear that lived beside him had sired a daughter to become his bride. Then he need not worry that once again he would return to a dead wife and a charred home.
The images returned to Meldun with a furry.
Black wood radiated heat in the cold daylight. Boot prints had trampled his gardens and muddied his paths.
Islief had taken the children and slaves to shelter but Savala had returned to safeguard her dowry. He had only hoped that his untouched barn contained her. It had...
The unbroken gate had given him hope. The barrier had hid the pool of blood mingling mud and excrement. Once removed, the horror of his mangled wife's form could haunt him.
She had been raped by many men, her limp sullied frame was a testament to their cruelty. The stench of her fresh corpse could barely overwhelm the sour reek of sex. Her assailants had bound her, the rope encrusting Savala's chaffed wrists. Her death had been slow.
Only after turning her limp cold figure was he able to realize the true horror of her torture. Her cheeks had lost their rosy splendor, now simply swollen and furrowed. The only thing that helped him to retain his sanity was that Savala's now swollen bloody face resembled nothing of the woman he once loved. Looking to her stomach-
Images of bloodstained hands filled his mind.
Bile returned, the yellow-rot slathering his tongue with a taste to match his thoughts.
Those men would pay.
"Release the ravens!" bellowed Egil.
"Have you spotted land?" inquired one of the men.
"No. Listen, do you hear it?" another man retorted, "Thunder without lightning. Either Thor is playing a trick on us or that is the sound of a cliff."
It was too dark with rain to see but the slow rhythmic crashing of waves slowly became more apparent to the men. Following the ravens, a cliff-side took shape. Massive walls lining the shore led the raiding party to finally make landfall in a cove.
Egil leaped deftly into the water, gracefully swimming to shore, and was shortly reinforced by Islief. The bear stood on in the shallow waters, mute awe overcoming him. Exclamations of joy spread among the the remaining raiders, save for Meldun who, having deftly jumped ship, trudged his way toward Egil.
"Where are we? I do not recognize this land, and the trees are filled with darkness." he questioned anxiously.
"Vinland..." whispered Islief, a plea to remove his disbelief.
"Thor had greater plans for us, my brethren."
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