• My world was full of nightmares.

    Creatures with gnashing teeth, blood-red eyes, and nasty, writhing bodies tormented my vision. I gasped for air, only to find that it would not come. Panting and struggling, I cried out when a hand struck me, then another.

    Oh gods, oh gods someone help me…!

    “Wake up! Wake up! Skael!”

    The voice was tiny, drowning in the sea of my visions. An enormous maddock with my sister’s—Elgin’s—head in its jaws floated by, squiggling on itself. Alarm swallowed me when I realized that both ends had a mouth full of clashing teeth, sharp as daggers. “No! Noooo!” I screamed.

    A Dark Figure with glowing golden eyes appeared in front of me. “This is the Great Star Wormwood,” He murmured to me. “See, young one, how it destroys…you will be destroyed along with the rest of the world. Trust no one, for all that you know will be stolen away from you…”

    “Skael!” Elgin screamed. “Skael! Raiders! Wake up!” Her head howled in front of me as the Dark Man’s hands wrapped around my throat.

    “Trust no one,” He hissed, and His jaws opened wide, swallowing me into darkness…

    I jolted awake. Elgin was staring, stock-still, at something beyond me. Looking up, I gulped back an uneasy breath. A pair of gold eyes and a pair of blue eyes bore into me. The gold eyes belonged to an almost Elfin man, nearly as slender as I was, nearly as tall, but he was wiry and ropy. A fur vest and cloak swathed him in fur—it smelled like bruin. Did he kill one of our mounts?

    The other man, the one bearing an icy blue stare, was much taller. Easily taller than I, nearly seven feet…he too wore a long cloak and a fur vest, but he also wore a helm made of dragon bones. I swallowed, wetness seeping into my tight harehide breeches. The spike of urine perfumed the air.

    “Who…Who are you?” I quavered.

    “Hush, little child, go back to sleep,” the smaller man cooed in Elvish to my sister. “We only seek your strong, able brother for a journey.”

    “A journey?” I gaped. “I will go nowhere until you tell me who you are!”

    “Sjuld, tell him.”

    Sjuld? Oh gods. Mother had spoken in her letters of a man named Sjuld, a Norseman, who had claimed her, ravished her, and made her fat with child…

    Me…I had been that child…He was my father…!

    And he had never cared for me, never taught me anything…Berggren was more of a father than he was. Boiling anger welled up in me, for this so-called ‘father’ who only wanted me now that it was convenient.

    “You come for me now,” I snapped, “instead of raising me as you should have? Do Norsemen have no honor, that they cannot raise a child? Does a Norseman despise looking at a woman once she is filled with his babe?”

    “You dare much, boy,” the great blue-eyed Norseman snarled. “Be silent.”

    “Min fylkir, please do not talk to my son that way.” Sjuld smiled. “Come with me now. I am here to take my duty for you. You will be a Norseman as we are, and battle long and hard for the right to enter Valhöll.”

    “I do not believe in such a heathen place,” I murmured. “And you cannot force me to do a thing I do not want!” I dashed to the windeye and shoved it open.

    “Norsemen!” I screamed. “Norsemen! To arms!” I howled until my lungs nearly burst, and my voice cracked and squeaked with pain. The Norsemen simply laughed at me, as if they believed no one could threaten them.

    The door cleaved open! In strode the long, lean Berggren, sword held at the ready. His long hair swept around him as he parried the great Norseman's axe away. “You Norse bastards, begone!” he cried. “Leave the children alone! If you want a fight, ‘tis me you want, not them!” He whipped his head to the side briefly. “Skael! Run!”

    “What about Elgin?” I twittered.

    Elgin peeped out from under the trundle bed. Go! her fearfully darting eyes said. They won’t find me under here, I’m much too small!

    Running to the bedtable, I seized my bow and quiver of arrows. It was half-full; perhaps I could escape…

    “Go! NOW!” Berggren bayed.

    I wasted no time, and leapt out the windeye, bashing my head. Stars exploding behind my eyes, I weaved around, and narrowly missed an arrow strike. Without thinking, I notched an arrow of my own and shot it into the darkness in my attacker’s direction.

    A gurgle sounded in the air, and I ran.

    “Come back here!” a deep voice boomed behind me. I turned my head for a moment, and gasped fearfully. A massive Moor, swinging a sword, advanced on me rapidly with long, reckless leaps. Notching another arrow, I aimed and shot, and it sank with a kwip! into his abdomen. He roared and ripped it free, catching my back with the sword’s point.

    White-hot agony exploded in my spine. Frigid air blew into my naked wound, stinging cold, and I leaped high in the air, barely landing on a roof’s edge. I dashed and dove down the rooftop, onto a pair of Norsemen.

    Oh gods, no!

    I screamed as they seized me with arms that reeked of sweat, dirt and seawater, and breathed rancid breath into my face.

    “You’ve given our master Sirius quite a trouble,” the left one said roughly, my neck in the lock of his arms. He squeezed, and I gasped for air, violet blooming behind my eyes.

    “Let me go!” I wailed. The burly Norseman simply slung me over his shoulder, running past Durian’s men as they shot arrows at us.

    “Stop! Stop!” Berggren cried. “You’ll hit the boy!”

    I chanced a glance at him, from where my head beat against the Norseman's back. A long slash bisected his chest, but other than that, he appeared none the worse for wear. Quailing at his expression, I ducked my head and hoped he hadn’t hurt my father.

    But why did I care for that b*****d?

    The men deposited me in front of Sjuld, and I saw my father in the light for the first time.
    His hair was long, flax-blond, and hung in braids over his bare skull. He was slender; many livid red scars marked his body like a game-trail. One carved across his nose, and a thinner, longer one along his cheek.

    He tilted his head askew, looking at me with an appraising eye, as though I were a rare treasure.

    I gazed at him, tears blurring my sight. “Why take me from my home?” I managed to whisper.

    “Because you are mine,” he returned just as soft. “Now come. If you do not of your own will, we will kill anyone who tries to keep you here.”

    “Bastards,” I choked, but stood and clutched my bow. Sjuld handed me a quiver—I hadn’t noticed I’d lost mine—and smiled.

    It was empty. I had no idea what he was smiling about.

    “This is magical,” he murmured. “It will fill when you need the weapon. We are Wizards, child, and you are born of a Wizard’s seed. You are special. Now come, your true destiny is waiting.”

    “Good-by, child,” Berggren whispered. “I hope you come back to us.”

    “I will find a way, Berggren.” I gave a little sob and followed Sjuld down the snowy path made by many tromping boots, and looked neither left nor right. I simply concentrated on Sjuld.

    “You know,” a voice said from behind me, “you need not cry. We do not intend to hurt you.” A hand caressed my shoulder.

    I looked up into the great man’s blue eyes. A surprisingly kind crinkle was caught in the corners, their color a mild cornflower. Swallowing, I placed my hand in the one he offered.

    “Hush, little one.” The man—wasn’t his name Sirius?—spoke with a low, comforting drone. “Hush. We will not hurt you. If you are to be a Norseman, you must be strong.” Slowly he drew close to me, knelt, and kissed my forehead. “Shhh. It’s all right. I swear by my goddess we will not hurt you.”

    “Which goddess is that?” I asked.

    “Freyja.” Sirius smiled. “She is a gracious and loving goddess.”

    “I follow Altair.”

    “As well you may,” Sirius murmured. “I do not.”

    The two of us walked together behind Sjuld, up the gangplank of a great-ship. I gulped and asked, “Is there somewhere I may rest? I am cold, and sleepy.”

    “You may rest either in my chambers or with the thralls in the hold. ‘Tis your choice.”

    “I believe I would rather rest with them.”

    “Then go down the stair; it is warmer down there than it is up here. There are furs you can lie in, and food if you need it.” Sirius squeezed my shoulder, and urged me, “Go, before you catch the grippe.” He patted my rump.

    I stared up at him, violated. “I didn’t ask you to touch me like that.”

    “Don’t fear, little one, ‘tis nothing but a comfort. Apparently ‘tis not so comfortable for you.” Sirius frowned a bit, searching my eyes. “So be it, then. I will not touch you again.”

    He walked off, his shoulders drooping. A terrible pang pierced my heart. Did I hurt his feelings? I didn’t mean to, but by the goddess, no one had ever touched me like that. I felt odd and naked.

    “So, my son.” Sjuld stood behind me. “You’ve already hurt min fylkir’s heart. He was not one of the men who wished to bring you here. It seems he has taken a liking to you.”

    I lowered my head. “He is free to do so. I cannot say whether I have taken a liking to him or not. I am going below deck.” Turning around, I looked my father over. So young…he couldn’t be more than twice my age. And for a Wizard, that was almost nothing.

    “To sleep?” Sjuld’s frost-blond brows rose.

    “I am tired,” I whispered.

    “Then go, child. We have no need of you at this moment.” He sighed. “‘Tis a still night in our sails, though the wind does blow. What enchantment is this?” At my expectant brow, he lifted his shoulders in indifference. “Likely nothing.”

    My lips compressed, and I stepped down the deck to the stairs, giving my father one last glance.

    And as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard laughter. I perked my ears and listened, but they were speaking in the Norse tongue; I couldn’t understand it. Perhaps I would have done better to listen to Berggren’s teachings of the outside world.

    Just-grown boys of every size and race lay cuddled into dusty furs. I worked my way past them to the corner, where no one was lying—looking up, I saw why. Water was dripping down the wall…and ‘twas likely cold. I feared I would indeed catch what Sirius had warned me against. Balking, I crept out of the corner.

    But there was no other place to sleep. There were, however, a few furs laid atop a barrel, so I tugged one off and held it in my arms, stroking it. Thick fur, but sparse hide. I didn’t know what kind of creature it had been—it was sandy-colored with black rosette-spots.

    I yawned and struggled to the corner, snuggling myself against another thrall. He sleepily opened his eyes; they were glazed, dull green. After a second more they closed again and he was still once more.

    Looking up at the ceiling, I wondered what the Norsemen were doing above deck. I closed my eyes, sighing, and soon a shadow fell over me. Pretending to slumber, I waited for whoever it was to leave.

    Gently, slowly, an unshaven cheek rubbed against mine, and a pair of smooth, silky lips pressed to my forehead.

    “Sleep well, rekkr,” the gruff Sirius whispered above me. I shivered as his long, dark curls tickled my neck, and he placed a hand on my skin. Seemingly deciding I was too cold, Sirius wrapped me in another fur—was it his cloak?—and carried me up the stairs.

    And in his arms, I succumbed to sleep at last.