Page 11 of A Curse Carved in Bone
You could run.
The thought reared in my head, tempting me with its logic. Neither the skald nor the healer had the capacity to stop me, and with her arm broken, Skade wouldn’t be able to draw her bow. Wouldn’t be able to pursue me at all given she could barely walk. Nordeland was a wild place, which meant a person could get lost in it and never be found.
If I disappeared into the wilderness to live in solitude, I wouldn’t be able to curse anyone. Would be hidden from all of the men desperate to use me to gain power.
But running meant never speaking to Saga and never learning the full truth of what she’d seen. Meant losing the only opportunity I had to learn more about the magic gifted to me by Hel with her one drop of blood.
Was that knowledge worth my freedom? Was I an idiot not to take this chance?
My steps faltered, the distance between me and the trio growing without their noticing.
Run.
My body tensed, ready to burst into a sprint. Only for my eyes to catch sight of the familiar glow of Bjorn’s axe in the distance. Fighting on Nordeland’s behalf, yet my bitterness over that fact was tempered by the bodies on the beach. Fishermen who’d died so that raiders might take the few meager possessions they had. Through the trees, I could now see the cowering row of bound prisoners the Islunders intended to take as thralls. Mostly young women. Nordelanders, and yet if not for the magic in my veins, I’d be no different than they were. The wife of a fisherman trying to survive in a harsh world.
Run.
I had no supplies. No knowledge of the land. And with Skade at Harald’s disposal, the chances of being hunted down would be high. A failed escape might mean Harald choosing to have me bound where I currently walked free, making another attempt a far greater challenge.
Better to bide my time.
Better to learn what I could.
Better to…
My thoughts trailed off as a group of warriors burst from the trees, their elaborate helms and yellow-painted shields telling me that they were Islunders. They did not see us because their focus was on their ships. With them, they dragged a group of crying children.
My stomach dropped.
Children were taught at a young age to take the babies and run into the woods to hide during a raid. We were also taught not to clump together. Yet I remembered how fear drove us to one another, clutching hands and holding our breath in our hiding spots. This group had been found.
“No!” Skade stumbled past me only to fall to her knees, blood running down her chin. She staggered upright only to fall again, and then tried to crawl toward the children, glowing arrow clutched in her hand.
Harald had ordered me to protect the village for him. He’d said nothing about defending children on the beach. If Skade reacted, I could not have said, for I was already running.
“Hlin,” I snarled, “lend me your strength.”
Magic exploded over my shield and obscured the Islund colors painted on the wood with its glow. The Islunders were shouting at Harald’s thralls to aid them, to get in the drakkar, but none moved. With their black hoods covering most of their faces—and their expressions—they seemed like statues set in the sand.
I made it halfway down the beach before the warriors heard my steps and turned, but a few strides later, I was on them. The axe was not my weapon of choice, but by the gods I’d chopped enough wood in my life to know how to swing one.
Screaming, I dodged around one warrior and slammed the small axe down on another’s shoulder. Blood sprayed me in the face as I wrenched it out, whirling to take the impact of the first warrior’s sword upon my shield. My magic smashed it away, and as he staggered, I fell upon him and hacked like a woman possessed.
“Behind you!” Skade shouted, and I rolled. An axe came down onmy shield, flinging the female warrior to one side. I stumbled to my feet and barely managed to block a blow from another. The children screamed and clung to one another, and rage burned in my chest that they had to experience this. Had to suffer because those in power always wantedmore more morewith no care for what it cost others.
With a shriek, I took off a warrior’s leg at the knee, my feet sliding in sand made slimy by gore. Yet beyond, more Islunders were fleeing the carnage in the village. Retreating to live and fight another day, and they’d take the children fromme.
You can stop them,Hel whispered in my head.Condemn these slavers of children to my keeping.
No.My stomach twisted even as I slammed my shield into the face of a warrior, finally getting between the Islunders and the children. But there were too many of them.
I could not stop them all.
They’d kill me and take the children.
Curse them, Freya,Hel whispered.Give these wicked men to me and save these children.
“Get back,” I screamed at the warriors, the sourness of desperation rising in my chest. “You leave them be!”
