Page 13 of Shared By the Vikings

The chicken basket fell over and rolled to the stern as they hit a particularly large wave at the moment it collided with another.

Tali slipped from his seat but was quick to rise again. The wind claimed a fur pelt, whisking it upward as though Thor himself had summoned it.

There was no sight of the other boats in their flotilla now. Angry, hissing spray filled the air, stealing her vision, stealing all sense of direction. It was as if a large watery cloak had wrapped around them.

“Where is the land?” she cried.

“It must still be there,” Raud said.

“Odin have mercy.” Fear gripped her. The boat was being tossed around like a twig on a stormy fjord. There was no way of knowing if they were even heading west anymore.

“Aegir is angry with us,” Gunnvar said, dragging at his oar but seeming to make very little difference to the direction of the boat.

Ahead of her, other members of the crew did the same.

She was suddenly flung to the right, and as she landed in a cross-section she saw one warrior, who was not so lucky, catapulted overboard. He yelled and flailed; the last thing she saw was fury in his eyes as Aegir claimed him.

“Hold on,” Erik shouted, glancing at the now empty seat at his side. “We can make this.”

Ingrid wasn’t so sure, but she resumed her seat and hooked her foot beneath a wooden bar to apply some traction. Her contribution to steering the boat was negligible, her shorter arms that meant for nimbleness with a dagger and bow and arrow meant she couldn’t dip into the water as deeply as the big men. But she tried her best.

Another shuddering creak.

Please don’t break apart.

The longboat had been built by skilled carpenters, but even with their expertise it was still only timber. And in the violence of this sea, timber was as delicate as a feather.

“Raud,” she gasped.

“Sit tight, just sit tight,” he shouted over the bellowing wind.

She did just that as the boat pitched to the right then immediately listed to the left and the front rose to the sky. It created a slingshot effect and two more men were lost overboard.

“For the love of Odin,” Tali shouted, glancing her way. “Keep down, boy. We don’t want you to be next.”

She nodded, terror slicing through her and taking the place of the chill in her bones and the aches in her muscles. She didn’t want to go over. She didn’t want to be taken by the chill of the sea, embraced by the waves or visit Aegir. Her dreams were of England, of the green grass, of Raud, of their new life together.

The mast groaned as the boat tipped upward again; it was as if the curled, decorated bow was reaching for Thor.

“We’ve spun around,” Gunnvar shouted. “We’re going the wrong way.” He glanced at the mast—the red and black sail was flapping wildly against it, the way a captured bird of prey would, bating and batting in search of freedom.

“Keep rowing,” Erik shouted. “Keep—”

An ear-piercing crack sounded to Ingrid’s right. She feared the aft of the longboat was being ripped apart and lunged into her efforts with the oar.

“The mast, it’s coming down, look out below.” Tali’s voice.

A sudden thumping pain seared over her head, traveling from above her right ear to her crown.

Everything went black. Silence claimed her. Time stood still.

* * *

The silence was dense, wet, and heavy. And it grew, until it was no longer silence but a curling, whooshing noise sliding through her ears. It mixed with her pulse and spread around her head—a head that was pounding, thudding, aching.

She groaned and became aware of her body. Not floating in water, as she’d expected; she was lying on a hard surface that dug into her shoulders, ass, and heels.

I’m alive.

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