“Faster.” 

Oars crashed into the water with ferocity upon command, rousing a new spirit among the men as the scent of battle enflamed them. To Brími, it infected him every time with a greater euphoria than the fragrance of sex or the taste of fear from a conquered foe. And with the burning in his arms and the boom of the drums, it took all his strength to remain disciplined from jumping into the sea and swimming to the enemy. He glanced down to see if his sword was in place before the crack of a whip struck just behind his ear, reminding him of the mission. “Eyes forward, Brim.”

“Loose,” Captain Skúli ordered. 

A burning arrow pierced the mist in front of the ship, and a moment later knocked into a tree. It was a sign they were close to the shore, inspiring the men to row faster. Once the light from the flame came into view, everyone stopped and equipped themselves, dropped the anchor and jumped ship the second it slid onto land. Marching up the bank, Brími stripped the arrow from the tree as they passed it, giving it back to the archer. Finally, after several months at sea, they had entered Kielder Forest.

With the light of dawn blinking across the horizon, he knew they had to be quick. They trekked a league or so staying near the shore before he could hear the morning greetings of the village near, and thanked Thor they were downwind of their prey. Once the scout returned the captain split them into two groups, the second in charge of lighting the huts on fire to draw the villages' soldiers away. Brími stayed with the captain. Moments later with the rising of the full sun, smoke coiled into the sky as if chasing it. They waited until the shouts collected towards where the huts were burning, and then charged through the wooden gate with a great roar. 

Coming into what appeared to be the market, they found themselves standing across from mostly slaves and a handful of women. Suddenly, another scout came running from the northwest. 

“Boats! Boats!” Ari said. The captain swore, ordering half of the second group to deal with the slaves and the other half to join him. 

They rushed to the harbor and were met with a handful of spearmen easily slain, only to then hear the cries of dozens of more as they clashed together against their force. Without shields or armor, many of them fell in the first wave, but the villager's skill with spears gave them an edge and there were many more of them than the Nordic horde. Finally, after a few more skirmishes, they began to advance and force the villagers back. 

Stepping back from the fighting, the captain turned to Brími. “Take some men and check the huts for anyone hiding. I don't want to be surprised again.” Brími nodded, taking Ari and a few others. 

They scavenged the homes not far from the shore and found nothing. Eventually, they came upon a Longhouse with a wooden floor. Suspicious,  Brími tore the place apart for any hidden trapdoors with no success. As he was leaving though, he noticed an eye-shaped opening between one of the slacks and stared into it. Adjusting to the light, he saw the flicker of movement and a small pair of eyes of a young girl looking back at him. Instantly, the softest of gasp escaped.

“What was that?” Ari asked. For a moment, the girl's gaze locked together with his as if frozen in time, until at last he blinked and looked away.
“Nothing.” Brími said. “Let's go.”

Returning to the rest of the raiding party, they found over half of the village's men dead and the rest either tied up or unconscious. A couple of the men stood around the women, while the rest brought together any loot into a pile near the center of the village.

“The village is empty, Captain.” Brími said. 
“Good.” He cleaned the blood off his knife before sheathing it. “Kollr, how many men did we lose?” A large bald warrior stepped up while looking around.
“I'd say about eight. Damn spears caught a few of them off-guard.” Skúli grunted, then sighed. 
“How about the booty?”
“Mostly iron or brass. A few trinkets of silver and gold. Decent amount of livestock.” A gnarled look stretched Skúli's face as he looked down on the villagers. 
“Winter's going to be harsh this season.” 

A sudden scream shook the men as they turned to see an old woman in tattered robes and a staff in one hand. Her wrathful expression had an unnatural bony look with bright amber eyes that spoke of secrets unknown to man. 

“Brigands! Thieves! Murderers!” She shrieked. “How dare you seep these ancient stones with innocent blood?!” 

Brími felt a pang of guilt from her judgment, even though he knew there was nothing he could do. The captain simply turned away from her.

“Ari, Kollr, silence the old bird.”

Without hesitation, they unsheathed their weapons and began walking over to her. Yet the hag did not flinch, but glared headstrong at them. 

“Should've stayed hidden, love.” Kollr said. Once close enough, he placed his ax to her neck. “Kneel.” She did not. Her eyes defiant, she simply grinned. “I said knee–...” 

Without warning, a flood of bile poured from his mouth as he grabbed his stomach. Ari too double over in pain and did the same. The old woman began softly chanting strange words and other men fell sick. It seemed to travel from one man to the next until at last it neared the captain and Brími. Nothing appeared to stop it.

“Free yourselves and take vengeance upon these evil beast!” The old lady screamed. At once all the ropes binding the slaves loosened and a second battle begun as Skúli's men tried to fight them and the sickness. Brími found himself unaffected and did his best to avoid the bile while defending his friends. Soon after, almost all of them were dead or dying. 

Standing in the center of bodies, Brími could only stare in disbelief as time and time again he could hear a man's last breath. It wasn't until he heard the clicks of wood against stone did he awake from this nightmare and look up to see the old woman in front of him...and a little girl. 

“I have spared you from their fate for your moment of moral clarity. However, your blade still consumed the blood of my brethren. The bones shall judge ye.” Taking out a small leather bag, she dumped some bones onto the only piece of stone not covered in blood or vomit, and looked at the little girl. The girl sat on her knees to look at them, then up at Brími.

“Can we do it again, nana?” She asked.
“No.” The girl stood up with watery eyes and hid her face. 

At that moment, Brími felt his body clinch like he was constricted by the serpent Jörmungandr himself, and he sword fell from his grasp. The little girl walked up to him, lifted his quilted leather coat, and drove a dagger into his stomach. He grunted in pain and looked down to see the darkest shade of blood pour onto the ground. He understood with it meant. Once the girl dropped the blade he was freed. She pressed herself into the hag's robes, quietly sobbing in sorrow. 

“Be comforted, young man. You shall see the halls.” 

He fell.

[center]‡‡‡[/center]

A sudden spear of pain erupted inside Brími's chest as an icy cold blanketed his entire body. Opening his eyes, he saw a midnight sky cloaked with gray clouds, and he noticed he could neither move nor hear the sounds of the world; not even the gusting winds as they swept the light rain against his skin. Yet as he searched, a pale green light came into his periphery, and the thuds of heavy feet boomed towards him. Finally, a shaded figure rose over him carrying a gnarled staff. 

The light came from a lantern in the figure's hand, of which he lowered upon Brími. The figure paused, tilted its head, and pulled back almost as if disappointed. With a wooden thump of the cane, the figure stepped away out of sight.

“Come, my daughters.” A deep voice spoke.