Page 3 of Ravager

I stepped into the dark wooden hut, leaving the door open so I’d have some light from the waking sun. It was a throne with a view, and the dull field slowly warmed to a golden beige as the clouds lightened from the east. I could see the small, huddled shape of our home as well as the two others on the crest of the hill, where the Fornier and Duval families took care of the dairy and wheat. Behind our home, down the slope and through more shedding oak and maple, was the outline of Marc’s house. Beyond that sat the tiny fishing port with its boathouses and the modest dwellings of the fishermen.

A trail of smoke rose from Marc’s home, and I squinted at it. They were up awfully early if they already had a fire going at full blast.

Perhaps he’s having as much trouble sleeping as I am,I thought curiously. I hoped Marc would keep his mouth shut and spare his brother from the news.

I slowly stood, pulling down my linen nightshift, when a huge rumble made the door to the latrine shake on its hinges. I stopped, pressing my hand against it, hoping to steady myself as the rumble increased and the ground began to tremble.

What on Earth is going on?It felt like the cows were stampeding, but a quick glance at the fields showed me the cows were still inside the barn for the night.

An uneasy feeling squeezed my lungs, something black and ominous, like my soul had been invaded by a million crows. And that’s when I realized the smoke wasn’t coming from inside Marc’s house—itwashis house. It was on fire, and in seconds, orange flames were licking at the hay roof.

Marc!

I screamed, but the words failed to make it out of my throat. I pulled my coat tight around me and started running from the trees. I was halfway across the field, the wheat whipping at my legs, when the skies filled with a symphony of noises that made my blood curdle. One of them was the anguished, desperate scream of a man dying. The others were the deep, depraved cries of warriors in battle, men prepared to kill and be killed.

The noise brought my mother and sisters out of our house, running around the corner to see the commotion. By now, Marc’s house was fully engulfed in flames, the fire spreading to the trees and dry grass below.

“Go back in the house!” I screamed, finding my voice again, but it was useless. My family disappeared, no doubt heading toward the fire to help.

Couldn’t they hear the cries? Didn’t they know what it was?I knew the king had been building a resistance against the barbaric Viking raiders in the north. That’s why my brothers and father had been called up eight years ago. My own father had died in battle out west, at the mouth of the River Seine againstthose same barbarians. These Vikings were slowly taking over the north of France, determined to make it their own country.

I didn’t know what to do. The warrior cries grew louder, and the metallic clashing of swords rang out. I prayed Marc was alright, ignoring the irony that we had both been relieved when the Lord decided to keep him working at sea instead of sending him to the army. Now, he was in just as much danger, and I wouldn’t let myself dwell on the thought that he might already be dead.

There was no question, however, that people were dying—fast. The ground continued to rumble as their cries rang out, and the screams filled the nearby forest until birds flew from the trees. I looked over my shoulder and saw the Fornier and Duval families emerging from their dwellings on the hill. They looked confused, brushing off their slumber—until they saw the flames. The realization of what was happening sank in.

I steadied myself and took a deep breath, turning my attention back to the fire creeping toward our home. I had no idea where my family had gone, didn’t know if everyone I knew was alive or dead. For the first time, I felt like my destiny was in my hands, and I toyed with it carefully, measuring the weight. To run toward the flames would surely mean death. I wasn’t a soldier. I was an eighteen-year old girl armed only with the muscles cultivated from years working the fields.

I didn’t know how to fight; I barely knew how to live.

I could turn and run toward the hill. I could borrow Guillame’s horse and ride to the manor to alert the Lord. The Lord was sworn to protect the serfs; that was the whole basis of the feudal agreement. We slaved for him, he provided protection. But our dwellings, so close to the shore, were unprotected, and it would take a while for the army to arrive. Could I hide until then? Or could I help the others and try to fight, even though it would be futile?

I doubted my family would extend the courtesy toward me. Maybe Odette would, perhaps even Giselle, but my mother wouldn’t.

I curled my hands into tight balls and quickly released them. It didn’t matter in the end. I wasn’t a coward, and the life I had been living wouldn’t be too sad to lose. There was also the matter of Marc—someone I couldn’t just forget about, no matter how complicated my feelings for him were.

With as much courage as I could gather, I pumped my arms, sprinting through the field until I reached our home, nearly slamming into the wall from the momentum. I spent a second gripping the hard, splintered wood, its familiarity providing a brief respite of comfort. Then, I hurried inside and looked around for a weapon.

It was obvious my sisters and mother had left in a hurry. Hay from the beds was scattered about my feet, and a knocked-over jug of water had sank into the dirt. There was a butcher knife sticking out of the wall in the kitchen area, something I’d used the night before to slice the head off a chicken. That was about it. My mind raced; I had that gnawing feeling I was missing something.

Of course! My mother’s room! I flung open the door, and there it was. Perched in the corner of the sagging wall was the dull silver gleam of my father’s old sword. It was the one possession of his that had been returned to the family.

When I was younger, my father would try to show me the sword in jest. I’d feel the cool metal under my little fingers and then giggle and run away, as though it had the power to hurt me, even when lying innocuously in his hands. Now, I could feel the sword for what it was—a heavy, long object of great power and understated beauty. I had no idea how to wield it in battle, but I had no choice.

I grasped the molded handle and held it out in front of me, my forearms straining. It would have to do. I maneuvered it out of the hut and into the open.

I had hardly been inside for more than three minutes, but in that time, the dawn had turned to dusk as plumes of black smoke filled the sky. A low hedge along the fence prevented me from seeing the full scene and provided me with a bit of cover. I crept over to the hedge and slinked along it, the branches catching at my coat.

Feeling too encumbered, I slipped my coat off until I was only in my night shift and boots. I was cold and completely indecent, but this wasn’t the time for comfort. The screams had died down, and that was both a relief and a worry. I thought I was going mad hearing them over and over, but now that they were gone, I had to wonder if anyone was left alive. My heart fluttered with the image of brutal Vikings slinking toward me, axes drawn, ready to drink blood from my skull. They could be just on the other side of the hedge, waiting for me with the eyes of madmen.

I tightened my grip on the sword, already slick with sweat from my palms, and in one awkward motion, I leaped around the hedge and out into the open.

For a few seconds, I could do nothing but stare.

It felt like an eternity.

Down by the water, a fleet of six Viking longships had beached themselves on the shore like demonic whales. Every dwelling in front of them was burning in a raging inferno, pumping smoke and flames into the sky. Bodies lay strewn along the road, some with spears sticking out of them, others smoldering with dead fire while a small army of Viking warriors easily fought the remaining peasants and set fire to the grass with burning torches.

I was far enough away that it looked like the Vikings hadn’t spotted me. That was the only good fortune thrust upon me. I couldn’t fight them all by myself.