clung to Kiera like a limpet.
“Come, Lorna. We must help the adults. You're a big enough girl to help me, right?”
Lorna nodded, confused and sleepy.
“Good girl. Come with me. We have to get the fire going.”
Together, they crawled to the centre of the longhouse.
“Stay right beside me, Lorna, but don't touch anything. The embers are still very hot.”
Kiera grabbed a log and scraped away the thick layer of ash from the hearth. The faint glow of still-warm embers gave her just enough illumination to find bits of kindling. She quickly piled them on top of the embers. Taking deep breaths, she began to blow life back Into the hearth. A small fire caught and, with the addition of several logs, the fire began to crackle and roar.
The women and children, huddled together in their various family groupings, looked to Kiera with terrified eyes but nodded their thanks. The light seemed to make what was happening outside just a little less frightening.
“Go back to your mama, Lorna.”
“But I want to stay with you!” she pleaded.
“Do as I say.” The tone in Kiera's voice was not to be questioned. Lorna let go of Kiera and ran to the lap of her mother at the far end of the longhouse.
Kiera made her way to the doorway. She crouched down beside the frame and looked out. What she saw was a scene that would be fitting for a fevered nightmare. The livestock stable was ablaze with such ferocity that the entire village was illuminated by the frenzied flames. There were the shadowy outlines of sheep and cattle wandering between the buildings. She sighed with relief at the sight of the animals. The men must have freed them in time. Without the animals, the village would have been doomed. Among the buildings, she could see men chasing men, screaming and shouting. Swords were swinging and projectiles flew through the air. It was chaos.
A figure ran towards their building. Kiera was glad that someone was returning. She wanted to know what was happening and if there was anything that she could do to help. She noticed something strange, however, about the silhouette that was quickly approaching. His upper body was completely naked, and in his hand was a long pointed stick that she had never seen used by the Vikings. It was a skraeling!
Kiera spun away from the door and pressed her back against the inside of the log frame. What should she do? Kiera scanned the corner in which she stood. Everything was set up for the morning ritual of making bread. The stone quern for grinding the flour sat next to the wooden kneading trough and iron baking plate.
A terrifying scream pierced the inner sanctuary of the longhouse. A short, broad-shouldered man leapt into the entranceway. His eyes burned with anger, feeding on the frightened screams of the women and children. Black lines, etched around his eyes and streaked along his cheek like the wings of a mighty bird, added to his nightmare appearance. In one hand, he held a bloody spear. He raised it, choosing his target. He took a step towards Ingrid, who, wide-eyed and frozen in fear, held her three young children to her waist.
His second step never touched the ground as the iron baking plate crashed into his stomach, doubling him over. Kiera heaved on the long, metal handle, raising the impromptu weapon above her head, then brought it crashing down hard onto the back of his skull. With a grunt, the intruder collapsed face-first onto the ground before her feet.
The entire building went quiet. The women stood together and simply stared at their prostrate attacker. Kiera didn't hesitate. She grabbed him by the legs and dragged him away from the entrance and into the corner of the building. She returned to the door, checked outside, then looked back towards the families. She nodded at the woman whose life she had just saved.
“Ingrid, we need rope.”
A minute later, Ingolf, Ingrid's husband, arrived back at the longhouse, limping badly.
“We just chased the last one away. Is everyone well?”
Then he saw Kiera and Ingrid, with their knees on the skraeling's back, finishing off the final knots.
His jaw dropped. “What happened?”
“Kiera just saved your family—with this.” Ingrid held up the baking plate.
Ingolf's expression went from shock to a relieved smile. “Thank the gods. And thank you, Kiera. How did you manage that?”
She shrugged, modestly. “I guess Erick's sword lessons have come in handy.”
Ingolf winced. He remembered the number of times during the long winter months he had chided the young man for teaching a woman, a slave for that matter, the art of sword warfare with the wooden practice blades. As he limped over to help move the heavy prisoner, he raised his right hand.
“I promise never to tease young Erick about the lessons again.”
Kiera grinned with pride.
Ingolf sat down heavily against the wall, where the women tended to the bleeding wound in his thigh. In a few minutes, they had the bleeding under control. They raised his injured leg off the ground with several folded blankets. It was then that Bjorn returned. He was there only for an instant, but the words he uttered sent a wave of relief throughout the longhouse.
“It's over.”
Early the next morning, the entire village gathered around the charred mound that had once been the animal stable. Everyone murmured quietly, still trying to digest the events of the night. Thorfinn raised his hand to quiet them.
“The attack that occurred last night was a shock to us all. Our animal shelter is gone. One sheep will likely not survive due to the burns it has received. Another cow has been injured with a spear. We have also lost most of yesterday's salmon catch. The intruders threw the fish into the fire before we could stop them. As well, Ingolf and Bjarni were hurt. Thankfully, no one lost their life during the attack.”
The crowd turned as the captured skraeling was led out of a house, still tied, and escorted by two of the biggest men of the village to the centre of the gathering. His face wore a stony, unrepentant expression. His dark, narrow eyes showed no emotion. The war markings on his face were smeared, but the wings of the eagle could still be clearly seen. Many cursed him as he walked passed, some threatening his life. They brought the captive to Thorfinn. Thorfinn stared at the intruder for a moment, then turned to face the villagers.
“We must also remember that what happened last night could have been much, much worse. No one lost their lives. They did not burn our ships. Although this man did burst in among our families, I'm not convinced that he was trying to hurt anyone. I have a suspicion that he was only trying to scare us.”
“He did a good job of that!” exclaimed Dagmar. “You were not there, Thorfinn. I thought he was going to take that harpoon and ram it right through Ingrid! Who knows what he would have done had Kiera not stopped him.”
Dagmar put an arm around Kiera. The skraeling's cold eyes turned and focused on her, as if he were memorizing the face of the woman who had brought him to this end. She shifted uncomfortably, trying not to imagine what he might be thinking as he looked at her. The angry crowd shouted out ideas for his punishment. Thorfinn held up his hand once again and waited for calm.
“We
