lose everything.”
Kiera sighed. After two years of back-breaking work, the village was just starting to feel like a settled community.
“But moving further southwest will take us further away from your homeland.”
Dagmar frowned. “That is true. We will be more isolated than ever. But as you said, these lands are plentiful and much more fertile than Greenland, which would be our only other option if we were to move again.”
The thought of going back to Greenland sent mixed emotions tingling through Kiera. It was a barren wasteland, but it also gave her a ray of hope for the future. It was that much closer to her own homeland of Ireland.
“But what about the Stone?” asked Kiera.
“Ah, yes. the Stone was certainly a good omen. After our repairs at Leif's abandoned winter lodging, we found the Stone after a week's sail south. Seeing the Stone, we knew that we were in territory that had been previously explored by the Ancients. Our people have seen the same stones throughout northern Europe, Iceland and Greenland. We knew that if the Ancients had landed here and settled long enough to carve the Stone, then it would likely be a good place for us to land and settle as well.”
Kiera was confused. “Why were the Ancients able to live here in peace and not us?”
Dagmar shrugged and laid the sleeping baby down on a thick blanket of rabbit fur. “Perhaps things are different now. Perhaps there were no skraelings, or they were on friendlier terms with the Ancients. It's hard to say what exactly has changed since that time long ago. If the Ancients had the same problems with the skraelings as we do today, then I doubt they would have had the time to carve such an impressive stone.”
Kiera tried to rub the smoke out of her eyes. The heavy air always made her feel tired after a long day in the sun. Dagmar called for Lorna and arranged the furs into a bed on the wood slats that ran the length of the longhouse.
“It's time to go to sleep. There's no point waiting up for the men. They'll be singing and telling sagas long into the night.”
Kiera laughed as the deep, burly chorus to a well-known Odin legend rumbled through the darkened night. It was a warm, late summer evening. To further heat up the longhouse would be a waste of winter wood, so Kiera walked over to the hearth and helped douse the flames with piles of ash. The embers would keep until morning. The room was plunged into darkness, and a refreshing evening breeze swirled through the sod building.
Kiera was exhausted. Her body ached from the hard labour, but she didn't complain. Her belly was full, and her heart was warmed by the tiny hand that grabbed hold of her hair as Lorna's body curled up next to hers. She caressed the little girl's back. Life could be much worse, she thought to herself. She had a family who cared deeply for her. She was the adopted big sister of this little girl. In the villages of Iceland and Greenland, she had heard of almost unimaginable horror stories from other captured young women. The thought of what those girls had endured had kept her up many nights, and during those moments, she would utter a prayer of thanks for her situation. The whole village, in fact, was like one family. There was no choice. Without such a tight-knit community and full cooperation, survival in such a distant, foreign land would have been impossible. They were, in the truest sense, alone in another world. No one else within a month's sail cared whether they lived or died.
TWO
Kiera wasn't sure how long she had been sleeping when she was wakened by the bleating of a frightened sheep. She blinked in the absolute darkness. Silence. Must have been a dream, she thought, and rolled over. The bleating began again. And then…crackling. Something was wrong. How late was it? From the snoring on the far side of Dagmar, she knew that the meeting had ended and Bjorn had returned. She reached over Dagmar and shook the large shoulders of her master.
“Bjorn,” she whispered, “wake up. I think something is happening outside.”
Bjorn immediately sat up. It never ceased to amaze Kiera that regardless of how little sleep or how much drink Bjorn had consumed, he could somehow rouse himself in an instant. The crackling continued, and a cow now joined in the chorus of uncharacteristic sounds. Kiera heard him slip his dagger out from under his pillow. Moving catlike through the longhouse, he stopped in the centre and lightly clanked his dagger against the rock of the hearth three times. Dagmar then heard the rustling of covers, followed by the snapping on of leather armour and the gentle tinkling of metal as spears, swords and axes were quietly gathered. The men, as a unit, stepped carefully to the low doorway.
Kiera was surprised that she could see their faint outlines at the doorway, since there should have been no light on this moonless night. It was then that she knew something must be wrong. The light against the men's skin and armour flickered with a dangerous orange glow. The Viking warriors screamed with anger and horror as they burst out into the night. What followed was pure pandemonium.
The enraged yelling woke every sleeping infant in the village. The women began to shriek in panic from the confusion, the darkness only adding to their terror. Dagmar had her hands full with her howling baby while Lorna, shivering, 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
