The Saxon Girl

The smell of burning wood mixed with the scent of blood in my nose.

On days like these, I felt like all of my senses were heightened. I could hear my bones grinding against one another, I could smell the iron in the head of my axe, the banded rim of my shield.

On days like these, I felt more alive than ever.

The village burned, and shrieks of battle mixed with the cries of women as our raiding party descended like wolves on this sleeping village. These Saxons had put up something of a fight this time - unlike the pathetic priests who could offer no resistance as we raided their treasure piles, these farmers were stout and fierce.

I smiled. This was good. These men deserved the beautiful death I was giving them. Maybe one of these Christians would be so good as to send me to Valhalla.

One candidate approached. His shoulders were broad, his arms thick, and he bore a sturdy looking, well-made spear in his hands as he approached - and he held it like he knew what he was doing. My smile became a feral grin of joy.

Sadly, he did not return it. "May you find the joy of battle in our fight, brother." I thought. But, I understood; too much for him was at stake.

He thrust, lightning fast, and I turned the thrust aside with my axe, bulling forward with my shield to try and knock him off balance.

This Saxon knew how to fight. He whirled expertly out of my way, swinging the butt of his spear in an arc that would shatter my skull, helm or no. I barely managed to turn with him and get my shield up - the force of his counterstrike sending me stumbling back a step. He set for another thrust, and I tightened my gut to loosen my steps.

Though he did not return my grin, a fire had been kindled in his eyes. "There it is, warrior. Enjoy your moment." I thought.

A sharp war cry erupted from behind him, and his focus wavered for just a moment as he prepared to move. A moment too long - my axe crashed into his temple, splitting his skull neatly. Blood and brains splashed back on my face as he fell to the ground, the life gone from his eyes.

My eyes tracked to Yrsa, her long, blonde hair flecked liberally with blood, which also mixed with the black paint she'd adorned herself with. The shieldmaiden had her sword rested over her shoulder, and a smile adorned her lips. "You're getting slow, Ogre," she called, using her old nickname for me.

I closed my eyes and raised my face to the sky, feeling the wind dry the blood against my skin, feeling the bone and brain sloughing off my face. "We were in battle, Yrsa. If he sent me to Valhalla, I would go with joy in my heart. But I had him." Yrsa snorted derisively as I reached down and retrieved the Saxon man's spear, placing it in his hands. "They don't need weapons for their heaven, Braenar." Yrsa had walked over to me. "I know. This is for me." Settling the weapon in his hands, I pulled my seax and began stripping his fingernails; Yrsa waiting patiently. "I'm cold," she said when I was done - and truly, a bitter wind had begun to blow, "come warm me."

My eyes flashed up to hers; Yrsa and I were great friends and occasional lovers - every time I'd shared a bed (or field, or church, or hayloft, or corpse strewn town) with her had been a romp for the skalds. She had the hunger that we both got after battle - she'd enter heat like some great catbeast of legend, and grab the first man she could to satisfy her cravings. I felt honored; this day, it was me.

She led me to a cabin separated from the rest of the village, and we both cocked our heads - a small bit of smoke trailed out of the smokestack. Yrsa nodded to me to take the lead, and we silently rushed towards the door. Without stopping, I lowered my head and shoulder behind my shield and smashed into the door - it gave way, wood splinters scattering around.

The cabin was sparsely lit, all contain in one room with a raised hearth in the middle. My senses delighted in the scent of herbs, woodsmoke, and the scent of...woman.

A small gasp sounded from within the small cabin's single room. My eyes found a slight woman, her light brown hair unbound and loose around her shoulders; she had a woman's body, heavy breasts, wide hips with a slight waist, and big eyes that stared at me roundly. Almost against her will, I saw her eyes travel up and down my form, and her eyelids lowered just a touch.

I chuckled deep in my throat and took two steps forward. She retreated - but slowly, her eyes falling to my chest as her left hand fluttered just below her neck. The Saxon girl was quiet, which was strange - usually the sight of a blood-soaked vikingr sent all Saxon women into hysterics. I felt my curiosity prick up...and blood swelled to my groin as what I imagined to be her boldness enhanced the appeal of her body even more.

Yrsa stalked in behind me. "Are you in such a rush for Valhalla, Ogre - when these pleasures await you here on Midgard?"

The Saxon woman took another step back, but her eyes flicked to the shieldmaiden; wide with fear though they were, they could not hide an undercurrent of hunger. "You won't mind sharing my attention, Yrsa?" I asked, my eyes fixed on the Saxon.

"Braenar," Yrsa purred, "you and I are going to split her in half."

(Part 2 in the works - stay tuned)