The Last One

one

Adrift in a sea of trees. Lost. Forgotten. I tasted defeat on my tongue in the form of old blood. Tears burned my eyes and left clear streaks through the dirt and blood on my face as they trickled down. I didn't bother wiping them; I didn't worry about them at all.

It started to snow. The sun begin to set. The cold bit my fingers and nose.
I huddled down in a cave starting a small fire and laid close to it for warmth, I don't think I slept. The sun rose again. The fire died out. I rose again, walked again, lost still.

For days. One and then another and then some more after that. I thought that maybe I was dead. I didn't feel alive anymore, wished myself to just stop breathing and go into the abyss. And then.. smoke. A Camp, preparing for the night.

They might help me, said my inner voice. No, they might kill you, my inner voice growled back. I decided either way would end this suffering.

"Help," my voice barely cracked above a whisper from lack of use. My vision was hazy with tears and shock. "Help," I repeated.

I heard a man's voice, a familiar accent, and my heart quickened as a Dane stepped into view. I turned to run, but then tripped. I rolled onto my back, prepared to die and go on to Hel as he stepped over me. I looked up to meet the eyes of my would be killer and saw only eyes of concern.

"Do it," I croaked. I grabbed for a stick.. would this work good enough to be granted entry to Valhalla? I had to hope. I gripped the stick until my knuckles turned white.

"No, I will help you," he shook his head, eyes sad as he reached down for me.

My fingers ached from grasping my silly stick, but I didn't fight him. He lifted me and brought me into the camp, setting me down carefully next to a fire, just being built. There were other men milling about the camp, all approached and looked at me, but then swiftly went back to their tasks. I didn't see their faces, but I saw them- Danes.

"What are you doing out here alone?" The man from earlier offered me a waterskin and I took it greedily.

"I.." I started to come back to reality. I was here in a Dane camp. Were they some of his men? My breath caught in my chest and I coughed hard, a panic attack clawing it's way up my throat and strangling me.

He patted me on the back, empathy filling his expression. Perhaps not his men, but how could I know?

"You are safe here. I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg and I give you my word. As long as you remain in this camp no harm will come to you."

Bebbanburg? I looked at him strangely. "I am.. Redinfel.. Red is fine." My voice was scratchy and burned its way out.

He nodded. "Very well, Red. What happened? Are you hurt?"

Fresh tears trailed down my face as I shook my head, unable to speak or explain. He nodded in understanding.

"You don't need to tell me now. Or ever if you do not wish." He motioned to a man nearby who approached with soft steps as if approaching a wounded animal. He reached out with a warm wet piece of cloth, and wiped my forehead and cheeks.

His eyes, one grayish green and the other hazel brown, were focused on the task, being careful to not look at my own eyes. He dipped the cloth into a pot of warm water and brought it up again, wiping away the grime and blood on my face and neck, then carefully washing my arms and hands. Then he was gone, out of sight.

Suddenly, I was incredibly tired. My body began to slack and relax. The heat of the fire was nice, and someone wrapped a warm fur around my shoulders, making me melt into comfort. I could hear their voices, softly whispering as I simply fell into an exhaustive sleep.

I awoke the next morning. They were disbanding the camp. I sat up carefully, my body protested any movement at all, muscles screaming and bones popping as I moved slowly perpendicular to the earth..

A man with short messy hair approached me. "Ah, she lives," he stated in a thick Irish accent. "Are you hungry, love?" I nodded slightly. He reached around the other side of the fire and produced meat, it appeared to be a rabbit leg. My mouth watered at the sight of it, and I couldn't stop myself from ravenously devouring it once he handed it to me. He said nothing, as he then offered me his waterskin, and I drank it greedily.

"Christ, love. How long have you been out here? Alone?" He asked.

I twinged at the word "alone". I passed him back his waterskin, noting a small Christian Cross hanging around his neck. "I don't know.. days I think." My voice sounded considerably better after a good night's rest and I was feeling a bit more like myself.

The first man from last night, Uhtred, approached, his eyes looking at the horizon then down to his companion, then finally to me. "We are riding home, to Rumcofa. You are welcome to ride with us for as long as you like."

"Why?" The word left my lips unintentionally, and he looked at me strangely in response. "I mean.. you do not know me. Why would you bring me anywhere with you?"

The Irish man stared at Uhtred as he waited to watch it unfold. Behind them the other man, with the two different colored eyes was preparing their horses.

"Because you wandered into our camp and are in need of help," Uhtred sighed, "and because you sound to be a Dane, but appear a peasant.. I do not think you came by that naturally. In any case, you will be safe in Rumcofa. There are other Danes there."

"I am no peasant," I pushed myself to stand up, my legs feeling like wet dough as I stretched them. I stood. "A group of men, Danes, came to my town. They killed everyone and I escaped, in my nightclothes." I didn't feel like sharing the more intimate details yet, I barely knew these men.

"What town?" The Irish man asked.

"Craven, in Northumbria"

"Who led these men? And how many?" Uhtred asked.

"He called himself Erik Ubbason," I said, recalling his face over me. A shiver coursed through me and I blinked it away. "It must have been at least fifty men. They came at night and took the town."

"You lived there by yourself?" The Irishman asked.

Uhtred slapped the back of his head. "Finan," he warned.

I didn't respond. Finan didn't ask again either and so it was left at that. "I will come to Rumcofa. But eventually, I must return to Craven. Erik took something from me that I will need back."

Uhtred nodded in understanding and then sighed as he looked at his men. "Ubbason. It cannot be a coincidence."

I looked between him and Finan, hoping an answer would be given, but it was not. I found myself tired, my energy for this conversation worn thin. "How many days to Rumcofa?"

"A few," the third man approached, having finished preparing the horses. His demeanor was guarded against me, but this time he did make eye contact, a warning hidden somewhere within his gaze.

Uhtred walked over to his horse and patted her on the neck, mounted, and then offered his hand to me. "You may ride with me. It will be a few days, but we will get there."

My hand trembled, my instincts screamed at me to reject this offer, but I had nothing left. I placed my hand in his and he heaved me up onto the back of his horse.