Blood & Fire

Chapter Twelve | The Aftermath

A thick layer of sweat collected in the back of Rorik's nape. His muscles ached with the adrenaline that coursed through his being; his leg muscles pumping, cold air ripped into his aching lungs. Besides the wind that bit at his ears, the only thing he could hear was her ear-shattering cry that was abruptly silenced. The sound was a memory that now plagued his every breath. His stomach growled reminding him of the rabbit he never got the chance to consume. He had kept the same pace for more than an hour, never allowing himself to slow down. Time was of the essence.

He gritted his teeth, anger fueling his thundering strides. The ugly truth gnawed at him... He failed her. He had not been fast enough. The prickly ends of scraggly branches clawed at Rorik's flesh as he paddles through the trees with his arms. As he broke through the last of the trees he stumbled over his feet and sent himself tumbling down the hill. He rolled down the steep incline, his braids catching grass and particles of dirt and his bulky joints colliding with the ground at every rotation. He lies there at the bottom of the hill for several minutes, allowing himself to catch his breath.

Then, he gathered enough courage to stand back up on his feet, in spite of the throbbing pain. His warrior senses were on high alert. With one swift motion, he reached between his shoulder blades with his arm. Rorik withdrew the thick wooden bow that was his constant companion and an arrow from his quiver. If any invaders lingered, he would be ready for them.

With every step of the way, he fought the growing dread of what awaited him. The village was eerily quiet and desolate. The further into the village he stalked, the harder it became to breathe. Smoke wafted into the air, its pungent odor singeing Rorik's nostrils as he inhaled. He threw a brawny hand over his mouth to stifle the cough that wracked his body.  Rorik was familiar with that scent; it was the unmistakable smell of death.

He heard footsteps stirring from within his family's longhouse as he approached its threshold. The door released a heavy, high pitched sigh as he gently pushed it open. He groaned and spewed a string of curses that would make the Gods blush. Pain splintered through his body, the source originating from the muscular space between his right breast and shoulder. Crimson blood pooled around the arrow protruding from his flesh and trickled down his tunic.

Eydis stood up from her crouched position and lowered her bow. She grimaced at her handiwork and hurried over to Rorik.

"You shot me," he growled incredulously.

Ida, who had been stooping behind Eydis, stood up when she realized it was her son who stood in the doorway.

"I didn't know it was you," Eydis barked back. "Where have you been?"

He gripped a steady first around the slender wood of the arrow and with one forceful motion yanked it free. He groaned low in his throat at the pain that radiated from where the arrow had previously been embedded. With his fist still clenched around the arrow, he tightened his hold on it, snapping it into pieces. Then he tossed the splintered shards onto the ground.

"There will be time for questions later, Eydis. I must tend to him," Ida left Rorik and Eydis for a moment to retrieve her medicinal supplies. Rorik could hear his mother rummaging and ruffling through objects in her bedchamber hastily. His home, he noticed, was in complete disarray. Furniture was overturned or in shambles and fabrics and tools littered the floor in an aimless fashion.

Ida returned swiftly, her hands full of bandages and jars of salve and herbs. A crimson stain now trailed the length of Rorik's tunic. Ida knelt down in front of the smoldering fire, then raised a motherly hand to beckon him to her. While she cleaned and packed the gaping, ripped flesh Rorik took in his mother's appearance. Her eyes were streaked with thin red veins. The skin surrounding her eyes were blotchy and discolored. They matched the irritated tip of her nose.

"You've been crying," He said cautiously. His pulse quickened. His mother never cried unless she had a good reason. This is what he had been dreading. Ida's eyes fell to the ground.

"Rorik," She hesitated. "There is something I must tell you," She continued, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Your father... He is dead," Ida choked out.

Silence lingered in the longhouse for what felt like an eternity.

"And my brothers," He seethed. His voice was quivering with the rage building inside of him. All his muscles contracted simultaneously; the veins on the back of his hands and in his forearms protruding from his skin, as he clenched his fists.

"Brant and Vidar went after Eadric. Those of us who survived joined them," Eydis answered. "I stayed behind to protect the women and children in case Eadric and his men decided to return."

Eadric had captured his betrothed, ransacked his home, and now, murdered his father. Death would come for Eadric. Rorik was sure of it. And he would be the one to deliver death's final blow.

"I swear on the Gods that he will taste death and it will be at my hands," Rorik spat, as he stood. His mother grabbed his forearm in a vain attempt to hold him back.

"Rorik, you are injured. If you go after him he may overtake you," His mother pleaded, the fear evident in her voice. Rorik was a skilled and formidable warrior, but an injured warrior was not at his full strength. An obvious injury was a weakness for his enemies to exploit.

He sighed deeply, his eyes rolling upwards. Rorik knew she was right, but he could not just sit and do nothing while his brothers risked their lives to avenge their father. But he also could not ignore the pain and fear so evident in her voice. His muscles ached for action, begging him to bolt towards the door. Instead he wrapped his hand around his mother's and turned towards her.

"Odin will be with me, Mother and I will avenge you. Then, I will take back what is mine."