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Trigger warning! I steered away from graphically narrating it but subtle insinuations of rape and assault aheadddddd!!!!
When I was a kid, I liked to race. Be it on bicycle, running, or simply sitting in my car as we zoomed past everyone else. I liked the thrill of it. I liked reaching my final destination, knowing that I'd defeated all obstacles.
When I was a kid, I recall running through the school fields as if I was a superhero. I recall it so vividly, the memory set in stone in my mind. I was so close to the finish line, I'd almost won and I could see my mother in the other side - standing with a bright smile as she cheered me on.
But out of nowhere, I felt a tug on my leg as one of the other children pulled me back. I was dragged to the ground, able to do nothing but watch as all others overtook me.
Until I came here, I think that was my biggest betrayal, the only thing I had that even came close to comparable. But what I experienced now, in this moment, seemed like it was a thousand leagues ahead.
As I toppled to the ground, my heart stopped. I didn't know who had latched onto my leg or why, but some primal instinct within me told me that I was in serious danger.
Of course it was true that I didn't even know whether the stone would work and send me home. Perhaps this was some freak accident of spacetime, or perhaps some kind of magic. I had no way of knowing which was the truth. All I knew was that I had to try and return to my people, my time.
"Wicce!" One of the men spoke aloud, making my heart drop through the ground. They weren't speaking Old Norse. They were Saxons. Christian Saxons. And I'd already been well established as, not only a heathen and follower of Ivar The Boneless... But a heathen witch.
The man's hand trailed up my leg as he dragged me towards him, shifting up the skirt that had been covering me entirely. I wanted to scream, but how could I do that without altering more Saxons. There was no one here on my side, no one to protect me as Ivar had previously sworn. And I could feel the imminent severity of my situation - the consequences of my decision.
As I closed my eyes, I thought of home. But not of 1965, of my family and friends. I thought of inside the safety of York. I thought about the poor man I'd sent away, who'd certainly get punished for this. I thought about my time with the Vikings, and how I wished I was simply sat beside Ivar again and telling him about events that were yet to come.
But I wasn't, and that became clearer and clearer as I was bashed against the ground. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't process it, everything that was happening. It all seemed to happen so quickly.
I think, as I'd come crashing towards the ground, I must've hit my head. I wasn't sure what else would cause me to spiral into such a daze when my adrenaline should've been kicking in.
Until that moment, I'd never in my life felt powerless. I'd always controlled my world. My mistakes, my triumphs, I was the one who forged them all. But here, in that terrible moment, I felt weak. Weak like I'd never felt before.
And I realised, that I never wanted to feel this way again.
As the Saxon stood, proud of his work, I lay on the ground in agony. My vision was hazy, but not so much so that I couldn't spit the warm blood from my lips towards my assailant.
My action, seeming to infuriate him, made the man grasp the collar of my shirt as he dragged me towards his camp. Towards the Saxons.
And no matter how much I wanted to scream for help, my mouth remained closed. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything, except find myself filled with utter shame. I knew, logically, that I had nothing to be ashamed of. But that gut wrenching feeling never left the pit of my stomach.
As he dragged me, I found myself barely able to walk from the harsh pain he'd caused. And a fear crept within me, one that stung worse than anything that could happen once we arrived among the Saxons. What if I wasn't important enough to save?
What if this was my fate now? What if no one was coming to help me?
