Bk 1, Ch 4: The Beach

Chapter 4: The Beach

Alena couldn’t believe she’d drawn guard duty on Harvest Day. She’d turned seventeen a few weeks ago, so she was finally old enough to find a partner to celebrate with. Well, she got off shift at sundown. Maybe she’d be able to find a nice guy during the night bonfire. Alena smiled. Emily, a blooded warrior of twenty-one summers, had promised to introduce her to several good-looking men that night.

Alena could hear the roar of the crowd in the town square as she looked out over the river and she was stabbed with another pang of jealousy. She glanced around at her similarly unlucky comrades. At the westernmost end of the beach stood Loni. Loni was fifteen with long dark-brown hair and naked. Despite being two years younger than Alena, she and Loni were very good friends. People jokingly called them sisters. Privately, Alena liked the term and was indeed very protective of Loni. What Alena didn’t like was when Loni insisted she was the older sister on account of her larger breasts.

The thought made her feel self-conscious, and Alena looked down at her exposed chest. She squeezed one experimentally and was disappointed. Though firm, there wasn’t even enough to fill her hand. She didn’t normally walk around naked, but today she wanted to attract some attention so she’d decided to try it. Although it was commonplace for women and girls to walk around nude, Alena always felt shy and uncomfortable about it—mostly on account of her small tits. Loni never seemed to have that problem though. Alena sighed and tried to put it out of her mind.

East of Alena near the center of the beach stood the watchtower. Edward and Allie, both trainees her age, were up in the tower, chatting animatedly. They enjoyed each other’s company and had been caught hooking up in the fields more than once. Tanya, a proud twenty-something blooded warrior (she refused to tell Alena and the trainees her real age), yelled at Edward and Allie to shut up and pay attention. Tanya was their guard-shift’s leader. She walked away towards the boats, scowling.

She’s probably more pissed about missing the ceremony, thought Alena.

A few dozen paces east of the watchtower, Katie shifted her weight from left to right and adjusted her shorts distractedly. Barely twelve years old, Katie was a brand-new warrior-trainee. This was only her third time on sentry duty. Mason, an eighteen-year-old in his last year of training, stood on the eastern edge of the beach. Alena thought he was very handsome, but much to her disappointment, he had already been promised to another.

Alena let her mind wander. She thought about what she would wear to the bonfire, how she would pursue the attentions of some men, how she should react to the attentions of others. A change in the sounds coming from Zavala brought Alena back to the present. The cheering of the crowd had faltered and was replaced by screaming and panicked shouting. All the sentries turned towards the town in confusion.

“What’s going on?” yelled Katie superfluously.

“I can’t tell what’s going on,” shouted Edward from the watchtower, “there’re too many buildings in the way!”

“Stay here, let me find out what’s happening,” yelled Tanya. She immediately took off towards the town, calling back over her shoulder, “Stay alert; it could be an attack.”

Loni came running up, panting, eyes wide with fear. “An attack? Here?” said Loni, her voice trembling slightly.

“We haven’t seen any pirates and we’ve received no warnings from the Lord to the north. It’s probably nothing,” Alena responded. “Stay calm. If there is trouble, the warriors can handle it.”

A strange, deep roar came from the norther end of the village and the shouting in the village continued. I hope the warriors can handle it, she thought.

Another roar, and now the shouting had ceased, replaced only by screams and cries—but for what reason Alena could not tell. It was probably something bad. Alena was starting to worry about Bree and Jason who were to the east by the grain huts. And Tanya hadn’t returned so…

“Loni, go check on Bree and Jason. Go make sure they’re safe.”

“Oh… ok… sure, sis,” said Loni.

Loni took off running towards the path that led to the grain huts. Alena was glad Loni hadn’t asked any questions. Although Alena was genuinely concerned about Bree and Jason, Alena really wanted to make sure Loni was far away from whatever danger was befalling the town. Alena watched her go, thankful that her precious “little sis” would be safe.

But as Loni approached the tall grass to the west of the beach, a huge, hairy beast rose in front of her. Loni skidded to a stop and stared up at the monster, frozen in fear, the spear in her hand forgotten. The monster roared and drove its right claw into Loni’s belly, robbing her body of all warmth.

“NO, Loni!” Alena cried.

Alena could see the monster for what it really was—a huge, bearded man dressed in leather and metal. The claw was really a sword that had been rammed through Loni’s belly and out her back. Loni slumped, sliding off the blade and onto her ass. Her body spasmed and she fell back onto her elbows. She flipped over and holding herself up with her elbows, stared at Alena, her eyes silently questioning, “Why?” Alena could see the deep gash in her friend’s belly, the blood running into the dirt. Loni collapsed and began weeping and moaning, her hands pressing against the gaping wound. Then more men charged out of the grass and Loni was hidden from view.

Something snapped in Alena’s mind and she charged towards Loni’s killer with a wordless scream. They had killed Loni—no, she had killed Loni—and both she and they would atone.

Torstein flicked the blood off the blade and spared a quick glance at the young girl who lay squirming in the thin grass. He had a mission and needed to secure the beach. He needed to make quick work of the runt running towards him, just like he had the other.

But then, Torstein gazed into her eyes and knew fear. Instinctively, he slowed. Torstein saw in her eyes utter darkness mixed with blazing fire—the sign of a soul that had died and returned from Valhalla to inhabit a mortal body. He had seen that look before in the eyes of fabled berserkers, both friendly and enemy. These legendary warriors held near-demigod status in Clan society, for Thor himself blessed these warriors with enormous strength. Torstein had seen them tear apart whole armies almost single-handedly. His veteran warriors had seen the same look in her eyes, and they too cowed before her.

But young Aarik surged forward. Crazed with bloodlust, he was blind to the fatal gaze in the girl’s eyes. Even if Aarik had seen it, he wouldn’t have known what it meant; for Aarik was too young to remember the Great Wars—when clan fought clan and berserkers were truth instead of legend.

A young man pulled ahead of the others making straight for Alena. He dodged left too early and Alena easily rammed her spear into his gut with a cry of grief and rage. She drove him to the ground, twisted the spear, and jerked it out, her chest heaving. She stood defiant over his screaming, cursing body—a predator, slim and lethal, standing over its prey.

The deadly panther leveled her spear at Torstein, and howled like a banshee. Nearly paralyzed with fear of this supernatural power, Torstein ordered his three archers to dispatch her. They were only too happy to comply, for none wished to face her in hand-to-hand combat.

Alena saw three of the attackers raise their bows, so she charged. She would take revenge for Loni’s death even if it was her last act on earth.

One arrow whistled over Alena’s head, then mighty blows struck her in the belly and chest. The beach, once right-side-up, was suddenly sideways. Laying on her side, Alena gasped for breath. There was a sharp pain in her chest and belly, but even before looking down, she knew what she would find. She had failed to avenge Loni’s death and that brought more pain than anything else. She glanced down and saw the two feathered shafts sticking out of puckered flesh, one in her belly and the other splitting her right tit.

Torstein stood frozen for a second, collecting himself. As the wild girl charged him, he had felt death’s icy grip close around his heart. If his other two archers had missed like Rolf had, Torstein knew he’d have been spitted on her spear. It was cowardly for him to have shied away from the challenge of a mere girl, even if she was a berserker. Nevertheless, his men were loyal and had been similarly terrified, so he trusted the story would not leave this beach.

Torstein took stock of the situation. Dozens of men, women, and children were fleeing the town towards the beach in a disorganized mob—he had maybe a minute before the first villagers reached the boats. Two sentries, a teenage boy and girl, were struggling to string bows in the watchtower in the center of the beach. Fear and panic made their fingers clumsy, and the bowstring snapped out of the boy’s hands as Torstein watched. There were two other sentries further east along the beach, but they weren’t a threat any longer. Both lay in the dirt impaled by arrows. The young man at the end of the beach lay still. The girl—even younger than the one Torstein had killed—was dragging herself slowly along the ground, three arrows in her back. Inger emerged from the grass at the east edge of the beach with her two hunters and waved.

Torstein ordered his men to dispatch the sentries in the watchtower and form a line in front of the boats. They all acknowledged and hurried to comply, eager to redeem their honor now that the berserker lay dying.

He took a moment to look at the warrior that lay at his feet. Now that she lay bleeding on the rocks shore, she didn’t look like a fabled warrior of legend. She looked like a frail, vulnerable girl, not a harbinger of death. But the fire in her eyes remained undimmed, her determination unbroken.

Alena glared up at Loni’s killer, as if to spear him will all her anger and hate. She was dimly aware that her body was grievously damaged, but her mind was clear and the pain seemed distant and detached. She hated him for killing Loni, for attacking her village. She hated herself for being unable to avenge Loni’s death. But she also hated him for not killing her with his own hands.

Torstein couldn’t help but admire this courageous girl. Even now, her body broken and bleeding, she refused to cry out. Even as her body quivered in pain, she remained proud and defiant. Unlike so many others when severely wounded, she remained in control of her mind, her body, and even her bladder. Without breaking eye contact, she lifted her right knee up to hide her privates from his view as if to say that she still controlled access to that aspect of her as well. In a concession to the enormous pain she must be feeling though, she brought her right hand to the arrow in her breast. Even then, there was no grimace as her fingers touched the puckered and torn flesh; she showed no reaction at all to the pain as she calmly pressed her fingers to the wound to slow the bleeding.

Torstein now regretted ordering her death. He should have tried to capture her alive. Although plain in body, her spirit had the strength of steel—and that was worth a price all its own. Torstein resolved that if she lived, he would claim her. Unfortunately, judging by the blood that had started to leek slowly out of the corner of her mouth, her wounds were probably fatal.

Torstein stepped around her body and moved to rejoin his men. As he passed her, she rotated onto her back so that she could continue to glare at him. He could practically feel the daggers in his back.

Such a strong girl, he thought.

Up the beach, the scream of a young male Zavalan sentry was cut short with a horrifying crack as he fell out of the watchtower and impacted the dirt. His companion lay folded over one of the watchtower’s railings, an arrow through her sternum. The townsfolk fleeing the village were not stopping. Confident in their numbers and desperate to escape, most decided to take their chances on the beach rather than turn back towards the town. Torstein joined his men and immediately ordered them into a shield-wall to greet the townsfolk. Inger and her two archers hung back, picking off those who tried to flee anywhere but back to the town.

On her back, Alena watched the slaughter with a sort of emotional detachment. A woman carrying an infant was hacked down, the newborn nearly cut in half. Amber, one of the older trainees, tried to jab her spear into a raider’s side as she ran past. He side-stepped then swiped his sword across her tanned shins. Amber went flying, one foot coming loose in a spray of blood. Melvin the Marlin, one of Alena’s father’s friends, made it to his boat before an axe chopped into his spine. A young boy and his sister made a break parallel to the beach, only to be shot down by arrows. Two brothers and their cousin made it to their boat and began shoving it into the water. One brother made it into the boat only to be dragged out and stabbed.

It wasn’t that Alena wasn’t indifferent to the deaths of her friends and neighbors; she just didn’t have enough emotion left to be sad. She knew they were all going to die. Whether they were stabbed like Loni or shot like herself, all of them were going to die.

Tanya, their warleader, had returned to the beach in an attempt to escort the fleeing villagers. Loni’s killer immediately identified Tanya as a prime threat and made a beeline towards her. She jabbed at him, keeping him at bay. But he was too skilled and simply waited for an opening. When Tanya over-extended, he nonchalantly hacked her spear in two then slashed his sword across her belly. Shrieking, she joined her young charges bleeding out onto the beach they’d given their lives to defend.

Alena turned her attention away from the slaughter and towards her own problems. Two wooden poles stuck out of her body, the arrows buried so deep that she could only see the shafts. There was blood smeared across her breasts and her belly, flowing down in tiny rivulets to pool on the beach. Her flesh was swollen and torn where the arrow had pierced her belly and blood still flowed from the hole, though more slowly than it had before. Her right hand was still pressed to the arrow in her breast. Slowly, she pulled it away to take a look at the wound, and her hand came away red and sticky. She tasted iron and knew that something inside had been torn.

The adrenaline that had once made her feel invincible was fading, and the pain in her belly and chest was growing from a dull ache to a fire. There was a stinging pain in her lower back too and she feared she had been pierced all the way through. Grunting in pain, she used her abs and her glutes to slowly lift up her belly. Fresh blood surged angrily from the hole in her gut. Alena swept her left hand underneath, checking for any penetration. Her back felt smooth and she relaxed back with a sigh.

That’s much better, she thought. Her hand must have dislodged a few rocks that had been poking her back. At least I’ll be comfortable when I die.

But she knew that the release of death would be a long way off. The arrows piercing her body and the blood that puddled beneath her and leaked from her mouth may have looked bad, but Alena had seen enough sacrifices to know that young girls could hang on for hours with much worse. Sadly, Alena also knew that her wounds could probably be healed by a medicine-man. He would have been able to remove the arrows and stitch the wounds closed with relative ease. But no medicine-man would be coming to help her—she had seen the village medicine-man get hacked down just moments before.

Alena slowly turned her head in order to find her comrades. Mason’s body was rapidly growing cold. Katie no longer had the strength to drag herself along the ground. She was near death and simply lay on the ground breathing slowly. Edward was sprawled at the bottom of the tower, his head at an impossible angel. Allie hung limply over the watchtower railing, dead. Tanya was on her knees, face in the dirt, ass in the air. She was hugging her bleeding belly and her arms were covered in gore. Sliced entrails wriggled from the ragged gash. Shit smeared her thighs, creating a horrible mess.

Finally, there was poor Loni. If Alena lay in a puddle of blood, Loni lay in a small lake. She lay curled in a ball on her side, whimpering like a child. One hand was pressed lightly to the hole in her belly. The other lay limply behind her back. She had probably tried to cover the hole in her back as well but had run out of strength. Loni coughed—more of a hiccup really—and blood spewed from her mouth. Blood covered her chin. As Alena watched, Loni’s bowels loosened and piss sprayed her thighs and mixed with her blood. Loni wouldn’t live for much longer, and Alena knew it was all her fault.

Up the beach, the surviving townspeople scattered in all directions. The majority fled back towards the town. The rest were shot down by accurate bow-fire or chased down and butchered by cheering raiders. A fleeing nine-year-old was pulled back by her long blonde hair, blood sheeting her flat chest as her throat was slit. A huge leviathan spitted a small child through the back and lifted her up into the air on his blade with a roar. The child mewled in agony, hands flapping at the sword sticking out of her belly. A mother, father, and young boy fled west towards Alena. The father and mother both took arrows in the back and fell into the grass. Their son took a few more steps then stopped and turned to stare at his parents. An arrow shattered his chest seconds later and he crumpled, joining his parents in their death throes.

Alena wished she could let go—slip into unconsciousness and let oblivion take hold. It would be so easy to just slip into a deep slumber. Already, she could feel the pull of death dragging her down. But Alena wasn’t the kind of girl to give up that easily. A part of her demanded that she live on, demanded that she fight. She wanted to live on, wanted to get revenge for Loni and her people. An image of Loni’s killer flashed through her mind. Above all, Alena didn’t want to lose to him, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an easy death.

Alena press her right hand back to her breast. The flow of blood there had slowed considerably, so she began pressing her left hand against the hole in her belly. She winced as her fingers brushed the puckered lips of flesh. Stars exploded as she pressed hard on the wound, but she persevered and eventually the pain faded. Alena lay back and tried to keep as still as possible to minimize the pain.

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