The Rising Storm by T. J. Mayhew

Author:T. J. Mayhew
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tracey Mayhew

Freydis stared at her surroundings, taking in the familiar scene. She was back on the battlefield; the same battlefield where she had lost her life. But now she was alone and the silence of the place was almost deafening. She gazed around taking in the empty battlefield and shaking her head as she came to a realisation: she was standing in the same place where Brynhild and the valkyries had escorted her from not so very long ago. Bracing herself, she glanced at her feet, her worst fear realised: her own dead body lay at her feet, gazing back at her. A spear pinned her to the ground, a gaping bloody wound in her stomach.

Shifting her gaze, she found herself staring at Úlfarr’s body, his lips now a lifeless blue, his sightless eyes staring ahead, his face frozen in twisted agony. The axe had been removed, leaving a gaping wound in its place; an irrational fury raged through Freydis’ veins as she realised someone had clearly torn the axe free in order to fight on.

Turning away, nausea washed over her, making the world turn unnaturally. Her eyes watered as she fought down the urge to purge her stomach. She could find no words for what she was experiencing; she was supposed to be in Folkvangr; she was on her way to her lessons with Freyja. Hadn’t she just said goodbye to Úlfarr, Moði and Magni? So what was she doing here, of all places? And where were the others?

Suddenly an image of worried dark eyes appeared in her mind, soon materialising into Moði’s face; his concern for her had been clear, even in the few moments she had looked up into his face before she had faded out.

She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to focus on something other than her horror and confusion and the dark eyes haunting her; glancing out to sea, she spotted the fleet of longships that had carried Olaf the Red’s forces here. They were abandoned now, no sign of life aboard any of them.

Movement of water drew her gaze to the sea and she stared, waiting for her brain to catch up to what she was seeing: bodies littered the water near the shore she stood upon, every one floating face down. The sound of the gently lapping waves, conjuring the image of many a summer day in Sandefjord, contrasted with the horror of the aftermath of battle.

Mist was gathering on top of the water, swirling atop the waves, growing and coming closer to Freydis. Tendrils of mist extended towards her, snaking their way towards her on the water, reaching for her like Jormungandr, the World Serpent of legend.

She took a step back, fighting the urge to scream. As she backed away, her foot hit something, knocking her off balance. She landed heavily on the body of a man, his head bent at a sickening angle, his eyes open and glassy. Freydis whimpered fearfully, scrambling away from him, only to be confronted by another body:

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