Highlander’s Winter Rose by Fiona Faris

Chapter Four

Idunn’s gaze moved away from Einarr to the cove before them. Nestled between two cliffs was a small town. Towering above the hamlet was a fortified castle with a grey-stone keep that stretched so high into the sky that Idunn thought it nearly touched the grey clouds above. Around it, a meandering wall extended half-way down the cliff.

The whole view was green, dappled with purple and red heather. Types of plants could not be distinguished at this distance, but Idunn knew from experience that it was the heather that gave the landscape those colors. The beach in front of the town was stippled with yellow shingle and rock pools. Beneath the cliffs were sharp jutting rocks and stacks that the Norse ships had to navigate carefully through.

“Já, it is beautiful,” she murmured to herself, unaware she had a listener.

“Idunn? What did you say?” Einarr moved closer to her side as he checked his leather belt for his weapons and lifted his traditional battle axe. Atop his head was the rounded helmet with the nose guard that bore down the center of his face.

“It is beautiful. Do you not think so?” She gestured to the landscape with a smile. It was why she loved their raids to this land.

“I have never thought of it as such.” Einarr shrugged as he turned his attention away. “It is rich in resources, that is certainly true.”

She ignored him, determined to enjoy the raid and not let her betrothed dampen the experience. Leaning across the bow of the boat, she watched the town as a flicker of movement caught her gaze by the dock. She thought she imagined it, but on a repeat of the movement, she persuaded herself it was a fish, merely leaping out of the ocean depths.

As their longboat moved closer towards the docks, a sudden whip echoed through the air.

“What was that?” Einarr bellowed, instantly alert.

“Above!”

“Look out!”

At the cries of panic, Idunn looked to and fro. A great boulder smashed into the water beside them, creating an enormous splash covering half their boat. As she blinked away the water, wiping her eyes, she found Einarr standing in the middle of the ship and pointing at the town.

“Trebuchets! Stay down.”

Idunn snatched her helmet from a nearby bench and placed it over her hair. Bordered with the motifs of Norse runes, it too had a nose guard that created a line down the center of her face.

The cries of other ships erupted as more whips echoed through the air. Idunn peered over the edge of the boat towards the town.

Across the dock, Highland soldiers were climbing out of their hiding place from the dock, taking stance across the beach to protect their town. Boulders whipped through the air, aiming towards their ships. More great splashes reverberated through the cove as an onslaught began.

Another whip sounded above, and this time, the trebuchet's payload found its target.

Idunn looked up at the cries of fear to see a boulder heading straight for their ship. She dived to the side, falling against the flat of the wood as it crashed – the boat almost fractured in two, the wood splintering as the warriors hurried to their feet and the green water rushed into their safe haven.

Within seconds, the ship tipped, urging Idunn into action. She scrambled towards the bow, aware others in the boat were wild with panic.

She realized almost too late what was happening; the ship was about to capsize. She sheathed her sword and climbed up onto the bow of the boat, balancing on the wood with the arches of her feet. As the ship tipped sideways beneath her, she launched herself into the air and dived into the green depths, sinking her body into its cold arms.

For a moment, her eyes were consumed by the misty green as her hands pulled at the waves. She felt peace. It enveloped her, and the waves caressed her like a lover’s arms. In the deep green pit, it was almost easy to forget what was happening above the surface. Her peaceful reverie was quickly broken, and she was torn back to a harsh reality.

Behind her, she felt the tug of the water, signaling the ship was rotating. She turned around and pushed backward, just in time to see the boat overturn and its occupants scramble to freedom in the sea. Shoving her feet against the seabed floor, she pushed with all her might to swim back to the light.

As she broke the surface, sputtering the salty water from her mouth, she kicked madly with her feet to stay afloat. The water bobbed against her neck, and the taste of salt lingered. There were other warriors nearby, other empty helmets floating past her with no warriors to wear them. She swallowed at the thought of how many men would be lost in the sunken ship. Kicking away from a nearby floating helmet, her eyes took in the scene around her.

They had been ambushed. Before her people could even put a foot on Scottish soil, the Highlanders had attacked.

Einarr’s ship was not the only one that had capsized. Another had turned only a short distance from her, and a third hovered half in and half out of the water. The warriors were scrambling to the edge of the boat that still stood proud beyond the sea. Some were choosing the ocean's unknown depths before the sinking ship could swallow them into the murky water below. Many dived into the waves, struggling with wayward arms to swim.

Most Norse warriors were strong swimmers. They trained in the fjords in the depth of winter, fighting ice and the deathly cold ice. Idunn had trained in such waters herself, her mother watching from the sidelines. She and Signý had trained together, tussling in the waters to see who would win. Idunn ached for her friend to be at her side, to be facing the depths of the Scottish waters together.

She heard the deep whip of the air again, and this time saw the source of the noise – the sudden rearing head of a trebuchet high above one of the townhouses behind the dock.

The leather sling whistled through the air as the beam thrust upwards, releasing another boulder that arched spectacularly across the grey clouds before striking another of their ships. It clattered with an ungodly sound, and Idunn watched as the people hurried to the edge of the boat, desperate for safety. Some abandoned their weapons, leaping for the waves. Others searched for their friends, desperate to save others before themselves.

Around Idunn, the Norse who were still alive were already swimming to land. It seemed now they had two enemies to fight. One was the Highlanders, the other the raging sea. Each time a wave crested, the white foam boiled, as if furious at being disturbed by Viking ships.

Idunn tussled against one of the waves, pushing upwards to keep her head above the boiling ocean. She swallowed water, forcing her body to wretch out the salty dregs once again. Lifting her eyes to the beach, she swam against her captor.

In lines upon the beach stood the Highlanders - many soldiers bearing bows and arrows. The row at the back released their arrows in unison to a barked order, striking down the Norse warriors as they emerged from the sea. They fell cleanly to the ground. Others dodged the missiles, too accustomed to warfare to fall so easily.

Amongst them were people she knew, warriors who were her friends. At the thought of her friend, she grew agitated.

Idunn flicked her head around in the water but could not find Einarr. Her hands trembled with the thought that one of the empty helmets could be his.

As fast as the thought struck, another trebuchet released – the stone landing near her in the water, creating an almighty splash that covered her face and threatened to drag her back down to the depths. She fought the ocean monster all the way, but it felt as though each wave had fingers that were gripping onto her tunic of cattle hide and wool, dragging her back down. She imagined kicking away the monster, releasing its hold from her tunic and the ankles of her boots. Once her head broke the surface, she spat the water out and swam forward, determined to reach the shore.

Already, some Norse warriors had made land and were sparring with the Highlanders. A sudden determination filled her, and she found renewed strength to swim towards the beach.

As Idunn reached the shallows, clambering through the sods of wet sand, the soldiers were prepared for her. Three of them moved towards her, but she was ready. Undercover of the ocean, she pulled her sword from its sheath, hiding it from view beneath the green glacial surface. It was sluggish through the water, requiring greater strength than ever to free it.

As the soldiers moved forward, she surprised them – lifting her sword out of the water to strike with one blow across their unarmoured legs. The men reared back; two of them falling into the shallows on their knees, bellowing in pain, the third stood tall and raised his sword. He was big and bulky, making him slow in his movements, she was small and lithe, and her attacks were much faster.

As he attempted to strike, she jumped to her feet and dived to the side, splashing in the water. With one strong blow, she struck across the man’s chest, locating the weak spot in his chain mail. He looked down briefly at his wound as she removed her sword with a sound that made her wince. He fell like a plank into the sea, causing a great splash against the water.

Idunn moved away from her three attackers, heading towards the fray that had now broken the Scottish lines of soldiers into pockets of smaller battles across the rocky beach. She squinted through the misty rain, watching the fighting as her breathing grew heavy.

Her mind wracked with errant thoughts, wondering where the soldiers had been hiding. A battle cry disturbed her mind’s wanderings. She flicked her head around to see the source of it, her wet blonde braid below her helmet swinging with the movement, dripping water down her already soaked armour. Her eyes found the source; it was more soldiers. They were running free from the cliffs' caves, aiming directly for the skirmish on the beach.

She trained her ear to listen to their words. The Scottish tongue was not so different from the Norse, and she had learned a lot on her previous raids.

“For the Clan. For the Laird. And for every Man!”

Idunn was certain of the words; there was something to admire in the battle cry. She could not help but smile. It was a clever tactic of the Scots to conceal themselves in the caves and ambush the Norse from such a hiding place.

As they ran towards her and the others, she braced her feet in one of the beach's rock pools and lifted her sword, preparing her body for the attack.

Water was still running clear of her armour and the iron helmet. Her sword glistened in the seawater; the familiar motif of the Viking compass, or vegvisir, shone with trickling droplets. Each spike and trident on the motif were cut into the iron, creating a mass of sharp ridges.Her mother once told her the sword would always show her the right path. Each line on the motif was a symbol of a route to take in life. That, after all, was the meaning of the compass, to show the user the way.

She breathed deeply for a moment, adjusting her fingers on the grip of the hilt. As the Scottish soldiers neared her, she smiled again.

Já, this is my path. I am a warrior.

As the fighting began, she sparred easily, taking some of the Highlanders down with her ferocity and ensuring others backed away. As more Norse warriors reached the beach, the battle grew until warriors and soldiers were spread thinly.

Idunn fought on, determined not to give up. As she took down another soldier and turned to her next challenger, her eyes darted away from her opponent to the people beyond. Amongst the warriors, she saw Einarr.

She could not stop the smile of relief when her gaze found him. He was wrangling easily with his own opponent. His greater height and skill protected him effortlessly from the attack. As she knocked her own opponent from his feet, her gaze scanned the rest of the beach.

We are outnumbered.

It was a fact that could not be avoided. They had not even reached the town; no Norse foot had stepped beyond the beach onto the green earth.

More ships were sinking from the trebuchet’s missiles out at sea, and a new horror dawned on her. The boats at the back of the fleet were turning around.

“Nei,” she murmured under her breath, the momentary pause allowing the soldier to clamber to his feet, “This cannot be happening.”

The soldier was intrigued enough by her gaze to look over his shoulder toward the ships. He turned back, betraying a smile beneath the half-covering of his helmet.

“It seems yer people are abandonin’ ye!” his strong Scottish accent rang out with depth, “Surrender now, and I willnae kill ye, lass.”

She moved her eyes back to him, narrowing her lids in certainty.

“Nei. I will never abandon my people. To the death.”

“To the death then.” The soldier lifted his sword, and they quickly returned to their parrying, leaving her to move back and forth in the paddles of the rockpools, her boots making splashes around her ankles.

She fought with all her might, trying to push away a condemning thought that clouded her mind just as much as she tried to push away her attacker.

Perhaps we are about to lose our first battle ever against the Scots.