Prologue
Corca Dhuibhne Peninsula, Gael--May, 834 AD
Bruic the Badger focused on the lifeless bodies scattered across the sandy beach. Undulating rivulets of blood mixed with the sea. The ocean's tangy smells wafted on air, to combine with the odor of hot smoke pouring from a fortress on the promontory. In contrast to the swirling gray smoke, shards of sunlight glittered and warmed the area with golden beams.
Sea birds raced from nearby islands to encircle the tiny cove and dive at the still forms. Shrieks resounded for miles as the creatures swooped down, squealed and fought over tidbits of raw, plucked tissue.
Bile rose in Bruic's throat and threatened to choke him.
Despite the gruesome sight before him, he feared returning to the sturdy wooden ships berthed in the next bay, wanting desperately to remain in his native land. Turning slightly, he scanned the area, searching for a place to hide from those who had stolen him from these shores seven years ago.
No safe haven presented itself on the barren beach. Only scrawny trees and high rocky ledges kept him from seeing the shapes of the tall vessels in the other cove. As wind and waves beat the bodies of the dead, a sea-laden breeze blew a lock of dark hair over his face. He pushed it back with unnecessary roughness and fought the urge to retch.
Bruic shook his head in anger, frustrated. "I'll never get away from them," he mumbled, just to hear the sound of his own voice.
Since his enslavement, he had witnessed battles often, but the results never resembled the carnage before him. Now, at thirteen, his intention to become a warrior of note vanished in the face of this destruction. He had grown older in the last hour. He sucked in rank air and plunged his sword into the ground. Kneeling on one knee, he bowed his head. An almost forgotten Gaelic prayer flew into his mind. He mouthed the words.
Once done, he pushed on his sword and rose to his feet. Without another glance, he scuffed through the sand toward the granite boulders that separated this cove from the next. At the bottom of the ledges, he paused to look back at the mangled bodies.
A flash of movement and unexpected color in the high reedy grasses that topped the nearest dune caught his gaze. A red-haired child teetered to the edge of the sandy ridge. Behind her, a yellow-haired girl peeped through the grasses. Bruic suspected they had witnessed the raid from a secret hiding place.
The redhead slowed, looked back at the yellow-haired girl but kept her forward motion. Not watching where she was going, she lost her balance and slid on her bottom to the beach. Her choking hiccups dispersed the feasting birds. They rose in the air, flapping and screeching in protest at the disturbance. Muted sobs shook her body. A choked, whispered cry tore from her mouth, "Mama! Help!"
Startled, Bruic whirled around. His eyes wide, he glanced toward the rocky ledges.
The men in the next cove. Had they heard the little girl cry out?
Struggling upright and lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the sun, the girl brushed her tattered tunic and then raised both arms high to balance in the deep sand.
With a grimace meant to frighten, Bruic spun to face her, hoping to scare her back onto the ridge. Body bent, sword thrust before him, he rushed at her. He hesitated when he noticed the glazed look in her overbright green eyes.
In a hoarse voice, she whispered louder. "Help me. My mama--"
A sharp whistle came from the next cove, followed by a shout. "Badger?"
"Allo," Bruic called back over his shoulder, in the language of his captors.
For a second time, flapping wings rose in the air. This time the birds flew higher, circled wider, and cawed their continued displeasure in much bolder tones.
With hands balled into fists, the girl stopped and covered her ears. She closed her eyes as if she thought closing them might make her invisible. She opened them slowly and moved closer, blinking hard. "Man?"
Another sharp whistle, accompanied by laughter and shouts from the men, far louder than the squawking of the birds, cleared the large rocks of the ledge. The men bellowed and cursed, obviously eager to leave the carnage they had created.
The same voice called, "Badger? Come. It's time we leave this gods-forsaken hole."
Angered by the calls, Bruic hissed at the girl in broken Gaelic, his speech garbled, littered with Norse words. "Get back, goose!" He pointed to the next cove, then to the spot where the girl had come from. "They're ready to leave this place before more guards come." He peered at her through squinted eyes. "You don't want them to carry you away, do you?"
She tilted her head, but her gaze lowered to the ground. Her thumb went to her mouth; but she must have thought better of it for her hand quickly cupped her chin in a childish gesture instead. Her reactions puzzled Bruic. He wondered if she understood what he was trying to say.
She shuffled nearer. Her lower lip quivered. "Help me find my mama?"
He bent closer and spoke into her face, pointing to the dunes. "Go. Hide. Now." He shoved her. She fell backward into the sand. "Go back!" he whispered, poking her shoulder.
Her unwavering gaze met his. They stared for an elongated moment. Her large eyes, the color of the deep sea, seemed to beg him for something.
Then, she glared at him and shook her head. "No!"
"Why won't you listen to me, tiny one? I'm trying to help you," he said.
She pounded a fist in the sand. "Mama. I want my mama."
Muscular Annar, his long yellow hair hanging to his shoulders, appeared on top of a boulder. Dressed all in brown, a black cloth over one eye, he made an unnerving picture against the soft blue of the sky, and his sudden appearance surprised Bruic. He jumped in front of the child.
The small girl trembled and turned onto her knees. Bruic forced her flat and put a foot on her shoulders. He heard her short, ragged breaths and, glancing down, saw her tears flow to form a lump in the sand. To keep her still and hide her presence, he knelt on one knee over her squirming body.
Annar adjusted his eye cloth, cupped his mouth, then yelled. "It's your master, boy. He wants you. Now! Stop your prancin' amid the dead, pretendin' you're some kind of warrior-hero." He laughed and slapped his leg. "Not yet, slave, not yet." He beckoned. "Come along or we'll leave you behind."
"Stay down, fool," Bruic rasped at her through clenched teeth, his knee pressing her deeper into the gritty ground with all his weight.
"What have you there, boy?"
Bruic shouted back, "Nothing of worth--an old log."
The man chuckled then his face grew grim. With a great roar, he yelled, "Hurry, boy," then leaped onto another rock and slipped out of sight.
)
