A figure ran towards their building. Kiera was glad that someone was returning. She wanted to know what was happening and if there was anything that she could do to help. She noticed something strange, however, about the silhouette that was quickly approaching. His upper body was completely naked, and in his hand was a long pointed stick that she had never seen used by the Vikings. It was a skraeling!
Kiera spun away from the door and pressed her back against the inside of the log frame. What should she do? Kiera scanned the corner in which she stood. Everything was set up for the morning ritual of making bread. The stone quern for grinding the flour sat next to the wooden kneading trough and iron baking plate.
A terrifying scream pierced the inner sanctuary of the longhouse. A short, broad-shouldered man leapt into the entranceway. His eyes burned with anger, feeding on the frightened screams of the women and children. Black lines, etched around his eyes and streaked along his cheek like the wings of a mighty bird, added to his nightmare appearance. In one hand, he held a bloody spear. He raised it, choosing his target. He took a step towards Ingrid, who, wide-eyed and frozen in fear, held her three young children to her waist.
His second step never touched the ground as the iron baking plate crashed into his stomach, doubling him over. Kiera heaved on the long, metal handle, raising the impromptu weapon above her head, then brought it crashing down hard onto the back of his skull. With a grunt, the intruder collapsed face-first onto the ground before her feet.
The entire building went quiet. The women stood together and simply stared at their prostrate attacker. Kiera didn't hesitate. She grabbed him by the legs and dragged him away from the entrance and into the corner of the building. She returned to the door, checked outside, then looked back towards the families. She nodded at the woman whose life she had just saved.
“Ingrid, we need rope.”
A minute later, Ingolf, Ingrid's husband, arrived back at the longhouse, limping badly.
“We just chased the last one away. Is everyone well?”
Then he saw Kiera and Ingrid, with their knees on the skraeling's back, finishing off the final knots.
His jaw dropped. “What happened?”
“Kiera just saved your family—with this.” Ingrid held up the baking plate.
Ingolf's expression went from shock to a relieved smile. “Thank the gods. And thank you, Kiera. How did you manage that?”
She shrugged, modestly. “I guess Erick's sword lessons have come in handy.”
Ingolf winced. He remembered the number of times during the long winter months he had chided the young man for teaching a woman, a slave for that matter, the art of sword warfare with the wooden practice blades. As he limped over to help move the heavy prisoner, he raised his right hand.
“I promise never to tease young Erick about the lessons again.”
Kiera grinned with pride.
Ingolf sat down heavily against the wall, where the women tended to the bleeding wound in his thigh. In a few minutes, they had the bleeding under control. They raised his injured leg off the ground with several folded blankets. It was then that Bjorn returned. He was there only for an instant, but the words he uttered sent a wave of relief throughout the longhouse.
“It's over.”
Early the next morning, the entire village gathered around the charred mound that had once been the animal stable. Everyone murmured quietly, still trying to digest the events of the night. Thorfinn raised his hand to quiet them.
“The attack that occurred last night was a shock to us all. Our animal shelter is gone. One sheep will likely not survive due to the burns it has received. Another cow has been injured with a spear. We have also lost most of yesterday's salmon catch. The intruders threw the fish into the fire before we could stop them. As well, Ingolf and Bjarni were hurt. Thankfully, no one lost their life during the attack.”
The crowd turned as the captured skraeling was led out of a house, still tied, and escorted by two of the biggest men of the village to the centre of the gathering. His face wore a stony, unrepentant expression. His dark, narrow eyes showed no emotion. The war markings on his face were smeared, but the wings of the eagle could still be clearly seen. Many cursed him as he walked passed, some threatening his life. They brought the captive to Thorfinn. Thorfinn stared at the intruder for a moment, then turned to face the villagers.
“We must also remember that what happened last night could have been much, much worse. No one lost their lives. They did not burn our ships. Although this man did burst in among our families, I'm not convinced that he was trying to hurt anyone. I have a suspicion that he was only trying to scare us.”
“He did a good job of that!” exclaimed Dagmar. “You were not there, Thorfinn. I thought he was going to take that harpoon and ram it right through Ingrid! Who knows what he would have done had Kiera not stopped him.”
Dagmar put an arm around Kiera. The skraeling's cold eyes turned and focused on her, as if he were memorizing the face of the woman who had brought him to this end. She shifted uncomfortably, trying not to imagine what he might be thinking as he looked at her. The angry crowd shouted out ideas for his punishment. Thorfinn held up his hand once again and waited for calm.
“We must remember, people, that although trained to defend ourselves, we came to Vinland looking for a peaceful home. There are less than fifty of us in our community. We have already seen well over a hundred skraeling fighters. The numbers, therefore, are not in our favour.”
“But it's not fair,” lamented Ingrid. “We didn't start this war!”
Thorfinn nodded. “That's true. On a different expedition, our brother Thorwald started this war years ago. He had a bloody encounter with the skraelings, killing several of them before they killed him. If we are to survive in this land, then this cycle of violence must end. If we choose to harm him, we will be declaring a continued war against his people. It would be a war we will not win. We must offer them peace.”
“What can we do?” shouted a villager.
“We can let him go,” Thorfinn said simply.
Murmurs of disbelief swept through the crowd. Thorfinn quieted them.
“If we let him go, we can hope that our kindness to him will be a turning point in our relationship with his people. They may then allow us to remain in this very place and continue our new life in this beautiful land.”
“What if he returns with an even larger number of warriors and attacks us again?” asked Dagmar. “What then? We may all be killed.”
He nodded. “That, too, is a possibility. That is why we must also prepare for the worst. It is therefore essential that we put together an evacuation plan.”
“Evacuation?” another woman shouted, “Do you mean leave? Again?”
Thorfinn's shoulders sagged slightly. “If it means our survival, then I'm afraid leaving may be our only option.”
“But to where?” asked a third. “Back to Greenland? We were barely surviving there when we left it.”
“That will be our last resort, Olga. We may have another option. Tomorrow, we will begin preparation for a new scouting expedition to the south. Perhaps we can find a better place to start again