After the Boat

Dael came to on hard dirt. The air was cool, and the world beyond his eyelids was dark, flickering - distant firelight. He tried to sit up, and his neck burned.

“Another one’s coming around,” a boy said.

“Poor fool,” a man said. “Should stay asleep.”

Dael opened his eyes. “Where am I? What’s happening?” Then he noticed the rope at his throat, the same rope that bound him to the man and boy on either side of him.

“We’re being loaded onto that boat,” the man said. He was tanned and scarred, a seasoned warrior. “After that, I don’t know.”

What We Came For

One of the horses whinnied, threw its rider. That startled Ma into running. Dael leapt between her and the soldiers. Three of the other horses stamped and snorted, but the lead soldier’s horse remained eerily calm. He gazed down at Dael with something akin to recognition in his eyes, and before Dael knew what was what, he’d been plucked up and thrown across the man’s saddle.

The soldier said, deliberately for Dael to understand, “Forget the old woman. We have what we came for.”

Dael’s world jolted and spun as the horse lurched away, and then his world went white.

Pushing Gifts

The lead soldier laughed. “I know what I have gained, claiming you as a prize.”

“Angelus Caput,” one of the other soldiers said, and strange words flowed from his lips.

Dael put a hand on Ma’s shoulder, nudged. “Run,” he whispered.

She hesitated. The soldiers were arguing. Dael nudged her again.

“Now,” he hissed.

She was confused; the soldiers talked of slavery, but they seemed kind, almost jocular. She didn’t realize they’d probably killed her husband and other son.

“Run, Ma!” Dael yelled, and shoved.

The soldiers cried out, brought up their weapons.

Dael reached for his gift and pushed.

Won and the Choice is Yours

“A slave?” Ma echoed, puzzled. Dael put a hand on her wrist.

“You intend to make a slave of me?” he asked.

The soldier smirked. “A boy like you would fetch an excellent price.”

Dael met the man’s gaze. “What would you sell me for - a house, a field?”

“Maybe. Or perhaps the colosseum, or a lady’s bed.” The soldier smirked.

Colosseum. Dael had never heard the word before. The way the other soldiers chuckled, it couldn’t be good.

“You don’t know what you waste, turning me into a slave,” Dael said. “But you’ve won, and the choice is yours.”

Spirit for a Slave

The soldier spoke with a northern accent, but he had darker skin than Dael had ever imagined - he was stranger than most. Ma made the sign against evil. The other soldiers stirred, surprised at this soldier' ability to speak so fluently. 

"Vikings?"

"Fierce warriors.  Raiders.  Massive men, pale, in dragonboats," the soldier said. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You don't really look big enough to be one, but I haven't seen hair that color since, well, the Franks, but -"

"We know not the king," Dael said. 

The soldier blinked, confused, but then he laughed. "You have spirit - for a slave."

Who, Here

That Dael had golden hair was not completely odd - the men in the north were paler, like him.  But most people in the village paid more attention to Dael's gift than his hair.

One of the others spoke in a strange, rolling tongue that made Ma flinch. 

"What does the color of my hair matter? What of our fathers, brothers, friends?"

"They were defeated -" the soldier began, but the other soldier - Dael noticed he wore a different plume on his helmet - interrupted. An argument ensued, and then the other soldier dismounted, tugged off his helmet. 

"Did the Vikings land here?"

Soldiers, Golden

Ma's first instinct was to bow. Dael kept his head high, watched the riders draw to a halt at the end of the hedge. They wore gleaming helmets with tall feathered plumes, and they carried swords, spears. They were soldiers. 

The leader spoke without removing his helmet. "Where is your king?"

He spoke with an accent, but he head learned the language well, spoke it as one accustomed. Dael had never seen his kind before, but he knew who they were.

"Our king is distant. He doesn't even know we're alive," Dael said. 

The leader said, "You have golden hair."

Closer, Closer

The men in the village had nought but work drays. Those horses came up the road fast, a storm of dust flying in their wake. Dael ran to Ma’s side, and they shaded their eyes, watched as the horses came closer and closer.

For one moment, Dael thought the dark-haired man at the front was Bayard’s son Leofrick, but then Dael realized that the men were wearing bright red cloaks, too red to be blood, redder than anything but that worn by a king.

In the midday sun, the riders’ armor glinted, and Dael realized who they really were.

In the Distance, Riders

Ma made it seven days before waiting got the better of her. Dael was inspecting the hedges between his field and Bayard’s - his wife and aged father were tending the land in his stead - when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw Ma running full tilt, faster than she’d ever run before, toward the end of the hedge, toward the road down which Cerdic and Da had gone.

Dael called after her. She was mad – she couldn’t run all the way to the shore herself.

And then he saw, in the distance, riders.

So Long As

Dael kept his head down, worked sunup to sundown, humming songs from his childhood and doing his best to remember what Da and Cerdic had taught him, using his talent when things seemed rough.

Ever since he was a small boy, he’d had the touch, the sparks of blue and gold at his fingertips that repaired a butterfly’s wing, that saved a dying apple tree. Everyone in the village knew of it, but none mentioned it, so long as he used it for good.

If he focused on the farm, he didn’t have time to worry about Da and Cerdic.

Hearth Fire

In the evening, Dael and Ma sat by the fire, Ma mending clothes and humming soft songs, and Dael sang with her, easy lullabies he remembered from childhood.

“You trying to put me to sleep?” Ma asked.

“We both need to sleep - we’re two doing the work of four,” Dael said.

Ma tried to smile and failed. “We’re doing it well.”

“That we are.” Dael eased himself to sit at her feet, rest his head against her knee. “Tell me about the dancing stones.”

Ma tangled a hand in his hair and said, “When all the world was very young...”

The Rising of the Sun

For the first time since he could remember, Dael woke with the rising of the sun to head into the fields to till the ground, tend to the goats and hens, to repair the fence and the roof where some of the thatching was thinning. Ma worked in the house, and Dael could hear her faint songs over the rhythm of the plow and hoe. Da would be proud of the rows Dael made, neat and deep and straight.

Dael watched the southern horizon, same as Ma and the others in the village, waiting to hear word from the cliffs.

Dael Knew

In the sunset, Dael saw that Ma wasn’t the only woman bidding farewell to a husband, son, or brother, that men from all the houses in the village were streaming south toward the white cliffs where, if a man stood on a clear day, he could see Brittany and Gaul where their cousins lived. Few men stayed behind - the elderly, sick, or lame, and Dael knew they thought him odd, but he knew he was doing right, staying to protect his mother.

He would make sure she was all right.

“C’mon, Ma,” he said. “Let’s have some of that supper.”

The Rush

“How do you know this is even true?” Ma asked as she stood beside Da and Cerdic at the door. “Old Man Bayard speaks nonsense all the time –”

“It wasn’t just Bayard,” Da said. “We must hurry. We will not prevail if we haven’t enough men.”

“Be careful,” Ma said. “I don’t like this. What’s with the rush? Surely you can stay for supper. I cooked for four people, and now half of it will go to waste –”

Da silenced her with a kiss. “Be safe, love. Dael will look out for you. Cerdic and I must go.”

Dael waved.

Given In

“Cerdic,” Ma began, but Dael moved to stand beside her as well.

“He’s strong - he and Da will be fine, show those upstarts what for.” Dael smiled gently.

Cerdic suppressed a grin. His eyes shone with gratitude when he nodded at Dael. “We’ll come back victorious, Ma,” he said.

Ma reached for the sack she used to pack provisions whenever Da went on a journey to another village. “You’ll need food and blankets to keep up your strength. All we’ve got is my father’s axe to fight with.”

Dael saw Da and Cerdic relax. Ma fussing meant she’d given in.

Show His Worth

“You’re not going to fight - I won’t let you,” Ma said.

Da crossed the house, put a hand on her arm. “We’ll be fine. We have the high ground - they’re still down in the water. But they need all the men they can get.”

“Go, Da,” Dael said. “I’ll stay here with Ma. That way they won’t take me, and one of us can still tend the farm.” He glanced at Cerdic; he knew Cerdic wanted to join the fight. Dael was special, had his ‘blessing’. Though he never mocked his brother, Cedric wanted his chance to show his worth.

So Bayard Says

Cerdic frowned. “Who, Da?”

Da was pale, frightened; Dael had never seen him frightened before. Da was the one who’d killed a fox with his bare hands when it went after the hens.

“Soldiers, in a boat that looks like a dragon. Wearing armor and carrying swords, spears. Dark fellows. Heard they’d taken Gaul and Brittany. But they’re here now - for us.”

“For our town?” Ma asked.

“For our lands, our men.”

Cerdic reached for his pitchfork. “We’ll go help.”

“Cover your hair,” Da said.

Dael reached for his hood. “Why?”

“They like the pale-haired ones, so Bayard says.”

At the White Cliffs

“You’re a blessed boy,” Ma said, pressing a kiss to Dael’s jaw as he staggered past with a bundle of sticks for the evening fire.

“Am I not blessed?” Cerdic asked. He grinned good-naturedly.

“You are,” Ma said. “I’m just grateful Dael’s been saving us from starvation.”

Dael blushed. “Not just me - Cerdic, too. I can help, but it takes a skilled farmer to make it really grow.”

“Well, I’m blessed to call both of you my sons,” Ma said.

Da flung the door open.

“Don’t be such a boor,” Ma said.

Da said, “They’re at the white cliffs.”

Hedge Wizard

“‘S odd, what you do,” Cerdic said, leaning on his hoe.

Dael knelt beside a stubborn sapling, hands cupped around it. “If I’ve a gift, I should use it well. So I use it to feed us.”

“Don’t use it too well, else the other families’ll snatch you to feed them.” Cerdic smiled gently; he had the same easy, comforting smile as Da.

Dael grinned. “No one’ll take me from our family.” He sent one last little nudge of energy into the sapling and then rose up. “That should do it.”

“Hedge wizard,” Cerdic said, and Dael chased him home.

Time to Grow

“Dael,” Ma said. “Get out of bed and help Cerdic with the goats already.”

Dael opened his eyes, blinked up at the ceiling of the hut. Daub and wattle, same as every morning, infused with the scent of Ma’s stew over the fire and Da’s tobacco smoke. Da prodded Dael in the ribs with his toe.

“Move, son,” he said. He was smiling, so Dael knew he wasn’t too late.

It wasn’t difficult to haul himself off his pallet, scrub his face with water before heading for the door. It was time to make some crops grow, weather be damned.