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Prologue

There was much clatter and consternation in the village. There always was before a battle. There was a certain kind of energy that tinged the air and made everything crackle, the same kind of feeling that came before a storm. Everyone was possessed by a strong emotion, not just the soldiers. Some were excited, some were anxious, but there was nobody who was not affected by the grim events. Even Fiona Callan, a mere girl of 12 years old, was filled with a kind of powerful energy that she did not understand. She was tall for her age, with a button nose, a heart-shaped face, and long brown hair that was tied back in a tight ponytail to keep out of her eyes. Her eyes were shades of grey and blue, seeming to shift like the tides, and they were just as tumultuous and rough as any stormy sea. The rest of the village buzzed about, and she was no different. It was early in the morning, the air was fresh and cool, the dew still dripping from the flowers, and animals were cawing for their morning meals.

There was only one thing that could fill this young girl’s belly, though, and that was war.

She hummed a tune her mother had sung to her when Fiona was very young as she made her way through the house to where the weapons were stored. She had insisted on having weapons made for her, for Fiona was no ordinary girl. She loved the idea of fighting in battle. It had all begun one day when she had witnessed a battle with bandits, where some passing Vikings had defended the village against bandits. The prowess of the Viking force was unmatched. Their muscles rippled, and the roars that emanated from their throats were more like the roars of beasts than men. They were vicious and strong, but it wasn’t the men who grabbed her attention. She had gazed in wonder at the sight of female warriors fighting alongside the men.

It was the first time Fiona had ever truly questioned the world in which she had grown up. In her world, women were always left behind. It was their duty to raise the children, to make the food, to tend to the house, and ensure that everything was kept clean. She had never imagined it was possible to fight, and once she saw this glorious, powerful woman, Fiona knew deep in her heart that she didn’t want to be anything else. She watched the woman’s hair swing like a pendulum as the woman brought around her powerful sword, cutting through enemies as easily as any man could. Fiona was in awe, and from that day, she had trained with weapons, much to the dismay of her father, Laird Stephen Callan.

Laird Callan was not a mean father, nor would he consider himself to be a lax one either. He was not prepared to allow his daughter to put herself in danger. But, usually, when a child wanted something badly enough, they found a way. Despite her father’s best wishes, Fiona was adamant. She spent time around the warriors and shirked her duties, always obsessed with the idea of war. She rose early in the morning and practiced moving her body as though she was holding a sword. When it became clear that she was never going to let go of this idea, Laird Callan relented, although there were some conditions, such as she was never allowed to ignore her responsibilities around the village.

It was her uncle who forged weapons for her, as there were none in the village that was suitable, for obvious reasons. Her uncle was far more eager to indulge her desires than Laird Callan was. He made her a bow with arrows and a sword, as well as defensive equipment. Fiona practiced with them religiously, and it was these weapons she turned to now as she prepared to go into battle with the rest of her clan.

As she pulled the weapons out of the chest, she spared a thought for her uncle. He had always been more than an uncle, like a friend, but sickness had taken him some moons back, along with her mother and other members of the clan. It was strange to think that even a skilled and powerful warrior such as him could fall prey to something so silly as an illness, and she wondered if the Vikings suffered from the same things.

She strapped the padding to her arms, legs, and chest and attached the thick leather helmet to her face. She then picked up the bow and slung it around her shoulders. The twine bit into her skin, but she ignored the sensation for now. Then she took her sword, which was as sharp as a needle, and sheathed it. Her shield was next, the leather strapping being tightened around her forearm. Fiona then slung the arrows over her shoulder and walked out to the man field where the army was gathering. She cut an amusing figure to anyone who saw her, for she appeared to be a soldier who had been shrunken in size. She was burdened by the equipment she carried and moved at a slower pace than usual. Every breath she took was labored, and her muscles were already beginning to ache. She felt herself sinking closer to the ground with every step, but she was determined to join the army.

“What dae ye think ye are daeing?” A shadow loomed over her. Fiona tilted her neck up to look at the stern man who stood with his arms folded across his chest.

“I’m gaeing tae war,” Fiona said proudly, although her voice wavered in front of her father.

Laird Callan bent down so that he reached Fiona’s eye level and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Fiona, ye cannae really believe that I would let ye gae intae battle taeday,” he said gently.

Fiona pouted. “But I hae been training! This is what I hae wanted tae dae for sae long now! I’m ready, Da. I promise ye I’m ready, and I will nae get hurt,” she boasted, sticking her chest out at this last part.

“Aye, I’m sure ye would nae. Ye are far tae quick for anyone tae get their hands on, but I would nae be a good father if I let ye gae intae battle,” he said.

“But Da!” she cried out. Laird Callan cut her off before she could say anything else. He wore a serious expression on his face, and his voice was imbued with a stern tone.

“Fiona, I know ye want tae be a warrior, and I know ye hae been training for a long time, but ye are still a lass. This is nae a game or some training bout. This is a real fight with real consequences. These men are prepared tae give their lives tae defend their clan. Each of them knows that this might be the day when their eyes close for the final time”—he gestured to the gathered army as he spoke—“and ye are tae young tae hae that happen. I’m sure that someday ye will find a way tae get intae a battle. I hae resigned myself tae that fate for a long time, but taeday is nae that day. Ye are still a child, and there’s no child that could be a warrior. I would nae let any child fight on behalf of the clan, especially nae my own. Gods help us if we ever reach a day when we depend on children fighting wars.” He shook his head as he said this, and his face was ashen.

Over the years, Fiona had learned when she could push her luck with her father, and this was not one of those occasions. She sighed heavily and took a lingering look at the army before turning away and taking her weapons back to their chest. The image of the warrior sloughed off her, and she was a girl once again. Just a girl.

Fiona returned outside to watch the army marching away. Most of them were on foot, but some of them were on horses as well. They looked majestic, and there was such a sense of pride in all of them. Fiona hoped that one day she would feel that same sense of pride. There was nothing she wanted more than to be able to defend her clan, to protect the people she loved, to be a warrior.

The day was long, and once the army had left, the village seemed barren. Fiona was tasked with getting on with her chores, but she kept looking to the horizon, wondering when the army was going to return. She strained her ears to try and hear the sounds of battle, even though it was impossible because the battle was some way from the village. She noticed that many of the adults were nervous, and their tempers were short, especially from the women. She overheard them express concern about the chances of their men returning. Fiona didn’t think they should worry so much. The warriors in the clan were all strong and fierce. She had watched them train many times and had always been impressed by their prowess. She had learned a lot from them, and she was certain that the outcome of the battle would be a favorable one.

However, she would quickly learn that she didn’t know as much about war as she liked to think. The day turned, the light shifting from brightness to dusk as people went about their business, and as night was beginning to fall, the army returned. They first heard the sounds of horses whinnying, and then the men appeared, stained with blood, looking beleaguered and worn. The horses didn’t look much better. Many of the returning men were wounded, crying out in pain. It was a chilling sound that made Fiona’s blood curdle. They trotted and staggered into the village square, calling out that they had been triumphant, although in truth, they did not look like victors at all. Fiona waited for the rest of the men to appear, but none did. Only shadows lingered behind them. Realization slowly dawned upon her face as to why the rest of the men returned.

People flooded out of their homes to greet the returning heroes. The soldiers were embraced as floods of tears cascaded from those who had feared the worst. But Fiona’s attention was drawn to the people who looked through the survivors, who called out names and were met only with silence. There was a moment in each of them where grim dread overwhelmed them. Whether they were parents, siblings, lovers, or friends, each of them reacted to sorrow in different ways. Some sank to their knees and wept, others grew angry, while yet others walked away in silence with slumped shoulders. The mood was a solemn one despite the victory, and Fiona was left wondering if there had been any point to the battle at all.

Suddenly she was glad that her father had stopped her from venturing into battle because she wasn’t quite a warrior yet.

Laird Callan strode out of his house and went to meet the leader of the army.

“Where are the rest of the men?” he demanded.

“Gone…they’re all gone.”

“What, captured?” Laird Callan asked.

The weary warrior, his face stained with blood and the shadow of death in his eyes, shook his head slowly. “Dead, Laird. They’re all dead. We won, but it…it cost us everything.”

Fiona watched as the expression on her father’s face changed. He looked around slowly at the remaining men, and then his face turned ashen.

“Well done for returning. I want tae congratulate ye on yer victory. But now we must think on what tae dae next…this loss of men leaves us vulnerable,” he said. Fiona could tell that her father was trying to hide the worry from his voice, but while he might be able to fool his men, he was not able to keep anything from her.

There were sounds coming from the woods. They were likely only caused by animals, but they were frightening all the same. Fiona felt vulnerable. If these were the only men left, then the strength of the village had dwindled dramatically.

She walked away from the survivors of the battle and returned to the room in which her weapons were held. She once again lifted her sword from the chest and began practicing the forms her uncle had taught her, more determined than ever to become a warrior because there would come a day when her village needed her, and she was not going to let the call of battle go unheeded.