The Invasion Read online

  Colborn gazed in horror, what had he done, as she lay there with her lifeblood leaking from the gaping hole in her chest.

  What have I done?

  He’d never even wounded anyone before, and now it looked like he’d gone and killed this woman. Perhaps he could help her somehow? Or take her someplace where she could be healed? But as he stared at the ever-widening pool of blood soaking into the earth, he knew it was hopeless to suppose that she would survive. There was nothing he could do. Sword shaking even more he backed away. What could he do? Turning he found his feet running, carrying him back the way he’d come. His original plan was forgotten in light of this new horror.

  “Colborn Olufsson!”

  The voice was strong and commanding and his feet stopped, almost tilting him forward to fall to the ground in shock. Slowly he regained his balance and turned.

  The woman was lying in exactly the same place, evidently still dying, but her piercing eyes glared at him with animosity. Without her lips moving, the words seemed to come from the air itself.

  “Colborn Olufsson you have erred greatly in spilling the blood of this daughter of the land! By my pierced heart and by the power vested in my person, I curse you! You will pay the price for your monstrous deed. May your path ever lead you off-track. May you ever be blinded by mists and miasma. May your blade rupture in your hand, and may you find the charred and smoldering end that this day’s work has earned you!”

  Colborn’s blood turned to ice but he didn’t wait to be cursed more. He turned again and ran for his life, staggering over grassy hillocks and leaping over rocks and ditches. He ran as if all the warriors in the land were chasing him.

  When he was a mile or so away, he darted behind a large stone and sank, panting, to the ground. It was all he could do to simply try and recover his breath for a few moments. Once his heart had slowed slightly, he rested his head on his bended knees and tried to figure out what he should do.

  Oh, what bad luck that he should encounter such a strange woman and then accidentally kill her! And now she had cursed him! He wasn’t totally sure whether the magic of this foreign country would work on him, but it certainly hadn’t sounded pleasant. Especially the part about the charred and smoldering end.

  Now that he was away from the cursed valley, all traces of mist had disappeared and the sunlight was strong and the scene peaceful. He rested for a while longer with his face in the sun, telling himself that it had all been an act on the part of the woman. She didn’t have real magical powers and she had shouted all those things because she was angry that he had killed her.

  It was madness. What did she expect when she tried to stop a Viking warrior from going about his business? She was asking to be killed! He, Colborn, had simply been dealing with a troublesome native. Now it was time to go and collect his treasure. He was rightfully entitled to that armlet after killing its owner, and he was going to go back and fetch it! That would show everyone what a brave warrior he was.

  Filled with determination he rose to his feet and strode back to the valley once again. When he arrived, the familiar mist came creeping back but the woman’s body was lying where he had last seen it. However, this time she was thankfully dead and shouted no more curses after him.

  For a moment remorse froze him to the spot, but it was too late for that now. If he had met her on the raid the outcome would have been the same. What would the men think if he stood with tears in his eyes over a corpse?

  Wiping his eyes, he strolled forward and reached down to the armlet. A burst of static electric arched as he touched it and his hand slipped over her skin. It was as cold as the mist and he wanted to pull back.

  A raven cawed from within the mist and he nearly turned and ran. Only the fear of being teased made him hold his ground.

  Slowly he slid his fingers along her cold flesh, why cold, it was just moments ago that she was living and breathing? Maybe it was the mist, yes that must be it, there was no magic here. His fingers gripped the gold and he wrestled the armlet free of the corpse and slid it up his own arm.

  It fit perfectly and look magnificent, this was indeed a treasure and he had found another advantage of being slimmer than most Vikings! The armlet fit him like it had been made for him. And the design was a neutral one that could be worn by a man or a woman.

  Very pleased with his new decoration the woman at his feet was forgotten. It also struck him that this armlet would be enough to regain his honor, as he was no longer returning from the raiding trip emptyhanded. While he still didn’t have enough for a wife, he would at least win the bet with Ove, who would have to share whatever he’d found in the raid on Bancor.

  Colborn was feeling decidedly more cheerful and turned to head back to the Viking camp for the third time that day. He would be glad to leave this misty valley behind once and for all! But he hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps when he felt something wet fall onto his arm. Looking up, he saw a raven flying overhead. Having dropped its excrement to run down his arm and cover the armlet he had just put on, the bird let loose its distinctive cawing cry as it flew away.

  The chill of the mist and the soiling of his new jewelry spoiled Colborn’s good mood. He gave himself a shake and tried to regain some of the cheer he’d felt earlier. Things were going his way for once. He had killed his first enemy after all and was returning victorious with the treasure. Not only that, but all the others would have headaches when they woke up after all that mead, but he was feeling perfectly fine, thank you very much. In fact, maybe Thurmond would …

  Colborn’s train of thought was interrupted when the ground beneath him abruptly gave way and he dropped into a crevice that opened up under his feet. His belly flipped as he tumbled down and landed on his back in something soft, wet, and very smelly.

  Gathering his senses, he looked around, the mist was clear down here and it seemed to be some kind of animal burrow. He was thankfully unhurt and got to his feet. The smell was overwhelming and it that dropped into a pit of animal droppings. His boots were ankle deep in… a stinking mess! His back was wet and the stench made him want to heave.

  Fear clawed down his spine as he watched a dark shape fly overhead and heard that damn Raven’s caw. If only he had a bow it would be silenced forever… just like the woman!

  That thought chilled him and he looked around. It was messy and but not too deep and he clambered out and wiped himself down the best he could.

  The mist was once again swirling damply around his feet. Funny, he could have sworn that the mist only stayed in the valley where he’d met the strange woman, but now looking around it seemed to be spread over the landscape as far as he could see. A cold chill gripped him as he realized that it would be difficult to find his way back to the camp in the mist.

  Shaking himself to clean his clothes as best he could he gave his boots a final wipe on the turf and hurried on in the direction of the camp.

  The mist stayed low, but made it difficult to see the terrain he was walking over. Once more he fell and stumbled, bumping his head on a tree stump. Dazed and frightened he picked himself up and hurried on. Everything looked so different, was he going in the right direction?

  Stumbling along looking around and trying to find the right path he tripped over a root. It felt almost as if it grabbed hold of his ankle but that had to be his imagination. Still, he was falling and as he went down his hands sunk into something wet, cold, and moving. A fetid smell covered him and he heaved up his supper.

  The mist cleared and he could see his hands had gone into the corpse of some kind of large dog. Maggots wriggled across his fingers. Disgusted, he leaped to his feet, calling out and shaking his hands.

  What was wrong with this place?

  It’s the curse!

  Had he heard that? It sounded like a sibilant whisper floating on the mist but maybe it was just in his head. After all, he was alone in a strange land and he had to hurry.

  Setting off in what he hoped was the right direction he noticed that the mis
t was rising now, making it even harder to make out the landscape. He kept going, but without being able to see the position of the sun or the familiar shapes of the hills around him, it was impossible to tell exactly where he was.

  The mist thickened until it was like a soup, clogging his lungs and stopping him from seeing even a few inches in front of him. Afraid, cold, and alone, he was forced to slow down to a snail’s pace. Feeling each step out and stretching his hands in front of him he tried to ward off trees or rocks that might be ahead of him.

  Suddenly the ground gave way again, but this time instead of falling a couple of feet into an animal burrow, he fell bodily for a couple of hundred feet. He hardly had time to scream before he hit freezing water.

  The shock knocked the air from his lungs forcing him to continue to sink, down and down until the water was dark. Desperate to draw breath he kicked and struggled up until he could see light. He was going to make it and he clawed his way back to the surface pulling in a grateful breath into his tortured lungs. Kicking on the spot, he gasped in great lungfuls of sweet air for a few moments until he was able to swim over to the bank.

  He was in the river!

  How on earth could it have happened? He had been following the series of valleys that ran parallel to the course of the river. He must have somehow wandered up a hill and over a cliff edge. Shaken and soaked but thankfully unhurt by the fall he paused to wring out his clothing before attempting to figure out which direction he should take.

  At least he was free of the terrible stench but, where was he?

  The mist had cleared and Colborn estimated a direction based on the river’s course and the position of the hills, feeling a little more optimistic, he had survived, he started out again.

  Traipsing along was awful. Aches and pains from the falls plagued him and it was thoroughly miserable squelching along in wet boots with his clothing sticking to him, providing no warmth whatsoever. Even the slightest breeze set him to shivering and he resigned himself to catching a cold on the voyage home. At least he still had the armlet, he reassured himself. And the dip in the river had at least washed away the awful stench.

  6

  After what must have been hours of searching, Colborn was beginning to wonder whether the curse might be real after all. He had been walking in circles, hampered by the mist, always ending back at the river. Fortunately, he had avoided falling in it again, but it was a small comfort as his clothing were still uncomfortably wet and he was freezing cold.

  It seemed like he fell into a ditch or a hole opened up under his feet every few steps, and he’d several times walked into trees or bushes that were obscured by the mist until it was too late.

  Exhausted, battered, and bruised Colborn stood for a moment as night had now fallen, he tried to listen and make out where he might be. He heard nothing but the ever-present rushing of the nearby river.

  At his wits’ end, he started walking again in a random direction in hopes that it would lead him somewhere. He could have wept with relief when he saw rows of trees begin to emerge from the mist and darkness. It was the copse of trees where his fellow Vikings had camped. Energized by this discovery, he picked up the pace and jogged through the trees, seeing signs of the Viking camp everywhere: the remains of a fire, discarded loot and gear, empty skins that once had held mead. But of the Vikings themselves there was no sign. They had evidently packed up and left… they had left him!

  Scouting through the trees one last time he found nothing. In a moment of despair, he took his eyes off the ground and was falling again. This time it was little but a step, the squelching beneath his boots and the incredible stench told him that his frantic searching had led him to run straight into the ditch that the Vikings had been using as a privy.

  Once more he was reduced to wiping a stinking mess off his boots. But there was little time. If his shipmates had a good lead on him, he might not catch them. Would they wait? It was doubtful. They had evidently awoken and found him gone but had left anyway, so he didn’t set much store that they would be waiting at the shore for him.

  They had no idea where he was and may think that he was lost. He no longer had time to worry and he was running out of the copse in the direction of the shore. Nothing mattered now but that he found them before they set sail.

  The infernal mist was still dogging his path, made worse by the darkness, but it would be easier to find his way to the shore with the aid of the river to guide his way. All he had to do was find the river. He strode bravely in the direction that he imagined it to be. A while later, he was hardly surprised when, again, he ran out of solid ground and fell down, down, down, back into the icy river’s cold embrace. His bad luck was becoming predictable.

  As he tiredly clambered once more out of the chilly water, he became aware of the sound of a raven cawing. He was really beginning to hate that bird! This time, to add insult to injury, it sounded like the bird was actually laughing at him.

  Furiously shaking the water from himself, he spied the bird perched on a low tree near to the riverbank. Without a moment’s thought, he drew his dripping sword, staggered over with a yell, and swung it at the raven.

  The bird flapped lazily out of reach and continued its mocking cawing from a higher branch. In the meantime, Colborn’s swing had forced his blade deep into the wood of the branch and he was having trouble extracting it.

  His wet and chilled hands slid over the grip as he wrestled with the hilt. Then, all of a sudden, the sword came free with an almighty cracking noise. He backed away, relieved, but then was aghast to see his blade still apparently buried in the tree branch. Looking down, he beheld the hilt and stump of the broken blade in his hand, and a chill ran over him as he was reminded of the witch woman’s words.

  “… may your blade rupture in your hand …”

  Colborn dropped the useless stump of his father’s blade and sank to the floor. It must be true. He was cursed, and if the woman’s words were to be believed, there was nothing left for him but fire and death. He was stranded without his countrymen, wet, cold, tired, and doomed to shortly die a horrible death. And there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He knew well from the old stories that once a curse took hold, there was nothing to be done to prevent the death of the victim.

  7

  Unless … Colborn recalled something about a story where the victim had stolen something, but upon giving back the stolen item, the curse had been lifted.

  Glancing down at the armlet, which had stayed on his arm through all the wandering, falling, and dunking, he wondered whether returning it to the woman’s body would be enough to lift the curse. By this point, he had little to lose, and giving up the armlet would surely be worth it if it prevented a horrible death. He decided to try and find his way back to the valley where he’d killed the woman.

  As if the very weather could read his mind, just at that moment a slight wind blew and cleared the mist away from the ground and cleared the cloud from the full moon. It shone down covering him with its glorious light. For the first time in hours, his way was clear. It was surely a sign that this was the right thing to do. He rose with a glad heart and started out with new energy in the direction of the misty valley.

  As if his decision to return the armlet had pre-empted a disabling of the curse, his way back to the valley was smooth and clear. He didn’t stumble even once, and no more holes appeared under his feet. In what seemed like no time, he was back in the valley, rushing over to the patch of ground with the tree stump.

  The woman’s body was gone!

  There wasn’t even a bloodstain to show where she had lain. He searched all around, and even checked the tree stump to be sure it was the right place. Sure enough, the stump was scuffed and damaged where he had kicked it the previous night. It was definitely the right place. But where was the body?

  Colborn slumped down on the stump, wondering whether some animal could have dragged her off. Sorrow and remorse at his behavior filled him but he fought it off. It was not
his fault, he was born to kill, to rampage, and to steal. It was the way of his people. Why should he be punished when others reaped the spoils of their killing?

  As he sat there, he noticed familiar tendrils of mist starting to form around his feet and his heart sank. Apparently, it wasn’t enough to simply have the intention of returning the stolen amulet.

  “You are the one!”

  The voice was loud, came out of nowhere, and Colborn nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up to find himself surrounded by a ring of old men with white beards.

  Where had they come from?

  There were seven of them in total, and they all wore white robes draped around their bodies, similar to the one that the woman had worn. Each of them held a flaming torch, the orange light falling onto their bare arms. Colborn noticed that each of them wore a gold armlet, similar to the one on his own arm, although each design was a little different. The man directly in front of him was the one who had spoken and was still pointing at him.

  Colborn jumped to his feet to face this new opponent.

  “You are the one!” exclaimed the man. “Thanks to your foul deed, our radiant Ailith is no more!”

  They were old men, but they were nevertheless staring at him menacingly. Colborn decided to go with honesty and try to talk his way out of the situation.

  “Yes” he cried. “Yes, I killed her. But I am truly sorry for my, uh, terrible deed… mistake, it was an accident… and I wish to make amends.”

  The old man cocked his head. “You wish to amend for the death of Ailith? Are you aware of the price you must pay for having spilled the blood of a druid daughter?”

  Colborn nodded. “I’ve got this amulet here. I know it’s valuable and I’m willing to give it up in return for the curse that’s on me being lifted.”

  “A curse?” asked a man to his right. “Ailith placed a curse on you?”