The storm breaks

The morning was quiet, save for the soft hum of Elyswith's voice as she worked outside the monastery walls. Her fingers were stained with herbs gathered from the nearby fields, a task she often took upon herself to aid the monks.

 The melody was an old one, taught to her by her mother—a gentle song of faith and family.She paused to glance up at the sky, her gaze lingering on the thickening clouds on the horizon. They were bruised and heavy, a storm threatening to roll in from the sea. 

A chill ran down her spine, though the air remained still. Something felt wrong.Her brother, Athelstan, had laughed when she mentioned it earlier that morning, dismissing her worries with his calm, scholarly demeanor. ''The Lord is with us,'' he had said, handing her a bundle of scripture to deliver to the abbot. ''What do we have to fear?''

 But as the sound of distant horns reached her ears, the unease she had felt all morning had coiled tight in her chest. 

 Now Elyswith stood, clutching the herbs to her chest as the first shouts echoed from the direction of the sea. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and early blossoms as Elyswith crouched low behind the wooden fence at the edge of the monastery grounds. The rough planks dug into her palms, but she dared not move. 

 She had seen them coming from the hill overlooking the sea—ships with dragon heads cutting through the waves, their sails as red as blood. There had been no time to warn anyone, not even Athelstan. She had only made it as far as the fence before the gates shattered under the force of the invaders.Now, through the slats, she could see the monastery courtyard, its sanctity defiled by the warriors who stormed through it like a flood. 

Their weapons gleamed in the pale light, and their voices were harsh, barking orders in a language both foreign and oddly familiar.Elyswith pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her breathing. Her heart raced as the sounds of violence echoed through the courtyard—shouts, screams, the clash of metal. She couldn't see her brother."Lord, protect us," she whispered, clutching the small wooden cross at her neck. 

 The chaos slowly gave way to silence, broken only by the distant cry of gulls and the heavy footsteps of the invaders. Elyswith peeked through the slats and saw the monks being pulled from the church one by one, their faces pale with fear.Her breath caught when she finally spotted Athelstan among them, his hands bound and his head bowed. His robe was torn, and there was blood on his cheek, but he was alive. Relief flooded her, followed by a wave of helplessness.The warriors barked commands, their movements efficient as they gathered their captives. The leader, a man with piercing blue eyes and an air of quiet authority, stood at the center of the courtyard. He didn't need to shout—his very presence seemed to command respect. 

 Elyswith's relief was short-lived. As her gaze darted back to her brother, one of the Vikings turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing as they scanned the edge of the courtyard. He had heard something.Her hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late. The warrior's gaze locked onto her hiding spot. He growled something in their tongue, and two others followed his lead, striding toward the fence."No, no, no..." Elyswith scrambled back, her heart pounding.The fence offered no protection as the warriors yanked her into the open, their grip like iron on her arms. She struggled, but it was futile. They dragged her toward the group of monks, ignoring her cries. 

 "Elyswith!"Athelstan's voice cut through her panic. He surged forward, earning a sharp jab from a spear that forced him back. His eyes were wide with fear and something else—desperation.The leader, the man with the icy gaze, turned his head at the commotion. His expression was unreadable as he approached, his steps slow and deliberate.Athelstan wasted no time. "Please!" he begged, his voice cracking. "She is my sister. Do not harm her. Please, I beg you."The leader stopped in front of them, his gaze shifting from Athelstan to Elyswith. She stared back, trembling but refusing to look away. His eyes were as cold and piercing as the sea, and she felt as though he was dissecting her with a single glance. 

 "You speak our tongue?" he asked, his voice low and sharp.Elyswith hesitated, then nodded. "A little," she whispered.The corner of his mouth twitched—a smirk, perhaps, or something darker. He turned to Athelstan, tilting his head. "Your sister?""Yes," Athelstan said quickly. "She is no threat to you. Please, spare her." 

 For a long moment, the leader said nothing. Then he barked a command to the warriors holding Elyswith. They hesitated but released her, though they stayed close, their hands on their weapons.Elyswith staggered forward, and Athelstan caught her, pulling her close. She clung to him, her heart still racing.They were marched to the Viking ships, the monastery now a smoldering ruin behind them. Elyswith stayed close to her brother, her fingers clutching his sleeve as though it were a lifeline.

 The longship loomed ahead, its carved prow casting a shadow over the shore. Elyswith shivered as they were herded aboard, the warriors barking orders and shoving the captives into place.The leader—Ragnar, she had heard them call him—stood at the helm, his gaze scanning the horizon. But every so often, his eyes drifted back to her. She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on Athelstan, who whispered prayers under his breath. 

 As night fell, the prisoners huddled together on the deck, the chill of the sea cutting through their thin robes. Elyswith leaned against Athelstan, her head resting on his shoulder.To calm herself, she began to hum. The tune was soft, almost drowned out by the sound of the waves. It was a song their mother had sung to them as children, a melody of comfort and faith.When the song ended, there was silence, broken only by the rhythmic splash of oars cutting through the waves. 

Elyswith kept her eyes closed, letting the melody linger in her mind.But she could feel it—the shift in the air, the weight of their gazes. Some of the warriors murmured to one another in their strange tongue, their voices subdued. Others remained still, their expressions unreadable.From where he stood at the helm, their leader said nothing. But when Elyswith dared to open her eyes, she found him staring at her, his piercing gaze as steady as the stars emerging overhead. 

 She turned away quickly, her face warm despite the chill of the night.As she curled closer to her brother, whispering a prayer for courage, she could still feel his eyes on her, and for reasons she could not yet name, it left her more unsettled than before.