Upon the sea

The rain fell in steady sheets, a chill soaking through the rough fabric stretched overhead. Elyswith huddled beside Athelstan, the faint warmth of his shoulder the only comfort in the damp cold. The sound of the waves against the longship's hull was rhythmic, almost hypnotic, but the cries of gulls and the laughter of the Vikings kept her tethered to her fear.

A leather-bound Bible rested between her and Athelstan, its pages worn and smudged from years of use. Together, they murmured softly, their voices barely audible over the rain.

''For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life...'' Athelstan's voice was steady, but Elyswith's quivered.

She glanced up, and her breath caught when she saw him. Ragnar. The leader, the man who had spared their lives. He approached them, his steps slow but deliberate, his piercing blue eyes never leaving her.

Elyswith straightened instinctively, clutching the Bible tighter. Athelstan noticed her tension and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

Ragnar stopped just before them, his head tilting slightly as he studied them, water dripping from his hair and beard.

''What are your names?'' His voice was calm, curious.

Athelstan answered quickly, ''I am Athelstan. This is my sister, Elyswith.''

Ragnar's gaze shifted to her, lingering. "Elyswith," he repeated, his accent curling around the syllables. "Pretty name."

She swallowed hard, unsure if it was a compliment or a taunt.

''I am Ragnar, Lothbrok'' he said, his tone light as if introductions were a formality, his lips curling into a faint smirk.

Elyswith did not respond, but Athelstan nodded solemnly.

Ragnar crouched slightly, his eyes flicking to the Bible between them. ''What was the name of the place I took you from?''

Athelstan hesitated, then answered, ''Lindisfarne. A holy island.''

Ragnar's face lit with intrigue, his gaze darting between them. He leaned closer to Elyswith, his expression almost boyish in its excitement. ''England?''

Elyswith nodded hesitantly. ''Yes.''

The corners of Ragnar's mouth pulled into a grin, as though the confirmation delighted him in ways she couldn't fathom.

Athelstan cleared his throat, drawing Ragnar's attention. ''It is foretold in Scripture,'' Athelstan said gravely, "that punishment would fall upon God's people for their sins. And so it has happened. That is why we are here."

Ragnar chuckled, a low, rich sound that made Elyswith glance up despite herself. ''No,'' he said, leaning back and shaking his head. "You are here because I saved your life."

Elyswith frowned, her voice hesitant but steady. ''Why did you spare us?''

The question seemed to catch Ragnar off guard. He tilted his head, studying her with a faint smile that was equal parts teasing and enigmatic. ''I don't know, yet'' he said simply, then stood and walked away, leaving her more unsettled than ever.

Weeks Later

The sharp scent of salt and brine filled Elyswith's nostrils as the longship sliced through the waters, the towering mountains of their destination coming into view. The land was beautiful, its jagged peaks reaching into the sky, shrouded by low-hanging clouds.

Athelstan sat beside her, his voice low with urgency. ''Ragnar, Lothbrok,'' he called.

Ragnar, who was lounging against the mast with a casual ease, barely lifted his head. ''What is it?'' he asked, his tone unbothered.

''The monk... next to my sister... he's dead,'' Athelstan said, his voice trembling slightly.

Elyswith winced at the words, a wave of nausea twisting her stomach. She had known for days, the stench of decay growing unbearable, but she had been too afraid to say anything.

Ragnar stood and barked a command in Norse. Two warriors moved without hesitation, grabbing the lifeless body and hauling it to the edge of the ship. Elyswith turned her head away, clutching Athelstan's arm as the sound of the splash echoed in her ears.

The other monks were pale and silent, their faces a mirror of Elyswith's fear. The Vikings, by contrast, seemed undisturbed, even cheerful as they exchanged jokes in their language.

The shoreline loomed closer, and Elyswith's stomach tightened further. The warriors began shouting to one another, their energy rising.

She noticed one of them—the tall, wiry man who had dragged her from the fence at the monastery—climb atop the dragon-headed figurehead at the front of the boat. He let out a loud cheer, raising his arms as the others roared in response.

Elyswith watched in dismay as the longship approached the dock. The Vikings looked overjoyed to be home. She could only grip her brother's sleeve tighter, her chest constricted by the knowledge that this foreign, terrifying place was now her reality.