Just One Drink (136 page)

Matthew opened the door to find that a large portion of the town was on fire. The thatched roofs of his nearby neighbors were completely ablaze and he watched as the local townspeople fled the fires, not even attempting to put out the blazes. Matthew looked back up the stairs to see Angela clutching a blanket to her chest, her pale skin catching the glow of the fire from the window causing her to seem almost ablaze herself. Matthew shook his head, confused.

“From the window they looked like they were being chased by wild animals,” Matthew looked back towards the town. “But no animal could set fires.” Angela walked cautiously down the steps so that she was standing next to Matthew. He cinched the jacket around his waist so that it would hold without him needing to physically hold it and he stepped outside into the panic.

He turned around and looked Angela in the eyes. “Close and lock the doors. All of them.” He glanced over his shoulder. “If someone comes to the door don’t open it unless it’s me.” He began to slowly walk away, grabbing a small hatchet from the front of the house that he used as a multi-tool. “I’ll recite our vows if it’s me.”

Angela watched as Matthew walked away. As soon as he was about twenty feet away she slammed the door shut and quickly ran throughout the house, closing the latches on all the doors and windows. She made her way back towards the center of the house and the kitchen and upon standing there for a moment another scream nearly shattered the windows. Angela reached for a small knife that was on the counter and shifted under the stairwell, locking herself behind the small door that was there. While all of this was happening though, Matthew was chasing the screams.

Matthew’s bare feet broke the grass with each footfall, the dew still fresh from the morning before. The hatchet was clenched tightly in his hand as he ran, terrified for what he might come upon as he turned the corner onto the dirt streets of the town, and, as the grass subsided to the dirt he saw what he had been fearing since looking out the window. Massive men with long, braided hair and beards, draped in animal skins and leather, massive axes and short swords seemingly blurs to the naked eye. Matthew raised his hatchet and charged towards the closest Viking.

His hatchet dug into the back of the Viking’s head, cleaving the massive man to the ground, his knees buckling as he let out a gurgle. Matthew then saw what the man had been doing, his axe still embedded in the body of the town baker, her dress torn at the waist. Matthew shook it off as best he could and removed the hatchet from the man’s head with a sickening noise. He then continued to walk through the city streets quietly and quickly, his footsteps obviously covered up by the loud crackling of the fires that raged above him.

As he turned a corner he came upon a small group of men. The man in the center was taller than Matthew by a few inches, but didn’t appear to be lanky at all. His arms were muscular and tattooed with what Matthew can only assume were considered tribal tattoos for the Viking’s. His hair was long and blonde, but caked with mud and dirt, the sides of his head were shaved revealing more tattoos.

His beard was surprisingly well kempt considering the appearance of the other men around him. The beast of a man to his left was a good foot taller than Matthew and appeared to be carved out of a small mountain, his arms not so defined, but massive. His hair was hewn short and his face was covered in scars. An axe, about as tall as Matthew, rested lightly in between his two hands. The other men were all seemingly just there to watch the show.

The large man took a step forward and with a single kick knocked the wooden door to the house clean off its hinges and sent it flying inward. Matthew was around the corner and could swear that he saw the house shake. The mountain then ducked and walked inside the house, the other few men that were merely voyeurs all funneled in after him. That was when the scream of a woman tore through Matthew’s very soul, causing the skin to stand up on the back of his neck. He decided that he couldn’t wait any longer and charged forward, rushing the blonde man.

He raised his hatchet and as it came down, the man merely shifted his weight, causing Matthew to topple past him, completely missing his target. The blonde man hand’s quickly darted to the hilt of the sword that hung from his waist, but Matthew quickly spun and continued his assault on the man so he didn’t have a chance to draw his weapon.

Even though Matthew had the man back pedaling through the town’s dirt street, he couldn’t help but notice the look in the man’s eyes. There was a determination even though Matthew thought he had the clear upper hand. His feet deftly stepped back and seemingly didn’t miss a beat. In a blur, Matthew found himself on his back though.

The man spun under Matthew’s advancing hatchet and in one fluid movement he shifted all his weight forward and lowered his shoulder into Matthew’s stomach causing the wind to be completely knocked out of his lungs. His legs seized up and he felt himself falling backward. In one move this man did what he couldn’t do with a weapon.

Instead of advancing and finishing him off though, the blonde man slowly drew his sword and allowed Matthew to stand up and catch his breath. The blonde Viking cocked his head from side to side, like a small dog trying to understand what exactly what to do with a bug that it had found.

“Why do you fight?” The words came slow and deliberate from the Viking’s mouth. His voice was heavily accented from a land that Matthew had never visited and had no intention of ever setting foot on. Matthew took his eyes off the sword in his hand and looked into the eyes of the man standing before him. He didn’t seem like the bloodthirsty animalistic creatures they had heard stories about though. This Viking that stood before him seemed genuinely confused as to why he was fighting.

“These are my people.” Matthew thumped his chest as he said this motioning at the homes around him. He knew that he would have to speak slowly for the man to understand him. The man nodded knowingly though and began to circle Matthew as he spoke once again. Matthew kept him at a distance, circling in the same direction so that they were moving together.

“You are their jarl then. If I defeat you, the others will stop fighting.” Matthew shook his head frantically as he watched the Viking’s grip tighten on the sword hilt, his knuckles growing white from the strain of his grip. Matthew raised his hatchet up in a defensive position as he tried to defend himself.

“No, we’re only a small town, there is no jarl. We pay our tithe to the church and the king.” The blonde man either didn’t understand or didn’t care. Either way the man charged forward in a blur of motion. Even though Matthew had raised up his hatchet it didn’t do much against the hardened steel of the Viking’s sword. The last thing Matthew remembered was the look in the Viking’s eyes. It was no longer one of confusion, but one of thrill. After that, only black.

******

Matthew woke up with a throbbing pain in his head. He struggled to reach up with his hand and tenderly touched the source of the pain and pulled his hand back and looked at it. His entire hand was covered in blood. Groaning he put his hand back over the open wound and applied pressure to it hoping to at least subside some of the throbbing. He rolled onto his side and tried to assess the damage that he could see. Immediately he saw that the majority of the fires that had been burning had died out, leaving only shells of formerly great stone and thatched roofed homes.

He slowly rose to his feet and searched for his hatchet, just in case the Vikings had decided to stick around for a while. However, upon looking down towards where he had fallen he only saw a broken axe handle and blade. Shaking his head Matthew tried to remember what happened, but could only piece together what he saw.

The Viking had struck him so hard that his sword literally broke his hatchet. There was no way that Matthew could stand up against that kind of attack. He then looked back up and saw a few villagers emerging from the rubble of the homes. With a gasp he began to trudge his way through the town’s streets.

His feet kicked up mud and dirt as he walked, still barefoot. With one hand clutching his head, the other steadying himself along the remaining stone structures of the homes he made his way back towards his farm house. His eyes were foggy from the blow to the head, but he searched the horizon for any sign of Angela. As the dirt path turned to grass and he got closer to the house he saw what he had feared. The door had been broken in, the wood splintered at the hinges as if someone had taken an axe to the door frame to knock the door out.

Matthew did his best to speed up, but the throbbing only persisted in his head as he urged his legs to move faster. He crossed the threshold into his house and he couldn’t help but think of his wedding night, carrying Angela across this very threshold. As his feet touched the wooden floor of his home his eyes adjusted for the slight shift in lighting. He was horrified by what he saw. The kitchen was in complete shambles, the small cabinets and their store of dried foods had been tossed around the room and their cast iron tools and pans were bent and smashed.

He continued to walk through the house to find similar scenes everywhere. Cautiously he walked upstairs in the hopes to find his wife in hiding, however, he found the upstairs was nearly untouched. When he had heard the screams of the woman he knew in his heart what was happening and was glad to see that at least it had not happened to Angela in their bed where they had just shared the morning. However, even though nothing had been changed upstairs, there was still no sign of his wife.

Matthew hurried downstairs and threw open the door beneath the stairs to find a small pool of blood. Dropping to his knees Matthew wept. His mind raced to all of the different possibilities that could have happened and none of them ended well. However, as his tears tapered off after a few minutes, he noticed that there was no body. The Vikings were known for large body counts, but there was no body from this obvious killing. Which could only mean one thing: Angela wasn’t dead.

Matthew rushed back into his bedroom, tossing off the jacket and dressed himself in real clothes. After he was dressed he then sprinted to the garden behind the house and entered the shed, opening up an old chest that was covered in dust. Reaching inside he emerged with a small axe, unlike the hatchet, this was clearly intended to be used as a weapon.

The steel was forged well and it was engraved with a number of insignia. He also pulled out a shirt of chainmail and a pair of well-worn leather gloves. Matthew knew that the time would come when his military training would come in handy. However, it wasn’t to defend, it was to attack.

He made his way towards the center of town after packing a few essentials into a bag and came upon the other townspeople all gathered, speaking in hushed tones. Most of them were wearing bandages around their heads or arms. A few men wore slings, but it was clear that no one came out of this raid unscathed. A woman sat slightly away from everyone else, her clothes torn and shaking. Matthew walked up and everyone turned as he approached.

“Matthew, where’s Angela,” asked one woman that was cradling a child’s head in her bosom. Matthew tucked the axe into his belt and adjusted the bag on his shoulder as everyone quieted down their own conversations to hear what he had to say.

“They took her. And I’m going to find her.” A quiet murmur started up through the crowd of townspeople, but Matthew continued. “I can’t do this alone.” His eyes darted from man to man, trying to make contact to convey his feelings through a look.

“Angela and I have always considered you our family. And as family I am coming to you asking for help.” The men all began to avert their gaze, uneasy with the thought of letting Matthew down or not wanting to give him false hope that they would help.

“But you saw what they did,” said one man quietly. It was almost as if he was speaking to himself he spoke so quietly.

“I know what they did here, but they’re mortal just like us. I killed one and stood my own for a short period against their commander.” Pleading, Matthew searched their faces looking for help. “We can do this if we work together.” The men all kept their eyes downcast, the women not telling their husbands to step forward either as Matthew had imagined. “Please,” he begged. After a moment of silence, tears began to well up behind his eyes, so Matthew turned. “Then I’ll do this on my own.”

And in that moment, Matthew truly felt alone.

******

Angela hadn’t had a nightmare in a long time and as she reached across in the bed for Matthew she wanted nothing more than hold him close and have him make the dream go away. However, with her eyes closed still, she closed her hands around thick woolen sheet. These weren’t the sheets that she was used to on the bed. It wasn’t nearly cold enough to need the wool blanket. Slowly, she opened her eyes to realize that she wasn’t in her bed at all, but rather was asleep on a large cot, draped in wool blankets and furs.