call out this monster for his words. He had only me.
I would stand for him.
I turned to prepare.
I heard shouts, and knew I’d been seen.
I ran. There was nothing else I could do.
The shouts became jeers and my breathing punctuated with sobs. I’d vowed a blood oath, and now I ran.
One voice stood out. That was Aeschere. Years ago, Grendel had beaten his son hard enough to damage the boy’s eye, and neither had ever forgiven him. He pursued me, though my lead was good and my legs remained strong. I hoped he’d slow and give up, with nothing but colorfully degrading insults, but while he slowed, he didn’t stop.
I ran along the mucky high ground and onto the spit where my hut stood. He was some minutes behind and I had just time. I barred the door, caught my breath, and took a drink of water, followed by a mouthful of cheese for energy. Then I set about preparing.
Aeschere was a mouthy sort, and I knew he was trying to provoke me out, rather than enter himself. If I thought that would be the end of it, I’d tolerate his taunts through gritted teeth, but once he grew bored, he’d try to draw others with him. He wanted a fight with an old woman, and I determined he should have it.
When we fled years before, Grendel carried a huge trunk for me, effortlessly. It was in the back of the hut, next to my bed, where it served as a table, a chair, and a storage chest. I swept clothing and pouches off it, opened the lid, and hauled out the clothes within to dump them on the ground. I wanted what lay beneath.
I pulled my brynje of mail from the chest. It was darkened with age, but its rings were well wrought and it would protect me. I no longer had the underpadding. It was long since used for baby blankets. My dress and a winter tunic of thick wool would have to do. It was only for one fight.
The armor was snug. I was not a young girl anymore. It covered well enough, though tight on my chest, and dragged a bit on my hips. I grabbed the tails and yanked hard, bursting the three lowest rings at the front, and then it moved as it should.
I took a moment to pull the blankets around my boy and check the bandages, which were soaked through with dark blood. I carefully bound another wrapping over them, knowing it would accomplish little. Lacking a miracle from the gods who’d never seen fit to give me a pittance, his time in this world grew short. He moaned and twitched, his ruined shoulder sensitive to every waft of air, the mattress, even my presence. I kissed his forehead gently from above and resumed my task.
Behind the door, well covered in dust, were my other needs. A thick leathern hat with a string to tie it, a light but sturdy shield reinforced with iron strips and rawhide edging, and my lord’s sword. I drew it from the scabbard and examined it.
There was some small amount of brown bloom that should be oiled and scoured before it turned to rust. There was no time for that now. My tormentor awaited, and I had a blood oath to fulfill.
I stood and breathed deeply, reacquainting myself with the weight of armor, and learning the heft of the sword. When I heard his voice circle around to the front again, I pulled the door open and stepped out.
“Hello, Aeschere,” I said with a sweet tone that didn’t hide my rage. “Would you care to dance?”
His expression told me he hadn’t expected a fair fight. He clutched for his sword, stuttering as he did so. He almost said something, possibly to placate me, possibly to distract. But his mind caught up and realized the futility.
He dropped into guard and waited for me to attack in rage. Oh, Aeschere, this was not my first battle, nor quite my last. I simply smiled, with a flick of tongue on lips to taunt him. He shifted and hesitated, and I stamped my foot. That startled him