Infinite 01 - Infinite Sacrifice

go shuffling about with steaming buckets again.
    “Good you were not in there when he came home,” I say quietly to Thora.
    A great stir comes from the jetty, and again we see four men carry Gunhilda like a roped pig. As soon as they pass Chieftain Toke, he stops them with his hand out, and they lay her on the ground.
    She looks up, half-interested, as he says, “You have honored me in battle and out-killed all my other warriors. If you had returned to your chieftain’s side and not gone off, slashing your way across the countryside where my men had to hunt you down again, well then, you would not have to come like a slayed stag.”
    She picks her head up. “Where’s my sack of loot?”
    He motions the men to take her to her house. “You show me that you’re a Viking, and I will let you keep your riches.”
    She begins kicking and squirming, causing the four men to stumble and hit the ground. One man kicks her hard, making her still again, and they carry her out of sight. Toke commands his servants to take his plunder away and begins to disrobe even before reaching the privacy of the bathhouse.
    Thora turns to me, laughing slightly, and says, “Let’s get home.”
    We are both happy that Rolf did not return on that ship.

Chapter 6
    Two years pass without much change except for how fast Erna is growing. My days are spent running around after her, keeping her from the dangers of the farm while Thora works. Whenever Erna spins off away from me, Borga notices and brings her back to me by pecking at her gently until she runs back. Erna dances like a little nymph, twirling around in the crop fields. Thora comes to find us after her weaving is done. She holds our hands, as we make our own fairy circles in the wheat. Then we fall back with our arms out and look up at the busy clouds drifting past. On rainy days, we sit inside by the fire and throw peas into a far-away bowl, laughing when they fall out and Borga eats them up happily.
    My nights are spent with Una and Hela, which are just as pleasant. Una and I help pluck or debone our supper as Hela tells us stories about her village back in Scotland. It’s a terrible day for us when the chieftain sends a servant to come and take Hela away. The oldest woman in the village has died, and now Hela is the oldest. The oldest woman in the village, freeman or not, is deemed supernatural and given the honorary position of the Angel of Death. She will now be given her own house and her own thralls to assist her in preparing all the dead for burial. Thora tells me that we should be proud of her, but Una and I miss her in our little dugout. We have to fend for ourselves now, and I make sure to stay close to Una. We build one high bed of straw, and I share my blanket with her.
    One day, Erna gets away from me while I’m collecting eggs, and she stumbles upon a mother goose’s eggs. She runs out with the white goose on her head, darting this way and that with the bird pecking at her hair all the while. I quickly shoo her off, but Una and I roll in laughter all night and whenever we tell the story. Erna gives Borga much more respect after that, and she never eats an egg ever again.
    Una and I are cooking a stew over the fire, and as she tastes the stew, the glow of the fire dances all over her perfectly structured face. A pang hits deep in my stomach; Una’s not simply a pretty girl like I’ve known, but now that she’s growing so, I notice she’s much more. She will soon attract the attention of men—men who are her masters—men who will make her into another Dalla. She’ll be sent away to the highest bidder, to sit in her house in silks and wait for her master to come knocking, just as Dalla does. I feel so sick to my stomach, I tell her I have to go to bed without eating. I pull my legs up to my chest, trying to fall asleep before she lies down, wondering if I can ever own anything in this life.
    I hear Borga honking that an intruder is outside. I get out of my blanket and see her glowing purple-white in the darkness; wings flapping and her beak open as rocks are pelted at her.
    I call out, “Who’s there!”
    I hear only snickering and many feet shuffling off in reply. The moon is three quarters full, bright with a cloudless night, making the barley fields easy to see. Whatever is there dives into the barley, and I watch as the things disappear in the three-foot-tall plants. They leave a trail to follow as the three crisscross and zigzag through the crop.
    As