FANTASY | FICTION | VIKINGS | STORMBORN

Flotsam

Stormborn — The legend of the Storm Maiden, Chapter 2

Welcome to another sneak peek into my fantasy novel WIP.

“There she is,” a feisty woman yelled aggressively, almost dropping her basket of carrots.

“A troublemaker like her father was,” another older woman answered, pointing at a tall, blond girl, “quite the little tempest.”

Although Ylva was tall for her age, almost as tall as the jarl’s son Balder, she was just a kid and intimidated by the glaring adults. For once, she wished to be short like Balder’s brother Davynn. Even the ability to sink into the ground to escape her judgemental pursuers would have been a welcome rescue.

“He isn’t even her father,” the first woman said, “Flotsam is what she is, and with her, a lot of trouble was swept ashore.”

A bulky man with extensive scar tissue on his left cheek stepped next to the woman with the carrots, laid an arm around her shoulders, and roared.

“Floated to the surface like whale shit!”

The two women joined in the man’s laughter. Tears swelling up in her eyes, Ylva hurried down the road toward her parent’s inn when a scrawny, dark-haired woman blocked her way. The woman’s angry, cold eyes gave her the look of a shark on the hunt. She dragged a miserable-looking boy behind her. He seemed as unhappy to be here as Ylva, but the boy’s right hand was tightly locked in his mother’s grip. His left hand, bandaged and kept straight with a stick, rested in a sling.

“What have you done to my poor Ørjan?” The woman said and bared her teeth like a rabid dog.

Ylva tried to walk around her, but the woman grabbed Ylva’s braid and pulled it firmly, nearly causing Ylva to land on her buttocks. More tears shot into her eyes.

“Where do you think you are going, flotsam? You can’t just break my Ørjan’s arm and escape punishment!”

Ylva blushed as anger rose in her, and she struck the woman on the wrist hard enough to let go of her hair. The woman wailed melodramatically. Although she defended herself, Ylva earned scornful looks from bystanders.

“First, my boy, and now, she attacks me!” the woman wailed and looked around, hoping for attention.

“Your stupid boy attacked someone smaller,” Ylva yelled at her, “just like you!”

The woman took a step back at Ylva’s unexpected angry outburst and the sudden wind blowing down the street. The woman stepped back when Ylva clenched her fists, but the scarred man appeared and grabbed her from behind.

“Looks like whale shit needs to learn some manners!” he laughed, painfully twisting Ylva’s arm on her back.

“I will teach you some manners, Olik!” a deep voice bellowed.

The warrior, the woman, and the miserable-looking boy immediately fell silent. In unison, they turned toward Ylva’s father, Fjell. With his muscular, tattoed arms crossed in front of his massive chest, he was an imposing sight. Confused, Olik, the scared warrior, held Ylva in front of him like a human shield but quickly released her when he saw the hatred in Fjell’s eyes.

“No harm done. Right, Fjell?” Olik said but only got a stone-faced expression as an answer.

“Your up-to-no-good half-breed between a human and a wolverine attacked the jarl’s son,” Fjell said, turning toward the woman, “Ylva merely defended her friend. The scrawniest kid in town, as everybody knows.”

“That little coward likely had it coming,” the woman retorted.

“The true coward is your oafish Ørjan!”

“How dare you?!”

The woman took a deep breath, but Fjell cut her short before she had time to continue.

“First, the coward attacks someone weaker than him, and then, he hides under his mother’s apron when someone his size stands up. Quite the hero.”

With satisfaction, Ylva watched as the woman’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly. She reminded the girl of the catch in an angler’s bucket. Fjell smiled at the woman mischievously, and Ylva knew her father was preparing his last punch.

“Of course, you can always take the matter to Jarl Eirik himself. He probably doesn’t care your boy beat Davynn,” Fjell paused and looked intently at the woman, “but he does care about his family’s honour.”

The woman’s mouth opened and closed without making a sound, recognising the hidden threat in Fjell’s suggestion.

“Mum!” the boy said, embarrassed, “Let’s go home, please!”

Slowly, the woman retreated, muttering an insincere apology while dragging her boy away from the scene.

“Next time you have a problem with my kid,” Fjell called after her, “You will come to me instead of singling her out.”

Fjell took Ylva by the hand, ready to walk back to the inn with her, but turned to Olik as if remembering the scared man’s presence.

“And if you, Olik, ever lay a hand on my daughter again,” he said slowly, emphasising every word, “You’ll float with the whale shit.”

“My livelihood is at risk without that boat!” the grey-bearded man with tired-looking eyes and a weather-beaten face pleaded, “Do you want Vigdis and me to starve?!”

Ylva’s father raised an eyebrow and rolled his eyes, sabotaging his wife’s attempt to calm the old fisher. Their visitor complained the wave caused by Ylva’s recent outburst had damaged the rowing boat he used to check his traps for crab.

“Your brat owes me a boat!”

The visitor yelled, provoked by Fjell’s reaction, and slammed his fist on the counter, separating him from Fjell and Lifa. The tall innkeeper folded his massive arms in front of his chest to hide his clenched fists.

“Be careful how you call my daughter, you grizzled kitbag!”

Inconspicuously, Ylva’s mother moved closer to her husband, gently nudging him. Fjell got the message and took a step back to leave the conversation to his wife. She smiled at the red-faced fisher and placed a tankard of mead in front of him. Her offering had the desired effect. His anger vanished, and he deflated like an empty waterskin.

“Please, let us refrain from the insults,” Lifa said gently, “Of course, we will pay for the repair of your rowing boat, Odd.”

While Lifa discussed the matter with Odd, Fjell escaped into the inn’s kitchen to prepare today’s menu. When his wife joined him later, she immediately recognised the assortment of knives and an oversized cleaver sticking in a narrow circle on a wooden wall. His accuracy was impressive, but Lifa was concerned about how strongly the incident affected her husband. Although Fjell didn’t like to talk about it, he was obviously worried and stressed.

“What should we do about her, Fjell?”

The muscular innkeeper folded his arms in front of his chest and frowned at his wife. He was upset, and Lifa knew she should choose her words wisely.

“Too late to toss her back,” he answered sarcastically. “Don’t be like that!”

“Like what?” he spat, grabbing the knife he had used to gut fish before and tossing it next to the cleaver, “Angry?!”

Lifa narrowed her eyes and stared at Fjell, her mouth a thin line.

“Fjell Oskarson,” she said as calmly as possible, “What have I told you about throwing knives while we fight?!”

The colossal man looked at his feet like a small boy caught stealing candy. He flexed his muscles and took a deep breath. Fjell’s wife waited patiently, knowing not to pressure him while he was on the brink of calming down. Instead, she watched him pick up another knife and return to gutting the salmon on the kitchen counter.

“Odd is a greedy moron,” he said, forcefully chopping off the fish’s head with a loud cracking sound, “I saw his precious boat. A stiff breeze could have destroyed that piece of crap! All he wants is to steal from us!”

“Ylva gets into fights all the time!” Lifa said, slightly trembling, “It is no surprise such deeds have consequences.”

Fjell stabbed the knife into his wooden cutting board. It wobbled uncontrollably like the mast of a skiff in a heavy storm.

“Ylva defended you!”

“She escalated! If she controlled her temper, she wouldn’t end up in so many fights and ….”

“And what?” Fjell challenged, “Spit it out, woman!”

“Those strange things wouldn’t happen, and folks wouldn’t be afraid of her.”

The muscular innkeeper picked the salmon up from the cutting board and swung it around like a giant club.

“They are afraid because they are cowards. If they’d embrace her, she wouldn’t need to feel angry, nor would they have to feel afraid.”

Lifa sighed silently and walked closer to her husband, who threw the fish back on the cutting board with a sad expression. She took Fjell’s large, strong hands into her much more delicate ones. Her face was stern, and she looked him in the eyes.

“She has few friends, Fjell, and fewer ambitions. All Ylva aspires to lately is carrying Naihi’s crates.”

“Naihi is a good person,” the tall man protested sheepishly, “Treats her better than most folks.”

“There must be more to her life than crates!”

“We train regularly,” Fjell protested, “She’s as great a warrior as any of those lads out there!”

“How does she use that?” Lifa shouted, “She picks fights with those same lads!” “That’s why you learn to fight….”

“To have pub brawls with smelly pirates?” Lifa asked sceptically, “Is that why Fjell the Free learned to fight and sought out adventure?”

Her blow struck true, and Lifa could see his face blush immediately. His eyebrows formed into an angry scowl. Fjell picked up the large salmon and turned it into a flying fish.

“… to defend your family!” he shouted. “She also endangers a lot of people,” Lifa said insistently, “Don’t you see how those powers grow stronger, but her control weakens? If you want to protect your child, Fjell, protect Ylva from herself.”

“Those foolish brutes threatened you and provoked her!”

Lifa realised that the discussion with her stubborn husband had returned full circle. It was astonishing what a strong bond Ylva and Fjell shared in their stubbornness.

“Then, help to prevent the works of foolishness in future. Ylva’s as much as that of others.”

Lifa walked away from her husband without another word and left him to his brooding. She looked back once when Fjell mumbled something vulgar involving the dirty salmon on the floor and Odd. Due to the short distraction, she arrived too late in the taproom to see her daughter stomp out of the inn.

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Tagging Shanice Lawton so you can continue reading. :)

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