Later that night, as the feast slowly chilled down, the drunk and sleepy people returned one by one to their homes, or at least to what remained of them. Those, who completely lost their houses gathered up in the jarl's mead hall for the night. That was Thornvik's only building with its walls made of stone instead of wood. Egil was clever and rich enough to protect his property from assaults or from burning down with this strong, durable material.

The feast hall itself was at least thirty meters long and ten meters wide, with several columns with engraved designs holding it's wooden rooftop. With the gates open it looked like a huge doorway, leading deep into a giants mouth. On the inside, the walls used to be heavily decorated with tapestries, shields, and weapons from different corners of the world, with many torches among them to bring light to the hall. In the middle, huge tables lined up, bearing the scratches and stains of too many feasts and joyful rounds of hnefatafl* to count, or to remember.

In the center, a huge firepit took place, where the women used to cook, and where children gathered up on winter nights to listen to the skald's songs about distant lands. All along the walls, the ground was covered with small beds made of straw and thick fur of wolves and bears. Egil's warriors used to sleep here with their wives, or occasionally with the young, pretty servants. At the far end of the hall sat the jarl's high throne to watch over that empire of his.

Now, on the inside, the hall was just a weak shadow of its glorious self. The furniture was crashed and broken, the weapons were all gone and in general, the whole interior was a huge mess, covered with blood, ashes, and shards of what was left of the tables and chairs. Even Egil's throne couldn't survive the raid. It was torn down from its place and thrown into a corner. The women cleaned the ruins up as much as they could, so the homeless could put their heads to rest there. Fortunately, there was enough place in the building to give shelter to everyone who was in the need for it.

Lìfa wasn't one of them. Einar's small house was in almost perfect state since the man's murderer didn't have a chance to set that on fire. However, the girl didn't have the intentions of spending the night at home because she had a plan on how to get on Egil's knarr in the morning. She prepared a package for the big journey, including some of her clothes, armour, weapon and some silver hidden in the house. She decided to bring her father's sword, the Troll Cutter too. It was her only legacy left behind. Lìfa hid the package near the mead hall under a log, then blended in the crowd heading inside the mead hall. She curled up on the straw in one of the corners closest to the entrance, from where she could see everyone perfectly, yet she was out of sight.

She wanted to get some sleep and in the dawn, before anyone wakes she planned to sneak out and hide on the ship under the folded pile of sail.

There she could be hidden until they paddle out to the open sea and where they would finally need the sail. There it would be way too late to turn back and bring her to the shore. She could only hope though that Egil wouldn't throw her out into the sea, but it was a risk she willingly took.

As peace and silence settled on the warm darkness of the hall, dreamless, uneasy sleep found Lìfa. A few hours later the sound of heavy footsteps roused her from her sleep. She opened her eyes immediately, being afraid that she might be late and missed the ship but everything was still dark and quiet. She was about to put her head down again when, suddenly, something heavy pinned her to the ground and a hand covered her mouth.

"Egil may be forgiving and easy on you, but I didn't forget what you did out there!" a voice whispered in the dark so close to her that Lìfa could feel his unpleasant odour and stinking breath. "You accused me of not daring to fight you! You know what? I'm not afraid of a little brat like you! I could kill you with a single swing of my arm."

Lìfa struggled against the man, tried to free herself but he was holding her down strong with one arm, still covering her mouth with the other.

"But you know, it doesn't have to be this way. It would be such a shame killing you. I have an offer for you. I'm sleeping with you tonight and tomorrow you can walk away like nothing happened and we can forget your ridiculous scene against me. What do you say?" when he finally lifted his disgusting palm from her mouth, Lìfa spat to the ground and hissed back, still struggling against the man:

"I'd rather kiss the hairy ass of a mountain troll than spend a night with you."

Leif punched her, sending white stars all over Lìfa's vision, then gripped her throat tightly, trying to choke the girl to death.

"You want things to go the hard way, huh? I will enjoy cutting you down like a screeching pig."

As Lìfa was running out of air, her hands desperately searched the straw for her axe that she hid there earlier, but her fingers just couldn't find it. Finally, with a strong move, she kicked Leif right in his manhood. The animal-like man lost his grip on her and Lìfa elbowed him hard in the face, knocking him off of herself. She tried to back away still searching for her axe, but her back bumped against the wall. She was cornered.

"Enough! It's time to finish your little play!" Leif hissed from behind his hand holding his broken nose, while with the other hand he pulled a long knife from his belt.

He lunged forward with great power, aiming for the girl's chest but in the dark he missed and Lìfa managed to roll to the side. She wanted to run away but greasy, fat fingers snaked around her ankle and pulled it back, making her fall on the floor. Her fingers finally found her axe as she fell back on her straw nest. She turned back to face Leif and before he could stab again, with a powerful swing she cut down the hand holding her foot.

As she triumphantly stood up and looked around, she had to realise that the noises of their grapple and Leif's final shout woke up almost everyone in the feast hall. Someone lit up a few torches on the wall and people formed a circle around them watching the fight but not willing to interfere. Showing off to her audience, Lìfa cut Leif's throat with his own knife, then slammed the cut down hand on the table.

"You see this? Come, try to touch me like this disgusting piece of shit did and I'll cut your hands too!" she straightened herself, but her victorious smile quickly melted away as Egil made his way through the crowd with Frode close behind him.

"What on earth is happening here?! Why am I not surprised that it's you again?" the jarl crossed his arms in front of his wide chest. "You killed one of my best warriors in my own house. Banishing you would be the least you deserve."

"That brainless troll threatened me and tried to kill me! I was just defending myself!" Lìfa started to protest holding her hands up, but then a better idea popped up to her mind "Also, if we put it that way, I won the duel against him. So, basically, I just earned my place among your warriors instead of this bastard."

Egil's glare was ice cold and anger was radiating from his face as he looked into the unmatched eyes of her. He was about to say something, but Frode stopped him:

"My jarl, the girl is right. According to the rules, she earned her place among us, you can't deny that. Also, lately Leif was getting too out of hand..."

"Yeah, he got so out of hand, he even lost one!" Bjarne, one of the warriors commented, achieving a loud laughter from his friends among the crowd. The godi just gave him a reproving glare, then continued:

"What I was trying to say is that you should consider taking her with us! Think about the songs skalds could sing about a true shieldmaiden fighting in our lines!" here he gave a meaningful look to Carolus, the skald "Also, she has seidr, and the gods keep their eyes on her. I don't see a reason against taking her in."

"Well, I see one!" Halfdan stepped out of the crowd. The tall, half Danish man was the steersman of their ship, the Silver Fox "No woman steps on my ship! Not as long as I'm alive! Everyone knows that a woman only brings bad luck on the ship, and I'm not drowning because of her!" he spat on the ground and touched the small Thor's hammer hanging on his neck*. The other men followed his movement and quickly touched their medals or steel beltbuckets. By Halfdan's side stood Vidar, the scout, and Ivar the archer.

"Don't be such a coward, Halfdan! What happened to you that a girl can scare you this easily?" Thorvald joined in the argument. As a berserker* he was one of the most respected and feared members of the Thirteens.

"Leif was a kinky bastard anyway, I won't miss him much. Also, from what I saw here, the girl has spirit and knows a move or two. She reminds me a lot of her father. I agree with Frode, we should take her with us."

Thorvald's statement was followed by the agreeing shouts of the warriors, who liked the old Einar and wanted his daughter among their lines: Magni, the other berserker, Olaf, the chef and Gunnar, the blacksmith.

As Lìfa counted, more men stood by her side than against her, but the final decision was in Egil's hands. He carried his gaze upon his men arguing about the new possible member of their group and took a deep breath. He nodded to Frode, then he finally stood up to where his throne used to be placed and made his final statement:

"In the morning you will vow your loyalty to me. Welcome among the Glorious Thirteen!" sounds of happy and disappointed shouts and groans both filled the air.

Lìfa was shocked and speechless, she almost couldn't believe what happened. She became a member of the group her father used to be in too. She followed his legacy and became part of a great adventure ahead. Suddenly, two arms wrapped around her out of nowhere. It was Sveinn, as always. They both jumped up and down in joy, like children. Their dream of seeing the world together became true and they were too happy to contain it. The hard, dark and dangerous side of their quest didn't make its way to their minds yet...

As the first rays of the morning sun painted the sky in a colour of vibrant pink, ten warriors and their jarl lined up on the shore, circled by the men and women of Thornvik. In front of them kneeled the two young warriors, Lìfa and Sveinn. They both held their swords in hand as they were about to vow their faithfulness and loyalty to Egil. They both had to repeat the lines of the vow after Frode, the godi, to complete the ceremony and become true members of the Glorious Thirteen:

"I offer you my sword and life to serve you in the times of war and peace. I swear to fight by your side until my last breath and to protect my brothers with all I have. I swear by the watching eye of Odin, the Allfather, to be always true to you and my brothers and to never leave or betray you, or may I never see the gates of Valhalla."

To seal the vow and to welcome them among his warriors, Egil gave both of them a silver bracelet from his arm. The crowd around them cheered and celebrated the two warriors, while others, like Halfdan or Vidar, just spat to the ground and shook their heads disapprovingly. They were still angry about Lìfa being accepted and brought with them.

After the short ceremony, the warriors packed their heavy trunks, filled with their belongings, food and water supplies to the Silver Fox. Lìfa and Sveinn got their own ones, which they now carried overboard. They placed their round shields on the side of the ship and took their places by the paddles. Bjarne and Magni pushed the knarr deeper into the water, then climbed aboard and grabbed a paddle like the others. Halfdan took his place by the steering oar and shouted orders to his mates.

Lìfa was sitting on her trunk with Sveinn behind her, they both started to paddle according to the steersman's orders. She was expecting to have more time to look around, to enjoy the salty breeze coming from the sea, but the hard work quickly broke her enthusiasm down. It was way more tiring and hard than she imagined. From the long hours of paddling, vesicles grew on her palms and her back was burning with pain. Cold sweat was dripping from her red hair, soaking in her tunic under the burning heat of the sun.

When the Silver Fox finally reached the open sea -after what felt like an eternity later-, Halfdan lifted the red and white striped sail and they could finish paddling. From now on, the winds of Njord* carried the ship on the whale road. Lìfa had finally time to stand from her trunk to stretch her sore back and body. She walked up to the prow and for the first time she stared out at the open sea.

The endless, shining blue waves covered everything around as far as her unmatched eyes could see. The cold, salty wind caught into her hair and carried it around her face like dancing flames. For the first time, she felt like a new world opened up to her. She had never left the town before, sailing out to new lands to raid and conquer was always just a far and distant dream for her. But now there she stood on the prow of the Silver Fox, as one of the Thirteens like her father used to do. It was like the old man was standing beside her with an approving smile on his face. He would be proud of her.

Suddenly, a giant palm landing on her shoulder snapped her out of her daydreaming.

"Don't worry about Halfdan and the others. Halfdan has a hard time opening up to new people, he's grumpy like an old bear in his cave, and he treats this goddamn ship like his wife. Show him that you know a thing or two about boats and ships, your father was a fisherman after all. He needs a little time to come around, and the others need too. For Tyr's* beard, the first time they'll see you fight like the wild wolf you are, they'll calm down and accept you."

Lìfa looked up to the man beside her. It was Thorvald, the berserk with his shining bald head with the strange, magical runes of the berserkers tattooed on the skin, and with his warm, hazel eyes and braided brown beard with small beads in it, reaching down to the middle of his chest. His big, muscular arms were full of scars of all sizes and forms, telling the stories of countless wars and battles.

Lìfa was grateful for the man's trust and friendliness toward her. Thorvald and Magni were the two most respected warriors of the group since they were the only berserkers in the town. It was an old tradition among their families. Their fathers and even the fathers of their fathers were berserkers too, passing down the secret runes and potions to their sons. For Lìfa it was a huge deal having Thorvald by her side.

"Thank you, Thorvald. I feel like a stranger on this ship, even though I am a member now. Everyone has a long history together here, and I'm not part of it. I feel their gazes upon me when they think I don't see them, and I hear the whispers behind my back..."

Lìfa turned around and stared at the men laughing and chatting around the deck. Some of them were playing tafl, others were drinking, or helping Halfdan navigating the Fox.

"Don't mind them. In a glimpse of time, you will be sitting among these pigs farting and barfing, and no one will ever tell that you were unwelcomed for even a moment. Blend with them, sit and play tafl with them, though be careful, that bastard Ivar always cheats..." he laughed on his deep, thunder-like voice.

"Help Olaf cook something that actually is edible, or just lie to Carolus that his horrible new poems will be famous one day. You know, the poor guy's father was the skald of the king himself, but unfortunately, Carolus didn't get even the half of his talent. Or just look at Bjarne! The man's big and ugly as a bear*, but under the surface his heart is made of gold. I'm sure you're clever enough, and the silver-tongued god* of yours might help too." he winked at the girl.

"Thank you for the advice, I'll keep them in mind. By the way... where are we going exactly?"

Thorvald laughed out one more time:

"To Heilaholm. You'll like that place!"

Notes:

Hnefatafl, later tafl - old game, similar to chess that vikings often used to play

touching the Thor's hammer or something steel - viking superstition, they believed that it protects them from bad luck or being cursed

Berserker/berserk - an ancient Norse warrior who fought with wild or uncontrolled ferocity

Njord - old Norse god of the sea and wind

Tyr - old Norse god of war

Bjarne - old Norse name, meaning Bear

Silvertongue - in Norse mythology Loki was often called a silvertongue