The Hunger of the Gods

“MAMA,” she heard him wail, and then he was gone.

She lifted her head and howled, a cry of grief and heartache, of rage and frustration.

Gunnar, carrying Revna’s lifeless form in his arms. He was weeping, raging. “I will kill them all,” he snarled as he reached them.

It was her Breca.

Orka put a boot on the dead one’s shoulder and ripped her axe free, heaved it up in a spray of blood and swung it down hard into the one struggling beneath. A wet slap and crack as she hacked into its skull.

“Nothing wrong with a good hump,” Gunnar said as they stepped into the dell.

“That’s right,” Revna said, smiling. “Especially before a scrap. Reminds you of what’s worth fighting for.” She looked at Lif and Halja. “You two should try it.”

Lif’s face turned the colour of blood and Gunnar laughed loudly.

I would, if Elvar would stop creeping into my head every time we hump. Why can I not get that woman out of my thought-cage? She is a trader in thralls, a slaver, a disease upon the land.

“I want to be back with my mama,” he said, a fat tear rolling down his cheek.

“She cannot protect you like we can.”

“But, she’s my mama.”

Orka felt the twinge of a smile, which was a rare thing these days.

“You share common ground, and companionship often begins there,” Orka said.

“Common ground?” Lif said.

“Grief,” Orka muttered. “Grief is your common ground.”

“I am,” Lif said. “Do you ever think of comfort, hope for it?”

Aye, when I see my boy again.

“I will find comfort when Drekr’s corpse is twitching at my feet,”

. “There are many who know that life is not about power and greed, about battle-fame.” She looked at Elvar with a raised brow. “And there are those who agree with me, but just haven’t realised it yet.”