Traveller Inceptio

Yffi watched as the villagers tearfully bade farewell. He then returned to the grisly task of searching the battlefield. They hoped to find missing villagers who might have still survived, while they swiftly dispatched any enemy who had not perished. His stump ached, his finger lost in an early clash when he barely missed being cleaved in two by a Viking axe. He did not even feel the injury until his spear shaft became too slippery to hold.

The hunter looked over that terrible battlefield. Though he had killed in the past, this was his first standing battle and he dearly hoped it would be his last. Bodies were tangled together and, as they scoured the field, two young men who barely had fuzz on their cheeks were mourned with a grief that looked to never end. Covered as they were with mud and blood, their loved ones took them to be cleaned for the mass funeral later in the evening. Sixteen villagers had been killed, while every one of those who remained alive was wounded. If they survived, all would bear scars. Yffi wiped his face wearily, pleased the mysterious friends of Michael had been there to fight for them, bleed with them, and then care for them.

None of the strangers had died. Brother Oeric already claimed the miracle to prove the divinity of Michael and his angelic brothers, but Yffi was not convinced. He had the villagers to think about. Thankfully, with the love and support of their tight-knit community, the unseen wounds, the wounds deeply in the heart, would diminish. Some would take many seasons. One day, he thought grimly, they would smile again.

Earlier, at the Viking camp, the dogs detected a couple of lads who stood guard. They were terrified and died noisily, their screams quickly alerting the wounded, who tried to escape or fight. It had, at one stage, become messy as Aart became excited by the smell of blood and tore out the throat of one injured spearman who was too injured to make a fight of it. The two hunters killed all remaining wounded. Yffi thought of it as an act of mercy. The villagers had no resources to assist Viking murderers. Clemency was never even considered.

Yffi supervised as each of the enemy were stripped and stacked as far from the village as was practical. The naked bodies were piled like so much firewood as the monks intoned prayers and last rights in the hope that there were Christians among them. The younger lads had gathered wood from the forest and the remnants of the hedgehog barricade were piled around the bodies and burned. As the fire roared, oily smoke made a dark column which Yffi hoped wouldn’t attract more marauders. It was a grim business. The hunters encouraged and comforted the young lads who continually piled wood onto the fire until the bodies were consumed.

That smell would forever remain in his nostrils.

The remaining charred bones would be buried the next day, after the bonfire had cooled and the ashes were washed away by the chill morning rains.