The Plague that Raided Bragånöss

Bitter with a bite as the weeping winter crept in. Snow shielded the mountains in a blanket of ice and the river ran a darker blue than I have ever seen it. There was a murmuring from the audience as the people of Braganoss waited eagerly for the castration. Alva prepared her knife ready for her moment. She was a woman who laid with the wolves and her hair reflected her feral nature. Everyone fixed their heated gaze as the traitor was shoved and tethered to the wooden stake. His face was badly beaten, and his tribal tattoos had been slashed with dishonour. He was known for preying on young girls, some of which who hadn’t had their first bleed. The predator glared at me and I couldn’t help but hold Freya’s hand tightly. She was eleven and a beautiful target. To my left Salazar crawled out from his hibernation, with his hay-bed hair, dark circles painted around his eyes dragged down to a point on his cheeks. His face was the bow and his eyes were the arrows. Slender body, with a jawline sharp as an axe. His neck was always crooked to an angle. Behind him was Rhydian, aged fifteen he was almost a man with fair blonde hair and hazel brown eyes like mine, there was no denying his was my blood, but his innocent look was a great deception for he had spent the morning practicing his aim with his bow. My husband, the Earl of Bragånöss, was sat on my right side. He nodded in consent to Alva, giving her the signal to begin her performance. She walked to the black and blue face of the predator, whispered so quietly in his ear that I couldn’t make out what had been said. Alva stared at the man directly in the eyes as she went below his hip - pulled down his rags and exposed him to the crowd. Silence had enchanted Bragånöss, with everyone shuffling forward to see the action. Everyone except Freya who covered her eyes and placed her head into my bosom. In a swift straight cut, she removed his genitals and held his jewels high above her head, before throwing them to the stray dogs. Blood spattered across her face as she continued to look at the pain that riddled him. She then licked the fluid off her blade, disgusted at its sourness. My husband smiled and clapped his hands together at the entertainment, as did the rest of the villagers. On top the cheering the man bled and chocked in agony, Alva had stripped him of his masculinity.

With the vicious smite of Thor’s hammer, the clouds of thunder rolled in as the God’s gave a round of applause. The ravisher had been humiliated, exposed, and slaughtered.

My attention swiftly moved to the sundial that cast no shadow. Ragnarok was the only word that came to mind. It only ever occurred when the two wolves Skoll and Hati ate the sun and moon. All the Bragans, including the Earl, were stunned to silence once more and looked up in fear. Rhydian and Freya, grabbed on to my arms as if still babes. For the first time in all the years, I had known Alva she looked plagued with fear. An arrow flew out of the wilderness and into the traitor’s heart. I believed it to have been Rhydian, though I was wrong when I saw the black raven feathers on the end of the arrow. There was drumming of thunder from the trees, but it was not Thor. Hooves of galloping horses and naked men roared as they cut down any branch that stood in their path. I looked at my husband and gave him the hands of my two children and ran back into our home, grabbing any weapons I could find; sword and shield, bow and arrow, axe and spear, ready to fight to the death.

By then it was too late. Bragånöss boomed with blood and chaos; slicing of skin, and blood- curdling screams echoed into the mountains. As they came closer, I could see the naked men were covered in tattoos head to toe, just like the traitor once had. I told my daughter to run and not look back, she knew where to hide. Our men ran at fall force, but it was nothing compared to the giants of Jouchiem that feed on the human flesh. The Earl was in deep combat. His sword ran straight through the stomach of one man and cut in deep and upwards to make a gateway. He pushed his hand through intestines and blood and yanked them out of the warrior’s body, casting them down onto the squelching mud. Rhydian had his arrows ready, dipped in fire and slung into the heart of the thirsty cannibal. I looked back at them, but it had stopped and time with it. I froze in that moment of despair, wondering why? Why us?

“ASTRID!” Alva shouted. I could hear the heavy thumps of a monster behind me. I quickly spun on my heel, stopped his sword cutting my skin and kicked him in the stomach to push him away so that I could catch my breath. I charged towards him but was greeted with a punch to the nose, he hit me several times with his fists of steel, and I limped to the floor, cowering like a dog. He pinned me down and held my arms and my legs. I had never felt more powerless. I begged for death. “Kill me!” I screamed in his face. I could hear screams of men dying and pleading for mercy, though it was not given.

By the time I had given in to the beating, many of the people had perished. As the dust of mayhem died down, I saw that our village was defeated; even the strongest of all Gods wasn’t invincible.

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