Page 3 of Vow of the Undead
I threw the scythe down and climbed above ground in time to see the dozens of horses carrying masked men and women.
Extra executioners weren’t the only visitors in Skaldir. Guards and the king’s council were riding with them today, and they were galloping straight toward the Vyl’s home—my home.
Ragna and I exchanged a knowing glance asRolf herded us out the door and with the other villagers who emerged from their homes, a mixture of curiosity and fear painted across their faces.
That all-consuming fatigue after a full day in the fields returned, and the walk back into town only doubled it. By the time we reached the longhouse where my father held council, the largest and sturdiest home in Skaldir, a crowd had gathered, and my bones ached.
I carefully pushed through bodies, my stomach sinking farther and farther into my bowels. I kept my eyes off of the executioners because my nerves told me that if they merely looked at me they’d identify me as a witch and I’d be dragged away to the wasteland.
I’d see my mother there, but I wouldn’t be able to save her.
Never had the king’s guard and members of his council rode in with the Grimward before, and I couldn’t fathom why they’d come here.
Pieces of whispered conversations clung to my ears as I wriggled through the crowd. The executioners and the bloodshed law kept plenty of us cowed and scared, but plenty more dared to breathe their traitorous feelings.
“They never stop marching around us like we’re a bunch of criminals. I’m fucking sick of being watched,” an elderly man grumbled.
“They’re waiting for someone to slip up so they can stop fights,” another chimed in.
“Stop fights? They’re here to keep our necks under their boots,” his wife said.
“It’s all about control…”
I didn’t disagree with the sentiment, but control was necessary. Our villages had gone to war before and stained the earth with our blood. Too much blood had soured the soil like a curse and left half of Vylheim a wasteland that starved thousands of survivors of war.
Many believed the law was disingenuous, since the punishmentfor breaking it also spilled blood, but this was the only threat that kept people in line. Otherwise we’d be at each other’s throats.
Our history was proof of this. The nature to fight was in our blood. The same blood our ancestors had spilled in ancient wars and passed down to us.
After I squeezed my way inside, I saw my father at his chair on the left of the large room. My tired muscles tensed at the sight of the grimace twisting his mouth. His frown wasn’t directed at me, but habit said he’d still find a reason to scold me.
I swept my gaze away from him before I caught his eye.
Every inch of open space was filled with bodies except what seemed to be invisible boundaries around more executioners. I kept my eyes off their masks and the axes at their sides to keep my nerves from fraying even more.
A skeletal woman with a small, upturned nose and a hefty, pale man stood at the front, blocking my father’s chair. He was going to chew on the anger from it for days.
The woman addressed Skaldir by staring down her nose at us, her peaked brows permanently in the shape of shock. The detailed embroidery along the hem of her dress pinned her as a courtier, and the all-black dress signaled she was a member of King Drakkar’s council.
“Like Darius said, population has waned,” she said, waving to the male councilmember. “We are losing our people, our heritage, and our history.”
I snorted. We’d lost most of our history long ago. Villagers only shared it through oral sagas now.
The councilwoman continued on. “With the winters growing worse, we fear an all-consuming loss over the next few decades. Less food means more deaths and fewer births. We must find fertile land, and our only option is expansion beyond The Sea of Skalds.”
Unrest rippled through the crowd. Going beyond the sea meant losing more lives to unforgiving waters.
She ignored the added restlessness. “For the next three years, our efforts will be focused on preparing for exploration, and as such, we’ve deemed the end of the Polar Nocturne in the third year, the seventh year of King Drakkar’s reign, The Dawn of Exploration, when the people of Vylheim will finally set sail. By then we will have prepared enough ships and explorers to fill them with.”
Darius laid his hand on her shoulder and then turned to us. “Thank you, Ylva. Able-bodied men and women of Vylheim should consider taking to the seas.”
“That’s sacrifice!” Ragna shouted.
All together, the Grimward snapped their heads and scanned the crowd for the source of the woman who dared speak out. She didn’t shrink back.
Darius continued. “Sacrifice to the seas is better than starvation in the wasteland or total extinction. With hunger, unrest grows, and we’ve been forced to cut down more and more of those who shed blood.”
“If you don’t want us to die out, then stop killing us!” Ragna dared shout out again.
