Astrid

"Oh Henry, such a charmer, you are."

Henry looked back at his Irish plaything. Her curly red locks hid a youthful face. He had seen her wandering around the village before sunset and again here in the tavern.

Henry smiled. He felt the anxiety building within his bones: a low rumble, a war drum thundering in the distance. "The charm is all you, sweet Siobhan." He couldn't wait anymore. Henry leaned in closer, nearly knocking their flagon onto the wooden tabletop. He whispered into Siobhan's ear as his stomach began to turn over in anticipation.

Siobhan let slip an embarrassed giggled. Her eyes widened in excitement until Henry could see his own reflection within the emerald iris. With modestly pursed lips, Siobhan nodded. She hoisted her cloth gown and fell from her stool onto the dirt floor.

Siobhan skipped out of the tavern with an arm linked around Henry’s, an electric buzz flowing between them. The pale full moon reflected off the stream as they crossed a bridge leading out of the village. They weaved through a wheat field until neither one could hold in their excitement.

Siobhan let go of Henry's arm and pirouetted in front of him. The starry night sky revealed her joy as she tugged the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Henry stood paralyzed as he watched Siobhan's clothes crumple into a pile at her feet. The drums that were beating within him had doubled in speed, now echoing within his head with overbearing force as the Irish nymph walked towards him, her naked, nubile body taunting Henry's urges ever closer to the surface. As she craned her neck to taste his lips, Henry closed his eyes and lowered his head to meet hers.

The salty flavor of Siobhan's lips quickly turned metallic as a black liquid rushed from her mouth; Henry's heartbeat had finally quieted. A quick plunge of the dagger he brought quieted the urges within him. Pleasure shivers traveled down his spine as the young woman stood still, gurgling on the blood pooling in her throat.

As Siobhan collapsed, she coughed out enough blood to mutter a curse at Henry. "Siúlóid i fearg mo athar."

Henry knelt by Siobhan as the ground beneath her turned to mud. He nestled her head within the crook of his arm and watched the life drain from her face. When the last ounce of life left her, Henry closed his eyes and breathed deep, soaking in the intoxicating aroma of the blood soaked field.

Henry awoke the next morning groggy. Attempting to lift himself out of bed, he felt a bone in his arm snap. A piercing cry leapt from his mouth. Searing pain cascaded across his skin as the smell of burnt coal infected his nose.

The door to his rented room burst open. "Oi," exclaimed the tavern owner. "A curse," he muttered in horror.

Henry felt his skin begin to peel away from what was left of the fleshy meat holding it to his decaying bones. A skeletal hand lifted towards the tavern owner. The door slammed shut, leaving Henry to succumb to the curse alone, terrified. A few agonizing moments later, Henry passed out from sensory overload.

The blackness of eyelids slid away to the early moments of dawn. A blue sky with dotted clouds swept the fresh, chilled air into his nostrils. Henry found himself instantly alert as he detected a strange sensation throughout his body. Pushing himself up, the source of the discomforting sensation revealed itself to Henry.

Henry looked down upon his own naked breasts as he stood up from the leather bedroll. His mind raced in an attempt to remember what last happened.

"Astrid, you dumb girl," a burly, bellowing voice called out. "Put on your tunic. We hunt."

Henry looked at the towering viking that had yelled at him. Astrid, he had said.

"Viking women are not weak, like these Briton wenches," the man said as he walked towards Astrid. "My daughter'll be no different."

"Daughter?" Henry thought as he exhaled. "The mountainous man is this Astrid's father."

It hadn't sunk in yet that Henry was now Astrid.

"What did I say?" the father yelled. "Tunic. We hunt."

Henry shook himself out of the shock that paralyzed him and grabbed the animal skin next to the bedroll. As he dressed, Henry noticed a natural grace to his movements he had never experienced in his own body. He found himself reminded of the last woman he had been with, Siobhan.

"Fuck," Astrid muttered.

Henry remembered the night with the Irish woman and the horrific pain he had endured the next morning.

"Is that an English word you picked up Astrid?"

Henry was still stuck on his thoughts of Siobhan and the supposed curse she had cast on him as she lay dying in his old hands. "Could this be the result of the curse?" he pondered, oblivious of the father walking towards him.

"Grab a spear," the large man grunted.

"I am Astrid," Henry thought. "I am this young girl, for now."

Astrid looked up to her father and offered a diplomatic smile. "Yes father," she replied. As her father walked passed, Astrid craned her neck to look at him, not as family, but prey. She had no intention of learning to hunt again, a skill she had been taught in her previous life. Astrid saw the spear stand with sharpened sticks made in haste out of fallen branches. While the spears would never be thrown, the snaking weapons would do well enough to protect her until she found better tools.

Astrid followed behind her father and grabbed a spear. Uninterested in a lecture or confrontation, she pointed the weapon at the large Dane and thrust the tip into the side of his belly. Despite her past proclivity for murder, she had no urge to see harm fall to this man. Astrid’s father yelped and clutched his side as he collapsed to his knees.

"Sorry father," muttered Astrid.

The bewildered man turned to see his daughter running away, clutching the reddened spear in one hand.

Astrid had been running for an hour before she came upon an unknown village. She didn't recognize the country she had been traveling through, but knew it had to be upper England. With the stone and mud buildings still a good distance away, Astrid walked to a nearby stream. She wasn't used to a body that was in such good shape, for her previous one had begun to get old and slow and flabby.

The clear water provided necessary refreshment and an opportunity to clean the blood from her spear. Before she turned away, Astrid caught her reflection in the water. Staring back at her wasn't the chiseled chin filled with a days old beard nor the ratty, brown hair fallen to her shoulders that she was accustomed to. The youthful, blonde hair barely reached her thin neck. Blue eyes shone back at her, little sapphires buried in the bed of the stream. Astrid now looked like one of the girls she used to romance and murder in her previous life.

Astrid approached the village with the same saunter as her old self: a slow, deliberate walk befitting a lord or land owner. The shower of glares and disapproving looks she received confused Astrid; she was used to warm smiles. Despite the small number of standing structures, the village was swarmed with hustling Englishmen. One of the older men approached Astrid.

"We have no quarrel with the Danes," he stated loudly. "What are you here for?"

Astrid was taken by the curt tone. "What village is this?" she asked.

Several of the villagers had stopped to stare at the stranger. The old man narrowed his judgmental brow. "Where is your husband or father?"

Frustration simmered within her. She had never found it so difficult to gather information from local townsfolk. She swung the spear from behind her back up to the chin of the man showing her no respect. "I only ask for the name of this village." A different feeling began to churn in her stomach; it was not a yearning for bloodshed, but one of disgust, of betrayal.

The old man's disapproving glare turned into a full scowl. "We are small village just outside of Durham," he replied coarsely, pointing in the direction of the fort town.

"Durham?" asked Astrid. "In Northumbria?" The spear lowered from the old man's chin.

"Where do you think you are, girl?"

Astrid raised her eyes to glare at the old man. She raised the spear and smacked his cheek with a bulging edge. "For being uncivil," she scolded.

Gasps flowed through the gaping villagers like electric current. Astrid shot a menacing scowl at the lot of them as she headed off to the Northumbrian city.

In a few short minutes, Astrid crested a hill and found the giant, wooden barricades of Durham towering into the treetops. The doors to the large city were standing wide open, looming over anyone who dared enter. Guards patrolled the top of the wall with shortbows tucked close to their chest. Just beyond the walls, open sea reached towards the heavens, salting the air.

Astrid entered the city still clutching her spear behind her. She was bound to find a priest of the Lord within a city as large as Durham. She approached a friendly pair of gossiping shopkeepers, asking, "Where might I find the priest of this city?"

One of the men turned his scruffy face to look at the young woman. He sized Astrid up before finally nodding. "That way," he grumbled.

Astrid watched as the man returned to his conversation, observing his attitude brighten considerably. Butterflies were beginning to turn about in her stomach.

As Astrid made her way to the church, she weaved through the dirt roads past wooden and stone houses. Hundreds of people were about, performing their daily chores. Fresh aromas hung in the air as she walked past bakers and butchers and fruit stalls. With a polite nod, she dismissed a seamstress attempting to sell her a proper English dress.

Finally approaching the large stone church, Astrid hurried inside to find a priest. With the assistance of a nun, she was finally able to seek answers.

"Come my child, even Danes are welcome in God's house. I am Father Thomas."

"I need to undo a curse," Astrid blurted out.

The priest lifted his robed arms up to ponder the question. "My, my. Hasty are we? Lifting a curse?"

"Yes," Astrid nodded.

"Yes, come. We shall sit and you may explain me this curse." The priest guided Astrid to a rickety wooden table and they sat.

Astrid wasted no time. "It was because of this Irish whore."

"Child!" the priest explained. "Language, dear."

Astrid's eyes were wide with shock. "I apologise, father," she muttered, averting her gaze from the surprisingly authoritative holy man. "A few days ago, I was with an Irish woman. An attractive young thing."

Father Thomas interrupted again. "This is not a curse, but grave sin."

"No, it's not what it seems. I am," Astrid began. "Well, was, a man. I was not a very good man, but I was a man. I was with this Irish woman, and I killed her."

The priest closed his eyes as his head bowed. A heavy exhale betrayed base disgust.

"I stabbed her with a dagger."

Father Thomas responded cautiously. "As I said, this is a tale of sin. Continue."

"As she was dying, the Irish woman muttered a foreign tongue, of her home country, I believe." Astrid fixed her eyes on Thomas as she began to share the beginning of the curse. "When I awoke the next dawn, my bones broke and my skin boiled. Even as I screamed in pain, I smelled the stench of death upon me."

"Aye," muttered the priest. "Tis indeed a curse."

"And then I woke up this morning in this body, of a young viking woman." Astrid motioned to herself.

Father Thomas looked at Astrid for a brief moment of ponderance. "And you wish to end this curse?" he asked.

Astrid nodded. "Yes, father."

Thomas replied with a steady, deliberate pace. "It seems to me as if your former body would be no more. If this curse was to be reversed, where would the man inside go?"

Astrid's stare wandered across the walls of the room, eyes glazing over the greens and yellows of paintings hanging on the walls. She hadn't considered that her old body was not an option.

"However," Father Thomas stated, snapping Astrid's attention back to him, "it is more likely a curse of nightmares and insanity." Thomas pushed himself up from the table and began to walk towards the door leading to the prayer hall. "Return with your father, young one, and we shall sort out this curse of yours."

Astrid forced a smile. Inside, her stomach began to churn in a familiar way: the urge to kill had risen. She nodded and stalked out of the church in a controlled rage. She had barely made it down the stone steps of the building before letting out a small scream. "Return with your father?" she muttered to herself. "Everywhere I go, glares, rejection. I would never have rejected a creature so lovely as me." Astrid paced the streets, oblivious to the people aghast at her inner ramble projected to all. "Because I'm not escorted by a man?" She finally looked up enough to see a group of women gaping, their jaws hanging wide. "I am a man!" she shouted at the group.

The pack of women spooked and hurried away from Astrid, muttering amongst themselves about insanity.

Astrid stormed out of the city, scowl perched on her face. Her clomping sent vibrations up her legs and shivers throughout her bones. The spear, clutched tightly in her right hand, shook back and forth in sync with her simmering rage. As she passed into the outskirts of a forest, a group of six men approached. Astrid glared at them from the corner of her eye.

"Girl," one of the men called out.

Astrid stopped and turned her head halfway towards the men.

The same man opened his mouth to speak further. "You came from the fort?"

"Yes," Astrid replied curtly. She recognized the animal skin tunics the men were wearing as Danish clothing. Each man stood at least a head taller than young Astrid.

"And they let you in," the man stated. "You are Dane."

Astrid's mood began to lighten as the scowl on her face became expressionless. "I am."

"Then we would ask a favor of you, young sister," he said.

Astrid finally turned to face the group of men and slowly walked towards them.

"We would see the gate opened on this night," the man continued. As Astrid neared the group, she noticed that the other men were standing behind the one talking to her. "No English fort will allow a Viking inside with our weapons, and they will surely send us beyond the wall after dark. Yet we saw you leave with your spear in hand. The English believe Viking women to be weak."

Astrid snarled and raised her spear, pointing it to the sky. "I am not weak."

The men chuckled to themselves. "Yes, you are strong, as all women with Viking blood,” replied the leader.

One of the other men finally spoke up. "The English treat their women like sleep!" he shouted.

The group erupted in hearty laughter.

"Will you aid us?" asked the leader.

"Six men to attack an English stronghold?" Astrid questioned, her brows raised in disbelief.

"We have many more men," answered one of them.

Astrid looked over her shoulder in the direction of Durham as she pondered the Vikings' offer. "I shall need a sword," she demanded, turning back to the Danes.

"Hah," exclaimed the leader. "You must earn the right to wield a sword."

Astrid shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Indignation crept onto her face and into her voice as she replied. "Would you have me running around killing people with this spear?"

"Killing people?" questioned one of the men.

The leader added, "We need only an open gate."

"You are going to charge across the open field as they open the gate to let me in?" Astrid asked incredulously. Her voice had unwittingly raised an octave. "They'll close it before you ever reach the wall. I owe their priest a debt of pain. I will kill him and it will cause chaos within the city. The guards shall be disoriented and I shall open the gate for your men."

The men exchanged glances and mumbled words. "You will lift the draw bar yourself?" asked one of the men.

Astrid shot an annoyed look at the man who questioned her. "The English have tools inside. And I need only lift one edge of the bar."

"It is a good plan," announced the leader. "Hod, your knife." He took Hod's knife and handed it to Astrid. "We shall find you a proper spear as well."

The opportunity for revenge calmed Astrid for a moment. She inspected the seven inch blade and fixed it in her tunic. When she looked back up to the group, one of the men had disappeared.

A new rumbling in her belly overtook Astrid, this one a complaint for food. "It will be a long day," Astrid said, coyly. "I shall need sustenance."

Hod let out a large laugh. "We give you weapons and you still ask for more?"

Astrid glared at the giant man. He stood taller than the rest, with a shaved head and bushy beard accompanied by a scar just under his left eye. "Food and weapons seem a small price for a stronghold."

The leader beckoned and escorted Astrid through the forest and back to his camp. A few hundred men sat around the remains of campfires flanked by makeshift tents. Woven baskets of vegetables and charred meat sat in the shade beneath a canvas overhang. As Astrid made her way to the food tent, she noticed one of the men following her.

“Einar’s orders,” he grunted.

Returning a disapproving look, Astrid hurried to the baskets and grabbed food by the fistful.

The sky grew darker as dusk swiftly approached. It was time for Astrid to return to Durham; she gathered the knife and spear given to her by the Danes. "Einar," she called out.

The Viking leader turned away from the fire he was tending. "You are off?"

"I am," Astrid answered.

Einar shot a stern but confident look at Astrid. "Open that gate. We shall run through and surprise the English."

The vibrations of anticipation had reemerged within Astrid's stomach, filling her with a brash confidence she always carried when about to strike at her prey. "It is already done."

The two exchanged wide smiles as Astrid set off in the direction of the city.

Astrid walked through the dim forest for most of an hour before emerging near Durham. She approached the closed gates with her knife tucked away and the new spear she received from the Danes clutched in her hand behind her. She saw one of the armor-clad lookouts following her carefully.

"Open the gate," she shouted up at the guard.

"What business do you have in Durham?" the guard shouted back. "The gates are closed."

"I am here to see the priest, Father Thomas," responded Astrid. The faint red-orange glow of dusk provided too little light for her to read the face of the guard.

"For what reason?"

Astrid's face became tempered steel, containing her frustration over being questioned. "I visited him earlier this day about a curse. He instructed me to return at nightfall."

Silence loomed over the open field as Astrid awaited a response. She could only see the rough outline of the guard with which she had been conversing. Just as Astrid was about to open her mouth to yell at the guard, the noise of the draw bar being lifted escaped the fort city. Two guards with torches greeted her.

"We are to escort you to Father Thomas."

Astrid nodded and followed the men. They wove through the empty streets towards the church, casting ominous shadows with the burning torches. The lack of energy bustling throughout the heart of the city fueled Astrid's desires, her needs itching to break free of her self control. Durham now echoed what she saw inside herself: a hollow shell devoid of that which gives the spark of life.

Upon arriving at the church, Astrid laid her spear against the wall and cautioned the soldiers not to misplace it. She entered the church and spied the same nun who had assisted her earlier. Astrid approached the woman, asking, "Sister, where might I find Father Thomas?"

The nun obliged. "He is in his study. About to rest for the evening."

Astrid produced an unnerving smile. With her bones aching for the sweet nectar of fresh blood, her usual act of normalcy was proving difficult to maintain. Astrid focused on her frustration and anger with Father Thomas to counteract the anticipation. "Thank you, sister."

Astrid hurried up the stairs to the balcony overlooking the chapel. She found the door to the priest's study and knocked. As the priest opened up the door to answer, Astrid raised her left hand, fingers clenched tight around the knife Einar had granted her, and slipped the cool iron into Father Thomas' throat. Her right hand covered the priest's mouth. "A sinner, maybe," she whispered seductively, "but I am not insane."

She quickly withdrew the knife and wiped it clean on the inside of the priest's robes. She backed away from the door before erupting in a blood curdling scream. "He's dead," she shouted. Astrid quickly contorted her face into one of tortured anguish. She narrowed her eyebrows and pushed forward her lips. She could hear the loud pounding of footsteps on the stairs and brought her hands up to her face, the final touch to her charade.

The nun was the first person to burst through the open stairwell onto the balcony. Astrid turned to her, hands and lower lip quivering. "I just," she moaned, purposefully stuttering. "I just found him like this."

The nun saw pooling blood escaping from Father Thomas' study. Her aged face contorted in similar fashion as Astrid's. "Look away, child," she instructed.

Astrid swept towards the stairwell melodramatically and ran to the ground floor. She forced a single tear to drip down her face as several other people were hastening to the stairs. Astrid burst through the church doors to be greeted by the guard's drawn swords. "He's dead," she yelled at them. A gust of wind cooled her tear-stained cheek. "I just, just found him." The guards looked at each other and then rushed into the church.

Astrid's face broke into a devilish grin. She picked up her spear and ran back through the streets to the gate. She spotted a single guard patrolling the entrance.

"Who goes there?" the guard shouted at Astrid.

Astrid responded with her spear, throwing it at the man. Despite the difficulty for such a small-framed person to launch a spear twenty feet into the air, her aim guided the weapon right into the guard's knee. He howled in pain as Astrid grabbed the tool required to lift the draw bar. She struggled with the heavy log for several seconds before she was able to topple it from the gate. Astrid quickly pushed open the gate for her newfound Viking clan.

Two hundred Danes sprinted from the tree line towards the open barrier. Astrid could see the gargantuan Hod leading the charge with his long, lumbering gait. She turned back to Durham, pleased with her efforts. With success mere seconds away, Astrid allowed herself to finally savor the moment that her blade had pierced the frail neck of Father Thomas. She closed her eyes to piece together the scraps of senses she could remember of the scene only to realize that she could see and smell and feel the entire event vividly. "Maybe I won't have to do this every week," she muttered to herself.

Lost in her memory, Astrid stood at the threshold of Durham while hundreds of Vikings poured into the city-stronghold around her. When the rush of air quieted down, she opened her eyes and ran off to join the rest of her new clan.

The Viking raid lasted several minutes, but the English soldiers were quickly overwhelmed by the skill of the Danes. Astrid found herself surrounded by English bodies and fellow Vikings. The men not busy with corralling captured slaves had gathered around Einar. She looked around the bloody mud and at the reddened tip of her spear, lost in the serene trance of war.

Einar stood amid his men. "Tonight was a good victory! And we owe it," he shouted to a chorus of cheers. "To Astrid, the Mad!" he finished. The men erupted in guttural, barbaric screams.

Yet Astrid's face hardened into a scowl as she raised her spear up to Einar's chin, leaving the slightest spot of red. "I am not mad," she seethed.

The men hushed at Astrid's threat, yet the hearty laughter of Einar rose above the stale moment. He pushed aside the wooden tip as he spoke. "Very well. Merely Astrid."

Astrid loosened her grip of the wooden shaft, allowing it to slide away from Einar. A glint of shiny reflection caught her eye.

"You're well on your way to earning a sword," Einar called to Astrid as she bent over a lifeless corpse to pick through the remains.

Astrid pulled out a flawless, steel dagger from the body. The razor sharp double edge enchanted her as she ran a finger along the flat blade. Its simple elegance provoked absentminded smile to spread across Astrid’s face. "I don't think I'll need one," she replied.