A young Viking woman — her body covered in bruises — screams on the floor, fighting back against her enormous Viking husband as he beats her. Outside it is dark and cold, the streets glazed with ice.
As he winds up for another blow, she twists sharply away and the fist crashes into the floor, leaving a dent in the wood. He roars, knuckles split open. "You bitch!" He backhands her across the face.
She spits blood at him.
From under the rug she pulls a knife and drives it into his chest. The man smiles, leans in, and headbutts her like a swung hammer.
The woman goes limp and drops to the floor.
He looks down at her with contempt and spits blood.
Nearby, a small child is crying.
He pulls the knife from his chest. Looks at her. "Are you even good for anything?" says the hulking Viking with the bull neck, smirking.
A little girl, tears streaming down her face, stands up in front of her mother and puts her body between them.
The father spits blood on the floor. He walks to where the baby sleeps and holds the knife to the child's throat.
The girl stayed where she was — planted in front of her mother, breathing hard, fists clenched, eyes gone sharp and animal.
A smile spread across the man's face.
"She takes after me."
He throws the knife into the wall. A sword cuts through the air just above the girl's head, shaving off a few strands of hair.
The man turns his back on her and walks away into the other room.
The girl pressed herself against her mother and tried to help her. After a few hours she fell asleep right there on top of her, holding her, still crying.
When she woke up, her mother was gone. Beneath her was only a puddle of blood, and when she touched her forehead she felt a wound still seeping. Her hands began to shake. Her heart hammered. The room tilted and her vision narrowed to a point. Outside it was still night.
Her brother slept quietly in his pram.
She tore through every room of the house searching for her mother. But there was no mother. No father. No one.
The girl ran outside and started pounding on the neighbors' door.
An old Viking opened it.
"Where is my mother!" the little girl screamed.
The old Viking only looked down at her with sad, heavy eyes.
The girl cried harder and stared at the ground, fists clenched at her sides.
The Viking reached out to hold her.
She shoved him away — hard enough that he fell.
She stepped toward him.
"Where is he?!"
The Viking said nothing.
"WHERE IS HE?!"
She started hitting him. Fists against his face, again and again.
"I said — where is he!"
From the street another Viking came running. He scooped her up into his arms. She thrashed and screamed and tried to hit him. "Where is he! Where is he!"
His face was grieving. He said nothing. He took her blows without flinching — as though he believed he had earned them.