Lìfa was standing on the town square, a pool of blood spreading and flowing under her feet, staring at the flames rising to the sky. The women and their children screamed, pushing past her, running to the forest, the fields, anywhere they could hide. The flames were eating the wooden buildings fast, and destroying everything in their way. The smoke was thick and black, covering almost everything in sight. For a few long moments, she just stood there, confused and shocked, watching her beloved home die.

Everything happened so fast. A huge drakkar* arrived at the shores of Thornvik, and in no time fully armored barbarians filled the small sleepy fisher town. They wore a dragon painted on their round shields in the colours of red and yellow. Ingolf's henchmen – Lìfa immediately recognised the symbol, though she had never met them before. Ingolf was a notorious warchief with many ships and even more warriors. But what did he want from the city of Thornvik?

His men rushed into the buildings, dragging women out and making them theirs on the spot. Others were robbing, then setting the small houses on fire and killing anyone they could. Most of the town's warriors were out on the sea selling their goods and probably wouldn't return for at least two more days. Only young boys and women stayed at home. Lìfa had a feeling Ingolf knew it well, and he had a reason to send his men here.

Lìfa wasted no time, she grabbed a fallen shield from the ground, her battle axe from her belt, and rushed into the smokes, where she heard a battle about to start. Young boys from the town took up the fight against the strong, well-trained troops. They got outnumbered, but as true viking warriors, they did everything they could.

Lìfa joined the small shield wall they formed and took up the fight, side by side with her friends. The sound of metal crashing against metal filled the air, spiced by the fire's roar and the painful cry of the deceived. Lìfa was a skilled warrior, but she had never experienced a real fight before. It was the first time fighting was a matter of life and death. The movements and shouts of her mates blurred into one loud mess. She couldn't hear from the blood rushing violently in her ears.

She lunged at a tall man with two scramasaxes* in his hands. The man was too big and slow, while the girl was fast and agile. She buried her axe in his side with a powerful swing. She felt the bones snap and break, blood splashed in her face. One down, way too many to go. She immediately targeted a new enemy. The man was as big as a troll, full of muscle.

He swung his giant sword and aimed at Lìfa's skull, trying to crush her head since she didn't have a helmet. She blocked the deadly strike just in time with her shield, which broke into tiny shards from the impact. The strength of the blow forced her down on her knees, her arm holding the shield was throbbing from pain and went numb. Her vision became blurry. She instinctively threw the broken shield away and rolled to the side, holding her axe with the other hand. She eyed the giant man with caution, ready to dodge his next swing. He was too big for her to defeat; she needed another plan fast. Seeing her struggle, the man let out an ugly smile, showing his yellowed teeth.

"Come, kitty! Aren't you afraid of me? You'd better put your tiny weapon down and purr at me. If you ask nicely, I may take you home and make you my–" He couldn't finish, as the pointy edge of a sword peaked out of his chest and blood ran down his body. When the troll-like man fell to the ground, Sveinn stepped over the dead body, pulling his sword from his victim's back.

"Hey, Lìfa! When we are done here, you owe me a big drinking horn of mead!" The tall, blue-eyed blonde boy laughed at her, trying to hide the fear shining from his eyes as he moved on to the next enemy.

"Come on, that's all you can think of? What the hell happened? Why are they here?" She shouted back while smashing another warrior's skull with her axe. Her pride would never let her show it, but she was grateful for her friend stepping in. With one working arm left, she wouldn't have lasted long against this giant troll in full armour.

Sveinn was Lìfa's best friend since they were three years old. He taught her how to fight when the men of the town laughed at the tiny girl and refused to help her. Now, seventeen years later, they were still inseparable. Sveinn was like a brother to Lìfa. They always dreamed together about fame and treasure, about mighty quests to the far ends of the world.

Many years ago, they made an arrangement that if ever one of them becomes a Jarl, the other would become his or her right hand. They'd conquer the land and sea together. They were together in every mischief and adventure, and they always had each other's back and took care of the other. Even on the battlefield, like now. They were fighting side by side, like brother and sister, blessed by steel.

"Lìfa! Your father!" suddenly, Sveinn's voice snapped her out of the heat of the fight. She turned in the direction of their house and saw a man walking in with a sword in hand.

She started to run as fast as she could, hoping she would reach the small house in time. The old man was too weak and probably couldn't protect himself from a young warrior in his days of full strength and glory. For the first time during the fight, she felt fear. Lìfa wasn't afraid of death, she was worried about her father. Aside from Sveinn, he was the only one she had, and the thought of losing him squeezed her stomach into a tiny ball.

When she reached the doorway, she saw the stranger piercing her father's chest with his sword. Time stopped around her as she watched this act of violence. All sounds and movements of the world outside just dissolved around her. The only thing she saw was the man meaning the world to her falling helplessly to the ground.

Rage slowly filled her veins and ran through every inch of her body. Fury and anger washed all over her as she lunged forward with a battle cry, targeting the back of the intruder with her axe. The man turned around fast and blocked Lìfa's strike with his wooden shield. The blade of the axe got stuck in the shield, and the warrior ripped it out of Lìfa's hand, leaving her defenseless. She looked around for any weapons, and her father's sword, the Troll Cutter, caught her eye.

Within a glimpse of time, she reached for it, and with a half-turn she swung it and cut deep into her foe's thigh, then hit him between the eyes with the sword-hilt. As the man fell to the ground, she freed her axe from the shield and knelt on his chest. She hit his head with all her might, letting out her sorrow and fury. She took revenge and struck his head as many times until nothing remained of it. As she finally ran out of breath and got tired of destroying her victim's skull, she heard a quiet whisper from her father's direction.

"Lìfa... my daughter..." Lìfa quickly climbed off the dead body and knelt beside her father, tears filling her eyes.

"Lìfa... I gave you this name because you'll live no matter what*. I raised you like my own and gave you all I could..." He coughed, and blood made its way down his neck from the corner of his mouth. "The gods made you for big things. Your god has a purpose for you. Always remember what I used to tell you..." His voice was slowly fading, it was very hard to hear his words.

"Father, what are you talking about? What do you mean you raised me like your own?" Confusion was written all over Lìfa's face. She had no clue what the old man was talking about. His time was coming. The Valkyries came for his soul to take him to Valhalla, the hall of the fallen warriors.

"Ask the Godi*... he'll tell you..." He was coughing so much that he could barely talk. He was choking on his blood flooding his lungs "Lìfa, I love you." With these last words, his head fell back, his eyes became empty and still.

"I love you too."

*

When Lìfa left the small building, the battle was over, but she couldn't care less. She was covered in blood from her fingertips up to her armpits. Without looking around, she slowly walked straight down to the shore, Sveinn running after her.

"Lìfa! Lìfa, wait! What happened? Are you okay?"

"Don't worry, it's not my blood," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, drawing small trails across the dried blood on her snow white, freckled face. She didn't turn to Sveinn, because she didn't want him to see her weak. She never let anyone see her cry.

"You know how I meant it. What happened to your father?" asked Sveinn, still behind her back.

"He's now drinking mead with the Allfather*. He died in glory, so I have nothing to be sad about." With these words, she dived under the cold surface of the sea. She let the cold waves lick the blood off of her body and hide her tears. She loosed her long, copper red hair out of the braid it was tied into and let the waves carry it around like seaweed. When she kicked herself up to the surface again, the salty water washed away all her emotions, and pure resignation sat on her face. She slowly marched out of the sea and perched on a small hill by the seashore. She stared at what was left of her village.

Thornvik was a small seaside fisher town far on the Norse end of the world. Lìfa was born here, raised by her father, Einar. He was an old fisherman, way past his glory days as a warrior. By a very young age, Lìfa wanted to be like him. A big, feared warrior, about whom skalds* sang songs at night by the fire. She wanted to see the world, to travel on the whale road. The salty breeze of the sea was always calling out to her, and the waves were whispering her name.

Now, there was nothing left of this place, only burnt ruins and ashes. All the things Lìfa once knew were gone — Even Einar. Somehow she felt a never fading void inside, and at the same time, she felt a strong determination forming inside her, mixed with rage to get revenge and punish the ones responsible for all this destruction. She wanted to make every single one of them pay for what they did to her village and her family.

Sveinn sat beside her in the grass and, without a word, he put an arm around Lìfa's shoulder. There was no need for words, his heart was aching just as much as Lìfa's. Einar was like a second father to him, and losing him tore him apart, just like his friend. His blue eyes were filled with worry looking at his best friend.

"He said things to me... He said he raised me like his own. Sveinn, do you think it means what I think?" Her voice was empty and calm, but her eyes showed everything going on in her mind. Her gaze contained a bitter mixture of confusion, disbelief, and sorrow.

"Well, that would explain a lot of things," Sveinn answered after a few seconds of processing what he had just heard. "I mean, you're nothing like him. He was short, blonde, green-eyed. You're tall and slim, red-haired, and your eyes... Don't look at me like that! You know your eyes still freak me out after all these years!"

One of Lìfa's eyes was deep blue like the ocean, while the other was amber with fire burning in it. The people of Thornvik had never seen anyone with eyes like these before, and they often said that the girl carries seidr* inside her. It was said that each of her eyes symbolised the world's two strongest elements: Chaos and Order*.

"He also said to remember his words about me and to ask the Godi." Lìfa tore her gaze off the ashes of Thornvik, and her eyes roamed to the horizon over the sea.

"You mean that you're marked by a god?" Sveinn asked.

"I always thought he said this to make me feel better about my eyes, and make me feel unique. But maybe there was something more behind it. I don't know what to think anymore." Einar always told her she was different from the others, that she had a bright future ahead. The old man always told his daughter that she was favored by the gods, though he never told Lìfa by which one...

"Maybe you really are special. I mean, look at your damned arm! How is it still in one piece? Mine would have been broken in two from that hit you got. You must be made of steel, or only Odin knows what." These words made Lìfa's thin lips curve into a small smile. Sveinn always knew what to say to make her feel a little better. Though her father's death still hurt her and would hurt for a long time, she had other, now more critical questions popping up in her mind.

"What do you think Ingolf wanted here? Thornvik isn't rich, we have nothing he can't get easily from anywhere else," she said, scanning the horizon with her asymmetrical eyes.

"I don't know. It was like his men were searching for something and when they couldn't find it, they decided to punish us. But what on earth did they search for?"

"I bet that bastard knows. This time tomorrow, we will have all the answers." Lìfa stood up, pointing to a tiny figure on the edge of the horizon. A ship was slowly approaching the shores of Thornvik. One that belonged to their jarl*, Egil.

Notes:

Drakkar - a type of viking ships

Scramasax - a large knife with a single-edged blade

Lìfa - an old Norse name, meaning life

Godi - a local chieftain with religious duties

Allfather - another name for Norse god Odin

Skald - a composer and reciter of poems honouring heroes and their deeds

Seidr - magic in Norse mythology

Chaos and Order - in Norse mythology the world was born in the evil fire of Chaos, and then it's controlled and protected by the forces of Order

Jarl - viking leader of small towns/cities, one rank below the king