The warrior didn’t reply. Like Skars, he was being forced to watch Raum disintegrate in the distance, his own chest burning with the same putrid smell, as if the tattoo had been removed with the heat of a branding iron. Even though he already knew what was going to be there, he still ripped the shirt open to look at the wound, which had drops of blood coursing down to his stomach. The tattoo that covered his chest above his heart was disappearing into smoke, just like Ulf’s had moments ago.
All Raumulean Vikings were born with their own beautifully intricate tattoo of an encircled tree. Faint at birth, the tattoo would grow darker, the roots spreading upward into a tree with branches as the child aged until the Viking reached adulthood. Each branch contained leaves with a pattern that was unique to each Viking family member, to represent their living members—mother, father, sisters; later, wives and children—as more lines would appear as they entered your life. With death, their lines would disappear, leaving behind a small scar to represent the pain of their loss.
Skars gazed down unbelievably at his chest as his entire tattoo disappeared, leaving a large patch of scarred flesh behind. His entire family had just been killed, as were his men’s as they all cried out in anguish.
The only remaining survivors of their planet were those on board the ship, or the two other ships scheduled to return.
The room was filled with shouts of rage and grief. Warriors that Skars once would have sworn were unbeatable had now lost everything in a second. They had no home, no women, no families.
Thane’s hoarse voice finally came through the communication system found in every room on the ship.
“Where should …?” Thane’s voice cracked. “I don’t know what to key in for our destination?”
Thorsen tore his shirt apart, bunching the remains on his wound as he walked to stand over Reva, who was on her knees on the carpeted floor. “Did you know?”
Reva raised tear-stained cheeks to meet Thorsen’s demanding glare. “Já.”
Thorsen grabbed Reva, staring at her threateningly. Skars pulled him away from her.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” he yelled.
“Hilda wouldn’t let me. As your grandfather’s seeress, she told him of our visions and what they foretold.”
“Grandfather? He knew, and he let my wives and children die?” Thorsen shouted as he started throwing anything he could touch in a berserker rage.
Skars, Arne, and Ulf launched themselves at Thorsen, taking him to the floor. They kept their chieftain pinned under them until he lay quietly, and all they could hear were sobs of grief coming from him.
Waiting until he no longer made any sounds, they climbed off him.
Thorsen’s face was stark and bleak when he rose from the floor.
“I wanted to tell you, Thorsen. I begged your grandfather and Hilda to tell you. They swore me to secrecy. Still, the night before we set to leave, I decided I was going to tell you the morning when I woke. That night, I had a vision. A vision of the future after I told you. You wouldn’t have been able to save Raum or the ones we will mourn, as everyone on board this ship, and the two others that were late arriving home, would be gone. No trace of our existence would have been left.”
The full enormity of the decision that their grandfather, Hilda, and Reva must have brought Thorsen to the reality that he was now facing him as their new chieftain.
Skars looked over Reva’s shoulders to the window at her back as the last of the burning debris disappeared from sight, unable to bear the sight of the warriors lost in their own personal grief. He had lost his grandfather, mother, and father, two sisters by marriage, and three nephews. His grief didn’t compare to what they must be experiencing.
These warriors had followed him blindly on trading missions. While many had gone well, just as many had them battling for their lives to get on certain planets.
Most had lost not only parents, but wives and children. Whole families destroyed in less time than it would take to fill a chalice with wine, and with the destruction of their planet, they were even denied any chance of rebuilding that vital structure that would enable them to heal, to rebuild. Whoever had done this had effectively destroyed their race.
Thorsen’s voice dragged his eyes from the window.
“We do what we always do.” Thorsen looked each man in their eyes, giving them the words they needed. “We take our revenge. Whoever is responsible will die.”
Thorsen sweeping gaze landed on Reva. “Who?”
“Xioarius.”
The familiar name had Skars thanking the gods that Thorsen’s ax was in his room, or nothing would have been left unmarred in the room that his grandfather and mother had made.
“This is my penance for not taking his life when I had the chance,” Thorsen snarled in self-recrimination. “I swear, as chieftain, I will never make that mistake again. I give my word that I will not stop until Xioarius and those who gave him aid with the destruction of Raum die by torture. They will know the pain of each life taken on their flesh, as we felt it on ours. This, I swear to you.”