Yes, barely

A sudden war cry startled Isa, causing her to trip over the bloodstained rope lying around the deck. Clinging the lockbox to her chest, she rolled as best as she could as one of the Pechenegs lifted himself over the lip of the ship. Momentum carried her down the width of the boat. Pained grunts came from her as she slammed into the wooden edge, lifting herself as much as she could. Praying to the Lord Above for safety, guidance, and to take Father and all the crew to Heaven.

Sensing the nomadic warrior spilling over the side with a clatter of metal and leather, Isa stood and stared down at the faering that was starting to drift away. A puff of fur exploded next to her as a barbed arrow tore at her fur cloak. Without thinking it over any further, she leaped.

It all passed as a blur. Body flailing, legs kicking, cloak fluttering. Isa slammed into the skiff, sharp pain blossoming in her side as she landed onto wood and fur. Then it went black as her head hit the wooden seat.

Panic seized her. Cold air rushed into her bruised lungs, that sharp stabbing in her side greeted her as her bloodshot eyes took in the scenery around her. The lazy bobbing of the current and the moving shore filled her with such relief, the only thing she could do was break down and cry. Tears flowed for Father, for the life he would never see filled with grandchildren and warm happiness. Her body tried filtering out the incessant pain with every heave of her sobs, but there was only so much it could handle, especially mixed with traumatic grief. Isa drifted away into unconsciousness again, her heart still pouring out for all those lost.

'MAGNUS!'

Jolting upright, hard enough to almost capsize the skiff, Isa reached out with frantic abandon.

The gentle rays of dawn were just peeking through the trees, signaling a few scant hours had passed, if that. Her hand found the fur bundled warmth of the other person currently onboard, fingers digging into that pelt as she dragged herself over to him. Her blood-soaked hair clung limp to her temple and cheek. Turning the man over as gently as she could, her mind raced with the possibility of ending it all if her beloved had too left her.

“Oh! Thank you, God! Th-Thank you!” **** joy oozed from her exclamation, the weight of all the **** and suffering lessening if only for a moment, but that beautiful moment felt like eternity to the fraught teenage girl. Magnus was still breathing, his face bruised from his tumble, but no blood was apparent. Carefully, Isa peeled back his cloak, trying to find the arrow that struck him. Confusion reigned as she studied every inch, removing his cloak and armour as best as she could.

She could not find any visible wounds. Isa lifted his wool shirt, tracing her fingertips across the lightly haired skin of his hips. Small bruises appeared here and there, but nothing to signify him falling into the faering. Pushing the shirt higher, no wounds revealed themselves on his firm abdomen, though she noted his breathing was irregularly paced. It was not until she moved his tunic all the way up until it was firmly pressed against his chin did she realize the true reason why her beloved had fallen.

Isa took in a small breath, dutifully pushing aside the cloak to find the leather jerkin. There, in the center was a small hole where the arrow had punctured through. Bringing it closer for inspection, Isa noticed that the hole was irregularly shaped and not fully cut through as should be the case due to the arrowheads wicked serrated edge. Glancing back at the half-naked Magnus, Isa crawled over his body to reach underneath his tunic and search around his shoulders. There she found the proof to the thoughts brewing in her mind.

Magnus Torvaldson tolerated much due to her, she knew. He followed her around like a lovestruck puppy, hoping to steal a kiss or hump her leg when no one was looking. Isa adored him. Truly loved the goofy boy who filled her with happiness. She knew, however, that Magnus did not feel the same way she did about a few important issues. Pulling back the leather cord wrapped around her beloved’s neck; Isa saw with definitive proof the deformed cross adorning the center.

If the same arrow had struck her silver cross, the instrument of evil would have embedded itself deep into her heart despite the love and protection she felt from God. The same was not so of her dear Magnus. Having been baptized at a later age and filled with superstitious nonsense from his well-meaning if misguided parents, Magnus had grown up like quite a few Scandinavians had these past few decades. Faiths mixed, aspects were taken on, syncretization was in full swing. The cross hanging atop Magnus chest, next to his beating heart, was made of finely forged steel.

The unusual choice had caused some controversy with the village priest who favoured gentler and **** metals or woods. Ones that could capture the forgiving and humble nature of Jesus. If only the priest had known that Magnus had the smith forge an inconspicuous flange on either side of the bottom. A powerful reminder that the Old Ways had left the heart of only some Norse. She would never marry a heathen, but she would happily marry her silly, superstitious Magnus.

A soft caress of the large bruise on Magnus’ sternum caused him to groan. Eyes fluttering in a rush of excitement, Isa pulled his tunic down. That joy tapered off as it seemed the boy in front of her had only shifted, remaining ****. The sudden parchedness of her throat reminded her that their situation could remain quite dire. Patting her body, Isa prayed that the waterskin she carried had not burst during her leap of faith. The plumpness of the leather denied that accursed worry, reassuring her that much more that they would survive.

Isa uncorked the pouch, taking a sip of the lukewarm water with relish. Brushing the sweat slicked hair off her beloved’s forehead, Isa leaned down to slowly dribble water in his mouth. Soft kisses peppered his face and loving words of encouragement where whispered into his ear when she was done. Slumping against the wall of the faering, uncaring about the teetering her action caused, Isa took stock of their situation.