Mira tried to think of something to do, some way to get free. She was not tied, but the sharp-toothed man sat behind her, and his grip was strong. And even if she did manage to get loose, she would be on foot. He and the other men were on horseback; there would be no contest.

They were riding east; she knew that much. She also knew there were many towns and forts between where they were and the coast. Surely one of the eastern lords would stop them, set her free, and escort her home. That was how all stories about maidens taken captive ended. Women were always rescued by valiant knights.

The horse’s shoulders beat into her stomach and chest with every headlong gallop, but no matter how she shifted her weight, the pain of it could not be avoided. Each time the creature lifted, her stomach clenched in anticipation of the whack that was coming when it landed. Her captor kept the horse racing, and sometimes the wallop was so forceful it knocked the air out of her. Other times, she felt certain that she would fall and get tangled up in the horse’s hooves. She grabbed onto her captor’s wrist the first time it happened and hated herself for it, vowing she would not reach for him a second time, that she would let herself fall and be mangled by the horse rather than voluntarily touch the northern beast. But the next time she felt herself slipping, she did grab hold of him, and she was ashamed.

When the thinnest shred of morning light stretched across the horizon, the Northmen stopped to water their horses at a nearby stream. The spear-toothed man lifted her off the horse and set her down on the grass. It was then that the pink-bearded man saw her. The blood in his beard had dried and was no longer pink but brownish and crumbly; still, she thought of him as the man with the pink beard. He watched her for a moment, looking dumbfounded, blinking several times.

His eyes narrowed, and he shouted, spitting out angry-sounding gurgles. Mira thought at first he was yelling at her, and her heart began to race. When the sharp-toothed man laughed and answered, she realized she was not the one who angered him.

The sharp-toothed man took Mira’s arm and led her to the riverbed, motioning to the water with a grunt. She thought of running, as nearly all the men were no longer on their horses, but she feared they would catch her all the same, so she didn’t.

She watched as the men around her knelt and made a cup out of their hands so as to drink from the stream. It was unsettling to see people act like animals; until that moment, she hadn’t known one could drink without a cup. It was harder than it looked—the water slipped through her fingers each time she lifted her hand to her mouth. The little water she managed to get only served to show her how thirsty she was.

Her captor saw this and took pity on her. He tried to bring water to her lips with his own hand, but she pulled away from him, disgusted that he would think his filthy blood-stained fingers belonged anywhere near her mouth. This didn’t seem to bother him. He spoke to her in a gentle voice, trying to coax her into accepting the water. When this didn’t work, he continued to speak, seemingly trying to explain what she was doing wrong, showing her his hand-cup as he talked. Many of the nearby men laughed at him and commented.

Mira was surprised to discover how easy it was to understand their sentiment even though she didn’t know their words. She knew they were saying something like, “You’re wasting your breath; she can’t understand you.” And they were right; she had no idea what he was meaning.

Eventually, he gave up explaining. He spoke to the others, and one of the men pulled a goblet from his saddlebag. Mira recognized the vessel; it was from the set her mother used when esteemed guests visited. The spear-toothed man filled the cup and gave it to her. She was far too thirsty to reject it.

When the horses finished quenching their thirst, her captor lifted her back onto the horse, this time upright. But she wasn’t seated side-saddle, the way she always rode when men were present; she was on the horse properly, the way she rode when no one else was around, or if it was only her and Dayne. She grasped the horse’s mane as the man climbed on behind her. He took the reins, and they were off again, still at a fast pace.

They’re running, she realized. They want to get back to their ships before all the lords of the Isle rally and force them out.

Mira knew that the Northmen never stayed on land for long. They never fought for territory the way the lords in her country did. They took riches and left, staying away just long enough for her countrymen to accrue more wealth, and then the Northmen came back.

She had only left the grounds of the castle twice before in her life, first, when her father insisted the entire family come with him to visit his dying brother, her uncle Alfan, and second when her old handmaiden—the one before Orlaith—had taken her to the little town just west of Arcliff.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, details of the terrain grew crisper, and Mira learned a little of what she had gone without seeing for so long. There was far more land on the Isle than she ever knew, far more types of trees and grasses, all different shapes of hills and rocks. Even though everything was still dead from winter, it was beautiful. There were thick, sprawling oaks, scraggly hawthorns, slanting, droopy wych elms and many other trees Mira didn’t recognize. There were tall, skinny trunks made of cloud-coloured parchment with teeny round leaves that looked like silver moons dangling from the branches. A giant sweeping tree that appeared almost like a crying woman and a shiny white mist that spread thick across the hills. Mira tried not to enjoy the scenery, but she couldn’t help it. Perhaps after she was rescued, her father would allow her to have a painting commissioned of the landscape. Or would it be Loric she would need to ask?

On the road, they came upon a farm. After the farmer was killed and his field lit on fire, one of the Northmen took the man’s wife with him. The woman screeched and cried so much that after an hour of riding, the man stopped his horse as the others rushed past him. The earsplitting wails of the farmer’s wife dug into Mira’s skull, pulling a horrid vision into her mind’s eye. For reasons she would never understand, she turned back to look. Mira’s captor set a giant foul hand over her eyes, but not before she caught a glimpse of the tussle. They were on the ground together, and the farmer’s wife had a blade, but instead of slashing at her captor’s throat, she pushed the steel into her own stomach.

Mira’s throat made a sound she’d not heard before, a whimper-hum that pushed its way through her clenched teeth. She vomited off the side of the horse, and many Northmen laughed at this. She couldn’t hold the mane any longer; her hands were shaking too violently, and she began to fall.

The world spun around her and went dark at the edges.

The sharp-toothed man made quick adjustments as Mira tumbled, keeping her upright and on the horse, all the while bringing the beast to a stop. Mira was struck by the idea that he was slowing the steed because she was also making too much noise and that she was to receive the same treatment as the farmer’s wife. Her stomach tried to empty itself again, only there was nothing left to come out, and there was that horrible pain that came when a body wanted to be sick but was unable to. It made no sense, as Dayne was far away, but when she thought the end was near, Mira called out for him.

The Northman didn’t kill her. He pushed his calloused, blood-caked palm against her mouth and made a whispery noise into her ear like he was trying to soothe a horse. Mira was not soothed. The rancid smell of his skin made her gag. The tickle of his breath near her ear itched her, and she contorted, trying to pull away from him as she cried. She didn’t want his pointy fangs so close to her skin. He growled and kept her firm against his chest. Only when she stopped moving and quieted herself did his hand leave her lips. They could not speak, but he’d made it clear that she was not to whine or cry.

When Mira was still for a moment, he pulled leaves out of a small pouch and set them to her mouth. She didn’t take them at first as she was too overwrought by the horror, so he turned her face to his and put one in his mouth, chewing slowly and with exaggeration. He grunted, and she knew he was telling her to chew them. His calm spread to her; her breathing slowing in long shaky tides. He did not look like a man about to commit murder.

Again he set the tiny leaves to her mouth, and she accepted them, chewing weakly as the world became of right colour again. They were mint leaves. Mira had been given mint cream once as a girl, and though she did not want to acknowledge that the man had done well, the leaves tasted good and settled her stomach. He spit out the leaf he was chewing to show her to spit when she was done. She nodded meekly, not sure if Northmen understood nodding as yes or the shaking of a head as no. The sharp-toothed man grabbed the reins more firmly, his giant arms tight against her ribs, and urged the horse onward.

Again, Mira felt ashamed. She wished she hadn’t listened to the vile man with the animal fangs, but she was afraid to upset him, and so she did. Send my rescue soon, she begged the gods. Please, I cannot bear anymore. Having not slept the night before and having been strained by constant fear, Mira was depleted of all thought and energy. She fell asleep.

***

Mira jolted awake in the dark of night. The spear-toothed man had tied his hands into the reigns, his arms still tightly around her. She could hear from his breathing that he was nearing sleep. Many of the men surrounding her were sleeping on their horses. What an odd sight it was. How do they stay upright? she wondered.

As the sharp-toothed man drifted off, Mira placed her hands on the reins. She kept the horse in line with the others while she thought. If there was a time to flee, it was then. But how would she do it? Could she untie the man’s hands while he slept, or would that wake him? If he stayed sleeping, it might be easy to push him off the horse before he had time to react. She could ride away.

But not all the men are asleep, she reminded herself. I also don’t know which direction will take me to a castle the fastest. Mira knew deep down that despite the hope these thoughts gave her, she wouldn’t act on them. At least not now. Maybe if all the men sleep, I can go. She knew that wouldn’t happen; the Northmen gently woke one another when they needed a turn at rest.

Even if she wasn’t to attempt escape, Mira took comfort in seeing how slow they were moving. Perhaps an army could catch up with them. She thought of Loric. He promised to defend me. Maybe he would be true to his word and show up with his father’s army. He’s fighting elsewhere, Mira reasoned. He will have no way of knowing the Northmen came to Arcliff, not for many days at least. Mira vowed to herself that she would love Loric forever if he did come. She wouldn’t think of Rowan ever again, only Loric.

When the sharp-toothed man awoke, the space between his legs hardened against her. This was confusing, as Mira had no real knowledge of men and what went on between their legs at that time. Despite her lack of understanding, she felt shame. She pretended she didn’t notice, but after he untangled his hands from the reins, she shifted herself forward so as to touch him as little as possible. He laughed.

As the sun crept up behind thick clouds and the darkness of night became rolling shadowy hills, a rough rain began to fall, and a thick fog rose from the damp, dead grass. As the water pounded her neck and shoulders, Mira began to fret over the horses. She knew by the sound of the animals’ breathing and by the way they were running—lopsided, trying to give at least one of their legs a rest—that they were suffering. Horses could not go on running forever.

Another woman came and went, though in a different way than the farmer’s wife. The unlucky milkmaid flailed violently as she screamed and managed to get herself loose from her captor, only she fell to the dirt and was trampled by the hooves of horses. Mira didn’t want to look back and see, but for some reason, she couldn’t stop herself. All that was left was a red and pink mash wearing a dress. Her captor offered her more mint after this happened, but before she could bring the leaves to her mouth, her stomach was straining itself, forcing bile out onto the soil.

***

At a point, they turned south, leaving the road behind, shredding fields into muddy ribbons. This was another thing that confused Mira, as she’d assumed their ships would be near the eastern coast. In all the stories she’d heard, Northmen always came from the eastern sea. She began to worry that her countrymen would expect the same and so would not think to search for her in the south. She looked at the torn path of mayhem behind them and soothed herself. Dayne is clever enough to know that this trail was made by horses. He will think to follow it.

More raiding parties joined the Northmen, their numbers swelling as the hours went on. They were—all of them—soaked in blood, covered in dirt, wearing shiny new jewels and sporting saddlebags loaded up with fine cloth and silver goblets.

There were other stolen women, too, all in bawling fits of hysteria. Mira understood their sentiment. She was also frightened and miserable—only she’d been taught not to put her less attractive emotions on display. She tried not to judge the women but couldn’t manage it. Keep yourself together, she’d urge them in her thoughts. What would your mothers think? Have you no sense of decency?

As Mira expected, the horses began to die. They collapsed on the spot, sending a pale giant sprawling. The men cursed when this happened and shouted at the others, demanding to be given aid by a friend. Always the Northmen made a joke of it at first, refusing to stop for the man whose horse had died.

Eventually, one would turn around and go back for the stranded, and then there’d be two men atop a single, exhausted horse. Sometimes someone would stop for the horseless man right away, only as the man attempted to hop on, they’d pull forward or rush back suddenly so that the man fell into the mud, and they would all laugh.

Mira kept her hands on her horse’s neck, rubbing the beast in a soothing way, whispering words of encouragement. She didn’t do this because she wanted to get where they were going, but because she didn’t want the sweet creature beneath her to die because it was unlucky enough to be the horse of a Northern raider.

***

At long last, they reached the sea.

Mira had been to the western shore in her youth when visiting her uncle Alfan and found the southern coast was much the same. She recognized the sound of it—the cool, salty air on her face, the way it made her hair curl tightly like the princess she’d seen in a tapestry. Though, this time, Mira did not appreciate the beauty, the taste of the air, or the soothing sound of the waves crashing into the rocks. All she saw were ships.

A swarm of giant wooden insects, with rows of oars like legs. The ships even had eyes—painted round and wide and so far apart that they felt uncanny. There were mouths as well, gaping black holes painted on with rows of sharp teeth and drooping tongues, hanging to the side like dogs panting in the summer heat.

The Northmen seemed happy to lay eyes on their sea steeds, though dismounting the horses was a miserable affair. They must not have been used to horse riding as they walked strangely—no doubt feeling great pain in their legs and hips from such a long journey. Mira wanted to laugh at them. Of course, she didn’t, but she made a point of hopping off her horse with all the grace she could muster. Her sharp-toothed captor saw this, though he was not jealous as she hoped he would be. He laughed.

Some of the men began loading their goods while others set themselves on slaughtering the horses that were closest to death. The brutality of it twisted in Mira’s stomach, making her wonder if she was to vomit again. Mira loved horses, sometimes more than people. Her captor went to do the same to his own horse, but without thinking, she moved between him and the beast, shaking her head.

“I beg you,” she said. “Don’t harm him.”

Though the man didn’t know her words, he seemed to understand her meaning. He frowned and spoke, and Mira knew he was saying something like, the horse will not live.

“He might.”

The sharp-toothed man stared at her for many moments before setting his axe back on his hip and slapping the horse’s rump to send him running. Guilt gnawed on her stomach as Mira wondered why she had not acted just as bravely when the farmer’s wife was thrown to the dirt.

Her captor took her by the arm to the dock, and all thought of how she handled past moments was gone; she had a present moment to fear. She couldn’t bring herself to step onto the ship. Once on board, I am lost forever. He watched her with curiosity, and when she didn’t move, he grunted and motioned towards the ship.

She shook her head and pleaded as best she could with her expression, “I can’t. Please, I can’t.”

Let him take pity on me, Mira prayed. Please. I beg you. Let him leave me on the shore. The man had given her water and shared his food and given her mint when she was sick. He’d let the horse free. He could be merciful; she’d seen it.

That time he was not merciful.

He grunted again and gestured for her to move towards the ship. Mira saw other captive women trying to run, crying and begging to be released, but not one got away. They were dragged on board with ease. Two of them managed to put up such a fuss that they were given the axe. One went out the same way the farmer’s wife did—by her own hand. Mira had forgotten about the ballads where sanctuary maids slit their own throats rather than be taken captive. They were never the stories she liked to hear.

If I refuse, I am still lost forever.

Her captor watched her watch the other stolen women, and when she looked back to him, he presented a small dagger with raised eyebrows and a smirk. I dare you. That’s what his face was saying to her. Or maybe, we both know you’re not going to do it.

When she didn’t reach for his knife, her captor gave her a hard nudge, and she stepped forward. With each step she took, the sound of her boots coming in contact with the deck echoed in her ears, haunting her, reminding her that she was making a terrible choice.