Kindle Edition
Amazon
Amazon.co.uk
Category:
Historical Fiction
Publisher: Amazon
Type: Fiction
Pages: 496
Copyright: April 2013
ISBN-13: 9781482579727
Price: $4.11 (eBook)
A supernatural/historical fiction set on the Wirral Peninsula, England. What would you do to save your child?
A supernatural/historical thriller moving between present day and the 10th century when Vikings walked our lands.
Helen Gunn moves to the Wirral, England with her estranged husband and young daughter, Charlotte in the hope of starting a new life and saving her marriage.
When Charlotte starts talking to an invisible friend and dark shadows threaten the family, Helen must face her worst nightmare and bring an end to a thousand years of torment.
Einaar had never questioned the old gods until his child is chosen as a sacrifice to save the village from disaster.
What would you do to save your child? Fight the dead? Defy the gods?
An archeaological dig has unearthed a forgotten village. The gods have awoken.
Excerpt
Prologue of Freya’s Child
The dawn mist hung softly in the air, tinged with the promise of gold as the sun’s fingers gently caressed the earth. The small group walked silently towards the house, their weapons hung loosely by their sides; they were confident and unperturbed; they didn’t expect a fight. The decision had been made, the order given; what was the point of fighting, it would be a good death, they would honour that.
The small wooden door was shut. The animal skin hanging over it gently flapped in the cool breeze. The leader stopped, something was wrong. He stepped closer to the door and listened; he heard nothing from within and quickly glanced upwards, he saw that no smoke rose from the small hole in the roof. With one swift kick, the door splintered inwards and he pushed his way inside, stepping into the gloom; the others swiftly followed.
His cry shattered the silence, as did the crashing of pottery as he unleashed his fury at such blatant defiance. He had acted weak, for the sake of friendship and battles fought and won together; a mistake he must rectify or every man, woman and child would be doomed to the same fate. Charging out of the small house, he quickly scanned the surrounding area.
His fellow Norsemen gathered around him. Loathing and fear burned on each man’s face; their weapons no longer remained idle; they gripped them tightly as the intensity of their rage transferred to the wooden handles and along the shaft to the sharp, cold metal of their axes and swords.
Each man impatiently waiting for their chief to give the order, willing it, unable to keep their feet from moving, they had to go and they had to go now or may Odin forgive them if anyone else should step into their path; there would be no peace now until blood had been spilt. Einaar had broken his word, his honour, and only death could now erase the damage done.
Finally, their chief gave the order and with it came their voices. They bellowed their consent and their bodies gave way to the roar of blood in their veins. They moved as one in the only direction their prey could have fled; the river, towards the sea.
The young girl watched the men disappear among the trees and wiped away her tears. They hadn’t seen her and that would be in her favour, but she could not have stopped herself from watching, even though her life may have depended on it. Knowing the fate of the family and the reasons behind the decision did not lessen her grief; after all, she had known them all her twelve years and spoken with them almost every day.
She had sat beside the woman, Astrid, on untold occasions in the great hall whilst listening to the men telling their stories, singing songs and praying to the gods. She had shared food with Astrid, as she’d taught her to spin and weave and had helped entertain little Inga while listening to the older women gossiping. Only yesterday she had shared a tearful moment with Astrid over the death of yet another child. She had whispered her fear that the sickness was walking amongst them and would soon choose another and Astrid had clung to her daughter Inga that little bit tighter.
She had heard the whispers of some who believed that this was a curse from the gods. They were angry because Halldor had allowed the priest to come into their village and talk of his god. She slammed her fist against the door-post; she despised this new god that had brought so much unrest amongst her people. This one, true god, the priest had said loved all of his children, yet he’d sacrificed his own son. Odin would triumph over such a cruel and weak god.
She closed her eyes for a moment, her head resting against the wooden doorframe; as a wave of dizziness made her tremble; she felt hot against the cool morning air and knew that she had been cursed too. It seemed that her prediction yesterday had come true; the sickness had indeed come to claim another. She had hours, perhaps a day before the illness took a firm hold and then she would be fighting for her life. She felt the stirring of the world as it came awake and said a swift prayer to the God Odin and her favourite Goddess, Freya, before turning away, back to her bed.
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