When the cry went up from the lookouts on the cliffs, Branwen paid little attention. She was busy gathering the herbs that the midwife needed for Fianna's labor. Besides, this little cove had never been troubled by the Viking raiders- the shield she had managed to erect saw to that. Elsewhere along the coast villages had been destroyed, women taken and men enslaved by the Northerners, but here, life continued as it always had, with few interruptions. Most likely, she thought, the lookouts have spotted a fishing boat and taken it for a longboat. She pushed her long red hair out of her face and rubbed at her green eyes, then continued her search. It wasn't until she heard the first screams from the women in the town below that she stopped picking herbs. She listened for a moment in shock, then picked up the hem of her dress and began to run.
She reached the edge of the village just as the first boat landed. As the men of the village attacked the intruders, only to be viciously cut down by the huge, barbaric invaders, Branwen started forward towards the melee. There must be something she could do to help, some way to turn the magic of the Goddess against these men...she began to enter trance to call up the white raven that was her link with the other world, only to be stopped by the old midwife's hand grasping her arm.
"No, Branwen. There is nothing you can do."
Branwen stared down into the old woman's bright eyes. "Brigid, you know the power I have been granted by the Goddess, you know I must try..."
The old woman shook her head, and repeated, "No. Your powers are not useful, not here, not now. Do you not feel it? There is one among them, among their company, who is your opposite. He shares your nature, Branwen. It is how they found us. He was able to penetrate all your defenses. If you go out there, now, he will destroy you utterly. You cannot compete with him on the field of battle."
Branwen stilled herself for a moment and closed her eyes. Above the din, could she hear, yes...the call of a raven. She could see him now, with her mind's eye, a black shimmering, an almost palpable power. Dear Lady, Brigid was right. She opened her eyes, staring blindly at the battle, seeing but not seeing as her friends died at the hands of the invaders. He has come, she thought blankly, the one I saw in my vision...
Brigid continued. "You must stay here, Branwen, with the women, though I know it galls you to avoid a fight. We will need you afterwards, to care for the injured and help the dying on their journey. He must not find you."
So Branwen huddled against the wall of one of the houses on the square with the other women, holding Fianna, comforting the others as they sobbed in fear and horror, while the Vikings made short work of the men of the village. It was over almost before it had begun, and then the Vikings came to gather their spoils.
She saw him, with her eyes this time, instantly. He was surprisingly lithe, not the bulky, massive brute she expected. He was taller than she was, by several inches. His blond hair shimmered in the weak sunlight. The smooth planes of his face were outlined by a golden beard. His light eyes passed keenly over the weeping group of women, as if he were looking for something...she mentally wrapped a cloak about herself, shielding her thoughts with the anguish of knowing how many of her people had died this day, how many women would suffer under these men tonight. His eyes passed over her, and he crossed to talk quietly with some of his men a good distance from her. Clearly they deferred to him; he did not seem to be the military leader, but he obviously commanded respect.
Already Vikings were hauling women out of the now-shrieking group, carrying them away to fuck them in the forest before their men had even grown cold. When one brute started to grab the pregnant Fianna, Branwen could take no more. She threw herself in front of the weeping girl and, drawing her dagger, cut at the bastard's huge paw. He drew his hand back and shouted, then lifted his short sword, preparing to bring it down on her. Instinctively she summoned her powers, feeling a raven's wings wrapping her, protecting her. The man drew back, seeing some of what she was becoming- just as an iron hand closed around his sword arm.
Branwen gazed over her attacker's shoulder into piercing eyes. Quickly she drew her power back into herself- too late. She saw the man she feared smile triumphantly. He knew her, as well...a small moan escaped her lips as he turned away, dragging the other man with him. She heard her attacker say what must be her rescuer's name- Erik. Erik lectured the man in a low, menacing voice, gesturing occasionally towards the hysterical Fianna. Brigid came and took Fianna's arm, leading her into the nearest house, and the Vikings made no move to stop her. Clearly the girl was now under this man's protection- but what about her?
The leader of the Viking band, a large, older man with white hair and beard, moved to talk with Erik and the man whose hand she had cut. She could see him gesturing at her. The Chieftain listened to both her attacker and Erik, then said only one quiet sentence. Erik nodded, glancing at her, as the injured man walked away. Then Erik was coming towards her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Oh, Goddess protect me from this man... As he approached her she remembered the vision in which she had first seen him.
She had been flying high over the sea, a white raven, gliding and stooping as the mood took her. Far off in the distance, she had noticed a spot on the water below her, a moving blackness. She felt drawn to it. She dove closer to take a look, only to realize that the spot was another bird, rising quickly to meet her in the air. As it shot past her, she could see that it, too was a raven, a large, glistening black bird. Then it was above and she below. Fascinated, pleased with finding another like her, she circled, then began to climb.
This time it was he who shot out of the air above her. As they reached each other in mid-air, she felt a searing pain, and looked down- to see her white feathers stained with blood. He had slashed at her with one talon as he passed! As her mind screamed at her to fly, to end this vision, she found herself turning, rising, offering her breast to him yet again. As he stooped and dropped upon her again, she felt another ripping pain in her breast. She saw her breast explode in a spray of red, and then she was falling, falling into a sea as black as his feathers...
Since then she had seen him again in her visions. Once, he was a glossy black serpent who struck at her and devoured her as she sat in a tree. Once, he was a hunter who shot her from the air with an arrow fletched with black raven's feathers. Always, she offered herself to him, always she was willing.
And now? A voice inside her head said to her. Are you still willing? He is coming for you... she tried to make herself run but she could not, she was trapped, fixed in place by his gaze as assuredly as if he had run her through. He stopped in front of her, very close, and stood gazing down at her. He smiled and reached up to caress her cheek. At his touch her control dissolved, and she leaned into his hand. In her own tongue, he said, "My branwen, white raven. I was wondering if ever I would find you..."
"Who are you?" she managed to whisper as she gazed up at him.
"My name is Erik, although the men often call me Hugin, after one of the ravens of my God, Odin. What is your name, my love?"
She looked at him a moment, confused. "It is as you said, earlier. When I found my power I was named Branwen. My old name was lost, I did not need it anymore. I thought you knew..."
He laughed down at her, his eyes bright. "No, I just knew what you were, I did not know that it was your name as well. And now we meet... Do you know why I am here, Branwen?"
She shook her head dumbly. She thought perhaps she did know, but part of her could not admit that thought, yet. But then he said it. "I am your destiny, my white raven. Your power was always meant for me, it was promised me by Odin years ago. I have come to claim it."
She shook her head, feeling a welcome spurt of anger flow through her. "I admit no contract sworn to you by your barbaric God. I serve only my Goddess, and she-"
He cut her off impatiently. "Branwen, do not waste the little time you and I have together with this foolishness. I know not why or how this has happened, but you know it as well as I- you are mine. You are made for this. Nothing in this world or the next can prevent me from taking you." He grasped her shoulders and brought his face very close to hers. "No Goddess, no man, nothing."
She stared up into his eyes, groping desperately in her mind for some reprieve, some way to escape. Then, as if in answer to her unspoken question, she felt the power of the Goddess descend upon her. She felt Her kiss- and then she felt Her go. Stunned, she understood. Branwen had been given to this man, had been created for him, for this moment. She was his. The words sounded through her mind like a huge bell. His.
She threw her head back, shocked at the wild joy she felt at the word. His. She gazed into his eyes, a fierce expression of happiness on her face, and he smiled and took her hands in his, gently. "Come, Branwen. I have been given leave to deal with you, but I must return to my men before the sun sets. Come with me." He led her away from the village through the marauding Vikings and sobbing villagers into the trees, and she went with him, entranced. She could feel her destiny approaching, almost as if it were a comforting weight covering her, pressing her onward. When he stopped at a tree a little ways from the village and pulled her into his arms, she went willingly.
She had never been kissed like this before; it was like fire, burning her up. His lips parted hers insistently, and he forced his tongue deep into her mouth. She moaned his name and pressed herself against him. She could feel the blood on his tunic soaking through her thin woolen dress. My blood will join that of my friends, she thought, and she arched her back and gasped. His hand tangled in her long red hair, pulling her head back, making her arch further. He was leaning over her, crushing her to him, his kisses becoming more frantic as they both moved towards the moment they knew must come.
She could smell him, smell his heavy musky scent mixed with the coppery tang of blood and the smell of smoke. She was rapidly losing all sense of who she was, losing everything except him, how he felt, tasted, sounded. Suddenly he stepped away from her, leaving her standing shakily in front of him. "Take your dress off," he said roughly, and she began to obey clumsily, when she heard footsteps approaching them from the direction of the village. Erik turned and watched as one of his men entered the clearing. The man looked at her for a long moment, then approached Erik and handed him a long spear with a wooden staff and a hammered metal tip. The man said something to Erik in his own language and Erik nodded at him. The Viking turned and looked at her again, a lingering, speculative glance, then Erik spoke sharply to him and he departed.
When Erik returned to her he leaned the spear against a nearby tree and looked down at her a little coldly. "Why are you still clothed, Branwen?" She started to explain but he shushed her. "Undress, now. I need to see you naked before me." She pulled at the ties of her dress and stripped it off. She wore nothing underneath, and she stood, shivering and self-conscious, before him. He smiled, his eyes warming, and stepped forward, pressing her gently backwards against the tree behind her. He continued forward until he was leaning against the tree, gazing down at her bare body. He traced her pale, freckled collarbone with one gentle finger, then moved lower, down along the small swell of her breasts, lower...
He spread his hand flat against her rounded belly, spanning it with his fingers as she gasped. She could feel the power of what he was doing to her coursing through her, making her weak, making her needy. When he dipped his hand lower, rubbing over the fleece at her groin, she parted her legs willingly. He rubbed along her slit, finding her wet and ready for him. She pressed herself against his hand- and then he stopped, and stepped back. She knew as he took up the spear that her time was coming. He gazed at her expectantly. "You know what you must do, Branwen. Make yourself ready for me."
Haltingly, allowing her instincts to guide her, she arched her back, moving her feet away from the tree's base and spreading them wide. She threw her head back and spread her arms, putting them behind her. Oh, my Lady, she thought, he is going to spear me through... she watched him as he moved a little way from her and cocked his arm. He looked at her and smiled. "Very good, Branwen. Tip your head back further." She obeyed. Now she could no longer see him. Her breathing was coming in fast gasps as she anticipated the blow. She could feel the spot low on her belly where the spear would hit home. It was as if all she was had contracted to that one point, as if she were nothing but her belly, waiting to be breached, only his meat, waiting to be butchered. At that thought she moaned- and then the breath whooshed out of her as his spear hit home.
At first she thought he had only punched her, and then she could feel the searing pain in her stomach where she had been penetrated. She gave a long, low cry and moved to look at herself. The spear protruded from that spot below her navel where she knew he would enter her. Her blood gushed out around it rhythmically. She could feel, oh Gods, she could feel her organs split, her stomach muscles cramping, contracting around his spear in her belly. The length of the staff stuck out from her body; her eye followed it- and then his hand grasped the shaft and he forced it further into her. She screamed and looked into his face, seeing his pleasure as he licked his lips and watched her eyes. "Oh, Erik, Hugen," she managed to gasp, "You've taken me at last..." He smiled and grasped the staff more firmly, pressing his other hand flat against her sundered belly. He shoved her backwards even as he ripped the spear from her. It came loose with a loud sucking sound and she moaned. He threw the spear aside and stroked the hole in her belly for a moment, then he drew his sword.
She could see the ravens engraved in the bronze of the hilt and pommel. The weapon looked heavy, but he handled it as if it were an extension of his arm. He put the point to her navel, looked at the flesh dimpling around the point of his blade, and then he smiled into her eyes. She thought of all she wanted to do for him, everything she wished to give him, and managed to gasp, "Erik, I've never been with a man before...I thought that you-" He grinned more widely and reached up with one blood-covered hand to stroke the hair back from her face. "There'll be time, Bronwen, I promise you, plenty of time." Then he drove the sword into her navel.
The wet slide of the sword into her belly was exquisite agony. He went slowly, savoring the parting of her skin, and muscle, and organs, taking each new violation as a separate pleasure, to be treasured. When the sword was well-sheathed in her flesh, he watched her for a moment as she writhed in pleasure and pain, then he lifted his tunic with his free hand, exposing his cock. "I've heard," he said, smiling as he grasped himself, "that the Romans used to deflower virgins before they put them to the sword. We've just reversed the order a little, Branwen. One more gate to breech..." He pushed the sword hilt to the side, cleaving more of her belly in the process, then stepped between her legs and shoved his fat cock between her blood-covered thighs, into her cunt.
The little pain of her hymen tearing was almost lost in the vast pain of her ruined belly, but Branwen treasured it nevertheless. Yes, let him take that, too, she thought as he fucked her roughly. He laid his head on her shoulder as he rammed himself into her. His silky hair brushed her cheek and she leaned her head against him. His breathing was rough and uneven in her ear. She could feel her cunt contracting around him, feel the pressure in her womb building, building...her first (and last) climax was a long spiral of burning sensation, making the pain in her belly wonderfully worse. As she came he pulled a dagger from his belt and carved her breasts with it as she watched, the point entering her again and again, destroying her white skin and the flesh beneath, cutting her nipples nearly off. Blood spurted out, spraying his face and hers. She licked her own blood from her lips and moaned his name. He began to stab more and more deeply, until at last as his cock spasmed inside her, filling her ruined belly, he plunged the knife deeply into her chest as she screamed her own release in a cry that finished with a gurgling hiss.
She could get no air, could feel herself slipping, slipping.... her power was flowing from her into him, a red-stained raven devoured by a black, and he leaned and kissed her blood flecked lips as he looked into her glazing eyes. "Branwen, you are a part of me, now." And the darkness surrounded her.
Copyright (c) Verity Chastain 1995