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Excerpt from Rediscovering Thor by Kate Hill (re-release) Available from Cerridwen Press Cover art by Syneca Prologue Britain, 900 AD Eadred raised his sword to deflect an overhead blow before his own blade found its mark. The enemy soldier sank to the muddy ground, his eyes wide and mouth streaming blood. Panting, Eadred pulled his sword free of the body, an action he'd performed more times than he cared to remember but had never before demanded such effort. He blamed his fatigue on the fever that had plagued him for days, rising and dropping, interspersed with bouts of vomiting. It was the stomach pain that bothered him most. Sometimes the agony was so severe he could scarcely walk, let alone raise a blade in defense. Yet fighting was not a choice. As second in command of his chieftain's fleet he needed to set an example for the men beneath him. If he showed any weakness his leader would most likely run him through without waiting for an enemy to do so. Sweat mingled with rain on Eadred's face. He blinked his vision clear. Everywhere he looked mercenary soldiers from his ship pillaged homes and burned anything that wasn't worth taking. He glanced at a slash across the sleeve of his armor. Blood turned the leather dark. The wound would either have to be burned or stitched when he returned to the ship. Such a waste, Eadred thought as he walked across the dirt road, stepping over several bodies, one belonging to a young warrior he'd known for years. The only son of a widow. News of his death would not be delivered easily. Eadred paused outside another strange Christian temple. Someone had kicked in the door and it lay on the dusty ground. He leaned against the wall, one hand pressed to his side as he braced himself for the pain that had grown all too familiar. He glanced inside and saw two of his companions stealing several statues and goblets. One of them kicked over a chair, revealing a tiny man cowering beneath. Not much larger than a child but with fine lines about his eyes that revealed his age, the man appeared too terrified to scream. Laughing, a tall blond warrior called Olaf grasped the man by the back of the tunic he wore, an odd garment of glistening white, and dangled him in the air. The small one struggled, his face tinged blue since the hanging position cut off his breath. Eadred understood battle. He'd been trained to fight almost as soon as he could hold a child's wooden sword but he'd never understood some men's fascination with cruelty. There was no profit in torturing children, raping women or toying with a weak creature like the strangely dressed little man. When the pain subsided, Eadred stepped inside and said, "Drop him." Olaf glanced over his beefy shoulder and scowled, revealing chipped gray teeth. "What for?" "Because I said so." Eadred lifted his blade. "We have to work fast. The storm is getting worse and we're supposed to be back on the ship already." Grumbling, Olaf lowered the man and pulled a dagger. Disgusted and already in a bad temper over his illness, Eadred flung one of his short blades across the room. It struck Olaf in the arm. He bellowed and dropped the man who scrambled off. With a battle cry Olaf took his sword in his good hand and charged at Eadred. Though tall and muscular, Eadred was not nearly as thickly built as Olaf. Each of the blond's strikes felt like pounding from Thor's hammer. Still Eadred fought with speed and intelligence. Within moments he knocked the sword from Olaf's hand. The blond stood, panting, as Eadred raised his weapon for the death blow. It never fell. Pain flared across Eadred's stomach. He dropped to his knees. Through a haze as hot as a forge he heard Olaf laughing. Instinct alone allowed him to block Olaf's blade before it ran him through. Eadred pulled a dagger from his boot and plunged the weapon into Olaf's chest. The blond flopped over backward, his limbs sprawled awkwardly in death. "Gods," Eadred gasped, clutching his sword so tightly his joints ached in a useless attempt to distract himself from the hot pincer that seemed to claw through his stomach. After several moments he stood and left the church. Outside most of the warriors had already retreated. The few surviving villagers scurried through the ruins. He sheathed his sword and made his way to the shore, scarcely noticing his surroundings. Uncomfortably cold rain pelted his feverish skin. He stumbled over a fallen tree and landed on his knees in the mud. Drawing a steadying breath he leaned against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. He needed a minute to rest before continuing to the ship. * * * * * Eadred felt a slight pressure on his shoulder and opened his eyes. The rain had slowed to a drizzle but by the look of the sky it was dusk. How could he have fallen asleep? The ship had left without him, of that he was certain. The tiny man in the white robe squatted beside him, examining his wounded arm. "What do you want?" Eadred demanded. The man gazed at him with large blue eyes. He touched Eadred's forehead as his wife sometimes did to him and his children when they were ill. He wondered what his wife was doing now, how his sons and daughter had fared the winter. He and the other raiders had been gone several months with no news from home. Eadred tried to stand, but fell back, wincing. He pressed a hand to his side and cursed under his breath. His new and unwanted friend nudged him against the tree and touched his stomach. Eadred jumped from the pain. "Stop it!" He gently pushed the man away. The little one sat back on his heels and pulled a shiny silver square from a pocket in his robe. Eadred leaned against the tree trunk and laughed. He was losing his mind. Whatever disease hindered his body now claimed his sanity. Through half-closed eyes he saw darkness falling rapidly. Too rapidly. Glancing skyward he drew a sharp breath as a solid black mass descended from the sky. "Freya. . ." he murmured the Goddess's name. Terror such as he'd never experienced even in the worst battle flooded his feverish body. None of this was real. He'd been guessing his illness was serious but now he knew he was dying. Unbearable pain. Strange visions. This, Eadred told himself, is death. Watch a video for Rediscovering Thor here.

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