I wasn't a priest…I wasn't even meant to be at the monastery. If I had my way I would've been far, far away from the coast, the monks, the ritual, none of it mattered to me, in fact it had come to represent hell.

Only months ago I had been seized by King Allaie's soldiers, I along with a dozen or so other children from various villages in the north, taken by force we were to be 'civilized' 'Christianized' and serve the kingdom of England and their god. The monks had been all to willing to accept myself and three other boys in the hopes of 'civilizing' us, turning us into monks like them.

While two of us boys were young and accepting, myself and the another boy a few winters older than I named Aodan, fought our Christian captors every step of the way. They ordered us to kneel before their dead god on the cross we stood straight until we were forced to our knees, they forbad us from speaking our own language, we did it anyways, praying to our own gods in our own tongue that the monastery would fall into the sea, even if it meant taking us with it. It was our way of surviving, defying the priests was our way of fighting back.

I was supposed to be attending morning prayer, a daily event I avoided with heart, hiding in the barn with the goats and sheep was always a preferred way to avoid the monks, especially when I could nap, it's a wonder they never looked for me there. My legs were sore from the beating I had received before daylight had even broken as Mathus the monk responsible for my training used whatever means he possessed to arouse me from my less than peaceful slumber. I never knew when the monks would declare it prayer time and interrupt whatever task I was avoiding, so sleep was difficult to come by and peaceful sleep was a forgotten notion.

I had probably been naive in my first weeks here, a good warrior learns, he examines, he studies, he prepares for whatever situation is placed before him in order to fight and vanquish his enemies. I had fought...but I fought too early I should've studied first and leaned, know thy enemy, but I did not. I defied them, but didn't learn from them that was my biggest mistake. As a result I knew practically nothing of the monks, their religion, or their ways.

As the warning bell chimed I launched awake, spooking Mathus who yes was a goat and named after my monk enemy. It was my own jab at the man who had made it his mission to make me miserable. Unlike his human counterpart, the goat Mathus was a wonderful trustworthy companion, for a goat. He'd follow me around the monastery like I was a fellow goat. I knew at some point a time would come where he might be slaughtered for soup, but when that day came I would continue to defy the Monks and hide him, maybe he and I could escape together and I could find my way north, find my way home, at least what was left of it.

Mathus let out a frightened baa and ran deeper into the hay. Slowly I crawled out of my hay nest and peeked out of a knot in the barn wood, men were coming, big men armed with axes and large round shields. Though I did not recognize the men themselves I recognized their mannerism, their weaponry, these were Northmen, raiders from the east. Stories had reached the monastery of raiders who stole riches, massacred all in their path who appeared weak or attacked them, but spared some to be taken back across the sea to be enslaved.

My grandfather, of whom I remember very little had been stolen by them as a child and returned to our lands as an adult. He knew their customers, knew their language, and knew their ways. He had tried to teach me some of it, but I was very small and defiant even as a young child learning stories of other lands was not exciting like hunting trips with my father or hearing of our own legends.

The world of the Northmen didn't attract me, even when my grandfather sat me down and forced me to listen. I closed my eyes and tried to remember his words

'The men from the East, the Northmen, are fierce warriors, they do not fear death in battle and in fact welcome it.'

'What man welcomes death? Be he mad?'

My grandfather looked at me stern as if I had just cursed the goddess and gods themselves.

'Are ye stupid boy? These men welcome death, to die in battle means to die a warrior, they are welcomed into the hall of their gods to live as warriors to the chief God, Odin.'

'There are other gods?' I had asked dumbfounded

'The Norsemen believe in gods like we do, but different names and strengths. There is Odin, the all father, his wife Frigg, there is Thor the God of the thunder, Frey and Freya...and of course the trickster God Loki.' I listened to the names, mesmerized 'his children, Fenrir the Wolf, the serpent Jörmungandr, and of course, Hel the goddess of the underworld,'

'Wait, you said that when they die they join the gods in their hall?'

'Only the warriors who die in battle are welcomed into the great hall, Valhalla,'

'And if they do not die in battle,' the look my grandfather gave me was enough to answer that question.

Screams and pleading from the monks pulled me out of my memory as the northmen began their assault on the monastery. I wondered how long it would be until I was discovered, I may be able to hide from the foolish monks, but these were warriors, hunters who sought out blood to spill and treasure to steal. No place would be safe to hide and I would either be found and killed on the spot or found and killed eventually.

As the barn door swung open, I felt my heart skip a beat and I'm pretty sure it stopped when the raiders themselves stepped inside, cautiously, swords and axes drawn and covered in blood.

Slowly I moved into the light, why hide when they would find me anyways, if I hid, they'd be more apt to kill me once they found me.

The first man jumped when he saw my movement and turned his sword to me, calling out in their language, some of which I surprisingly understood…All my grandfather's lessons flooded back into my mind. It was as if my grandfather had envisioned a time when I would be faced with the very race of men who had kidnapped him as a child…he had drilled key words into my memory and now hearing the words spoken, I remembered the lessons.

"K…kveoja," I stumbled over the foreign words "vinr!" I put my hands up in order to assure the men I was not only unarmed, but I was not planning on retaliating….reminding them I was only a child, I hoped that the words I had used were greetings and friend and not some declaration of war or an insult.

The men were shocked and began whispering to themselves. I heard words Kristinn and tala, Kristinn was easy enough to guess that it meant Christian and I recognized the word for speak fairly quickly.

Knowing my fate could be determined by my faith at this point, I shook my head and placed my hands on my chest.

"Eigi!" I exclaimed "eigi Kristinn!", unlike the word for Christian, the word for not, eigi was much more difficult to pronounce and I really hoped that I had not just declared myself a Christian and was just waiting to get my throat slit. "Albanraich," I added in my own Gaelic language "Ceilteach," identifying myself as Scottish and Celtic, hoping that my being pagan like them would work in my favor.

Two of the men began conversing back and forth and their voices grew louder. I began to pray that if I was going to die this day, I prayed that the Bean Nigh would take me swiftly to the otherworld to be with my family and live among the gods and the fairy folk and I would no longer hear about Jesus or English kings…or eternal damnation for being a pagan.

One man in particular, a brooding, towering Norse with a large scraggily beard seemed to be on my side. The other man was not as large, but still commanded a presence, he was brandishing his sword in my direction and I was sure that the blade was desperate to find my throat.

This back and forth arguing seemed to go on for hours, before finally the smaller man pushed past the larger man in a huff and exited the barn. The rest of the men seemed to look after him and some followed, but a majority stayed behind. The tall man approached me and I started to back away, but he was quick as he grabbed my loose fitting cloak, I had refused from day one to wear the robes of the monks and instead stayed dressed in the clothes I had worn when I was brought to the monastery, I accepted the cloak because it was warm on the cold nights. The cloak strained as I was lifted off the floor by it and I struggled and kicked a little out of instinct, but the man shook me hard and I stopped. He shook me a little bit more and examined my eyes and my teeth, before placing me back on the ground to check my hands and my arms, seeing if I could work or was as weak as the monks.

He looked back at his companions and nodded. Another man stepped forward with a rope and tied my hands together tightly, the last thing I saw in that instance, was a black cloth being placed over my head…as my world went dark.

I felt a hand on my back as I was pushed forward, I did so unsteadily as bare feet left the hay of the barn and sank into the cold mud of the yard, before we left the mud and my feet found the path…the path that leads back to the beach. I must have stumbled several times, but whoever had their hand on my back, pushing me prevented me from falling.

When my feet reached sand I was pushed to my knees and for a brief moment I felt my life coming to an end, was this where I would die, executed near the water so they could just toss my body in and I'd never reach home.

Instead of killing me, the black hood was pulled off and I blinked as I looked around, I recognized several of monks, including Mathus, all of them looked terrified and like me were tied up, however unlike them, I was not tied up in a line of monks, I was alone. I didn't see any of the boys I had been brought to the monastery with, not even Aodan and my heart sank. Mathus spotted me looking around and knew exactly who I was looking for,

"He's dead Edwin, your friend Zachariah died on his knees begging for his life and praying to the Almighty. These pagan fiends killed him. Which is what they will do to us, only God can save us now. Have you decided to renounce your pagan ways boy and accept the one true god, like your friend did?" Mathus spat and I glared back at him, hating not the Northmen for killing my best friend, but for Mathus for allowing Aodan to die and for using the English name they had given me.

Like all of our other defiance, Aodan and I refused to accept our English names nor would we answer to them, instead we continued to address each other by our given names. If I knew Aodan like I did, he never would've accepted the Christian god in his final moments, he would be afraid and beg for his life, but he would be begging for our own gods and goddesses to protect him…and at the very least take him to the otherworld to live for eternity.

One of the Northmen backhanded Mathus and barked at him in their language and though I didn't understand what he had said, it was pretty easy to guess the monk had just been told to shut up. The monks were yanked up by the rope attacked to the monk at the head of the line and they were pushed towards the water's edge, where a great ship waited, the water was so deep that it reached many of the monks' chests as the waves crashed towards the shore and I felt a twinge of fear wash over me, the water would easily be over my head and I could not swim.

The Northman who had advocated for me pulled me up by the back of my neck, forcing me to my feet as he guided me to towards the water, it was here I planted my feet and refused to go further, the man yelled and pushed but I fought as much as possible. In the end however it mattered little, he simply picked me up and carried me to the waiting ship, plunking me in like I was a bale of hay. Another man dragged me over the wooden planks and tied me securely to the side of the ship, which certainly assured myself that I was not going to fall overboard.

A cawing noise caught my attention and I looked up into the sky, a weak smile broke over my face, it was a raven, my name sake and a symbol of a good omen with my people. The Northmen around me followed my gaze and many of them clapped and jabbed each other in the ribs and pointed at the circling raven. The monks looked on in confusion and some in disgust, part of the reason the monks insisted on changing my name (aside from it being the heathen language as they so kindly put it) was because crows and ravens are considered a bad omen to the monks and to have someone living at the monastery, being trained to serve their god named for such a bad omen was blasphemy.

The Northman who had protected me saw me watching the raven and smiled, he gestured to the sky and the bird and said

"Hrafn,"

I looked at him a little confused and tried the word out for myself

"H…rfan," I repeated and the man clapped me on the back happily. Taking a deep breath I pulled my still tied hands to my chest, pointing to myself "Hrfan," I repeated and he looked at me confused for a moment "Hrfan," I said again pulling my hands to my chest hard "Fitheach" I added saying my real name out loud, in ear shot of the monks felt grand and I pointed to the raven and myself again, repeating several times "Hrfan, Fitheach,"

Finally the Northman's eyes lit up with understanding and he pounded my back again, before turning to his companions and repeating what I had said and more in their own language. Mathus glared at me as the other Northmen pushed the ship into the waves, launching us forward.

"They will still kill us boy, we are still going to die in their pagan lands." Mathus continued to preach and I finally took the bait

"Then at least I will die in good company…with likeminded men." I shot back "then the Bean Nigh can take me on her wings to where my ancestors live on amongst the gods and fairies." I added in Gaelic Mathus only understood a word or two, he had made it his mission to understand what Aodan, the other two boys, and myself were speaking when we were first brought to the monastery, he only managed to learn a word here and there which was fine with us. But I know for a fact he understood the word gods and ancestors and put two and two together. His glare at me faded a bit as the ship began to bounce and lurch in the rough sea and I found myself cowering closer to the side of the ship, I heard some of the monks retching and blocked it out by picturing my village, I was thankful to be away from the monastery, but I also knew I was not going home…I was going somewhere and that thought made me both fearful and a bit curious, what was on the other side of the sea?

x-x-x

A/N: This is first attempt at diving into Vikings fiction and I hope it made sense. The words I used, both the Norse and the Gaelic are from intense web searches and books I own, so if they are not correct please let me know. This was originally intended to be a one shot that I wrote during intense writer's block, but if people like it and are interested in reading more I will certainly continue it.

Take care