The Swedes had landed. They had dragged their longship over the pebbles of the beach and there it lay, off balance, firmly upon the Finnish shore. A fierce dragon's head looked east, hungry for blood and treasure.
The square sail was black against the midnight's sun, waiting for the raiders to return. A wolf howled to an invisible moon, its voice was carried through the endless forest.

Under the dark branches, a young woman clenched her little brother's tiny hand and wiped the tears from his cheek. She knew he was afraid of the wood and the chaos, of the wolves and bears, the trolls and demons, but although his eyes were wide open and wet, he was silent. The boy seemed to understand that even the cruelest witch was to be preferred over the Vikings.
She whispered to the spirits and asked for safety. In the morning they would return, but she did not know what they would find. Their houses burned, their brothers slain, their cattle stolen? Or would they fight the invaders off? Who would have been carried away over the waves? How many of her sisters would bear demon babies?

She heard how the twigs broke, leafs crushed under running feat. She embraced her brother and hid under the bushes, but then she saw the woman who appeared from the darkness.
A fearful expression on her face, tears running over her cheeks, she ran as if hunted by a bear. Her bare feet were bruised and scarred by the thorns, but she did not halt. Branches swept in her face and tore her clothes, but she ran on, past the girl and her brother.
After a short time, a tall and muscular man, half-naked, his golden hair shining in the last rays of sunlight, came out of the wood. He roared in a foreign language and the words were harsh and short. He seemed to be out of breath, stood still and struck his axe into a tree angrily.

The girl was silent. She had clenched her teeth and held her brother in a strong hug. But it seemed in vain, for the warrior tore his axe from the tree and approached them quietly.
Again he howled in that harsh tongue, then he stooped, picked up a rock and threw it at them. It struck her cheek, but she supressed the cry that wanted to break out of her mouth. Yet the soft moan was enough to convince the Viking.
She pushed away her brother.
" Run!", she yelled, and while the child moved away as fast as his feet could carry him, she rose and revealed herself to the warrior.

As she looked into his pale blue eyes, fear was pushed aside by rage.

" You want a virgin, demon? Here you have one!"

A cruel smirk appeared upon his face and with a few heavy steps he was in front of her. He grabbed her hair and pulled it violently. She felt his rough beard against her bruised cheek. On the other side she could feel the cold iron of his axe. He whispered something in her ear, which was probably meant either to reassure or to threaten.

But she did not cry, nor give in as he pressed his lips against her face. Instead she felt how the spirits entered her chest. At last they came. Her voice, hoarse and broken at first, flowed over her lips. The Viking misunderstood the words and mumbled an answer in his own tongue. She pushed him away and her voice was clear and dreadful. It echoed through the forest and around her the shadows grew longer and darker. The trees moved closer and the Viking tripped over a root that had not been there a moment ago. On his back he lay before the young woman, his battleaxe out of reach. She placed a foot upon his chest and sang on.
Slowly he sank into the muddy soil, as if her foot pushed him down. Branches and roots entangled him and she heard him cry out to his gods. But this was not Sweden. Here the Viking gods were powerless. He looked at her with a frightened gaze, begged in his own language, and then disappeared beneath the ground...