Chapter 7: The Serpent's Bite

The sea crashed against the rocky shore as Leif surveyed the village from the cliffside. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon, and the air smelled of salt and impending rain. Below, the villagers tended their nets and boats with melancholy faces.

Too many husbands and sons had been claimed by the serpent that prowled these waters. Each month, it demanded more tribute, yet none returned from the sacrifice. The elders sat in council, but no solution could be found, only despair as the beast's appetite grew.

Leif made his way down the sheer cliffs, his boots scrabbling for purchase against the wet stone. The villagers paid him no mind; their souls were worn down by loss and the lashings of the constant rain. At the great hall, he found Friar Tomas amid piles of letters, laboriously penning news to absent families.

"There must be a way to end these tributes," said Leif. "Allow me to face the serpent and rid you of its terror for good." Though worried for Leif's safety, Tomas knew further inaction would destroy the village. He gave his blessing, and the people began to hope once more that dawn might break upon their shores at last.

That evening, beneath a flickering sun, Leif prepared his armor and blades by firelight. Come morning, he would face the terror of the deep and free these people from its yoke. His crew bid him fortune, yet worry lined their brows. 

Leif took up a small boat and rowed into the growling surf. It was not long before a roar rang across the waves, and a gigantic serpent emerged, hunting elsewhere for its due. With a cry, Leif gave chase, angling his craft toward the monstrosity with thrashing oars. 

As the serpent dove, Leif leapt, landing upon its scaly hide with a curse and plunging his dagger deep. It writhed and rolled, nearly tossing him into the sea. But Leif clung with all his strength, hacking and stabbing whenever flailing allowed. Black blood stained the waters, and flesh hung from open wounds. 

At last, with a tortured scream, the serpent stilled and began to sink below. Leif panted atop its corpse, victor at last. But as cheers reached his ears from the shore, a spear-like barb protruding from the serpent's neck pierced his side. His world went dark as the sea claimed him once more.

Poison seared through Leif's veins as the serpent's barb pierced his flesh. His vision swam, and strength fled his limbs like waves receding from shore. Above, the clouds gathered faster, as if to hide the fading sun from his sight. 

Leif slipped from the serpent's slick hide into an embrace of crushing blue. Water filled his desperate lungs, yet still he clung to life and watched the daylight dim. Below, shadows coalesced into strange shapes drifting through the murk. 

Were these fellow warriors coming to bear him to the hall of slain heroes? Or are lost souls condemned to an endless night? Weariness weighed heavy as anvils on Leif's weary frame. Surrounded by the suffocating deep, all hope was crushed from him. 

His fingers slipped from the serpent's barb, and darkness took him into its cold womb. All strength and sensation ceased their clamor as oblivion's call grew sweet. Thus did Leif, son of the North, make his long passage into the deepest silence of the sea. The broken waves lamented his end as shorelines mourned the passing of their champion.

Upon the shore, Leif's crew wept as rolling seas gave no sign of their fallen comrade. Even Tomas' hopeful words could not lift their sorrow. As evening fell, they gathered aboard the longship to pray for Leif's soul. 

Through the night, Garrick and the others beseeched Jesus to ease their friend's passage. But with the break of dawn, a mighty light shone forth upon the waves. There amid drifting seaweed lay Leif, coughing salt but whole and hale once more. 

He was brought back ashore as one returned from the dead, though in truth he remembered only darkness. Leif knew not how or why salvation had found him; only that mortality's hold was loosened from his limbs. Yet doubts arose anew within—for what power rivaled the gods he had always known? 

Tomas embraced Leif, overjoyed at this miracle. But Leif watched the roiling waters with new eyes, wondering at the strength of faith he had scarcely believed till that day of his deliverance from the depths below. The mysteries had only deepened, and so had his questioning heart.

Word spread through Hamlet and held alike of Leif's return from the watery grave. Some saw in it proof of Jesus' power, while others mistrusted what seemed beyond nature's laws. Doubts gnawed at Leif as he contemplated all that transpired, questions with no answers he could see. 

In private counsel, Tomas spoke gently. "There are mysteries in this life and the next that surpass our knowledge. Yet faith requires only that we trust where logic fails. I believe that love conquers even death, and in that love, you were restored to us. Find comfort there." 

Leif nodded slowly. "My mind rebels where my heart would have peace. These tides I cannot fathom." Tomas smiled. "Then let your God's Holy Spirit guide you till understanding comes. Not all riddles can be solved in an instant." His calm eased Leif's turmoil, though resolution remained as distant as the morning mists at sea. For now, it was enough to have this fellowship beside the uncertain road.

With the villagers' safety secured, Leif vowed to end the serpent's reign for good. That dusk, he patrolled the shore, ever watchful for the beast's return. 

As midnight fell upon restless waves, a howl cleft the darkness. From foam and froth arose the serpent once more, wounds yet unhealed. Leif charged to meet it with grim fury, dodging crushing blows to find an opening. 

His blade sheared through poisonous flesh as they battled upon the rolling sea. With a final scream, the serpent was slain, its massive corpse crashing ashore. But amid cheers for their savior, whispers spread of disquieting signs. 

Some spoke of shadows glimpsed within the woods, and others reported visions of unholy rites. Tomas counseled vigilance—there were those who craved the old ways of fear and superstition. Now more than ever, the village must stand as one against the gathering darkness, both within and without. 

The mysteries had only deepened, it seemed, as new threats emerged from the shadows of the forest and dissent within. But Leif was resolute to defend this people from all harm, though what challenges tomorrow would bring, none could say.

In the long hall that night, arguments broke out among the villagers. Though Leif had triumphed twice over the serpent, some refused to renounce the gods of old. Darker words accused Tomas and Leif of heresy that doomed the village. 

Leif rose, with tempers fraying on all sides. I have not forsaken all I once knew; I have only opened my eyes to greater truths. My every deed has been to protect you—will you now abandon hope and turn on each other? 

The elders calmed the gathering, and in the end, dissenters were few. But Leif knew shadowy forces worked to undermine them, and the threat had only begun. For what evil had sent the serpent, and what deeper sorrows waited in that misty wood? 

Tomorrow will bring more answers or more questions. For now, Leif took solace in Tomas's company and in the bonds strengthening this imperiled community. Victory had been won this day, but the tide of this war and its gathering storms remained unseen beyond the shore. Darkness pressed close around their flickering hearthfire in the gathering deep.