Chapter 1 War stories

"What treasure's did you find?" I look at Uncle Bjarni with wide eyes. The whiskers around his lips peel into a warm smile. 

"Aye, there was enough gold coins to swim in. They stacked them all away in some dark tunnel beneath the monastery. We collected all the crosses, and came up with a hundred pounds of iron alone!" Bjarni laughs and shakes his head. "To think of the depression the rest of Europe is going through, and those monks kept all that wealth to themselves." 

I look at Father, who sits on the other side of the table. "Did you go with him, father?" 

He smiles at me. His blue eyes twinkle in the torch-light. "I was branded a new chieftain. I sent your uncle and my Warriors to Lindisfarne, but I needed to stay behind to look after the village. It was a dangerous mission, even though most of the monks were unarmed." 

"But we succeeded!" Bjarni raised his glass high. "We came back with treasures and metals. We traded our gold and used the iron to make weapons. And so, my dyrr,  we became one of the most powerful clans on this side of Norge!" He pounded his glass triumphantly down on the table. Father glances nervously as the fur curtain, where mother washes dishes in the other room. 

"Will I ever get to go on a quest like that?" I ask as I collect the rest of the plates. Bjarni leans closer to me. 

"Aye, you can. But you must first train long and hard." He narrows his blue eyes at me. " Are you willing to commit to something like that?"

I smile back at him. Before I can answer, mother walks into the room. She looks between my Father and uncle. A stern frown forms on her face. 

"I told you two. No stories!" She puts her hands on her thin hips. Father bows his head. 

"It is my fault, Sigyn." Uncle Bjarni says. "The young girl asks for a story, and I could not help myself." 

Mother frowns at him. Then looks down at me. 

"Eira, go finish the dishes, will you?" 

"Do I have to mother?" I loved staying up late with Father and Uncle Bjarni. Mother looked me sternly in the eyes and nodded. I slowly walked behind the curtain to the kitchen, and started soaking the plates in the bucket of water. Mother begins talking in a hushed voice, but if I focus hard enough, I can hear them. 

"I've told you both, she is too young for those stories!" 

"Sigyn, she is only seven. But her time to start training will come sooner than we realize." Father says softly. 

"She'll have to start learning to fight as soon as possible. These are dark times." It was rarely that I heard my uncle speak with such a depressing tone. 

Mother sighs. "It just seems to soon." He gasps suddenly. "You two didn't tell her about the Runes . . . " 

"Nei, my lady. Even I know my boundaries." Bjarni says. 

"We will have to discuss boundaries we can agree on." I can tell by my mother's tone she is giving him the evil eye. 

I wondered what they were talking about. By "Runes" I assumed they meant Runestones. Mother told me the legend of the Runes. Odin hung himself on the Great Tree, Yggdrasil for nine days and nights, and the ruins presented themselves to him. They were thrown to Midgard for humans to use. Legends say that Vølva, or witches, are able to use the magic of the Runestones to cast spells. Why would mother not want Father or Uncle Bjarni to not tell me about them?

The sound of a horn startled me. The conversation stopped. I ran back into the dinning room. Father and Uncle Bjarni slowly rose out of their chairs, eye's fixed on the window. 

"The Skalavik's." Father muttered. "They're attacking." 

Uncle Bjarni clenched his square jaw. "Those fools don't know when to quit." 

I moved closer to my mother. She wrapped a protective arm around my shoulder. I have only know a few clan battles in my short life, and I was terrified of them. Father and my uncle move towards the front of the house to gather their weapons. 

"Do you have to go?" I looked up at them. Father frowned, and knelt by me. He put his rough hand on my small shoulder. He smiled at me warmly, causing crinkles to form around his green eyes. 

"Yes, I do. Our people need their leader." His thumb gently rubbed my shoulder. I looked down at my feet. I didn't want him to go. Even at my young age, I knew the dangers of battle. "Hey." I look up at him. "You will be alright, dyrr." He pulls me into a hug. "Jeg elsker du." 

I fight the tears forming in my eyes as I hug him tightly. "Jeg elsker du."

He slowly stands up. Him and my mother lock eyes as he caresses her cheek. They never showed signs of affection to each other in front of me, but I could see the love for each other in their eyes. Father turns, and marches out the door. 

"Don't worry, Eira" Bjarni drains his glass, before following my father. "One day, you will fight along sides him." 

He nods his head respectfully at my mother before disappearing out the door. 

"Come on." Mother taps my shoulder's likely. "Time for bed."

My feet drag heavily as we walk to the sleeping area. Mother sings a soft song as she tucks me beneath the covers of my bed. The last of the sunlight had vanished through the small window, and the only like is from the candle my mother holds. 

"Will father be alright?" I ask mother. 

"Of course." She sits on the edge of my bed. Behind her soft eyes, I can see a flicker of worry.  She brushes a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "You know, there is a place for drengr like your father, when they die."  

"Really?" 

She nods. "Ja. Valhalla, the hall of fallen Warriors. If a Warrior dies in battle honorably, they will be brought to Valhalla by a Valkyrie."

"Where is Valhalla?" 

"Some say it is in Asgard, the realm of the Gods. Odin watches over these fallen drengr. They train every day in battle, strengthening their skills for when . . ." Mother's voice falters. Fear returns in her blue eyes. 

"Training for what?" 

She looks at me. Her eyebrows are knitted together as if she's thinking about what to say. She finally shakes her head. 

"Never mind, dyrr. That is a story for when you're older." She leans over and kisses my forehead. "Gud natt."

"Gud natt." I yawn. 

I woke the next morning to the sound of the front door opening, and muffled voices. I leaped out of bed, excited to greet my father. But a stopped when I walk into the main room. My father was not there.

Bjarni stood quietly in the door, whispering to my mother. A dreadful feeling grew in my gut. Then, Bjarni slowly handed her something. My heart stopped when I recognized my father's helmet. 

Bjarni nods to my mother. His usual jolly attitude was extinguished as he walked away. My mother held the helmet in one hand, never talking her eyes off it as she closed the door. She drifted over to the table and sat down, not bothering to hide her tears from me. I carefully sit next to her. She puts her arm around me as I lean against her shoulder, staring into my reflection in the smooth metal surface. 

"What are we going to do?" I couldn't picture this house without my father. The late nights he spent talking to Bjarni, his warm smile, the stories to told me, and the songs he taught. I looked up to my father, and he was always there for me. "Who will be the hilmir?"

Mother took a deep breath. "Your father wanted Bjarni to succeed him, in case anything happened." She gently brushed a strand of my light hair out of my face. "We will be okay. As long as we remember him, he will be with us. He died so we could live peacefully." 

"He went to Valhalla, right?" I trace the lines of the helmet. 

"Of course he did."