Season of the Midnight Sun

A cloudy morning gave way to a milky blue sky when Roald and Thorrin emerged from Tilda's boarding house. The two walked about the market gathering food for the journey home with Roald flirting with every woman and Thorrin gorging himself on summer stone fruit. They listened to gossip, talk of politics, and old men speculating on how brutal the next winter will be. At Roald's insistence, Thorrin left his axe with a blacksmith to be sharpened. He stopped at a table outside the blacksmith where a grizzled man peddled weapons and other foreign wares. He saw a sword with a brass hilt and picked it up.

"Frankish steel," said the man. "The highest quality steel a man can buy."

Thorrin swung the finely balanced weapon. It felt right in his hand as though it belonged there. He could afford to buy a sword with his pay. He reminisced of the wooden sword Roald gave him as a child and how he sparred with him. The townsfolk of Klartvann would marvel at his blade. They would give him the utmost respect.

"How much?" he asked.

"Two pieces of silver."

Yes, he had the money but now was a time to be frugal. His father had warned him that the city holds many temptations designed to take a man's money. He returned the sword table but before moving along, he stopped at the sight of a carved wooden horse in mid-trot. He picked up the carving while the peddler gave his pitch. "Finely carved black walnut from Rome. Taken from an emperor's palace."

Thorrin didn't know if that last statement was true but he knew his younger sister would love it. "How much?"

"Two pennies."

"One."

The vendor wasn't happy with the counter offer but he accepted the coin and handed the horse to Thorrin. He promptly placed it in his sack along the spices, plums, and a hunk of honeycomb he'd bought and walked away with his uncle. Roald to secure a ride on a farmer's cart traveling on the road home when an air of excitement took over the market place. Most people stopped what they were doing to cast their gaze to fjord. At the dock where the Sea Knife was moored, they watched a large personal pleasure boat pull in behind it.

"Who's that?" asked Thorrin.

"That's Helvig and his witch wife, Liv."

Word had quickly gotten to the old warrior that his raiders had returned with treasure and slaves. He was eager to see the return of his investment. Thorrin and Roald watched the ship dock before the noble man and his wife disembarked. Thorrin expected a fat old man but Helvig was a strong looking warrior draped in a mantle of wolf furs. He walked with a confident, powerful stride. Behind him walked his wife who had a long, regal face. She was dressed in a grand cloak held by three handmaidens; a blonde, a red head, and a woman with raven black hair. They looked exotic holding the cloak's sable hem to keep it from dragging in the dirt.

Roald leaned into his nephew and said, "When he presents his gift to you, thank him and move on. And don't look at the wife or any of her golden nags. Bad news the lot of them."

Thorrin nodded before biting into an apple as he watched as the crowd parted to make way for Helvig's entourage of paid men and slaves carrying their many wooden chests.

The sun had dipped below the western horizon though its golden sunset light remained. It was in the twilight that Thorrin and Roald, dressed in their freshly cleaned clothes, made their way to Helvig's longhouse and entered the grand hall. It was filled with laughter and raucous conversations and a melodic drum beat from a great whale drum. His eyes adjusted to dark interior lit by hanging oil lamps. And when they did, they widened at a festive sight which he could never imagine. Throngs of men were wrestling and wagering and toasting fallen ones. And on the throne sat Helvig with a horn of mead. A beastly large hound sat beside him. His wife was seated on his left. He could tell she was a woman of noble breeding. She looked like she wouldn't hesitate to send a man to death with a mere flick of her hand. Jewels glittered from her earrings and the softest of white marten fur mantle covered her bare shoulders. Roald motioned him to follow. He ambled behind his uncle through the crowds to the table where most of his raiding crew sat. Food and mead was promptly delivered and though Thorrin had eaten at feasts before, he had never seen so many people and so much food. A bountiful set of tits travelled past his eyeline and he looked to up see there were women everywhere; slave and free woman alike serving the entire hall. Some thin and shy, some voluptuous and laughing, enjoying the company of men in Helvig's longhouse. He was indeed a wealthy man.

When it was time for the raiding crew to receive their share of the treasure, Thorrin took his place in the back of the line behind the more experienced men. Most of the men received gold coins, his uncle Roald received a two gold coins. When it was his time, Thorrin stepped up to the noble man and casted his head down in respect.

"And for you, for your courage on your first voyage, I gift you these golden rings."

Helvig dropped two simple golden rings into Thorrin's palm. Thorrin accepted them with a nod and moved along. As he sat back at the table he examined the rings by fire light. One ring was of braided gold the size of his smallest finger. The other had a flat surface engraved with symbols he'd never seen before. He had no idea of their value but he knew two things; one will go to his father and the other he'll keep give as a gift to his bride's family if he ever finds a woman to marry. He always believed he'd travel to a foreign land and marry a princess. He now knew that was not to be.

He looked up to see Liv's red haired handmaiden looking his way. Their eyes met across the clamor of boisterous revelry. Her eyes were keen and calculating. Thorrin shifted his gaze away from her, hoisting his horn of mead to drink while looking at his shipmates who were chuckling at the sight of an unfettered breasts of a serving girl that popped from her low bodice. He drank all night and relied on his uncle to get him back to Tilda's where he dropped upon his bed.

The next morning, Thorrin and Roald ate a porridge breakfast before gathering their rucksacks to leave. Tilda smiled lovingly at the both of them and said, "Good journey to you, Thorrin."

"Thank you for your hospitality. And Aveline, she pleased me, immensely. She was very nice to me."

Tilda and Roald smiled with mirth.

"I'm glad you appreciated her attention," she replied. "You are always welcomed here."

They left and met the farmer with an empty cart. They climbed on board and settled in for the bumpy ride on the road to Klartvann.

As they travelled down the road, Thorrin wistfully said, "Aveline seems like a nice girl."

"She is fair."

"How much would it cost to buy her?"

Roald looked at his naïve nephew. "Tilda might let her go with a few gold coins but they're coins you don't have. Let me give you a word of advice; never take a slave girl as a wife. They'll slit your throat while you sleep."

"I was thinking mother might need some help."

"With bedding privileges for you," Roald replied with a wink and hearty laugh.

It was late afternoon when the farmer's cart stopped at a split in the road to let off its passengers before resuming his way home. The two followed the path through a forest to emerge a short distance from Klartvann. It was a peaceful village located on a tranquil bay near the end of the fjord. A few small boats tethered at the dock rocked in gentle bay waters. They walked through the town, saying hello to those who welcomed them home as they continued on the route home. The sun was low in the western sky when stopped at Roald's earthen house in the side of a rolling mound.

"Here's where we part, Weed."

"Thanks, uncle. For everything."

The elder man pressed his forehead against his nephew's brow. "You did good, Thorrin. I was proud to have you by my side."

Thorrin smiled, his heart warmed by his uncle's sincerity.

"Safe travel. And give my best to my sister."

"I will."

Roald released him. He turned to trudge up the trail to his house and bellowed, "Woman!!! Woman, where are you?!!!"

The house door open and out stepped Thorrin's aunt, Edun. Heavily pregnant, and smiling with joy, she toddled towards him. Their four year old son, Svend, stood at the door, deciding or not to let his father into the house. Roald embraced Edun, giving her a kiss. She squealed when he picked her up to carry her back to the house. Thorrin knew Roald would be running to his father's house when Edun was ready to give birth as his mother was the midwife of Klartvann. He'd never seen his uncle as scared as when banged on their door when Svend was on the way. Thorrin watched as Roald gently set Edun down and picked up Svend and together, they all went entered their home. They had what Thorrin wanted; a family to call his own.

He walked along the trail which cut through a birch grove and when he broke from the grove, he could see the waterfall of Odin's Rock. It was a welcoming sight. He was finally home. He ambled up the rutted road and when his house came into view, he stopped to behold the scene. Smoke rose from the hearth hole of his family's home that resembles an overturned ship with clay and slatted wood walls. Chickens were scratching in the gravelly dirt and goats were still chewing on newly grown grass as his twelve year old brother, Einar, tried to guide them home for the night. It was then that his dog, Brunhi, spotted him and began to bark. His little brother, looked up.

"Thorrin!!" he yelled waving at his big brother before turning to the house. "Mama! Mama! Thorrin's home!"

Brunhi charged his way. Thorrin knelt to greet the energic fur ball of an Elkhound. It's curled tail wagged furiously from the happiness at see his long lost master. And as the dog licked his face, he saw his eight year old sister, Gunhild, step out of the house. The freckled face girl ran to her big brother. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. He patted her back and basked in her innocence. He pressed his eyes closed to keep his tears from falling.

"I'm glad you're back," she said.

"I'm glad to be back."

He opened his eyes to see his stoic mother step out of the house, wiping her hands on her apron. The sinewy woman with a greying brown braid approached. She took his weathered face in her hands and pressed her forehead to his. "My first. How fare thee?"

"I fare well, mother."

Einar interrupted their moment with an impatient, "What did you bring me?"

Thorrin shrugged his rucksack from his shoulder to rummage inside.

"Plums," he said, pulling a bag of plums which he tossed to his eager little brother.

Einar quickly opened the sack and gnashed into one, stripping it clean before grabbing another.

Frida chided, "Not too many. Save some for the rest of us."

Thorrin's eyes were drawn to a young woman with blond braids who stepped from around the house. It was Sigrid, the hunter's daughter. She lived in neighboring forest, but when her mother died years ago, she became house bound with womanly chores. She rarely emerged from the forest where her father fished and hunted. Occasionally, in the past, when Thorrin shepherded sheep to graze in higher pastures, he would see her picking flowers in a spring meadow which she wove into crowns.

She shyly approached the young man she hadn't seen in a year. He turned to face the willowy girl with dove grey eyes and a lovely smile. Though she was shy, she was happy to see him.

"Sigrid? Hello. Have you come to greet me home?"

His mother said, "Sigrid's father died. Her brother set out on the northern sea to hunt for seals and hasn't returned. She's staying with us until her brother returns."

"Sorry about Vidar."

"It's the gods' will. It's good to have you back. You look weary," she said, taking a heavy wolf pelt from his shoulder. "Can I fetch you some cold water?"

"That would be nice."

She gave him a shy grin before turning to fetch water from the water bucket.

Thorrin looked up to see his father, Torsten, returning from the field. Brunhi's barking and Einar yelling had gotten his attention. The older man limped his way. He looked older than Thorrin remembered with white hairs in his sandy brown beard and a brow of deep grooves. The man smiled at the sight of his oldest surviving son and after he embraced him, Thorrin took his axe from his belt and said, "Here, father. I've returned with your axe. Sharpened it as well."

The older man shook his head and pressed back the axe. "No, son. It's yours now."

They all headed inside the house and sat at the table. Thorrin opened his bag to retrieve his offerings. He pulled out small satchels of waxed parchment paper bound with twine and said, "Mother, I brought you some spices and a bit of honey wax."

She unwrapped a satchel and sniffed at it before closing her eyes with joy. "Thank you."

Sigrid handed Thorrin a cup of cold water which he guzzled before saying, "Thank you."

She nodded and moved away to let the family have their space.

"Oh and for you, Gunhild."

He pulled out the statuette of a horse and handed to his little sister.

"A horse of my very own," she said, taking the toy to trot across the table.

Thorrin pulled out his pouch containing his pay. "Father, for you. A piece of silver and this gold ring."

"I can't accept this," Torsten replied. "Save this for yourself."

"No, I want you to have it. It is a gift."

Torsten nodded and accepted his son's generosity. With that, the family settled in to eat dinner.

Later that night, when everyone was asleep, Thorrin was awakened by his own scream. He sat up in his bed and clapped his hands over his mouth. He looked over to see his everyone still asleep. He wiped his hands over his sweat drenched face and wondered if the nightmares would ever stop. The sight of that screaming woman running towards him only to be speared from behind and falling at his feet. Him standing in the midst of chaos with bloodied boots with his axe in hand ready to hit someone. The memory of him picking up a book inside a house haunted his dreams. Though he was unable to read, the black ink runes drifted up from the page to speak of the forming of the stars and land and beasts and man. He dropped the book of magic when he heard a sound behind him and opened a cabinet to see two frightened children, their large eyes glistened in firelight. He left the house and when asked if he'd discovered anything, he claimed the house was empty before Arne set their roof on fire. Their screams were his screams. It was not a dream as he relived his experiences when he should have been permitted to rest. He laid back and sighed. Would the memories and dreams haunt him for life?

Life on a farm means everyone contributes and Thorrin resumed his chores the after his return. He toiled beside his father in the cabbage and leek patch, drawing water from a stream and hauling back buckets using an over shoulders yoke. His only respite came in the form of hunting as Sigrid had gifted him her father's longbow. He sharpened his bowman skills by shooting rabbits feasting on their hard earned crops. He shot so many rabbits that Sigrid, skilled in sewing animal skins, made fur lined mittens for the entire family.

Sometimes, after he'd finish his chores, he'd wander down to the fjord to sit on a boulder and listen to the gentle water lapping at the pebbly beach. There was a restlessness about him that he couldn't shake. He still hungered for whatever lies beyond the shores of the fjord. He longed to be out at sea.

Occasionally Sigrid would join him, straying from the path leading to the stream driven by the water fall where she washed clothes. She would sit beside him and skip pebbles across the water; most times in silence. But when he was talkative, she'd ask him about his adventure.

"Did you see any sea monsters?"

"I did," Thorrin replied. "It was early in the morning. The sea was unusually calm. The fog was lifting and the men had not woken from their sleep. I left the deck tent to relieve myself over the side of the boat and when I looked down, I was met with a giant eye as large as a shield staring back at me just below the water."

Sigrid's eyes widened before she laughed. "You're joking with me."

"No, no, it's true. There it was, looking straight up at me. It's body was as long as the boat. It could've crushed us at any time."

Wide eyed, she asked, "What did you do?"

"I shrieked like a girl fell back into the boat. The others joined me with their swords and axes and when we all looked over the edge, Arne said not to provoke it and it would leave us alone. We remained still and watched it sink back into the depths from whence it came."

"So you pissed yourself?"

"Yes, I pissed myself."

She laughed. He chuckled with her. Her laughter made him smile.

When most of the crop was ready for market, the entire family harvested the cabbage and leeks and loaded it upon a rickety cart. The next morning Frida prepared a hearty oat porridge which the family ate before Torsten and Thorrin hitched the family's old ox to the cart for their trip to Klartvann. Frida kissed her husband goodbye. Torsten goaded the ox with his staff and the two started down the rutted dirt trail. Frida watched them make their way towards the fjord and onto the road until they disappeared into the birch grove. She was gripped by dread. There was something about Thorrin that worried her. Before his raiding trip, he always took his herding staff with him to fend off man or beast. He'd given his staff to Einar before leaving and now, he left the house each morning with his axe hanging from his waistband. He was sullen. Malcontent. The hops of baby goats no longer cheered him. He had changed. She was losing hope that he'd return to his old self.

The men walked on either side of the ox as they travelled the hard dirt road. The fleeting rustling of leaves and chirping birds broke the silence. Then Torsten broke out in a song and after a verse, Thorrin joined in to sing the song he first heard as a child. It was a song of honor and bravery in the face of overwhelming odds with the promise of a seat at the warrior's table in Valhalla. When they finished, Thorrin asked, "Are you afraid of not having a warrior's death and not going to Valhalla?"

His ever thoughtful father said, "I want to go where your mother goes. If it is your mother's destiny to aid Freyja in her earthly creation through birth, I'll be there to help and all will be good."

Thorrin remained quiet. Perhaps that kind of paradise was good enough for his father but not for him. He wanted the unlimited mead and the brotherhood he'd felt with his shipmates at the feasting table and not the boredom of farm life.

The sun was high when the two men arrived in Klartvann. They sold a portion of the crop to market place stalls before walking to the moored ferry boats at the town's only dock to sell the remainder of their crop. Thorrin took the ox's shoulder harness in his hand as his father walked through groups of farmers haggling with the traders. Torsten stopped to speak to a trade boat owner named Balder. Baldr, the bastard. Thorrin disliked the man to whom his father sold his crops.

Torsten smiled, "Good day, Baldr. How fare thee?"

The gruff old man spat and said, "What you got for me?"