THE VIKING

 

THE VIKING

Norway, 1010AD

The winter was ruthless, the snow was immense and thick, it ravaged the small fishing village of Geiranger causing the great people of Norway to go without food. There reserves were quietly dwindling out of proportion as this year’s winter was the longest. Nobody could fish or hunt it was all a taken away by the long winter snow.

Trees withered, crops destroyed and their animals sickly. Day and night were indistinguishable and one and the same. Bjorn, son of Thors, sat outside his small cottage watching the wind blow with great force, we are being punished by Odin he thought. As the sky was cracked open by a fierce lightning bolt. Thor is angry…

The house was covered by a cold blanket of snow that had piled high on the roof. The snow was so much so he could not see more than six feet and when a messenger came, he was caught in disbelief as he appeared out of nowhere.

“Father!” said Bjorn as he stormed inside the house.

“A messenger is here!” said Bjorn with excitement under his breathe.

Does that mean he could finally go to war?

Was he strong enough to join his father in battle?

All these questions rang inside his head like a beating drum. The messenger who identified himself as Skasgaard held an official document that had the heart seal of the Viking kingdom. He felt a complete sense of responsibility ushering him into his father’s home with great benevolence.

“Who goes there?!” said Thors with a booming voice from across the room.

Thors was a giant of a human he was six feet in height, square jawed and pulsating muscles that stretched from his neck into his arms. He stood up from the stool he was seated towering over his wife Britania who was a warm and welcoming woman, her cooking presided all the other maidens in Geiranger.

Thors reached out his trunk of a hand to receive the seal document. His face indignant and stern, he read through it with great scrutiny and precision. Not showing any emotion whatsoever. He folded it back to its original size and went into his room where he kept a crest for his weapons.

“Father what is it? Are we under attack?” asked Bjorn inquisitively.

Thors did not dare to answer. Silence was the best answer.

A cold chill swept across the house with all its effects. Britania knew what he had to do.

“Leave your father in peace” said Britania warmly.

“He has much to do” added his mother.

Thors opened his chest, inside was his armory: His hammer, his sword, and his body armor. Steel met steel and gave birth to an indestructible weapon. He slowly picked up his hammer and played with it like a toy throwing it up and down like a boomerang. His sword stretched across the room as he picked it up with his other hand its brass reflecting from the fire that kept the home warm.

Finally, he put down his tools of destruction and closed the chest with a loud thud.

Britania clutched at his three-year-old son tightly, reassuring him with a warm kiss as he softly lulled in sleep.

“Bjorn, watch over your mother” said Thors.

“No! Father I want to join in the fight for our peoples’ freedom” said Bjorn indignantly.

“You must do as I say!” said Thors in a booming and commanding voice.

Bjorn withdrew and silenced himself.

Thors took his leave together with the emissary, his body covered in mink and his huge right hand on his crest of weapons. They foraged through the snow day and night until they reached the capital of Norway-the Seven Sisters Waterfall.

Bjorn was left behind with his mother inside the small village. Disappointed and ravaged by mediocrity he cursed his father and all his pride. Was he not of coming age? To join his brethren in the glory of war? Was he not competent? His thoughts drifted back and forth like a raging wave.

His fellow brothers accompanied their fathers to fight in the war. Why was he so secluded? Rage biting under every breathe he took. He couldn’t believe his father left without him. His father was well known for his fighting skills he was the leader of the Jomvikings for more than a decade and retired after he lost his brother to war.

Everyday he trained despite retiring, together with his son Bjorn.

Why do you train father?

For the war to come son, one day you will understand…

This was one of such days. He finally understood. But now he left without saying a word to him. Bjorn felt detached and unloved. A trickle of tear danced around his eyelids like a small waterfall. Why would his father abandon him? After all the training? After all the blood and sweat?

He could not understand. He would not understand.

Outside on the porch he watched his father rampage through the decadent snow on horseback together with the emissary. He prayed to Odin to keep him safe as always…