When I was finally old enough, at one and a half years old, I left the house with my mother and Runa for the first time. They dressed me in the fanciest clothes I had, which, to me, were nothing but rags compared to what I was used to.
"Today is your naming ceremony, Sigurd," my mother said as she draped a thick fur around my shoulders. "I know the gods will look at you favorably, my son. I know your father would be so proud to see you—he always wanted a son."
For some reason, Runa openly frowned as my mother mentioned my father. My mother spoke about him a lot; she said he was off fighting and that just before he left, he made a grave sacrifice of eight sheep in hopes that she would have a healthy boy.
She always repeated how strong and brave a warrior he was. As for the ceremony, from what I'd heard them discussing, it was some sort of naming ceremony. They also mentioned that I would be given a seed, whatever that meant.
Regardless of the reason I was going, I was happy to finally leave the house. I had only gotten a glimpse outside a few times when Runa was being careless.
When we stepped out of the house, I was in awe at the sight before me. Our house was right at the edge of the town. The other houses weren't much different from ours; they were all wooden structures, fitting the idea I had that we were somewhere in the medieval era.
It wasn't the cleanest town, as melting snow mixed with mud formed brown mush on the ground. I finally got to see the farm my mother was always talking about. The ground was plowed and ready for planting seeds as they prepared for spring, as it looked as if winter had just ended.
My mother carried me in her arms to keep my clothes from getting messed up in the mud. My eyes wandered around as I observed everything with curiosity. I might have had a silly look on my face because Runa kept looking at me while giggling.
"You enjoying yourself, Sigurd?" She gave me a teasing look.
The village was lively, with stalls of people selling different goods. It was a bit chaotic as people shouted about their merchandise and wares to whoever would care to listen.
The village was located right beside the sea, with several docking areas filled with boats of different sizes. Hanging off of the side of the boats were shields, painted in stylish colors. The boats had a wooden carving of dragons on the front.
The people of the village resembled my mother and Runa; they had long brown hair with different patterns of braids. Whenever they spoke, my mother and Runa would always refer to themselves as Northerners.
I couldn't help but notice something strange as I watched the villagers interact—there were no men. There were mostly women and children in the village; whatever men there were seemed either old or handicapped.
Maybe the men were off to war like my father,
Soon, we arrived at a huge wooden structure in the middle of the town. I couldn't help but let out a startled gasp when I saw it.
My mother and Runa chuckled.
"You like it, Sigurd?" my mother asked. "It's the longhouse."
True to its name, the building was rather long. It reminded me of those giant ships I always saw back home. If I had to guess, I would say it was the size of at least five houses lined up together.
The wooden door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing a vast hall. I didn't know what I expected, but the hall before me looked almost like a dining area. There were men inside, holding mugs and drinking some kind of alcohol.
Their voices were loud and gruff, and so was their appearance. The best way to describe them would be hillbillies, with faces only a mother could love. They looked like the type of men I wouldn't want to be caught dead with.
Most of them stood over six feet tall; to me, they were like giants. My hand instinctively tightened around my mother's neck. I couldn't help but feel afraid of their imposing figures, so I clung to my mother and buried my head in her chest.
When we entered the room, it felt as if the entire atmosphere changed—like an immense pressure bearing down on us. All their attention shifted to us.
No, rather, their gazes focused on my mother and Runa. They couldn't care less about me.
"I told you, you didn't have to come; you can wait outside," my mother suggested to Runa, but she had a stubborn look in her eyes.
"No, it's fine. I want to be here for my nephew's big moment."
It felt like a humiliation ritual walking past them. They snickered and made rude remarks.
"Oi, you swing your hips like you're begging for a good rut!" one man said.
"Should we line up or fight for the honor?" another man added, causing them to bang their mugs together and laugh.
"Be careful, men; women like these are carved from fire and ice."
"Why don't they come melt my bed, then?"
Mother and Runa ignored them and continued walking. At the front of the hall was a throne made of animal pelts, and seated on it was a man just as big as the ones pestering us.
He paid no attention to us, as there was a woman wrapped in only fur seated on his lap, his hands around her waist as she leaned into his muscular figure. The man looked to be in his fifties, which was evident from the patches of gray hair on his head and beard.
The woman looked young enough to be his daughter, but from the way they were huddled together, I could tell that wasn't the case.
Just as we were about to reach in front of him, one of the men making jokes slipped in front of us.
He was just as ugly as the rest of them; in fact, he was even more so. He had a scar that took one of his eyes and trailed across his face at a vertical angle.
He gave a nasty grin, revealing teeth caked with mud—or shit, whichever it was. To make it worse, his teeth were filled to resemble sharp fangs.
"Frey, Runa! How have you lovely ladies been?" His breath was horrendous. He looked at my mother, but his gaze mainly lingered on Runa, looking her up and down like a hungry beast.
"Times have been good, Floki. How have you been?" My mother stepped up to protect her little sister, which caused the man named Floki to shift his focus back to her.
"Are you sure about that? I know times can be hard, especially when you have a little one to take care of." He licked his lips while stepping closer to us. "I've been thinking about it lately; you take care of that child, but who takes care of you?"
"She already has a lover, Floki," Runa said.
He didn't seem amused by that, which was evident from the way he flared his nostrils.
"Dag!" he said bitterly, then spat on the floor as if the name alone disgusted him. "Dag and I share everything. There is nothing off-limits between us, not even our women."
"Floki!" a resounding voice called out, startling him.
It was the man seated on the throne. He had a not-so-amused expression on his face. Floki glared at us and returned to where he was seated before, but not before snickering something.
"Barren whore. It's only a matter of time before this child dies too."
A look of rage crossed Runa's face, and she moved to slap Floki, but my mother grabbed her by the arm and stopped her. My mother had a fierce look on her face, one I had never seen before.
"My child will grow up healthy and strong by the will of the gods—by the will of Freya, my Maktgiver."
With those words, my mother approached the man on the throne, leaving Floki behind. The man regarded us with cold indifference; his only concern seemed to be the girl resting in his lap.
"Come, tell me, what business do you have that possessed you to interrupt our celebration." the man said, exhaustedly.