"So, tell me," the man on the throne said distastefully, "what was so important that you are willing to interrupt our celebration?"
He had a muscular figure and stood well over six feet tall. Beside him was an axe that looked three times as big as me. When he spoke, the whole hall seemed to quiver in silence. Even those who had been laughing and enjoying themselves were now seated in silence.
But still, in the face of such a man, my mother never quavered. She spoke to him as she would to any other man.
"It's my son, Earl Björn. He hasn't had his naming ceremony."
Earl Björn looked me up and down, then gave me a scornful glance.
"What's the rush? He can have his naming ceremony another time."
"Earl Björn," my mother protested, "my son is old enough to have his naming ceremony; there is no point in waiting."
"He can wait. I don't want to waste my time again."
At his words, my mother's grip tightened around me, and her voice trembled slightly.
"Earl Björn," her voice grew more desperate, "by right, the Námnáfn should have been held nine days after my child was born. We are a year and a half late for this; there is no need to wait anymore. This child—my child—is healthy."
"So were the others before him. They were all healthy just like this one until they fell sick and died," he shot back. He then mumbled something, and waved his hands as if he had grown bored of the conversation. "So be it; if you insist, I'll have your child's naming ceremony."
A bright smile lit up my mother's face. She looked at me and gave me a peck on the forehead.
"You hear that, Sigurd?" Her excitement was palpable.
"You'll finally be given your true name," Runa chimed in with a wide grin.
The Earl waved to a slender, pale-faced man standing in a corner. The man was malnourished, and his face lacked vigor. He wore no shirt, only torn trousers held together by a piece of rope. He had shackles around his wrists and a burn mark in the shape of a circle on his forehead.
The man approached us and addressed the Earl with a bow.
"Slave," Earl Björn's voice was sharp. "Go get the seer."
With that, he vanished behind one of the doors in the hall, leaving us still standing in front of the Earl. We waited quietly until my mother once again broke the silence.
"Umm… Earl Björn, how was your raid?"
Raid?
I tilted my head to the side, not understanding what my mother meant.
"Bountiful," Earl Björn said, a hint of pride in his voice. "You're worried about your husband?"
My mother didn't answer; she only held her head down, a small blush creeping onto her cheeks. My mother was a beautiful lady with fair brown hair. She was quite young too; if I had to guess, I would say she was in her early twenties.
"Well, don't be," the Earl said. "He and the other men will return home safely by the will of the gods. I only returned home early with my men because I had a few matters I needed to take care of."
"I understand. Thank you, Earl Björn," my mother said, expressing her gratitude with a bow.
Not long after, the slave returned, accompanied by an old man he was guiding along. I assumed he was the seer the Earl had spoken of before. The seer was bald with no facial hair. The only distinctive thing about him was his skin, whitened by ashes.
"Earl Björn," the seer said, his voice hoarse and low.
"Seer, you are needed for a naming ceremony."
The seer nodded in understanding,
"I see."
He then switched his attention to me and stretched out his hands.
"Bring the child to me."
My mother set me down on the ground and directed me toward the seer. Everyone's eyes were on me—Runa, the Earl, and even the men who had been drinking and laughing earlier. I could feel the weight of their expectations, so I did as they bid and approached the seer.
He lifted my chin so I was staring directly into his earth-brown eyes, but something strange happened in that second; his eyes went from brown to milky white.
And in that instant, I felt like I was in a trance. I remembered feeling cold—so cold that my body shivered uncontrollably until it went numb. I remembered the sight of an endless darkness before me and the faint sound of wind blowing.
I don't know what happened afterward, but when I woke up, I was lying in a dimly lit room and on the floor beside me were red rune symbols that glowed faintly.
I lifted myself off the ground, and to my surprise, there was the seer. His eyes were closed, as if he were meditating in a corner of the room. I turned to the door, ready to leave, but then he spoke.
"Sigurd—The Hallowborn Son of Winter. A seed has been planted in you. One that you must nurture."
"A seed?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.
"Yes!" he answered firmly, his voice reverberating with a melody. "One of the gods has seen fit to be your patron; as for which god, I can't tell you, for I do not know. You must find that out for yourself."
"Hold on, a god?"
When I said that, he finally opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow.
"You don't sound like a child of one and a half years old. There is something curious about you, child." His posture perked up from how he had been slouched before. "Yes, we, the Nor folks, are blessed by the gods. They grant us their divine will, which we must nurture and grow like a seed."
My ears perked up at the mention of gods and power. I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask.
"Is that how we're able to use magic? And what about you? Do you possess any will of the gods?" I asked.
"Slow down, child," he said, as I was talking so fast I doubted he heard me. "Magic is only given to those under the patronage of Odin, since he is the god of magic. My patron is Mímir—the god of Wisdom and Insight."
I imagined my eyes was sparkling at him. It all made sense; the midwife could use magic, and she often spoke of Odin. There was something else I desperately wanted to know.
"Can—"
BANG! BANG!
Two loud bangs echoed from the door before I could ask my question. The Earl, accompanied by my mother and Runa, stepped in.
"Is it over, seer? Did the child receive his true name?" Earl Björn asked.
"Yes," the seer answered. "The gods have bestowed upon him the name Sigurd—The Hallowborn Son of Winter."
"What's the purpose of a true name?" I asked.
It was the seer who responded.
"Your true name holds your destiny. It is how you are recognized by the gods in the afterlife. Without one, you have no hope of ever entering Valhalla."