Prologue
Three hundred warriors march with authoritarian stomps. Their eyes were cold and hardened. They looked far into the horizon in anticipation of the battle to come.
A man with wolf skin draped over his shoulders– the commander, shouts.
“We’re nearing battle! Everyone steel yourselves and make sure to take as many heads as possible! May the vanquished souls find glory in Valhalla!”
Grins cracked in the warriors’ hardened facades; their eyes sheened excitedly. Hushed “Yes!” And “Finally~” Could be heard.
The commander wanted to reprimand the lot. But he calmed himself, saying, “Well… Their eagerness is to be expected.”
In that moment, one man stood out above the rest. His face remained stagnant and cold. Either he was excellent in concealing his emotions, or he wasn’t like the rest of his fellows. Unblinded by the thrill and adrenaline rush of a life-or-death encounter.
***
All my life, I hid my true self. I grew up in a small village like most Norgians. And we lived off the land, hunting small prey animals, occasionally running into a wild boar or bear. We’d eat well and celebrate with alcohol on those nights.
Or at least, the adults did. From a young age, I could tell that I was… different. Everyone else was enraptured by the thought of dying in a spectacular battle. War and battle were the only things these people were concerned with.
Once we turn 5, we’re to be trained in the art of battle. Learn to fight with a spear, fist, shield, sword, or axe. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the fight. But why? Why must we foolishly throw away our lives in battle? What point is there to live if we were made to die?
I was never interested in those kinds of things. I was fascinated by how the bunnies hopped, how their beady eyes were filled with such untainted innocence and life. Or how snow seemed to appear from thin air, never-ending. The elders said that there were gods above who’d use their powers to grant us snow for fresh water.
But that never made sense to me.
I still remember vividly that day. My father had brought home a giant ol’ Steel Boar. They got their names because their horns were extremely tough, and we’d forge them into weaponry. The boar was massive! The adults planned on a feast to celebrate the excellent hunt.
That night, the bustling noises of drunkards and celebration seeped through the air. Scaring away any animals that’d dare get near.
The frigid air stung my skin. But it was a sensation I was already used to. I exhale through the wolf skin scarf. This caused my visible breath to deform as it passed through my scarf.
“What are you doing here, Erling?”
A familiar voice comes from beside me as I’m huddled in a layered ball of clothing in the embrace of a tree trunk. I peer up toward the source before uttering a word.
“Grandpa…”
His wrinkled face formed a smile, deforming the scar that ran down the left side of his face. His left eye was white and devoid of a pupil. It was a fake eye made from the tusk of a normal boar.
He crouches beside me and places his wrinkled, bony hand on my shoulder.
“Are you bored, Erling?”
His voice had a soft tone that radiated kindness.
“Yeah… All they ever talk about is their battles and the people they’ve slain… Plus, their conversations aren’t something a kid like me can join in.”
“And all they ever do is ask me to bring them more beer.”
Grandpa lets out a chuckle.
“Does that stuff not interest you? Fighting, I mean.”
“Well… Honestly, not really…”
“Hmmm… One day, you’ll have to join them in battle! Fighting bandits and knights from rivaling countries. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
I take a moment of pause. Wondering if what I’m going to say next was worth any potential punishments or incurred wrath that may ensue.
“What has the Norgian Nobility ever done for us? Why should we die in battle for them?”
Silence, for a moment. I inadvertently swallowed my spit, bracing myself for the oncoming beating. When a child was out of line, we were physically beaten. Since what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.
“It’s true the Nobility here does nothing for us. However, we don’t fight for the Nobility.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t it the Nobility that sends us into battle?”
“Well, yes, however, that’s not why we fight. We don’t fight because the Nobility tells us to. We fight for our joy and honor.”
“What’s so fun and honorable about getting killed in a bloody and muddy hole in the middle of nowhere? Only for your corpse to be picked apart by animals and your gear robbed and looted by bandits…?”
“Haha! If you put it like that, it doesn’t sound honorable or fun!”
“... One day… I don’t… I don’t want to be left alone because of their stupid honor…”
I slumped down even more as I began to sulk and wallow at the thought. I’ve already seen it happen. Every time, the villagers get called out to battle. One or two of them would disappear. First, it was one of the young hunters down the road from our house. Then, the woman who’d play and spar with us.
Who’ll be next? Mom, dad, my friends?
Grandpa exhales as he gently starts to pat my head. It surprised me at first, causing me to tense up. But after a while, I gave in to the feeling of having my head caressed.
“Erling… Come with me.”
Grandpa’s hand parts with my head, leaving me disappointed– wait, what am I saying?
***
I followed my grandpa as he instructed. We began trudging up a hill. My eyes were glued to the ground, only following him based on the sound. The gravelly path crumbled on each step, tumbling down a few small rocks.
We entered a small cottage. Made from stripped logs with a layer of pelt stitched together for the roof, We’d keep the snow piled on top since it’s an excellent way to keep things insulated and warm. The skin is firm and durable, allowing it to handle the weight of the snow and then some.
A chute jutted out from the snow with thin gray smoke billowing out the center.
When we entered, a spot in front of the door sunk inward with stone flooring. This is where we’d remove our snow-covered shoes and coats. The sunken floor ensures the melting snow doesn’t flood the house.
The cottage had wooden floors and was made up of two rooms. A toilet and a main room. Inside the main room was a bed and a shelf with an assortment of souvenirs and trophies adorning it. In the center was a matted rug.
Without a word, Grandpa crouches down, removing the matted carpet before using his fingernails to peel at the floorboards. Eventually, he lodged his nail into the floorboard, peeling it to reveal a handle.
He lifts the hand, revealing that it was a trap door. I wanted to gasp in surprise and awe, but I helf it in. A part of me couldn't help but wonder...
“Where are we going?”
I stopped Grandpa in his tracks with my question. His lower body was already submerged in the darkness below the trapdoor.
“A very secret room”
Grandpa responded, smiling slyly and placing his index finger on his lips.
“Make sure not to tell any of the adults.”
I nod my head.
‘A secret room?!’
My 7 year old self could hardly contain his excitement.
