The fire spread through the huts at a terrifying pace, illuminating the exceptionally dark night. Screams of women and men echoed from all directions. Somewhere in the distance, a child cried. Its parents were probably already dead. In the darkness, figures could be seen, neither human nor monsters. They ran wildly, attacking anyone in their path or setting fire to the homes that had not yet burned. The smell of burning bodies filled the air. Yrsa stood in her woolen nightgown. The gown was already gray and worn, after years of use. She didn’t care about it now, as her thoughts were focused on praying to the gods. She begged Odin to send her fiancé, to bring him back to their village.
“Move aside!”
Someone pushed Yrsa, probably during the escape from the invaders. The woman didn’t pay attention to it. She tried to pray with all her might. Suddenly, she felt a sharp, stabbing pain between her shoulder blades. The pain quickly moved to her chest. Yrsa looked down and saw a spear protruding from her body where her sternum should be.
“Yrsa! Wake up!”
The woman jumped out of bed. She was completely sweaty.
“Yrsa, what were you dreaming about?”
There was a hint of concern in the man’s stern voice. Yrsa looked towards the man. He stood in the hut,right next to the wooden table. He poured milk through a cloth to collect all the debris that might be in the bucket during milking.
“The same thing. Someone is attacking our village,” the woman replied, preparing her daily attire.
She tried to keep her voice from betraying the fear and anxiety she felt. Having the same dream several times already, she feared its realization.
The man set the bucket aside and approached Yrsa. He looked her in the eyes and grabbed her by the shoulders. His grip was strong, and he had to be careful when touching his fiancée.
“This isn’t one of your prophetic dreams. You’ve just heard stories about conquests and battles.”
Yrsa returned his gaze. The slate-blue color of her fiancé’s eyes calmed her.
“But what if it’s a prophecy, Ulf?” she asked.
“Don’t talk nonsense. No one would attack our village,” Ulf said, smiling, which emphasized the wrinkles on his face.
Yrsa liked it when he did that. Her fiancé rarely smiled, which was supposed to reinforce his image as a tough warrior. But when he was with her, he allowed himself to show emotions. Ulf ran his hand through Yrsa’s blond hair and advised her not to dwell on the future of their village too much. He also urged her to hurry up, as the lowing of hungry cows was becoming unbearable.
Yrsa obediently put on her linen dress and ran outside to tend to the animals. The sun was still low in the sky, and the air was filled with the moisture left from the night. Yrsa loved summer, she loved the warm air, so rare for their people.
After feeding the cows, pigs, and chickens, Yrsa looked around the village. At this time of year, there was movement as the harvest season approached. Everyone worked quickly to finish before the rainy season.
The woman returned to the hut and found Ulf eating bread with milk.
“Maybe you’d like something more substantial?” she asked, taking the bucket of milk to clean it.
“If you had slept any longer, I wouldn’t have eaten anything,” Ulf replied sarcastically.
Yrsa lowered her gaze.
“Sorry. I was tired,” she said quietly, wanting to leave the house as soon as possible.
Ulf got up from the bench he was sitting on and grabbed Yrsa’s hand. He hugged her and said, “Forgive
me, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Yrsa returned the hug.
“Ulf, your changes during battles… they’re starting to affect your behavior more and more,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
“I know, but what can I do? It’s my fate,” the man said, slowly pulling away from Yrsa.
She looked deep into his eyes. They had changed since she met him. More and more often, she saw remnants of the madness he fell into during battles. She grabbed his hand and kissed it.
“Today we’ll go to your father’s, okay? We’ll help him in the fields,” Ulf suggested, smiling at his fiancée.
“You don’t have to, my brothers have already taken care of everything. We can spend this day together,” Yrsa replied.
Ulf understood his fiancée. He perfectly understood the changes that were happening to him after each trance he fell into. However, he didn’t want to interrupt them. He wanted to defend his village, proud to be one of the chosen of his people. He dreamed of the same destiny for his potential children, which he could have someday with Yrsa.
“We can go to the lake, and by the way, we’ll catch some fish for dinner,” he suggested.
Yrsa, though she wanted to spend this time differently, agreed not to dampen Ulf’s good mood.
The village hövdingr received a message in the morning from a friendly clan. It was brought to him by a messenger sent by his friend Ivar. Ivar was also a chieftain, and his village was three days’ journey away. The hövdingr, proudly bearing the name Frode, which in his family is given to firstborn sons, received the message:
Frode,
It’s time to set sail across the sea. My people have confirmed the rumors of a rich land. Gold is found in tall buildings there, and the fields are remarkably fertile. The inhabitants are not skilled in battles. It will be easy to conquer new land.
After hearing the proposal from the messenger, Frode had a lot on his mind. To gain time, he ordered his slaves to host the messenger, prepare food, and a bed for him to sleep. He himself had time to think. The slaves quickly got to work. Two women set about preparing the bed. They were dressed in dirty and smelly rags, which had so many holes that they barely covered most of their bodies. Three men set about preparing food for the messenger. They also prepared wine to showcase the wealth and hospitality of hövdingr Frode.
The chieftain, meanwhile, sat on the throne, which stood on a wooden platform. It was from there that he managed the village every day, resolved local conflicts, and wielded power.
His wife, Sigrun, entered the hut. Frode didn’t love her at all. He had decided on this marriage because of her wealth. He considered Sigrun to be an insolent and calculating woman.
“Is there something going on that there’s such commotion here?” she asked, pointing to the busy slaves with her hand.
“I received a proposal from Ivar. He wants to conquer new lands,” Frode replied impassively.
He didn’t feel like talking to his wife. However, he knew that if she wanted a divorce, she would take all the property she had brought into the marriage with her. He would also lose the support of his father-in- law’s friends.
“There’s no need to think about it. Your father would certainly embark on such an expedition,” she retorted to her husband.
Frode blushed with anger. He hated being compared to his father because he was an exceptional warrior, still sung about during feasts. Frode tried to match him, but in vain. Yes, he won a few battles, had successes in defending the village, but so what? His father challenged the previous village chieftain to a duel and won. He killed his predecessor in cold blood. He gained power, and Frode inherited that power. For their people, it was not a reason to be proud.
“Get out of here! You’re bothering me,” Frode rose from the throne to shout at his wife.
Sigrun looked at her husband impassively. She wasn’t afraid of him; she was well aware of what drove Frode and why he chose her as his wife. She considered her husband a failure.
Sigrun sighed and turned on her heel. Standing with her back to her husband and playing with the jewelry on her hand, she said:
“I’ll visit my father today. I’ll tell him that you’re preparing for an expedition.”
Frode clenched his fists. Now he had no choice. He had to sail.
Ulf and Yrsa sat by the lake until sunset. Yrsa basked in the sun and the warmth it brought, while Ulf was focused on catching delicious fish. They sat in silence, each enjoying the peace. Suddenly, Ulf asked Yrsa:
“What do you say we have children before we get married?”
Yrsa wasn’t surprised by the content of the question, but by the fact that he would like to have children now.
“It depends. You know that during the first pregnancy, I would like to have you close to me,” she said calmly, watching as the sun set.
Curiosity about where this sudden question came from took over.
“And why are you asking about this now?”
Ulf, putting away his fishing rod, replied:
“We won’t get any younger, and if we had sons, I would want to have the strength to teach them everything I can.”
Yrsa smiled at her fiancé. She sat on the grass that grew around the lake. The buzzing of bees, which busily buzzed around the clover, could be heard all around. She decided that if Ulf was ready to be a parent, then so was she.
“If you want, we can try for children even today,” she said teasingly.
Ulf, encouraged by his fiancée’s proposal, passionately kissed her on the lips, and desire took over. The passion with which Ulf touched Yrsa proved how much he loved her. The moment between lovers lasted until it became dark.
They almost stumbled into the hut. During the journey, they were so happy that they almost joked all the time. The darkness, mosquitoes, and the fact that Ulf, who walked first, kept bumping into trees or into fox dens, didn’t bother them.
The man walked first, holding Yrsa’s hand, trying to find their way home. For Yrsa, it was great fun and a reason for many jokes.
When they entered the cottage, Yrsa said:
“We haven’t laughed like this in a long time.”
“That’s true. But now let’s go to sleep; we have to get up early tomorrow. The animals haven’t been fed for the night,” Ulf replied.
They both undressed and got into bed.
During the night, Yrsa was troubled by the same nightmare. The burned village, unknown invaders, and pain, and in the end, death. With the exception that now she was afraid of someone or something in her sleep. She couldn’t understand this feeling. She only knew that she wanted to protect someone or something.
Surprisingly, she woke up first in the morning. Ulf was still sound asleep. Wanting to surprise him and prepare a delicious breakfast, she decided on fish; after all, they had been lying in the bucket all night, and Yrsa didn’t want them to spoil.
Heading outside to the fireplace, she was about to light the fire when she heard commotion somewhere in the village. Running closer to see what was happening, she spotted chieftain Frode standing in the middle of the village, giving a speech.
Her and Ulf’s hut was far away, and Yrsa couldn’t hear what he was saying. She lifted her skirt and ran towards the crowd.
“In three months, we set sail!” Frode shouted and headed towards his hut, accompanied by cheers.
Yrsa didn’t know what was going on, so she asked one of the bystanders what the speech was about.
“In three months, we set sail to conquer new territories. The chief said there are riches there beyond our wildest dreams!” said a middle-aged man.
He was very excited, as were all the other men.
Yrsa stood there disoriented; she felt very sad at the thought of parting with Ulf, especially since they had decided to try for a child.
Yrsa stood there for a moment, listening to what people were talking about. She hoped to hear more information. Unfortunately, all she could hear from the conversations was how excited people were about conquering new territories. She decided there was no point in wasting any more time and returned home.
“Three months? Do you need three whole months to gather people and set sail?” Sigrun shouted.
Dressed in a silk, green dress designed to emphasize her red hair, she stood in the middle of the hut, angrily shouting at Frode. She couldn’t wait for him to leave the house, nor could she wait three months for him to manage the village in his name and bring lovers.
“I can’t just snatch people from the village when the harvest is starting!” Frode shouted back at his wife.
“And what? Wives can’t manage without their husbands?” Sigrun asked sarcastically.
She wanted to show her independence from Frode. To reassure him that he needed her, not the other way around.
“But some wives sail with their husbands. What then? Is the whole farm supposed to be empty?” Frode muttered through his teeth.
He sat on his throne. His legs were spread out, and his arms crossed over his chest. Unlike his wife, he didn’t feel the need to manifest his status through clothing, so he wore a simple shirt and woolen pants every day.
“Are you suggesting that I don’t help you on expeditions? Is that what you’re trying to say?” Sigrun tried to turn the situation around so that it seemed like Frode was wrong.
The chieftain knew his wife well enough to know what schemes his better half was plotting. So he rolled his eyes and said he couldn’t talk to her any longer. Trying to avoid continuing the argument, he lied about important village matters that he couldn’t delay any longer. He asked his wife to go to their bedroom and wait for him there. In doing so, he struck her most sensitive spot.
Despite many years of marriage, they still didn’t have any children. Both Frode and Sigrun felt ashamed because of this. The woman knew perfectly well that if it weren’t for their high status in the village, people would laugh in her face. They would also ridicule her husband, but Sigrun didn’t care about that. Sigrun suspected that the problem with fertility lay on her side. She had numerous lovers with whom she had intercourse when her husband was not around. Many of them didn’t bother with caution. Sigrun had plenty of opportunities to get pregnant, but to no avail. She didn’t want to admit this to her husband. During their private conversations, she always blamed Frode. She decided to do the same now.
“And what? Are you trying to show again that you’re not a man?” Sigrun laughed.
Frode couldn’t bear such humiliation. He let many things slide, and many times he walked away from arguments because he feared losing the support of his father-in-law’s friends. But now something in him snapped. He rose from his throne, approached his wife, and slapped her with all his might.
“If you say that again, bitch, I’ll throw you out of the house,” he said in a low voice.
After it was over, he returned to his throne and watched with satisfaction as his shocked wife tried to get up from the ground because the force with which her husband struck her had knocked her down. Frode had often dreamed of getting rid of this terrible woman. His father-in-law’s connections prevented him from doing so. Without them, people in the village wouldn’t look at him favorably. Everyone compared Frode to his father, and thanks to his father-in-law’s connections, rumors about Frode were effectively denied. Now that Frode had vented his years of frustration, he had to think about how to handle the situation.
“That stupid woman will fly straight to her father,” the chieftain thought.
To his annoyance, Sigrun’s father, Ketil, entered the hut. His prominent shoulders, calloused hands, and firm stride clearly showed that he was a man who had achieved everything through his own hard work.
“What’s going on here?” Ketil roared.
Frode hesitated for a moment. He feared his father-in-law’s reaction, but in a surge of emotion, he decided it was high time for a change.
“Your daughter is behaving like a bitch,” the chieftain said. His tone sent shivers down the spines of the slaves who were still standing nearby.
Ketil, who was the wealthiest farmer in the entire village, was also the most important person in their village, right after the chief. He had priority in making important local decisions. He realized that his daughter had a strong position as the wife of the hövdingr, thanks to him. And because of this, he himself had many privileges. Especially when Frode was away, he would stay alone with his daughter, and together they would make decisions.
“What did you say to me?” Ketil asked, surprised and angry at the same time.
Frode, who knew he had nothing left to lose, shouted at the top of his lungs:
“How dare you speak to your hövdingr like that? I am the chief here!”
Frode stepped down from his throne and walked toward Ketil.
“On my command, they’ll chop your head off right now!” he continued to shout at his father-in-law.
Ketil, stunned by the turn of events, remained silent. He saw his daughter writhing in pain on the floor out of the corner of his eye. He noticed her cheek starting to swell.
Meanwhile, in the frenzy of his nerves, lost years, and long-standing suffering, Frode threw himself at his father-in-law. He knocked him to the ground and began to strangle him. The chieftain’s aggression shocked the slaves standing there. They didn’t know whether they should stop him or not.
Frode didn’t release his grip on Ketil’s throat. Ketil tried to defend himself, but due to his age, he wasn’t as strong as he used to be. The hard work had also taken its toll on the man.
The chieftain, with a wild expression on his face, watched as his father-in-law slowly turned blue. As he fought for breath, Frode felt Ketil’s hands at first trying to push him away, and then clawing at the chief’s body. Ketil kicked his legs as if trying to throw Frode off himself. The hövdingr pressed his weight onto Ketil’s body.
Sigrun’s father watched in horror as the chief’s eyes filled with blood due to immense rage, as his teeth bared in a grimace of anger, and felt Frode’s saliva dripping onto his face. After a moment, he felt an immense heat in his lungs, as if someone had thrown glowing coals inside him. After a while of agony, he felt nothing anymore.
Ketil’s lifeless body lay on the floor. When Frode made sure that the man was dead, he stood up, dusted off his knees, and walked toward the throne.
“Clean up his body. He doesn’t deserve a burial,” he involuntarily ordered his slaves.
Meanwhile, Sigruna had crawled to her father’s body and burst into tears. She wailed in pain, feeling the loss of the only person she loved and who had made her life so easy. For the first time, she was afraid to speak to her husband. She was angrier with him than ever before, but she didn’t say anything to him. She continued to cry. When she realized what situation she was in now, she had spasms. She was angry, sad, and scared. She looked around the hut, seeking support, help. But all she received were slaves dragging her away from her father’s body to be able to clean it up from the chief’s hut.
The woman watched as her dear father’s body was carelessly pulled out of the chief’s hut, without respect, without proper preparation, and piety that this man deserved. When the hut door closed behind the backs of the slaves, she gathered the courage to look her husband in the face. Her eyes, swollen from crying, saw Frode, looking down at her with undisguised satisfaction.
“It’s time for changes. You’ve treated me like dirt, like a puppet that can be kicked, beaten, and mocked. Enough!” Frode shouted.
Sigruna looked at her husband in horror as he rose from the throne and walked toward her with slow steps. The man knelt beside his wife, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look into his eyes.
“You laughed at me. You said I didn’t resemble my father in anything. Do I remind you of him now? Do you remember how he got rid of his enemies?” the man uttered through clenched teeth.
Sigruna’s eyes welled up with tears again. To avoid upsetting her husband even more, she nodded.
“It’s time for changes. You’ll see how I’ll transform into a new chief,” Frode said and walked away from his wife.
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