Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Ivar

Tonight, I was to choose a suitor for myself. Men lined up in rows, each presenting themselves to me. They were warriors. Powerful warriors from this Völkru tribe.

I stared at the man before me. He was tall and muscular, dressed in thick woolen clothing.

I sighed sharply. If only Papa knew how bored I am. Having just turned twenty a few weeks ago, Papa thinks it's right to find me a suitor, as I've always been the one to chase away my admirers. Girls my age are either pregnant or already have two to three children of their own. But for me, it's different. None of the men from our tribe seem to catch my interest. I should have been married as early as twelve, as is the tradition of our tribe.

If I were from any other household, I'd be considered too old to marry. But since I'm the chief's daughter, his grace protects me.

"Heil Chieftain!" The man bowed to my father before approaching me. "Hirðkona!" (Hirðkona is a high ranking woman, often the daughter or wife of a King or chieftan.)

"I am Arne, a great warrior to the chieftan," he said, showing off his strong muscles. "I've seen more than seven wars and fought alongside your father. Hirðkona, if you would—"

I stood up, but Papa grabbed my wrist roughly, forcing me to sit. I winced at the sharp pain and shot a glare at him.

"Ivar," Papa said. "It is disrespectful to walk away from the chieftan without grant."

Here we go again. Tradition... tradition.

"Papa, this man has seen more winters than you. He's clearly too old for me," I said, clenching my hands. "It is a pity you put him as a contender for my hand in marriage."

Papa's jaw clenched. He turned to the men. "Next!"

My lips curled in disgust at the sight of the other man. He was still too old, perhaps forty winters. His long beard was thick like locks.

I sighed heavily. "Papa did you not hear any of my words? This one is still too old."

"This is Erik," Papa introduced. "His father was once a warrior to my Papa. He would make a fine husband."

I snorted, turning my gaze away from Papa. I turned to the man, who bowed his head.

"What makes you think you'd make a fine husband, as my Papa claims?" I asked.

"If chosen as your husband, Hirðkona, your days will be easy, and you shall live under my shield and protection."

"Protection?" I scoffed. "I can protect myself. I can wield blade and have fought at my Papa's side. What protection can you offer me?"

Papa cleared his throat. He was no friend of my skill with sword. He wanted me, like other girls, to be submissive to men, learning to cook, clean, and make babies for a husband.

The man opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. The other men behind him burst into laughter.

I smiled. "Next, please!"

He frowned deeply before walking away. When the next person approached, he was about sixteen summers, if I'm not mistaken.

"Papa!"

I stood, rubbing my temples. "I'm not doing this."

"And where do you go?" he asked.

"I'm leaving," I replied.

Papa stood and followed me outside the chamber.

"Ivar!" Papa shouted, stopping me.

I slowly turned. "Papa."

"What is it that you want?"

"For you to let me be, Papa," I said.

"You know that can never be," he frowned. "You're my only heir, and your mother bore no child after you."

"I know," I said. "But these men….. they're way too old or too young for me to marry."

"Ivar, you have seen twenty winters. You have passed the age for marriage," he said. "If you had heeded to my words earlier, you would have one or two children of your own."

"But I don't want that. I do not wish want to submit to any man, Papa," I said.

"You shall bow to no man."

"Then let me be a shield maiden. I have always wanted that," I said. "I have learned to fight with swords—"

"Nonsense!" Papa yelled. "I erred in letting you learn the art of the sword."

"But I have gone to war with you. We have claimed lands together," I said.

"You are a woman and my heir. You must be wed to a man before the winters end."

"To one much older than you?"

"Age should not matter in marriage," he said. "To be a great ruler, you need strength. You are a woman and when you take my place, men shall see you as a weakling. They will challenge your position. I do not want that. I will see you wed and bare me grand sire's before I leave to join my ancestors."

"I am strong. I can defeat any man who dares challenge me," I said.

"My brother, Ragnar—"

"Stepbrother," I corrected.

"Call him what pleases you," Papa snorted. "Ragnar will come soon. It would bring shame upon me if you sees you unmarried after another winters." 

"Ragnar cares little about my marital life," I said. "To him, I am but a young girl."

Papa frowned.

As I opened my mouth to speak, a guard stepped forward, bowing.

"Chieftan," he greeted. "The ship from the north has come to shore."

"Uncle Ragnar," I breathed with excitement, hurying out of the compound to the sea and I ran to the shore. I heard the guards blowing flutes and other men beating drums at my uncle Ragnar's arrival.

The waves raged and tossed the longship. Ragnar was home at last, after another winters.

Anticipation rushed through me as I watched the ship draw near. As the chieftan of another tribe, Ragnar's ship was long and sleek, with both ends curving upward to form the head of a mighty wolf. It was certainly unique, as most tribe preferred their longboats to bear the head of a serpent. Every ship did that, except Ragnar's. He was always different, and it fascinated me.

Goosebumps pricked my skin as I took a deep breath. Good gods, Ragnar was different from last winters. I barely recognized him.

His hair was long and black as the midnight sky, combed back and tied. His skin was smooth and blemish-free. Due to the cold climate of his village, his skin—and that of his men—was as pale as snow. Unlike our tribe's golden skin, theirs was very pale. My mama was from a different tribe, thus her skin was pale. I took her white ghostly skin.

As he approached, my eyes traveled from his cold black eyes down to his leather boots—an extremely rare sight in our tribe, where we wore sandals or slippers, not boots.

His long kyrill (mantle) was made of golden wool with black threads at the edges. Ragnar's tribe was the only one to advance in civilization each winters. Now he wore a long black fur cloak made from the hide of an animal. Such expensive clothing was never seen in my tribe. Sometimes I wondered why I wasn't born in his tribe.

I had seen beautiful men, but none compared to Ragnar. He was breathtaking—tall and strong. Standing near him, I felt small. He should be around thirty winters.

"Uncle," I said with a smile.

He smirked. "Little one."

I frowned at the nickname he'd given me since I was two summers old.