Einherjar

20

"Blader, wake up." Wolfsted's voice was quiet as he shook Blader's shoulder. He rolled over, glancing up at the Aldrian. The cave was dark and quiet and he could barely make out Wolfsted's face. "It's time for your watch."

Sitting up, Blader nodded to Wolfsted. "Keep an ear out for predators and jotuns," Wolfsted advised. "And make sure your weapons are close at hand. Wake Skalfi in a couple hours." With that, Wolfsted rose and walked quietly off to where he had spread his reindeer fur, a couple feet away from Blader's.

Blader gently grabbed his shield and sword, careful not to make any noise, moved towards the entrance to the cave, and rested with his back against the rock wall. The night was clear, the moon full as it bathed the mountain slope in silvery light.

In the distance, he could hear the howl of wolves, the sound no less eerie for how faraway it sounded. Nearby there sounded the soft hoot of an owl and the skittering of small creatures dashing across the rocks. The night was quiet but nevertheless filled with life.

Blader's mind drifted as he watched the area outside the cave, wondering about his family back home. How had Hilda done on her exams? Had she secured an apprenticeship with Njordesden's weaver? Was Freyja excited for her own chance to start school in the fall? Was Ivan teaching Freyja how to round up the cattle so she could help Hilda? Blader bet Freyja loved riding Sig, the gentler horse, as Hilda would be on Fjorsen now. Freyja probably thought she was like Loqé, with the wind whipping her hair back as she got to ride across the fields.

The house must smell good from all the flower wreaths Hilda would have made by now, the smell of summer. Blader wondered if she was continuing to teach Freyja how to braid the flowers, like the little girl was always clamoring for. Freyja simply loved flowers. She probably had Hilda teach her how to make a flower crown so she could wear it in her hair.

And his parents. Were they looking forward to a good harvest? Were the crops coming in nicely? It had looked like it was going to be a good year; Blader hoped it was.

He wondered if his family was still missing him.

That's a ridiculous question, he chided himself. Of course they're missing me; I'm their son and their brother. Life just goes on, that's all.

I miss them, but life goes on.

What of Loqé? Were the other Valkyries still shunning her? What was she even doing in Asgard while the Reenactment was going on? Blader had never thought to ask. Perhaps she was there in case he died, so his family could receive back the body and the weapons. His father would want the sword and shield back; he had, after all, called them legacies.

And then Blader's mind wandered to his friend. What was Jorid doing, now that he had graduated? His father was a blacksmith, but Jorid didn't seem like the kind to follow in his father's footsteps. Although he had a talent at working the forge and fashioning implements, Jorid had never been interested in forging and fixing farm tools, which was the majority of what his father crafted. He probably was working with his father, though, considering he'd never taken on an apprenticeship to learn a separate trade.

Blader and Jorid, often with Hilda tagging along, would stop by the Racarl Forge to watch Jorid's father, Tveir Racarl, at work. On one of those visits, Racarl had been in the middle of forging a sword. Jorid, knowing about the project, had proudly led Blader and Hilda there after school.

"See, this is what I would do," Jorid had said to Blader, watching the steel glow hot in the fire. The orange light reflected in his eyes, giving him an eerie look. "I'd make weapons, and chains. But Njordesden really don't need weapons or chains." His face curled into a snarl.