Chosen by Patrick Iversen
Mother begged him not to take me so young. . . But father stated I would never be worthy of the family name should I always remain on the farm collecting berries and kindle. The waves crashing behind me were periodically drowned out by the crackling thunder looming above. Prayers to the mighty northern pantheon aided us in our battle. My first raid with father: A crushing, decisive triumph in culmination. The aroma of burning teepees reeked of victory. But then… She screamed while my brothers drug her by the hair. Father kicked down the young boy trying to protect his mother. I obliged upon request for my presence… for was this my initiation to continue along with their expeditions? Disgustedly, I questioned if the dozen men felled today by my sword were not enough? Grunting and laughing, slandered and harassed by cowardice insults, I glowered at their oceanic eyes with detestation from my own. She was only a young mother attempting evasion from our fury. Does father not remember a time when mother cared for his offspring? Would she deserve such atrocious behavior? Spitting at my feet, tears streamed down her cheeks. I pitied the situation as this was something I would not do. My brothers pried her legs apart and howled like wolves. Anger… disappointment…. Shoving my savage brethren aside, I lift her up and removed her tears. But it was too late. One must have survived.
My kin scattered to find the lone bowman as I became short of breath. Slumped on my knees. Were the gods to steal me after just one journey? Cradled by one whose husband I perhaps took. Tears from fear, became of sympathy. I watched the feathered woman mourn me from above, as the battle maidens whisked me to Valhalla. "Is it not too early for me to join your host?" I inquired. "Hate us not," they giggled, "for we directed the shot upon request of the gods. They'd like to meet you." |