Capítulo 4: DrakensFjord
'Hello there!'
The fleeting summer breeze rustled the tree hanging eerily low atop a stone house.
The house was hewn from the granite bones of the earth and was situated at the corner of a cliff.
The walls were rugged, moss-covered and weather-beaten. But even still, it blended seamlessly with the surrounding landscape; a representation of the timeless sagas of the North – the ones that have been forgotten and the ones that were yet to come.
Narrow windows peered out over the windswept fjords1, while a sturdy oak door that was reinforced with iron bands on both sides guarded the threshold.
'Unfortunate Canute reporting here!'
Inside the house that obviously stood out amongst the other 'humble accommodations' was a little boy, currently suspended in mid-air as a man – who he had mistaken for a silver-back gorilla at first glance – carried him around the house happily.
After six months of his birth, the boy's hair had started to grow out. He had bleached-orange coloured hair and his mother's dreamy red eyes.
'Now, you might be wondering how I ended up in this situation! Allow me to explain my horrific tale!'
He mused, internally, his thoughts sharp, mature and mockingly sardonic. A stark contrast to his infantile form.
'I was a perfectly fine human back on Earth 15 months ago. And now I am a reincarnated person after dying. It's a bit offensive though…'
He chuckled to himself, mentally.
'No, I was not a cuck loser. Neither was I an ugly, short, fat and a total disgusting paedophile - failure of a man back on Earth. That begs the question, why in the name of everything unholy was I reincarnated? This is an insult to me! Reincarnation is a privilege given to degenerates so they can justify their paedophilic tendencies. Merely reincarnating taints my image!'
The malicious and hateful thoughts were in a stark contrast to his infantile body.
'I had a crush who loved me back, damn it! Let me go back, you damned GOD – whichever reincarnated me!'
'My real family—dad—must be in shambles after my death. And here I am, alive and well, with no way to contact him. What a cruel twist of fate…'
Contrary to his melancholic musings, a light hearted laughter pierced the air, making Canute's ears perk up.
The man who was carrying him around—his father who was a massive man —was the source of this as he tried everything to make Canute laugh; lifting him high, making funny faces, and swinging him around.
But all he received was a deadpan look from his son who was still grieving his past life.
'I'm so fucking miserable.'
Canute thought, as his father's efforts to cheer him up continued.
'But I guess I can't ruin two families. I have already given deadly grief to my actual dad. At least, maybe—maybe I shouldn't do the same to these guys…'
Swallowing the bitter lump in his throat, Canute mustered a slight smile to encourage his try-hard father.
It was a very comforting gesture. Something he did purely to satisfy his own desire to not feel like an utter failure of a human being. However, the smile still had a big effect on his father who was oblivious to the already matured mind of his newborn.
His eyes widened in surprise and joy, and he immediately ran over to the kitchen.
"Hannah!" He exclaimed as he called out to the silver haired woman working in the kitchen.
The woman was wearing a blue peplos that was a long, rectangular piece of woollen fabric. It was draped over her body, with the top edge folded down to create a double layer over her torso that had now returned to its normal size.
The dress was fastened at the shoulders with brooches that created armholes. Underneath it, she was wearing a modest white underdress that was secured with a girdle at the waist.
Her hair was kept up in a rough bun, but when she turned around, even Canute couldn't help but stare at her.
His mother—Hannah—was a young woman who seemed to have barely entered her twenties. Or maybe even younger. She had a slightly chubby face with a pair of extremely dreamy red eyes that made her eyelids feel like they were half open.
"Odin's beard! You scared me…!" She gave out an exasperated sigh, but the smile plastered on her face was enough to tell that she wasn't mad.
She looked at her husband and then at their son before frowning in worry. "Hey Robert, did something happen to Ragnar?"
"Wha—no, no, not that, hear me out!" He spoke with excitement.
Walking over to Hannah, Robert presented Ragnar (Canute) to her like a bottle of fine wine "He smiled! Our son smiled!" he exclaimed, bouncing with excitement.
'Dude, it's not that deep, chill!'
Ragnar's mother looked down from her husband's face, her eyes lighting up as she saw the joy in Robert's face. Without saying much, she leaned over and kissed Ragnar's forehead.
"Look at you. Our little warrior." She whispered. Despite how delicate she looked or sounded; she had an aura around her that made Ragnar think that she was not normal.
Without showing the exaggerated display of affection that Ragnar had read in novels, Hannah pursed her lips and smiled slightly at him before turning around and picking up the giant knife. Without turning back, she continued. "I am glad it is still a weekly occurrence." She mused out loud with a barely muffled giggle.
"Haha!" Robert cackled as he placed Ragnar on the long, rectangular and wooden counter and stood in a way that his body was still touching him, to avoid him from falling down. "I suppose our son is going to be like my old man when he grows up. All grumpy and uptight!"
A slight grin graced Hannah's thin lips as she looked up at him, her hand still chopping the giant carrots and turnips. "You mean like the way you were before I knocked some sense into you?"
Robert chuckled and then looked out of the window right in front of Hannah as his voice echoed off the stone walls of their kitchen and mingled with the crackling fire in the hearth. "Touché, my love. But look at him, Hannah. He's got that look in his eyes, just like my old man's. That fierce determination against being anything but fun!"
Hannah plunged the knife's handle into Robert's arm. "Don't be like that to your son."
She reprimanded before looking at Ragnar, his clear red eyes mirroring her own. Ragnar was sitting with his eyes fixed on her and his hands on the cold counter between his legs, ready to perform a crawl-dash. "He is much livelier than him!"
As if on cue, Ragnar performed a daring manoeuvre and tilted to the side of his father's body, hurtling himself down towards the ground.
'Hah! I have been waiting for this moment for 7 baby years!'
Crushing his plan, Robert—without batting an eye —crouched down slightly and then suddenly Ragnar was back in his arms.
'What the sigma…? Oh…! Well…fuck me!' Caught in the act, Ragnar's little, chubby body wriggled.
'How would a baby react? Should I laugh? Cry? Oh wait! I should totally shit my pants!'
After a few seconds of 'serious' introspection, he gave up on the 'instantaneous defecation' and instead gave out a nervous chuckle, giggling like a baby he physically was to somehow mitigate the situation.
Hannah shook her head, her eyes softening as she watched them and pointed at Ragnar with her knife's tip. "See? Lively and full of surprises. He's going to keep us on our toes."
Robert smiled, lifting Ragnar and holding him close. "That he will. And I wouldn't have it any other way."
'Bruh- you want your baby to kill himself?' Ragnar looked at Robert with a deadpan look.
However, there was something else that bothered Ragnar.
'That aside, how the hell did he catch me? Wait, he didn't even catch me. It was like I was never falling!'
His monologue was interrupted as Hannah returned to her chopping, the sound of knife's edge against stone loud and echo-y.
With Ragnar still in his arms, Robert's towering stature leaned down as he kissed Hannah's neck. She tilted her head to the side, feeling ticklish and let out a girlish giggle.
'Oh, please! Not more salt to my wounds!'
Pressing his face into Robert's chest, he averted his gaze, ignoring the wet sounds that came afterwards. After a while, Robert turned around before casting a fleeting gaze at the world outside from the window.
"Oh yeah, Hannah?"
"Yes?"
"I am taking Ragnar out. I think the weather isn't that cold today."
Hannah hummed in response.
"Make sure to cover him in a duffle." She called out as Robert took Ragnar to his little room to change him into appropriate clothes for the venture outside.
Ragnar Valknarr2 POV:
Through the cacophony of indistinguishable sounds, I couldn't separate one noise from another.
The gossip mingled with the vendor's calls, merging with the bleats of goats and the pained brays of donkeys tied to the barn.
The stubborn neighing of a horse refusing its harness mixed with the sharp crack of a whip striking metal.
It was chaotic...and super-duper cool! Not to mention, bloody cold as well, but those things hardly matter.
Although I had guessed it when I was less than a month old, seeing it with my own eyes instead of relying on the conversations between the couple who birthed me was a revelation and a half. It was so atrociously beautiful that such a place, merely existing, should be illegal.
Although I can mostly understand the language here by now—because ancient Norse still resembles many languages spoken in Scandinavia—I can't read anything. But I didn't need reading skills to understand what was written on the board that came after around 2 baby kilometres after exiting our house.
This village was called Drakensfjord and this was the first time that my infant eyes were taking in—a portion of—this world for the first time.
It was nestled in the embrace of multiple mountains whose tips were curved inwards, making it look like this place was situated in the middle of several giant hands of dragons.
Because our house was situated just outside the village, along the edge of the cliff, I was able to see the serene lake that shimmered like a sheet of polished glass at the very end of the boundary of the village.
Unlike our stone house, most of the houses inside the village were constructed from timber; their walls darkened by years of exposure to the harsh elements; rain and snow.
The makeshift doors—most of them—bore intricate carvings of mythical beasts—dragons, wolves, and ravens—etched into the beams and door frames. The roofs were thatched with golden straw, tied tightly to keep out the chill of the northern winds.
Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys of the stone houses that were situated on irregular intervals, located more in the middle of the village rather than the edges. A comforting aroma of burning wood and half-finished stews slightly filled the chilly air.
I yawned and blinked at my dad. He was quite a tall man with light-orange coloured hair and a pair of black eyes. Well, not exactly black. If you looked in bright sunlight, you'd notice that they were brown. But eh, doesn't matter, does it?
"Good morning, Robert!" A voice called out from somewhere as Rob came to a sudden halt, the heel of his boot causing the remnants of the mostly swept snow to let out a crunching noise.
Still cradling me in a 'hip hold cradle' – which, must I mention, is very uncomfortable because a dude is constantly grabbing me by the butt, be it in a fatherly way or not – Robert turned his head around. At the same time, the corner of his eyes crinkled up as he beamed.
"Anders!" His voice was heavy but inviting, as if he was seeing a friend after a long time.
The wind blew and Robert's small bleached-orange coloured tail waved with it.
I looked at him and then followed his line of sight.
From the distance, I could see a man walking, no- jogging towards him. The man seemed even taller than Robert and his bleached golden hair were also tied back in a small, tight ponytail. However, unlike Robert's, he had a deep fade from the sides and the back.
He looked exactly like how you'd expect a typical Viking to look; blonde hair, blue eyes, a scar over his cheek, long beard and moustache and a look in his eyes which screams 'I can eat the baby in your arms in one bite!'
Except for one thing. The tattoos. Not because Vikings didn't have them; no, it was because how weird they were. There was one tattoo along his neck and then an even smaller one on his hand, however, both of them seemed…very alive. As if they were breathing.
You know like how you look at the settings app on your phone long enough that it starts turning. Maybe it was something like that. But even after I averted my gaze from his progressively closing figure and then looked back at him, they still seemed to pulse with life.
As he approached Robert, he extended his arms to the side and roughly hugged him, which Robert reciprocated with a tight bear-hug of his own.
Excuse me! There is a baby on board! Have some shame! I demand my private space!
*cough*
Who knew you could get a sore throat in your thoughts…! Damn this infantile body!
"Long time no see, my friend!" Anders spoke up, disregarding the fact that his 'nigh screaming' can shatter my tiny eardrums. His dark blue eyes flicked towards me. "Aha! This must be your son, Ragnar!"
He pinched my cheek and pulled it; very roughly, might I add, before leaving it and doing it again. Finally, he ruffled the few strands of hair I had managed to grow with his burly, rough fingers before holding my tiny head with both hands.
"What a fierce boy you have!" He thumped Robert's side. "I can already see the desire to lift an axe in him!"
As if he had remembered something, he shrugged his shoulders. "Or a sword, doesn't matter! You can already tell, he's a child of the north alright!"
Robert seemed to appear somewhat crestfallen and then immediately shook his head to get rid of whatever he was thinking about. "He is, indeed." He turned his head towards me and slightly touched his lips on my forehead.
"A child of the north."
Woah. Talk about having a penchant for exaggeration.
"Alright, Rob, I will go about my work. Got loads of shipment coming this evening, hopefully. The storms in the Njord's Gulf are as much a pain in the ass as they were since the day I opened my eyes."
Anders clicked his tongue and was about to leave when he suddenly stopped, took a step back and made a face like he had just remembered something important. "Would you be attending the Sumbl tonight?"
Sumbl. It was a gathering that was observed by the middle or end of every month where the men gathered in the biggest pub of Drakensfjord and would boast their accomplishments, make bets on various things, play games and most of all…consume alcohol!
The northern blood in my veins demand booze!
Achoo!
Damn this cold.
Robert looked down at me and made a conflicted face. "I am sorry but I think I will have to pass this time."
He made a face full of regret. "As you can see, Ragnar isn't very healthy. And recently he's had a rough streak with sore throat and flu. So, I have to stay home, you know, with Ragnar and ehmm- Hannah, I have to help her."
Like a cannonball firing, Anders burst into laughter as he slapped Robert's shoulder. "Mention not, my dear friend. I would have not attended if I was in your boots as well!"
Woah, woah, little man. What do you mean by that, huh?
Bringing his hand back, he shook hands with Robert. The handshake was a little different because unlike the usual one where you grip each other's hand, they shook each other's arms.
How masculine!
"Far vel."
"Far vel."
The two of them bid goodbyes to each other as Robert started to adjust his hold over my hip and press me against himself. He raised the furry flap of his overcoat and pushed me inside it, adding another layer of warmth to me.
Ahhh~
We had only taken two steps when suddenly Anders called out again. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot."
This guy…
"The chief was talking about deciding a new age limit for children for their 'Rune Praxis.' Apparently, it's getting reduced to around 12 years of age." He spoke and despite I did not turn around to look at Robert, I could feel him shaking.
"Also, it's been made mandatory." Anders finished. Pressing his finger into his temple, he tried to recall something but then gave up on it.
"Well, yeah, that's all I know. I'd advise attending it." Saying that he waved his hand and took off.
I looked back to see Robert's eyes carrying a dark look and a few streaks of light were puncturing through his shoulder. He turned back and started walking away from the main bazaar that we were moments away from exploring.
Noooooooo~
I tried to cry and wail, to somehow make him take me back to the marketplace, however; he simply placed his hand on my head.
"Another day, my son. Another day."
The seriousness in his voice made me immediately let go of my stubbornness as a new curiosity took birth into my mind.
What is this Rune Praxis? And why does making it mandatory have such a deep effect on Robert?
I need to know!
*****
1. Fjords: a long, narrow, deep inlet of the sea between high cliffs, as in Norway, typically formed by submergence of a glaciated valley.
2. Valknarr: Old Norse for "valiant" combined with "knarr" meaning ship or tool.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
Reprobate
Reprobate This might feel like a little empty chapter, but it has a few significances. I hope you like it and I will release the next chapter next week. Or rather try to.
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