“This is the boy. An orphan. No better prospects,” the priest explained.

  Ylva regarded him with a sceptical look. To the eleven-year-old boy who had only heard stories of the berserker, she seemed a fearsome creature. “He looks scrawny. Worse, he looks timid.”

  “The bear’s spirit will cure that.”

  “Assuming it’ll take to such a small fellow. I have my doubts.” She looked at the goei. “Besides, he’s too young to go through the awakening.”

  “Nobody will take him in. He might as well get started learning from you.”

  The boy wanted to protest; he was sure that Halvor’s family would let him live with them if only asked. But he felt paralysed from fear while his fate was being decided, so he kept quiet.

  “Fine. What’s your name, boy?”

  “Halfdan.”

  *

  The berserker walked in silence with Sif behind him. If they made haste, they could reach the bear’s den before dark and take the first step towards her awakening. As Halfdan already had his spear with him, there was no need to return to his hut; he set a course straight into the surrounding forest. If the farmers working the fields noticed the burly man with the child following him, they kept any remarks to themselves.

  After a while, once deep inside the woods, Halfdan noticed a strange sound that did not belong to the forest or its creatures. It took him a moment to recognise it as humming. He looked over his shoulder at the girl.

  Interpreting his look as disapproval, she stopped. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “It helps me stay calm.”

  Halfdan shrugged, looking ahead again. “I don’t care.” Until they came close to their quarry, silence was not necessary.

  Regardless of approval, Sif did not resume her humming. “Your name is Halfdan, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Halfdan disliked idle questions like that, but he assumed she talked to ease her nerves and so decided to play along. “I was born in the northern realm to a woman there, but my father is from here. So to them, I was half a Dane.”

  “Oh. I don’t know why I’m called Sif. My mum never said.”

  “Your father was devoted to Thor, so he named you after the god’s wife,” Halfdan explained in absent-minded manner.

  “I know her! She has golden hair because Loki once cut off her real hair as a jest,” the girl explained without taking a breath. “Hey, did you know my father?”

  An expression crossed the berserker’s face, though as he walked in front, she could not see. “Be quiet. Don’t alert our prey.”

  *

  “There are several kinds of berserkers,” Ylva explained. She and Halfdan sat around a fire, surrounded by the forest.

  It was full of strange sounds he did not know, unnerving him. If she had noticed, she did not remark upon it.

  “Some are blessed by Odin. Poor bastards, they have to do his bidding. Others are J?tun-blooded. Couldn’t tell you how that happened, but they’re a mean lot. Explosive anger. As quick to kill you as look at you,” she continued. She seemed to relish sharing all her knowledge with an audience that had nowhere else to go. “And those who forsake their oaths, who are thrown out from civilisation, they become outcasts.” Despite the ominous words, she spoke with delight. “They lose the power of speech and thinking. They act only on instinct. Often, as their clothes turn to tatters, they run around covered only in hair that sprouts everywhere on their body. That’s the fate that awaits you, boy, if you don’t pay attention.”

  *

  Halfdan had encountered the bear they currently hunted years back. They had stared at each other for a moment before the thick-fur had trotted onwards. Neither was a threat to the other, and if not for Halfdan’s present assignment, they might have continued to avoid each other for many more years.

  Being a berserker, and given how he had received that gift, Halfdan even felt a kinship with the old beast; he would have preferred to let it live, causing no harm to him anyway. But for berserkers to be born, bears had to die. It was also the essence of how their gift worked; berserkers kept what they killed, and only through killing did they grow stronger.

  Despite Halfdan’s intentions, night fell before they had reached the bear’s den; perhaps he had unconsciously slowed his pace, given that he had someone with short legs following him. Regardless, they would have to stay the night in the forest. “Collect firewood for us,” he told Sif; while she was thus occupied, he made a simple shelter that would keep the worst of the elements at bay. This deep in summer, the weather was mild; Halfdan did not require a fire or shelter. But the child had no coat or cloak on, and she looked thin.

  “Why are we hunting a bear?” Sif looked at him from across the fire with curious eyes.

  Halfdan frowned, wondering how to best explain. Unlike her earlier question, this was pertinent knowledge she needed if one day she was to have her own apprentice. “At midsummer, you’ll go through your awakening. Receive your gift.”

  She nodded eagerly. All children longed for that day, even those who would simply awaken as a [Farmer], which most did; if nothing else, it heralded their entrance to adulthood.

  “Different things determine what your gift is. For most, it’s natural. You spend your childhood in the fields, you become a farmer,” Halfdan explained. “Some beg the gods for their blessings, becoming their servants. And with some… we help it along.”

  “Like berserkers?”

  He nodded. “We are warriors of the bear. To summon its gift, we eat the heart of one. And if worthy, we will receive its gift when we awaken.”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “If we’re not worthy?”

  The berserker shrugged. “Enjoy farming.”

  The girl looked at him with worry. “Will I be worthy?”

  “Only the gods know.” Looking at her little concerned face, Halfdan had his doubts. Then again, he had been no different. Nor had he received a choice. Ylva had done as the goei commanded. And while she had trained Halfdan well, he wondered if it was right.

  As much as this had been thrust upon him, he saw the appeal of an apprentice. The pleasure in sharing all the knowledge he had accumulated; having the company of someone who understood his situation and shared his hardships; who would not shun him for his gift.

  But what was right for him was not necessarily right for her. “Sif,” he spoke, “do you understand what it means to be a berserker?”

  “Yes. I’ve heard lots of stories. You fight without fear,” she said, almost rambling. “You’re stronger than all other warriors.”

  “Except other berserkers,” Halfdan snorted. “And that’s true. But it’s not all. Our gift is different from all others.”

  “How so?”

  “Others increase their gift through peaceful means. But berserkers, we keep what we kill,” Halfdan said, repeating the phrase that Ylva so often had told him. “We grow stronger only when we take someone’s life. That makes ordinary people nervous.”

  “But you only kill bad people.”

  “That’s the other part. Once the rage is unleashed… we don’t know friend from foe. We fight until there’s nobody left to fight. And some berserkers are so very quick to anger, child. Nobody wants to live next door to a man – or woman – who’ll fly into a rage and kill you because you said an unkind word.”

  “Perhaps they should be careful of what they say.”

  She still did not understand. Halfdan took no pleasure in revealing this, but he could not train her as an apprentice while hiding such crucial knowledge. “Do you know how your father died?”

  The question shook her; where before she had been animated, she became still. “Bandits, mum said.”

  The berserker stretched his neck. “That’s not the whole story.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  The request was unnecessary; Halfdan had already begun. “It was shortly after your birth. Ylva, my predecessor, had died not long ago. A band of brigands came, yes. The task fell to me to fend them off.” His voice faltered, unsure how to continue. “Halvor – your father – he was my friend growing up. After my awakening, my only friend. The fool took a spear and went with me to fight them.”

  “He’s not a fool then, he was brave!” Sif exclaimed, defending her dead father’s honour.

  “The result was the same. As the fight began, the rage came over me. I don’t recall those moments. I only know that when I came to, all others were dead. Including Halvor. And the wounds on his body…” Halfdan exhaled. “They belonged to an axe.”

  “Is that why you leave gifts outside our house?”

  “Hm?” Not the immediate question or reaction Halfdan had expected. Then again, she had never known her father. “Ah, yes.” Perhaps some of those presents had reached the intended recipient after all. “That’s not the point. Do you realise why the priest chooses orphans to become berserkers? Because nobody in town will miss us. They need us, but they don’t want us around. And your father’s death is an example why.”

  The girl looked like she wanted to reply, but no words left her open mouth.

  Eventually, Halfdan lay down and turned his back to the fire and her. “Sleep.”

  *

  Ylva thrust her spear deep into the bear’s eye, the accuracy a testament to her [Wielder of Weapons]. It died at once, without further pain or misery. Deftly, her knife cut through the fur and skin to open a vein. “Drink its blood,” she commanded. “It will give you courage. Gods know you need it.”

  Probably true, given that Halfdan dared not refuse, however much he found the thought disgusting. He cupped his hands to gather some of the bear’s blood and drink it. He found the taste revolting, and he felt no change come over him.

  Ylva wore an overbearing smile. “Get used to it, boy. Won’t be the last time you taste blood.” She began carving out the heart. “Fetch firewood. You’re lucky that the heart doesn’t need to be raw.”

  *

  They reached the den before noon the next day. Home to a male bear; Halfdan had no intention of depriving cubs of their mother.

  Assuming it was presently in the cave, Halfdan did not intend either to sit around and wait for it to emerge; he would have to venture inside. Less than ideal, but an ordinary bear should not present any real danger to a berserker of his experience.

  He turned to Sif, standing behind him. “Once I go inside, you stay out of sight. You don’t want to be anywhere near me if I’m enraged. Only come back when you hear me call your name. You understand?”

  She nodded. “You’re not afraid? To go into the cave and fight?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing in there to threaten me.”

  “Will I be like that? Never scared?”

  “You will,” Halfdan assured her.

  That should have ended the conversation, but the hesitation in her voice, the uncertainty on her face – nobody had asked any questions of an eleven-year-old boy brought to a bear’s den so long ago. Halfdan could not remedy the past, but he could do differently now. And perhaps he owed it to Halvor; another person it was too late to help.

  But not too late for his daughter. And so Halfdan asked the twelve-year-old girl, “Do you have doubts?”

  Biting her lip, she took a moment to answer. “I don’t want to be afraid. Of what happens to me, or what tomorrow will be like.”

  Halfdan stared at her, no doubt making her uncomfortable; at length, he decided to pose what he knew to be a fateful question. “And what is it you do want?”

  “I like stories, and to sing.” Her eyes became bright. “A skáld visited some years ago. I made him tell me all the stories he knew, and I memorised as much as I could.” She looked at him with frail hope. “Is that something I could be?”

  Taking a deep breath, Halfdan considered the different ways this could play out and finally replied, “To become a skáld, you’d need to find a master to teach you. Unlikely to find one here. You’d have to go to a city.” He cleared his throat. “Like Odinsvi.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Two weeks’ journey.” His decision made, the berserker let out his breath. “I’ll take you.”

  *

  They spent the day going back, reaching Halfdan’s hut. Besides picking up provisions, he wrapped his cord of hacksilver around his arm underneath the sleeve; lastly, he exchanged the spear for his two-handed axe. “Why the one weapon over the other?” Sif asked.

  “The spear is for animals. The axe is for Men. Carry this.” He threw a blanket around her to act as a cloak.

  Halfdan imagined that the goei had intended to awaken Sif himself, which meant he expected Halfdan to leave her behind. But he had not expressed this explicitly, and Halfdan could argue that he had taken his would-be apprentice with him on the road to begin her training. They would reach Odinsvi around midsummer’s time; the berserker would simply tell the old priest that another goei had awakened her gift, but she had failed to earn the berserker’s mark, instead becoming a skáld, and he had found her a master, thus returning alone. Close enough to the truth, and no need to admit this had been the plan from the start.

  Halfdan looked at Sif. “Ready?”

  She smiled. “Ready.”

  “Let’s go.” Turning south, they began their journey.