Hi guys!
A reader texted me after I posted chapter 42, and she told me that in Russia, you also have a history of the battle cry "hurra." There it is required to use in certain situations during war, and is also commonly used during parades, fireworks, or as an exclamation of joy like in English. Are there more of you out there with some information regarding "hurra"?
It could be interesting to know where it actually comes from, be it from the Vikings or the Russians. I have a theory that the Vikings might have picked it up when raiding the lands to the East, but it could also have been brought there by them. "Only the gods know" right? ;)
There is a short video on You Tube, where Norwegian soldiers use it before going into battle: *** /watch?v=NYy7a8Fhb1w They are saying: "To Valhalla - HURRA!"
I hope you enjoy my 43rd chapter (how did I ever end up with such a long story? :D)
Frida woke up with a strange sensation filling her body. She kept her eyes closed, as she could feel the rays of the sun beating down over her eyelids like burning embers, causing her to smile widely into the furs that covered her bed.
She could smell him. His calm, his strength, his love, lingering heavy in the room, making her drowsy all over.
It had to be early, she thought to herself as she listened to the sounds of the village. Inaudible chattering sounded from the long-hall, probably the servants already up and doing the preparations for the coming day, while the bellowing of a rooster sounded from outside somewhere, informing the villagers of the day that was rising with the glowing summer sun.
Frida sighed out in affection and scooted herself closer to the man that was sleeping soundly next to her. Or, at least, she thought that he was sleeping.
"Morning," his raspy voice sounded into her ear, revealing the exhaustion that had finally reached him after the many months of traveling.
Frida turned her head to see his blue crystals shining over her, and she immediately felt her heartbeat deepening.
"Good morning, husband," she smiled as Ragnar reached his hand up to stroke some her hair behind her ear, his movements slow and gentle as she whispered: "Happy midsummer."
Ragnar cocked an eyebrow at her, still stroking her hair gently. "I cannot believe you are already better at remembering our festive days than me," he said in a chuckle, his breath warm and calm over her face.
A loud sighing was heard from below their bed, and they both peeped their eyes over the furs to see Freke glaring at them from the edge of their bed, sleep thick in his eyes and a hint of irritation shining from them.
Frida giggled. "Sorry, boy. Did we wake you up?"
The wolf made a snorting sound through his nose before he rose to his feet, soon stalking off towards one of the corners of the room, his eyes turning to stare at Ragnar.
Frida's giggle turned into a laugh.
"Someone's not happy that I am back, huh?" Ragnar mused, before he let his hand travel under their covers to stroke her stomach.
Frida closed her eyes for a quick moment, rejoicing the feeling of her husband's touch on her belly. "I am," she whispered.
Just as the words had left her lips, she felt Ragnar's air changing slightly, and she quickly opened her eyes to look at him. Concern was obvious in his eyes, even as he tried to avoid her stare by fiddling his fingers through the fur that covered his body. She reached her hand up to cup his face, turning his eyes back to hers while looking at him questioningly.
He kept his eyes on her for a short moment before he let them fall, sighing out with a surrendering breath. "I heard that you had visitors coming here, while we were away?" he voiced, his eyes still not locking with hers.
Frida felt her heartbeat fastening and her breath getting caught in her throat, surprised by the sudden change of the conversation. Images of the young children that had come by several weeks ago flew past her eyes, and she felt like the innocent yet overly knowing light that shone from their grey eyes earned her to feel uncertain and ignorant all over again as she lay there.
She wondered who had told him.
"Did you go to the Seer?" Ragnar asked before she could find an answer, and she tilted her head at him slightly.
"Uh, yes…" she answered, confusion obvious in her voice.
She had wondered how to address him with this ever since he had come home, and here he was, literally asking her as if he knew what had happened already.
Ragnar curled his lips at her. "And what did he say?"
A shiver ran over her skin as she recalled the creepy voice of the ancient one, the rattling of bones sounding in her ear as she remembered how he had talked about following the raven. Her words were shortened and quick, as she said: "He told me a story."
The words lingered heavy between them for a while, strange and unfold, while the rhythm of horse hooves drumming over gravel passed them from outside of the longhouse.
"A story of the gods?" Ragnar breathed, causing Frida to look at him with a feeling that he already knew the answer to his own question.
She nodded slowly, calculatingly, as she tried to make out the strangeness that had clouded over his air.
"Yes, how Thor and Loki rested themselves at a farmer's house here in Midgård."
She felt Ragnar's eyes piercing her.
He knew what she was about to say.
"So the gods sent the children to tell me that I should go with you to England?" Her words sounded harder than she had intended them to, but she was frustrated that she did not understand he gods as well as Ragnar.
She saw him widening his eyes, probably also a little surprised over her sudden irritated appeal. She sighed out.
"Well," Ragnar rasped, "I certainly believe so. But what do you think, love?"
A knock was heard on the door, startling both Frida and Ragnar, earning them to shoot their eyes in its direction.
"We'll be out in a moment!" Ragnar growled at the door, straightening himself up on the bed.
Frida kept staring at the door, as her thoughts battered around inside of her head. She did not quite know how to put her words, how to form them into the exact meaning that she wanted. "Ragnar, wait…" she started, reaching her hand up to grab his as he was making his way out of the bed.
His eyes were tired, dark circles blossoming beneath his blue crystals. Her heartbeat was steady, her blood calm all of a sudden.
"You know," she breathed, "that we can choose not to follow the path they have laid out before us, right?"
She watched him furrowing his brows at her, his eyes twitching slightly.
She continued: "You know that I do not have to go with you, if we choose not to listen to them."
His shoulders fell slightly as he took her words in. Frida stared at him in silence, waiting for whatever would be his answer. He rolled his head over his shoulders, closing his eyes hard.
"But, what if I need you?" Ragnar breathed almost inaudibly.
Frida felt a smile creeping over her lips, even while Ragnar frowned at her. She could feel his frustration beaming off his body like the moonlight reflecting itself in still waters during the night. She knew his pain.
"Then, listen to them. Accept your fate. And I will accept mine."
Ragnar rose to his feet, ripping his hand out of hers, before trotting angrily over to pick up his shirt from the floor.
"You don't know what you are saying," he seethed through his teeth as he pulled his shirt over his head in big movements, anger obvious in all his motion.
But as Frida lay there, she came to feel that she actually did know what she was saying.
"I will go with you anywhere, Ragnar," she whispered, feeling her blood pump fast in her veins, "Even if the raven falls."
Ragnar froze on his feet, his eyes falling over her, piercing her as he stood there. And with those words, the door was opened, ending their conversation with Ragnar's sons entering the room nosily.
While Ragnar spent midsummer's day surrounded by his family, smiling at the sons he had missed for so long, Frida could feel that her words still lingered on his skin, reminded him of future sorrows.
However, Frida tried to leave it behind her for now. She participated in many of the rituals that the village was to perform on the day of solstice. She gathered morning dew into small jars, she collected bog myrtle and birch, and she hung rods and brushwood over the entrance of the longhouse together with the other villagers.
And when the sun was finally setting, she stood hand in hand with Ragnar's children as they all admired the grand fire that had been lit on the beach as to celebrate the day of the long sun.
She could not help but to smile when Ragnar stepped forward to speak on behalf of the men that he had gone raiding with, telling the story of their journey to the English shores, finally recognizing his usual fired spirit. But her eyes widened when Ragnar turned to her and held out his hand for her to grab.
"Some of you may already know this, but, when we were away, Tjalfe and Røskva payed my wife a small visit."
Frida stumbled forward with big eyes as he pulled her closer to the fire, and she felt all the villagers eyes turn to her, a slow and silent mumbling spreading around them.
Where was he going with this?
"They wanted," Ragnar voiced proudly over the crowd of Northerners surrounding them, "to hear her sing."
Heat flushed Frida's face when she realized what Ragnar was up to, and she started pulling her hand back from his but without luck. Ragnar held on to her tightly.
"If the gods are so interested in hearing our queen's singing that they sent Tjalfe and his sister, why not let her sing here, now, as we know they are surely listening?"
Frida felt her heart drumming heavily inside her chest as Ragnar curled his lips smugly at her before stepping back into the circle of people, and she heard the villagers cheer for her. She could not help but to laugh out nervously as they urged her to perform in front of them and the gods, and she twitched her hands as she stood there, feeling the warmth of the fire calming her slowly.
She noticed Floki eyeing her intently, his lips formed into a straight line as he glared at her with narrowed eyes between the other villagers. And Frida kept her eyes locked with his as she opened her mouth and started singing, the tones of her voice echoing in circles over the beach:
"We love our land,
but at midsummer the most,
when every cloud over the field sends benisons,
when there great flowers are,
and when the cattle in the bucket
gives abundant gifts to busy hands;
when we're not plowing and harrowing and rolling
when the cow in the clover fields is munching:
then, our youth takes up the dancing
as the foal and the lamb romp about in the meadow."
"We love our land,
and with the sword in hand
every foreign enemy shall prepare for our coming
but against the spirit of strive
over field, under the sands of the beach
we will lit the fire on our fathers' mounds:
every village has their witch, and every parish their trolls,
with bonfires we hold them away,
we will that peace prevails,
it is gained where hearts never turn cold in uncertainty."
"We love our land,
and we greet the king
who chose the right princess,
in his longhouse
every woman and every man can
find an example of life and love!
Let time age, let colors fade,
a memory we will draw in our hearts:
from the North rich in legends
a glory radiates over the world
It is the reflecting glare of the enchanting meadows of the wondrous land!"
If you're interested in listening to the song, go to You Tube: *** /watch?v=LHTdo1Q6eWU
It is an old Danish folk song, which is typically sung on the day of midsummer (solstice). We call this day "Sankt Hans" (Saint Hans - which is actually a name for John the Baptist, I don't know why we felt the need to translate his name like that), but it is a holiday that goes all the way back to before the Vikings, even. This was a very sacred and celebrated day in the Viking Age, where people thought both water and herbs to have extraordinary healing powers. But other kinds of magic was also thought to be amplified during this day, and to prevent trolls and witches to come to your village, you made big bonfires and waved around with sticks on fire over the fields.
When we became Christians, we also turned the day into a celebration of the birth of John the Baptist. But the Church actually wanted to banish the holiday, because it was "superstitious and Pagan," however, they were obviously not prevalent ;)
Nowadays, we gather around a big fire and "burn the witch." The witch is a sort of scarecrow that we put in the middle of the fire, and we fill her with whistlers to make it sound like she is screaming (we actually call whistlers "witch-screams"). When burning the witch, ther is a saying that she flies to Blokbjerg, which is a mountain located in the German forest Harzen.
We usually sing, drink and make twistbreads over the fire. It is always a nice time where the family gets together, and we love this holiday very much in Denmark, probably because it is a summer tradition where the weather (usually) is good.