Wandering Through Rus Village

Noren wandered through the village instead of returning home to face her complaining brother. The blacksmith’s workshop she had just left was close to the clustered village houses, located on a slope to the east, while her own blacksmith’s hut was at the northernmost end of the village, where the terrain was high and relatively flat, suitable for building.

The village was surrounded by radiating fallow fields and cultivated lands, divided into long strips by stacked stone piles. Beyond the fields lay the vast, endless forest. The village was situated by the river, where the Odra River, flowing from the Oder Mountains, split into two branches: the northern tributary, the Opava River, and the southern main channel, connecting Opava and Hradec respectively.

The only major settlements near Noren were Hradec and Opava. On a clear day, one could reach the city of Hradec by walking swiftly along the river for a day, while the journey to Opava on the other side of the river was farther, possibly taking a day and a half or even two, though horseback riding would be different.

Unlike the agricultural slaves tied to the land, Noren’s family had to periodically travel to Opava and Hradec to purchase charcoal, lime, and iron ore for their smelting. Although a neighboring village also had a charcoal burner, they preferred to buy everything in Hradec, perhaps because it was on the way. The leather workers outside Hradec referred to Noren and her family as “gentlemen” and “lord of Rus Village,” while the guards in Opava liked to call them “northerners” or other mocking names. However, Noren was relatively slow to pick up on these nuances.

She had left behind her childhood confusion at the age of four, and over the twelve years since then, she had mastered both Norse and Slavic languages. Rus Village was poor, like most medieval villages, where people toiled in the forest and fields, managing to scrape by with a good harvest. Simple thatched huts and the random mix of human and animal waste were the norm in Rus Village.

Noren found the sight of it triggering her obsessive-compulsive tendencies, and she desperately needed a clean space. She left the settlement and circled around the wheat fields, crouching by the river to gather her skirt and avoid the wet soil and mud at the hem of her shoes.

The river water was fairly clean, transparent with a slight green tint, containing submerged branches and floating leaves, and occasionally glimpsing small fish swimming by. The journey from the upstream village to Rus Village took about half a day, so most of the pollutants would have settled to the bottom by then. The upstream tanners had also been decapitated by the blacksmiths.

Noren looked at her reflection in the river, pushing back her golden hair, and her reflection clumsily mimicked the motion. She couldn’t help but let out a scoff.

“After taking a punch from the Pillar, my tools were confiscated, and I was sent to this hellish place.”

“Entertainment is only on bath days, hiding in the bathtub to practice flower-flicking.”

“A beautiful woman, thank goodness for a father with strong martial arts, or I wouldn’t dare imagine how many river dam games I’d have to endure!”

Noren muttered to herself, and the woman in the water silently gazed back at her. The pitying look in the woman’s eyes stung Noren, who grew angry and threw a clump of mud into the water, causing ripples to spread across the surface, distorting and then disappearing.

After washing her hands in the water and drying them on her backside, Noren stood up, hearing someone call her name. In the distance, a girl was jumping and waving her arms, her long golden hair making Noren’s eyes hurt. The girl rushed into Noren’s embrace, pressing her face against her chest, making her feel slightly suffocated.

“Noren sister!” The girl’s voice was like a chick’s first chirp.

“Frey, let go!” Noren twisted the girl’s head away but feared hurting her, giving up and receiving another headbutt that sent waves over her chest.

Frey was the daughter of the woodworker. The woodworker’s family consisted of three people: the father Tolruk, the brother Tolke, and the girl Frey. The woodworker earned a living by partnering with the blacksmith, making at least a hundred denars a year. Noren’s shield was made from wood provided by the woodworker.

“Sister, don’t go hunting wild boars again, or you might get caught this time!” Frey bumped her head against Noren’s, their heads about the same size.

“With Father around, even if we get caught, it’s no big deal.” Noren ruffled Frey’s hair, telling her not to hug so tightly. At worst, they might just chop off a hand, Noren thought to herself.

The girl wriggled, making Noren feel a bit warm, so she gently pulled away the arms wrapped around her waist and pushed Frey away. Noren pinched the girl’s soft cheek, the skin of a twelve-year-old European girl being the smoothest—cool and elastic, almost impossible to tear.

“Where’s your brother?”

“Tolke went to chop wood, and Father wants to clear more land.”

Noren furrowed her brow. “With only two slaves, you won’t have enough people to cultivate the new land.”

Frey absentmindedly played with the calluses on Noren’s hand. “I don’t know. Maybe Father thinks it’s too expensive to buy food…”

Noren didn’t bother guessing what the woodworker was thinking. Following the riverside path, she walked towards their house. The woodworker’s hut was located downstream from the village. Noren and Tolke often poached, and the woodworker also tanned hides, which made living by the river convenient.

The village was relatively small, mostly consisting of fallow or cultivated fields. It was spring, and the agricultural slaves were busy planting barley and oats, occasionally seeing children digging up stones to build fences around the fields.

Walking with a beautiful girl was always pleasant, but suddenly, Frey picked up a stone and threw it at a s*ave who was tilling the soil. The s*ave wore a ragged linen shirt, with his elbows and knees exposed, and his hair clumped in patches. The stone hit the s*ave’s back, and he stopped his work, turning to look. Mud was smeared on his face, mixing with the deep furrows, as if someone had dug holes in his face and piled dirt beside them.

“Sar! Where’s Karl! Who allowed you to till the land alone!” Frey’s voice was sharp, her rapid speech making Noren dizzy.

“Karl was summoned by the lord.” The s*ave cowered, brushing the dirt off his hands, and looked at the ground, glancing at Frey with the corner of his eye.

Sar… was the s*ave who damaged the plow? He used the newly plowed land to loosen the soil with the plow, luckily without serious damage to the tool, or they might have had to buy another s*ave. The plow was a new purchase from Noren’s family, with complex craftsmanship. It was fortunate that this idiot only managed to knock off the plowshare, even though it was repaired, it still affected the autumn plowing.

Noren felt her hand twitch, but she feared she might kill him, so she suppressed the urge.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, they reached the woodworker’s hut. The hut had a wooden roof and mud walls, fifteen feet wide and twice as long, with a smaller hut next to it for the slaves and livestock to live together.

In Noren’s memory, the woodworker Tolruk was quiet and balding, earning the nickname “Baldy” from Frey. It was said that they once served the emperor in the East. But some couldn’t control their lower halves, were punished by the Greeks, and eventually fled to this place.

“Back then, Tolruk could pull out a head along with a sheep’s testicles, but now he’s no different from a woman.” This was the blacksmith’s words.

Today, the woodworker was working, holding a thin tree trunk and peeling the bark with a short-handled axe, like a woman handling a needle and thread.

“Frey!” Tolruk looked up at the girl who had slipped into the house, calling her back. “Tolke’s lunch.”

“Oh, I forgot!” The girl ran back into the house, taking out a wrapped meal, and handed it to Noren.

“Noren sister, please give this to Tolke, I still need to sew that thing.”

Noren’s body was unique, often feeling damp. In Hradec, she had bought some good fabric for Frey to make a few pairs of underwear. She had also consulted Frey, who thought that even a tiger without fur might experience this. Fortunately, Frey was skilled with a needle, or the great tiger might have been suffocated.

Looking up at the sun, Noren wondered if she could make it back before dinner when she heard the woodworker call out to her.

“Little Noren, have you made your choice for your coming-of-age ceremony?”

“…”

“Your father pierced a sword through Yar’s chest, leading us in one great battle after another. What choice will you make?”

Who knew there was PUA in the Middle Ages?

Noren ignored him, walking along the worn path towards the forest.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!…”

The double-headed axe’s blades struck the tree trunk’s notch. When Noren saw Tolke, the young man was felling a spruce tree, accompanied by the sound of the tree snapping and crashing to the ground in front of her, with dust and insects swirling in the air.

Noren counted the stumps on the ground, shaking the cloth bag. “Did you chop all of these yourself?”

Tolke, seeing the delivered lunch, relaxed his grip on the bag, taking out half a loaf of bread and biting into it, sitting on a flattened stump without speaking. His expression was dejected, with a sense of depression.

Noren grew angry at the sight, kicking him to the ground.

“Tolke! They all deserve it. Those who intend to kill shall be killed in return. This is an eye for an eye!”

Tolke’s eyes showed no reaction, like a depressed person with no desire.

Noren stared at the still lifeless boy, and in a fit of anger, picked up the axe, placing the wide blade against his chin. With a slight pressure, she could cut off his head.

Tolke’s pupils contracted, and his dull eyes became clear. He gently moved the axe blade, stood up, and picked up the bread, blowing off the dust.

“I’m not you, Noren. My hands still tremble uncontrollably. Even when chopping wood, swinging the axe, the feeling of slicing flesh comes through the axe, filling my entire body with fear. Valkyrie won’t favor a coward, I…”

Noren’s forehead veins bulged. “Grit your teeth and shut up.”

Huh?

Tolke was sent flying by a force, rolling on the ground twice before hitting a stump. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, he was suddenly pulled up and slapped hard twice. Half his face went numb, and Tolke managed to open his eyes, seeing Noren’s eyebrows furrowed, her white forehead showing faint green veins.

His mouth was forced open, and a finger slid over his teeth.

“That’s good, I don’t want Frey to complain.” Noren muttered softly, turning her head away.

“Listen, Tolruk’s son, Tolke.”

He was pulled close, able to see her long eyelashes and the fine hairs on her face.

“The dead don’t fear. Even the greatest warriors have moments of fear. No one is abandoned for past cowardice. Odin won’t, Valkyrie won’t, and we… we won’t. In short, Tolke, you are brave, not a coward. You fought to the end!”

Tolke tried to say something, his mouth opening and closing weakly.

At that moment, Noren noticed someone standing nearby—another s*ave from the woodworker’s family: Karl.

He spoke humbly, “Miss, the man has woken up. Please come and see him.”

Noren stroked her smooth chin, asking Tolke, “Is this the person we saved before?”

He nodded slightly.

The girl pushed him towards Karl, shouldering the axe.

“Just in time, that sly s*ave— I have a lot of questions for him.”