The Weight of a Name

It was midnight.

The air, no longer as scorching as during the day, carried the cool embrace of a Moravian summer night.

Svein poked the charcoal in the brazier with a wooden stick, coaxing the embers to burn brighter, before removing his shoes, socks, and outer garments, preparing for sleep.

“Tap, tap.” A soft knock sounded from outside the bedroom door. The next moment, someone pushed the door open, an oil lamp held aloft.

“Father.” The newcomer was a tall, blonde girl, her hips wider than her shoulders, her golden hair gathered into a single braid resting over her left shoulder.

“Hm?”

Svein felt a flicker of surprise. In the flickering light of the oil lamp, he saw his daughter’s face, as beautiful as his late wife’s.

His daughter seemed hesitant, her lips parting several times before she bit them, swallowing back the words she wished to speak.

“Noren, what is it?” Svein massaged his stiff feet, warming them by the brazier. His gaze was fixed on the graying charcoal within, the orange glow illuminating the age spots on his face.

His daughter finally steeled herself. Her eyes, resolute, met his. “Father, what is ‘pureblood’?”

Svein’s body stiffened.

‘Pureblood’—what a familiar term.

Svein had believed he would never hear that word again in his lifetime. Yet, thirteen years after his wife’s passing, he heard this sacred, yet wicked, word once more, and from the lips of his most cherished heir.

“Noren, now is not—”

“Father, don’t you dare try to put me off with ‘now isn’t the time, I’ll tell you when the moment is right’ again.” His daughter stared at him, her determination fiercer than ever before.

Svein fell silent. The rugged Germanic man retreated into the depths of his thick beard, endlessly warming and flipping his hands over the brazier until they glowed crimson.

“Those two ‘wizards’ you brought back told you, didn’t they?” Svein burrowed into his bed, wrapping his calloused feet tightly in the thick, fluffy blanket.

“Yes.”

“Then I must kill them.”

“Ah?” His daughter looked bewildered. Her father hadn’t even answered her question, yet he was already threatening murder. Why?

“Once someone learns of the existence of ‘pureblood,’ it’s like blood seeping into the ocean. Countless sharks will be drawn by the scent, and then we’ll have trouble.”

Svein spoke, pointing a thick finger towards the door. “Close the door, stand closer, and speak softer.”

Noren pulled a chair to the bedside and gently snuffed out the oil lamp to avoid the smoke stinging her eyes. “I didn’t tell them I was ‘pureblood’.”

“Good,” Svein nodded. Having a daughter was truly a blessing; women were always more meticulous than men. Noren always kept her wits about her, unlike Frey, that oaf, who was so clumsy he couldn’t even master some advanced blacksmithing techniques.

His father lapsed into silence once more.

Noren fiercely yanked one of his thick, black beard hairs. “Father, tell me! I want to know what ‘pureblood’ is, and how it comes to be!”

The sudden sting of a pulled beard hair made the old man’s eye twitch. He ran his hand through his beard, touching the root, then drew it back to reveal a speck of blood on his fingertip.

“Noren…” Svein shot his daughter an exasperated glance.

Noren raised her fist, threatening him fiercely, like a little girl playfully coaxing her father. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll pluck out all your beard hairs!”

“Alas—” Svein closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Explaining ‘pureblood’ is difficult.”

Noren paid no mind to his difficulty. “One night is certainly enough for you to explain it clearly.”

Svein gazed into the brazier, his eyes piercing through the flames, stirring his memories. “The Saracens say the birth of a pureblood is a sin, that they will suffer in hell for an exceptionally long time. But you needn’t fear; you will ascend to Valhalla, not descend into hell.

The Egyptians, on the other hand, claimed that only pure bloodlines could maintain a dynasty’s prosperity, yet they were ultimately conquered by Rome. In truth, they never bred any purebloods.

Christians, moreover, vehemently denounce the breeding of purebloods. They abhor overly intimate relationships, just as they abhor s*x and love.

Yet, they worship purebloods themselves, seeing them as Adam. For the process of a pureblood’s birth is the reunification of the bloodline split from Adam, forming the very root of existence. Ha, foolish Christians!

Ow! Why did you pull my beard again?!”

Svein squinted in pain, grimacing as he stared at the tuft of black hair pinched between his daughter’s fingertips.

The young woman rolled her eyes. “Father, you know I don’t care about any of that. Saracens, Egyptians, Christians—they have nothing to do with me. You know what I truly want to hear, Father!”

‘It seems those two ‘wizards’ have told Noren quite a lot,’ Svein thought with a silent sigh. His daughter carried the ‘pureblood’ within her; he knew the day of reckoning would come, but he hadn’t expected it so soon.

“Your ‘pureblood’ wasn’t generated in your generation; it came from your mother.”

Svein revealed a partial truth about the ‘pureblood’s’ origin, knowing Noren’s true concern wasn’t the source of the ‘pureblood’ itself, but rather his relationship with his wife. This partial truth could mislead Noren.

Svein indeed succeeded in misleading her. He watched a momentary burst of joy ignite in his daughter’s beautiful eyes, after which her tense expression visibly relaxed.

Noren relaxed, the heavy burden in her heart finally lifted.

‘So, I’m not an incestuous product after all. Those two wizards said pureblood only appears through direct bloodline union. If my pureblood was directly inherited from my mother, then that means… my mother was an incestuous product?’

Her mind raced, a tempest brewing within her. ‘No wonder Svein always said ‘now isn’t the time’ and never let me learn about my mother. So that’s it…’

Noren’s imagination ran wild, completely unaware that Svein, that cunning old fox, had misled her with only a fraction of the truth.

That old bastard Svein! He must have learned all his cunning from the Greeks!

Svein watched his daughter lost in thought, a faint smile playing on his lips. It seemed he had managed to get through this.

“No, that’s not right!” his daughter suddenly cried out, her head snapping up.

Svein’s heart lurched. He darted a furtive glance at the window and door, like a thief. “Quiet, Noren. What isn’t right?”

“Svein, you’ve never once called my mother by her name!” Noren seized his thick beard and yanked it hard, nearly dislocating the old man’s cervical spine.

Noren had, in fact, witnessed her aunt meeting her father in secret at night. Memories from before she was four years old still contained a trace of her mother’s image.

In those pre-four memories, her mother’s figure was shrouded in a strong, holy light, her face indiscernible. Only a cascade of golden hair, an ample bosom, and a childbearing physique with hips wider than her shoulders were visible.

And her aunt? Also blonde, with ample bosom and wide hips, and involved in an illicit relationship with this old bastard! The young woman felt utterly deceived, her silver teeth grinding audibly, her grip on his beard tightening.

“Let… go… please… let… go…” Svein grimaced, a knife wound would hurt less than this beard-pulling. “I’m not lying! I’m not lying!”

“Then why have you never called my mother by her name? Why do you always refer to her as ‘your mother’!” the young woman retorted, her delicate brows furrowed in anger.

“Because I don’t dare!!!”

Svein’s furious roar shattered the tranquility of the night.

“?” The young woman instinctively loosened her grip, stunned by her father’s outburst.

Svein’s normally sallow, aged face was now flushed crimson with rage. His hair stood on end, as if blown by an invisible gale, revealing a mouthful of yellowed teeth, and fierce flames burned in his green pupils!

“Father…”

The young woman finally realized she had gone too far. In medieval society, a father held absolute authority. What was scorned as domestic violence in the twenty-first century was a right every father possessed in the Middle Ages.

Any resistance from children or wives would be considered a crime. Although Svein was incredibly lenient with Noren, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t reprimand or even severely punish her for this.

Svein stared at his daughter, his anger threatening to consume his reason. Yet, it was the warlike spirit within him that burned out first.

He was old; even his rage couldn’t last long.

“Alas—” Svein’s emotions calmed, and he let out his second long sigh of the night.

He lay on his side, his head resting on a down pillow. “I don’t dare speak your mother’s name because I’m afraid. Afraid that if I call her name, she won’t appear beside me.

When you were small, in the first few years after she left, I couldn’t control myself. I would repeat her name hundreds of times each day, and at night, in my dreams, I would talk about the future with her, wrestle, and practice sword fighting.

But upon waking, the large bed was empty, with only me. I angrily threw the other pillow away, but it was no use; she would still appear in my dreams every night.

I grew increasingly decadent. The Norsemen were greatly disappointed in me; they all left for Hradec, and only Tolruk stayed by my side.”

Noren listened to the sorrow in the old man’s voice. She had never imagined that the usually resolute Svein had such a past. She wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. “Father…”

Svein continued, lost in his own narrative. “I thought I would remain in that颓废 state until I died of old age in my bed, then fall into Helheim, until… you had an accident.”

Noren pointed to herself. “Me?”

“You were ten years old when a wild wolf carried you away. Tolruk and I searched the forest but couldn’t find you. The villagers we sent out also fled back, unable to see in the dark.

We searched for three days and three nights, but still couldn’t find you. I was so remorseful then. If I hadn’t been so dejected all day, if I hadn’t been drowning my sorrows in drink day and night, you wouldn’t have been carried off by a wild wolf.” Svein spoke with profound heartache, filled with regret and self-blame.

“Ah, I remember. I was half-asleep when I was carried off. In my dream, I was even flying!” Noren said, seemingly joking lightheartedly.

“Thankfully, you eventually returned. Truly, Odin’s blessing.” Svein let out a sigh of relief.

“Yes… I finally returned,” Noren mused. It had been incredibly dangerous back then. If not for a lone wolf challenging the alpha, she wouldn’t have had a chance to escape.

At ten years old, her strength hadn’t fully developed, and her combat skills were unhoned. Her escape from the wolf den was truly a blessing of fate.

“Since then, I remembered the vow I made to your mother on her deathbed. I promised her I would raise you both into mature warriors. What happened after that, I presume you already know.”

Noren remembered. Ever since her escape from the wolf den, Svein had begun to train her, and her younger brother Frey.

Despite her adult mind, the learning of combat skills was a first for both her and Frey. They were both quite clumsy, two utterly inexperienced novices.

However, after she turned twelve, her body began to develop rapidly. Her strength grew, her appetite increased, she could jump high, run fast, react quickly, and swing with power.

Her younger brother couldn’t compare to her anymore; saying she pinned him to the ground was an understatement for Frey.

Later, Svein shifted his entire focus to her, only teaching Frey some forging techniques.

Noren’s reminiscence concluded, a faint, imperceptible smile gracing her lips.

Svein pulled the covers over his head, his voice muffled. “Noren, I know what you want to know. Those two wizards must have told you a lot, but I only want to tell you one thing.

I love your mother. We did not unite to breed superior offspring. On the contrary, your existence is precisely because we loved each other.”

Noren lowered her gaze, remaining silent. After a long moment, she rose and walked towards the door.

Hidden beneath the covers, Svein heard the creak of the chair as his daughter stood. His expression finally relaxed, and he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Suddenly, a voice came from very close outside the covers, startling the old man into a tremor.

“Father, what was my mother’s name, exactly?”

Though Svein had been playing on emotions, his feelings were genuine, without a hint of falsehood. He truly feared speaking his wife’s name, feared reuniting with her in dreams, and even more, feared waking the next morning to an empty pillow beside him.

But with his daughter’s relentless questioning, he… had to tell her.

“Dís. Her name was Dís.”

“My mother, her name was Dís!” A flicker of realization crossed the young woman’s face. Her memories from before she was four years old suddenly became crystal clear, and her mother’s voice, appearance, and demeanor instantly became vivid.

It was a face seven parts similar to her aunt’s, yet imbued with greater confidence and spirit. She possessed a pair of captivating, commanding phoenix eyes, and her sweeping golden eyebrows exuded such self-assurance. It was as if the entire world lay within her grasp!

“Mother, Dís,” Noren softly murmured, then tiptoed out of the bedroom, gently closing the door.

A minute after the door closed, the covers were abruptly thrown back. The bearded man looked left and right, and upon seeing no one in the bedroom, he sighed.

“Finally gone! I handled it!”

As Svein’s expression relaxed, a bitter smile suddenly touched his lips. “Dís, we’ll meet again soon. I’ve grown old, yet you remain forever young. Just don’t use your powerful wrestling moves on me again…”