THE DEBT

The child was born in Kattegat. His mother only saw him shortly before passing away from the pain of childbirth. Ragnar grew up among his father's other children and with his stepmother Alfhildr.

At his first steps, he already sported a huge bump on his small arched back. He grew quickly and had a small strength greater than that of other children his age. However, he waddled to the side and dragged his left shoulder on which was resting his hump. Even though he was the most helpful and the bravest, ready to climb trees to pick fruit or a little more skillful than his little friends during small hunting trips, his physical appearance got him to be a little put aside and his excessive strength that he did not always control, repeatedly put other children in danger, against his own will. He ran more towards dangers than he fled from them. Children reported how they saw him suffocate a small rabid wolf who preyed on another child. Ironically, his feat became another reason for fear.

In Kattegat, many nicknamed him "the debt", delighting to say to whoever would listen that Ragnar's father probably owed a wish to the gods who made his child bear the weight of his debt and when one did not accuse the father, it was the child who was accused of having taken his mother's life when he came into the world.

Several times, the children who used to meet and play together, pointed out false meeting places to Ragnar so as not to have him in the paws.

Some day, when the teenager Ragnar arrived in the forest at the so—called meeting place, he saw no one. At first he thought that he must have been in the wrong place or that he was probably late. He then began to walk. Again and again. Always further, hoping to hear the cries of play of his companions. He dragged his heavy body to the rivers, to the hills, to the depths of the forests. He walked until he couldn't take it anymore. He turned around and didn't even recognize where he was. He then dropped hard to the floor, sad and irritated, trying to catch his breath. He threw away the little burlap sack he was carrying. Apples rolled from it. He understood that once again they had laughed at him. He stared at the apples and figs he had gone to so much trouble to pick to please his friends and the trouble he had taken to escape the surveillance of Alfhildr, his wicked stepmother who overloaded him with daily chores while her own children played.

So he took a twig, bowed his head and started tracing runes on the ground, singing an unfamiliar melody that still came to his mind:

There is no sun that the moon cannot overcome

The day the debt is paid, tremble Kattegat, tremble

When the iron meets the shield, tremble

When songs grow from blood fed soils, tremble

Whether he has to raze entire villages to write long exploit runes with blood,

A Viking will end up paying his debt

And so Kattegat, tremble, tremble

The Drakkars will tell you to fear his fury

The horses will cry out to you his arrival

As he comes from far away,

Tremble Kattegat, tremble.

As he continued to sing, he could feel the rage that burned his soul. A tear fell from his right eye and fell on the runes. The drop of tear, as animated with life, slipped in the furrows traced by the twig of Ragnar. And each rune lighted up one after the other after the drop of the teardrop had passed on it.

As he stared in astonishment at the spectacle with a frown, an elderly woman's voice snapped him out of his reverie.

— What are you doing on these lands, my boy? Have you lost your way?

Ragnar turned back to where the voice astonished him was coming from. He couldn't respond instantly, still being captivated by the spectacle of the teardrop. He turned his head just for the time of a wink and as soon as he realized she was just an old lady, his eyes instinctively returned to the runes he traced, but they had disappeared as if by magic. Ragnar stood up and hurriedly walked over to meet the old lady.

— Mor, mor, have you seen like me, my runes that were there? he asked eagerly.

— Runes?

— Yes, runes ... I wrote runes on the floor and they have ...

—… been accepted, answered the old lady calmly.

Ragnar stopped and looked at the old lady. She had her back arched, wore a modest cape, tapering in places. Her cape covered her face and he could only see her mouth whose lips seemed to have been blackened. An amulet hung from her neck. She was leaning on a staff she was holding with both hands, and Ragnar soon realized that her hands were shaking. The old woman must have walked for a long time, he told himself.

— Mor, come and sit here. You need rest. I have some water and some fruit, Ragnar said.

— And you, what are you going to eat? replied the old woman.

— No, I'm not hungry.

The old lady followed Ragnar, who led her under an oak tree and offered her the fruits of his burlap sack and the water of his goatskin bottle.

As the old lady ate, she asked him:

— Are you from Kattegat?

— Yes, how do you know?

— I heard you sing and make an offering

— An offering ? asked Ragnar surprised.

— Yes and it was accepted, replied the old lady

Ragnar told himself that she was quite old and that she was probably rambling.

— This is normal, since these are the ripe fruits that I have picked, the boy continued anyway.

— I'm not talking about the fruit. But tell me ! Are you looking for your friends? replied the old woman.

— Yes, if we can call them so. Have you seen them?

— The friends of your fate? Yes, on that side! said the old woman, stretching her arm towards a forest further away. Go find them!

— See you soon, Mor! Ragnar said as he was already trotting to the spot the old lady had pointed out to him.

— See you soon, my boy. Our paths will cross quickly.

Ragnar, wet with sweat, was frolicking happily along the path, through the bushes and shrubs. He kept running until he couldn't take it anymore. Since he had left the old lady, he heard every time in front of him the sound of children playing and the laughter of happy kids. However, the closer he got to it, the more he felt the noise was getting away.

Tired of running, he began to trot, when his foot hit a stone. He sprawled out on the floor, tired, lay on his stomach for a while, then fell asleep.