The Sul longhouse bustles with noise. Chairs drag across the stone floor, goblets of southern wine clink, and hearty laughter fills the air. I sit near the foot of the table by uncle Braniel and Chief Rend of the Yellow Tusk clan. The two men sit side my side discussing their last raid. I try and join in on the conversation when I can, but the food, oh by the great wolf and bear the food. Roasted pig served with some kind of delicious sauce, lamb chops with garlic, exotic fish found off the coast of Sul. Back in my village, food such as this is rare. I’m told much of it won’t survive a full journey from Bladoria to Hafthan, so the people of Sul throw many feasts to honor the raiders. This has made the bear-sisters of Sul excellent cooks, and my mouth waters after each bite.

I scratch at my neck, sweating in the heat. Fires rage in pits along the walls, warding away the night. Most guests of the hall are dressed down, their armor and weapons left in their longships or the store houses of Sul. But I’m dressed in full armor, my sword awkwardly sheathed at my side. Since I will be named warrior, it is customary for the named to dress in their full battle gear for the occasion. But I think Chief Braniel forgot that these naming’s aren’t usually preceded by an entire feast. Trying to sit comfortably in a hard wooden chair while wearing leather and a double thick wool shirt is a feat all on its own.

“And then his head just tumbled right away!” Chief Rend bellows, one hand resting on his large gut.

Uncle Braniel is a big man, but Chief Rend is two heads taller. And wider. His clan live in the hills north of my village and have been long friends of the Sea Claws. Rend and his clan were there when they burned Father’s pyre. He cried, even though they didn’t know each other well. Uncle Braniel says Rend is just passionate about everything, but sitting near him, it looks like food might be his greatest joy.

“Filthy Bladorians,” Braniel says, taking another swig of wine. “They live in pig shit and spend their days toiling away in fields. Fields. Those are for fighting in, not farming.”

“I’m surprised the cowards even know which way to hold their weapons.” Rend laughs.

“Yes, but they still manage to take a few of us down here and there. Wouldn’t be much of a thrill if they didn’t, I suppose.” Braniel lays his goblet down and wipes his grease smeared lips with the back of his hand. “Kasten!”

I perk up as he calls my name, mouth full of pork. “Yesh?”

“I think its about time.” Braniel nods at the hall filled to bursting with the warriors of two clans. Looking out over them, my eyes come to rest on a girl in the back right corner. She wears fur amor and has an axe looped to her belt.

“Who is that?” I ask, sipping on wine to wash down my dinner.

“My niece, Talia” Chief Rend answers. “She wet her axe on the enemy down in Dunsfelt. She’s to be named alongside you.”

I glare at the newcomer, surprised by the flash of heat in my chest. This was supposed to be my night, my moment. And she looks even younger than me, with thin little arms that don’t look fit to swing a weapon, especially the axe she wears.

“Does the Yellow Tusk have many women among their warriors?” I ask. Partially out of genuine curiosity and also out of anger. I don’t remember seeing any female warriors at my father’s pyre, but I wasn’t paying too much attention to the crowd.

“A few,” Rend says with a great grin parting his bushy, blonde beard. “But Talia’s got the wrath of Father Wolf in her. The way she diced up those Bladorian farmers, it was like watching a shark devour a seal.”

Looking at her, I still don’t see how that’s possible. It’s a little hard to tell from here, but she has to be a little over half my height and she probably weighs about half as much too. But Swordfather told me to never underestimate someone. I just wish she picked some other time, some other place, to become a warrior.

Feeling a little sour still, I finish off my plate and lean back, gut filled to bursting. I spot Einer down the table. I haven’t had a chance to slip away and speak to him yet, and his request that I talk with him fills my mind with buzzing questions. I’m also sad to see that Bear-sister Ryka isn’t here. She must still be down the hill tending to Sarl. I’ll have to bring her a plate when this is over.

Suddenly, Chief Braniel shoots to his feet, sloshing goblet in hand. “Noble warriors of Hafthan!” he bellows, the room falling silent in an instant. “We gather not only to feast on our spoils, but to honor a very important guest.” He extends his arm toward me with a showman’s flare, like I’m some horse he’s trying to sell. “My nephew, Kasten!”

Oh, by Father wolf. He’s drunk. I slide down in my chair, overtaken by the urge to melt into the floor and disappear.

“Kasten, the son of Bracken the Hammer, has completed his first raid!”

Cheers erupt and I slowly allow myself to rise. Wolf-brother Galmar and old man Gunnar are in particularly high spirits, hooting and waving their arms in a drunken show of what I think is camaraderie.

But then a part of me sinks. They aren’t cheering for me, not really. They’re cheering for my father and the legacy I now carry on my shoulders. Old doubts creep in, and I do my best to beat them back, but I can’t stop them all. What if I fail on my next raid, end up skewered on some Bladorian’s spear? What of all this then? Or what if I never live up to his name, will all this fire and death have been worth it?

“And, and,” Rend says, his chair screeching as he rises to his feet. “We also gather to honor my niece, the incredible wolf-blessed Talia of the Yellow Tusk!” He raises a fist into the air.

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More cheers, these even louder than the ones I received. Feeling a bit agitated, I glare at the girl, surprised to find she’s already looking at me. With a strange flush of heat on my face I look away, focusing my eyes back on Chief Braniel.

“But we mostly gather to honor young Kasten, who I’m told has already won a duel. Done on the very night of his first raid. How many can say they’ve done the same?” Braniel only half looks at the crowd, most of his attention focused on Chief Rend.

“Well, duels are a fine show of skill, but,” Rend waves for his niece to come to his side. “This girl single handedly cleared an entire farmstead. All on her own she cut through a whole gang of Bladorian’s desperate to keep their fields from burning.

“Ah yes, farmers. Those notoriously skilled and terrifying Bladorians. Truly their most elite fighters.” Uncle Braniel draws a few laughs from the crowd. “Meanwhile, my nephew slew one of Count Tanners men. A man stationed in that little village to guard against us. I’m sure that man was worth at least ten farmers.”

“Well, Talia also had to contend with the count’s men. Two in fact.” Rend stares at Uncle Braniel, and I hear angry murmuring in the crowd, the two clans starting to argue. Looking at them, I notice Einer is sitting with his head in his hands, looking about as embarrassed as I feel.

“I’m sorry but I’m not sure I can trust a Yellow Tusks ability to count. Do I need to remind you of the incident last season with the merchant ships?”

Chief Rend’s face bunches together, his brow drawn downward. “Like I told you then, I was drunk.”

“Aren’t the Yellow Tusks usually so? I hear you raid with bellies full of wine, mead, and harsher spirits.”

They’re not even talking to the crowd anymore. In fact, the whole room is filled with squabbling— of duels called into question and raiding exploits scrutinized. Sitting back, I notice Talia is at Rend’s side. I hadn’t noticed her approaching with all the commotion. Closer I can see a thick scar runs down from her right brow through her pink flushed cheeks. Her hair is tied in tight braids, bright blonde strands almost looking aflame in the fire light. And judging by how she hangs her head, she’s about ready to melt away, just like me.

There’s a metallic clang and something wet splashes my cheek. Looking down at the table, I see a gilded goblet roll across the wooden surface, then clatter to the stone below.

“How dare you compare my mother to a chicken!” Rend says, hand still hovering in the air, red specks of wine on his palm.

Uncle Braniel rolls his shoulders. “What else should I compare her to? Or do you know another animal that’s surrounded by cocks all day?”

For a man as big as Chief Rend, he moves surprisingly fast. His fist crunches into Braniel’s jaw, then another blow to the gut doubles him over. But then Braniel smiles, and he drives his fist upward, slamming it hard right under Rend’s chin. Chaos erupts after that, shouts ringing out, chairs, cups and plates being thrown. I scoot back and retreat from the table, two men falling to the ground amidst a flurry of blows right where I had been sitting.

Back nearly against the wall, I notice Talia is beside me. I didn’t even see her move.

“I suppose we should fight as well,” she says, her voice surprisingly deep, a harsh edge to it.

“I’d rather not, if that’s fine with you,” I say, noting Wolf-brother Galmar has a man locked in a headlock on either side of him.

“You sure? You are the son of Bracken the Ham, legendary warrior and all that.”

“It’s Hammer. Bracken the Hammer.”

“Never been good with names,” she says, turning to me. “And what’s yours again?”

“Kasten.”

She rolls her tongue around in her mouth like she’s trying to chew on the name. “Assten. Interesting name, are you from north of the river?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Me? I would never do such a thing,” she smirks, then it slips away with a sigh. “When Uncle Rend told me they would be holding a feast to honor my naming, he didn’t mention some other poor fool would be part of this madness too.”

“What? You don’t like being shown off like we’re some dockside merchants most prized position? The one you have to buy, or your family will suffer ten years of bad luck?”

She tilts her head at me and adjusts her braid. “That seems very…specific. But to answer your question, no, I don’t like being put on display. Never have.” She sets her jaw, one hand falling to the handle of her axe. “So, you really won a duel?”

“In a sense,” I say, watching Uncle Braniel smash a chair over Rend’s back. “It was against some Bladorian boy who I don’t think ever held a weapon before.”

She nods. “Still, it’s something.”

“And you, you really take down a whole horde of Bladorian farmers?” I expect her to say the tale was overexaggerated, but her eyes grow distant and her shoulders sag.

“I did. They came at me when we were setting fire to their fields.” She squints at her uncle who has Braniel locked in some kind of chokehold. “Still don’t know why Uncle wanted us to burn everything.” She leans against the wall, her hands crossed over her chest. “But, unlike what Uncle says, I wasn’t alone. Had a friend with me. He brought a few down before they got him in the throat with a pitchfork. They finished him off with a hoe after that.”

My eyes fall to the floor. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. We’re fighters. We fight. And that means people die on both sides. Still,” she bounces off the wall. “Doesn’t feel very good getting named warrior when you’re only alive because someone distracted the enemy long enough for you to get an axe between their shoulders.”

I nod in agreement. “And speaking of being named, how long do you think they’ll fight for?”

“This your first time seeing one of these brawls? They’ll go until morning if no one stops them.”

I run a hand through my hair and look over the tangle of bodies, kicks and punches, broken chairs and spilt wine that rages in front of me. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“We could always wait it out. I’m sure the bear-sisters have plenty of leftovers in the kitchen.”

“Tempting, but I’m ready for this to be over with.” I point at Braniel and Rend who are still grappling with each other. “Figure if we can break them up, we can get the rest of them to calm down.”

Talia steps up beside me. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

I shrug my shoulders and march into the chaos. “I’ll figure something out.”