Ubbe Lundensson [D1] [FIN]

Ubbe! a thud on the floor was the sound that disturbed my silence and awoke me from my everlasting slumber. Hvitserk and Bjorn stand over me. The expressions on their faces gave me anxiety. My chest tightened slowly. "What is it? Why have you awoken me?". Bjorns face grimaced, and Hvitserk checked the window hastily. "Mother and Father have been arguing all night, father wants to sell us to a slave trader." My head pounded with the newfound information I had received. The look on my face must've been enough for Bjorn, because he drug me out of bed by my shirt and threw me onto the floor. "You idiot!" he spat, "Get up, now!"  Bjorn was older than me and Hvitserk by two years. I had just turned seven a few months ago. He was nine, and developing nicely for a boy his age. Bjorn's head darted to the right, and we heard the heavy thudding of our fathers boots on the floor. Bjorn opened the window in my room, and the cold air stung my face like an angry hornet. The breeze coming off of the ocean front of our cottage was enough to make the hair on my forearms stand straight up. I shivered, and Bjorn motioned for us to come. I had just gotten out of the window when my father opened the door, we met eyes for a brief second. I saw the anger in his eyes when he realized what we were doing. "Ubbe! Hvitserk! Bjorn! Get back here, NOW!" Bjorn, Hvitserk and I stood outside of the window, trembling from the bitterness of the air. "You want to sell us!" Bjorn cried out angrily. Hvitserk had tears in his eyes.

Time felt like it was in slow motion, as my father revealed a kitchen knife from his waist. His eyes were glazed, his voice shaky, and his mannerisms swayed. I could tell he was drunk, belligerently. The three of us quaked as one being, and unanimously we all took a step forward. Running was no use, we knew that if we ran we would freeze to death, and our father would not come to find us. As soon as I reached the front door my father took me and Bjorn by the shoulder. "Atta boy" he mumbled under his breath, I distinctly smelled liquor on his breath. He ushered us to the living room, where upon entering two men sat, our mother across from them on the couch. She was silent, looked as if she was ill. She wouldn't look at either of us, instead, she stared at the floor. There was a bruise on her right cheek, marking the beautiful face that was once happy, and was now filled with ever lasting sorrow. Bjorn reached for her and father slapped his hand down as if it were a little fly, buzzing around on the wall. Bjorn winced.  The men each offered us a hand to shake, we didn't accept their graciousness. That didn't phase them, though. They lifted our chins, moving our heads around, checking our arms, legs, hands, eyes. Our privacy invaded by foreign hands, our bodies taken to foreign lands. The cool feeling of the first mans fingers made me flinch. He rubbed my head. "This one will grow to be mighty indeed." There was a malevolent look on his face, I swear I saw the devil within him that day. "Our heritage was full of warriors. Our ancestors sailors, who often plundered vast lands. They were feared, called "northmen" if I remember correctly. That's about all I know though."  The man nodded to my father. "Excellent".

The next few hours were kind of a blur to me. I had been unable to speak, my eyes were swollen practically shut from the tears Hvitserk and I had spent. Hvitserk and I were just seven years old at that point. Bjorn showed no emotion, he looked hollowed out like a skeleton left to rot for thousands of years. His jaw sunk and his eyes sunk deeper, I don't think he spoke a word the entire trip to District One. We were crammed into small boxed, with little holes to breath through. I peered to the outside world, seeing vast lands of mountains, trees, and plains. It was dead of night, and the man transporting us told us we needed to hush, or he would kill the three of us no questions asked. Of course we shut it. I wished I had screamed for help when he was being checked by the peacekeepers, they might've been able to do something. The day we were captured was the day I saw Bjorn die inside. He was my fathers pride and joy, the good son. He had been the strongest, fastest, tallest, and most handsome of the lot of us. I can't imagine the pain he felt, knowing his father threw him to the wolves. Arriving to District 1 we were sold off to a man named Jackson. Jackson formally introduced himself. We didn't care to answer, all we had in those moments were each other.