Embers of fire help us get through the cold winter

The snow melted. The flowers bloomed. The leaves turned yellow. The snow fell again.

Two years have passed, and it's another late summer evening.

The wind blew in from the sea, carrying a faint salty taste.

Brody sat on the dock, rolled up his trousers, and dipped his feet in the seawater.

Ragnar sat beside him, his trousers rolled up, his feet in the water. He didn't speak, just watched the sea, watching the sun slowly sink in the west.

"When your mother was little," Brody suddenly said, "she also liked to sit here."

Ragnar turned to look at him.

"When she was a few years older than you, she came here every day, waiting for my dad to come back."

The seawater surged in, reaching above my ankles, then receded.

"uncle."

"Um."

What were you like when you were young?

Brody paused for a moment. He looked down at his feet, his toes dangling in the water.

"About the same as you," he said. "Skinny, short, and quiet."

Ragnar did not respond.

Brody was silent for a while, then suddenly smiled.

"When I was young," he said, "the person I looked down on the most was your father."

Brody was sixteen years old that year.

Not the Brody with yellow teeth, a scar on his forehead, and an irreverent manner. It was a different Brody—tall and thin, with underdeveloped shoulders, fiery eyes, and a dislike for everyone.

Especially that Harald.

"What makes him so special?" Brody squatted on the dock, clutching a stone in his hand, and threw it into the sea. The stone arced through the air and landed with a splash. "Just because he's a good boatman? Or because he can swing an axe well?"

The person next to him didn't respond. That was his cousin; he only remembered nodding at the time.

"My sister is such a wonderful person," he picked up another stone and threw it, "...marry him?"

puff.

"He can't even smile."

puff.

That evening, Harald's ship returned. The Grey Goose glided into the dock, its bow slightly raised, like a seabird returning to its nest. Harald stood at the stern, one hand on the helm, his gaze sweeping over the people on the dock.

He saw Brody and nodded.

Brody nodded as well.

He regretted it as soon as he made the order—why did I even make the order? I'm not his subordinate.

But the head has already been nodded, and there's no going back.

"And then?" Ragnar asked.

Brody lifted his feet out of the water, looked at his toes, and then put them back in.

"After that, I started asking him to hit me every day."

"What are you hitting?"

"We'll fight anything," Brody said. "Wrestling, axe fighting, rowing, swimming."

Have you ever won?

Brody was silent for a moment.

"I won when I was younger," he said. "I won quite a few times."

Ragnar turned to look at him.

"That kid," Brody said, "wasn't as ruthless as me when he was young. When I was sixteen or seventeen, I was at my most reckless, and I fought like a madman. He's different; he's too steady. Steady people will suffer at first when they meet someone who's ruthless."

"And then?"

"He was twenty-three later," Brody said.

He paused.

"He changed when he was twenty-three."

Brody couldn't say exactly what happened that year.

That year, many things piled up at once. The old chieftain fell ill, the Blood Eagles probed the borders, the winter fishing season was delayed by half a month, and the eyes of the entire tribe were on the next chieftain.

Harald spoke very little that year. Although he was a man of few words to begin with, it felt different.

That winter, they fought again.

Wrestling. In the snow, the two men grappled together, their breaths dissipating in the cold air. Brody used every move imaginable—ruthless, dirty, reckless. Harald parried every single one.

Finally, Brody was pinned to the snow, his face buried in it, and cold snow was stuffed into his mouth.

"Are you convinced?"

Brody didn't say anything.

Harald didn't let up either.

After a long while, Brody finally said, "I give up."

Haral released his grip, stood up, and walked away.

Brody lay in the snow, panting, staring at the leaden sky. The snow was still falling, landing on his face, cool and refreshing.

He suddenly remembered the day his sister got married. He stood in the crowd, watching her walk towards that man. Back then, he was indignant. Now, lying in the snow, snowflakes falling on his face, he thought to himself: When did this kid become so ruthless?

He tried a few more times. Each time it was the same—he was pinned to the ground, asked if he submitted, and finally persuaded.

I stopped trying after that.

"When your father was twenty-three," Brody said, "I first 'convinced' him."

He looked at the sea, his eyes squinting, as if he were looking into the distance.

"I haven't won a single time since then."

Ragnar did not speak.

"It's not that I can't beat them," Brody said. "It's that I don't want to fight anymore."

One year, the snow fell earlier than usual.

That early winter, when the first snow fell, Harald's ship had not yet returned.

Olaf stood at the entrance of the longhouse, gazing at the snow outside. She was pregnant with Tora then, her belly slightly protruding, and she stood there motionless, wearing a thick sheepskin coat.

Brody came back from outside and saw his sister standing there, and paused for a moment.

"Sis, what are you looking at?"

Olaf didn't turn around. She gazed in the direction of the dock, snow falling on her shoulders and onto her golden hair, turning it white.

"Wait for him," she said.

Brody stood behind her, watching his sister's retreating figure. The snow was still falling, and the wind blew in from the sea, ruffling the stray hairs at her temples. She didn't brush them aside; she just stood there.

At that moment, Brody suddenly remembered many things. He remembered his mother holding his hand before she died and saying, "Your sister is in your care now," and he nodded and said, "I know." He remembered the inexplicable, heavy feeling in his heart every time he saw Harald over the years.

He turned and walked into the snow.

Harald's ship was at sea. It was his last voyage of autumn, and he should have returned long ago, but an early snowstorm had struck. He rowed his small boat to look for it, and after two hours, he found it near Cod Reef.

The Grey Goose's sail was torn, and the ship drifted on the sea. Harald stood at the bow, gripping the helm, his face blue with cold, but he remained standing.

Brody rowed his small boat over, pulled alongside the larger ship, and climbed aboard.

"The sail is torn," Harald said. His voice was flat, as if he were talking about what to eat today.

"I saw it."

"Two of the oars broke as well."

"I saw it."

"There are three people left who can move."

Brody stared at him for a long time. His face was expressionless, his lips were purple from the cold, but his eyes were still the same—light gray, like sea mist.

"My sister is waiting for you," Brody said.

Harald was taken aback.

That was the first time he saw Harald stunned.

"She's been standing in the doorway," Brody said, "since noon. She's covered in snow, but she hasn't come inside."

Silent for a long time.

Then he turned around and began to furl the sails. His movements were so fast that it didn't seem like he was a man who had been frozen for half a day.

"Help me," he said.

Brody helped him.

That night, the Grey Goose docked. Harald jumped off the ship, wading into knee-deep snow, and headed for the longhouse. After a few steps, he began to run.

Brody stood on the dock, watching the figure run into the snow, towards the blurry light at the entrance of the longhouse.

He stood there for a long time.

"And then?" Ragnar asked.

Brody lifted his feet out of the water, then put them back in. Water splashed up and landed on his calves.

"I got too lazy to play after that," he said.

"Your mother stood at the door that day," he said, "waiting for him all afternoon."

He paused.

"Later I thought, if I were a woman, I might also wait."

The sun sank a little lower, turning the entire sea a golden-red hue. A few seabirds flew by in the distance, cried out a few times, and disappeared into the twilight.

"uncle."

"Um."

Are you still playing now?

Brody thought for a moment.

"I'm not playing anymore," he said. "I'm too old to play anymore."

Ragnar looked down at his feet. His toes, white from being soaked in water, looked like tiny fish.

"So, do you want to fight?"

Brody paused for a moment.

He looked at the sea for a long time.

"I don't want to," he said.

He paused for a moment.

"We can't possibly beat them."

Brody suddenly smiled, the smile slowly curving from the corners of his mouth into his eyes.

"That kid," he said, "will just stand there waiting his whole life. Waiting for me to beat him up, waiting for me to submit, waiting for my sister to wait for him."

He paused.

"After waiting and waiting, I've become his younger brother."

In the distance, smoke began to rise from the chimneys of the longhouse, a thin wisp that ascended straight up in the twilight.

Brody stood up and stretched his knees. Water dripped from his feet, staining the wooden planks of the dock with a small, dark patch.

"Let's go back for dinner," he said.

The two walked together toward the longhouse. Their shadows, one large and one small, were stretched long in the setting sun.