Beginning on the twenty-seventh Wednesday of Winter, counting from when the trees first lose their green, Yule comes the same as it always does. Twelve days of levity and merrymaking before, on the final day, gifts are exchanged while we leave the past year in our wake.


    The year, according to the followers of Christ, is 8971 AD and I, Halla Steinarsdottir, am sneaking a skinful of wine from the pantry. As I now number among the vaunted ranks of the thirteen-year-olds, it is only right that I have as much alcohol as I want!


    I snicker in the half-light of the pre-dawn, fingers clasped around the wineskin. With the rest of my family preoccupied with sleeping off the previous day''s merriment and the food coma that accompanies all the best feasts, there''s no one to stop me from having my way with the wine.


    That is, save for a certain jar sitting on a pantry shelf.


    "Well, well, well," the jar begins, spark-like eyes gleaming over the lip of the jar, "what do we have here? Seems we have a thief in our midst."


    "Thief?" My eyes narrow while the jar sits perfectly placid, "this is my house!"


    "I''m sure your father would agree," the jar agrees before adding, "until he noticed the last of his favorite wine in your hands, that is."


    "What will it take to keep you quiet?"


    "Wine-wet my lips and they shall stay sealed."


    "Deal." Uncapping the wineskin, I carefully pour a river of dark liquid into the darkness of the jar''s insides.


    "There we go," the jar wheezes happily, "that''s the good stuff, that is."


    "And you''d better stay quiet," I grumble while fixing the cap back on.


    "Of course! I''m a man of my word!"


    "Uh huh," I eye the ceramic surface with an arched brow.


    Regardless of a certain someone''s antics, I now have a mostly-full wineskin all to myself!


    Slipping out the front door, I''m greeted by the crisp winter air as I take a rest on the front step. While I''d much rather drink inside by the fire, I can''t run the risk of accidentally waking the rest of the family.


    The aroma of sweet wine fills the air as I uncap the skin. Taking a moment to savor the scent, I release a heavy sigh before lifting the skin to my lips and tasting the nectar within. The wine warms my body as I gaze across the snowscape Yule made of Einhollstad.


    Yule always brings great festivities alongside the blanket of snow, festivities that always see much in the way of gift-giving. Dad received a fine, bright green hat from Kerr alongside a new sheath for Crowfeeder from Vidar. I wound up with a second thumb ring to match the one on my right—though, unfortunately, this ring came without the infusion of ordstirr.


    Well, that''s not quite true. Wealth brings ordstirr and so my reserves grow ever-so-slightly, but it isn''t the same as if it were a Jarl-given gift. After all, Jarls posses the ability to take parts of their own ordstirr and give it out as gifts, thereby fulfilling their end of the bargain between Karl and Jarl.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Still, with two silver thumb rings and a silver penny, I''m coming up in the world! Three more years until it''s time to go out and see what fate has in store for me. Three more years until my fate becomes my own in truth.


    At the beginning of the year, I was weak, untested. I knew not the terrors of the world and knew not my place in it. Now, at the end, I''ve finally proven myself. There will be more tests, this I know, and there will be more challenges; but that''s just par for the course of life.


    To be a man is to withstand the tide. To be a man means challenging and being challenged in turn by those around you. To be a man means carving out your place in life and defending it against all who would take it from you.


    You know, Eric just turned sixteen this Yule, so he''s probably going to make the final preparations for the next steps in his life. I wonder what that means for him? I know that some of the other families were parading their daughters, hoping that they might catch Eric’s eye, so perhaps he’ll be looking to get married soon?


    The door creaks open behind me and I scramble. My feet find slippery snow and send me tumbling to the ground, where I meet the bleary gaze of my brother, Eric.


    He stands in the doorway, blinking down at me. His eyes drift to the wineskin in my hand, "Is that the last of the wine?"


    I squint, "So what if it is?"


    He groans, hand reaching out, "Give it here, I need a drink." Hauling myself upright, I pass him the skin while he takes a rest on the front step. "Gods," he coughs after the first swig before passing it back to me, "I needed that."


    Taking a swig of my own and passing it back his way, I ask through a mouth filled with snickers, "Adulthood not treating you well, eh?"


    "Adulthood? Hardly," he scoffs, slumping in the dim half-light of the pre-dawn sun, "What even is adulthood?"


    I blink, that''s a good question, "I dunno, you don''t have to listen to Dad anymore, right? Like, you could leave whenever you want."


    "Leave and do what?" He grumbles into the wineskin, "Farming''s never held my interest, so I doubt any farm I make would be worthy of the name." A sigh slips his lips as he shakes his head, "You know what, Halla? I''m a bit jealous of you and Asva."


    "Jealous?" How in the blood-soaked Valhalla could Eric ever be jealous of Asva of all people? Obviously, being jealous of me is just a natural part of life, but Asva? Really?


    "There''s no pressure for women to go out and make something of themselves. There''s no pressure for you to put your life on the line." Ah, that''s right. Eric has never been someone who seeks out violence, but being an adult means that violence will seek you out regardless. "All I want to do is build and sail ships, you know?"


    "Well, can''t you join a felag and go adventuring with them? That''d be sailing ships!" When the thaw comes, there are always a few young Jarls hanging around the seashore looking for warriors to join their felags, their business partnerships. These young men then sail to other lands to try their hand at some raiding and trading before settling down after a few years of this, once they''ve proven themselves.


    Eric frowns, "I''m not exactly a strong guy, Halla."


    "Who told you that?!" I leap to my feet, anger in my heart. Who dares to utter such lies about my*brother?


    "Nobody did," his lips thin in an attempt at a smile, "All I had to do was take a look in the water to see the truth of the matter. I''m not a warrior."


    I wave a hand at the sword on his belt, a fine weapon given to him by Dorri Rattlespear as a celebration of Eric''s coming of age, "But you have a sword! And you have a wind kunna! Any felag that refused you would have to be stupid to not see the benefits of a man who commands the winds!"


    Eric shakes his head, “It’s not about that, Halla.”


    “Then what is it about?”


    Eric just shakes his head as he sucks down a last drink and passes the remainder my way. Patting me on the shoulder, he climbs to his feet and staggers back into the house.


    I watch him leave, a frown on my face. I reckon I need to help Eric with his confidence, but how?


    Taking a final drink and finishing off the last of the wine, I nod to myself, a smile on my face. While I''m not especially certain how to help Eric find his courage, I''m sure that Bear and Sticks will have some ideas!