Entry 3 : Heritage

I was born late in the year, heralded by the fiercest snow squall in many seasons. Homes were buried beneath the drifts, and the flakes fell so thick that anyone who dared cross their doorstep risked never finding their way back again. Sigrid labored until the storm subsided at nightfall, and the clouds rolled away to unmask the heavens. When the moon reached its zenith, full and sanguine in hue, I was placed into her arms. She held me in the soft, crimson light and called me Bjolf, after the first chieftain of our clan, though she couldn’t say why. My father was more partial to names like Njal, Ulf, or, of course, Bjorn, but Sigrid insisted. The name was whispered into her heart and ran continually through her mind no matter what others she tried to conjure. She said this meant it was Selune’s will, and who was my father to argue?

In the years that followed, I grew up as a prince among my people. They wasted no time in showering me with the attention and gifts they thought befitted a chieftain’s son: sweets, toys, and little trinkets they wove into my thick mane of black hair. Once I was able to walk and speak, they told me stories of great warriors and showed me how to make weapons by hand. I boxed with other children my age and practiced swordplay with blunted sticks as parents shouted instructions from the sidelines.

There was no shortage of tutors eager to further my education, but my favorite lessons came from my mother and father. They taught me how to stalk across the tundra, silent and invisible to the game picking at sparse patches of lichen. They taught me how to climb and remain sure-footed on the glaciers that rose from the sea. They taught me to navigate by the stars and track prey when given the smallest of signs, and, perhaps most importantly, they taught me what it meant to be a Nanoq chieftain.

While there was an element of power and status associated with the title, the weight of responsibility a chieftain bore made such benefits seem paltry in comparison. Not only were they to be a protector and fierce warrior, but they must also act as a model of honor, a spiritual guide, a mediator of quarrels, and a judge of the accused. Their responsibilities left no room for weakness, and, to fulfill these expectations, they had to be more than human. I soon came to learn that we were.

It didn’t take long for me to notice my father’s monthly disappearance, but when I asked my mother why he left, she would only smile and say, “He is walking with Selune.” Asking my father resulted in similar ambiguity, and I was inclined to ask both of them often. It wasn’t until my eighth winter had come and gone that they agreed I should know the secret of Selune’s blessing, given to my namesake all those centuries ago.

Bjorn waited until a moonless night and took me far into the glacier fields, where the cliffs drop directly into the Sea of Moving Ice. We sat beneath dancing whips of green and blue in the night sky as he told me the tale of our ancestor.

“When Selune gave Bjolf the title of chieftain, she knew there would be great trials and dangers to befall the clan. Her sister, Shar, was always jealous of her chosen and sought ways to wipe them out. So, while Selune gifted Bjolf with wisdom, strength, and discernment, she also imbued him with the spirit of a bear. It lived within his bones and allowed him to take its form at will, but, Selune also warned him that when the moon waxed full, he must leave the tribe and roam the wilderness until sunrise. For it was on this night that the bear spirit would not be contained.”

When I asked why Selune wanted to curse us with this monthly separation, he smiled. “It is not a curse, but a gift. We have a night to be free of worry and delight in Selune’s company and the beauty of the wild. It is during these walks that she communicates with us the strongest and warns us of dangers that will yet come to pass.”

As the tale came to an end, my father showed me the spirit. It was colossal, bigger than a natural bear, boasting long fangs and claws as well as a thick, white coat. It sniffed at me, and I could feel the heat of its breath against my skin. Wrestling my fear, I stood firm and looked into the bear’s eyes to see my father looking back at me. Fear was swallowed by an overwhelming sense of pride. Selune had chosen us. We were entrusted with protecting her people, and to ensure we could do so, she gave us an irreplaceable gift that would pass through generations.

I only wish I had taken my father’s teachings to heart. A young child will often hear stories of their heritage, but fail to truly understand them, much to their own detriment. In time, I found myself forgetting the significance of what Bjorn had taught me.