Asvald

The cold in that land was chronic. Snow and ice had long been not only an integral part of the local people's lives, but also a part of their hearts and minds. They disliked strangers, but they loved drinking, singing, feasting, and war. They didn't believe in Jesus Christ; they had Odin, Thor, and Freya. They loved war, they lived for it, and the hands of most of the settlement's men were forever soaked in blood.
They were Vikings
Our settlement was located under a mountain, in one of the caves of which there was an altar to Tyru, and on one of the slopes there was a house.
People went to that house only for advice, for a blessing, for a vision. It was the home of the local völva (witch, seer).
The interior had long since become permeated with the scent of infusions and dried herbs. Almost every table held some kind of powder, cups, or animal skulls for rituals.
Her home was a place of connection with the gods, a place where magic and humanity merged. Although she lived close to the settlement, she still maintained a more ascetic lifestyle. She descended only when absolutely necessary, did not attend their feasts, celebrated holidays with them, and was not kept abreast of all the news.
When she descended into the settlement, the adults nodded respectfully, the children gave her a wide berth, but pointed and whispered as she passed, and the newborns cried. And all because she each played a different role.
For adults - the arbiter of fate, for children - a strange woman
And the closest of all were the children: perfectly white, sometimes tangled hair, a rune tattooed on every finger, always wearing amulets of stones around their necks, light blue eyes, and white skin. She looked like a spirit.
And the fate of becoming this völva fell on my skin.

"Will you accept, witch?" a rough male voice came from the entrance.

I turned to the newcomer, still holding the mortar in my hands in which I was grinding another herb.
A tall man stood in the doorway. His beard and hair were cluttered with lingering snowflakes, which he shook off a moment later. His eyes were as hard as he was, and a tattoo was visible beneath the sleeve of his black coat. It was Asvald, the jarl of the settlement above which I lived.