High Fantasy

Bothvar Beorcolsson

A woman with hair as gold as any treasure. Eyes as blue as the sea itself. A smile that challenges the sun. Even the stars in the sky can’t compete with her beauty. She radiates with warmth. Her touch brings joy to my soul. She fills me with life. She is all mine, and I am hers. Holding her in my arms, the world seems to fade away. She’s the goddess I worship. The moon in the night to guide me through the darkness. With her, I am not afraid of anything. Even in the face of the storm, with her by my side, I am the storm. In the great golden hall of my father, I find no greater joy than holding this beautiful woman in my arms. Even when we were young, she was always mine. Even as children, we were always together, in love with each other. Now that she is my wife, my life feels complete. She’s given me children I could not be prouder of.

I love her tender compassion. And her playfulness. Even now, when we are already bound by marriage, we act like mere youngins, sneaking kisses in empty corridors as parties rage on in my father’s hall. Even when we’re caught red-handed, we play it off like a bunch of naive whelps, pretending nothing happened. But as soon as they’re gone, we’re back to attacking each other’s lips. After all this time, we still have this deep, burning passion for each other.

Every time I come home from battle, I can’t hold back from taking this woman into my arms and into our bed. She’s the reason I fight at all, and no other woman can bring me the joy of her heart. I will never be with another woman again. None of them can compare to her.

“Bothvar!” I’m abruptly awoken as water splashes against my face. I shoot up out of bed to see Thorkel, Asfrid, Svala, and Bodvar chuckling.

“To Niflheim with you lot!” I snap at them. But then I see Arni with her arms crossed as she glares at them and I calm down.

“I told you he wouldn’t like it,” she says before her eyes meet mine. “I tried to stop them, Bothvi.”

My siblings chuckle. Thorkel drops the jug on my gut. “Get up, Bothvi. We’re leaving for the All-Clan Meeting today. I can’t wait, it’s always so much fun!” My brother puts emphasis on the nickname Arni gave me in a mocking tone.

Asfrid and my siblings all follow Thorkel out, leaving me with Arni. “I’m sorry they did that to you. And if you want, I’ll stop calling you Bothvi so they don’t make fun of you for it.”

“Don’t apologize, and I hope you never stop calling me Bothvi. I like the way you say it,” I say as I climb out of bed, walk up, and hug her. She hugs me back and I savor the joy it brings me. When we finally pull apart, I meet her eyes. “I had a crazy dream about us.”

Her beautiful smile radiates upon me. “Is that so? What was it about?”

“It was the most magnificent dream ever. We were married, and we snuck off from a party to… Well… Let’s just say it wasn’t to talk.” I grin as I scratch the back of my neck, realizing that maybe I shouldn’t go into the details of what happened. My cheeks burst with heat and hers are as red as those flowers she likes to pick. “It was odd though… We were all grown up, but the hall we were in, which I guess was my father’s… It was far bigger than this hall. It was pure gold and extravagant. Maybe it’s a sign of what is to come and we have to build a bigger hall. I’m not sure.”

“I like it. Not so much the hall, but the thought of us being married and sneaking off. Can we make that happen?” she asks, staring up at me with those deep blue eyes, as sweet as honey. How can I say no to her?

I nod. “It’s a promise that we will be married and have lots of children, just like in my dreams.”

She practically leaps into my arms, burying her face in my chest. “That will be a dream come true.”

—

My brother is finally a man and will set sail with my father. We journey with our people to the meeting of clans. We sail out near the end of spring. Thankfully, the journey to the town of Avala Village is short since they are just to the south of us, past the Valkyrie village of Forsa. Father says they named themselves Valkyrie after the women warriors of the gods who lead the souls of fallen warriors to the halls of the gods.

From what I’ve seen, the women there are brave warriors themselves. Tonna, the daughter of their war chief, once beat up my brother and our friends Vog, Solmund, and Griotgard all at once using a staff of hers. She wasn’t even any older than them. Her mother is even more fierce. Amalasontha is a very intimidating woman.

The Ice Tribe is only a morning’s journey south. We sail down the spring coastline as only lumps of snow and ice remain and arrive at the Village which sits upon the entrance of a river. After we dock our ships, most of the slaves carry our supplies outside the village where we set up camp with the rest of the clans.

It seems like most of the other clans are here. The Wolf Clan came last night and set up camp, same as the Giants of the mountains. Along with the Builders, the Valkyrie arrived before us. The only clans missing are the Eagle Clan and the Bone Eaters. Of course, the Bone Eaters are exiled and not welcome here for their disgusting practice of eating the flesh of others. The Eagles rarely ever leave their village far to the southeast, up in the mountains above the Wolf village of Fenris.

I share a tent with my brother, Thorkel, while Thormar and Bodvar share a tent. Thormar has to chase Bodvar down after he takes his precious maps. Bodvar laughs and calls Thormar a bloody goat turd, mimicking Aldam. The boy always tries to act like people he admires. I saw him pretending to be father, trying to mimic father’s lectures to Thormar when he threw a temper tantrum. Svala helps Bodvar, and they play keep away from Thormar, with even Asfrid joining in. My sister sleeps with my Aunt Sigvor along with Asfrid and Arngunn. Semet is also with them. And of course, my parents get a tent for themselves. Uncle Koll and all three of his wives set up their tent next to my father’s with the other captains of their raiding party, Einar and Throst, with their wives. Koll’s children and grandchildren all pitch their tents next to ours. Same with Einar’s children. Vog nearly gets into a fight trying to pitch his tent right next to ours, but neither Griotgard, Solmund, or Skardi will budge. He settles for pitching his tent on the other side of theirs. Thankfully, Thorkel could calm him down.

His brother, Eystein Einarson, had to share a tent with their little cousin, Trandil. He’s a little younger than Thormar and is rather weak and pathetic. He can’t even stomach the sight of blood without passing out.

Eystein’s my age, but he’s a bit of a hermit. Always has his nose in one of those books. He’s not all that better of a fighter than Trandil. Their sisters Thorgunna and Gudfrid camp next to Aunt Sigvor and the girls.

Our cousin Veleif Kollson and his two wives Halldora and Thorballa Cnutdottir, who are sisters, set up near father and the captains. His daughters, Aldis, Estrid, Asvor, and Bolla, along with Svafar’s daughter Hilde, cram into one big tent next to their aunts’ tents (who are also our cousins). Frida gets her own tent while Greiland shares with Yngvild. Svafar pitches up next to Veleif with his wives, Hallgerd Sigviddottir and Tofa Odinkardottir. Saxi is next to Svafar with his wives Arnbjorg Thorstardottir and Geirlaug Thorhalldottir. Gilli, who is Thorkel’s age, shares a tent with two women who he plans to marry, named Hallberta Thorstardottir and Jofrid Sigviddottir. Jofrid is Hallgerd’s younger sister. Both are Solmund, Griotgard, Hosvir, and Vigdis’ older sisters. Gilli’s tent is across from ours, while the youngest of Koll’s sons, Tyrkir, sets his tent up next to Gilli with a girl named Oddny, who is one of Throst’s daughters. Those two are also planning to marry.

Veleif’s son, Hunbogi, tents with his cousins, Starolf Saxison and Gudrik Svafarson, who are the sons of Veleif’s brothers, Svafar and Saxi and, and sets up next to Thormar and Bodvar. Starolf and Gudrik get along just fine, but neither seem to like Hunbogi for whatever reason. He seems rather cruel. Especially to their slaves.

The slaves all get jammed into two different tents, one for the labor, which is mostly men, and another for the house slaves, mainly women, except for Aunt Sigvor’s. They share a small tent behind hers along with Mother’s favorite slaves. Koll has several vast tents for all his slaves besides the ones that are favored by him and his family. Some even sleep in their tents.

When Thormar finally gets his maps back, Thorkel convinces Bodvar to turn his pranks on that no-good, rotten slave Morcar. The rat who is constantly tattling on other slaves and is an arselicker. He tattled on Thorkel once, and Thorkel has never forgotten about it.

Bodvar shoves a snake he finds down the back of the slave’s tunic. I shiver as a chill goes down my spine at the sight of the snake. Svala and Thorkel nearly die of laughter. And even Asfrid joins in. Arni, on the other hand, doesn’t think it’s funny.

Gudrod finds us and, as usual, follows us around like a lost puppy. He’ll do anything Thorkel or even I say; He practically worships the ground we walk on. Thorkel gets him to sneak into Brynhild Svartkollrdottir’s tent, one of the most beautiful shield maidens in our village, and steal her undergarments.

Her son, Thorvir Stormborn, who is good friends with Thormar, is said to have been born out at sea during a storm. The tale is a strange one. Apparently, Brynhild was still a virgin and suddenly became pregnant while out raiding with Einar Alriksson, my uncle Koll’s brother. They said the entire pregnancy didn’t last longer than a couple of days. She was pregnant, and then gave birth during a particularly nasty storm. Some say it was the gods that got her pregnant. None of the crew confesses to sleeping with her. Everyone collaborates with the story. Anyway, Gudrod gets caught by Thorvir and tossed out. Thorvir has a bit of a temper, but he’s good in a fight. Can’t imagine why he’s friends with Thormar.

As we settled in, we were greeted by Kadal Bothvarsson and Eawyn. Her daughter, Scyra, seems to stand a ways behind her with a sour expression on her face. Both women have particularly strange snow-white hair. Scyra is too young to have her hair already go white. They also share the same color of icy blue eyes. Both seem to glow like that of the elves, but they have a chill to them and they still have the whites of their eyes.

It is said that Eawyn and her daughter can both summon a storm of winter and bring down a rain of ice. They command the cold as if they ruled over it. At least that is what I heard.

My father and mother greet them warmly as my siblings and I hang back. They talk for a while before the Ice Tribe leaders leave.

Aldam Bronzehammer, who plants his tent with ours, is greeted by two other dwarves. One looks like a woman, and the other is shorter by a head. I didn’t know there were women dwarves. He waves Thorkel, Thormar, Svala, Bodvar, and me over to him. “Hey, arsefaces. Meet my siblings, Baggisli, the toad on the left, and Oddim, the one with the big mouth.”

“I see your manners haven’t improved,” the dwarf named Baggisli says. I’m surprised to hear a woman’s voice seeing how she has a beard longer than most of our clan mates.  She has red hair, braided into two tails that rest on her shoulders. She’s a little shorter than Aldam, and not as stout either, but taller than Oddim. She has a rather square face with a stern set of eyes.

“Did you expect anything less?” Oddim asks. He has curly red hair and a fiery red beard with a single braid that goes down to his chest. “Aldam has always had the manners of a goat. He gets it from our father.”

“Hey! Don’t you go off bad mouthing my mentor, you bloody goat arse lickers!” Bodvar shouts as he steps up to the other two dwarfs waving a tiny fist. Everyone erupts in laughter.

After Aldam catches his breath from heaving with laughter, he puts a thick hand on Bodvar’s head, messing up his hair. Then he leans in to whisper, if you can call it that, since his whisper is louder than most people’s normal talk. “Those two get their snobbiness from our mother.”

The three dwarves get into a long-winded argument, and we take the opportunity to slip away. After things settle down, Thormar joins his friends, Starolf Saxison, Gudrik Svafarson, Trandil Sibbesson, Bragi Serksson, Saksi Sekisson, Harvard Grimwaldson, Bjornuulf Ulfsson, and Thorvir Stormborn with his maps. Thormar is obsessed with his maps and always talks about the islands and lands to the west, past the forest of elves.

My father takes Thorkel and me to the village, where we meet in the hall with the other clan leaders as the meeting begins. I don’t really listen because it’s so boring. A lot of bickering between trading goods, especially food.

Most of the bickering is between my father and the Wolf Clan leaders. Bjarni Vikarsson is their Earl. He is an old man who has gained a fat gut, but he still has this sense of hardness to him, as if he has seen many battles. He’s brought his son Vidkunn, who’s a little younger than my father. And his grandsons. One’s name is Baldric, the son of Bjarni’s daughter, Asny, along with Vidkunn’s oldest sons, Thorgrim and Thorhall. He also has two daughters named Asa and Dalla and another son named Gadaric, who is around Svala and Bodvar’s age. Dalla is a little older, Asa is older than Thorhall, and Thorgrim is the oldest. At least that’s what I think.

I heard Baldric and his twin sister, Siv, can talk to wolves. They sleep with them or something. He’s about my brother’s age, if I had to guess, and he seems like an excellent warrior. He has a stone face that gives nothing away.

The Giant Kveldulf, the leader of his clan, is by far the tallest man I’ve ever seen. He is easily the size of two men standing on top of each other and needs to constantly duck down to avoid hitting his head.

Amalasontha and two other women are here for the Valkyrie. Her face is like that of a rock. Unforgiving and unwavering. Her first companion is a little less hard and about the same age. She smiles here and there. The other looks far younger and seems more reserved.

The Builder is an older man who, like Bjarni, also has a gut, but lacks his hardness. He seems to be a very animated man who loves to express himself with his hands. I think his name is Trefor Trehame. The Builders are a weird lot. They do not use the same naming way as we do, which is to use the father’s name with the dottir or son attached to the end. They have some kind of family and tribal clan name, as I understand it.

Beyond that are only Eawyn and Kadal, with Scyra sulking in the background. The meeting goes on forever and ever, with more and more arguments and words being tossed around. Especially by my father and the Wolf Clan.

At one point I was sure it would come to axes. I try to focus, but it’s so boring. My attention often wanders. I also take notice that Scyra doesn’t seem to be all that interested either. She twirls a dagger around her fingers. She catches me staring and pretends to chuck her dagger at me. I don’t even flinch. Then her eyes seem to dig into me, and we get caught up in a staring contest.

She only wins because I hear them mention war, and my attention gets pulled away. However, I find out it’s only the prospects of war against the south and they’re sure it won’t happen this cycle. They always talk about war with the Southerners, but it never comes. When I look back at the girl, she sticks her tongue out at me. I return the gesture. The meeting finally ends, but we have to listen to both Kadal and Eawyn give a long speech before the fun part begins.

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

Father lets us pick through his share of the treasure and take what we want. He always lets his crew take their share first then he takes what is left. I find an old shabby case. Upon opening it there is a magnificent hammer. It’s white and gold. I pick it up and warmth radiates from it. It feels so right in my hand. It makes me feel good and full of joy and warmth. I put it back into the case and take it to my room. It reminds me of the hammer in the cave, the crimson one that no one can pick up. Both must be special. I can just imagine wielding such a hammer. A vision of myself with it as lightning rains down from the sky enters my mind.

—

“The shield wall is one of our most important defenses. The men unite into one strong wall with three rows of shields. The first row kneels down, using their shields to defend our feet. The second row moves into the gaps and bring their shields down to the torso while the third row brings their shields up to the head. At any given moment, men can move their shield to thrust a spear through, or several men can move aside so the archers behind can release arrows. Let me ask you, when do we use the shield wall?” father asks as Thorkel, Thormar, and I listen carefully.

“We use it on the battlefield, when we are facing another army,” Thorkel says.

Father shakes his head. “And.”

“To defend against arrows?” I ask.

“That is another reason. Yes, but not the only,” father says.

“By nature, what are we?” father asks, staring into both of us with his stormy blue eyes.

“We are Vikings,” Thorkel says, sticking his chest out.

“You are right. And what do we do?” father asks.

‘We raid,” Thorkel says.

“Once again, you are right,” father says with a nod, making Thorkel’s chest stick out a little farther. “So, if we are raiders, what strategy do we primarily use?”

Thorkel takes time to think upon it, but I blurt out what comes to my mind. “We attack. We are on the offensive in a raid.”

“Exactly. And do you use a shield wall when you are attacking?” Father asks.

“No…” Thorkel says, hesitantly scratching his head.

“Why not?” father asks.

“It wouldn’t be very effective on the offensive. It slows you down and limits your ability to attack,” Thorkel says, nodding.

“Exactly. So why would we use a shield wall?”

“When we are being attacked?” Thorkel asks.

Father nods. “That is precisely why we use it. We use a shield wall to defend, which is rare with our kind, but it happens. When we find our ships being boarded, we use a shield wall to defend against the invaders. When we find ourselves being ambushed, we use a shield wall. When we find arrows raining down on us, we use a shield wall. However, we are not the kind of people to act in defense. We strike first and attack. We are the aggressors; we set the pace for the battle. In order to do that, we choose the battlefield. To win, you must be one step ahead of your enemy. To win war, you must be deceptive. To be deceptive, you do what is unexpected. If you know your enemy expects one thing from you, you do something they would not expect. If the enemy expects you to march to meet them on the open field, you wait in ambush on the road to the battlefield. If the enemy expects you to defend the walls of your city, you open the gates and hide within to ambush them as they enter. Like snaring the hare in a trap, you spring it on your enemy as they enter the grips of the snare.”

“That makes sense,” Thorkel says.

Father smiles. “Does it now? So, if I were to bring four ships upon you as your three ships raid a merchant ship, what would you do?”

Thorkel thinks about it. “We’d attack them one at a time?”

“That might work. What if they were elves and can use magic? Would they not burn your ships with flames? That would make attacking devastating,” he says.

“Then we’d retreat,” Thorkel says.

“For how long? Their ships are faster. Surely, they would catch you, and they have a greater number,” he says.

“I don’t know then. What would you do?” Thorkel asks.

“Well… I’d scatter my fleet in different directions, finding better places to fight. This would divide their fleet as well as they would have to decide on who to pursue and would ultimately decide to divide and pursue each ship. Or they would send all their ships to one of ours. Either way, it gives us a better chance of survival. I’d also use the merchant ship and ram it into the biggest threat they have, immobilizing their ship that way, taking away their advantage. A storm would make it hard to chase, but it also limits our ability to fight, and storms are never easy to weather. Now, one interesting fact is that our ships are smaller and lighter. Do you know what that means?” Father asks, raising an eyebrow.

“That they don’t sink as far into the water?” I suggest.

“Precisely. I’d find shallow waters where our ships can hover over the top and the elves would surely get stuck. South of here, there are waters near the shore with large spiky rocks rising from the ground. This is a perfect place to lure the elven ships as our ships glide right over them and theirs will crash into them. But for the sake of this discussion, let us say you must face the elf’s head on. What would you do then?” father asks.

“I’d board their ship and kill them,” Thorkel says.

Father shakes his head. “You’d die and so would your men. Sure, we have some protection from their magic with these amulets your mother and Sigvor provided us, but we do not have enough to go around. And it only protects us from a direct attack. That means if they have some kind of spell to attack us with the environment around us, these things are useless. Would you still attack?” Father asks.

“Well, no. But what can you do?” Thorkel asks.

“What did I tell you about their ships?” father prompts.

“That they are bigger and sink further into the water?” Thorkel asks.

Father nods. “What do we have on our ships?”

Thorkel and I both think for a second before I hesitantly say my thoughts. “Ballistas?”

“It’s ballistae, not ballistas,” Thorkel says, punching my arm.

Father nods, a smile forming on his face. “Either way, your brother is right. What would you do with them?”

“You’d use the Ballistae to sink their ship, right?” I ask.

“Precisely. With our Ballistae, we have bolts that are made to punch through the hull of a ship. They have a big hammer for a head. You’d fire these into their hauls. As many as you can to sink their ship and retreat.”

“But we are not cowards, father, and what about all the loot we can get from their ship?” Thorkel asks.

“Sometimes, my son, it is better to escape with what you have than risk losing it to the elves for something more. Live to fight another day,” father says, his deep blue eyes locked onto Thorkel. “There might be some honor lost in retreating and running, but at least you have tomorrow, and if you’re fortunate, the days that follow to gain it back. But if you die, you die regardless of your honor. And let me tell you, son, there might be glory in death, but there is no honor in it. Nor does your death provide for your family. What will they do when you are gone?” father asks.

“But… I thought it was the most glorious thing to die in battle,” Thorkel says.

“The only time you should consider sacrificing yourself or your men when escape is still an option is when the reward is big enough to merit the loss, the cost of not doing so outweighs your life if you were to retreat, or lastly, there is no retreat and only death. If your death will save the lives of your men and your family, you do so with honor and glory. To sacrifice your own life to save the lives of all those you care about is the greatest honor and will be rewarded with the most glory. Now, I want you to spend until the sun passes the top and makes its descent studying the sword and shield forms I taught you. You will use practice swords and will spar with each other, using the strikes and combinations you were taught. Your goal is to land a blow on the other. We use practice swords to learn from being struck because in battle, a strike against you means death,” father says as he holds his hands behind his back.

“Yes, father,” we both say as we get up and grab our practice swords and shields. We face each other and engage. Thorkel is faster and more practiced with the forms, strikes, and combinations. Thormar and I spend a lot of time learning from being struck. By the time the sun finally reaches the top of its height in the sky and starts its descent, Thormar and I are covered in welts and bruises, while I only got one strike against my brother.

“And remember, do not lose all that matters for one that doesn’t,” father says with a smirk. What is that supposed to mean? “Now let us break for our midday meal.”

We follow our father into the hall where father’s uncle sits with Gudrod. Gudrod’s eyes light up when he sees us. “Thorkel! Bothvar! Thormar.”

Thorkel sighs under his breath as the boy scrambles to his feet and rushes over to us. He looks so pleased to see us. Like a puppy finding his long-lost brothers. Thorkel only brushes Gudrod aside and grabs a plate of food before sitting next to father. I wrap my arm around him and mess his hair up. He beams up at me with that jolly smile he always wears. I like having him around. He always lightens the mood. Father breaks away and heads to grab food. “Nice to see you, uncle.”

“You as well, my nephew. How goes training with the boys?” Uncle Alvi asks.

“Oh, it goes… They’re learning fast, and that is good,” father says, as he stuffs his face.

“Ahh, it reminds me of when your father and I trained you and your brothers. It feels like yesterday,” Uncle Alvi says.

“You have brothers?” Thormar asks as I grab a plate and sit down next to Gudrod and him.

“Have you been living under a rock?” Thorkel asks as he swats the back of his head. Thormar tries to get him back, but he is too quick.

“Had brothers. My eldest brother, Thorkel, died and my other brother was exiled and stripped of land and title. He is no longer my brother,” father says. I was only a youngling when Borgar betrayed our family. I don’t remember him very well, but I remember the hurt he caused us. Thormar must have only been a baby then.

“Ahh, yes, Borgar gave much shame to our family. I still remember when you two were boys, you used to fight all the time. Thorkel would constantly have to break you both up. Then things would get so bad, that Thorgrim would snap and lose his temper. My brother would always try to swallow down his temper like a mug of mead, and when he swallowed too much of it, it’d come up like vomit and spew everywhere,” uncle Alvi says.

“Yes, father had an explosive temper. He was fine, mostly. At least when we were young. He seemed to have less control over it as he got older,” father says.

“That he did. Anger is like poison you drink, hoping your enemy dies from it,” uncle Alvi says. “I am surprised you haven’t told Thormar about your brothers. They should know their family history. They have the blood of kings within them.”

“Bothvar and I know about Borgar’s betrayal, but I never knew we had the blood of kings in our veins,” Thorkel says.

“Yes, we descend from the first great king, Ragnar himself. It was his son Bjorn who discovered these lands. Bjorn settled in Chillshore, naming it as such for how cold it is there. Bjorn had many sons, but two stayed here, Hogni and Ragnar. However, Hogni and Ragnar started a fight that led to a civil war between them. Ragnar defeated Hogni and exiled him and his followers. Can you guess where they settled?”

“Here?” Thormar asks.

Uncle Alvi nods with a great smile and Thorkel thumps Thormar on the head, calling him a know-it-all under his breath. “You are correct again. Ragnar went on to have a strong line of descendants, leading up to the previous king Teowulf Bothvarsson. King Teowulf was our distant relative. Now, Hogni had two sons of his own, Leidolf and Orni. Orni, I believe, only had a daughter named Alfdis. She had a son and no one quite knows who the father is, but she says his name was Skuli. However, her son’s name was Fenric. Do you know what he was significant for?”

“That name sounds familiar,” Thorkel says, scratching his head.

“Does it have anything to do with Fenris Village and the Wolves?” Thormar asks, earning him another elbow from Thorkel.

“Yes, you are quite right. You see, something happened between Fenris and Eyvald, who was Leidolf’s first son. His second son was Geirolf and I’m not sure what happened to him. Anyway, something happened that caused Fenric to split off and lead some people to Fenris Village. They say he could talk to wolves and that is why they call them the Wolf Clan,” Uncle Alvi says.

“Fenric probably started it,” Thorkel says. “The Wolves are always instigating.”

The elf man with bright blue eyes comes out of my Aunt Sigvor’s room and gets a plate to fill with food for her. My father gives a nod of approval. Uncle Alvi only shrugs. “Perhaps. Who knows… Never judge someone until you have walked a mile in their boots. That way, you’re a mile away with their boots.”

My uncle grins and even the elf man laughs, which makes my uncle’s smile widen. “Anyway, Eyvald had two sons… wait, I mentioned that already. Well, Hallkel also had two sons. Can you guess who they might be?”

Thorkel, Thormar, and I look at each other and shrug. Our great uncle smiles widely and points at himself. “Well, me, of course! And my older brother, Thorgrim. He was normally a jolly merry-go man. Loved to laugh and have fun, but also had a bad temper that got him into many fights. Anyway, I hope you can guess the children of Thorgrim.”

“Well, father was one,” I say with a smile. Father nods.

“Well, obviously,” Thorkel says, punching my arm. “And you mentioned my name and Borgar.”

“That is correct. Thorgrim’s oldest son was Thorkel. A man you got your own name from. Then there was Borgar…”

“We don’t like to talk about Borgar…” Father says in a stern tone. He stares off into the distance.

“Why, what happened?” Thormar asks.

“I said we don’t talk about it,” father says rather roughly.

“It was not an easy time for any of us,” uncle says.

“How come you don’t have any children?” Thormar asks.

Thorkel thumps him again. “Why did you have to ask that, ya dumb arse face?”

Great Uncle Alvi’s face grows suddenly sad. He looks down at the mug in his hand. “I did once… A beautiful wife, a daughter, and a son. Two wonderful children who would’ve both grown to be good people, but they are…”

Uncle looks up at us with a tear in the corner of his eye and smiles. “They’re in the halls of Valholl feasting with their mother, my father, my brother, and Thorkel.”

“I’m sorry, uncle,” I say.

“It is okay. The gods work in mysterious ways. Fortunately, I’ve been blessed with other gifts. Beorcol was one of them, and he has given me some great nephews and a great niece. And fate has put Gudrod in my path and has given me a new purpose. Now I have a second chance to teach the lessons my son and daughter have never learned. Isn’t that right, Gudrod?”

Gudrod smiles. “Yes! Although I didn’t know I was supposed to learn anything. Will you teach it to me again?”

“Aye, ye yeh…” uncle says with a sigh while dragging his hand down his face. “Sometimes the blessings can come with challenges.”

My father and Thorkel laugh while I scratch my head and force a laugh out.

One of the other new slaves goes to grab something from the banquet. Father chucks a knife that lands next to his hand. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

The slave freezes. “I… I… I thought this food…”

“You thought. You shouldn’t do that. That food is only for people who have my permission. Who have earned honor in my eyes and have proved their loyalty. It is for people I like. I do not know you, so, therefore, you eat with the other slaves and people. There is plenty of food in the barn. Now get out of my sight.”

The slave scurries off out of sight.

“Why not let the slave get some food?” I ask.

“Because there is not enough of the good stuff to go around. Besides, I didn’t say he could never have some. I said only those who have earned honor and proved their loyalty and people I like can eat at the banquet. I hope he listened and has taken it to heart. That way, it gives even slaves something to work for. You see, my sons, I am not cruel for forbidding them to eat at the banquet. I am just and fair. Everyone has the opportunity to earn the right to eat at the banquet, but not everyone will earn that right. That slave is new and needs to know how things work.” He pauses a moment to consider his words as he strokes his beard. “I’ll be the first to say that I am not all that keen on slavery, but our society depends on it. Therefore, I have made it so that if slaves work hard, earn honor, prove their loyalty, and gain my trust, even they can gain their freedom and eat at my table. That instills hope within their hearts and makes them work harder, and eventually they become loyal. Never act with malice and cruelty. Fear is only reserved for your enemies, but for those who serve, you treat them all equally and give them all opportunities to rise above their stations. Even the lowliest slave has that right. That is what instills loyalty and earns the hearts of your people. To do that, you must be a fair and just leader, not a ruler that needs an iron fist to command obedience, but someone who leads by example. Someone who provides fairness, justice, opportunity, peace, and prosperity. Slaves may have a momentary life of hardship, work, and some might endure punishment, but they all have the opportunity to earn their freedom.”

“Well said, my nephew,” my uncle says. “You make your father proud. You’re like him in many ways and better in some as well.”

My father’s chest swells with pride.

After we break for lunch, Thorkel and I spot Thormar talking to a girl named Signy Styrkarsdottir. She seems to be rather cozy with Thormar. A grin sprouts on Thorkel’s face as he goes up to them. “Aww look at this, Thormar’s hanging around with a girl. Should we plan a wedding? Thunar knows you won’t get many other options.”

Thorkel can be a bit of a donkey’s arse sometimes. Even I think that was a bit of a punch to the jewels. Thormar’s face burns hot red as he pushes Thorkel, earning him a trip to the ground where he lands flat on his back as Thorkel wraps him in a headlock and rubs his knuckles against the top of his head. “Shouldn’t have done that little brother, you know you can’t beat me in a fight.”

“Get off of me!” Thormar shouts as he kicks and squirms.

“Leave him alone,” Signy says as she tries to push Thorkel off of him. Finally, Thorkel relents and pushes Thormar’s face in the ground as he gets off. Tears stream down Thormar’s cheeks as he gives our older brother a death glare. Signy rushes up to him, placing her hand on his forearm. “Are you okay?”

Thormar rips his arm away and takes off running. “Leave me alone!”

We sneak off out of the city and over to a valley by the river. I turn to Thorkel as we head towards the valley where all the flowers are. “Don’t you think that was a bit too much with Thormar?”

“Oh, come on, Bothvar. He needs a good thrashing. He’s so soft and weak. He needs someone to give him a swift kick in the arse so he’ll work harder to get stronger. The gods know Bodvar doesn’t need one. He’s hardly a toddler and already he’s fighting with the chickens,” he says as he starts to crotch down low once we reach the valley.

The valley itself is covered in wildflowers that are far different than the ones from spring. The fall flowers have more thorns and darker colors. Here we find Asfrid, Arngunn, and the elf girl, Semet, in the middle of the valley.

My brother signals for me to get down as we arrive unnoticed. We sneak through the field low to the ground as the thorns prickle into our hands and trousers down below the knee.

“I wish it were spring,” Arni says as she puts a flower in her hair. “Ouch! The fall flowers are so prickly. And they’re not as pretty as the spring flowers.”

“Oh, stop complaining, Arni. You sound like a toddler begging for a tit,” Asfrid says. I can’t tell what she is doing.

“I do not!” Arni says.

“You always sound like that. Now come on, let’s go,” Asfrid says.

“I just want a few more flowers. I want to make a bouquet,” Arni says.

Asfrid lets out a long sigh. “Hurry up! You’re taking forever.”

“Here, Arni. I’ve got some more,” Semet says. I can hear her shift.

Thorkel moves a little closer, practically crawling on his belly as I try to follow, but I come across a snake and shout out before I can cover my mouth.

“What was that?” Asfrid asks. “Did you hear that?”

“I think so. It sounded like someone shouted,” Arni says.

“Well, obviously!” Asfrid says, standing up. She holds out a large stick. “Who’s out there? We know you’re there.

“I think there are two boys sneaking in the flowers,” Semet says as she stands up and points over at us. “I can hear the flowers say so.”

Thorkel huffs. “Good going, Bothvar. You ruined our surprise ambush.”

He stands up and brushes himself off. I scramble away from the snake as Asfrid whacks him with a stick. “Ouch, what was that for?”

“For sneaking up on us like that!” Asfrid snaps at him as I climb to my feet and pull the thorn out of my hand as it bleeds.

Thorkel punches me in the arm. “We would’ve scared you too if it weren’t for the bull over here. He’s as sneaky as a bear charging through stacks of crates.”

“Hey, I didn’t want to sneak in the first place,” I say.

“And I just found out why, you suck at it,” Thorkel says.

“Hi, Bothvi,” Arngunn says with a smile as she leans closer to me, holding something behind her back.

“Hi, Arni. Whatcha got?” I ask.

Asfrid hits Thorkel with the stick again. “Ouch! Why do you keep hitting me?”

“That was for trying to scare us, you goat-brained, bull-headed, guppy!” Asfrid says.

“It’s a flower, and it’s for you,” Arni says as she holds out a dark red flower full of thorns. She holds it with two fingers. I don’t understand why she’d give me a flower, but I can’t deny that sweet smile of hers and the way it fits so perfectly on her face, just underneath that small, little nose.

“Uhh… Thanks,” I say, forcing on a smile as I carefully reach over, failing to place my fingers where the thorns are not. Somehow, I hold in the curses trying to fight their way out of my mouth. I look around until I find a deep, dark, purple flower and pluck it. Once again, the thorns stab my hand as I hold it out for her. “This is… Uh… For you.” “Aww, thank you, Bothvi. You’re so sweet,” she says and before I realize it, she has her arms around me in a hug with her face buried in my chest. She smells like the flowers she picks. Or maybe that’s just the flowers themselves. I don’t know. Either way, I like it.

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

Eyes that burn with hate. Scales thicker than armor. Sharp fangs that drip with venom. The serpent rises from the sea, reaching the clouds, hungry for blood. The maw opens up into an endless black hole as it plunges to engulf the world. I shoot up from my bed, drenched in sweat. It was only just a dream. Just a dream.

We spend many days doing slave work when we’re not honing our fighting skills and practicing the crafts because of the trouble we got in when mother caught us fighting with Grom. Mother forces us to do the lowest of lowest slave work. Shoveling the shit of our barn animals. This is for the worst slaves to do, not the children of the Earl. It’s humiliating. Especially because Thormar loves to watch and tell us it’s our own fault. Of course, Thorkel takes great pleasure in tossing shit at Thormar. He hit him square in the face, making him run off crying to mother. And that earned us both an ass spanking with a switch. We had to chop and stack the wood while the slaves get to do the easy work.

When the slave boy named Morcar, who’s our age, comes walking by, Thorkel trips him. “Where ya going, weasel? You should be doing this work, not us. Stupid slave.”

“I’m sure your mother will not appreciate you two preventing me from doing a task she sent for me,” Morcar says, as he struggles under Thorkel.

Thorkel grabs a chunk of dirt and smothers it in his face. “Tell our mother anything and you’ll regret it, weasel. Trust me.”

Thorkel gets off of him and kicks him in the rear as he gets up, causing him to trip and fall right into the hay full of horseshit. He quickly scurries off in tears.

“Why do you treat him so?” I ask.

“Because he’s a filthy weasel. I don’t trust him. He’s all honey to our mother but treats the others slaves like rats unless he wants something from them. Keep an eye on him or he’ll stab you in the back. Besides, he told mother on me when I snuck into the kitchens and ate the pudding,” Thorkel says. Thorkel has never taken kindly to tattle tales, and he hates people who are friendly to those who have power over them but arsefaces to others. We call them two faced weasels.

“Hey, guys,” Gudrod says as he skips in through the barn doors.

“Hey, Gudrod, we’re busy. Mother has us doing slave work for fighting with Grom,” Thorkel says. Gudrod is an orphan youngling that lives with great uncle Alvi. He follows us around like a lost pup. He’s a good kid, but a bit annoying at times. But he stokes our egos. He thinks we’re both gods reborn or something. I’ll admit it feels good to have someone who looks up to you.

“Need some help?” he asks.

“Now that you ask, we could use some help,” Thorkel says with a grin. “We have to shovel out all the shit from pens. Want to give us a hand?”

“Sure! I’d love to,” he says as he grabs a spade and gets shoveling. The boy will do anything Thorkel or I ask. He’s so… naive.

“Say, Gudrod, could you do us a huge favor?” Thorkel asks, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“Sure, anything for you two,” Gudrod says.

“Well, you see, we’re supposed to meet up with Asfrid and Arngunn, but we can’t leave until we get all this shit shoveled out. If you could maybe fill in for us, we’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Okay, sure…” he says, his original excitement waning.

“I promise, Gudrod. We’ll make it worth your while. I’ll show you a super-secret, super effective sword form father taught me. You have to keep it a secret because father doesn’t want anyone to know about it,” Thorkel says, causing Gudrod’s eyes to light up.

“Really?” Gudrod asks, practically drooling at the mouth.

“Yes, but don’t tell anyone we had you help us or my mother will be very mad at all three of us,” he says.

“Don’t worry, Thorkel. You can count on me,” he says with a wink.

“I knew I could. You’re the best, Gudrod. And if that weasel Morcar pops his head in here, throw some shit at him, okay?” Thorkel says.

Gudrod claps his fist against his chest as if he was taking an order from our father. “I won’t let you down.”

“That’s why I know I can always count on you, Gudrod,” Thorkel says, earning a smile that is as wide as the boy’s face.

As we sneak out, I can’t help but snicker. “You are terrible, brother.”

“Father always said, always use the resources at your disposal,” he says with a grin.

“What secret sword form are you going to show him? How come father didn’t show me this form? I don’t remember him saying anything about a secret form,” I say.

“Don’t be a fool, Bothvar. I’ll just show him any basic sword form, and he’ll think it’s the most secret form there is,” Thorkel says.

“You are devious,” I say, which earns his famous grin.

Thorkel convinces the others to sneak out again. This time, instead of going up to the mountains, we head over to the river that goes into the bay that is all blocked off from the sea but by a small passageway. We’re not the only clan that has their town on the bay. The Builder Clan and the Valkyrie clan also sit on the bay. The Builders sit on our side of the river and the Valkyrie have their village across the bay on the other side.

Thorkel leads Griotgard, Solmund, Skardi, Asfrid, Arngunn, Vog, and myself as we head around the bay and down the peninsula by the Builder’s town to where the river is at its thinnest point. There, the five of us boys chop down a tree next to the river and it lands clear across to the other side. All of us walk across it, but Arni falls in and I dive in after her. Of course, the water isn’t very deep. I learned that as I eat a mouthful of dirt and sand as I smash into the bottom of the river. I quickly stand up, spit it out and clean my mouth out with water before Arni and I make our way to the other side, soaking wet.

“Bothvar, why would ya dive in like that? That wasn’t very smart,” Vog says with his stupid smile.

“I thought it was valiant. You tried to save me, didn’t you?” Arni says. “Thank you, Bothvi.”

I stick out my chest. “I was just making sure you were okay.”

Vog laughs. “That’s stupid, Bothvi.”

“A hare, let’s get it,” Thorkel yells as he and the other boys dart after it.

“No!” Arni screams after them. “Leave the bunny alone.”

The boys chase it all around while Arni and I chase after them. Arni shouts at them. “Leave it alone. Don’t hurt it.”

Thorkel circles around while the others chase it as it zig-zags and darts here and there. Griotgard leads it right into Thorkel, who dives and gets its hind leg before he grabs it by the ears and holds it up. “Ha, got the little shit.”

“Don’t hurt it. Leave it alone,” Arni says as she runs up to him. “Please!”

“Come on, Thorkel. Just let it go,” I say, even though I shouldn’t. They’re going to think I’m weak, but I can’t stand seeing Arni so worried like this.

“Oh, come on, Bothvar. You’re acting like Thormar. What, are you going to tell mother? She’ll be pissed at all of us for being out here, but she’ll welcome the hare for stew. It’s just a hare,” he says as the poor thing kicks and struggles in his grip.

“Just let it go!” Arni cries.

“Stop being a baby, Arni. You’re always so sensitive,” Asfrid says as she walks up to Thorkel. “It’s just a rabbit. What do you think we eat in our stews half the time? Besides, I thought you wanted to be like Frida. Remember? She’s our favorite goddess. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill the hare.”

“But, it’s so cute,” Arni says.

“We should kill it,” Vog says, drawing a knife.

“Yeah, and maybe our fathers will let us come on their hunts when they get back from raiding. I heard they hunted down a bear last time,” Solmund says.

Vog steps up to the rabbit, making Arni cry. I step up to Vog and Thorkel. “Don’t do it.”

Vog looks down at me with a grin. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Suddenly something swoops in between us and a long wooden staff smacks the knife right out of Vog’s hand, swipes the rabbit from Thorkel, and sweeps all three of us off our feet.

“Sorry about that, I didn’t mean to get you, just these two, but you were in the way,” a girl says as she reaches down at me with her staff. I grab it and she yanks me up.

Thorkel and Vog scramble to their feet as the girl, who is actually quite pretty and appears to be around our own age, spins the staff with one hand and cradles the bunny in the other. She looks ready to fight.

“Why I outta,” Vog says.

Thorkel stops him. “And who might you be? I’m Thorkel, son of Beorcol. You’ve probably heard of me. My father is Earl of the Krakens.”

“I might have heard of you, but nothing good,” the girl says with a straight face as she takes us in. She has dark brown hair with a pretty but sharp face. Her eyes narrow into honed daggers.

“And who the bloody are you?” Asfrid says as she glares at her with her arms crossed.

“My name is Tonna and I’m the daughter of Amalasontha, who is the War Chieftess of the Valkyrie. You’re on our land and you’re poaching our animals. Why shouldn’t I beat the snot out of you all?” The woman twirls her staff to show she might be able to.

Vog laughs. “You got lucky. A girl couldn’t beat me in a fight.”

Vog steps up, cracking his knuckles with a big shit-eating grin on his face. The grin is wiped off with Tonna’s staff as she smacks it across his face with very little effort, sending him falling to the ground like an enormous oak tree. “Are all men this stupid?”

“Hey! I’m not stupid,” Thorkel says, stepping up.

“Let’s not fight!” Arni says as she rushes up. Why is she always doing this?

I rush over to her. Tonna raises her staff to me. “I don’t have any quarrels with you two, but your friends have to go. They’re a bunch of stupid pigs who only think with their stomachs.”

“Come on Thorkel, we can take her if we fight her together,” Griotgard says as he, Solmund, and Skardi go to circle Tonna while Vog climbs to his feet and shakes his head as if he has water in his ears.

“No!” Thorkel yells, stepping up between them. “You all act like Grom. We’re not cowards like him who need five of us to fight one girl. I’ll fight her and none of you will step in.”

She smirks. “Well, at least one of you has honor. Even so, there’s no chance you’ll beat me.”

She sets the bunny down and it darts off.

“Oooh, there goes our prey,” Vog says in a whiny voice.

“That rabbit was never yours. It is on our land and belongs to us,” the girl says as she twirls her staff around before crouching down with it resting across her shoulder, held by her backhand.

“I made things fair for you and yet you fight with a staff while I have nothing but my hands,” Thorkel says.

She sighs and tosses him the staff. “Fine, you can use it. I don’t need it to beat you.”

He huffs. “I’m not going to…”

He doesn’t have a chance to finish his words as she charges. His eyes go wide as he swings wildly at her. She ducks, dips, and dodges the staff before he tries to stab it at her. She snags it in her hands, catching him off balance, and yanks it from him as he stumbles forward. He tries to correct himself, but she takes his legs out from underneath him with the staff before she lifts it over him and brings it down hard towards his head.

Thorkel shouts and turns away, closing his eyes. However, the blow never comes as she holds it only a finger’s length above his head. All of us stand with our mouths agape. Then Vog, Solmund, and Griotgard charge at her. I rush in and burl into Vog as he slams into Griotgard while Tonna trips up Solmund.

“What are you doing?” Thorkel yells at them. “I told you not to interfere.”

“But she beat you and made you look like a fool,” Vog says as he pushes me off him.

“She got lucky, that’s all. I’ve never practiced with a staff. If we were using axes or swords with shields I’d beat her easily,” Thorkel says, dusting himself off.

“Sure,” Tonna says with another smirk.

“What is going on here?” We all jump as women with spears appear out of thin air. I didn’t even see them.

“Nothing, mother. I was just playing with these Kraken children. I was teaching them how to use a staff. They’re not very good at it,” Tonna says as she looks down her nose at us. “Although, I must admit, at least some of them have honoris. That one, who’s named Thorkel, son of Earl Beorcol, has some shred of dignity, even though he is a poor fighter. And that boy and the smaller girl have much more honoris. The rest have much to learn. They show much delictum.”

She pointed at Arni and me. What is she talking about? What are honoris and delictum?

“Most men have much delictum and little honoris. But it is far too difficult to teach them,” the woman who must be Amalasontha, Tonna’s mother, says. “And what were you children of the Kraken clan doing across the river? Don’t you know that this side of the river is our land?”

“We were only playing around, I swear,” Thorkel says, bowing his head.

The woman looks over at Arni and me. “What are your names?”

“He’s my little brother, Bothvar, and that’s Arngunn. She and Asfrid are the daughters of Hrut, my father’s quartermaster. Their mother and father serve on my father’s ship,” Thorkel says.

She narrows her eyes at us. “And those boys? What are their names?”

“That’s Vog, son of Einar, a ship captain. Those two are Griotgard and Solmund, son of Sigvid, son of Varin. And that one is Skardi. He doesn’t have any family that we know of,” Thorkel says.

“I’ll remember your names. Make sure this is the last time you walk upon our land uninvited. I’m sure your father is raiding, so tell your mother. Amalasontha and the Valkyrie don’t take kindly to trespassing even if they are children. I’ll know if you don’t follow through.”

“Yes, your Earlness. Or Chieftessiness? A… your highness?” Thorkel says, stumbling over his words.

“Come, Tonna, let us be off,” the woman says, turning her back to us.

“I’ll be right behind you. Let me say my farewell,” Tonna says. I barely blink before her mother and the other woman warriors are gone in a flash. I could hardly see them move.

“You lot are lucky I decided not to tell mother you were poaching. We don’t take kindly to poachers. They usually end up dead,” she says, once again, sticking her nose up at us. “Even so, I did enjoy meeting you all, especially you, Bothvar, and you, Arngunn. I won’t forget you two. And you are okay, Thorkel, son of Beorcol. You have a little Honoris. The rest of you lot have much delictum and I’m not sure if there’s any amount of Officium you could do to find Apolutrosis.”

“What in the name of the gods are you talking about?” Asfrid asks.

“It’s the Valkyrie way. Our five core values. Kathíkon, Honoris, Officium, Delictum, and Apolutrosis. You should learn it. Even then you’d still lack honoris,” she says. Asfrid sticks her tongue out at Tonna. “See? That’s my point.”

Then, just like that, she’s gone. Asfrid growls. “What a stuck-up, turd-eating cow.”

“I don’t know. She seems alright,” Thorkel says, scratching his head. “Do you really think that Chief lady, Amalasomanoma or whatever, will really know if we don’t tell mother about this?”

“It’s Amalasontha,” I say.

“Yeah, whatever,” Thorkel says as pushes my head away. “Come on, let’s get back before it gets too late.”

The entire way back, Asfrid complains about Tonna, calling her every foul name I’ve ever heard. Once we get back, Thorkel and I both decide to tell mother the truth, fearing what the Valkyrie War Chief might do if she really would know if we didn’t tell. Of course, this leads us to getting our ears boxed, our bottoms switched, and slave work for nearly the rest of the summer. Obviously, mother told us it would’ve been far worse if we didn’t confess.

When father finally comes home with the fleet, we all crowd the harbor and welcome them. They bring many treasures and slaves they’ve taken from ships they’ve raided. Father’s hard face softens into a smile as he sees us all. Svala runs right for him and leaps into his arms as the rest of us crowd around him. She tugs on his braided beard and he pretends to be hurt. Mother stands back, watching, as she holds the hand of the youngling Bodvar.

He looks at each of us, his bright blue eyes take us in one at a time. “How are my boys?”

“We’re doing well enough, father,” Thorkel says, standing tall with his chest puffed up.

“Thorkel and Bothvar spent most of the summer doing slave work for all the trouble they got in,” Thormar says, earning a slap against the backside of his head from Thorkel. “Hey! What was that for?”

“For talking too much,” Thorkel says.

Father only sighs. “Some things never change.”

“Did you bring us any gifts, father?” Svala asks.

“Yes! I want a gift,” Bodvar says, trying to push Svala aside, which earns him a thump on the head by Svala’s fist. He tries to kick her, but she just puts her hand against his forehead as he swings and kicks at her, not able to land a blow.

“I did. For you, my daughter, I brought you a golden necklace with a big red ruby. I know how much you like red,” he says, pulling it out of his pocket. Svala’s eyes light up as she takes it.

“Thank you so much, father! I love it,” she says.

He brings out a sword and gives it to Thorkel. “This is a sword I took from a good warrior who fought me well.”

“Then I will become a great warrior to wield it,” Thorkel says with pride.

He pulls out a big glowing orb. This one is green. “There you are, Bothvar. Another one for your collection.”

“Thank you, father! I do not have this color,” I say, taking it in amazement. I can’t pull my eyes from its glow as mist seems to swirl within it. It’s so mesmerizing. It makes me feel good. More alive.

He then pulls out a small round object and gives it to Thormar. “They call it a compass. It always points north. That way, you’ll never lose your way. Oh, and some more maps, just like you asked for.”

“Oh, thank you, father!” Thormar says with sheer happiness as he takes them.

“And for you, Bodvar, a big battle hammer, for your collection,” Father says as he grabs a hammer from his men. It’s taller than Bodvar. He can’t even lift it.

“Thanks, papa, I smash!” Bodvar can’t even lift it. He can barely even drag it behind him.

Several slaves are led from the docks. A lot of them are elves. There are some humans and elves with white robes stained and dirtied. Others have what used to be fine silk. I get a good look at them as they are led up to my mother and my Aunt Sigvor. I heard she once had a daughter who would’ve been older than Thorkel, but she got sick and my aunt could not heal her. That is why she has become so devoted to the healing arts.

Some are older elves; others are women elves. One man has a rather defiant stare. Next to him are two elven women. All three of them have blue eyes like shimmering water that completely take over the eye, leaving no white like ours; instead, the circles are just more intense blue that shines brighter than the rest. Although there are some elves that don’t have any glow and have whites in their eyes. The defiant man has long hair and dark skin. While the two women have pale ivory skin. They cling to him. Those three seem to have vibrant eyes that shine brighter than the rest. The others are rather dim and shallow, besides a girl elf that looks around our age. She has vibrant green eyes instead of blue, but like the other three, the entire eye is green with bright green orbs that swim in the pool of green. I’ve come to learn that the radiance means they have some magical ability. My mother grabs the face of the man to get a better look. He struggles to pull away. My mother lets him go and then he struggles when she does the same to the two women and the girl. He seems to have some attachment to the two women who share the same eyes.

My mother and my aunt look over the slaves. “Keep the ones with the radiant eyes separate. Those Sigvor and I will take. The rest put to work with the others.”

“Very well,” Rognvald says, a bald man who is my father’s quartermaster. He separates the three elves with the glowing blue eyes, the man and the two women. My father pulls the little girl with the green eyes aside. Rognvald takes the rest away.

Asfrid and Arni join us at the docks with Arni’s hair full of flowers, coming to find their own mother and father who raid with my father. Father looks at them and his face slowly saddens.

“Girls… I… I’m sorry, but… Your father and mother. They… They died. They died honorably and now feast in Valholl. I’m so sorry. Your father was one of my closest friends,” father says as he kneels down to face the two girls.

“But… Mother said that… She said she was going to teach us how to fight. She said when she gets back…” Asfrid says as tears well up in her eyes. “She promised!”

“I picked these flowers for mother,” Arni says as she drops them. Asfrid turns and runs away. Thorkel takes off after her.

Mother steps up to father. “What shall happen to them? We can’t let them fend for themselves.”

“We shall take them in as our wards,” father says. “I promised Hrut I’d look after them, and I will keep that promise.”

Arni cries and I step over to her to take her hand. She buries herself in my chest. My father’s fist clenches. “Damn them elves! All the blue-eyed bastards.”

“Son, why don’t you take Arni inside the hall. She needs time,” mother says, and I nod.

Father takes a moment to breathe in deeply, letting his anger fade, then turns to mother. “Why don’t we give this little green-eyed elf girl about Arngunn’s age to the girls so they have someone they can talk to?”

“That is wise. I’ll take a look at the girl,” mother says as I take Arni away. We go to my room, where she goes to my bed and collapses. After I put the orb with the others, I lie down with her and put my arm around her.

I don’t know how long we lay like this, but it was some time before someone knocks at my door. There stands mother with the little green-eyed elf girl. Her skin is darker than ours. It’s the color of bronze. Her hair is dark.

“What do you want?” I spit out.

“Is that how you talk to your mother?” she asks. Her hand goes to her hip as she narrows her eyes at me.

“I am sorry, mother.”

“It is okay. I will let it slide. Since Arngunn’s parents died, they will live with us. The girls will all sleep in Svala’s room. This is Semet. She will be our servant. I would like her to be with Arngunn and Asfrid,” mother says.

“Go away. We don’t want her! She’s an elf! The elves killed her parents. I hate them!” I spit out.

“Bothvar!” mother says with a shocked and angry expression.

“It’s okay, Bothvi. She can stay,” Arngunn says as she rubs her eyes. “She looks like she could use a friend. So could I.”

“Bothvar, you could learn more from Arngunn. Don’t be so cruel,” mother says, boring her eyes into me. “Besides, there are different kinds of elves. The green eyes are different from the blue eyes that killed Arngunn’s parents. You would do well to learn these differences. Maybe you should also spend time with the girl and learn about her people.”

Then her expression lightens as she looks over at Arni. “Arngunn, I am so sorry for your loss. Just know, if there is anything you and your sister need, please let me know. We will treat you like our own daughters, and you will always have a home here.”

“Thank you, I just miss them so much,” Arni says, sniffling as she wipes away another tear.

Mother wearily steps over and kneels down in front of Arni. “I know. They miss you too, and they will see you again in the halls of the gods where you will feast together. Then, you can tell them all about your journeys and the family you will have.”

“Really?” she asks, looking up at her.

“I know it to be true,” mother says.

“I can’t wait to see them again,” Arni says, rubbing away her tears.

“Well, hopefully you can wait just a little longer. We would hate to lose you too,” I say.

Arni smiles and wipes away the last of her tears. She hugs me.

“Will I get to see my parents too? They were killed by the blue-eyed elves who took me,” Semet says.

“No, you and your parents are heathens and will spend all eternity lost in the cold waste of Niflheim,” I say.

“Bothvar! Why would you say that to her?” Mother asks in a growl.

“What? I was just saying what is true,” I say.

“You do not know that. Perhaps her parents are waiting for her in the halls of their gods. Do not speak about things you do not know,” mother says.

“Yeah, that wasn’t very nice, Bothvi,” Arngunn says. She then gets up and walks to the girl and hugs her. “Don’t worry, Semet. Your parents are with mine and soon we can join them together.”

“Really?” Semet asks, her face full of hope.

“I know it. We just have to be good so we can join them,” Arngunn says.

The little girl nods, wiping away her tears. “I’ll do my best.”

“But only our gods are the true gods,” I say, looking up at my mother.

“Perhaps, or maybe all beliefs are true. Maybe their gods and our gods exist within the same realm, or different realms. Or maybe they are the same gods. We do not know, and no one can say for sure. Regardless, it is not for us to say. We follow our gods because that is what we believe. Doesn’t she deserve the same right to follow her own beliefs?” Mother asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I suppose,” I say, considering this. I turn to the elf. “I’m sorry for what I said. Your parents are probably with your gods, and I hope you can join them when it is your time to take the last voyage.”

She nods and smiles. Mother is smiling too, but she has tears in her eyes. Why is she crying and smiling at the same time? That doesn’t make any sense.

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Lura Syllana

I head back down to the Gallows because I can’t go back home. Not after what happened. My father is a hypocrite. I head back to my uncle’s hideout. Several of the gang are still there, including Renna, her boyfriend Minpireth, and Valindra, who might be with my uncle, but I’m not quite sure what their relationship is.

Zaos, Olaurae, Larongar, and Haerzis are also there with my uncle. They’re all around a table discussing plans of some sort. As soon as they see me, my uncle steps up and walks away from the table over to me. “Kid, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be home.”

“I got into a fight with my father. He lied to me. He’s a hypocrite on top of that. He tells me not to hang out with you and that what we do here is wrong, but he was your partner. He abandoned you,” I say, barely able to hold back tears.

“Oh, Lura. That is far from the truth. There’s a lot you don’t know. I can’t tell you everything. It’s not my place. That’s your father’s place, but him leaving wasn’t his fault. Things happened between us, and it cost us both a great deal. Your father especially. He was never the same after. He left and went on to live a more noble life. You can’t fault him for that, nor can you fault him for wanting a better life for you. This isn’t a life for you. You deserve much better,” he says. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it. “Now, I promise you this, if I ever see Phraan again, I’ll make sure he dies if he touches you a second time.”

The door slams open and shut as footsteps rush down the stairs. Delmuth and Saevel rush down. “The Order, they sent guards down to the Gallows. Phraan is with them!”

My uncle puts his hands on my shoulders. “You need to get out of here.”

Boom!

The door crashes down the stairs with smoke following. Lots of footsteps rush down the stairs as the room fills with smoke. My head hurts. I reach in my pocket for something to wipe my face with when I grab the vial. Before I realize it, I have it uncapped and on my lips. I drop it after emptying the tangy liquid down my throat.

It’s as if the room becomes all shadows. I can see everyone inside it, but I can barely hear them. It’s like an echo of a whisper. There’s a fight, but it’s not much of one, as a spell caster binds my uncle and the gang with magic.

“The girl is down here, I know it. I saw her walking. She’s mine,” Phraan says. What is he doing with the guard? They haul my uncle up. I run to him and no one stops me. But as I reach him, my hand goes right through him. What in the gods is happening?

Phraan stops the guard with my uncle. “Where is she?”

My uncle spits in his face. “I hope you end up in the ninth level of hell.”

Phraan backhands him across the face.

“Phraan! You’re not allowed to touch the prisoners,” a man with rather lopsided ears and a familiar look.

“Brother, we made a deal,” he says.

“We made no such deal,” the elf says. I can’t tell what he looks like because it’s like he’s cloaked in shadow. Everything is cloaked in shadow. What is this?

What did I drink? The soldiers bring my uncle and his gang up the stairwell. No! This can’t be happening. They can’t take my uncle away or his gang. What am I going to do? Tears fall from my eyes as I try to grasp my uncle. I can’t even touch him. My hands just go right through him as if he were pure smoke. No! They can’t take my uncle. No! I watch helplessly as they haul him and his friends away in chains. The tears fall down my eyes and hit the ground in a puff of smoke. I follow them all the way out to Tent City.

What can I do? This feels like it’s my fault. Phraan turned on my uncle because of me. If I would’ve listened to my father and stayed away, this would’ve never happened.

I go to the only place I can go, home. As I get home, I find my mother sobbing and my father trying to comfort her. “We’ll find her. I promise. We’ll get her back. Somehow. Don’t worry.”

“I’m right here!” I yell, but my words do not reach them. A scream escapes my lips. “I’m right here!”

Neither of them look up at me. My father writes a letter and puts it in an envelope, leaving it on my bed. “Just in case she comes home and we’re not here.”

“Now let’s go find our daughter before she gets hurt,” my father says.

“Don’t leave. I’m right here,” I say as I try to stop them, but they walk right through me.

“Is this the tent?” A man asks outside.

My father hobbles to the entrance to have a look. I can barely make out several of the Council’s justices standing outside. My heart goes still as I hear the voice of Phraan. “This is her tent. Remember our deal. I have a lot more information on other gangs, too.”

I rush outside, walking straight through the guards gathered. Several other elves have come out of their tents to watch as several guards pull my father and mother out. “We have a warrant for the arrest of the girl named Lura who has been seen stealing and is a known associate of Lethvelion and his outlaw gang.”

“She is not here,” my father says.

“Check the tent,” the main guard says. Two of the guards push past my mother as she walks out of our tent. I can hear them tossing things aside before they come out.

“She’s not in here,” one of them says.

The elven man giving the orders looks at my parents. “I hereby place you both under arrest for harboring a fugitive. Arrest them.”

“Leave them alone!” I scream.

I desperately try to stop them from taking my parents. No matter how hard I try, I can’t touch them. I watch helplessly as my parents are dragged away. No! What have I done? I fall to my knees and cry. The tears won’t stop. I ruined everything. I’m so sorry, father. I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.

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Lura Syllana

Another day in Tent City…
I let out a silent sigh as I climb up the wall, moving my hands and feet to the little divots and indents that act like a ladder for me to climb. I finally reach a narrow, cracked hole in the wall wide enough for me to squeeze through.
With a hood covering my face, I weave through the crowd of elves of Low Town as I head through the sandy main street on my way to the market. Every now and again, I’ll bump into someone and, purely by coincidence, my pocket becomes a little heavier after my clumsiness. I do not look at what is in my pocket, I just continue while the weight of my pocket grows.
I reach the market and use the little trick I learned to move objects from a distance. Of course, it’s magic, but it’s not enough to be traced by the enforcers. Just a trickle. My uncle taught it to me among other things. As Zeeno scrambles to pick up his fruit that, for some strange reason, falls from his stall, I sneak underneath and start piling my bag full of his fruit.
He calls his Stall, Zeeno’s Ripe Fruits and Vegetables, ripe being an understatement. Most are squishy and don’t smell right. Suddenly, Zeno’s thick, chubby, enormous nose and face with shabby eyebrows and rotting teeth ducks under the stall. My eyes go wide and I drop the tazzle fruit in my hand. His long, pointy, elven ears seem to droop on him. “Hey! You lousy kid. Give me those!”
I bolt out of there with the bag of fruit, darting down alleyways and zipping through the people. “You bastard! Wait until I get my hands on you.”
Even as I run away, my pocket still grows heavier as I bump into people. I bolt down an alleyway, only to cut back the opposite way. I climb up a pillar and jump on a ledge. Then I jump from building to building. I leap a distance longer than I’m comfortable with and barely grab the ledge, but I slip and hit the wooden balcony beneath it with a groan. The air feels like it’s been knocked out of my lungs. I roll onto my hands and knees, pushing myself forward as I scramble back up to the roof. A little dazed, but okay.
I jump and land on a cart of hay before sliding down and sprinting to the gap. I make it through and climb down the wall. Now that I’m in Tent City, I relax a bit and walk casually through the pathways between tents. I slip through Glimmer Alley, where all the glimmer zombies beg and plead for another hit of that poison. They look like skeletons with splotchy skin clinging to their bones.
After zig-zagging through the streets and alleys between tents, I slip into our tent. Father’s tinkering with some contraption he salvaged. He can get a few sand pieces for the parts, but those don’t last. Can’t even buy rotten fruit with that. That’s the problem; everything is overpriced. My mother is grounding up some kind of moss. Most people come to her for the tonics and tinctures she makes with what little herbs she can find. Most of the time, she trades her tinctures for other goods and that’s usually how we eat. But not tonight.
“You’ll never guess what I got!” I open my bag and I want to cry. All my fruit is smashed.
“What’s that, hun?” mother asks as she finally looks up.
“My fruit. It’s… It’s smashed. It’s all mushy,” I say as tears flood my cheeks.
“Here, let me take a look,” she says and I hand her the bag.
“Oh, we can make a nice little jam with that, and since tomorrow is your special day, we can use the jam to make a little something nice to celebrate with. You’ll finally be an adult tomorrow,” my mother says as she takes the smashed fruit out, dumping it into a wooden bowl.
“How did you pay for the fruit, Lura?” my father asks as he looks up at me with his gaunt face. His cheeks seem to cave into his face, and that truly saddens me. My family and I have been living in this arsehole slum for my entire life, all twenty-nine cycles of it so far. I’m a day short of becoming an adult. “Zeno was generous today.”
“Lura, I have told you, we do not steal. It is not our way. We’re better than that,” my father says as he stands up and has to lean on the table to remain on his feet.
“Look at you, father, you can barely stand because of hunger. How is it fair that we have to scrap for food while the nobles fatten themselves? They let food go to waste while elves down here die of hunger. They impose their stupid laws and prohibit the poor from using magic all to keep us down. We slave and do their work while they reap all the benefits. Why shouldn’t I steal?”
“Because it would make us no better than them,” he says, adjusting his broken glasses. “We may live in the slums now, but we come from the honorable Syllana bloodline. A true saint.”
“Honor doesn’t put food in our bellies!” I snap back.
He sighs and rubs his forehead. “No, but hard work does.”
“Not when you only get paid with a few sand pieces that are worth as much as the sand it takes to make them. We can’t even afford the crumbs from the wealthy nobles’ scraps. I’m so sick of living this way!” I shout. Then I see the looks on their faces and realize I have gone too far. A sigh escapes my lips. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. Life is so unfair.”
He gives a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He hobbles over to me and wraps me in a warm hug. “I know, my child. I know. But I couldn’t bear it if you got caught. The cost is too high. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were put in chains and sold as a slave.”
“That is another thing that makes little sense. How is it justified to be sold into slavery for stealing something that only costs less than a copper?” I ask.
My father shrugs. “I do not know, my dear. I don’t make the laws. But I suspect it’s because of how bad things have gotten. The slums have only grown since the Council of Nine has taken over the rule of our city. Ever since our great King Volodar Morric has left the throne, things have slowly grown worse.”
“Why did he do it? Why did he walk away?” I ask.
My father only shrugs. “I don’t know, my child.”
“Well, I just came to drop off the fruit. I gotta run,” I say, and bolt out before my parents can argue.
I still hear my father shouting. “You better not be heading off to Lethvelion. Your uncle isn’t a good influence!”
I walk out of the tent to run into Sister Damaris, who pays us regular visits. “Lura…”
“Sorry, sister, can’t stay,” I say as I push past her, rushing through the lines of tents, heading to the underpass of the bridge to the gate to the Under City. That’s where I find a tunnel down to the path to the underground sewers. Of course, it stinks like dung and piss, but what would you expect from the sewers? Traveling below, I head through a maze of corridors and passageways. I find a secluded place and use a bit of magic Uncle Leth taught me, summoning a small ball of faint blue light. Lethvelion says that as long as I only use a trickle of magic, it can’t be detected. It’s illegal to use magic without a permit, and the only people who can afford permits are rich nobles. Of course, you could always borrow the money, but the banks would never lend money to tent trash like me. Maybe someone in Mid Town or even Low Town with a reputable line of work. Or someone who works for the Golden High Elf Trading Company. Although I hear they give scholarships to those with exceptional potential. But I suppose I’m not one of them.
I empty out my pockets, and I find a nice catch. Aside from the junk, which contained some kind of letter, a torn piece of parchment that looks like it came from a book, a vial of something dark, and some kind of token, I got a nice stash of jewelry and some coins. A little ruby, some silver coins, plenty of copper, and even a golden crown. There’s a nice little pearl bracelet, but I’m drawn to a beautiful golden ring with a bright, glimmering sapphire. It feels like it calls to me. I can’t tear my eyes away from the sea of glimmering blue within the sapphire. A clatter in the distance pulls me out of it. I shake my head and stuff everything inside my pocket besides my new ring. It looks perfect on my finger. Feels even better. As soon as I put it on, it feels like a surge of energy went through me. With a bit of magic I’ve learned here and there from Uncle Lev, I make the ring go invisible. No one will ever know it’s there.
I did quite well if I say so myself. I take a better look at the vial of dark liquid. Wonder what it could be… I put it in my pocket with another invisibility spell. Got to be careful using that too often. What about this letter? I open it and read what’s inside. It’s a letter from a man named Ba’theas Keenreaver addressed to Iolas Paynore of the Golden High Elf Trading Company. Sounds like he’s trying to bribe the man. I also unravel the parchment and it has some cryptic meaning. It reads as follows.
A hidden secret lies in a list at the back of this book.
That’s odd. Obviously, this note is useless without the book. I toss it aside. I pocket the letter and make my way through a maze of tunnels I know all too well until I reach my destination, a place we call The Gallows, the underground city.
Down a corridor lies an iron door. I knock once, then twice, then once, and wait a second before knocking three more times. The narrow sliding window shoots open. “Oh, it’s you, Little Sparrow, the tinkerer’s daughter.”
The sliding little window closes, and the door opens to the sight of a large, bald elf with pointy ears that have grown past his head. He’s got a gruff, long, black beard with a mustache to match. His arms are as thick as sewage pipes. “Don’t tell me you’ve got more junk to haggle with.”
“Not junk, valuable treasure,” I say with a smile.
“Junk,” Balbys grumbles as he lets me through.
“Someone’s junk is another one’s treasure,” I say.
“You can paint a sandstone gold, but it’s still junk,” he says.
I only shrug and skip by.
The Gallows is not the safest place in town, but it’s by far the only place you can sell stolen goods. It’s the city below the city within a huge open corridor that runs for at least a few elvish miles. There’s only one actual street down the middle with both sides packed with shacks, makeshift hob shops, run-down bars, stalls, and lots of shady alleys. This place makes Tent City look like a haven to live in which is laughable.
I make my way through the merchants, if you can call them that, and weave through my fellow thieves of all sorts. Everything from simple cutpurses to the most cunning burglars. And you can’t forget about the assassins, gangs, mercenary sell swords, and other shady people. Not just elves, either. Some dwarves and humans here and there. I even see an orc and one of the cat people called Kar. Someone’s even trying to sell a jar of sand they claim is from the deep desert with healing properties. What’s even crazier is that someone’s dumb enough to buy it.
I walk into a rundown, shabby bar made of stacked crates, tarps, and rotted wood that rests up against the sewer walls like so many of the other shacks. Inside are a few tables that are also made out of crates that make for stools. Several men and women take up the seats. A game of dice takes up one of the tables. The men are all the same kind, thieves. Not the shadiest bunch; in fact, you could call them honorable thieves if there is such a kind. Of course, I wouldn’t trust them with your coin purse, but they won’t stab you in the back.
“Kid, haven’t you learned anything yet?” the owner of the shack of a bar asks. A woman named Lesvhis that few would cross. She’s got some wrinkles on her copper-toned face, with unkempt, dark-black hair streaked with gray, and wears a constant scowl, but she’s fair. Cross her and you’ll find a dagger in your heart, but she’ll have your back if you show her proper respect.
“Oh, come on, Lesvhis. You know this is the only way in the lower sects to make a decent coin. My family’s got to eat,” I say with a smile.
“Ain’t that the truth! I swear, thieves are becoming younger and younger. Or maybe it’s just that I’m getting older and older. I don’t know anymore. Just don’t sink too deep. You got that?” She waves her finger at me with that constant scowl.
I nod. “I’ll try. If only there were other ways to find work.”
“You sure got that right. The city is too crowded with too many mouths to feed and not enough food and work to go around,” she says, blowing a string of her dark gray hair out of her face.
“It don’t help with the council continuing to lay down all these harsh laws. Why did the King abandon us? He’s the one who led us to succession from the Woodland Realm and he left us in this desert to starve,” I ask.
“Oh, my dear child, it was the king who paid the ultimate price for our freedom from the Woodland Realm with his beloved wife. After she died in the war, he lost himself. But there are those of us still loyal to the rightful king. King Volodar will return someday when he finds himself. Mark my words. That or his children will finally gain the strength to take down the council,” she says.
I nod. “We can all hope, but in the meantime, I got some stuff to sell.”
“Just make sure you know when to walk away, child,” she says as she lets me behind the bar counter and into a back room where there lies another enormous iron door hidden in the sewer wall. She opens it, and I head down the stairs into the darkness.
At the bottom is a light that leads into a big open corridor with several smaller rooms attached. The corridor itself is lined with crates, barrels, and boxes. A big open square is set in the middle with battered couches and chairs. Several men and women lounge around. Some playing dice, while others tell stories and barter over what little they have.
I walk down into the lounge.
“Oh, look who it is, our Little Sparrow,” Larongar says. An older elf with gray, frizzled hair, a shadow of a beard on his face, and plenty of scars. One prominent scar trails from one ear across his nose to the other. He’s never said what caused it.
“Scarface, pleasant to see you too,” I say with an exaggerated smile.
Haerzis, a bald, dark-chocolate skinned half-elf, snorts a laugh. “I’ll never tire of you, girl.”
Larongar shrugs. “She tells it like it is.”
Olaurae slams a cup on the table of crates and smirks at Filarion before he lifts the cup to reveal a pair of dice with snake eyes. “Looks like I win again.”
Filarion stabs his knife into the crate, splintering it. “Damn you, Olaurae, you cheated. I know it! Let me see those dice.”
“For the love of the King, Filarion, I told you to stop doing that!” Zaos says with a glare. The silver-haired elf with a big, fluffy beard is normally even-tempered but can snap when you push him far enough. “This is the fifth crate you’ve sliced open in the last two days. Go replace it and stop ruining our tables.”
“Sorry, tell Olaurae to stop cheating. I don’t know how he does it, but there’s no way he can win five games in a row without cheating,” Filarion grumbles as he gets up, and grabs the crate, tossing it over with the rest of the crates with holes in them and grabbing another.
“He’s got a point, Olaurae, you do cheat. That’s why I’ll never play with you,” Larongar says.
“You never complained before. As I recall, you’ve made quite a bit of coin betting on me to win,” Olaurae says with a grin.
Larongar shrugs. “I’d be a fool not to. But that’s against those foolish sell swords. No one here is stupid enough to bet against you, besides maybe Filarion.”
“Hey!” Filarion scowls. He’s a bit younger than Zaos, Olaurae, Larongar, and even Haerzis. But the scruff on his face makes him look older than he really is. Although he’s much older than me. Of course, age is a complicated issue. The elves who use magic are nearly ageless, but us lowlife sewer rats that aren’t allowed to use it or lack the ability age at a much faster rate. I’ve even heard some elves are over a thousand cycles old. That blows my mind.
The iron door opens and a bunch of boots clap their way down as Lethvelion, Minpireth, Renna, Valindra, Aimar, Akkar, Elas, Dakath, Haryk, Kesefeon, and a man that makes my stomach curdle, Phraan all walk in. Saevel, Erolith, and Delmuth nearly stumble down the stairs carrying three large chests.
“Now that was one hell of a grab,” Haryk says as he collapses on the couch next to Haerzis.
“Those uppity pompous arses didn’t see it coming.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Don’t worry Little Sparrow, I’ll tell ya all the details if you come by my bed later,” Phraan says as his eyes travel down my body and make me want to take a bath.
“Eww, gross,” Renna says as she and Valindra both pretend to throw up. “Phraan, the girl is young enough to be your granddaughter, ya perv.”
Renna wraps her arm around my shoulder and steers me away from that gross man as she and Valindra head over to another couch and plop down. Minpireth sits on the armrest next to Renna.
“Don’t listen to that perv, and if he tries anything, let me know and I’ll cut his hands off,” she says with a wink.
“I’ll cut his cock off,” Valindra says. Her eyes stab daggers into Phraan as she uses her hands to demonstrate. “Snip, snip.”
“Better be careful, Phraan. The girl is my niece,” Lethvelion says, making Phraan stiffen.
“I was only joking,” Phraan says as his eyes travel over to me with a look that betrays his words. I shudder in disgust.
“Mark my words, Phraan. Make more jokes like that and I’ll cut your tongue out. You may have the inside scoop with the dock schedules, but that won’t stop me from cutting your heart out if you even think about touching my niece,” my uncle says. My father may not like me hanging out with him, but I know he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I don’t know what caused the rift between the two of them, but my father won’t even talk to Lethvelion.
“I would never,” Phraan says, running a hand through his greasy, long, brown hair. One ear has the tip sliced off. A scar runs down his cheek and runs into his beard, leaving the skin bare.
Lethvelion gives him an icy stare before he turns away and brings his attention to the chests they brought down. My uncle has long, graying-brown hair with a beard to cover his face below the nose. His face is made hard, like many people down here. But there’re crows’ feet at the corner of his eyes from the genuine smiles he occasionally gives. Especially to me. He always knows how to get a laugh out of me.
Valindra braids my hair as my uncle opens the chests to reveal more gold than I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Some gemstones bigger than my fist are scattered amongst the gold coins along with silver chalices, beautiful golden gem necklaces, and other gorgeous trinkets.
“What did I tell you?” Kesefeon says as he claps my uncle on the shoulder. “I knew the Golden Trading Company would bring in several shipments of gold from their sales with the slave shipments from Chillshore. This is only one of many. And all we had to do was row out to the ship and sneak on to grab a few chests.”
“You were right, my friend. I’ll give ya that. You get the first pick of it. Then the rest of you lot can take your share and the rest of it will be put in the coffers. This is cause for a little celebration. Let’s crack open that barrel of wine we stole from that greedy chairman… The one that looks like a weasel. What was his name again?” My uncle asks.
“Eldaerenth Heiris. The weasel face,” Zaos says with a laugh.
“That’s him. Weasel’s face. We’re going to have to get another barrel. The weasel knows excellent wine,” my uncle says with a smirk.
“That he does. I think he gets it from that human town. What’s it called?” Zaos says, scratching his beard.
“Wasn’t it… Lagan berries?” Kesefeon asks, running a hand through his auburn hair.
“It’s Lagoonbury,” I say.
“How do you know?” Kasefeon asks.
“I read it in a book,” I say.
“You can read?” Larongar asks, getting a laugh from the rest. I stick my tongue out at him.
“Of course, she can read, my brother used to be a scholar before… Well before it all changed. I’m sure he’s still got some books hidden away,” my uncle says.
“The Tinkerer was a scholar?” Filarion asks, scratching his head. “I didn’t know that.”
“You don’t know a lot of things, especially how to play dice,” Zaos says.
“I know how to play dice just fine, Olaurie just cheats,” Filarion says with a glare.
Olaurie only shrugs. “And yet you’re the fool who still plays me.”
“You don’t even deny it,” Filarion says with a huff.
“So, did you have luck today, Little Sparrow?” Renna asks as she sharpens her long dagger. She and Valindra are by far the most beautiful elves I’ve ever seen. Both sisters with dark brown hair. Renna has one side braided while the other side hangs loose. Her eyes are as blue as they can get with a dim glow to them. Valindra shares the same eyes and hair color but keeps her hair short. Both have delicate ivory skin. If they didn’t dress like scoundrels with tight bridges, boots that come up to their knees, and dark brown hair, you’d mistake them for nobles or high-born with their smooth, ivory skin, unlike my copper tone. I may have golden hair that most women desire, but my skin is far too dark to get away with being a noble. But I do have vibrantly glowing blue eyes.
That’s what most women dream of, having a fair complexion with pure golden hair and glowing blue eyes that show how much magical potential you have. Of course, having potential is far different from being able to afford a permit to practice magic. But some with deep glowing eyes who are as poor as a sewer rat have been lucky enough to find benefactors willing to pay for their training and permit. Of course, that usually comes at an enormous cost with strings attached. Those poor bastards end up as servants for their benefactors. I probably could find one myself with my deep, glowing blue eyes, but I would never accept being a servant for some snobby noble or high-born.
I empty my pockets onto the crate, everything except the coins, the ring on my finger, and that vial. Valindra’s eyes light up. “Ooh, I’ll give you five silver for that delicate pearl necklace.”
“Seven and a couple coppers and you got yourself a deal,” I say with a smile.
“You make a hard bargain, but I’ll take it,” Valindra says as she pulls out her coin and hands the agreed-upon amount.
“You didn’t get much,” Haerzis says.
“Quality is always better than quantity,” Renna says as she eyes my loot. “Nevertheless, that ruby is a little small, but you made out with that pearl bracelet. I wouldn’t have paid that much for it.’
“Pffft!” Valindra huffs as she holds up her hand, eyeing the bracelet. “You can’t put a price on something so beautiful.”
“In that case, I should’ve asked for more,” I say, and that gets a few good laughs.
“Ya think?” Larongar snorts out a laugh. “If someone is willing to accept after your first offer, your offer was too low.”
“He’s right, I would’ve paid a crown for this. These pearls are authentic. I can tell. I have an eye for these things,” Valindra says with a smirk. “You have no idea the value of authentic pearls. Our city might border the shoreline of the deep Pirate Sea, but few will dive in to get pearls like these. Most creatures down there love to eat elves. And some even go after the creatures big enough to eat us. Nabu only knows what else is down there.”
“She really does,” Renna sighs. Nabu is the god of wisdom and magic. The ancient god that King Volodor followed when he succeeded from the Wood Elves. Of course, that’s long before the Church of the Light moved in with their bizarre religion.
My uncle walks over, picks up the crumpled-up letter, and reads it. “Hmm, this is interesting. We might be able to use this. Looks like some noble lord is bribing the Golden arses.”
“Is that so? Maybe we can blackmail them both,” Larongar says.
“Might be worth a try,” my uncle says with a smile. “We all know nobles always have something to hide. Bloody bastards. You want to know why nobles always stick their noses up?”
Most of us shrug.
“They walk around with sticks up their arses all day,” my uncle says as he mimics a noble walking as if he has a stick up his arse with his nose up in the air. I snort out a laugh with everyone else.
The keg gets opened and they all gather for a drink. My uncle turns to me. “Lura, you should get home before your father decides to come after ya. He already blames me for enough things.”
“Oh, come on. I still have to sell this ruby,” I say. I hold it up and look around. “Any takers?”
My uncle tosses me a gold crown. “That’s for the letter, too. Now get home before it gets dark out.”
I nod with a smile, tossing him the little ruby as I flip up my new gold crown and pocket it with the rest of the coin. “Later suckers. I’ll be back with tomorrow’s grab.”
They all say their farewells. On my way out, I run into Saevel. He’s probably just as young as I am with short brown hair and a smooth ivory baby face, but he’s half a head shorter than me. “Hey, Lura!”
I give him a smile that burns his face red. “I just wanted to say hi. Uh… So… Uh… Hi! You look nice. I like the braid.”
“Thank you, Saevel. That was nice of you to say. You look… Not as shabby as everyone else.” I cringe at my own words. His smile doesn’t even dull. He’s nice, he really is, it’s just. He’s not my type. I wish he were. “Well, I have to be off. It was nice seeing you.”
“Thanks. You too!” he says with a wave as I turn to leave.
I hear him yelp as Delmuth punches him in the arm. “Smooth.”
I snicker on my way up. As I walk into the bar, I flip a silver coin on the bar and say goodbye to Lesvhis, ducking out before she can try to give the coin back.
I head out of the Gallows as Balbys opens the door for me. “Still got your junk?”
“I sold my treasure for a good price,” I say with a smile.
He only shrugs and shuts the door in my face, leaving me with a flat stare. The man has no social skills.
I head down the long sewer corridor as I hear someone else walk out of the Gallows. Paying no mind, I follow the passageway back to the Tent City through the maze of corridors and passageways as the footsteps continue to follow behind me. They seem to pick up speed, as do I. My heart races as I turn to look back, not seeing anyone.
I rush through the sewer and trip over my feet as coins scatter everywhere. A curse escapes my mouth as I rush to pick them all up and stuff them back into my pocket.
“My, my, look what we have here,” that all too familiar, creepy voice says. I look up to see someone I do not want to meet in a dark sewer like this.
Phraan stands over me with a wicked smile. Half his face hides in darkness, making him look even more sinister. “Hello there, Little Sparrow.”
I rush to my feet and run, but his arm wraps around my waist and forces me up against the wall. His breath is as foul as his rotten teeth and drains all the warmth from my face. “Let me go!”
“Oh, why should I do that?” He pins my hands above my head with one hand as the other travels down my stomach, making my skin crawl. “I’ve had my eye on you for a long time now.”
Tears start to fall from my eyes. “Please let me go.”
“Oh no, Little Sparrow. I think not. I’m going to teach you a lesson on becoming a woman,” he says as his fingers reach my pants. I try to squirm and struggle, but he’s too strong.
Suddenly, a shiny blade presses against his throat, and he stiffens. Slowly, he backs away, holding his hands up. “I should slit your throat, you disgusting excuse of a man.”
Renna’s eyes burn with anger and revulsion. I slide down the wall into a sobbing mess on the floor. “You can’t kill me. I have some powerful friends who’ll turn you into a whore slave and make your life a living hell.” says Phraan.
“You think that’ll stop me from gutting you like a fish? I swear to all the gods there are, if I ever see you down here again, I will kill you. And that’ll be a mercy because Lethvelion will want to do much worse when he hears what you tried to do,” she says, pressing the knife harder against his skin. A trickle of blood drips down.
Phraan takes another step back and Renna lowers her blade just a hair. The disgusting man puts his hand up against his neck. “You’ll regret this.”
He then turns heel and walks away. Renna doesn’t put away her blade until the sound of Phraan’s footsteps drifts into nothing. She sheaths her dagger and kneels down beside me and wraps me in her arms. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
I wipe the tears from my eyes and nod. She sits down next to me with her arms around me and we just sit there for a while. After my tears have long dried up, she helps me up and walks with me out of the sewer. As we make it to Tent City, I turn to her and hug her. “Thank you, Renna.”
“Of course. You come to me if that bastard ever tries anything again. Okay?” she says as she lifts my face up to hers. I nod.
“Good, now be careful out here. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. You know just as well as all of us what they do to thieves they catch,” she says, nestling her hand in my hair.
“I know. I’m too good to be caught,” I say with a half-hearted smile.
“That arrogance will get you in trouble, Little Sparrow. Gods, you remind me so much of myself,” she says as she eyes me wearily. It makes me smile widely. “That’s not a good thing. I made so many mistakes. Now go home.”
I sigh, but I give her one more hug and head through the rows of tents before I get to my family.
“Where have you been?” my mother asks.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve been spending time with Lethvelion’s little gang of thieves,” my father says. I don’t answer and just plop down on my cot. “You have, haven’t you? Lura, I’ve told you time and time again, that Lethvelion is trouble. He’s no good.”
“Why do you hate him so much? He’s your brother, after all,” I ask.
“I don’t hate him, I just… I don’t approve of his lifestyle. How can I with his chosen line of work?” he asks.
“What would you want him to do? Give up and live like you? A poor, raggedy tinkerer? Life isn’t supposed to be this way. We weren’t put here to live in tents and beg for our food. Your brother agrees, and he decides to do something about it instead of sticking his head in the sand and pretending all is well!” I snap at him. I might have crossed the line, but it’s all true.
However, seeing the hurt in my father’s eyes doesn’t make me feel good about it. No. It makes me feel pretty awful. My father takes a deep breath. “Is that what you think? That I have given up?”
I nod. He takes a step closer. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but that is far from the truth. Just because I choose to stay on the right side of the law doesn’t mean I’ve given up. I will continue to help as many people as I can, fixing whatever they need because that is what I feel is the right thing to do. Yes, it might not make a big difference. It won’t change how things are in this city, but it makes a difference in the lives of those I help, and in return, they help us and others. We can make change in this world if we choose to help others and not hurt them. If we decide to lend them our hand instead of taking what’s in their pocket, more people will also help. That is how we make the world a better place, not by thieving.”
“But how can you change anything if the system we live in is broken? It doesn’t matter what we do, we’ll always be poor and segregated from the rest of the city. I admire you for being so kind and good-hearted, but I just don’t agree with you. I just can’t accept this way of life,” I say.
My father’s eyes seem to grow tired. “I hope you never have to learn the weight of the consequences of such actions. They will cost you everything, just like they did with my brother and me.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I once walked the same path as Lethvelion…”
“You were a thief, too?” I ask as I feel a surge of anger. “You’ve been telling me all this time to stay away from him yet you were a thief, too? You’re such a hypocrite and a liar! I believed you were always this saint, but the truth is, you’re just a quitter.”
“Lura, let me finish,” he says.
“No! I’m done listening to you,” I say as I rush out of the tent. I run through the rows of tents all the way to the wall. I climb up my path of indents, holes, and gaps. Squeeze through the narrow path and then climb up the corner of bricks until I reach a ledge. Lifting myself on top of the ridge, I shimmy over to the overhang that’s out of sight from the guards and sit there, watching the sunset over the shoreline of the Shifting Sands desert to the west between the deep blue sea and the tan shifting sand. Why do things have to be so tough? I hate it here. I hate this city. I hate the Council who rules it. I hate people like Phraan who think they can have whatever they want. I wish I could just leave. Run away and find someplace that I can truly call home. Life is just not fair.
This place is not a home, but a hell. I’ve never felt at home here. I don’t belong here, and I feel so incomplete. I don’t know why, but I feel as if I’m missing a part of myself somewhere and it can’t be found in this shitty city. It’s somewhere out there. I can feel it.
I turn to the north and follow the shoreline with my eyes all the way until it’s lost from sight.

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Bothvar Beorcolsson

Part 1 The Damaged Soul (Bothvar’s youth) and Part 2: The Bound Soul (Lura’s youth)

It was a hard season when my father and his men returned from the war defeated. Vandil, the Southern Tyrant king, defeated and killed our King Teowulf. He marched upon his throne in Chillshore and captured it, leaving it in the hands of the Southern Tyrants. They’re usurpers. My father and the rest of the clans fled back to their Strongholds and villages, hidden from the Southerners and preparing for an attack that never came.

Our town spent the entire summer season building up our defenses and looking out for a battle that never came. We lacked the resources we normally have that never came to be. Walls were built by the Builder clan with spikes and towers for archers. Father had a barricade and armory built.

By the time winter arrived, without raiding we didn’t have the resources we needed and many people died because of it. Fortunately, my family and friends all survived. We were blessed by the gods. Our clan has always been faithful servants of the gods. When spring finally came, my father and his men were eager to get out to sea, leaving my mother in charge. All of us – my older brother, Thorkel, my younger brother, Thormar, and myself – were free to do as we pleased without the rigorous routines my father enforces on us, as long as we continue to learn our crafts. My younger sister, Svala, and my youngest brother, Bodvar, are far too young to join us, and this would be my older brother’s last summer as a boy before he joins my father on raids as he becomes a man. He’s excited about it, but I will miss having Thorkel around.

Father makes us spend much of our free time learning crafts. He tells us we’ll never know when we need to know it, for it could save our lives. Most crafts seem to be tedious and time-consuming. Some are not quite manly, but we’re forced to learn it anyway. Like how to stitch clothing. Or how to weave and to cook. Women’s tasks if you ask me. We also learn how to fletch, chop trees and split wood, build fires and houses, and gather herbs, which is far more difficult than I ever imagined. So many herbs. And it’s hard to tell which ones will kill you and which ones will cure some strange illness. My Aunt Sigvor, my mother’s older sister, was quite thorough in teaching us what to look for in herbs and how to test whether they are poisonous or actually help with sickness. Most of the time, she just uses them on animals to see what happens. She is our town’s Wise One. The one everyone goes to for their illnesses, sicknesses, or any other herbal remedy or concoction. I’ve even seen a man come to her needing something for his wife’s bum because he stuck… Well, I don’t need to go into detail about that. Some things I will never understand.

We spend a lot of time chopping wood. I think it’s slave work and I don’t like it, but regardless, father won’t budge. Eventually, he tells us that chopping wood is a good way to develop our swing with an ax and build our strength. Same with cutting trees. However, father is always criticizing the way we swing our axes. Always telling us we’re doing it wrong and we need to use our legs more. I don’t understand. How can you swing an ax with your legs? Eventually, he explains that the power behind the swing comes from our legs. It starts in our legs and moves up our body to our arms. You bend your knees to start, but as you bring your ax above your shoulder, you straighten your legs out in a stretch. Then, when you bring the ax down, you bring it with the full force of your body and end in a crouch position. Like a squat, not as much as if you were taking a shit, but with your knees should be slightly bent. If done right, your full body should be used.

By far my favorite skills are those we learn from the dwarf, Aldam Bronzehammer. He’s a grumpy, bald dwarf with a thick, long, braided, auburn beard that hangs down to his belt and stays tucked under his apron. The dwarf is thick with muscle, which he has forged with his hammer and pickaxe. He’s got dark iron skin that looks like metal. He teaches us many skills. How to prospect ore, how to mine it, how to smelt it, and how to forge it into tools and weapons. Of course, to a dwarf, weapons are just tools of the killing sort. The body is the true weapon. And I find swinging a pickaxe is much like swinging a wood chopping ax. You do the same motion, and Aldam is quick to criticize.

We spend much of our youth with the dwarf. He grumbles much of the time, complaining about our efforts, but I can tell he enjoys our company. We travel with him up the mountains, finding coal and iron. There’s plenty of it, along with some strange glowing mushrooms and glowing ore. Aldam tells us we are not ready for the glowing ore, it’s too heavy for us. That ore is for experts, and the mushrooms will turn your skin dark but have many benefits such as healing and increasing your senses. It is hard work, mining the raw materials we need, and it takes all three of us to push and pull the cart down the mountain full of the ore. Once we get back to his little shop, we have to refine it and get all the crude from it. We run it through water several times to get the dirt off, and then we heat it up with charcoal and pound it with a hammer to get rid of the slag.

“Put your balls into it. Swing that bloody hammer with all your body,” the dwarf yells as we beat on the heated metal. We spend much of our time pounding the iron with our hammers. He makes us switch hands so we don’t make one side too much stronger than the other.

After we’ve refined it, then we get to make something out of it. Of course, it’s not always the stuff we want to make, like weapons. Most of the time, its nails, hammers and ax heads, knives, cooking pots and pans, horseshoes, belt buckles, chisels, and other boring tools. He shows us how to make moldings for them, which is hard in and of itself. Thorkel always tries to engrave the same symbol on everything he works on and owns. I think it’s supposed to be a hammer, but I don’t know for sure. “Why do you put that on everything?” I ask scratching my head.

Thorkel looks at me with an eyebrow raised. “Do you really have to ask? It’s Thunar’s hammer! You know… Mjolnir. It gives me protection.”

“Oooh. I see,” I say, wide-eyed. The name Mjollnir and Thunar ring inside my head for some reason. As if I’ve heard those names many times before. “I’m going to do it, too.”

“Now you’re just copying me,” Thorkel says with a sigh.

Aldam sighs. “You call that a hammer? Looks like a goat turd.”

I laugh, and then Aldam looks at my work. “Boy, do you not know your head from your arse? Because that ax head looks like you took a shit on the anvil and beat it into a bloody lump.”

Both Thorkel and Thormar laugh. Aldam turns on both of them, and his eyes dart to Thormar’s work. “What kind of horse hoof are you looking at? That shoe looks like it’d fit on a ram’s arse rather than the hoof of a horse.”

Don’t even think about asking him a question to which he thinks you should know the answer, which is something Thormar does constantly.

“Can iron be made any stronger?” my annoying little brother asks.

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” the dwarf asks.

“I suppose it does. But I guess it could also shit in a cave or a river. Or maybe in the mountains,” Thormar replies.

And of course, Aldam drags his hand down his face. And without surprise, Thorkel slaps Thormar up on the backside of his head. “Do you ever shut up, brother?”

“Hey! I was just asking,” Thormar replies. I feel like we have this very same conversation three or four times a day.

“You can make steel out of iron with coal that burns hot enough. We call it coke. There’s this stuff in the air we breathe that we need in order to live. They call it oxygen and then the stuff you breathe out that these plants need is called carbon dioxide. Which is made of carbon and oxygen. The carbon part is what we need to turn iron into steel. Fires breathe it as well. To make steel, bars of wrought iron are layered with powdered charcoal in stone boxes and heated. After about 168 hours, the iron would absorb the carbon in the charcoal. Repeated heating would distribute carbon more evenly and the result, after cooling, was blister steel. Of course, this method is archaic and old. We no longer use it. Of course, we don’t really use steel much either since we have Nedraetium and can purify it.”

“We dwarves are never content. We always find a way to better things,” Aldam says, puffing out his chest. “We found that the metal could be melted in clay crucibles and refined with a special flux to remove slag that the old process left behind. That’s how we came up with cast steel. Of course, that method is pig shit compared to the new method of making steel.”

Thormar leans in as he hangs onto every word that comes out of Aldam’s mouth. “What’s the new method?”

Aldam just smiles. “Well, one of my old ancestors discovered that iron could be heated while oxygen could be blown through the molten metal by a special furnace. As oxygen passed through the molten metal, it would react with the carbon, releasing carbon dioxide and producing a purer iron. The process was fast and inexpensive, removing carbon and some other substance from iron in a matter of minutes, but suffered from being too successful. Too much carbon was removed, and too much oxygen remained in the final product.”

“So, it’s just Iron, then?” Thorkel asks, tilting his head.

Aldam nods. “However, my great uncle began testing a compound of iron, carbon, and this thing called manganese. Manganese was known to remove oxygen from molten iron, and the carbon content in the compound, if added in the right quantities, would provide the solution to the problem my ancestor had.”

“So, you were able to make the steel in minutes?” Thormar asks, rubbing his chin.

Aldam shrugs. “There was just one problem. My uncle couldn’t remove an impurity that made the steel brittle from his end product.”

I scratch my head. “So, what did he do?”

“My other great uncle, his brother, discovered that if you use a certain stone, we’ve come to call limestone, it could draw out the impurity we’ve come to call phosphorus from the pig iron into the slag. Making good quality steel. Of course, I shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s a dwarven secret we’ve kept for a long time in order to keep the price of steel up. That’s partially why our kingdom is so wealthy. That and the Nedraetium our builders use to fortify walls, since most people can’t use it for tools or weapons because it’s too heavy. Of course, not many people know that you can purify the Nedraetium and make it light as wood. That’s a little-known secret our family has kept. Of course, the process of purifying the metal is rather difficult. I don’t know why I’m telling you toads this. I guess you three have been the closest things to sons I’ve had, and I need someone to pass on my knowledge too. I’m not getting any younger…” He tugs at his beard and looks off in the distance.

Thormar scratches his head. “How do you know when it’s been 168 hours? That seems like an awfully long time.”

“We have tools for measuring time. You could use a sundial, but those are as accurate as a horse’s arse due to the difference in daylight from the seasons. Hopefully you fish brains realized that there is more daylight in the summer than in the winter. Daylight slowly increases from winter to summer and decreases from summer to winter. And in winter, especially up here in the north, there can be days without sunlight making the sundial all but useless. Fortunately, both the High Elves and us dwarves have created what is called an hourglass.”

The dwarf puts an oddly shaped device before us. It’s as if someone took the upper halves of two elven wine bottles and stuck the openings together before building a frame of wood around it. There’s sand in it, and it’s all in the bottom bottle.

“You see, there’s just enough sand in it so when you flip it, the sand will trickle down into the bottom half and what is called an hour will pass by the time all the sand sifts to the bottom half. There has been much debate about how many hours are in a full day. Some say thirty-four, others say thirty-eight. Most agree that thirty-six is correct. One of them high-elven wizards has used some kind of magic to keep count and make the thing flip automatically when all the sand reaches one end. He counted thirty-six times in one full day and night. Of course, it’s hard to get a good count when the sun won’t make up its mind on how long it wants to stay in the sky. But with magic, you can get the most accurate count.” Aldam pauses a minute to scratch his beard as he considers something before, he continues. “Of course, there’s been much debate about why the length of daylight changes between seasons. Many dwarven philosophers believe that the sun stays still and that our world, which is believed to be a big giant ball, spins like a top and circles around the sun. They believe the reason for the change in daylight is because our world is tilted to some degree to the side, so it spins more like a top at an angle. So, during winter, we’re at an angle where we wouldn’t get as much sunlight compared to summer on the opposite side of the sun since they believe our world revolves around it. But Nothing has been proven just yet.”

“That sounds like pig shit to me,” Thorkel says with his usual stubbornness. “Everyone knows the world is flat, and the sun starts at the east and arcs over the land to the west and resets every day.”

“I don’t know,” Thormar says as he scratches his chin. “It sorta makes sense. Haven’t you noticed that the sky changes throughout the night? It’s as if the world is spinning and we get to see different stars. I’ve also noticed that the stars are different in summer than they are in winter. That would certainly give credence to the dwarven philosophers’ claims. If we revolved around the sun, then we’d see different stars at different points in our revolution and even our rotation. Of course, what are stars, anyway?”

“Ahh, for asking a lot of annoying questions, you are an observant one. Some of my kin believe the stars are far away suns and our world is one of many. Some High Elves believe this too,” the dwarf says.

“I thought the dwarves and the elves didn’t like each other,” Thormar says.

“We don’t. But the High Elves are much more tolerable than those bloody bastard Wood Elves. Bunch of tree huggers, if you ask me. You try to cut down just one of their blasted trees and they’ll stick you full of arrows. I guess they’re the only ones allowed to cut down those trees, for how else do they get their arrows? Bunch of hypocrites, if you ask me. Can’t stand them. At least the High Elves don’t have sticks up their arses!” The dwarf barks and makes himself laugh at his own joke. “Now back to work, you lazy lot. We ain’t got all day and there’s plenty of tools to be made for the townsfolk.”

When we’re not spending our time with the dwarf, learning other crafts, and sharpening our fighting skills, we do get time to have fun. And Thorkel always knows how to have the most fun, even when it usually gets us into trouble. And of course, Thormar is always the one to tell on us to our mother. That is why we always leave him behind. He spoils everything, and he hates being left behind. Especially since our only other siblings are too young. Our sister, Svala, may only be a cycle younger than Thormar, but she’s a girl and most girls are boring, and our younger brother Bodvar, only a cycle behind her, is young enough to be boring as well.

Like always, Thorkel and I sneak out, evading Thormar’s eyes. We meet up with the sisters, Asfrid and Arngunn Hrutdottir, whose parents raid with our father’s crew, and our close friends Solmund Sividson, who’s my age, and his older brother Griotgard, who’s a little younger than Thorkel. And of course, Skardi, who doesn’t have a father or a mother but stays with Varin, father of Sivid, who is father to Solmund and Griotgard along with their older sisters Hallgerd and Jofrid. Hallgerd married our cousin Veleif, and everyone thinks Jofrid will marry his younger brother, Gilli, since the two are always together. They also have a younger brother, Hosvir, and a younger sister Vigdis. Hosvir is Thormar’s good friend.

We think Skardi is the same age as Solmund and me, but no one really knows. He can be strange, but there’s no fun to be had without him. Sometimes our cousins Gilli and Tyrkir come, they are the younger brothers of Veleif, Svafar, and Saxi, who are all brothers to Frida, Greiland, Asfrid, Asgerd, and the youngest of their family, Yngvild. All sons and daughters of Koll Alriksson and his three wives, one being my mother’s younger sister, Ingithora. The other two are Svanhild Arnthordottir, Ingithora’s closest friend and lover, which is no secret, along with Arnora Saksisdottir, another close friend. The three of them grew up together, and all fell in love with Koll, my father’s closest friend.

Gilli and Tyrkir are around our age, as Veleif, Svafar, and Saxi are all much older than us. Well, not much, but they all have wives and kids. Their sons and daughters are as old as Thormar, Bodvar, and Svala.

Part of me wants three wives, but then I see how my father and mother argue and clash and it makes me second guess that. I know my mother and father love each other, but there are times when it seems like they want to kill each other. Everyone in town knows of my father’s bravery and courage, but I know the truth. If there is one thing he fears more than anything else, it’s our mother. We all share that fear. The woman can be a force of nature.

Anyway, today our cousins aren’t with us. Sometimes the oldest son of Koll’s brother, Einar, joins us on our adventures. His name is Vog. His first sister Thorgunna sometimes joins us, but never his second sister Gudfrid, she’s Svala’s friend. Nor does his little brother Eystein. He rarely ever comes out of the house and prefers the company of books over people. He’s odd. And then there’s the runt, Trandil, who faints at the sight of blood. He’ll never be a Viking. He lives with them, but he’s the son of Koll, Einar, and Skuf’s sister. I don’t remember her name because she died many cycles ago. Koll, Einar, and Skuf had another brother, but I know little about him.

Anyway, the seven of us love to sneak out of our town through a little side gate and explore the mountains just north of our town. The dark rocky mountains reach above the inky clouds that forever shroud the sky around the range of peaks far beyond sight. They say Chillshore, a once great Northerner city that was taken by the Southern Tyrants and turned into their fortress, lies somewhere within the mountains cloaked in clouds. It was rumored to be the first great Northerner city, or Norsemen city as we used to call ourselves when we came to these lands. It is written that we came from lands from a different realm. I don’t know about that, but I know this is our home.

Of course, these mountains are dangerous, but it wouldn’t be fun if it was safe. We’re not really allowed up here without Aldam, but no one listens. Today, like every day, we find ourselves at the same cave entrance we were at yesterday. It’s a secret hidden cave Thorkel found. The mouth of the cave sits beyond a little-known path hidden behind a small passageway that is nearly invisible to the eye. I do not know how Thorkel found it. Just like yesterday, we’re still trying to convince someone to go inside.

“There could be a bear in there, or worse. What if there was a giant in there? Didn’t you hear about the giants who live in the clan in these mountains? They say they’re as tall as trees and they come from Jotunheim to the lands north of the Dead Sea,” Arngunn says as she brushes her messy blonde hair out of her face.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Griotgard says as he puffs out his chest. “I bet they’re lying. No way someone can be that tall.”

“If there was a bear in there, it’d probably smell us already and come out,” Skardi says as he obsessively looks at a rock he found. His dark brown hair is always in a mess, sticking out like spikes. “Everyone knows bears have great noses. They smell everything.”

“Screw it. I’m going in,” Thorkel says.

“Wait!” Asfrid and I say at the same time.

He doesn’t listen and walks in without hesitating. He disappears into the darkness. We all stand there, shifting uncomfortably, trading nervous glances as we wait for him to run back. Instead, we hear a gasp echo out.

“Thorkel! Are you okay?” I ask as I take a step forward.

“You guys won’t believe this. You have to see it for yourself. Come in here!” His voice echoes out and we all look at each other. Finally, Skardi pockets the rock and heads inside. Reluctantly, everyone heads in one at a time until I’m standing there by myself. I look around, take a deep breath, and head in after them.

At first, I’m blinded by darkness and panic. I feel my way around, tripping over rocks and getting a face full of dirt. My knees scrape against the hard surface. I crawl and pick myself up off the ground and dust off the dirt. The wet, mossy scent fills my nose. Slowly, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I follow the cave as the path veers to the right. A gasp escapes my lips as light appears in the distance.

I follow it until I’m led into a large, long cavern filled with those glowing rocks and mushrooms Aldam mentioned. They light up the water, which has a misty loom to it. Skardi picks a mushroom and sniffs it. He sticks his tongue out and licks it.

“You’re seriously not going to eat that, are you?” Asfrid asks, her face contorting into disgust.

Skardi shrugs and bites into it.

“Eww gross! That could be poisonous. If you die, I’m telling everyone it was your own fault.” Asfrid crosses her arms against her chest and sticks her nose up away from him.

“It doesn’t taste half bad,” Skardi says as he stuffs the whole mushroom into his mouth.

“Aldam, the dwarf said it’s not poisonous. It just turns your skin dark among other things,” I say.

I hear a crash and turn to find Solmund laying on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Arngunn asks as she crouches down to look at Solmund.

“I was trying to take one of these glowing rocks back to our town. They won’t believe us otherwise,” he says as he dusts himself off and tries again. “But… they’re… too… heavy…”

He finally relents and gives up. “I can’t lift even this small one.”

“Aldam said they were too heavy. He said only experts mine those,” I say.

“Where’s Thorkel?” Asfrid asks. We all look around and Griotgard spots him all the way at the end of the cavern, staring at something. As we walk up to him, it becomes clear what he’s looking at.

“What a strange thing to find in a cave,” Skardi says.

“Who do you think left it here?” Asfrid asks. Everyone shrugs.

“I don’t care. It’s mine now,” Thorkel says as he steps up to one of the biggest hammers I’ve ever seen. It’s no ordinary hammer. It’s taller than Arngunn, which may not seem like much since she’s the shortest one here, but it’s saying a lot for a hammer. Of course, I’m not much taller than Arni. My father is tall, and I want to be taller than him and Thorkel. It’s made out of a metal I’ve never seen before. A dark crimson metal with a golden trim around it. The handle is all gold. For some reason, I keep imagining wielding a hammer like this. It’s hard to push the thought out of my head.

“With this hammer, I’ll be the strongest warrior there is and no one will be able to defeat me. I’ll be able to kill all of those Southerners.” Thorkel steps up and wraps his hands around the long golden hilt. A loud grunt comes out of his mouth as he tries to lift the hammer. The thing doesn’t even budge. He tries to change up his stance and his grip. He heaves and pulls, but the hammer doesn’t move a finger’s length. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t move the hammer even a sliver.

Griotgard steps up. “Let me try. I’m stronger. I want to be the strongest warrior and kill as many Southerners as I can.”

Thorkel steps aside and glares at Griotgard. However, Griotgard can’t get it to move any more than Thorkel could.

“If neither of them can move it, then none of us can,” I say.

“There’s some kind of writing on it,” Skardi says as he walks up to get a better look at it.

“What does it say?” Asfrid asks.

“How would I know? I can’t read,” Skardi says.

“Move aside, I can read,” she says as she pushes past Skardi. She leans down to get a better look, but her face contorts in confusion. “I have never seen runes like these before. If you can call them that. I have no idea what it is.”

“Maybe we should go,” Arngunn says as she steps closer to me, looking around unsteadily.

“Oooh, don’t be a frightened little cat, Arni,” Griotgard says as he tries to imitate her voice.

“Don’t say that to her,” I say as I step up to him.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Griotgard asks as steps up to me.

“Be careful, Griotgard. I consider you a close friend, but Bothvar is my brother,” Thorkel says nonchalantly as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“She’s right, though. What if the person who put the hammer there comes back for it? Do you honestly think someone would just leave a hammer like that here in a place like this? And whoever left it there must be strong. Do you think any of us would be able to fight him?” Skardi asks, then he snaps around and stares into the wall of the cavern. “Did you hear that?”

Everyone looks around quickly. Skardi walks up to the wall and pushes his ear up to it. Then he giggles.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten those mushrooms,” Asfrid says, shaking her head.

Skardi just laughs at her and starts picking more of those strange, glowing mushrooms. “No way. I feel fantastic right now. They make me… happy.”

“Well, I’m done here anyway. I’m hungry. Let’s go back and see if we can sneak into Thyri’s and find anything to eat. I wouldn’t mind some fresh baked bread, especially with that tazzle berry jam she makes,” Thorkel says. That is one of many things Thorkel and I have in common, a love for anything with tazzle berries, especially pie. The fruit is rare; a delicacy only found in the land of the dwarves. Same with tingle fruit, which I’ve been told only grows in the blue-eyed elven land. Or maybe it was the green eyes. I can’t remember. If it weren’t for their eyes, I wouldn’t be able to tell one from the other. But either way, those two fruits are my favorite. While tazzle berries are nice and sweet and tingle fruit is rather tart, they both fizzle in your mouth. Tingle fruit makes for the best wine while tazzle berries make for an amazing pie.

Arngunn grabs my hand and I follow her out.

We make our way down the mountain before we realize Skardi isn’t with us. With groans, we turn back and find him picking at rocks and sniffing them. Thorkel grabs him and practically drags him back.

“Did you see that?” Skardi asks as we finally get back to the town walls. “It was in the water. I swear I saw something out there.”

We all look out onto the water, but nothing is there.

“Probably those mushrooms,” Asfrid says.

“What are you lot doing outside the walls?”

We stop dead as we turn to find Gorm Thorgilsson, a tall skinny boy, with his younger brother Moldof and their friends, Hring, Geitirgest, Sigmund, Ulfjot, and Gunnstein, waiting at the side gate.

“Nothing you need to worry your little head about, Grom,” Thorkel says, purposely butchering his name.

“It’s Gorm! You may be the Earl’s son, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than me. Besides, your father’s days as Earl might be numbered the way he led us to defeat under the dead king.”

Arngunn’s hand grips mine as she steps up close to me. I step up between them and her, but I’m more than afraid. They far outnumber us. And Gunnstein and Ulfjot are the biggest boys in the village. Thorkel forms a fist and steps up to Gorm. “Better watch your tongue and keep my father’s name off it or I’ll cut it out.”

Gorm’s friends step up between him and Thorkel. He only grins. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, aren’t you a brave warrior, hiding behind your friends,” Asfrid says.

“Watch your tongue, you stupid nissy twat!” Gorm shouts.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Thorkel shouts as he charges them, slamming his fist against Hring, sending him to the ground. Gunnstein and Ulfjot tackle him. Solmund and Griotgard hurl themselves at them.

Griotgard kicks Ulfjot right in the mouth, knocking teeth out. “Get off my best friend!”

Skardi stands there laughing hysterically. I just stand there frozen with Arngunn’s hand in my trembling fingers as my brother and our friends’ fight. Even Asfrid runs in kicking and screaming.

“What’s going on here?” Everyone stops what they’re doing as they look up to find our mother, Thorkatla, with our aunt, Sigvor, the wise one, along with several guards. My mom practically tugs at her long black hair. That’s when you know she’s really mad. Her eyes are as sharp as daggers. Her tall, thin frame towers over us. Our Aunt Sigvor is a lot like her in appearance, with the same beautiful, agile face, but with an auburn tinge to her hair. What they share in appearance is offset by how different their personalities are. Where my mother is hot-tempered, her sister is calm. I suppose their other sister, Ingithora, splits the difference, sharing their physical looks, but a personality just as hot as it is cold.

“Nothing. We were just having a little fun, that’s all,” my brother says as he pushes himself off Gunnstein, giving him a good kick as he gets up.

Ulfjot tries to push him, but one of the guards steps in. “That’s enough!”

Reluctantly, everyone breaks apart. Our mother steps up. “Now all of you go home before I tan your hide. All of you except you two.”

She points at Thorkel and me. We both look at each other as the others make their way into town. Both Asfrid and Arngunn look back at us before they head beyond the gate. Mother steps up and growls at us. “What in the name of all the gods were you two doing outside the walls?”

“We were just…” Thorkel goes to say, but mother doesn’t give him a chance.

“Do you not understand that the Southerners could attack us at any time?” Her glare is colder than a winter freeze.

“But mot…”

“But nothing. You’ll be lucky I don’t hang you up by your ankles. Maybe then you’ll have enough blood in your head to think properly.”

Thorkel goes pure white. Both of us know not to tempt our mother. Her wrath can be far harsher than father’s.

Her icy glare turns on me. “I expected this out of Thorkel, but with you I thought better.”

My eyes fall to the ground. Her disappointment hurts worse than any punishment. “I’m sorry, mother.”

“You should be. Now both of you, come. You both will have enough work to do to keep you busy and out of trouble for the next few cycles of the seasons.”

We reluctantly follow our mother and aunt into town. As we get to our house, Thormar’s waiting with Svala, Bothvar, and the slaves. He snickers at us. Thorkel brings his thumb to his throat, making a slicing motion. Thormar’s face goes white as snow. “I saw that!” Mother snaps and the color in Thorkel’s drains, matching Thormar’s. I can’t help but feel ashamed of myself. Not only did we anger our mother, but I have proven that I am a coward. What kind of Viking doesn’t fight to protect his father’s honor and have his brother’s back? Even Thormar would have fought. But I stayed back and watched. What is wrong with me?

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