Two men sweated passion, their swung hammers struck down to display admiration towards the craft of forging something to perfection. Agneli lifted and smashed metal against metal, whilst Ulfberht’s keen eyes peered in between the moments where the blade was born anew. Refined, repaired and reborn in a matter of hours, yet to neither of the duo’s satisfaction.

“Stop swinging the hammer so recklessly, and take more focus on the flames you stone-head,” Ulfberht said.

The difference between master and servant was almost non-existent here, some would be fooled if asked who was the true figure of authority here.

Jehanne translated Ulfberht’s words and politely changed some of them. She’d impressed both men, most important of all Halle with her progression of learning. The thrall held her shoulders proudly for the achievement of surprising him, his face was always usually stoic.

Grunting, chest heaving in sync with his swinging hammer.

Agneli shouted, “Tell Ulfberht he needs to throw more coal into the fire instead of running his lips!”

After another few more hours, exhausted beyond comparison to Jehanne or Ulfberht in the blistering heat of a blacksmith's home. Agneli crumpled onto the floor before he laid out flat like straight wooden planks. Ulfberht scolded Agneli saying something about quenching the blade, but seeing the man nearly passed out on the floor he did it himself. He still wore long sleeves in summer and in the room crowded with hot air. Ulfberht's arm scars hiding behind clothes.

Feeling a tap on the shoulder, Agneli opened his eyes to see a bowl of water positioned in front of his lips from above. Jehanne had retrieved water from outside and sought to help him recover, she looked more like a goddess to Agneli each day.

“Thank you.” he gratefully accepted the bowl and gulped it all down in seconds.

Agneli glared at Ulfberht seeing him place the sword into water, steam clouded the room’s ceiling. “That old man is going to be the death of me before Halle makes me die of poverty.”

Jehanne smiled hoping to cheer Agneli. “You both seem to get along better now.”

“Pfttt,” Agneli spat out the water he was about to swallow down. He apologised seeing he wasted Jehanne’s kind effort to relieve some of his fatigue. The words struck him out of nowhere like thunder on a sunny day.

“What makes you say that?”

Jehanne couldn’t help and giggle. “At least now you don’t try to rip at each other throats when you're both arguing.”

“I’d rather that, than having to listen to the old man’s lectures. It’s even worse that everything he says is right. I almost thought l was the best blacksmith in Noreg until this man showed up.”

“It could be a blessing in disguise.”

Agneli lousily stood up stretching his worn-down muscles. “More like a curse in disguise, worse than Halle stealing money from me.”

Jehanne laughed comfortably at the mention of Halle’s misdeeds in front of Agneli. She felt more relaxed with the blacksmith, sometimes more than Halle. The Norse warrior made her heart pulse too fast with the intimacy he densely never recognised but offered without hesitation.

A bed to sleep by his side on the first night they met, touching her back relieving bruises with ointment on the second day. Finally, stealing her heart with affection that could shelter her from the cold for years. Tiny moments they’d shared made her a maiden in love. Even with the insane situation that trapped her here, Jehanne’s heart ached for him. That was the power of love, chaos in the most serene waters.

Her curiosity for the man knew no end, she wished to know more about him. “The jewellery Halle wears around his neck, he holds it with much care. Was it given to him by a lover?”

“Lover? The man loves his swords more than women at times. The amulet was something his mother gave him long ago.”

Hearing the inquiry on whether Halle’s amulet was given by a lover, Agneli questioned her motives.

“Do you like Halle?”

Jehanne secretly blushed. “What are you implying?”

“Just a question.” Agneli fumbled with the leather gloves that he wore when forging swords.

“If you mean love…I would never dare to think of such a thing. He’s my master and I’m his thrall,” Jehanne flustered spewing words.

She said them nonetheless because they were half true.

Fantasy was different from reality, she knew how many men Halle had slain. She knew of the fear in the townspeople’s eyes when they greeted him, a man of terror who could make warriors kneel with his presence.

The son of a jarl would never fall in love with his thrall, it was forbidden. Jehanne had not only learned the West Norse language but their history, customs, traditions and came to learn Halle was next in line to uphold the mantle of chieftain. Such knowledge was the wall that stood between her courage to explore this dream any further save for if she wished to be maimed in public.

Jarls were not forgiving, she’d met Halle’s father and knew disobedience was not known to him. The marks on her back on the first day of Noreg were ordered by Erik Tokesson after she thrashed around trying to escape. Jehanne learnt her lesson to be obedient after the servants Tove and Gro punished her severely without mercy. They flogged at her back with wooden sticks leaving bruises to swell, before they repeated the same torture again enabling shades of dark purple to bloom.

“Do you like it here?” Agneli returned Jehanne’s mind back to home, where they sat beside each other watching Ulfberht work.

“It's hard to say, l still miss home.”

Coughing into his beard, Agneli tried to garner all the courage he had left within him. He murmured and mumbled before managing to say, “I’m leaving for Normandy soon after I finish making Halle’s sword.”

“Why?” Jehanne glanced to see Agneli smile.

“Because if there’s anything that brute Halle has taught me, is that this world is full of bizarre people. I want to meet more of them and become the best blacksmith in all of the lands to fulfil a promise.”

“A promise?”

“Yes. I had promised Halle to become the greatest blacksmith.” Agneli grinned remembering old memories.

Jehanne asked, “Will you be going with Ulfberht then?”

Normandy was close to the kingdom of Francia.

Agneli’s fists clenched with ambition as he nodded his head. “My best bet is to become a Norman and then travel to Francia to steal the old man’s tricks.”

“That’s great! We should celebrate before you leave.” Jehanne clasped her hands together, already planning a feast to satisfy Ulfberht and Agneli’s departure. She would miss them.

“Come with us.”

The words halted her thoughts as she saw the stare of a nervous man.

“I doubt Halle will make you stay as a thrall any longer after we finish the blade. You’ll be freed from your status to go anywhere you wish, you can join us and go home.”

“I…”

“Don’t worry about the jarl or anyone else, Jehanne you can trust my word on Halle. He freed me and he’ll do the same for you.”

“Halle freed you?”

“I may not look like it, but l was a thrall myself when l was a child.”

This was all new to Jehanne, she’d never heard from Halle that Agneli was a slave, let alone freed by Halle.

“Is it ok for me to ask about…”

“For you Jehanne anything.” Agneli’s cheeks raised lowering the tension in the room. A smile that shook slightly as he remembered memories of a child, a boy lost in misery.

He began to retell his story that he’d never told anyone else to answer her questions. A beautiful day sitting beside Jehanne, the blacksmith hoped he didn’t reek of too much sweat, but alas what could he do. His lips spoke with bitterness, eyes of hatred, for his past was darker than the soot covering his gloved hands.

Storm and thunder, he reminisced how loud Thor’s hammer struck the skies with lightning. Clouds more sombre than widows who lost their lovers in war crying tears that had no end. Two men from faraway lands within the closest town interrogated a young boy.

“Where is your father?” The jarl grumbled. Erik Tokesson gazed down at the child who trembled with fear.

“I don’t know. He said three days ago he would return home tomorrow,” Agneli answered.

“Your father has lied to you, it appears he’s left to escape his punishment.”

“My father isn’t a liar!”

Agneli was struck by the round pommel of a guards sword, “Speak with respect to the jarl, you filthy karl.”

Erik raised his hand signalling to his guard to lower the blade. He sighed, “It seems you do not understand the situation you are now in, child.”

Agneli nodded afraid to speak anymore, his cheek swollen with pain.

“Your father has abandoned his role to uphold his promise of swords. I had offered him coins in return for blades of quality, you will now uphold the punishment in his name.”

Agneli’s mouth opened with anger, “Why must l—”

Struck again, but with the flat side of the blade. Agneli cried in pain, furious howls of wishing for the agony to be gone. He tasted blood in his mouth, cheeks throbbing and pricked with torment.

“Learn to speak when the jarl allows you to speak, thrall.”

“I’m not a thrall—” Agneli mumbled. He could not manage to stand on his own, sense of balance stolen from him as the strike made him nearly unconscious.

“You will be now, as punishment for your father’s crime. You are of his blood and therefore must uphold your family’s integrity,” Erik remarked.

“TAKE MY FATHER INSTEAD!” Agneli shouted.

“Do not strike the boy again, he’ll lose his value,” Erik said to his trusted guard.

Sweeping his vision across the dirty house, unkempt as the duties of the father to collect water and food were abandoned for Agneli to complete.

Erik questioned the unhinged child reeling from the prior strike, he held no sympathy for him as time was of value more so than sentiment. “We wouldn’t be here if we could find your father. It’s been three days now, did he mention where he was going?”

“He’ll come back tomorrow, he promised me,” Agneli whispered.

“It appears I’ve wasted my time. Take the boy and use the servants to train him, before he is allowed to meet my son. Halle’s grown lonely without his mother hasn’t he?”

“Yes jarl, it appears so. He often misses his meal times and doesn’t spar with others after kil—”

Erik interrupted his guard, right-hand man Trygve, calmly with the stern tone of a ruthless lord.

“Do not mention the incident. Not when I stand here, should I strike you just as how you did with this boy.”

Trygve swiftly bowed staring at the ground. “Apologies jarl, I’ve misspoken and deserve punishment.”

Erik was a man of power and such authority came with wisdom as he silenced his rage, “You are forgiven, but do not commit the same mistake again in my presence.”

“Thank you jarl, I will remember not to.” Trygve dutifully bowed and went to collect the boy in front of them.

Agneli watched the whole exchange still groaning with torment as the pain strained from his cheek and mouth. Erik stepped past his body left sprawled on the floor.

He murmured for Agneli to hear, “Be glad that we did not execute you as usual punishment of a family’s crime. We’ve allowed you to live and become a thrall.”

Lifted onto the shoulder of Trygve, positioned on a horse where Agneli sat in front faintly weak, they rode back to Erik’s manor.

The journey was taken with haste, rain soaked the three travellers until warmth comforted them with the licks of fire. Servants offered fresh towels to the jarl and guard so they could rid themselves of the rain’s touch.

Agneli left alone, sneezed. “Where am l?”

The jarl had already gone into his room, where he planned again for the clan’s benefit.

Trygve took the boy by the hand and threw him towards servants.

“Teach him well to serve Halle as a thrall, or else I’ll make sure not only I will be punished but all of you.” The man’s glare spoke of wrath and the house servants understood very well, moving with swiftness to remove Agneli from Trygve’s sight.

Tove and Gro complained in their rooms with Ageli keeping them company, “Why must we have to train this boy?”

Trove poked at the boy. “Look at how ragged and filth stains his clothes. What was your father’s craft or trade?”

Agneli did not respond to the woman.

“Answer me you thrall.” Tove slapped the boy’s already bruised cheek.

Agneli did not give them the sweet taste of victory over him, he did not howl in pain for them to grin. Rather he gritted his teeth biting down hard to force the urge to scream whittle away like the quiet winds.

“We’ll have a tough time with this boy,” Gro sighed.

Tove answered, “I’d rather get a girl, at least then we wouldn’t have to teach them but train them to do what we say.”

The two servants steeled their minds, as the first lesson would begin. Moon high gazing over night skies witnessing Agneli endure screaming pains that scraped in the rear end of his skull. Arms and back scratched more, sticks neither refined to be flat whipped against his skin. The sound of bare flesh meeting wood, a resounding spiked bashing meant to make boys cry. Agneli held on.

He grasped onto the hope his father would save him, a promise to where he returned home to see Agneli gone. Hands marked bloody, nails dug into palms to endure for another moment.

Days went past and the flickering lights—hope vanished. Perished by the confrontation of truth pummeled into Agneli’s mind, worse than the servant’s beatings repeated in sync with his downward spiral of thoughts.

His father would not come.

His father left him alone to die.

His father abandoned him to punishment.

Agneli raged, contemplating his father as scum, the worst of vermins.

Anger replayed dying hope and the emotion burned with vitality. He scorched the expression of his father’s lying face into his memory, forever remembered. Sombre no more, rage plagued mind and body and the pain became a little more bearable fueling Agneli’s wrath.

“Why won’t this boy learn?!” Tove shrieked. She’d grown almost fearful of the child less than the age of nine winters, Gro as well paled at the sight of Halle’s blood painting the floor with arching streaks.

“He hasn’t even learnt to clean and we have a day left, Trygve is going to scream when he finds out.”

“He might even kill us if the boy angers Halle.”

“What do we do?” The two echoed their fears, rushing to break Agneli’s stubborn pride or was it wrath that made his will so fierce.

“The jarl’s son might as well kill this boy like the other one, so we don’t have to teach him anymore,” Tove mumbled.

Gro snapped at her, “Don’t say that when the boy might hear us.”

“Don’t worry, the child is too focused on gritting his teeth to endure the pain.”

Agneli heard it all, his pain whispered to him reminding he was still alive. He did not worry like how anyone else would upon hearing their master, younger than an adult killed someone. If death captured him, Agneli swore an oath to drag the jarl’s son to the depths of Hel, the underworld where the dead dwell, before he died.

He pondered on what count did the jarl’s son kill for, out of contempt? Pettiness? Or lust for power wielded by fear? If it was to scare, he would be unfortunate to meet Agneli, the boy with a dying wish—revenge.

The two house servants lost their hopes, just as Agneli gave up all emotions save for fury. Burning resentment blacker than night, the fire was visible in the boy’s eyes eclipsing his irises. Passionate to blaze everything down to ashes. Tove and Gro shuddered whenever met with Agneli’s stare, they tried to regain confidence by flogging at the child’s back.

Too late, too far gone, the day came for Agneli to serve Halle. Dressed in proper clothing, or as proper he was allowed to be. Plain tunic of dark green and linen trousers coloured brown donned him hiding the scars of torture.

“Stay silent, stay still, don’t even breathe unless commanded. Do whatever the master says, you got it?” Tove questioned.

Agneli said nothing.

Gro grieved, “We are going to be punished aren’t we?”

“We’ve done all we can do, that boy better know his place or else we’ll give him an even worse beating.”

“I don’t really think that’s possible Tove.”

The two sighed and allowed fate to take its course.

Agneli stood quiet meeting the glowering eyes of the jarl's son who sat upon his personal bed holding an amulet. One unflinching to cruelty, another known for terror garnering no mercy. The two never blinked until Halle spoke.

“Aren’t you going to greet your master?”

“I have no words for you.” Agneli glared.

“Then that makes the two of us.”

In the eyes of Agneli, he saw but a spoiled boy in front of him living in riches not sullied by the world’s pain. An amulet of silver hung on the boy’s neck proved he was full of wealth. The only distinction to him was the black circles underneath the Jarl’s son's eyes, showing a lack of sleep.

“Do you not sleep?”

“I have nightmares,” Halle listlessly responded.

Almost wanting to laugh, how miserable he must be Agneli sarcastically thought.

Agneli prodded Halle’s attitude, “I heard you killed someone, did you?”

Silence roamed the room and hesitation was heard before Halle reclaimed the ability to speak.

“What of it?”

Halle didn’t continue sitting on his bed and sat upon a wooden chair where he carved a rune on stone.

It surprised Agneli that the boy blatantly spoke of his deeds of murder. How arrogant he thought, Agneli wanted to see the boundaries to Halle’s anger, the wrath servants spoke of. He cared little if he gained punishment, rather Agneli did not care for his life anymore.

“Why?”

Halle continued carving stone with Norse runes. “It was a mistake.”

“Lies.”

Agneli did not believe, he assumed Halle tried to deceive him.

“Are you to say that I killed someone on purpose.”

“If not, then what else?”

“You are allowed to believe whatever you think is true.”

Surprise washed over Agneli, his ears perked thinking they played tricks on him. The jarl’s son did not get mad, he’d known the jarl was cruel with eyes that spoke of no sympathy. But Halle’s words were calm, eyes bearing remorse.

Breaking Halle’s serene expression, the abandoned boy yearned to do so hatred could brew between them. To fight, kill someone to release this anger for his father.

The noble boy showed no response, no opportunity for him.

Agneli continued with hasty breaths.

“I heard the person was no less than fourteen winters.”

“Yes, the same age as me.”

“You’re fourteen winters?”

Agneli stared at Halle, it surprised him to learn that they were both the same age. He looked to have seen sixteen winters with his large physique boasting toned muscles in comparison to the scrawny Agneli possessing limbs skinnier than sticks.

The temporary silence ended with noises of stone being carved louder.

Agneli stumped by Halle’s attention, entirely focused on the stone he marked with symbols.

“What are you carving?” Agneli glimpsed over.

“Frey’s rune, a gift that brings possible wealth and fortune.”

“Who is it for?”

“For the family who had their son die by my hands.”

Agneli’s eyebrows furrowed. He spat words of anger, “You dare taunt them.”

“It’s my attempt to apologise. No matter how poor it may be, it’s not my wish to mock them.”

“The son of a jarl is apologising for his crimes?” Agneli scoffed at Halle’s words. “If you were truly sorry you would not have killed him.”

“If l could go back in time I wouldn’t have.”

Agneli could not help but question whether Halle was being truthful.

Halle’s sorrowful eyes made him not appear to have the power within him to be arrogant like most aristocrats. If he did, Agneli would’ve met Halle’s rage with the way he spoke, not caring about their status as thrall and master.

Halle stood strolling to the door.

“Where are you going?” Agneli called out.

“To apologise.” Halle sneaked out, slipping through watchful eyes of servants knowing the ins and outs of passageways.

Agneli once attempted to escape and was caught the moment he tried. Even if he did succeed, the townspeople would’ve reported him to the jarl for coins. Halle and Agneli managed to sneak out in the middle of the night. He knew he could try again to run away and break free from his status of a thrall, yet Agneli grew curious about Halle's actions.

He followed behind breathing hard. Agneli couldn’t comprehend how Halle carried the heavy stone the size of a man’s fist while not panting for air. Two boys in the night on the path to a home where the weeping sounds of a mother could be heard. Running with fast steps, Agneli felt his lungs were about to burst.

In front of a poor house with no passersby to see, Halle knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” A man groaned tiredly until shocked by the sight of Halle and another boy breathing heavily.

“You’ve come again with the runes haven’t you?” The man said as if he owned a dozen stones.

On a second glance of the home, Agneli saw many rocks the size of fists lying about. Too dark though to see whether they had runes on them.

A woman came out beside the man, it appeared she had been the one mourning when they ran to the house. Dry tears surrounded her face, she focused on Halle.

“Why are you here again?”

“To offer another apology.”

The woman about to answer with wrath halted as her husband spoke.

“Your father offered us silver coins for silence, and we understand our son spoke wrongly on your mother. There is no need for you to come here at the dead of night.”

Halle tried to speak, “But—”

“Stop, we don’t want to see you again.”

The man caught sight of Agneli’s dumbfounded stare and ignored it as he closed the door shut on two boys. His wife, mother of a dead child spoke under her breath. The words did not escape Halle’s ears as he heard them before the door was closed, “Monster.”

It was a word repeated in his ears over the past days, spoken in whispers for him to not hear. Yet he heard, he listened, and he wished to repent.

Sighing, Halle walked over placing the stone carved with the rune of Frey on the grass floor lightly. He got down on his knees and bowed his head to the dirt solemnly, Agneli barely managed to hear the words slipping past Halle’s lips.

“I’m sorry…”

The boy of noble blood dusted his knees removing blemishes and stared longingly at the door. He left with quiet steps.

Agneli arm-length behind was mesmerised by the scene he witnessed. He counted on his hands the stones he’d seen reaching to twenty near the home. Halle awed Agneli and he pondered how many times this aristocrat must have bowed his head and apologised.

It must be known that the Norse people did not kneel or bow for anyone, let alone the son of a jarl. They held their heads high with ego’s reaching the clouds, but Halle did the impossible towards a karl, someone of lower class.

Sneakily entering back into Halle’s chambers. Agneli asked, still bewildered having seen the son of a jarl apologise, “Why?”

Halle knew what his thrall tried to inquire. “Because it was the right thing to do.”

“How did the boy die?” Agneli wanted to know for what reason did Halle’s victim meet his end. What did the boy say to gain such ire of someone with noble blood?

“I do not need to answer someone, who has shown disrespect and glares at me more times than l can count.”

Agneli blushed. He could not bear anymore ill-will towards him seeing how much remorse Halle showed at night.

“You are relieved of your duties, go to your quarters and sleep thrall.”

Words stabbing at Agneli like a knife. He wanted to learn who Halle really was, more so than letting the hatred within him grow for the world. Stepping out to meet Tove and Gro, they captured him for questioning.

“Did you make the jarl’s son angry?”

“Did you do everything we told you to do?”

“Why are you silent?”

“Speak thrall!”

Their words fell on deaf ears, Agneli ignored them saying, “I’m going to sleep.”

The two house servants faltered in their interrogation and stared at the boy’s back strolling away.

“It seems everything is fine,” Gro breathed out.

Tove sat down sinking into the wooden walls. “It appears so, at least we didn’t hear Halle complain.”

“I’m surprised Halle didn’t scream or get angry. He’d beaten the other child he sparred with so badly the boy died because of a few words on his deceased mother.”

Tove shuddered remembering the moment.

“Don’t remind me, the scene is burned into my mind. I still recall the amount of blood which flew in the air. What fearsome strength to kill with a wooden practise sword.”

Agneli slept not beaten or bruised. He could not help himself to wonder what type of master he served. A boy who was gentle and owned a kind heart? Agneli did not know.

Halle’s words still echoed in his ear, ‘I do not need to answer to someone who has shown disrespect and glares at me more times than l can count.’

Agneli gave too many dirty looks, scowling at Halle’s every word until he’d seen him bow his head.

The boy who’d grown tired of life being abandoned by everything. He spoke to the ceiling, “Is this master a friend or foe? Will he be the death of me like the boy he killed or be someone l can learn to trust?”

Too many questions to be answered, night overcame Agneli’s ability to stay awake. Crying sounds of a mother continued as a father with no son to call tried to relieve his wife’s sorrow. Darkness watched over Halle who carved another rune with a soapstone oil lamp beside him.

It hung suspended from the beams of the room allowing flickering fires to breathe in fat and oil within a shallow dish where the lighted wick stood. Given light to see, Halle wished flames could burn his regret before the darkness devoured him. Black eyebags on his face, he lacked sleep because he feared nightmares. Those that felt too real.

Another day, another night passed.