Forged by Iron

by Eric Schumacher

  It was time to plot my revenge and my escape, for I did not know how much longer I could last in that Hel.

  Chapter 22

  The absence of Olaf was a dull ache. I missed his presence, his voice, his inattentiveness, his energy. It was like a shadow, following me through my days and lurking in the dark at night. But the ache was not for his absence alone. It was also the ache of fading hope. I had thought in the early days of his departure that mayhap he would come in Sigurd's ship to rescue us, but as summer slid into fall and then into winter, that hope slipped further from me.

  His departure, of course, was not enough for the Norns. They had to stoke the torments of Olaf's loss by weaving even more misery into our lives.

  It started in early fall, when an unseasonal cold snap fell across the land. For days the skies remained clear, the air bitter in its chill. Then suddenly, a mass of angry clouds rolled over us as we worked in the bog. Icy rain dropped from the sky, pummeling our heads and limbs and chilling us to the bone. Tarmo was with us that day and pulled us from the fields, but as we jogged to the safety of the birch forest, one of the new boys — a straw-haired, freckle-faced lad named Ilo — fell headlong into a half-hidden pond. I ran two paces behind him and leaped to the edge of the water, then fell to my knees and snatched at his flailing arms. Catching a section of his tunic, I pulled him to the water's edge and dragged him up. He thanked me with a nod and we moved on.

  Two days later, Ilo fell ill. It began as a raw cough but quickly turned to a rattle in his thin chest. After several days of it, he could barely rise. Herkus helped him get to the bog, but by that time, his skin was sweat-streaked and his forehead as hot as an iron furnace. We beseeched Reas to let the child rest, but he refused. The poor lad collapsed before the sun had fully brightened the sky. Herkus and Raban carried him to his mattress, but he never awoke. Sometime later that night, he died.

  “Allow us at least to bury the lad down near the beach,” Herkus begged Reas when we told him of Ilo's passing at the morning meal.

  Reas regarded us, then the sky that was brightening into another crisp, clear day. A smirk broke on his face and my heart sank at the sight of it. “No. A morning spent burying his body is a morning of lost iron. You can toss him in a bog pond on your way to your tasks.”

  “That pig,” Pipin mumbled as Reas departed. “One day, I will feed his body, piece by piece, to the salamanders.”

  I used his anger to hatch my plan. In the fields over the following days, I spoke to him in hushed tones about my ideas. It was a risk to involve him, I knew, but I knew I could not exact my revenge or escape alone. I would need recruits and so I offered up my thoughts. I did not know what to expect, but he did not oppose me. He accepted my invitation enthusiastically, adding elements and wrinkles to my plans that I had not yet considered. He was a clever lad; some of his ideas brought a malicious grin to my face.

  The cycle of hardship did not stop with the loss if Ilo, whom we weighted down with peat to help him sink in that desolate bog. Soon after, Eydis began to show signs of pregnancy as we neared winter. She tried to conceal it, especially from her brother, but eventually there was no way to hide the growing mound of her belly. While we did not know who the father was, we all understood what it meant. Giving birth was difficult even when you had the best of help, but who knew what help Eydis would receive? She was a thrall, after all, and just as likely to be turned out as helped. To make matters worse, none of Heres's men claimed the baby. The unspoken truth of it was that no man wanted that responsibility if the babe was not their own, and no man could be certain it was theirs. Heres had no interest in keeping the child, either — he wanted only a productive thrall, which meant that the baby would be killed upon birth.

  If the whole affair left a sour taste in our mouths, it rekindled the black disease in Egil's soul. He spoke even less than before and spent his days alone, mumbling words to himself. When the winter weather prevented us from going out, he sat by himself in a corner or lay on his back on his mattress, simply staring upward. Those of us who tried to draw him out with a word or a conversation received a blank gaze in reply. Eventually we stopped trying, though I remained concerned. It was bad enough that his sister had been impregnated. I could not fathom losing Egil, too. I spoke to the others of it, and we agreed to watch him, but I knew there was little we could do for him.

  In the end, Eydis' pregnancy never made it to the following summer. She fell ill just after the Yule feast and died not ten days later. Her death was announced with a wail from the hall that woke us from our slumber. We had known she was sick, but none of us knew just how bad her illness was. Sensing something, Egil was the first to the door. We were not allowed out at night, but he bolted past our guards and sprinted into the frigid darkness.

  Halfway to the hall, the guards caught up to him and as they wrestled his weak body to the snow-covered ground, the door to the main hall opened and the hearth fire cast its dim light over the area. More men emerged from the doorway, their hulking shadows looking like giants on the snow. They dragged between them a body, which they tossed unceremoniously into the snow near Egil. Even in the half light, I could see the protruding belly of Eydis. The shock of that vision was followed shortly by Egil's haunting scream — a scream that shattered the night as much as it shattered us. I turned my head away, for the pain of seeing the two of them like that tore me apart.

  The guards pulled the struggling Egil back to our group as the rest of the household marched out into the night. Heres waddled ahead of them, with Tarmo and Reas not far behind. His wife, Rekon, and the rest of the household, including Turid and Sigdag, hung back. Like me, Turid and Sigdag could barely watch.

  Heres stopped before Egil and regarded his thrall's tear-streaked face. “Your sister died of an illness. We tried to save her. She was useful in our household.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed. “Her death is unfortunate, for now I have one less thrall to serve me. Do not let her loss affect your productivity, or I will be forced to punish you.”

  The insult just incensed Egil all the more. He writhed in the grip of his guards and spat in our master's face. “You heartless troll,” he shouted. “I will kill you when I have the chance!”

  Heres wiped the spittle from his now fierce face. “You are a dim-witted lad, Egil. Do you not see that you will never have the chance to kill me? That you are my property and I rule here?” He gestured to the guards holding Egil. “Tie up the whelp and put his sister's corpse at his feet to remind him of how powerless he is. But don't let him freeze. We need him in the bogs. Come,” he said to the others. “Morning will soon be upon us. Let us try to rest a little longer before it arrives.”

  Egil survived the night, if just barely. And by the mercy of the gods, he did not have to witness his sister being dragged off into the darkness by wolves or some other beast. It is likely that the presence of the guards outside our pit-house kept the predators away, or mayhap it was the fire they built to keep themselves warm. Whatever the case, we were able to pry Egil's frozen tunic from the bark in the gray morning and carry his shivering body into the warmth of our house. His lips were blue and his teeth chattered, but he was alive. We piled our blankets on his body and built up the hearth fire until warmth filled the room, then we left for the bog. It was all we could do for him.

  I did not expect Egil to live much longer, but slowly he regained his color and his strength. Though he would not say it, I believe that Heres was relieved to have him alive, for the loss of three thralls so quickly would have hurt his operations. Mayhap it was for that reason that he allowed us to nurse Egil back to health before returning him to the bog for work.

  As you can imagine, his recovery did not cure him of his ill temper or his gloom. He worked as if he carried a boulder on his back and two on his legs. He cried at random moments. In the dead of night. In the fields as he worked. As he ate his night meal. He spoke to no one. Even so, I sensed that he would erupt, given the chance, and get himself
killed in the process, so I did my best to include him in our hushed conversations, even if he did not respond. I wanted to include him in my plans as well, but I sensed he teetered on the edge of sanity, and I could not risk him mumbling some part of the plot to our guards. When the time came, though, I felt his bitterness would force him into the fray.

  My other two conspirators would be Turid and Sigdag. I did not see much of them those days, but I knew with the loss of Eydis that a chance at escape would be far more attractive than a life — and a death — as concubines in Heres's hall. I would need to speak with them before I set the plans in motion. I just hoped that when I did, I would sense their passion or their reluctance prior to moving forward.

  Winter melted into a rain-mired spring, which then bloomed into a humid summer marked by bouts of extreme heat and intermittent rainstorms. With summer's arrival, we began digging for peat to provide fuel for the furnaces, though the storms interfered with the smelting. Heres was beyond frustrated, for the market was coming soon and despite the bitter winter, we had discovered more iron than ever before.

  To make up for lost time, Heres worked us mercilessly at the furnaces when the weather was fair. The younger children did not have the strength or stamina to work the bellows for long, nor the skill to know when to add more peat to the furnace, so most of the work fell to the older thralls. The work that early summer was so constant, we slept near the furnaces and did not waste time returning to our pit-house.

  In the end, we succeeded in smelting all of the iron but paid for it with our bodies. As a reward for our work, Heres gave each thrall double rations and a day of rest, while he and his men feasted in the main hall. We saw none of that food, of course, but that suited me fine. I was happy slurping at my bowl, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of a full belly. A bug floated in my water cup and I sucked it into my mouth, crunching delightedly on the carcass.

  Beside me, Pipin laughed. “Do you remember, Torgil, when we arrived, how you would not deign to eat a bug? Things have changed.”

  I smiled. “I was a fool, Pipin.”

  Near us, Raban farted loudly and groaned with pleasure, and even Egil laughed at that. Herkus tossed a pebble at him, which Egil knocked aside. “It is good to have you with us, Egil,” said Herkus. The lad blushed and looked away.

  Heres approached us then with Reas by his side. Their eyes raked over us imperiously. Conversations died on our lips as we turned our faces to our master. “Enjoy your meal. Our winter and spring were wet, as you know, so rations are slim.” I wanted to ask him then why he was wasting it on a feast, but held my tongue.

  “It is time to choose those who will accompany us to market,” he continued. “Since there is so much iron to move, I have decided to take the older, stronger men, Herkus and Raban. Reas,” he motioned to his son, “will stay here in my stead. We will leave in five days. There is much to do until then, so I hope you keep your strength.”

  I watched them disappear into the hall before glancing at Pipin. It was as we hoped it would be. I nodded to him ever so slightly.

  Yet another storm blew over the settlement in the following days and so Heres's departure was delayed by a day. When the clouds dispersed, we gathered on the muddy strand with the crisp, post-storm air in our noses and helped Heres load his tent, food, ale, iron billets, axe-heads, and other supplies into his knarr. Heres said his farewells to his household, then climbed aboard the vessel and cast off.

  I waved to Herkus and Raban and edged myself closer to Turid and Sigdag in the process. “Do not walk away,” I said in our Norse tongue to Turid. They both glanced at me, then turned back to the ship, lest the guards get suspicious. “I have a plan to free us from this place,” I whispered near Turid's ear, “but I need the help of the both of you. It is dangerous and I will require you to explain it to Sigdag. If you wish to be part of it, nod once.”

  She nodded instantly and so I explained the plan to her.

  Chapter 23

  The first part of the plan was to wait until three days after Heres was gone. Three days would give Heres enough time to get to market and set up his stall. If he had not returned by then, then his journey had gone well, and he would be occupied with buyers for his iron. And I would set my plan in motion.

  The day after Heres's departure, I made sure everything was in place. It was not a complicated plan, but it did require a few instruments, and it was these I focused on placing where my cohorts and I could easily find them. To say I was nervous would not be true. I was excited, not only to be free of the living Hel I had experienced for the past seven summers, but to exact my vengeance on those who had taken such pleasure in their cruelty.

  My plan, I thought, was well-conceived, but the world is not perfect and rarely complies with the whims of man. On the second day after Heres's departure, Thor intervened. Despite it being early summer, He rolled across the heavens in his goat-drawn chariot, bringing rain and shaking the sky with his lightning and thunder. The foul weather did not hamper our work — we worked in most weather — but it did make me worry whether the market would continue or if we might see Heres earlier than planned.

  The third day after his departure dawned overcast yet humid, the air pregnant with moisture. It had rained the night before and now threatened to rain again. In the mud outside our pit-house we supped quietly on soggy bread and watery gruel as I cast furtive glances at the beach. Heres had not yet returned, and I sent a prayer to Thor that he would stay away long enough for me to see my plan through.

  “Finish the dregs!” growled Tarmo. “Time to hunt the bogs!”

  I cast a lingering eye at the empty bay, then joined the others as we shuffled out into the bog with two of the younger guards, Kove and Sula, at our heels. They were not much older than me, really. They wore heavy cloaks to protect them from the impending rain which, I noticed with some satisfaction, also covered the seaxes on their belts. They would pay for that mistake.

  I worked with Pipin that day, he and I side by side as we fished the wet ground with our poles. “We go today,” I mumbled to him. He nodded without looking at me.

  At high day, as Kove and Sula stood beside each other, their eyes only half on us as they swiped at the mosquitoes swarming about their hooded heads. Thor began to piss on us then. Steadily, the rain picked up until it fell in a steady staccato that drove off the mosquitoes but soaked us through. I glanced at Pipin through my dark, wet bangs and nodded. He nodded in return. It was time.

  I bent to the earth in the spot I had mapped out for this portion of my plan and dug under the bog moss. After a moment I found what I sought — a crude shard of an iron bar not much longer than a ship nail. It had a sharp point but no handle and was easy to conceal in my sleeve. I did not even have to craft it. I had merely picked it up from the turf a scant few weeks before when we worked at the furnaces. Three similar shards waited: one beside mine for Pipin, and two more at the settlement for Turid and Sigdag. They were not swords, but they could kill if used well. As I slipped the weapon into my hand, my heart began to thunder.

  “HeyI” I waved to the guards and pointed to the ground as if I needed help. Beside me, Pipin acted as if he was trying to pry a heavy clump of bog iron from the peat.

  Kove said something to Sula, which made the other man smile, then walked over to our spot. The other thralls looked in our direction, then went back to their tasks. The rain fell harder, and I wiped my bangs from my eyes with my forearm.

  “What is the matter?” asked Kove as he neared, and for a brief moment I thought he might stop and detect our bluff.

  “Bog iron. A huge piece,” I called back to him, then bent beside Pipin and made a show of pulling at something.

  In my periphery, I saw Kove's boot step close to my right. I glanced up just as he craned his neck forward to see, and that is when I struck. With my left hand, I grabbed his cloak and pulled. With my right, I jabbed hard with the blade at his chest. He was falling forward, off balance, and his momentum helped drive my blade
through his cloak and into his heart. He screamed as he fell to the wet turf between us, his fall tearing the blade from my hand. Before I could move to him and yank it free, Pipin pounded his blade into Kove's chest near mine. I fumbled for the dead man's seax and turned to face Sula, who had recovered from his own surprise and was coming at me with his blade drawn.

  Rather than attack, he looked at Pipin and me, then at the other thralls, and decided it best to run for help. He turned, but before he could take a step, Egil swung his sack of iron into his face, sending him plummeting onto his back. Before he could rise, Egil scrambled forward, mounted his chest, and began pounding his face. Sula struggled to protect himself, but he was no match for the hate-filled barrage of punches that connected with his head. Soon, his arms lay motionless at his side. Egil spat on his victim's bloodied face, then fumbled for the man's belt, unsheathed his blade, and slashed it across Sula's neck.

  The entire fight had ended quickly, leaving the six of us standing there in the rain, staring at each other. Above, the heavens thundered, bringing me to my senses. I realized that my hand stung, and I looked at it. There was a gash on my palm where my own blade had sliced me. Blood pooled around the wound. It was not deep, though I cursed myself all the same for my carelessness.

  “Pipin, strip Kove and dress in his garb,” I ordered. “I will do the same with Sula. Search him, too. If there is any food, distribute it.”

  “What about me?” asked Egil. “And them?” He pointed at the children.

  “I need you to come with me,” I said as I grabbed the seax from his hand and cut the leather collar from my neck.

  “And where do you go?”

  I knelt beside Sula to remove his belt. “Back to the hall to take my vengeance.”

  He nodded. “That I will gladly do.”