Three years after Ivar first took me in, my life changed again.
“Adam,” Ivar began the conversation, taking a deep breath when our day’s work was done.
“Yes, Master,” I replied, as I always did when he spoke to me.
“It’s been, what, three winters since I took you in, yes?” He asked.
“Three years,” I agreed, and nodded my head.
“And in this time you’ve grown taller and stronger,” he continued.
“Thank you,” I replied.
“I’m not done, boy,” he answered angrily, so I kept my mouth shut.
‘This isn’t a complimentary conversation — best to be on my toes,’ I thought.
“And as you’ve grown taller and stronger, so have the stories of your various adventures,” he said with a smile that hinted that he knew everything. I raised my brows innocently, silently challenging that knowledge.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He asked. I shook my head innocently.
“I’m talking about the miller’s boy you beat up last week. Last I heard his eye was swollen shut, and he only managed to open it yesterday,” he said.
“May I defend m’self?” I asked in a strained civil tone, clenching my fists under the dinner table, the innocent façade quickly fading.
“By all means, please do,” he answered, and smiled, as if it were a challenge of some kind.
“Inius Miller tried to nick a coin vich you gave me to perchis bread. Now I couldn’t ha’ let him steal from you like dat, not without a fight,” I replied proudly.
“So you were actually protecting me from the miller’s boy by hitting him so hard that he can’t open his eye anymore,” he commented, playing with his thin beard. “Very well, what about little Tymon and Gerelde, the butcher’s boys, two weeks ago?” He asked.
“Dat’s not fer! Dey both made fun of me noz bein’ too big. I told dem I was born dat way, but dey wouldn’t stop,” I replied, hoping he would cease this line of conversation.
“So you broke Archie’s nose and intimidated his little brother so much he couldn’t stop crying for hours,” Ivar replied.
“Serves ‘em right for making fun of mi noz!” I replied, raising my voice more than I intended. Ivar smiled a crooked smile as I raised my voice. By breaking my calm, he had proven his point: I’m a bully and I’m quick to anger at the slightest provocation.
“Alright, what about Calin from across the street, what was his crime?” Ivar asked, leaning forward on the table.
“Calin started it, he’s two years older dan I am. I was fightin for my life, honest!” I replied, trying to sound more like a victim. Damn it, I knew he was right, but for the life of me I didn’t want to admit it.
“Adam, every child in Drentwych is scared of coming near you,” he said in fatherly tones.
“Good!” I replied, proud of my accomplishments.
“Even children bigger and older than you would rather not cross your path,” he continued.
“Didn’t know I left such a good impression!” I boasted, growing happier still, though I knew it wasn’t appropriate.
“And now you boast of your bullying instead of asking for forgiveness. That’s hardly honorable of you,” Ivar said.
“Master, these people are all tieves, liars, and bullies, and I take pride, not shame, in actin’ out against them,” I replied.
“In that case, it’s good that you set them straight, right?” He asked.
“Of course!” I replied.
“So you’re the champion of the people, are you?” He inquired.
“I should hope to be so lucky,” I replied happily.
“Adam, you speak well,” Ivar said, and changed his tone. “You’re probably the toughest boy in Drentwych.” He said and I smiled proudly. “But this is a small town and you’re no warrior. You lack a warrior’s restraint,” he continued, and my smile vanished. “A warrior without restraint is nothing more than a bully at your age, and a shameless villain when he’s older,” Ivar said.
“Wait, I…!” I began.
“Shut up, I’m not done. Respect your elders!” Ivar commanded, and I complied, clenching my teeth.
“Older warriors of your type are often murderers, cut-throats, and brigands, and they rank lower than thieves in honor,” he said.
“I’m not a murderer! You wrong me!” I replied too quickly, raising my voice.
“Do not raise your voice at me. Be silent and listen, boy!” He yelled back, and I immediately sat down and lowered my eyes.
“Adam, you let your emotions cloud your judgment. You anger too quickly and strike out at the slightest hint of provocation. I’m trying to teach you how to be a better man, but you don’t care to listen,” he said, and leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands in front of his chest.
“What ever happened to the lost child I picked off the street?” He asked, his pride wounded.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I replied, truly ashamed of myself.
“A warrior should not only be strong and win fights, he must act with honor and responsibility at all times,” Ivar said, and I nodded in my understanding.
“A warrior is above the common man, and should act accordingly with nobility and more importantly, with restraint, otherwise, he’s nothing more than a rabid dog and should be dealt with as such.” Ivar explained.
“I understand,” I said.
“Killing is easy, anybody can kill …,” Ivar explained emotionally, “… but who amongst us can raise the dead? Who can bring a man back to life once his life’s spark has been extinguished?” He asked with a passion I recognized, one which struck a chord.
“A simple flower, once crushed, cannot be revived even by the wisest of men,” he continued as my thoughts wandered elsewhere.
“You’re right, Master,” I said, and tried to choke down my tears.
“You need to consider your actions carefully and you need to take responsibility for what you say and do. The Gods are watching us and our ancestors are watching us; think of this before you dishonor them,” he said.
“Yes, master,” I replied obediently.
“I’m not angry at you for beating those boys. I’m actually proud you’re growing strong. I’m angry because you make shameful excuses for your actions. I’m angry because you allow yourself to be weak and to let your emotions control you. That sort of thinking is suitable for a woman, not a man,” he said and I stared silently at him.
“Now, since you’ve grown so strong,” he went on in lighter tones. “I’ve decided it’s time to teach you how to fight.” He smiled.
“Wh-what?” I asked, not sure of what I had just heard.
“Losing our hearing in our venerable old age, are we? I said you’ve grown strong enough and its time you learned to really be a man, so tomorrow after work I’m going to teach you how to fight,” he said.
“Thank you, Master!” I replied, overjoyed.
“Control yourself, Adam. You can never expect to master a sword before you’ve learned to master the spirit which commands it to action,” he reprimanded, angry that I acted emotionally once more.
“Yes, Master,” I said more calmly. Thus I became Ivar’s apprentice, and there was no man prouder to be called a blacksmith apprentice in all of Drentwych.
I am never certain as to the cause of my anger during my teenage years. Perhaps it was the injustice that had sent my real parents and I on the voyage that would later be their ending, making me an orphan in a foreign land. Perhaps it was the continued injustice and misery I saw every day of my life. The wretchedness of the common man, the cruelty in which men of higher positions treat their lesser. I could never find closure or solace with my parents; they’re gone... Every time I had to cope with the world, I was filled with wrath, and sometimes this wrath, like an overflowing volcano, spilled and lashed out at all who were near me. I was mighty fortunate to be cared for by noble Ivar who as if I was his own, for whatever altruistic reason he held in his heart. I had never properly thanked him, the first, foremost and greatest of my regrets.
Meanwhile, not far away a lone figure made his way to the fortress of Wist Hill which ruled over the whole of the land. His pacing hastened as his eyes gazed upon the Fortress under the light of the full moon. In his grim and determined mind he heard the whispers — voices who echoed the betrayal he had suffered at the hands of those closest to him. It was a chilly, star-filled night, yet the lone figure suffered not from cold or fatigue. The undead rarely suffer from these things which may cripple the living. Edmund Ironside would have his revenge.
Edmund was of an unrecognizable age, his features once plain, now had taken on a grayish pale hue, like a dying man. His hair, once groomed, now was dust colored and hanging about him unkempt. It wasn’t long ago — perhaps a few months, when Edmund was a living King. As he traveled to the realm he decided to hide in nearby Drentwych before extracting his revenge. As his feet carried him to Drentwych, his mind drifted past the endless whispers which infested his mind; to what was another lifetime; to a time when he was a mortal man teaching his children how to hunt.
Happy thoughts were soon replaced by infernal wrath, and Edmund’s knuckles would have whitened even more if they could under the powerful flex of his clenched fists. His eyes lighted and beamed in unholy rage. The whispers in his mind rose in volume, becoming screams of dying men and burning fire, of sword and spear piercing tender flesh.
Edmund was betrayed by those closest to him, and he would never see his children again. He could have rescued Britannia. He could have defeated King Cnut the Great. He could have saved his family. He could have vanquished the Viking horde. He could have been the hero England longed for since Arthur … but he was betrayed, beaten and murdered. With his dying breath he swore an oath of vengeance. His oath was heard and accepted, by whatever forces lord over death. Now, not even death would stop him. In Drentwych he will begin preparations for a vengeance that would shape the future of the world. In Drentwych, the voices whispered, is a spy of Cnut, a smith … Ivar, the voices whispered … his name is Ivar.
‘I will make him pay, I will make them all pay for what was done to me!’ He thought. Edmund had but one dark deed to do, to make this spy suffer as he had suffered.
Present day...
As Jaunee was being interviewed, a voice spoke on Daina's headset as she listened to Jaunee's story.
"Keep her talking for as long as possible," the voice said amongst static interference. Daina for some reason did not notice the radio static.
"Wait a minute," The interviewer paused Jaunee's story.
"Qui?"
"From what I read of the two published Journals," Daina began. "Adam was born human, yet you mentioned him in modern day. Can someone transform from a regular person into a supernatural one?" Daina asked.
"Qui" Jaunee replied. "Some can transform people, as you call it." She explained.