Arjeormas Black'd Bone

III

Chopping wood, his limbs and chest were frigid and fatigued. Chopping wood, his heart and mind were searing and awake. Chopping wood, his people began to circle around him.

"Abjorn, as-" Bejor, a lean man, still thicker than he, approached, and began his speech in disrespect.

"-The Later, please continue" Abjorn the Later had patience for everything, everything except for being made into his late father.

"Abjorn the Later, I can easily relieve you of your tongue if you so please-" Bejor was known to be keen with a long sword, rather than a battle-axe, which made his ego a mountain in height.

Abjorn the Later thought for a moment of life without this man, this bane, but then held back his hand and a sigh. Rather, he spoke in turn, and despite his attempt, contempt slipped from his lips, "I said please continue, not in that manner, but with a purpose, I had hoped."

"I have purpose for speaking with you, else I would not cast eyes on your spirit. For me to speak, you must hold your tongue, or it will be my next victim." Bejor touched the hilt of the sword on his hip, and looked at his opponent. He watched as Abjorn the Later nodded, and with tensed muscles, began stacking the freshly chopped wood. "Never forget, lacking a tongue will not help you to Valhalla, although you have no reason for hope in that dream to begin with..." He paused a moment to make certain no one would speak back, before continuing, "Without hope indeed, so no offer could help you, yet by Thor's will, it is my task to ask. With only respect from you, there may be an offer, an opportunity, coming soon." Once again, he looked into Abjorn the Later's eyes. They merely brightened above a still mouth. "See how she holds her tongue now? Greed for the chance, that is. She dares not cut short my speech now that I bare before her what she wills for. Ha!" Bejor announced this to those others who had accompanied him. The victim of this mockery fist twitched, but quickly set it back to work with wood.

A woman stepped forward, and jeered, "Ja, do your ears hear this? Be thankful, Abjorn-"

"The Later" Abjorn the Later whispered.

"What is this? It is enough that I even call you by your father's name, for Abjorn is not at the least your given name. You took it in, like a sickly savage dog. I do not have to drag it on with the Later title, Abjorn. See how I silence her, Bejor? Now, tell her what words you came to bear." She stepped back, with a proud smirk.

"Takk skal du ha, kvinne. Abjorn, the Later, you who are a score, have not been on a glorious voyage, ja?" Bejor said, forgetting his previously condescending tone.

Abjor the Later looked from the woman to the man, paused, nodded, and continued, "Ja, I am deemed unfit, recall this?"

"For clear reasons this has been true, until now. The strong men are preparing for sea, for honor. We are short on those for rowing, after the last venture, when we lost three of our best. The people have agreed to give you a chance this once, and sent me to deliver the chance. It is undeniable that you have never failed to do what jobs set before you, so do not fail now. Here is our lightest battle-axe. Have you been taught with one?" Bejor's voice serious, a voice unfamiliar from him. This invitation would have been nothing more than for laughter's sake, but this voice carried none like that.

Abjor the Later, took the axe handed to him, and it being the lightest, was perfect in weight and size for our hero, almost as though meant for him. He smiled to himself and nodded to Bejor. The people left him with his new weapon and what was left of the wood.