The Purs

“Þurs Týr!” Yr yelled. Everyone in the hall turned to look at him, the foam of ales in the beards of their scarred faces. Þurs Týr sat at the head of the hall, tearing a piece of flesh from a roasted lamb’s leg, its juices and grease staining his beard. He made eye contact with Yr, his cruel eyes glinting with malice and curiosity. Yr stood taller, feeling terrified inside. Nevertheless, he continued.

“I challenge you to a fight to the death!” A roll of laughter went through those gathered around the tables. Yr continued. “If I win, your men have to leave Isa Lögr and never return. But if you win,” Yr gulped a bubble of terror back down his throat before continuing. “Then you can do as you please with the rest of my people.” A smile crept onto Þurs Týr’s face, his eyes glinting in the torch light calculatingly. Then, he stood and brandished his saxe knife.

“You have yourself a deal.” The knife struck the table, ringing loudly in the stunned silence.

When the Þurs Clan had arrived three days earlier, it had been a regular day. Yr had woken up early to go on his morning run. Before he left his home, he reached into a hidden hole underneath his house and removed a blanket wrapped package. He stood up, brushing the dirt off of it before strapping it to his back. His boots stomped softly on the packed dirt road that lead from his home into the village. A goat bleated at him as he jogged past, the rope around its neck keeping it from wandering from its owners. As Yr approached the village, he turned left up a hidden game trail. He followed it until he couldn’t hear the crashing of the ocean behind him. A decent sized clearing opened up in front of him, a crude dummy made of straw sat in its center. An old pot lid was attached to one arm of the dummy, acting as a shield. On the other hand, a branch was tied, its tip sharpened to a point to mimic a sword. It sat on an old stump, its sword pointed forward. 

Yr jogged into the clearing, looking around to see if anyone else was in the area. He then walked to the far right side of the clearing where another stump sat. Yr removed the package from his back and placed it gently on the stump. He then removed the blanket wrapping to reveal a battle axe. The sun glinted off of it as Yr gently lifted it from the blanket. Its handle was wrapped in leather, runes carved into it. He gripped the familiar handle, smiling as he did so. He had forged this axe with his own hands. It had taken him a year to complete it. Its handle was made of the finest and hardest wood, almost as strong as metal. 

Yr backed away from the stump and turned to face the dummy. He then proceeded to practice his skills on it, his arm a blur of movement as he changed from attack to attack. Occasionally he would duck and weave, as if dodging an imaginary strike. The axe seemed to move on its own, Yr making it an extension of his body. His attacks were never the same, always unpredictable. The blade could come flying in from the right, when suddenly it was above your left knee. Yr never took a break, constantly pushing his imaginary enemy back. Finally, after two hours, he stopped, his clothes soaked in sweat. He walked back to the stump and placed the axe gently in its wrappings. Then, once the axe was secured to his back, he jogged back to his home.

As he approached the village, the smell of smoke entered his nostrils. Yr shrugged it off, thinking it to only be someone clearing their fields. But then the sounds of battle filled his ears. He ran faster down the track, jumping over any obstacles in his way. Where the track and the village meet, Yr stopped. Homes were on fire. Women and children screamed and cried. Strange men fought those of his village, killing and moving onto their next targets. A massive Langskip sat in the Harbor, it colors flying proudly. A giant man with one hand sat on its flag, waving rapidly in the wind. Yr rushed past it, barely noticing it. His village was in danger. He had to help. 

“Women and children with me!” Yr yelled, picking a small boy up off the ground and carrying him as he ran. They all began to follow him as fast as they could. Eventually, the men joined them as well. All those who had not been killed by the strangers helped the women and children keep up with Yr. Adrenaline drove him forward, pushing his already strained muscles to their full capability. They ran towards the mountains, the invaders yelling triumphantly in the village below. They continued to run until finally they entered a small valley. Yr put the children that he had been carrying down in the shade of a pine. As they had run from the invaders, small children could not keep up. Yr had fallen back and picked up another two, carrying three in all to their final destination. 

The valley was wide enough that ten men could stand shoulder to shoulder, but no more. This made it a very well fortified area as they would be able to shrink the entrance even smaller, making it harder for invaders to attack. 

As soon as everyone was into the valley Yr gathered all of the remaining men around him. There were only twenty of them left.

“Alright,” Yr said. “We need to protect ourselves from these invaders. They will no doubt try and finish us off so that we cannot warn any nearby villages of their presence. This means that we will need to find as many logs as we can and build a wall in the entrance of the valley. I want you ten,” Yr pointed to his right, “ to begin gathering wood. The rest of you I want helping me build the wall itself. Any questions?” He looked around at the sullen faces. None of them argued with him or challenged him, though he was by far the youngest out of them all. He was only 16, after all. 

“Ok then. Let's get moving!” They all dispersed quickly, each going to their assigned jobs. Yr helped out with the wall, telling men where to put logs and where not to. By the time the sun went down they had built the wall two meters high and a meter thick. Yr put together a watch for the night and then went to where all the women and children had gathered.

The women had made themselves busy with the tasks of helping those who were injured and gathering what wild vegetables they could to make a meal for everyone. Yr quickly started a few cooking fires for them, and soon the air was filled with the smell of wild greens cooking. Everyone gathered around the two cooking fires and waited patiently as their food was cooked. Finally, they all sat down and ate. After they had eaten everyone made themselves as comfortable as they could and laid down for the night.

 Yr sat by one of the cooking fires, staring into its flames. Now that he had time to sit and think properly, he let his mind wander. Something about the ship seemed to bother him immensely. Something about their flag worried him as well, though he couldn’t place why. He fell asleep with this thought, making him restless during the night. 

The next morning Yr awoke as the sun began to rise. He walked over to their wall, climbing it to look down into his village. Smoke still rose from the houses that had been burned, though they only smoldered now. He could see men moving about in the village, some staggering due to drunkeness. Hate began to form in him for the men in that village. They had taken everything from his people. Their homes. Their food. Some of their family members. They had taken it all. And now they sat in their homes and got drunk. Yr continued to gaze into the village, letting his mind wander with the hate he felt. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind him snapped him back into the present. He turned to see one of his men holding a leaf with steaming greens on top of it.

“This is for you, lad.” The man said as he offered it to Yr. Yr got down off the wall and accepted it, thanking the man. Yr sat down on a nearby log and ate thoughtfully. The flag of the landskip continued to bother him. Something about it had looked familiar as he ran past it the other day. His heart dropped as he finally realized why it looked familiar. It was the flag of the Þurs Clan. They were the most feared raiders of all time, and they were led by one of the most feared men. Þurs Týr. Þurs Týr was known for being mercyless and cruel. He would burn entire villages to the ground if he didn’t get his way. Though his own men respected him, they feared his temper. He would kill anyone who disagreed with him; including his own men.

Yr composed himself and put his pondering aside as his men gathered around him, ready to be given another task. They needed something to do to keep themselves busy, and so Yr gave them something to do. They continued to build their wall up until it was ten meters high, and wide enough to walk across it safely. They even made a few ladders to get to the top of the wall. As they worked, Yr’s mind wandered back to his thoughts from earlier. He needed to do something about Þurs Týr. This man murdered hundreds, just so he could laugh and have the finest ales. He needed to be stopped.

By noon they had finished everything, so Yr set up a watch and dismissed everyone else. Then he walked up the valley until he was at a small knotted tree. There he reached into a hidden hole and removed his axe. He sat down on a rock and began to sharpen its edge until it was sharper than a razor. He then placed his axe back into its protective blanket and strapped it onto his back. By the time he returned to camp, it was already time for supper. The women again prepared the wild greens meal again, though this time there was meat. Some of the men had gone hunting earlier in the afternoon and had caught a doe. This raised everyone’s spirits a bit. 

After dinner Yr asked the men if they would spar with him. They eagerly agreed. Yr then removed his axe from his back and tied cloth around the head of his blade. His first opponent did as well. Then they stood apart from each other and began to circle. The rest of the men formed a bigger circle around them and cheered them on. This was the first time that Yr had sparred with a real human being before. His opponent lunged suddenly, but Yr was ready for it. He stepped to the side as the axe swung past, the man grunting in surprise as his axe made no contact with anything. Then Yr reached forward and hooked the man’s axe with his. His arm jerked back and the man’s axe flew. Then Yr swung his axe at the man’s throat in an overhead arc, stopping millimeters from it. Their watchers chered and hooted in excitement, and soon everyone wanted to spar with Yr.

By the time the sun went down, Yr had sparred with every man in the camp; and none of them could beat him. Yr went to bed with a smile on his face, though he felt nervous inside. He laid on his back, staring at the stars, thinking of what he would have to do the next day. He fell asleep with these thoughts, though he slept restlessly.

The next morning Yr awoke as the sun rose. He sat on a rock before breakfast and sharpened his axe even more, just to make sure that it hadn’t been dulled during last night’s sparring. After breakfast he walked over to the wall and climbed to the top of it. There he sat, watching the village below. He did this until close to noon when he could see all of the men in the village enter the Great Hall for the noon meal. He then quickly had one of the other men help him lower a ladder onto the outside of the wall. Once Yr was on the other side of the wall, he had his men raise the ladder and put it back on the other side. Then he jogged down to the village. As he approached, he slowed to a walk and crept towards the Great Hall as quietly as he could. Then he slipped into the Hall through a hidden side door. Once inside he stayed in the shadows, crouching. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and roasted meat. Gathering his courage, Yr stood and stepped out of the shadows.

“Þurs Týr!” Yr yelled. Everyone in the hall turned to look at him, the foam of ales in the beards of their sea-worn faces. Þurs Týr sat at the head of the hall, tearing a piece of flesh from a roasted lamb’s leg, its juices and grease staining his beard. He made eye contact with Yr, his cruel eyes glinting with malice and curiosity. Yr stood taller, feeling terrified inside. Nevertheless, he continued.

“I challenge you to a fight to the death!” A roll of laughter went through those gathered around the tables. Yr continued. “If I win, your men have to leave Isa Lögr and never return. But if you win,” Yr gulped a bubble of terror back down his throat before continuing. “Then you can do as you please with the rest of my people.” A smile crept onto Þurs Týr’s face, his eyes glinting in the torch light calculatingly. Then, he stood and brandished his saxe knife.

“You have yourself a deal.” The knife struck the table, ringing loudly in the stunned silence. Then Þurs Týr asked, “When will this duel happen and where?” Yr swallowed again, though his mouth was dry. 

“Right now in the square.” Yr said, putting as much authority as he could into his voice.

“Alright,” Þurs Týr said, turning and stepping towards the back wall. “Let me get my axe and we can begin.” Yr nodded, and then turned and walked out of the Great Hall into the open air. Þurs Týr’s men followed Yr out into the square. The square sat in front of the Hall. This was the only area in the village that could fit a big crowd. 

Þurs Týr came out last, a shield on his left arm. In his right he held his axe, its handle black from being hardened in a fire. The noon sun glinted off of its rune carved head. Þurs Týr approached Yr, a smile on his face. Then he noticed that Yr had no shield on his arm.

“No shield?” he asked. 

“I prefer not to use one.” Yr replied. 

“Suit yourself,” Þurs Týr said, shrugging. “Traditional rules or free for all?”

“Traditional, that way we know it will be a fair fight.” Yr replied. A whirlwind of butterflies flew in his stomach. 

“Okay,” Þurs Týr said. “Then we will inspect each other’s weapons and shield before we begin.” Yr nodded and then proceeded to trade with Þurs Týr. Nothing was out of the ordinary with Þurs Týr shield and both axes, so they traded back. Then they each took ten paces away from each other and turned. Þurs Týr’s men formed a ring around them, the air filled with an excited tension. Then one of Þurs Týr’s men stepped forward and blew a horn, signaling for the duel to start. 

Yr and Þurs Týr circled each other, each crouching slightly. Their eyes were riveted onto each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Yr’s knuckles were white as he gripped his axe. He watched intently as they circled. Finally, Þurs Týr made a move. Yr watched and saw the man’s muscles tighten as he prepared for his attack. Þurs Týr charged at him, raising his axe. He swung towards Yr’s head in what would be a devastating blow, but then at the last moment he changed directions, aiming for Yr’s head. Yr saw this coming and moved to parry the blow. Their axe’s collided and a clang of metal on metal filled the air. A grunt of surprise came from Þurs Týr as he looked down. Yr had stopped his blow dead in its tracks. Þurs Týr looked up at him, confusion entering his face. No one had done that before. Yr smiled at him.

 Now it’s my turn. Yr thought. He quickly disengaged his axe and began to rain blow upon blow onto the stargering Þurs Týr. Yr went slow enough to give the man time to block his attacks, but just barely. Þurs Týr raised his shield left and right, up and down. His axe move similarly, but it didn’t do much to block the powerful blows from Yr. Finally, they were at the edge of the circle. Yr stopped, letting Þurs Týr catch his breath. He himself hadn’t even broken a sweat, thanks to his rigorous practices in the morning. Yr stood over Þurs Týr, looking him dead in the eyes. Now was the time to end this. Even though Yr had never killed, he knew that he had to make an exception. This man deserved to die. He was the cause of so many people’s pain, including his own. Yr raised his axe, gripping it more tightly. Then, he said one single phrase that seemed to ring throughout eternity.

“What goes around, comes around.” With this, he delivered the final blow. The feared man who had been Þurs Týr now layed dead at the feet of one of his own victims, staring blankly at the sky.

Yr turned to face Þurs Týr’s men. They had been silent during the entire fight. No one had ever bested their leader. Now they stood there, confused, not knowing what to think.

“Well,” Yr said. “You all heard the deal. Leave now and never return or be executed.” This seemed to snap the raiders from their confusion. They all turned to leave, some walking back to their ship, others running. Some spat at the feet of Yr in defiance; but then he would raise his axe ever so slightly and they would scurry away. Yr smiled as he watched them leave. He had done it. His people were safe and he had restored their home. Now he could go back to his preferred way of living. Back to blacksmithing.