The Axe

“Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” grinned Duncan. I knew he meant it as a friendly gesture, but Duncan is one of those men whose best smile still registers as a grimace. Possibly because of the missing teeth and smell of onions.

“Today is the day you begin the work you were born to do,” he went on with his gravelly, yet deep voice. With this remark, he reached out a meaty finger and pinched my left shoulder, feeling the muscles there.

Even at sixteen, I was built like a burly lumberjack. My poor mother was constantly mending my clothes as it seemed I grew an inch every week—both upwards and outwards. My girth was mostly due to my father, who I never met as he had gone on one of the crusades—never to return. Whether he had died or disappeared into a faraway land, we never learned. Meanwhile, all I had inherited from my mother was our shared poverty and eye color—light blue like a spring morning when the saplings shoot forth their virgin leaves.

Ever since my father’s disappearance, Mother had survived by toiling as a seamstress and launderer in our village. She was proud of her work and had no desire to remarry. She was even more proud the day I was noticed by Duncan—and selected to be his apprentice.

“This shall change our fortune’s for the better,” she had said, embracing me with arms stronger than they looked. “You shall see the entire kingdom! Imagine, my son…working for the king himself!”

This was a bit of an exaggeration, but I let her hold onto it. She was proud of me. Even if it wasn’t the line of work I would choose for myself, I knew I couldn’t let her down. The gold I would be bringing home was not something to walk away from. Even if it meant living a full two days’ journey away from her as Duncan trained me over the next few years.

“Come over here,” Duncan gestured, his stink wafting over to me with the motion. He leaned over and selected a meter-long post of cedar and set it up onto a stone anvil. He then hoisted up a dark gray axe, its handle wrapped in flaking black leather. Holding it out towards me, he said, “Go ahead—swing.”

I couldn’t help but frown. “Are there not other skills I need to learn first? Before I swing an axe?”

Duncan let out a hearty laugh. “I am a firm believer—especially in this job—that you learn best through repetition. Now, go on—take it.”

So I took it—along with a deep breath—feeling the weight of the giant axe, adjusting my grip.

“Now, come on, don’t be shy,” urged Duncan. For emphasis, he delivered an encouraging slap on the back which nearly sent me sprawling face first into the anvil. “Step up and swing. Let me see how you do it.”

I shuffled my feet, adjusting them this way and that as I positioned myself in front of the anvil, my eyes settling on the cedar post sitting atop it. My lack of confidence flowed out of my stomach and into my hands, trembling. I gripped the axe tighter, hoping Duncan wouldn’t notice. With another deep breath, I raised the axe up.

“Wait!” cried Duncan.

Relieved, I let the axe’s swing fall backwards, letting it carry me a step or two away from the anvil—and the helpless cedar post awaiting my blow.

Duncan stepped up to the anvil and moved a contraption into place on either side of the post. “Almost forgot the vice,” he chuckled. “Can’t have it rolling away after the first swing, can we?”

After a few twists of the vice’s screws, he checked to make sure the cedar post was secure. Satisfied, he stepped away, gesturing for me to approach again.

Hesitant, I remained planted in place, axe still hanging down. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to practice on something—less thick?” I suggested.

“Hardly,” laughed Duncan. “This is exactly the thickness necessary to learn the job. This is difficult work, you know. Not for the weak.” He approached with his grim grin, setting his two heavy hands on each of my shoulders. I stiffened at his touch. He noticed.

“Loosen up,” he continued, squeezing my shoulders. “It’s alright to be nervous. The first time I swung an axe,” he laughed at the memory flitting through his mind, “I was awful, believe me. Barely nicked the post. And I had far less muscle than you do now,” Duncan went on, releasing my shoulders and admiring my frame.

“Why, if I’d had your body at the same age,” he shook his head in amazement, “I would have had far less trouble. You’ve heard the story of Lord Randolf, I suppose?”

I gave a quick, jerky nod. Everyone had heard about Lord Randolf.

Duncan folded his arms, his humor disappearing as he took a deep breath. “That was the most embarrassing day of my life. A real mess. I thought for sure I’d never swing the axe again. That I’d be sent off to the mines. But thankfully…”

Here he perked up again, his grimace-y smile returning. “We have a wise, forgiving leader. One who knows no one is perfect.”

I gave another nod, slower this time, trying to swallow my nerves. Flexing my fingers along the axe’s handle, I wondering how I would ever grow accustomed to its feel in my hands. The feeling tumbled out of my mouth: “Do you ever get used to it? Do you ever wonder what it would be like to use this to…I don’t know…chop wood for fires? Or to fell trees for building?”

Duncan frowned, considering the question with a thoughtfulness I had not yet seen from him. He set one hand on the cedar post clenched in the vice, his thick fingers delicate upon it like it was an orphaned child he was taking in. Then he turned to me again, fixing his gray gaze upon my blue eyes.

“Remember, my young apprentice, we are kingdom builders,” he replied with an aspirational air to his gravelly voice. “Without us, the kingdom falls. Sure, we may not be building with brick or beam…but we are building order, fealty, and obedience.”

Duncan let these inspirational words hover in the air for another moment, allowing them to sink in. He then walked over to the vacant fireplace and dipped his finger into the black soot. Returning to the cedar post, he used his finger to draw a crude face—two mournfully misshapen eyes and a forlorn, downturned mouth.

Stepping back to admire his work, he sighed and said, “After all, what would the king do without gifted executioners?”