Heresy: The Book of Mammon

Chapter 34

Chapter 34



Snorri darted through the halls of the castle. Portraits of kings and torches flashed by in a blur as he hurried to meet the Jarl’s request. He wiped sweat from his brow, and ignored the burning in his legs. Loki had commanded him to do it, and he would see that it was done. He benefitted from it after all.

The Jarl had requested that he purchase a sword, and signet of his choosing. The only prerequisite was that it be embellished with gems and gold. He was to look his best for the council that he would attend. Of course, he would need to visit a clothier. He did his best at wearing the clothes, but they were more difficult than he could imagine. Buckles, belts, and clasps dangled and flapped as he ran. There were far too many mechanics of his ensemble, and though it was a wonderful outfit, he knew it didn’t fit him as it should. One of the clothing merchants could help him with it, but he felt quite out of place. The rag he thought he didn’t like seemed more comfortable now than ever. That however, was unacceptable. He wasn’t a slave anymore, he was Master Snorri; the Jarl’s aid. Rags were no longer his attire, for lords dressed as such, and so would he.

The other task was far greater. The Jarl requested him to gather all the Ymirjar, and request their presence at the council. He tasked him with being their representative. Whatever it was the Jarl would address tonight, Snorri was to be one of great importance; the leader of his people. It was incredible, this morning he was a cook, and now he was a king!

Guards stepped in his way, and rested their hands on the hilts of their swords. A large hand pressed against his sweat soaked chest. His eyes rose to meet the stares of two men that stood a head taller than him. He nodded his greeting, and lifted the gold medallion at his chest. The taller of the two gripped it between his thumb and forefinger. The two shared puzzled looks, but they parted and motioned for him to pass.

Snorri bowed his head slightly and offered them a smile before continuing. He slowed his pace from a run to a trot, for his lungs could no longer keep pace with him. He drew in deep, ragged breaths as he jogged along through the winding corridors. He rose the medallion to every guard he passed. None questioned him.

At last, he came to the entrance of the kitchens. It was the only way he knew through the castle, but that would soon change. Snorri gathered himself as he tried to fix his clothes. He flung belts and hitched clasps but it was pointless, there were far too many parts on his attire. He took a deep breath, and stepped through.

Pots, pans, and trays clanged and banged as the three Ymirjar struggled to maintain order in their kitchen. Food piled high on plates and trays ready for cooking. Bjorn, as always, stood over them with fiery glares. He smirked at the lump of a man that stood before the tables. His arms were crossed over his rolling chest, and a fatty neck jiggled as he barked orders at the three. Clearly, they had been cast into chaos since he’d left. Though they often times worked without his suggestions or orders, missing a pair of hands had left them in a panicked uproar.

He stepped forward, proud of his new position, and his eyes never averted from the fat overseer. He cleared his throat, and Bjorn turned to him. The man’s brow crinkled as he stared him up and down. “Dammit Snorri, where in all of Midgard have you been? Get to work!”

Snorri smiled at the command. “I’m afraid I have more urgent business to attend to, Overseer.” He stretched his arms and allowed his chest to jut in deliberate pose.

Bjorn looked down at the medallion and scoffed. “You’re still just a worm.”

“But I am the worm that you now answer to.” The smile never faded.

The three at the table stood with jaws hanging as they stared at him. Their eyes were wide and their breath seemed to have ceased as they looked on. Snorri grinned at his friend Mimir, and he returned the smile.

“I believe that Jarl Loki ordered you to help with the cooking. Shall I inform him that you’re incapable of this?”

Bjorn raised his fist at him.

“I would advise against that, Overseer.” Snorri stood firm. “Striking your superiors would not do well for you.”

The man gritted his teeth as his hand fell to his side. Beads of sweat rolled down his round cheeks and he turned toward the table.

“Overseer, I was not finished speaking to you.” He loved his new position.

Bjorn stopped in his tracks and his hands clenched to fists as he turned his head.

“Once the cooking is finished, I’ll come for Mimir, Sven, and Leif. The presence of all Ymirjars is requested at tonight’s council. I hope you can manage cleaning everything by yourself.”

The overseer’s body rippled as he quivered with rage. The man nodded, and turned back to the table.

He offered the three Ymirjar’s at the table a slight smile and passed through. Their eyes followed them as he went, and the muffled ramblings of the overseer came upon him. He had no time to deepen the man’s rage, though he did enjoy delivering a bit of the misery he suffered back to him.
Snorri was thankful that the clothes were at least warmer than the rags he used to wear. The cold wind outside was awful. Though it was a cold like no other, he allowed himself to ignore it. It was rare that he ventured outside the castle, and to see the city through the eyes of a Lord was breathtaking.

Though it was the same city it had always been, it now felt different. It was as though a part of him was set right from his appointment, and the city was no longer where he lived, but his home.

He scanned the expanse of the stone avenue that stretched about the length of the castle’s outer wall. Vendors, beggars, guardsmen, and those going about their daily business filled the streets in a rippling cluster of faces. Men and women stood at haphazard stands filled to their capacity with trinkets, assorted meats, and dried vegetables. They ignored the cold, but he understood currency enough to know that earning a living left little time for rest.
He shouldered his way through the shifting crowd, to the young man that stood in the center of the square. He was elevated by the stone pedestal and cried the daily news and ordinances. An assortment of scrolls were crammed in a leather pouch that dangled from his shoulder and every so often, he would take one and replace it with the one he was holding. With each new scroll, came a new cry. The young son of Xalimfal cupped his hand to his mouth as he shouted to the crowd. None lent their ears to him, but he knew they listened in some way. The laws of the King were not to be ignored, and he’d seen punishment for such crimes on more than one occasion.

Public punishment was an event not to be ignored in Gjaalarbron, and all of the city, Ymirjar and Norsemid alike were required to view it. Though they were not frequent, they did happen. The occasional thief or drunken brute often received little more than the kiss of the whip, but others were not so fortunate. They were the ones deemed as a threat to the kingdom. Often times they were those said to speak out against the King. They did not feel the crack of the whip, but rather the caress of the axe. Many of them were Ymirjar, but the King showed mercy to no one that spoke of treason. Norsemid and Ymirjar alike were executed for such things. The last one was a Thane.

Snorri tugged on the young man’s trousers and the boy stopped in mid cry and looked down at him. He shared with him no scowl or look of disdain, as he often received, but rather the innocent inquisitiveness of a young man.

He handed him the paper that Jarl Loki had given him and the boy read it. He looked down at him and nodded. Snorri took the letter back, and awaited his cry.

The boy cleared his throat and once more, he cupped his hand to his mouth. “All Ymirjar are requested to attend tonight’s council of the Thanes! Those Norsemid who have servants are required to release them for this event. There are no exceptions!” His voice was loud and clear, though hoarse from the constant shouting.

It was then he noticed the square grind to a silent halt. Eyes of the crowd stared in quiet astonishment as the boy cried the message once more. Whispers and heated shouts erupted from the crowd as they cried in disapproval of the newest order. Snorri evaporated into the throng, and he was thankful that they ignored him. The heat of anger wafted throughout the crowd, and to be in their sights was certainly a bad idea.

Still, he’d handled his first task with ease. The Jarl would be pleased with his clever approach, though he assumed that was how he’d hoped he would see to it. The manner of explanation was quite vague, so he did what he thought best. It was clear that the message was received, and he could now go about the second task.

Snorri looked forward to holding a sword in his hands. He’d never felt the grip of a blade, and though he knew little of swordsmanship, he was willing to learn. It would have to be one of beautiful design – a blade fit for a king. It had to be of equal elegance to the ring that the Jarl requested he purchase. That itself was quite the request, for he knew little of jewelry. All the Thanes wore signets of their own, and now, he would adorn himself with a symbol of his own. He knew that they often used them to seal their scrolls, and perhaps that was the reason that the Jarl requested he purchase one. Surely, being his aid, he would be doing much writing and sending of messages himself.

Today was a day of days, and he smiled to himself as he pushed through the crowd that still looked on in surprised stupor to the cries of the herald. He was not sure where to find the blacksmith or a jeweler, but he was sure he would eventually come across them. The streets were many in Gjaalarbron, but almost all the shops were on the main avenue that sliced through the heart of the city, to the castle. He’d traveled it only once before on errand from the Overseer. Though it was quite some time ago, he remembered the street well.

He continued through and the crowds began to thin to little more than scattered folk hustling about from one building to another. People rushed in and out of doorways to taverns, and drunken singsong played in high tune as he passed by. Some folk shot him glares, but they did not bother him further. The medallion was certainly a recognized symbol, and he was glad to be wearing it, for no Ymirjar was allowed outside their designated place of work without written order. That, he had, but the last time he’d walked these streets, he was stopped a dozen times to present the order. This time, nothing more than silent stares fell upon him.

No more would fiery insults be sent his way. No one would beat him or shout at him. Instead they would bow to him and respect him as a man of importance. The clanging of hammers against steel drummed high pitched cadence, and he scanned the many buildings that lined the wide stone street. Smoke billowed from the roof of one, and as he walked closer, hisses echoed through open windows.

Snorri looked in through the windows and smiled to himself as he looked on at the burly man beating against a red hot metal ingot. Another younger man stoked flames, and another arranged shelves and cabinets. Each of them were as big as a pillar. Muscles rippled as the eldest hammered against the metal, and sweat dripped off his brow and hissed as it kissed the hot iron.

He stepped through the door, and the hammering stopped. The three of them stared at him as he entered, and smiles sliced across their face followed by obnoxious laughter. He looked down at himself and realized how foolish he looked in the clothes. Still, that didn’t matter, he would visit the clothier once he finished what he came for.

He stepped to the splintered and dry-rotted wood counter that separated him from the youngest of the three men. The man’s laughter quieted, and his eyes focused on the medallion that hung from his neck. His eyebrows rose before he met his gaze. The man stood in silence as the other two quieted their own laughs. The young man stood in silence. Snorri wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak, but his eyes told him that he didn’t.

“I’ve come to purchase a sword.”

The two behind him laughed once more. The other said nothing, but nodded his acknowledgement. He shot the two men a fiery glance and nodded to him. Snorri turned to face them, and their laughter ceased. Eyes focused on the medallion and then on him. It was uncomfortable being stared at in such a fashion, but he understood their surprise. He bowed low and smiled at them.

“My name is Snorri, Jarl Loki’s aid.”

Their eyes were wide. The second youngest looked as though he’d swallowed his own tongue. The other that beat against the metal offered him a nod.

“I’d like to see your finest blades.”

The youngest looked at the other two as though he waited for their response, but none came. He drew in a short breath and smiled. The man turned round and bent low. He spun on his heels and he held a long parcel in his hands. He unfolded layers of fine cloth, and placed it on the counter, revealing the gorgeous masterpiece.

It was a mix of shimmering intricacies that he had never before seen. A gilded hilt stabbed out wide and curved forward aggressively toward the tip in a sharp arc. Gold studs swirled around oiled black leather on the handle like a tornado of brass and shined like the distant stars against the black sky. Even the scabbard was woven with silver and gold wire in braided beauty from one end to the other.

The leather of the handle was cold as ice beneath his hand, and the gold studs poked into his palm, uncomfortably, but in a manner that was quite pleasurable. It slid from the scabbard with little effort as though he were pulling it from water. The sword rang with melodic tune as he pulled it free. The blade glimmered like fire upon silver, and thin weaves of vines were carved in its surface twirling and twisting around one another like snakes. Fiery red gems emblazoned the hilt and blade in linear intervals and met in a cross. One single gem, as large as an eye shined in gold settings like burning embers. It was a thing to behold, the sword of lords. His breath stopped as he stared at the blade.

It felt as though the sword was more than a blade. It was an extension of him. As long and broad as it was, it was quite light as he held it upright. The metal shined with silvery blue flame in the sunlight that poured through the windows, and was like steel lightning. This sword was certainly the one for him.
Snorri slid it back into the scabbard and reached for his purse. Gold coins jingled as he sat it on the counter and it thudded against the wood like a hollow tree stump. He loosed the string and poured a small pile onto the wood. The young man looked down at the coin and then to the oldest that stood behind them in silence. He nodded and slid them into his hand, not bothering to count. Snorri knew little of the value of the coins, but he knew that gold was quite appreciated, and the highest of the two. Silver was the only other coin in Xalimfal, and he was astonished to see that not a single one made the bulk of his wealth.

Whatever amount he had just paid, he knew that these men would not struggle for some time, for a single coin could buy dozens upon dozens of bread loaves and meats. It was an honor to aid them. Though it appeared they were quite skilled in their craft, their clothes suggested that they were not at all fortunate folk. This would certainly help them. It was quite ironic for a former slave to grant such wealth to those that formerly treated him as though he were a piece of rotten meat. He knew that these men had never met him, but all Norsemid shared the same disdain for his people. It felt like his first diplomatic triumph, as none of them scowled or hated him with their eyes, but smiled.

He untied the knot of his belt and slid the scabbard to its new place at his side. He felt like a new man; one capable of moving mountains. Surely, he must be a sight of noble brilliance, but his ensemble was not complete. Now he needed a ring. He bowed once more before exiting the place.

He stepped out into the cold air once more, and cold gemstone touched his skin as his hand rested on the hilt of his new blade. The jeweler would be significantly more difficult to find, but he was sure there was on along the street somewhere. He drew in a deep breath of the cold air, and stepped onward down the stone avenue. Today he carried himself with the utmost grace, for he was a Lord now. Tonight he would represent the Ymirjar, and soon, he would be ready to present himself to the council.