Iron Axe Read Online Free Page A

he could crush with a single blow.
    â€œDon’t give them the satisfaction or an excuse.”
    He stared at the people for a long moment, hands trembling. They stared back. It would be so easy to teach them a few manners, show them that he didn’t deserve this. The monster made fists.
    And after you beat them black and bloody, what then?
he thought.
Will you change their minds? And how long before the earl comes with his archers and his swordsmen? Mother was right. Never show the monster.
    The villagers stood there, half-expectant, half-fearful. Egil stood resolute, and skinny Elsa Haug opened her door a crack. Then Danr deliberately turned and trudged away. His heart pounded and his back prickled, waiting for the next blow. Would it be more cow shit? Maybe it would be a rock, or even a knife. Ahead of him, the road leading out to the other side of the village lay empty. Everyone in the village was behind him. Vik’s balls, he wanted to run, bolt for the open spaces, and leave the stupid steer behind. But he kept steady steps.
    Danr passed another rounded white house, then another, and then he was at the village edge. No blows, no more turds. When the road faded into a pair of ruts with grass growing between them, he breathed a heavy sigh and glanced over his shoulder. The village lay behind him in a haze of smoke that clung to the thatching. Chickens squawked a long way off, and a flock of geese honked in someone’s garden. No sign of an angry mob.
    Danr left the road to find a stream, tied the steer to a tree,and plunged his head into crisp, cold water. He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until his ears were raw and he felt clean again. Then he rinsed out his tunic. A brown smear ran downstream. He sat back on his haunches, feeling abruptly tired. Errand or no errand, right then Danr wanted nothing more than a hot meal and his bed in the stable. Alone. But he pulled on his damp tunic, untied the steer, and continued up the road.
    The hard sun dried his clothes, and eventually he felt warm again. The tension faded, and he felt a little relief, as if he had passed some kind of test, though the sun headache was returning. Well, considering what had happened at the Noss Farm, maybe it was best that he disappeared for a few hours. In the meantime, no reason he couldn’t enjoy a little solitude.
    The farms around the village faded into hilly woodland. Trees loomed over the road, cutting off the sunshine and easing Danr’s headache. He remembered walking through the woods like this with his mother, Halldora, when he was little. They gathered berries and set traps for rabbits. And Mother told stories, fantastic stories of the Stane—trolls, dwarves, and giants—and of the Fae—elves, sprites, and fairies—and the Kin—humans, orcs, and merfolk. She spun stories of the Nine, the gods who watched over Ashkame, the Great Tree whose roots and branches twisted through every part of the world. She told him about Fell and Belinna, the twin god and goddess, and their eternal battles with the Stane, of the way Fell’s iron axe, Thresher, flew from his hand like a steel whirlwind to slice off a giant’s head. Danr always pretended
he
wielded Thresher, swinging branches at trees or boulders for the satisfying
thwack.
    Sometimes Mother sat on the ground and let Danr crawl into her lap, even though he was almost as tall as she was. She smelled of sweetgrass and sweat, and now those smells made him think of her. He remembered reaching up to touchthe small ragged pouch that always hung around her neck. It fascinated him because Mother never took it off, not even to sleep or bathe.
    â€œIs it magic?” he had asked.
    â€œOf course not. The Kin lost their magic a thousand years ago when the Stane destroyed the Iron Axe and sundered the world. The Stane lost most of their power. Only the Fae kept theirs. Humans and orcs and merfolk haven’t had magic in a long, long time.”
    Danr