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The Journals of Raymond Brooks 33
“You’re right, Master,” I said, and tried to choke down my
tears.

“You need to consider your actions carefully and you need
to take responsibility for what you say and do. The Gods are
watching us and our ancestors are watching us; think of this
before you dishonor them,” he said.
“Yes, master,” I replied obediently.
“I’m not angry at you for beating those boys. I’m actually
proud you’re growing strong. I’m angry because you make
shameful excuses for your actions. I’m angry because you allow
yourself to be weak and to let your emotions control you. That

sort of thinking is suitable for a woman, not a man,” he said and
I stared silently at him.
“Now, since you’ve grown so strong,” he went on in lighter
tones. “I’ve decided it’s time to teach you how to fight.” He
smiled.
“Wh-what?” I asked, not sure of what I had just heard.
“Losing our hearing in our venerable old age, are we? I said

you’ve grown strong enough and its time you learned to really
be a man, so tomorrow after work I’m going to teach you how
to fight,” he said.
“Thank you, Master!” I replied, overjoyed.
“Control yourself, Adam. You can never expect to master
a sword before you’ve learned to master the spirit which
commands it to action,” he reprimanded, angry that I acted
emotionally once more.
“Yes, Master,” I said more calmly. Thus I became Ivar’s

apprentice, and there was no man prouder to be called a
blacksmith apprentice in all of Drentwych.