At Least He's Not On Fire: A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head (18 page)

Umaryn’s face was soaked in sweat. Long black tendrils of her hair clung to the moisture on her forehead and neck, absorbing the salty liquid her pores pushed out. Her muscles burned. Every knot and cord of tendon, sinew, and ligament from the tips of her toes to the top of head ached at least a little. The slender but steely woman raised a hand clad in a thick leather glove holding a torn slip of fabric to her face. She swiped it along her brow, then her nose and cheeks, taking away the salty sweat that threatened to drown her.

“Make sure you drink water girl. There are no heroes in the forge,” Luther, Umaryn’s mentor said. He was a short man, barely reaching Umaryn’s shoulder, but he was built like a draft horse, or a Gvorn. Umaryn often joked with the shaven headed man that even his finger and toe nails had muscles. She wasn’t entirely sure whether or not they actually were muscled.

The black haired woman nodded, unable to respond with voice. She tossed the rag over her shoulder and walked over to the wooden pail the two smiths drank from. After fetching two ladles of cool water, one for her face, one for her mouth and dry throat, she finally regained her voice, “Luther how do you know there are no heroes in the forge? What of the grand creators that manage to make Artifacts? Aren’t they just a little bit of a hero?”

“Touché little one. I suppose they are indeed heroes in many people’s eyes. If you get right down to it, I often feel that you are my hero. On more than one occasion in fact.” Luther grunted, shuffling items about and getting ready for their next project.

“I’m your hero? You must be joking.”

“Not in the least. I’m simply a smith, you see. I heat raw, crude iron, and I hammer it into usable shapes. Not a minor task, I grant. But the iron doesn’t speak to me like it does to you. I’m not spirit touched like you are. I can’t hear what the iron wants to be. I force it to my will only by brute strength. You work with the iron like it is your friend, and when your skill matches your natural gift, what you will be able to create will be my envy darling. It is a thing of beauty to watch even your novice hands work. “
 

Umaryn blushed powerfully in the heat of the forge, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you will harness your gift. And tell me you’ll get the hell back to work. Arrogant kid. You get one damn compliment and just stop working entirely. Your generation makes me sick,” Luther said, turning away to hide the smile on his face.

Umaryn grinned ear to ear and fetched another ladle of water to slake her powerful thirst. As she tipped the drink up and let the cool water fill her mouth she looked over to the wall where her new warhammer leaned. In the recesses of her mind and soul she could almost hear the pure voice of the hammer, and wondered where it had been made, and who had struck the shape of it. It was a fantastic weapon, and she burned to match its creator’s talent. More so than ever, she wanted to put hammer to iron, and to listen to the sounds of the spirits being born underneath her strikes.

As the days wore on in New Picknell life settled back in to the normal grind. Malwynn’s life became easier as he learned to use the massive Gvorn left to him by Marcus. He chose the name Bramwell for it, and decided that he would let its coat grow out a bit as the summer came to an end. His thick coat would be a boon come winter. Bramwell was a tremendous gift to the family, allowing for Malwynn to move heavy cart loads about town much faster, as well as for riding, and general labor. He made a decision to save all his Varrland marks so he could take a train trip south to Daris to buy a saddle that was fitting for the creature. The necromancer’s saddle had a strange air about it that made Malwynn feel queasy. He kept it in the barn with the family’s two horses. The two family horses Tinder and Sky were put into quite a fervor when Bramwell first joined them, but after a full week, they were comfortable with the larger creature’s presence.
 

Umaryn’s hard work in the forge continued. Luther never mentioned any envy of her again, but Umaryn often wondered just how much potential she had for him to say such a thing. Luther was a modest man that spent little time complimenting anyone, or anything. If she did something perfect, he simply said, “good.” Anything less than good was met with a tirade about a lack of work ethic, and how she was wasting his time. She still loved him like a second father though, and despite her frustration with his ways, he was a wonderful teacher for her to apprentice under. She had already learned much, and she knew in the years to come she’d learn far more.

Malwynn spoke to his mother and father about Marissa as well. Ellioth and Catherine were smitten nearly as much by the pretty girl that lived down the way, and when Malwynn spoke to them seriously and full of trepidation about marrying her, their hearts swelled with pride and love. To watch their son fall in love, and reach the point of truly joyous marriage was beyond heartwarming for the two of them. Ellioth agreed it was a wonderful idea, and Catherine the same. The mother also said she would be delighted to look over the ceremony if Marissa and Marissa’s family said yes. Malwynn vowed that he’d speak to her parents in a day or two, and the family concocted a grand scheme to get her out of the home so he could do just that.

Early at dawn the next day both Malwynn and Umaryn were sitting at the same well worn table they’d shared since their early childhood. The familiar smell of Catherine’s hands, and Ellioth’s pipe smoke were worn into the wood more permanently than any stain could be. Malwynn traced faint lines where he’d pressed his fingernails into the wood as a child when forced to eat the vegetables he’d hated so. Now he ate them with relish, and laughed at the tiny gouges he’d left so long ago. Now there were tiny fingernail marks in the table from their little sister Rynne for similar reasons. Umaryn sipped on a thick mug of hot coffee she’d poured from a glass press a few minutes prior. The dark rich liquid steamed into the cool summer morning air and Malwynn savored the scent. He had no taste for the brew, but the scent tickled memories, and that he loved very much. Umaryn let the dark drink cascade warmly to her stomach and invigorate her mind.

“I think we should take Bramwell out for a ride. Maybe to the north hills? Check on the blueberries and pick some to make pies later? Or maybe we can talk mom into making her special cobbler? What do you think?” Malwynn offered the idea to his sister. Jaunts like these were common for them, though never before with a Gvorn.

“Your large friend would make gathering a few buckets of berries a lot easier,” Umaryn said between sips of coffee.

“Yeah. We could also pack a small lunch, and eat out there. I think mom was going to spend some time over at the Reegan house helping old man Reegan with his arthritis. She’ll be tied up over there for hours. He’s like a magnet, you just can’t get away from him once he gets started telling stories about the great undead outbreak in his home town as a kid. Remember when we used to go out there with dad? He’d pretend to be an Ice Bear, and we’d pretend to be rangers from the Great Land Shelf? Oh ancestors, we were silly. It was so much fun though.” Malwynn watched the steam rise off of his sister’s mug wistfully. He was reminiscing a lot lately as he mulled over the marriage proposal. It felt to him like his whole world was about to change. He couldn’t be more correct.

Umaryn smiled with him. “Let me finish my coffee. If you get Bramwell ready, I’ll grab Tinder.”

“Deal.” Malwynn stood up on legs still creaky from sleep, and headed back to his room to gather his things for a morning out. It would be glorious to ride Bramwell as his sister rode Tinder with the sun warming the day.

Umaryn savored her hot drink.

When the twins were small children Ellioth would take them out to the north hills outside New Picknell. The land was the last bump in the earth before becoming flat and heading further north into the steadily cooling territory of the Empire. Despite seeming very far away, in truth, the lands of the Purple Queen were frighteningly close.

On their tiny legs with their father leading them it would take Umaryn and Malwynn almost two solid hours of walking to reach the dark green hills covered in low lying blueberries. They’d arrive each time covered in the innocent sweat a hot child often is, with their father beckoning them to take a drink of water from his skin before they gorged themselves sick on the plump blue gems they’d walked so far to pick. Of course one or both of them would stick too many of the berries into their bellies, and they’d pay the price by sending them back up forcefully with their father shaking his head and laughing all the while. The lessons learned by youth.
 

This time the twins had far more patience, and on the gentle backs of Bramwell and Tinder the journey took only half an hour. Also, they were here not only to pluck the fruits, but to simply spend a little bit of time together. In truth, both knew that in a day or two their lives could and would change. No one expected Marissa’s parents to rebuke Malwynn, son of the town’s lone Apostle and most learned sage. Uniting their daughter with him was not only the right thing to do for the young couple, but also a smart move for their family. It would be a move up in status for them in the town, and it would bring the two families together. Consumed by her thoughts, Umaryn debated all the different paths their lives could take in just a few days.

Umaryn would finally have a bedroom to her own in the family home. No longer would she have to share a bed with little Rynne. Both thoughts pained her. She’d miss her brother’s presence fiercely, but she lamented the thought of not comforting her smaller sister each night as she drifted off into sleep. The dark haired apprentice of the forge wondered how little Rynne would take to sleeping alone. Umaryn would also see her brother far less as he set out and made his own home. Knowing Malwynn’s work ethic he would set out and lay fence at the edge of town near the family farm and claim it as his own. He’d take the Gvorn and ready the land for crops, and within a year his hard work would pay off with green gardens, and food to eat and sell. It was likely that before a single bite of food reached the table Marissa would be a mother. Umaryn wasn’t a fool, and knew the two of them were already making love. She envied the intimacy her brother had found with another, but she knew it wasn’t her time yet. Umaryn was focused on, no- she was obsessed with learning more about her craft. A man would come some day that would win her heart, give her another thing to obsess over and until then, she swallowed her envy away and replaced it with joy for her brother’s future. Soon she’d share a future like his.

She would of course throw herself into the work at the forge. Her life as a smith would probably flourish. No distractions like these jaunts to the countryside for berries to get in the way of her practice with Luther. All that extra time with the barrel shaped man would lead to many new skills, and hours and hours of back breaking work. As she watched Malwynn pluck sun ripened berries from dark leaved bushes she wondered how much muscle she’d put on, and whether or not it would be attractive to a man. She shrugged and went back to pulling berries like her brother.

Umaryn half kneeled to reach the fruit. Hers was a better way than his. Inside he laughed, wishing he could gather the berries with his bow somehow. The tall young man looked to the sky and over to the horizon where the ghostly faint image of the cool moon Lune could be seen. Lune’s grayish blue orb was slung just above the green grass of the hills and looked so much larger than it usually did. Malwynn wondered how long it’d be before Hestia, Lune’s smaller red sister moon appeared trailing behind it. Malwynn’s eyes registered something in the foreground, and they shifted their focus slowly, bringing it into reality. Snaking across the top of the sky above his head there was a thin, gray black smudge. Malwynn tipped his head up until he stared straight up into the sky, then a little further, and then a bit more, following the smudge back to its source over a hill they crossed to get to the blueberry patch. Malwynn had his head in the thick low lying blueberries before he realized where his eyes were pointed. He rolled over, bringing the world right-side-up, and as he was struck with horrible dread, he felt his pulse quicken.