The Final Life

CHAPTER 16

  In the village of Hindshelm, the perpetual sunlight seemed brighter than usual somehow, and the curtains in the tavern were pulled back to brighten the place up. In sunlight some of the magic of the place present in a candle’s haze and and smoky aromas pulled back to lend a sense of reality to the heart-warming scene. It was but mid afternoon and the tavern was mostly empty except for those concerned, as well as Azrael, Vladimir and Keti.

  Glint’s family had come running into the tavern as soon as they heard the news from, and Glint’s mother took her son into her embrace with frightening quickness. She held him tight with a fierceness that surprised even him, all the while scolding him for daring to run away and break her heart. Her long gingery curls covered him like a blanket and she smelt like mothers usually did: a mixture of cooking herbs and safety. The warrior returned the hug unabashed, for it was almost too much for him that she was so willing to have him back after the way he’d disappeared without a word. When he had taken enough of her tongue lashing to appease her, Marie used a handkerchief to wipe off some of the tears on her face, and she thanked Azrael and Vladimir for “saving Glint and returning him unharmed”, eliciting a look from both men. Glint was surprised that his mother had seen things in this light. It was as if she thought Glint had gotten kidnapped somewhere shortly after leaving, and the warrior wondered if she thought this an explanation for his long absence, that she believed he would have come back in a day or two if not for misfortune.

  Still, they had no time to clear up her misunderstanding, For Glint’s large father squared off his shoulders from where he stood, framed before the doorway a few feet away from everybody. The circle parted to make way for the man’s confidant stride. Horst scratched his scraggly brown beard as he made an expression that Glint only saw from the man when something escaped his understanding, which admittedly was rare for the bright eyed blacksmith. The man was large and muscular from his work in the forge, with Glint’s same brand of sandy straight hair, although his beard was frayed and singed from the constant heat and sparks. Glint wondered if his own absent beard would look like that too. Horst’s arms bulged under his shirt and he had his black work apron and gloves on, suggesting he had been smelting when he heard the news.

  “I invite the three of you for a meal at our house. If that is acceptable, Marie?” he added with a questioning look, which he cast towards his wife. She looked upset at the question and waved her hand as if swatting the man’s inquiry aside.

  “O- of course, Horst! This is our son and his friends.” From behind her, Azrael tried to step in and diffuse the man’s anger, but before he could say anything, the blacksmith directed his light amber eyes at his son.

  “I can see that.”

  With a sense of finality Horst turned from the other people in the room and walked out of the door, leaving them to follow.

  “I forgot he was like that,” Glint whispered to Azrael, but the necromancer didn’t bother to hide his reply from the warrior’s mother, who was hurrying after her intense husband with a worried air to her.

  “Oh no, it’s fine,” the necromancer said, smiling, “I can see where you have your occasional fire from. Nothing as fierce as his, though. It’s going to be a long day for you, I’m afraid.” With that the man ran his fingers through his long curls, seeming to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and he lead Glint and Vladimir after the middle aged couple, going lightly and gracefully as always.

  As things went, it was a considerably good day. Spring was in full bloom, and flowers decorated almost every inch of ground not needed for some other sort of business. Sturdy white tulips, delicate lilies and sunflowers with turning faces dotted the grassy earth, and Glint could see long spanning meadows just west of the village bursting with even more varied blooms. As the three travelling companions turned left outside of the tavern, Glint’s mother slowed her pace down enough and the warrior sped up in response, leaving Azrael and Vladimir lagging behind. The two were happy to give the woman much needed time with her child and so offered no complaints, although Vladimir murmured quietly about having just eaten. “I’ve missed you more than you can imagine, Glint.” She had no nickname for him, for Marie had always expressed her love for the warrior’s name. It was a good stance to take, and Glint resented those parents who didn’t like their children’s names enough to stick to them.

  Still, Glint pushed that useless bit of absentmindedness away, and instead said, “Of course, mother, and I missed you as well.” He really meant it, and his mother’s brightening of the eyes hinted at her having understood the emotion behind such a simple statement. There was all of sudden more spring in her step, and her skirt somehow became like a dancer’s, adding grace to her movements.

  He could see how much he’d hurt her, and Glint could imagine long dark nights of her weeping in his room, wondering if it was her fault that he’d left. Glint hadn’t really thought about the burden that he was putting others through when he’d walked away from his life, and it made this realization hurt all the more. Still, there was nothing he could do to change his past mistakes, and so he could not dwell on them too much. It was to deal with them that Glint came back. “Was work too hard on dad and you with me gone?” he asked. The lady shook her head and answered, “Now, don’t you worry about that. What’s important is that you’re back to us. Besides, your father could do more alone than ten men combined. We were alright.” Speaking about her husband, Marie’s voice sounded strong and proud, and the glances she sent the man’s way were filled with a large measure of adoration. This was something Glint could understand, for his father was a special man, even as a Normal. As a child he’d seen a strength in his father, and it was only now that he could confirm it wasn’t imagined. The man’s back was still broad as it’s always looked from a young boy’s perspective. Besides, his father was known to be the best blacksmith in the immediate territory, and people came from other villages and towns to have him make their tools or repair them. Above that, he was also known to be fair and kind, never cheating anyone out of a copper.

  The rest of the short walk towards Glint’s old house was spent in idle chatter: their neighbours had a new child, his childhood friends were almost all married, “And so we ought to look for something for you soon or you’ll grow up all alone... that Löwer Girl from across the village is still unwed...” and so on. The talk was like music to Glint’s ears, and he felt like he could truly return to a life with no responsibilities here, back with his family, helping out in the smithy, having a mundane life if he so chose.

  His father awaited Glint in the front door, holding it open for his wife with a still thoughtful expression on his face. She entered with a smile, curtsying to her man, and Glint waited for the man to go through the oak door. His father didn’t, rather he said, “Guests first,” keeping the door open. The distinction stung, but Glint had to remind himself that he deserved it as he stepped through the door with, “Thank you, sir.”

  So they all went in and then his father entered into the dining room, which also served as a kitchen. Lighting was dim but Azrael offered to help and, with Marie’s permission, opened the two windows to allow a fresh westerly breeze. After that she refused to accept any further assistance despite the man’s assurance that he was a competent cook and Glint nodding in agreement. In the end, the necromancer was prompted into a seat at the other side of the table, facing Horst.

  The blacksmith was still looking at the three men with an air of deep curiosity. Vladimir sat to Azrael’s right, fiddling with his mustasche and looking slightly impatient to meet the reason he was in this town in the first place. This the warrior could understand, for it had undoubtedly been many years since Vladimir had seen his kinsman, and he was now close to having his beloved instrument repaired. Glint was on Azrael’s other side. All three were subjected to the blacksmith’s stare. However, Horst defied expectation and instead of asking harsh questions, started with “My name in Horst Stryger, a blacksmith. Welcome to my house, what I have is y
ours on this day. I thank you for delivering my son Glint safely.” He walked around the table and shook each of Azrael’s and Vladimir’s hands. His gloves and apron hung on the wall next to the door, as did Azrael’s black cloak.

  At that, Azrael let out a breath of relief, apparently glad that the blacksmith hadn’t exploded immediately. “Thank you, Master Stryger,” he said, fiddling with something that was hidden in a waist pocket out of everyone but Glint’s sight. It was the ruby studded comb he always kept close, graceful and feminine. “My name is Michael, and this here is the great musician Vladimir Tchaikovsky.” At that Horst’s eyes narrowed momentarily, and Glint could not tell if it was due to Azrael omitting his last name or because the blacksmith understood where Vladimir could be from and why he was in the area. Azrael pressed on regardless, with expected eloquence and tact, keeping his hands on the table politely, as was expected in Shien if one was in a noble’s banquet. “I assure you, young Glint played a great part in his own safety. I only met him less than seven months back.”

  “Oh?” the man inquired, turning his gaze to Glint, who was starting to feel uncomfortable with having people speak of him while he was present. “And how did you do that?” Pausing suddenly, Glint’s father scowled, and he asked, “Where’s the armour you took with you? Running away is one thing, and losing my first work is something else entirely, my boy.” Rather than rage, the man’s tone was laced with sorrow and disappointment. Understanding dawned on the warrior at his tone, and he understood his father’s sentiments. He thinks I threw the thing away to spite him or just got tired of carrying it and sold it off somewhere. He realized.

  Glint hadn’t thought in his wildest dreams that his family would accept him back into their house. At the very least, not this readily. He had spent the longest time thinking about how to accept impending rejection, and even if they were going to forgive him, the possibility of his father asking him about the armour on the first day hadn’t crossed the warrior’s mind at all. He then knew how stupid such expectations were, for he understood how important that piece was to Horst, even if he never did wear it. The youth pondered about how to respond for a second or two, with his father’s eyes upon him. He could not lie, and to explain would be too difficult.

  Wordlessly, Glint rolled back his sleeves, extended his arms, and showed his father his crest upon the bracers he always had on , simultaneously sending power into the silver accessories. He let a whisper of power tingle through his body, causing the metal to ripple like a lake before a gentle wind. Nothing over the top, he decided as an afterthought, just a simple ripple would suffice. He didn’t want to scare anyone.

  Still, the implications of his action were understood, and they caused the man to gasp in shock, pushing his chair back a little and grasping the table hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. It was as if Glint had transformed into a horned beast and spouted fire across the room. Behind him and to the side a similar sound came from Glint’s mother, who should have been busy preparing dinner. Then, the unexpected happened, for she rushed over to her son and hugged him, her tears streaming over him in joy.

  “I’m so proud of you, Glint!” she cried, while Horst looked at his son wordlessly with a smile upon his lips. He glanced over to Azrael, who nodded. Still, Glint could tell it was a husband’s act so as not to upset his Marie, for the warrior could see the blacksmith’s hand still clutching the table, shaking. “So,” the man breathed with a sense of finality, “It looks like I was wrong about you after all.”

  Glint thought back to his father’s fears about what his son may grow up to do if he ever reached a position of power, as well as how much distrust and terror were engraved into such beliefs. Deep inside, he knew that he wasn’t going to tell his father about his incident with Kob and his band, nor of the savage joy he had tasted that day. So he simply grinned nervously, remarking, “I sure hope so, but we won’t find out till much later.”

  The answer took Horst aback and Glint saw his father’s face go through a multitude of expressions, which lastly settled on one of glad acceptance. The man, he decided, was impressed that Glint had foregone the child’s habit of insisting he couldn’t make a mistake. He himself was also glad for that, because such a habit prevented self-improvement.

  “You’ll need to tell me more about your adventures, and your friends here.” With that, Horst’s unfriendly demeanour ceased immediately, and he added with a peaceful smile “I’m glad to have you home, son.”