Chapter 36. Her Warrior.

  “Ye know Sid, there be somethings aboutcha that causes a suspicion.”

  Abram said, watching while Sid tried to stand. And Fenrir aiming to lick, only to be pushed away again and again.

  “You know what they say about the suspicious—Fenrir stop that.”

  Sid warned. Not just to Abram but to Fenrir as well. He didn’t like suspicious talk.

  “Ahh yes. ‘The Seven slay those who are suspicious’—or some shit like that. Yes well Sid in this context of conversation ye be the suspicious one. So perhaps it be ye who be needins to be cautious—Ye should let'im lick that eye Sid. Them Shadows gots incredible saliva. Healing drool really.”

  Sid didn’t like being told he was the suspicious one. He was just a blacksmith on his way to a castle of sanctuary. He would trade the sword to have his sons ashes blessed. He would then trade the axe for some trousers. Return to the settlement, and refine his irons. Live the rest of his dull life. He would get by.

  “There is nothing suspicious about me Abram. I am but only an ordinary blacksmith.” He corrected with matter of fact. Sitting still so Fenrir could clean his eye. The way that deep pink tongue wiggle inside was traumatizing.

  Abram roared with laughter at the remark. Watching while Sid let Fenrir lick his face. “Oh-ho-ho Sid. Yer anything but ordinary big guy. Once ye fully awaken and follow the calling—”

  Sid tuned out after that remark ‘the calling’ did he hear them too? Could this voyager tell him the reasoning for the sounds in his head? Should he tell Abram about the symbols he seen? The bell? The snarl? The voices? He seems to be the adventuring type. He looked at the voyager. Ranting on and on about something.

  “—and me be sure she will accepts it in trade.”

  “What do you mean by ‘the calling’”

  That bold mustache wiggled while a deep pink tongue rolled over. Sid had enough, and a fat hand pushed Fenrir away. It’s not like his eye would grow back. He reached up to feel. Wanting a visceral textured image.

  “Fannon’s micro sized—Sid what the hell is goin on with yer eyeball—or whatever the fuck that is.” Abram cursed pointing at Sid’s empty spot.

  Sid could feel it. It felt like a worm squirming around inside there.

  Was it his retina? Was it alive? Was it seeking his eyeball? The way it thrashed in there—gods he thought it was Fenrir’s licking tongue.

  His right eye pressed against the edge of his nose. He could feel it crawling up on the opposite side. Climbing higher. Reaching for the other side. Gross, he even seen it peek over the bridge.

  “That’s the shit me talking about Sid! yer fucking weird!”

  “Haw!”

  “Yeah!” The voyager agreed with his pal. “We bets ye got a shiny star in dubiously obvious—where the hell did ye hear that word Arieo.” Completely pulled from the situation, Abram could only focus on the word he didn’t understand before he roared at the sky.

  “Gods damn it Lakora, this be a fucking suicide quest.”

  Abram reached for a rock—The Bruising-Rock—again?

  “Ye gots to be shittin me!” He screamed seeing the title again. Chucking the entitled stone. It could be heard bullying trees before bruising the rocky hillside somewhere below.

  Sid ignored the squirming tendon in his eye socket. Unknowingly interested in this new name. The one Abram continued to curse. Throwing rocks like she was in the trees.

  “Who is that? Lakora.”

  Abram released his rock calmly and turned to look at Sid while he come to a stand. The tip of his sword made an awful noise while it grind against the stone.

  “She uhh—umm—she be the Pioneer of Pioneers Sid. The creator. Ye don’t knows of Lakora?”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He shook his head.

  “Ye don’t know about the goddess of serpent?”

  Another head shake.

  “Leviathan of the stars?”

  Sid was growing irritated and shook his head again.

  “Ye don’t knows the keeper of thoug—”

  “No Abram! Why would nicknames ring a bell?”

  Abram grinned so wide it hurt Sid’s mouth. It was an unsettling smile. One that told him you stepped into something you don’t want to look at—like a trap not whatever you were thinking.

  “Why the choice of words big guy? ‘Ring a bell’ are ye hearin bells Sid?”

  Sid swallowed hard. Head slightly crooked to get a full look on Abram. He didn’t particularly know he turned his head like that, it was a natural reaction his body did. Something to get the most of his single eyed sight.

  “What is it she be tellin yas to do Sid. The messages. Ye gets em too dontcha? That’s her Sid. Ye do what ye do because she told yas too didncha?”

  “You’re mad Abram.” Sid started. “Voices in my head, and a bell. You have been adventuring for too long. You need to rest, eat something filling and hot—"

  “Horse shit!”

  Abram barked. He stood fiercely tall and straight now. There was also a pulse that rippled from his silhouette. Nothing visual but it was felt.

  It was a heavy air. It just lingered around Sid. He could feel it. Like the heat of coals when the fire shifts. It wasn’t as comforting though. It was a pressure. A tight withholding feeling.

  “Yer a skin-walking, shape-shifting, man-morphing whatever the fuck—but yer one of em Sid. Me been looking fer cycles on end, and me finallys found yas. Why else was ye bare in the woods with rot smolderin rounds yas.”

  Sid wanted to run. Push Abram to the ground and just dash up the rest of the hill. Hurrying for the field of grain.

  The pressure Abram pushed against him though—it was insane. The man wasn’t even touching him, but there was a sense that held him—oh nope its gone now. Whatever that was it was uncomforting. Close to sickening.

  Sid reached for his things in the wagon. Forgetting about wanting to push the voyager, he started around the other side of the wagon.

  “Woah! Hey Sid wait! Don’t ye run! I swear on whatever is holy in this chest I’ll find something in theres and shoot ye meself.”

  Sid stopped. He was most definitely going to run. However, this man Abram was talented at finding him—like constantly. It was annoying.

  He could run from the path in any direction, and in only a matter of time Abram would be right behind him. Abram did say it was part of something that he did for the game—a game he also said he didn’t play. But if Abram didn’t play why would he collect relics for faith?

  “Abram I am not going to play the game. Not for any of the Seven not for your Lakora or any other pioneer. I’m a blacksmith. I’m going to the castle blessing these ashes and returning home.”

  He slammed his sword in the rocks at the demand. It clang with a deep vibration. A vibration so dense it felt as if it electrified his hand, forcing him to let go. The blade sang with a metallic rattle while it jumped from rock to rock.

  “Me gets yer blade Sid just relax, me gots lots of things to explain to yas.”

  Abram stepped quickly over the rocks, knowing where to leap next, like he placed them all.

  “Sid listens to me fer a moment. Me gots to tell ye something ye might not wanna hear.”

  Retrieving the blade Abram hurried back to Sid. Giving him the sword.

  “Sid yer stupid.”

  Sid cocked his head with an appalled glare. Blinking once just to see where this was going. Sure he wasn’t bright, but stupid?

  “Mes not meaning to offend yas or nothins big guy but it be true, yer dumb as the rocks we be climbing.” Abram looked at the rocks, thinking of the bruising-rock. “Maybe even dumber.”

  “Abram are you going somewhere with this.” That bold mustache snapped.

  Sid shifted his weight to the other leg. His eye surprisingly didn’t hurt at all anymore—it must have been true—Healing drool. He wasn’t sure if he was blinking anymore or not though. Did he need too? Now there wasn’t an eyeball, did he need to keep that retina lubricated.

  “Yer her warrior Sid. Ye be the one who decides. The Arbiter of the game. Ye gonna expel the Seven from the lands. They don’t be natural to her system of growth. Ye should know who is allowed and what ain’t—”

  “Do you know how stupid you sound right now Abram. Me expelling the Seven from the lands. Me a fat old blacksmith fighting gods. That is just asinine Abram. They are gods. You don’t fight against the gods, you fight for them. And I will not be playing this fucking game.”

  There was a predatory growl that lingered in the back of that fatty throat.

  “You adventurers make me sick. Wrecking the lands with so called righteous intention. Never solving the problems. Never fixing the damage. Just destroy. You are all the same. Show up, earn the glory, leave a settlement in ruin. At whose favor. The Seven. I will not be part of this game Abram. I am going to the castle alone. Do not follow me anymore. Pray you don’t cross my path.”

  “First of all me aint no damned adventurer Sid. Me be the Collector. Secondly, everyone plays. Even if yer not out here fer ye god. That settlement ye forged fer, the stars that make yas who ye is. It’s part of the game Sid. Yer in it, like it or not. Just because ye aint out here earning glorys and faiths don’t mean ye aint playin. It be part of a bigger system Sid. Lets me walk with yas and me explain it the best me can.” Abram tried with a calming voice.

  He didn’t want to chase Sid anymore; they needed to get to the castle.

  “Just tell me what the messages been sayin.” Abram may have been a crazed addict, but he still had a dented star in Silver Tongue—maybe it was Gift of the Gab—either way Sid was slightly tuned in.

  Sid looked at Abram. He couldn’t explain it, but something was very persuading in Abrams voice.

  He then seen Fenrir step out from under the wagon. Somewhere on the wind he thought he could hear his son. He blinked the heat from his eyes—well one eye. Funny enough that empty spot could still leak—thinking of his wife.

  The warmth was soon washed—no it was power washed with a cold jet that cut. A reminder of the one responsible. A dark magician. Sorcerer. Wizard whatever the fuck you want to call him. He was of the magical class though. A dark one by the name of Xulu.