Chapter 37. Coming around the mountain.

  Over the years old Sid Birch became a sour brute and an awful drunk. Mad at the world. Mad at Xulu. Most of all he was outraged and furious with adventurers. Adventurers of all classes. All ranks. Hell, even those of the same legion would typically seek out Xulu in hopes of stopping him. Ending his cultists armies. The ones that were rapidly growing in numbers each day. None have been able. In such Xulu’s powers grow at incredible rates.

  Talents of summoning hellish abominations, and the blood rituals he was able to perform. Horrid, forgotten rituals that would strip the flesh from any who opposed him. Leaving all to squirm in agony as he drained the blood from their bodies. Not one person came remotely close to touching him—or so he’s heard around the fire-tale.

  A tale he has come to believe. The night Sophie was lost—she had a suspicious darkness in her stare that night—he tried to stop her. He tried to bring he back. There was just no life in those eyes anymore. She didn’t even want to stay. There was no talking to her. She would only hold an empty gaze, endlessly walking into the forest. He would lift her and carry her lifeless body back. Lay her down. She would stand right back up and walk. Not ever giving him a glance when he plead for her.

  “Sid?”

  Abram’s rough voice dragged Sid out of his memory. Back through the hate he held for failing adventurers. Back through the myth of fire-tale. Back to the memory of his lost wandering wife. Back through the memory of his beaten boy. Back to the face of that tired voyager standing only a reaching arm away.

  “I won’t be playing Abram, I will listen to what you have to say though. Do you understand me Abram. I will not be joining this game.”

  Sid only agreed to Abram’s company because he did not like the nights forest. It had become dangerous. As dangerous as fire-tale says it is. Also that great field of golden grain Abram talked about was but only a tickling skirt to the castle grounds. There was still plenty of forest beyond this knoll of rock.

  “Yeah me hears yas Sid. What about the messages? What does Lakora tell yas?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about Abram. I don’t get messages. I’ve told you already. I am just a blacksmith. Wanting to have my sons ashes blessed. Try for some new trousers, and a dark drink. Then I will be on my way back to my anvil. I’m going to rebuild that town.”

  “Yeah whatever Sid. That sounds great and all but ye don’t be needins to rebuild whatever shithole ye was hiding in. if ye wants to do some real good and rebuild lets start with the castle. It was hers to start with—Lakora’s. That would be the best start to her reclamation.”

  Abram explained. This explanation irritated Sid, and he could only grind his teeth for so long—thank the gods too because Arieo hates that sound.

  “Abram I just said I would not be playing this game! I am not a token awaiting the next hole to jump in around the game board. I’m just a man trying to get by!”

  “Sid just listens to me, ye says ye would. Me not tryins to convince ye of anythings, just listens to what me has to say. When we gets to Stallitusk me introduces ye to someones who will know how to awaken yer shape. Yer going to ascend Sid, it be a glorious thing to ascend.”

  Sid sighed listening to Abram continue about who knows what. The man was so hard to follow sometimes. He talked with his hands so much, and his slurred speech with that raspy voice—oh this was going to be the longest short walking of all time. Reaching the crest of that rocky hill they all looked out at the castle. Fenrir too even stepped from under the wagon.

  “What the fuck?” Abram shouted. “Where the fuck did that forest come from—god’s damned has it really been that long. A whole forest grew up since the last time me beens here.”

  Splintered fingers scratched inside that crusty peppery hair. It was noise that Arieo could appreciate. His master was really lifting the dead skin under that nappy bun.

  “And the river? There used to be a river out that way.”

  A finger with white clumps dandruff under the fingernail directed a point.

  “That’s all wetland now.” Sid said. Earning a look of ‘how does ye knows’. “I seen the river further out that way next to that mountain there—you know after the bird took my eye.”

  Abram looked up at Sid then out in the distance that fat finger pointed too.

  “Ya, that do make sense—say when were done at the castle we should go over there. Me left somethins behind in a swamp a long time ago. Me wonders if it be the same swampy bog it was then.”

  Sid only ignored Abram. Finding a spot of delicate grass in the rough rock, he came to a kneel. Catching his breath. Sid was a large man; mountain climbing was not a skill star he chased. Yeah, I know he climbed a knoll, not a mountain, but to him—it might as well of been a round trip along the rim of the valley.

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  “Abram I’m blessing these ashes and going home.”

  “Me knows that Sid, me meant incase ye changed yer mind before thans.”

  Abram smiled. It was a cunning smile. The kind that made you feel like you got the better bargain. Only to return home to discover the fruit in the basket was bruised and molded. Sid didn’t like it.

  He shook his head before looking out at the towers above the tree line. It wasn’t a long walk anymore, just a thick dense one. Pushed along with a raspy voiced voyager who had much too much to say.

  Glancing at the axe in the wagon he could only hope he could get a trade for some trousers. A pair with a drawstring.

  Was Abram, right? Should he help rebuild at the castle? If it wasn’t a sanctuary anymore—perhaps he could make it sanctuary again. A haven. Hidden in the valley of mountains up here. A secret location where true heroes come to rest. Trade and barter. Perhaps a talented farmer will come through and plot out some of that wild grain and put it to use. These mountains have plenty of minerals he could find—oh my gods maybe even one of magic. I know he may have some emotional grief and hate towards a particular man with the magical talent—that did not defuse his admiration for magical items.

  He has heard incredible fire-tale about enchanted items. Magicians and blacksmiths alike coming together, crafting ultimate tools and weapons. That single eye swelled at the thought of working side by side with one who trades with the elements. The possibilities he could achieve. Maybe—and this is a massive maybe he would never admit—but maybe Abram was right. Perhaps he would rebuild. And rename. A faithless place were the gods can’t play. An area they can’t claim.

  Sid looked at Fenrir lying in his shadow. The pup must have sensed this gaze and those whites opened. Looking back up at him. It let out big yawn showing those sharp teeth, before a pink tongue rolled over its snout. He petted the head—sort of. The petting thing was new to Sid. It felt natural, but—he wasn’t sure—was he supposed to bring his hand in, or was he supposed to let his hand roll gently over the pup’s shoulders.

  He thought about what his son would do—well, actually we all know he didn’t have to think about it. He knew just as well as each of you does. Clayton would have carried Abram to the castle. Bringing trees and boulders alike—just for the extra materials.

  His boy would have rebuilt the castle and its grounds without question. His boy would have been honored to do it. Graced too have even be included.

  Sid was stubborn. Only working for trade that benefit himself. He looked at Fenrir—he would no longer work for that benefit. Sid would be one who does his best with others. He would allow Abram’s explanations. He may even just stay at the castle—or at least build a new shelter just beyond the grounds. He would be the gatekeeper for the area.

  Sid liked this idea. He sighed and rubbed the shadow before him. Grabbing his sword, he dug the tip deep into that soft grass. He found his balance and even managed to get a tight tucking with that horse blanket.

  “Well Abram, lets get on our way then. The castle is just right there—and look.” A thick sausage finger directed a point. “The sky is clearing. Sun will be up shortly. It will be a fresh day when we arrive.”

  “That’s great Sid glad yer comin round, we needs to trade for some key essentials when we gets there too. Me losts a few things in the woods. It be okay though me knows a mason that does beauty-ful work.”

  Arieo listened to the two. He trusted his master hasn’t forgotten about that amazing parsnip. He was a good boy. He helped carry the wagon up that rocky hillside. He even kept it from sliding down when Sid got his ass kicked by that raven. He didn’t even eat any of the grass Sid just sat in—what a waste.

  “Haw?”

  “Yes, me still be gettin yas a parsnip Arieo don’t be worryin bouts that. Me will gets yas a whole basket.” Abram thought about his words for a blinking moment. “As in fer the weeks travel Arieo. Ye won’t be piggin out on all of thems. Ye can have a few but ye gots to save em—"

  Sid listened to the two of them. He then looked at Fenrir—what would this shadowy figure eat? He then looked at his sword. Maybe he could get some fatty ends of old meats—only after he had his son blessed, that is. The pup looked up at him. Those pure whites had more emotion than they led on with. It was something that slammed inside Sid’s chest. Deep inside. It was an ache that forced not one, but two aching swallows. You know those tight swallows that hurt, the ones that came from held tears. The ones that sting with a pinch. The ones you just can’t seem to swallow all the way.

  Perhaps he could get something better for the pup to eat. Perhaps this pouch of ash was enough reminder for him. Was a prayer from one really making it any better? Especially if it was a prayer of misguided intention. A prayer he didn’t even believe. What would he say happened? A monster destroyed his settlement, and his son was foolish enough to try and stop it. Would they even bless his ashes—or would they just laugh? He didn’t play for the gods—he didn’t play at all. Sid sighed looking at the sword.

  “Ye comin Sid. Looks to be a simple walk down over heres.”

  He looked at Abram who waved before following his donkey. Sid looked at Fenrir—who had a look that said ‘well lets go get me something to eat.’ Sid had come to a conclusion about what to do with his blade. He took a deep shuddered breath.

  “Come Fenrir lets get you something to eat then.”

  He led the pup just paces behind the voyager and his donkey. It was true. The knoll was gentle and rolling on this side. Had that forest not been right there Abram may have been correct about this being a nice walk—it still could be the sun would be up shortly. He thought about the sun.

  “Abram?” He called, grabbing all attention. “Can Fenrir walk in the sunlight?”

  Abram stopped and thought hard about it. It was a damned good question apparently. One that really made him suck his teeth. Like the gunk between would have an answer.

  “Ye know whats big guy me can’t be to sures, but no. Me don’t thinks ye wants to let him in the sun. Fenrir be a nocturnal boy.”

  “A what?” Sid asked. He had never heard that word before.

  “Nocturnal. Means he be a creature of the night.”

  Made sense. Fenrir was like the night himself. A walking shadow. And with proper care he could raise the pup to jump through those same shadows—now he wasn’t really sure what that meant but it sounded interesting. More so now after experiencing firsthand the ‘healing-drool’—do we like that (healing-drool) there’s kind of a ring to it right? Ahh whatever—Sid may not be willing to play the game—but he was willing to listen and learn. Just because he wanted no part in faith and glory, didn’t mean he had to be absent-minded to the world anymore—right?

  “Alright Abram.” Sid spoke up. He was curious about the game and his so-called role. He was also curious about what Abram did himself. “Tell me a story.”