Chapter 11

Yren carefully lifted the long sword from the acid wash with hard metal tongs and looked at it with a critical eye. He rinsed it just as carefully, wiping it down with a clean, wool cloth before lifting and checking the heft and balance. Bringing it close to his face, he carefully drew his eyes down the blade, from top to bottom. He’d thought the patterns he’d made in the blade were flawless but he needed to make sure. He was a perfectionist at his craft and everything had to be exactly right.

Ardt had often maligned what he called ‘the useless designs that mar the simplicity of the blade’ but he’d never tried to stop Yren from creating them; probably because between the two of them, they only made one or two blades each season. Still, the Baron and Earl had both liked the look of the decorations in the swords they purchased.

Only Yren knew that the markings weren’t designs – they were something else entirely. He wasn’t sure what – but he knew they had a purpose beyond mere decoration. He’d tried to explain it to Ardt – but he hadn’t had much luck. How do you explain that the markings fulfilled the blade – that they completed it? Yren had never been able to quite explain it.

He sighed as he wrapped the blade in thick woolskin. The fourteenth blade; the metal had told him to stop at fourteen. He didn’t bring that up to Ardt either – the older man already wondered if he weren’t a little crazy; talking to metal would just confirm it. Honestly, he doubted it would matter; the things Yren made sold and sold well. Pots, pans, horse shoes, nails – it didn’t matter what Yren set his hand to, it brought money in to the shop.

Ardt stopped just beyond the door and looked at the young man in front of him. The boy had grown tall and strong, taller and stronger than Ardt had ever been. He was over six-feet, eight inches now with arms and legs of corded steel. His chest was rounded and bulged with muscle and his shoulders arched straight up to his neck. He had over-sized hands and feet but for all their size they were delicate enough to create the finest golden links of jewelry. Ardt had never once regretted the day he’d adopted the boy.

Even when he was being foolish. Fourteen swords – the shop rarely sold more then four swords in a season and quite often only one or two. Hasp was a small town and those that needed swords already had them. Only Sir Givens’ domen, and an occasional purchase by the few nobles who passed through Hasp, let them sell any swords at all. Ardt considered the shop reliant on Sir Givens’ domen for the lucrative battle weapon trade; evidently, a sword and shield apprentice might have an occasional accident or bring a blade that was more for decoration than use. He never considered Yren’s blades might be getting a reputation far beyond the little town.

Ardt scoffed incredulously at the foolish armor Yren’d made – armor, Yren had said, made for personal use. Foolishness and a waste of good money; only Knights wore anything more than studded armor – chain mail at the very most. Ardt couldn’t talk sense to him, though. He couldn’t deny the young man, either; it was his money, after all.

Honestly, most of the money coming in was from Yren’s work. Ardt still made enough for a good living – but he knew that the majority of the work being sold was from the younger man’s hammer. There were glimmers of jealousy – Yren was a better smith than he’d ever been – but mostly there was indelible pride at how far Yren had come. There was the pride of a master whose apprentice had surpassed him and the pride of a father towards a son.

“Time for supper,” Ardt called.

Yren turned and a wide smile crawled over his face. “I didn’t know you’d returned. Did they allow Bena...?”

“She’s inside,” Ardt frowned. “She’s – she’s a bit different. She doesn’t seem ... happy.”

Yren’s frown echoed Ardt’s. He drew a deep breath, letting it out with a shake of his head. “I can’t imagine she would be; changing gods isn’t easy – and to move from Deia to Tyln...”

“We’ve had this conversation,” Ardt said flatly, his hands rising to rub at his face. “We had no choice. Baron Lyx bends his knee to Tyln. If we’d not submitted her to the priesthood, he’d have driven us out and we’d become serfs – and Bena would’ve been sent to the priesthood anyway.”

“I know,” Yren said, bowing his head. He shook his head in commiseration. “It still doesn’t make it right, Ardt. Either way. None should have the power to force you to abandon your god in favor of another. It’s what the orphanage tried with me all those seasons ago. They certainly shouldn’t have the power to force you to submit and become a priest or priestess.”

“I agree,” Ardt sighed. He looked up at his adopted son. “It won’t make a bit of difference if our complaining about it makes us late for supper.”

Yren opened his mouth – and then threw back his head and laughed. “Elva certainly has you trained; it’s good to know you have your priorities in order.”

“The world outside these doors is unfair,” Ardt smiled. “Having a good woman inside the doors makes it all bearable.”

“I fear I might never know,” Yren replied darkly, his mood mercurial.

“Give her time,” Ardt said, walking over and clapping the young man on the shoulder. “She hasn’t grown out of her childish phase.”

“Maybe I should have waited for her,” Yren sighed.

“This is not your fault, Yren,” Ardt replied. “Elva and I agree on that. You have near two seasons on Issa and more seasons than that in maturity over her. Yes, you probably could have waited – but that is neither right nor fair to the man you are. It is just a matter of bad timing that you are close to two seasons older than her.”

“Let me ask you,” Ardt continued, “do you begrudge her her majority?”

“What?” Yren said, his eyebrows knotting. He paused a moment in thought before quickly moving on. “No. Of course not.” The young man shook his head. “I’d like to be considered for it – I have two seasons of experience – but if she chooses another, I’m happy for her.” Yren’s expression turned flinty. “Well, maybe not exactly happy but I understand and I can live with it. I don’t like her new habit of constantly throwing it up in my face nor her insistence that she’ll need me to wait two seasons until she gets tired of ‘practicing’ – but I don’t resent that it’s her choice.”

Ardt nodded. “I didn’t think you did but I wanted to ask to be sure. Don’t worry, I think she’ll come around.” He patted his adopted son’s shoulder again. “Now, let’s get to supper before we both get in trouble.”

Yren took off his apron and went to hang it on the peg next to Ardt’s but held up short. He reached his finger out and rubbed it over the head of the thick metal pin. The head was slightly rusted, now, and the metal of the rest of the pin had gone slightly green and tarnished. Memories rose unbidden with Yren’s mind, thoughts of entering this house for the first time, of seeing the thick, well-made walls and sparse but strong furnishings. His mind moved to when Ardt had first hung the peg. It had been seasons ago but he could still remember it; it had been hung so high he needed to stretch on tip-toes to reach it. Now, it was halfway down his chest.

Filled with melancholy, he thought back, back before this smithy, before the orphanage. Absently, he fingered the pouch around his neck, where he’d always kept it. It had been a long time since he’d thought of his parents. He could barely remember them now, just an impression in his mind. He could remember his mother’s laugh and his father’s hard shoulder. He wondered what they’d think of him, if they’d be proud of the man he’d become. He wondered if they’d be disappointed that he didn’t still honor Kyr but bent his knee to Deia. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He honored both of the goddesses, now.

He thought back to his sister, now even less than a memory. He had only an impression of her long, dark hair; she used to hold him down and drape it in his face, turning her head back and forth so that it kept washing over him. He smiled as he remembered – he couldn’t remember her face but he could remember her hair. His smile turned sad; it hurt that he couldn’t remember her.

Finally, he hung his apron next to Ardt’s. Walking into the house, he saw Ardt standing at the table, talking to Teran and Issa. Teran had grown to be quite a beauty – though she was still the same rough and tumble girl she’d always been. Her hair was the color of ripened wheat and seemed just as full and thick. Her eyes were the deep blue of a summer evening just as twilight fell and her nose was small but sharp above lips that were naturally a deep red – almost maroon. Her body was lithe and full, with long, lean muscles but interesting bumps on her chest and a full cushion on the rear.

Her rosy cheek had a smudge of brown, tinged with green – likely some type of dirt or loam; she always seemed to have some kind of smudge on her face or neck. One time, after they’d had sex and were lying with each other, not talking, he noticed a smudge on her left breast. He’d laughed at the time and then spent the next ten minutes explaining why it was funny. Teran was not one to suffer fools but she’d eventually seen the humor in it.

He turned to the hallway, heading for the washroom when he suddenly received a five-feet, four-inch bundle of twelve-season-old girl directly in his midsection. The bundle threw its arms and legs around him and held him tight, even as he fell backwards against the wall.

“Yren!” Bena cried, hugging the young man. Like Teran, Bena had grown and at twelve she was just coming into her womanhood, evidence of which were the slight anthills pressing at her shirt. Like the rest of the females in her family, Bena had thick, blonde hair though hers was the lightest of any of them; it was so light that in the summer months it seemed almost white. Bena’s eyes twinkled and alternated between a bright blue and gray above a nose that resembled her mother’s – a small, rounded button. Her lips were thinner than those of her mother and sisters and were a lighter shade of pink.

The young man couldn’t help but chuckle. He raised his arms to hold Bena but remembered the soot on his fingers and arms. He started to let them fall back to his sides but thought better of it; he wrapped his arms around the young girl, being careful not to touch her with his dirty hands. “Bena! I’m happy to see you – but I’m pretty dirty. Let me wash up?”

“Of course,” Bena said, turning her face and smiling up at him. “I just wanted you to know how much I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Yren admitted with a soft laugh even as Bena climbed down from his midsection. “It’s been too long.”

Bena’s face darkened. “They refuse to let me come home. I’m lucky we were between lessons just now or I wouldn’t be here yet.” She shook her head and smiled. “But I am home and I get to stay until this coming Firstday.”

“So, you have to leave Seventhday, then?” Yren asked, moving slowly towards the bath room. “So that you make it back on Firstday? Ardt says it’s a full day’s ride to the Illster Abbey.”

“No,” Bena smiled. “I don’t have to return until Secondday; I leave on Firstday.”

“That’s great,” Yren smiled but it slowly faded. “Uh ... what day is today?”

Bena giggled. In all the time she’d known him, Yren never paid attention to days or months. He somehow managed to finish projects on time – but he could never tell what day it was. “It’s Thirdday, Mephae four. Tomorrow is Fourthday, Mephae five – Issa’s Majority.”

Yren rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

“Trouble?” Bena asked. She missed seeing her family daily. She missed knowing about their lives. Holy Sister Remarsh said it was always necessary to remember family because it represented our bond to Tyln. She went on to explain Tyln required his priests and priestesses to distance themselves from family; the clergy of Tyln became their family after their investment – when they took their vows and became clergy of Tyln themselves.

Personally, Bena thought that Tyln – and all his clergy – could go hang. In the dark of her night, when all slept, she still prayed to Deia and begged her not only for forgiveness but for guidance. So far, Deia had not answered – but she knew Deia never answered in words.

Yren smiled but Bena could tell it was forced. “Nothing for you to worry about, my pretty Little Link,” he joked. It was his pet name for her. When they were younger and Ardt was teaching him how to create jewelry, she had spent the better part of a day in the smithy watching him try to replicate the small, interwoven links necessary to make a woman’s necklace. She’d pestered him and pestered him, nullifying his concentration so that the links kept coming out wrong. Finally, he’d had enough of her pestering and turned to her angrily. “You’re just like this little link, stupid and insufferable.”

“Am I pretty like the little link, too?” She’d asked in complete sincerity. It had been enough to break his anger and make him laugh and from then on, he’d often called her ‘his Little Link’ or ‘his pretty Little Link’. It had come to mean a term of endearment.

Yren had turned and entered the bath, taking off his dirty smock and washing his arms and hands – and even his face – thoroughly. It would never do to come to Elva’s table dirty.

In the hallway, Bena had not left. She’d intended to wait for Yren and escort him to the table. She loved her Mother, Father and sisters dearly but she’d found that she’d missed Yren terribly. He always seemed to have a smile for her and he always treated her as an equal – something that neither Teran nor Issa bothered with. In the long days and nights in her cell, when she was tasked with memorizing the Book of Tyln, she’d often found her mind wandering back to the young man who had come to live with them. Truly, she could never really remember a time without the boy – now young man. She had been far too young to remember a time where he was not there. She just knew that he was more than a friend or a brother. He’d always made time for her and he’d always been inordinately patient with her.

As he stood there, bare from the waist up, his body moving over the wash basin, she gasped quietly at the corded muscles defined on his back. They bunched and rolled as he moved and she felt something within her, something she couldn’t explain – a fluttering in her tummy which had never been there before. For the first time, she saw in him what Issa saw – a desirable man.

Drying himself on the towel, Yren grabbed a clean linen shirt from the shelf and pulled it on. He picked his dirty cotton smock from the floor and tossed it into the basket Elva kept by the door for that purpose. While tired, he felt refreshed – but washing always seemed to have such an effect on him. He raised his arms and clutched them together, twisting at his waist until his back crackled. Putting down his arms, he rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck back and forth until he felt relief there as well.