Into the Light (Axe Druid Book 1)

by Christopher Johns

  I nodded, leaning back in my seat. The chairs were made of heavy wood, but they were built for the stout warriors and not someone almost double their height, so the wood dug into my back. It felt like a comforting sort of pain, though, loosened my muscles a bit. Kept me from getting angry.

  “We’ve had times in the past where the fair folk, Sylphs like yourself, have stolen and tricked our kind. It’s left bad blood between our two races. Some here may wish to see harm come to you—if not your body, your purse.”

  I nodded. I had expected that something like this could happen eventually, but that didn’t ease my unrest.

  “I will personally see to it that you receive fair treatment.”

  “Why?”

  “You are a guest here with my clan,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

  “Is there a way for me to prove myself like Jaken did?”

  “Are you familiar with the Way, lad?”

  “No,” I said after a moment, “I can’t say that I am.”

  “Be you against religion?” he asked with a suspicious glint in his eye.

  I shook my head. I’d had a strong raising in religion when I was in my world as a child. I had grown away from it, but I didn’t hate all religion itself. I just didn’t appreciate blind bigotry and the use of religion to justify horrible treatment of others. I had met too many people and seen too many examples of monsters hiding behind holy claims to be overly accepting.

  “Yet, your friends know the Way, and you do not?!” Farnik looked horrified, like I had slaughtered his child before his very eyes.

  “Roslyn!” he shouted. A stout, pretty lady we had seen before poked her head in. “The strongest ceremonial mead we have. Get the Clan Elders, too. Gather them outside in the training grounds out back, and you shout to every able-bodied warrior that is here. Go!”

  The girl sped off to accomplish her task.

  “Come, lad, time to learn the Way.”

  Outside, a long table with hundreds of mugs filled with golden liquid resting on it was set up in the center of the giant yard. Wizened Elder Dwarves, beards gone grey with time, stood near the table as Farnik ushered me through the doorway. The warriors, a rowdy and boisterous bunch the entire time I was with them, were quiet, and their eyes were on the table and us.

  “Brothers of the stone that makes the world. Today we gather to show another the Way for the first time. Join me in calling to the Mountain.”

  “Let us hear his deeds!” they shouted in unison.

  Farnik looked to me and gestured to the gathered. “Tell them, lad, tell them all of your greatest accomplishments.”

  I took a deep breath and began; I spoke as loudly and firmly as I could. I told them of my arduous training to join an elite fighting force, which was true, but in my own world. They didn’t need to know that last bit, though. I told them of Mother Nature’s blessing and acceptance of me as one of her chosen. Of our party’s defeat of the Bone Dragon at the ruined fort that was infecting the forests. My friendship with the Queen of the Bears and all of her subjects as a result of clearing said fort. How Yohsuke and I slew the survivors of a Goblin raiding party to protect the Lightning Roc until we could hatch her final chick and how I took that chick into my care when her mother succumbed to her grievous wounds. I told them about our fight with the Lizardmen and their Chieftain, then the Goblin Dungeon where we fought a Demon, though it had been small, and finally, of killing the Goblin King.

  I told Farnik that I was finished, and he raised his arm in a gesture foreign to me. His fingers were clenched except the finger next to his pinky, and his thumb was out at an odd angle.

  Those gathered raised their voices in unison, “Father of the stone, rock to the light and maker of home, open to us now that we might find our Way.”

  The warriors filed by as they sang a song of passing. From the darkened void of nothingness, then heat from the fires of their God’s love for them. How he forged each Dwarf in his image, shaping them with his hammer, the strength of his arm, and the sweat of his brow. Each took a mug into his or her hands and filed away, still singing.

  After the forging and trial of the anvil came the quenching. Where their God poured sweet mead onto their bodies and into their mouths, that their veins might fill with life, and once they were quenched, they were cleansed by the blood of the Mountain, the dirt of his vein covered them from head to toe and strengthened their arms and hearts.

  Their song reached a fervent pitch, chaotic and seething, when a clear note rang out in the tumultuous sea of noise. That clarity was the Way. The beginning was dark and hard, but on the Way, the Dwarves could walk to the Mountain. The more they fought in the name of honor and protecting their kin and the weak, the louder the call of the Way became. More voices joined with the one of the Way, and it became easier to follow.

  When they drank the mead of the brewers, the sweet sound of the Way helped them remember their fallen and gave rhythm to their feet so that they might march forward in unison. They created a better path together. More voices joined the calling of the Way.

  As the song came to a crescendo, I learned that the Way wasn’t just a path to their God but a path to what it meant to be a good person. That those who find the Way can find friends and family on the path who will help them stay strong. That all are equal along the Way.

  Finally, the voices faded and Farnik called to them, “The hammer falls, brothers and sisters!”

  “And rises again!” they returned.

  “The forge was hot.”

  “The mead was cold.”

  “The Mountain made us.”

  “Dwarves the Bold.”

  Farnik raised his mug, then turned to me. “Zekiel, Kitsune, we have brought you here to show you the Way. Brothers and sisters, would you walk with this man?”

  “Aye!”

  “If he stumbles, will you catch him?”

  “Aye!”

  “And when he goes to the Mountain, will you sing the songs of his glories and raise a mug to his name?”

  “Aye!”

  “Zekiel, be you ready and willing to walk the Way with us, your brothers and sisters? Would you take ours as your clan and use the strength of your arm to protect the weak and those in need? Will you walk with us as our brother?”

  Chills jolted down my spine, and the skin on my body was covered in goosebumps—but I was unafraid. “I will walk the Way with you, brothers and sisters. I will take your clan as my own and lift my arm to protect those I can. I will walk with you, if you will have me.”

  “You have heard his words, you have heard his deeds.” The leader of the clan looked over his people. “He has been vouched for by one who we all call friend, Elder Leo. How do ye judge him? Be he worthy?”

  There was a moment of silence so deep that my ears buzzed from it. The Dwarves closest to me began to stomp their right foot to a beat that I didn’t recognize. Within a moment, the whole of those gathered were caught up in it.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Like the beating of a heart. My heart or theirs? I couldn’t tell anymore because my heart had begun to synchronize with it.

  I fell into the rhythm of it. The Dwarves before me, stoic, strong, and hearty, stomped in time with my pulse. It didn’t quicken; it didn’t leap. It was steady and strong.

  “You have your answer, lad.” Farnik smiled with tears in his eyes. “They give you the Heart of the Mountain. They approve.”

  He lifted his mug, and every Dwarf joined him.

  “The Way is long and winding!”

  “But never are we alone!”

  “MUGFIST!” roared Farnik. The whole clan echoed his shout and everyone drank.

  The liquid inside was the sweetest, best tasting alcohol I had tasted on this world or my own. I felt the goosebumps fade as the euphoric sensation of the alcohol began to set in, but I didn’t feel the usual effects of drinking but a sense of clarity.

  I felt welcomed.

  I felt close to
the Mountain, closer to anything I ever had, other than my son. I had found the Way.

  Or it had found me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  After the Dwarves had swarmed around to congratulate me on finding the Way, we received word that the representatives from the other clans were here.

  The first we met with was the representative from the Stone Hammer Clan, a young Dwarf whose name I didn’t catch. He said that the true representative was on the way, and he was here mainly to see that he didn’t appear rude showing up unannounced.

  At his request, we waited about ten minutes before the “true” representative arrived. The door opened, and in shuffled an older looking Dwarf, his hair and beard gone white with age. His brown eyes still sparkled with life, and he clasped Farnik’s wrist. The Mugfist leader went to speak, but the other Dwarf stopped him with a raised palm. He came to the rest of us; the party had since gathered and waited together. He greeted us each in turn, his soft voice pleasant and kindly.

  He stopped before me, and a smile almost split his face.

  “Hello, sir,” I greeted him and held out my hand.

  “Hello, young Kitsune.” He gripped my wrist and gripped hard. Holy fuck that hurt. “A pleasure to make yer acquaintance. All of ye.”

  “Grandmaster Granda,” Farnik started, “had I known you would be here, I would’ve had some mead ready for you. Please let me–”

  “I’ll nay let ye do that, lad,” the elder Dwarf said. “I felt the Heartbeat of the Mountain earlier this day and could nay pass up the chance to come see the results meself!”

  “Oh,” said Farnik. “Well that’d be Zekiel here. He took the first step along the Way this very day.”

  “I welcome ye then, my child,” the white haired Dwarf said and patted my shoulder.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “That will nay do,” he said, taking a stern tone. “Call me Granda. All the children do.”

  “Okay then, Granda.” He said it like, Gran-Da, like grandad without the d. It was both cute and weird all at once.

  “Be ye a smith, boy?” The Dwarf looked hopeful.

  “No, Granda, I’m an enchanter,” I said, and his face fell, “but my friends Jaken and Balmur are smiths, if you would like someone to train?”

  He looked back at the Fae-Orc and smiled. “Would ye like to train yer smithing, lad?”

  “I would. My name is Jaken, Granda,” my friend said.

  “And yerself?” He looked to Balmur.

  “I’m Balmur, Granda. If you deal in accessories, jewelry and the such?” he asked hopefully.

  “Nay, we do not. My clan deals in arms and armor,” he said and rubbed his hands together. “Jaken be welcome to come and train. Sorry, Balmur, I be thinkin’ you’ll have someone under the Mountain capable of givin’ lessons. Let me see these materials, then.”

  We took out our materials and sat them on the table. He picked up each item after pulling out a monocle. He appraised each item in a business-like manner and set each item down gently as not to damage it.

  “High quality,” he muttered. “I would love to work with some of this, and o’ course, our stock of materials will be open for purchase and perusal. With our clans both having long standing friendships, I see no reason not to give ye a discount, and o’ course, with an apprentice to teach and pass on my trade, I’ll be doubly pleased.”

  Farnik clapped his hands together. “Very well then, thank you!”

  “May I ask yer preferred weapons?”

  We all spoke up, and the Dwarf took down some of the weapon types. Our only armored individual who would need any kind of smithing was already going to be working with Granda, so he would get his measurements later.

  “Ye say ye call yourself a Rogue, but ye use hand axes?” the Dwarf asked Balmur. “Oh, ye slash ‘em from behind? Right, I’ve been waitin’ to work on a new project, and I’m hoping ye won’t be opposed to letting me try some new things for ye? I’ll waive the price of labor, of course, and all ye have to pay for is materials. I’ll sit with ye once we finish and explain my meaning.”

  He looked to me and squinted his eyes. “Zekiel, lad, ye say ye sport a great axe, aye? Okay, that I will make meself, as well. I can use some of that ore ye collected from the Lightning Roc, if you’ll allow me? Elemental ore can be tricky and difficult to find. With yer say, could I show some techniques to my other students while I work with it? Maybe let some of the senior smiths help me? Ye’re okay with that?” I nodded eagerly. “ Good, thank ye, lad.”

  “Would you be able to do anything about an Adaptor?” Yohsuke asked.

  “I would nay, lad,” Granda said. “We of the Stone Hammer Clan tend to steer clear of magics. No offense to those who use ‘em, but we believe, as a clan, that solid metal is what gets the job done. Spells are all well and good, but a good blade doesn’t need a spell to make it better to us.”

  “So you don’t like enchanting?” I asked.

  “It’s nay that we don’t, we just don’t see the point. If you get the blade we make, and ye want to spell it, by all means, spend yer coin, but we will nay do that for ye. Our work is our pride, our weapons our contribution to our kith and kin in their trek along the Way. A good axe in battle can save yer life, if nay the lives of others. We stand firmly behind that.”

  “I can respect that.” I nodded.

  The hard work that they believed in? There’s nothing better.

  “Good. Alright, on the morrow we begin our work,” said the white-haired Dwarf. “Jaken, I’ll send a runner for ye in the morn’. He’ll know what to expect, so ye and yer’s shouldn’ need to clobber him, but if he gives ye lip, smack ‘em good. Ye’re clan to our friends, an’ we do nay need trouble. Aye?”

  “Aye,” we all said and watched him hobble out of the room with the younger Dwarf trailing behind.

  “That was fortunate,” began Farnik. “He’s one of the best smiths under the Mountain. You couldn’t have asked for a better Dwarf to do the job or to apprentice under.”

  “Would ye be ready for the next one, Da?” Roslyn asked. Her father motioned her in, and she came in with what I could only imagine was a thin Dwarf. He had toned arms and a studious look about him. His glasses, made of light material and thick glass, made his eyes look almost comically large.

  “You’re the representative from the Light Hand Clan?” asked Farnik.

  “I am,” he said in a very proper voice. “My name is Garen, and my clan specializes in enchanted accessories such as rings, necklaces and earrings.”

  “We could definitely use some of those,” Bokaj said. “You enchant them yourselves?”

  “We do,” affirmed the representative. “We, to the discomfort of our brethren, have an affinity for magic that is not common amongst Dwarves. We charge a fair price, and I also hear tell that there is someone amongst your group who fancies himself a budding artisan?”

  Balmur raised his hand, and the diminutive Dwarf sighed in relief. “I will be able to take you on as an apprentice in that time, if you would like?” Balmur nodded with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Good. I’m glad to help, cousin.”

  “Would you be willing to have me apprentice with you?” I asked.

  “No,” blurted the representative. “I would not.”

  “Would someone else?” asked Farnik. “He follows the Way now. My clan claims him. He is now kin.”

  “I can check with the clan, but the odds are slim that anyone will want to.”

  “Can I ask why?” I asked, suspecting the answer.

  “You aren’t a Dwarf,” he said as if explained everything, and I was daft for asking.

  “Ask your clan, boy,” growled Farnik. “Afore I do something you might regret.”

  The Dwarf gulped audibly, whispered a spell, and closed his eyes for a moment. He gasped, his eyes shot open, and he nodded fervently.

  “YES, MA’AM!” he shouted out loud.

  “I take it you got your answer?” Farnik barked at the other Dwarf. “Spit
it out then.”

  “Our clan leader, Shellica has offered to train you,” he said, his forehead slightly perspiring. “The cost will be what she deems is worth her time. You and the Azer Dwarf will be collected tomorrow morning. Goodbye.”

  And with that, he fled.

  The following morning, way earlier than was strictly necessary, a runner from the Light Hand Clan came to get Balmur and I. We were walked further into the city where the air seemed to heat slightly step by step until the heat grew to a very high level, like being outside in the desert sun. It was hotter than anything I had ever experienced, and I wasn’t comfortable in the slightest. The downside to wearing a fur coat, except that I couldn’t take this one off without appearing like I was trying to hide what I was.

  Squat homes and buildings surrounded us; some with storefronts and stalls outside with vendors calling out their wares in Dwarvish.

  Eventually, we reached a building off to the right of what seemed like the hawkers’ main thoroughfare. It had a wide berth, and the grounds outside were almost like the ones at the compound of the Mugfist Clan. The gate swung open at a touch from the runner, and we followed him inside. The building was made of metal that I hadn’t seen before and had runes like the gate to the city that we had passed through initially.

  I walked in, expecting to be greeted by sweltering heat due to the metal building, but it was actually pleasantly cool. Not to the point where you would be uncomfortably cool, more like a warm autumn day.

  “Ah, there you are!” said Garen, the thin Dwarf we had been speaking to yesterday. “If you will follow me. Balmur, we can see where you’re at and how much we have to work with.” He waved dismissively at me. “You, stay here.”

  “Okay.”

  I waited for about five minutes before another thin Dwarf bounced in. She had grey hair, and when she looked at me, her bright green eyes flashed. She looked visibly older than some of the other Dwarves I had seen, almost the elderly smith Granda’s age but with none of the seeming physical ailments.

  “Zekiel?” she asked. Her voice was strong but quiet, like a stern grandmother.