To the Stars End- Original Soul

by Demetri Grim

  To The Stars End

  Original Soul

  By Demetri Grim

  Copyright ©(2019) Demetri Grim. All rights reserved.

  Chapter 1: Left Out In The Rain

  Beka hated waiting. As an apprentice blacksmith in the capital city of Cross, she should be working. Rocking her chair back on its hind legs, she peered out the shop’s large front window looking out into the rain beyond. Something hard suddenly bounced off the back of her head, clattering to the floor. With a huff she tucked a strand of wild red hair behind a slightly pointed ear. Turning, she glowered over her shoulder at her attacker.

  “You did not just...” Her melodic voice was cut off by another link of chain bouncing this time off her freckled cheek. Beka’s light grey eyes narrowed into a glare. “Uncle!” She protested.

  “Quit sitting in my chair that way. Ya fool girl!” Beka’s uncle, Montgomery Galten, met her glare with one of his own, lifting another link of chainmail between his fingers. She held his gaze for a heartbeat, eyes flicking between the offending link of chain and her uncle. His face was broad and angular, his skin tanned, a few shades darker than her own, looking as if he spent too many years in the sun. In truth he spent very little time outdoors— he simply had the wrinkled leathery look from too many years spent in front of a hot forge. His hair was a thinning red, cut short but still respectable, a hint of grey showing at the sides. A well-groomed mustache flecked with grey sat twitching like an irritable caterpillar under a nose that had been broken on more than one occasion. His thick red mustaches twitched once more as his expression softened, his face breaking into a grin. He tossed the bit of metal into a bucket of chain links positioned between them on the table.

  “I’m not going to fall out of it Uncle,” she grumbled and turned back around, using a sleeve of her tattered green tunic to wipe at the fogged-up front window she had been peering out of most of the morning. It was raining again; it had been raining for nearly a week, day and night. The capital had become a swamp, humid and perpetually damp. The smell of mold was noticeable whenever a window was left open for too long. Only the most determined travelers braved this downpour. Beka glanced up at the slowly swaying sign of her family shop, The Silverlight Smithy. Open for business, if there was any. They had been devoid of customers for days. If she was to be honest with herself they were lucky for that. When the humid mid-year storms descended, she warned her uncle that the arcane runes warding the forge stacks were going to fail. But of course he didn't listen. Now the forge basin was flooded, drowning the fire, along with the shop’s ability to tackle the ever growing pile of work orders. All she could do right then was wait, wait and fiddle with whatever side project her uncle had lying around that didn’t need the forge or smelter to finish.

  “I’m not worried about yer scrawny ass girl, I’m worried yer going to break the legs on my chair sitting that way. That’s a guest chair and ya know it. We don’t have many of those left.” Beka sighed again at his words, dropping the legs back to the floor. “And quit that sighing,” he grumbled at her. “Get back to work, ya lazy savage.” His voice was coarse, often ragged from a lifetime inhaling forge smoke. She knew his tone this time was lighthearted. Her uncle was all bark and no bite.

  “Ugg, Uncle...” Turning around in her chair she glowered this time at her uncle's choice of projects, a bucket of links, and a half-finished shirt of chainmail. Her head drooped, forehead coming to rest on the table with a thunk. “If I make one more row of links I’m going to lose my mind.” She moaned into the tables lacquered finish. “What is the point of making all of this chain, we should be making more of our weapons and armor for the coming tournament. You know, all that fancy, shiny stuff knights and lords like to wear at the games. Not dull, ugly, chain undershirts no one wants because they pinch.” She pouted and propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin in the palms of her hands, eyes pleading at her uncle.

  “Well,” he grinned, mustache twitching, giving her a sly smile, his finger level with her pouting face. “Why don’t ya head out back then and fetch a bucket of coal. We can use all of yer heavy sighing and hot air to dry it out. Then we can put that stubborn noggin of yers to use pounding out an ingot to fit over that noisy trap. It keeps flapping and seems to be causing my fair apprentice to not do her job.” He nodded to her with a smirk and wiggled his mustache, returned to working another set of links onto the chainmail shirt he was finishing.

  “But why chain, Uncle?” She started to protest, flopping backwards over the top of the chair. Beka felt her frayed tunic ride up her toned midriff and squeeze her chest uncomfortably. The faded green linen had gotten to be too small, but in the summer heat and humidity it was her favorite outfit, especially with the small holes and burns along the sides it had picked up over the years from working alongside her uncle.

  “Ya know full well that those fancy knights as ya call them like to have a suit of chain underneath to fill the gaps. Guard openings. The good ones do at least. The ones who fight to win, not just look pretty on their horses. They will buy the chain. If we're lucky we’ll get young knights suitable for gaining titles and lands of their own.” His voice took on a whimsical, dreamy, sing-song tone. Beka knew that tone of voice. It usually did not end well for her mood. “They will come into our shop to buy our quality handcrafted chainmail, fitted by hand from a charming young elf maiden. They will be so struck by her beauty and craftsmanship they will drop to their knees right then and there to devote themselves.” He grinned and looked up at her with a sly wink. Beka felt her expression slowly turn into a scowl, her nose wrinkling at the imagery with disapproval.

  “Please Uncle don’t start. Not again, it's been a long enough day already, don't make it worse. Look, I will get back to work!” She leaned forward, picking up her own project and making a show of diligently fitting links together.

  With an amused huff he set down his own work and pointed a thick calloused finger once more in her direction.“Ya know girl, ya might find more young suitors coming around if ya stopped wearing those dirty old rags.” He hesitated, twitching his mustache side to side. She groaned in defeat, her head hitting the table with another thunk. ”Ya should be wearing that nice dress yer mother and I picked out for yer coming of age celebration last year.” He sniffed and continued undaunted as she covered her ears with her hands. “At least wear it when yer working the store front.” She peeked her head up at him. He was leaning back in his own chair, arms crossed over his chest waiting for her response.

  “What would be the point of that?” Beka asked, lifting her head, defiantly crossing her arms under her chest to match his pose. “I don’t think that's what mom had in mind in her last letter when she said ‘surprise me with something nice to wear for my celebration.’” She turned and draped her arm over the back of the chair. Rain streaked the window, as the wind changed. “I appreciate the sentiment Uncle, but that ugly green monstrosity you got me is more like a bloody formal ball gown. Or worse a Gods-be-damned wedding dress.” Her voice trailed off, becoming quiet as she fought to think of a way to change the topic. She screwed up with that comment. She knew better than to mention weddings around her uncle but it slipped out nonetheless. It was his fault thought, talking about suitors. Wanting to avoid another lecture on the courtship traditions of girls her age. She racked her brain for something quick to stop her uncle before he started in on her again.

  Beka knew that as a one-quarter elf, or Elf-kin to the humans, her elvin blood would leave her aging much slower than a human, and living much longer. She would look perpetually youthful and healthy. As long as she took care of herself, she would stay as lean as an elf with all the curves she gained from her human father well
into her forties. A desirable feature in a wife for any would-be suitor. The boys and lechers who came around only wanted to acquire an eternally youthful wife, who could pass as a human. It pissed her off. Her uncle knew it, but tradition insisted that she wed, and soon.

  “Do you think she’ll come? Mom that is. Will she come home with the Kings delegation this alignment?” Beka said, finally coming upon a topic she knew would dissuade her uncle. Her mind drifted to the last time she saw her mother, almost three years ago. As a respected Magister in the King of Cross’s Magisterium, the only mage school on the world of Cross, her mother had been assigned the responsibility of being the court emissary to Arcadia, an allied kingdom on Cross’s larger sister world of Septa. Arcadia guarded one of the alignment gates between the twin worlds and shared many of Cross’s customs and beliefs. Because of that the two kingdoms maintained a standing embassy on each world. Every few generations a Magi was selected from the professors of the Magisterium to act as cultural emissaries. Three years ago, her mother was chosen. Beka swallowed hard, trying not to hold her mother's absence against her. It was an honor her mother could not refuse. They corresponded in letters almost every month since she departed. But her absence so soon after her father's death only two years before still stung.

  “I know she will girl. In fact I have proof.” Montgomery answered. Beka turned to meet his gaze. She caught his brief look of disappointment at being thwarted on one of his favorite topics to lecture about. She snickered as his thick mustache twitched irritably. He stood from the table with a groan and arched his back. It gave a satisfying crack that made Beka wrinkle her nose. “Yer mother sent me a special courier just last week in fact. Ya know one of those little magical serpents with the wings she's so fond of.” Moving across the store, he ran his fingers along the many tables and racks of the shop. A habit he picked up from her father or so he claimed. Beka had her doubts as she watched him fix a sword that was not lined up with the others. All of the displayed weapons and armor had a place, and he was a stickler about keeping them were they belong. The sword glimmered at his touch, casting a silver shine of enchantment into the room. The glowing blade returning to simple polished steel as her uncle released the handle, content it was where it should be.

  Stopping at the counter, Montgomery pulled out the shop’s parcel box. It was starting to look very full. Couriers and patrons used it to drop off orders when both smiths were unable to break from their work. Though more often than not lately it was filled up because she had taken to avoiding the store front. She did not mind dealing with customers. The fact each time she worked the counter every suitable candidate for marriage in the market row turned up for one reason or another was leading her to suspect foul play. She narrowed her eyes at her uncle. She was sure he had something to do with it, she just needed proof. Watching as he pulled a crisp envelope from the stack, she caught a glint of color. A fine silver and green filigree gittered around the edges of paper so crisp and white that it could have only come from a particularly wealthy individual. To her something like that had no right being in the soot and ash-filled smithy. He shook it like a trophy, and smiled over at her, coming back across the room to present it.

  Leaning over the table he held it above her head. At only 5 foot 6 height she considered standing on the chair to snatch the envelope from her uncle, as he was well over half a foot taller than herself. Balling her fists instead she planted her hands on her hips, knuckles digging into the soft leather of her patched up work pants as she gave him her best icy stare. He relented under her gaze and placed it in her hands with feigned reverence. With a happy squeal, she carefully removed the letter. The paper inside felt almost like silk; no wonder her uncle treated it like treasure. Unfolding the letter she recognized the elegant flowing handwriting as her mother’s. The words glowed a faint blue, the same magic ink her mother always used for her letters. Beka smiled fondly as she read.

  “ Dearest Brother

  I’m hoping this letter finds you before I arrive in the coming months. It would be a shame to arrive on the same day as the courier I tasked to deliver. You no doubt would regret not having enough time to fawn over this stationary I borrowed from the King. I know how you get dear brother, we both know you're an odd one. Its okay to admit you have a compulsion. Nonetheless I will endeavor to bring you some extra sheets when I return. I know it has been far too long since I was home. I miss my sweet Beka everyday that I am away, nearly as much as I miss your brother my beloved Thomas. I wished I could have come at the last gate opening. I was unable to travel the distance to Ara quickly enough to make the southern gate’s alignment. This year however King Arka’s delegation is personally attending the great alignment and tournament. As his court emissary to Cross, naturally I will be joining the King as his advisor to my homeland.

  Homeland. Home. I do so wish to come home. I think this year I will be requesting from our grace King Liam that I be allowed to remain on Cross. I would prefer to serve once again at the Magisterium so that I may stay with my daughter, and you, I guess, if I must. I love the Kingdom of Acadia and sharing the culture of Cross with the wonderful people of this land, but Cross is where I belong and I feel ill at ease to have been away so long. Away from my daughter, away from my family.

  I fear for your health as well dear brother and the troubles my absence may have caused you these last few years. You're only human after all. I know how rambunctious my Beka can be and you’re not getting any younger. I will not be free of the King’s service until after the alignment. I would very much like to see my Beka at the palace. She will need something respectable for court. I do hope that whatever dress my daughter picked for her coming of age ceremony was presentable? I would very much like to see her in it, as I wish I could have been there on her special day. On that note I would like to keep my arrival a surprise. I am going to treat my daughter to a gift I will not name here. However should she start to get into a mood as I know she has a tendency to do, please do not keep my early arrival from her any more than necessary. Carrot and stick if need be. I hope to see you both soon.

  All my love, Bethany Elizabeth Galten

  Ps. I almost forgot, and I dare not waste this borrowed paper, I trust most of the silver pieces for Beka’s dress arrived with my letter last year? The wind serpents of Arcadia are clever little things and quite fond of anything shiny. I suspect they may even be able to count.

  “Wait!” Beka blinked at the page, re-reading the last few lines over again before turning the letter at her uncle as if it was a knife, her voice accusing. “I could have picked out my own dress! Is this why you never let me read the one she sent then?!” Montgomery quickly snatched the letter from her grip, looking abashed, while careful not to rip the expensive paper. She continued, fuming—he was all but ignoring her! Beka felt herself starting to get riled. “You snake! You crusty old weasel! You! You, dog!”

  “Ahh, pick an animal ya daft loony girl.” He chuckled, working a wrinkle from the edge of the envelope as he put the letter back inside. She looked to the table, the links of chain, and the offending link that hit her still sitting on the floor near her chair. Deciding on a fitting comeuppance she scooped a handful of chain links from the bucket.

  “How much did she send you for that dress, Uncle?” Beka jostled the links in her hand, approving of the weight. She fiddled with a few, lining them up as she waited for his response, playing it cool as if she did not care about the answer. Batting her eyes at him, when he mumbled under his breath. Trying to make her voice as syrupy sweet as she could muster. “Hmm? How much? My dear sweet Uncle.”

  “Not that it matters girl. But something like, fifty or so gold, standard I hear for a maiden's coming of age celebration.” His mustache bristled and twitched, giving her a pensive smile.

  “You spent that much money on that horrible, overdone disaster of a dress!” Beka fumed and threw the handful of links at him, sending them scattering and clinking about the smithy as they bounced off his thick muscu
lar frame. “I could have gotten something that I actually would have liked or even used! Instead I have a…a Gods be damned!” She stammered, feeling her cheeks turn red as she took a deep breath and reach for another handful of links, building up to a final insult.

  “Now hold on right there girl! Ya watch yer mouth, with that blaspheming!” He proclaimed loudly, interrupting her tirade. “I didn’t spend all of the money on that bloody dress!” He paused for dramatic effect as she wound up another throw. Narrowing her eyes, she felt her breath coming out now in angry huffs as she waited for him to continue. “I also had a mighty fine cask of Fall Ale down at the tavern put aside for me.”

  “Gaahh!” Beka let out a rather high pitched screech and swung the handful of links right at her Uncle’s face. He dutifully tried to dodge her attack but it was little more than a half-hearted hunch, not an actual attempt to get out of the way.

  She watched the metal projectiles scatter across the floor of the smithy with clinks and clatters, rattling along the hardwood floors and displayed weapons and armor. Several of the thin iron links bounced, rolled, and came to rest with a soft thump against a pair of exquisitely crafted, if quite wet, mud slick boots standing just inside the shop’s now-open entrance.

  Chapter 2: Commissioning A Legend

  They both froze as the last link rolled in a circle, spun a few times on its edge, and fell over on its side. The man in the door sniffed once and raised a single fine golden eyebrow over his slightly glowing blue eyes. The man’s features were sharp and angular, long golden hair tied tightly back in an elaborate braid. His long ears, twice the length of her own, twitched as he listened to the clanking metal. A thin mouth curved down in a frown that seemed to come naturally to his narrow, serious face. He brushed the front of his damp and expensive-looking cloak and brought an icy gaze down upon the two smiths.