by Rosie Scott
“Kai Sera? Is that you?” It was a feeble male voice that traveled to my ears from over the woman's head between us.
The young dwarf glanced back into the room and said, “She looks like the legend, Flint.”
“Let her in. Please let her in.”
The woman opened the door wide for us. The room was built out of solid stone, and there was a forge that wasn't lit in the far left corner. Just beside it were windows overlooking the northern coast, and they were cracked to let the cool Red Moon breeze through. The glass of the windows vibrated as a wind blew through before the room smelled of fish and salt.
If the smithy was ever used, it didn't appear that it was often. The rest of the room was decorated like a home. There was an unmade bed on either side of the doorway, and on a table beside the one to the right sat a mortar and pestle that was in desperate need of a wash. Multiple prepared bottles of tonics were capped beside the bed, and a few emptied glass bottles were sitting nearby. Clearly, Flint Stark had a lot of trouble in his old age and condition to need such a variety of medicines.
Flint himself was a feeble old man with a perpetual tremble, and two cloudy brown eyes peered up at me from where he sat in a dwarven wheelchair. It was an interesting contraption, with metal wheels which had warped with time and use and a tray that was attached to one armrest. I assumed it was able to be set-up so that Flint could use it as a table. The man's hair was a multitude of grays, and it was so long that it mixed in with his beard and eyebrows as if it were in the midst of an identity crises. Both of Flint's legs were missing from the knees down, but the man had both his arms, and they were raised up to me as he noticed me walk in.
“Kai Sera?” he asked again, still reaching. He reminded me of Kyrin in the underground all those years ago. I assumed that Flint was at least partially blind. He appeared to see my movements though his eyes flicked around aimlessly trying to ascertain detail.
“I am she.”
“Thank the gods.” The words tumbled out of the old man's mouth like the release of a burden. Flint continued to reach up to me. As I neared him, I lowered myself to the floor before his wheelchair. Flint's hands neared my face. Calloused fingertips found my skin, and he swallowed hard as he moved his hands around my face, studying it and committing it to memory. “Your hair...” Flint murmured. “Bjorn did not lie. It is beautiful.”
My eyes burned. “Bjorn left Oeric before I was born,” I said, my voice thick before I swallowed my emotion. “You should know little about me.”
Flint's ruined eyes continued to look over my face. One of his fingers traveled down the length of my nose, and he said, “No. I know all about ya, love. You were Bjorn's favorite topic in his letters to me.”
My chest felt clogged. I blinked away tears as I asked, “Do you have these letters?”
“I do. Bjorn was like a son to me, ya know,” Flint went on, holding my face in his hands. His ruined eyes glistened as he said, “I consider ya to be like a granddaughter. Always have. Bjorn spoke of ya like ya were his own. And ya were. Ain't no blood gonna say otherwise.”
Sobs racked through my body until I was embarrassed and disgusted by them, but I couldn't help it. It had been almost thirteen years since I'd left Sera to find my mother. If it hadn't been for my thirst for knowledge of my own origins, none of the events of the past thirteen years would have happened. Though Bjorn had died after I'd told him he was my father, we'd had little time with which to celebrate that fact. And here I was, all these years later, being accepted into the home and arms of the man who'd been like a father to Bjorn. I'd gone so far searching for a family who would accept me when I hadn't needed to go anywhere at all.
Flint and I were hugging each other when I tried to stifle my emotion, and I hadn't even realized we'd embraced. As I backed up from the old man, I said, “I don't want you telling me I'm like your granddaughter until you know of some things I've done in this war. Surely you've heard of how this land is changing. The Vhiri have taken Hammerton, Flint, and I was one reason they could do this at all.”
“War is an ugly, chaotic thing, child,” Flint said to me. “I've heard the rumors about ya. Both the good and the bad.”
“What do you think of them?”
“I'm flattered by 'em, my girl,” he replied. Just hearing the phrase my girl nearly choked me up again. Bjorn had been the only one to ever call me that. “I've heard enough to know that ya've been wagin' this war for Bjorn and the necromancer. I've heard it's because ya love 'em both. If ya weren't willin' to get down and dirty with the best of 'em, ya wouldn't have gotten as far as ya have. Yer a legend, child. Ya don't become a legend by bein' modest and submissive. So what if ya took Hammerton? Sure, the high elves are here, but I've heard rumors about 'em usin' their healers on the dwarves for free. Besides, it don't matter whether it was a bloodbath or not, the fact remains that ya had a goal and ya did whatever it took to get there. Most folks don't have it in 'em to do what ya've been doin'. That is flattering, child.” He reached up and tapped me once on the forehead. “Bjorn would be so proud of ya.” He glanced up at the vague forms of my friends behind me. “All of ya, come in. Have a seat. Any friends of Kai's are friends of mine.”
I introduced Flint to the others, and each of them told him how they'd come across me. Flint remembered hearing about Nyx in Bjorn's letters, but Bjorn's last letter had been sent in 416, which was the year before Nanya's message had even made it to me. Everyone else was new to him, and he listened to their stories with gusto.
At one point, Flint reached over and patted Cerin's knee with a hand. “Now, ya have been treatin' my girl right?”
Cerin smiled before he glanced up at me. “I'd like to think I have.”
“Cerin only puts up with me, Flint,” I told the old man, to which he chuckled. “He may be a necromancer, but I'm determined to kill him with a heart attack.”
Cerin's eyes swirled with love for me before he turned back to Flint. “I've gotten close a couple of times.”
“Now, why aren't ya married?” Flint questioned. Nyx burst into laughter.
“Maybe you are the reason Bjorn was so obsessed,” she commented.
Cerin replied, “Well, considering Kai will be royalty, I'd have to change my surname if we were to marry, and I have no love for the way Sera's treated me. I wouldn't want to advertise it with my name.”
Azazel laughed and added, “And Cerin Sera just sounds terrible. Too much alike.”
I chuckled at that. “Besides, Flint, there are no reasons to marry. Neither of us are religious.”
Flint leaned over to me and said, “Gives ya a discount on yer taxes, though.”
I snorted a laugh. “Yes, well, when I take Chairel, I'll be changing that.”
Flint chuckled. “Marriage is important to the dwarves, ya know. I don't mean to prod, but that's just the fact of life over here. In the rest of the world, it seems few marry other than royalty.”
“Don't see why the dwarves marry at all,” Nyx commented. “They sure didn't seem to be that serious about it during our campaign.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Nyx Sephtis, Marriage Destroyer.”
Nyx burst into laughter, and Holter joined in beside her. “No, Kai. You know me. I check with them first.”
Holter pursed his lips in amusement and stared at me. “Well,” he started, “there was that one guy.”
“Oh, okay,” Nyx blurted. “Blame me when the guy lies. I paid for it. His wife had one hell of a punch.” She rubbed at her face with the memory.
“When was this?” I asked her. “I remember none of this.”
Nyx motioned toward the dark purple skin on her face. “Yeah, because I'm already the shade of a bruise.”
Flint chuckled in his wheelchair. “I miss havin' young people around like this. Ya'll remind me of when Bjorn would bring his friends to the forge and they'd go back and forth.”
“Bjorn told me he buried friends here,” I said.
“Aye,” Flint agreed. “A couple. A
ll died through tragic circumstances, too. One of 'em starved to death after gettin' lost in the Quakes tryin' to take a shortcut to Monte. Another one of 'em died in a mining blast right below our feet. Another died in the ocean north of here though I don't remember from what. Maybe his boat capsized or somethin'. All of 'em were buried in our Hall of the Dead. At one point, Bjorn was in tears. He asked me, 'what's the point in havin' friends if they all die?'”
My stomach ached at that. The same thought had floated around in my head a few times over the years. “What'd you say?”
“I told him, 'the more ya cry over their deaths, the luckier ya are. 'Cause that means ya made a connection with someone that'll last the test of time.'” Flint wrinkled up his nose. “Or somethin' similar. The sentiment was the same.”
I chuckled softly. “Each time I lose someone, I think of how lucky I am to have anyone at all.”
“Aye.” Flint nodded.
“What happened to Bjorn's parents, Flint?” I asked him. It was something Bjorn hadn't liked to talk about, so I knew little about them.
“They were both natives of Sera, I believe,” Flint replied. “Both human. Moved here early in their marriage. One of 'em lost a parent to sickness there since they were poor and couldn't afford a healer. Left a bad taste in their mouth, I 'spose. Bjorn's ma was pregnant with him when they moved here. His pa became a fisher. Was on a fishing boat up north when a big ol' storm rolled through. He never came back. Bjorn was eight, I believe. I knew his ma because she was a cute lil' thing and I got to talkin' with her one day. I invited 'em both up to my forge, and Bjorn seemed real interested in blacksmithin'. I offered to train him for free.”
“Because his mother was a cute lil' thing?” I asked with a half-smile.
“No, my girl,” Flint replied, though he laughed. “She was in mourning at the time. Bjorn was a cute kid. Didn't take him long to outgrow me, considerin' he was human and I ain't got my legs.” The old man's face sobered. “So, Bjorn started trainin' with me. His ma was desperate. She was an alchemist in Sera, and she couldn't make no money doin' that here. Human alchemists are looked down upon here. Sera never gave us any discounts for healers even though we were allied with Chairel, so the dwarves tend to only support dwarven alchemists. It's a passive-aggressive kinda thing that only hurts the people, for sure, but she wasn't makin' any business here.
“So she got involved with this no-good mercenary who came through Oeric lookin' for jobs. He had gold, and she was strugglin' to pay the rent. Bjorn came to the forge one day with a bruise on his neck when he was ten, and I would've kicked that mercenary's hairy ass if I still had my legs. I told Bjorn he could live with me. Didn't really think his ma would let him, but he woke me up that night bangin' on my door with a lil' basket of his stuff. I 'spose his ma knew deep down that he'd be safer with me.
“Wasn't but a coupla weeks later when Bjorn went to visit his ma and came back a'running with tears rollin' down his chubby cheeks. Sure enough, that no-good mercenary had a lotta pent-up anger, and he took every bit of it out on Bjorn's ma. The murderer fled Oeric, too.” Flint's eyes glanced up toward the light of his window, as if looking to the ocean beyond. “Bjorn wasn't even finished cryin' yet before he told me he was gonna join the Hammerton Army and get his revenge.”
It was little wonder why Bjorn had never told me this. My heart broke for him even though it was much too late to share in his pain. “Bjorn never joined the Hammerton Army,” I said softly.
“No,” Flint agreed. “He tried. They wouldn't let him. Gave him all number of excuses. 'Oh, yer too tall for our uniform,' and 'yer metalworkin' ain't good enough.' Basically every way they could say 'ya ain't a dwarf.' During all this time, he was readin' every book on war and strategies he could find while trainin' here with me.”
“Training in metalworking?” I asked.
“Both that and fightin',” Flint replied. “He was fantastic, too. I ain't never gonna forgive the army here for what they done to him. Finally, Bjorn gets word that the mercenary who killed his ma was dead, and the soldier who killed him got a hefty reward. I think that was the final straw since he wasn't able to get his revenge. Bjorn told me he was gonna leave for Sera. He had a coupla memories of his father tellin' him about what a marvel the city was, and he thought he could offer his services there. I warned him about Sirius. Told him that if he thought our army here was bad, he was gonna hate workin' for Sera. He didn't know any better, though, so he went.”
“And the rest is history,” I said.
“As they say,” Flint agreed. He motioned to the young caretaker in the room with us, who had been silent as she listened to our conversation. “Codee, can ya get me my chest?”
Though it was a vague request, the woman understood it. Codee stood up from the side of the forge and walked over to a set of drawers beneath the open window. She soon brought a small chest out of the bottom drawer. When she took it to Flint, the old man pointed to me and she handed it over.
The chest was tiny and made of wood. It was also old, and the staining on the wood had long since faded. I held it in my lap, but I didn't yet open it.
“Everything I have of Bjorn's is in there, my girl,” Flint said. “Go through it.”
My chest felt clogged with emotion as I did. A tiny hatchet was on top, and Flint chuckled as he told me it was the first weapon Bjorn ever made. A worn cloth cap was next, and when I lifted it to my face, I was overwhelmed with tears. It smelled like sunshine and the salt of sweat.
“This smells like him,” I said thickly, holding it against my skin.
“Aye.” Flint smiled as he watched me hold on to it. “Bjorn had a big ol' head. Outgrew that thing before he was even a man. He always thought I was bein' ridiculous for hangin' onto it.”
I put the hatchet and cap in my lap before I pulled out a stack of letters. I was too overcome with emotion to read them aloud, so Cerin read them to the others over my shoulder.
13th of New Moon, 404
Pa,
Gods forgive me for saying this, but I want to murder a man.
Last time I wrote, I told you I was getting ready to leave for Narangar. Eteri sent a good portion of their navy and started sinking our ships. Had no blasted clue what the hell they were doing that for, and you know how ornery dwarves can be. They didn't ask any questions. They went into open battle with the high elves just to see who could win. I swear to the gods, all they do is bicker. Anyway, I get there. The dwarves tell me they've been having problems with krakens south of the harbor. So I ask them if they've...you know...ASKED the Vhiri if this is the issue. “They sank our ships, we ain't asking them nothing!” they say. Good gods.
I joined the fight. Boarded one of their ships and pulled it sideways in front of our harbor. We had a bunch of Vhiri soldiers held hostage on deck so the mages didn't burn the ship to a crisp. A few of the Sentinels were there, but I only got to speak to Altan Marcet and Uriel Anemone. Uriel asked me to let their men go. I told him I wasn't letting anyone go until we talked about it. Altan said that Chairel's declared war. I said, “This is news to me.” He pointed south and said many of their ships have been sunk just south of our harbor. I told him, “So have many of ours.” I told them about the krakens. Altan agreed that it made sense. We agreed to disperse. We exchanged hostages and ships, and oddly enough, Altan offered me gold for a keg of dwarven ale. I gave him the keg and didn't ask any questions.
Took me half a year to get home, but I got back to Sera early this afternoon. Sirius seemed surprised I was back so soon. Asked me why the hell I didn't retaliate. I told him I took care of it and saved us from going to war. Well, that man's face was as red as a handful of gotton berries, and he screams at me about all sorts of things. He was angry I was close enough to exchange goods with two Sentinels and didn't kill them. Said I should've ordered the dwarves to leave Makani's harbor in shambles. I asked him what good that would do. That poor city's always the target of our attacks. The Vhiri expect it at this point. Yes, we lost a coupl
e of ships, but we'd lose a couple MORE if I continued this petty spat. Here I thought I did a hell of a job, and he bitches about how weak it makes us look.
Anyway...Sirius dismissed me as he does. I was cursing up a storm as I walked away from his office, almost hoping he would hear it. I didn't make it very far before little Miss Kai came bounding out of her bedroom. Said she knew it was me because my accent makes curses sound funny. I would have found that adorable if I wasn't worried about being a bad influence on her. Kai asked me why Sirius is mad with me, and I asked her how she knows he's mad at all. She told me he's always mad, and she also reminded me of my cursing.
Well, I picked that little girl up so fast to hug her. I missed her eighth birthday while I was gone, so I was about to promise her sweets next time I could make it out to market, and that's when she started crying. I had no idea what was wrong until she tugged her arm away from my grasp. Little girl barely weighs fifty pounds, and she's got this big old bruise on her wrist. As calmly as I could, I asked her what happened. Kai told me she was “pestering” Sirius about when I would return. Apparently, some diplomats from Nahara were here and Sirius wasn't having her questions. He grabbed her by the wrist hard enough to bruise it and yanked her out of the room. Told her she couldn't be there for political discussions and that he didn't want to hear the same question again.
Sirius isn't a child-beater, pa. But he is as cold and rough with Kai as he is with anyone else. That didn't matter to my brain though. I about walked right back to that office and let him have it. Must've been shaking so bad that Kai felt it because she told me not to be sad and that she loves me. Did everything I could not to cry, and then I took her out to get sweets.
You were right about working in Sera. But I can't leave. I can't take this little girl away from here without having all of Chairel breathing down my neck for stealing a royal child. All I can do is stay here and hope I make a difference in her life. Every second she's with me is another second she's not with him. As I write this, she's making a mess out of my bookshelves. She's got two books out right now. Has one open to a set of maps and the other opened to text. Think she might be comparing the two.