Thibalt sent the hammer down once more, slamming the glowing iron into the anvil. Each heavy strike was followed by several smaller taps that moulded the overheated metal into the right form. He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead and glanced over at Palen who was pumping the bellows in the forge next to him. Despite the strength that his body had gained over the past few years, a full day in the smiths always sapped the energy from him. The heat in the forge was stifling today, he would need to step outside for a break soon.
His chance came when he saw Christill enter the room. His brother had not changed much in the seven years since their training had begun. Even now he simply looked a taller, leaner boy. He did however note that Christill's blonde hair had turned straw white from their prolonged time out in the Miirvkin Desert. His own shaggy hair had retained its darkness and was, most days, covered in a fine layer of grease and ash.
"I brought you a gift," Christill called out, throwing an apron onto the bench beside Thibalt.
Thibalt picked it up and pressed it to his chest. "I am truly blessed to have a brother so talented in tailoring."
Palen smirked at the comment
"Don't try to make jokes, Thibalt," Christill replied. "They are always so terrible."
"Are you done for the day then?"
"I am," said Christill, leaning against the side of one of the unused forges. "I was told we are in for a treat tonight."
"Do tell," motioned Thibalt.
"Then I assume Beanon has not told you?"
Both Thibalt and Palen put their tools down and turned to face Christill. "You know what he is like," Thibalt said. "Beanon stopped paying attention to us long ago. He spends all his time with the young ones."
"It looks like he is correct in his choice then," Christill commented, motioning to a pile of chain links that Thibalt had made. "You no longer seem to need his help."
Thibalt, pleased with the compliment replied, "You have not seen what I have been working on after our lessons." With a grin he moved over to a cabinet and pulled out a large axe head. The piece was nearing completion, but still required some final touches.
Christill took the blade and admired it. "Very nice work. I am impressed."
Thibalt's grin grew wider. "Much more impressive than that twig of yours."
Christill threw the blade back at his brother with a lowered brow. "The last time I checked, I was the one who caught the last two flint hares. I think you will find my bow to be more effective than your axe will ever be."
"Something I intend to put to the test soon," Thibalt returned confidently. "Now, are you going to tell us what we are in for?"
"Oh, it is nothing really," replied Christill, pretending to scratch his nails to make them wait.
"Hurry up or I'll throw you into the coals," said Palen with a stern look.
Christill returned Palen's look with a displeased stare. He had no qualms about the reserved youth, but they had never shared any bond beyond their connection to Thibalt. Yet he had to admit that out of all of the Miirvkin, Palen was the most amiable.
"Just get on with it," cried Thibalt.
"We are all invited to the Arcein Arena tonight."
"You are lying," spat Thibalt.
"I assure you I am not," replied Christill.
Palen, usually a pillar of calm, ripped his stained apron from his chest and threw it on the floor. "I need to prepare myself," he called out.
"For what?" Thibalt yelled, but Palen had already run out of the room.
"He seems excited," said Christill.
"Palen has been talking about the games since we first met him. His eagerness is no surprise," replied Thibalt. "So what has spurred this sudden reward. We still have a few months until our training is over."
"I have no idea," said Christill, leaving his seat. "But now that you know, I can go meet Siri."
"Again?" Thibalt asked. "If you keep spending all that time with a female you might turn into one."
"Your jokes are not getting any better," called Christill as he left the room.
He left the building and made his way east. The taunts from Thibalt did not bother him, but he knew that the other Miirvkin held him in low regard because of his closeness to Siri. As youths, the friendship had not been frowned upon, yet as they grew it became alarmingly clear to Christill that it was not proper Miirvkin behaviour. But then, he was not truly a Miirvkin anyway. Everyone in Hamal was always quick to point that out, so Christill had taught himself to stop caring what they thought.
A small clearing soon opened up before him and he looked around for his sister. He spotted Siri waiting for him near the remnants of a dried up well, its abandoned tiller crumbling with age.
"What took you so long," she called out happily.
"I had to tell Thibalt some news."
"Oh," she replied, her smile suddenly going. "What news?" she quickly added.
"We have all been summoned to the Arcein Arena tonight," he replied. "Apparently they are presenting games. Though I do not know the occasion."
Siri nodded, a strange look on her face, and replied. "Never mind."
Christill, confused by her unusual reaction, made to question her but she quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him down the street. "I guess you will not have much time then. Let's see if we can catch them before you need to head back."
"Very well," said Christill, following her lead.
They half walked, half ran through the dwellings of the eastern part of the city, the land gradually climbing upwards, and soon came to a high point in Hamal. Here Siri led him to their usual meeting spot, a large boulder, carved flat on its peak to form a seat that overlooked the city. Their eyes however turned elsewhere, to the east, where a vast stretch of dry rolling grasslands lay.
"So are you excited?" Siri asked after a short silence.
"About?"
"The games," she replied, keeping her eyes out to the grasslands, and avoiding Christill's gaze.
Christill, still slightly confused, replied, "I would not say excited. Though I am curious to see the spectacle. From the way the older Miirvkin boys rant on about it, it must be impressive."
"I can only imagine."
Suddenly he understood. Siri would never be allowed to see the games. It must not be a topic that she wished to discuss. "Well, I will tell you all about it tomorrow," Christill promised.
Siri turned and placed her hand on his. "That would be nice," she said, her voice somewhat distant.
Christill knew his sister well enough to know that something else was bothering her. "What is it? You seem concerned."
Siri waited a moment and turned her gaze once again to the east. "You need to start spending more time with Thibalt and the other boys, Christill."
Christill let out a snort. "We know how that usually turns out."
"Then maybe you need to make more of an effort," she unexpectedly snapped. "Thibalt managed to befriend some of them."
Christill snatched his hand back in shock. "It was easy for Thibalt. He is bigger and stronger than I am. He was always able to keep up with the others. I was always left behind. A floater, to mock and look down upon."
"He received the very same scorn when you were young. He found the strength to work past it."
Siri's words angered Christill. "Where is this coming from?" he asked.
"You need to start thinking about what you are going to do Christill. In a few weeks you will finish your training. Thibalt has already found his place with Beanon in the smiths. But you move from one berth to the next, doing only what is asked of you, and avoiding as much contact as you can with our people."
"I don't think they were ever our people, Siri," he replied bitterly.
"Your brother seems to think differently," she said.
Christill stood up from the seat in frustration. "I think I have heard enough about how well Thibalt has done. Do you think that I am unaware of what he has? I watch every day as he talks and laughs with his friends, whilst I am
lucky to receive even a greeting. He has a body that, but for his height, resembles a Miirvkin, whereas I am gifted with a frame that so generously illustrates my heritage. He receives praise from Beanon, whilst I am forced to find employment amongst those who take pity on me. Oh, believe me, I am painfully aware."
Siri cast her eyes down. "I am sorry, Christill. I did not mean it in that way. It is just..." she paused. "I am worried."
"About what?" he implored.
"About what will happen to you."
"I am not going anywhere, Siri," Christill replied, his irate voice easing. "I have lived my whole life as an outcast. Nothing is going to change any time soon."
"I know," she said, urging him to sit down once more. "I am just feeling a little strange today. Do not worry yourself."
Christill sat back down and placed his arm around her. "I have managed thus far, haven't I?
Siri nodded with a smile.
"Look. We are in luck," Christill motioned out to the grasslands.
In the distance a small group of beasts were running over the grasslands, heading north to find shelter for the evening. The four legged creatures, Heilen deer by name, were lean and swift footed and common in Miirvk. However they were unluckily hunted by many predators, amongst them the Miirvkin.
"This is where I am happiest," Siri said, resting her head against Christill's shoulder. "When we come here and forget the rest of the world."
Christill understood more than she could ever know. He could no longer count the times that he had escaped here to be alone. Early on he had found comfort with Thibalt, but that had diminished as their training had progressed. After their first year, Thibalt had been quick to take up more time with Beanon, whilst Christill had endured more teachings from the Disciple. Despite the Disciple's abhorrent nature, Christill had preferred those teachings to the rough labour of the craftsmen.
"I guess you should be heading back," Siri said.
"I think we can spare a few more moments."
"It is a pity we cannot share longer," Siri added.
Christill was unsure what to make of the comment, but Siri had been acting strangely the whole evening. He decided to let it pass and enjoy the last moments before he would have to return to the city.
Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One) Page 10