Forged

by Liam Reese

  “That sounds like a terrible idea,” said Thorn. “He would lose much by it, I think. There’s a dignity to Riskel that —”

  “Oh, dignity is all well and good,” said the street-corner bard, smile lessening not a whit. He had a thatch of straw-colored hair and a wide, easy mouth, and was nearly as tall and lanky as Thorn himself. Thorn felt as though he were being smiled at by a scarecrow, or a friendly haystack.

  “But if any writer is to truly appeal to the masses, he must be set to music. Take Ardven, for example. Or Belino.”

  “I don’t know who they are.”

  “Exactly my point, my dear fellow, exactly my point!”

  “I have no intention of arguing this with you,” said Thorn, who wasn’t entirely sure how he’d become involved in this discussion to begin with. “I’m looking for a specific service, and I have no time for idle chatter.”

  “Perhaps if I sang my arguments to you,” started the bard, and as Thorn turned away, he reached out and grabbed hold of his sleeve again. Thorn detached himself quickly, but the bard had stopped him just long enough. “What is it that you are looking for? Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

  “I don’t think so. I am looking for a legendarian.”

  “Ah, well then!” The bard beamed at him. “Look no further! I am also a legendarian, as

  well as a bard. Indeed, any bard worth his salt must needs be a legendarian.”

  “Well, I have no salt to offer,” said Thorn, “but my companions and I have been searching for a man who can steer us right in our aim.”

  “Of course, of course! I would like nothing better. That is, if my terms are agreeable to you.”

  Thorn reached in his pocket. He had rarely carried so much coin, though Karyl, who had

  given it to him, did not seem to think that it was a large amount. “I can give you ten Reme. I need only some questions answered about the Anvils of the Soul.”

  “Aha. A tricky one. I will have to do a little reading before I can tell you anything specific, of course —” He turned away from Thorn and bent to unlace his bag, squatting beside it. Thorn looked from side to side at the crowds of people. For a moment, focused on the words of Riskel, he had almost forgotten that he was surrounded. Now, though, he found it impossible to forget. The noise, the smell, the movement — He had accomplished the first part of his mission; it was time to move on.

  “I am called Ruben, by the way,” said the young man, beaming up at him from the cobbles. “Or rather, Ben, by my friends, which is what I call anyone who deigns to call me anything at all.”

  “I’m Thorn. Will you come along with me, then? I believe my companions are in something of a hurry.”

  “Certainly, certainly,” said Ruben the legendarian. Snatching his bag from the corner, Ruben fell readily into step behind Thorn as he moved off into the crowd once more. Thorn moved more swiftly this time, an almost exhilarating feeling of being pleased with himself putting wings to his feet. He had gone out amongst the people, he had managed to find the very thing that they were looking for, and he was even now in the market square, surrounded by total strangers. This last bit was not entirely pleasant, but it was what normal people did, and even that small taste caused him to fight back a smile even as the people pressed against him.

  He didn’t know if it was a cobblestone, or someone’s foot that tripped him, but the end result was the same. Distracted by the unusual feeling of pleasure, caught up in the moment and looking up at the world, he was unable to catch himself and went all the way down, bumping in to several other passers-by as he went. It was a case of drawing the maximum attention to himself; there was no minimizing it. He went down, sprawled out, everything disarranged: his cloak twisted, his shirt untucked, and his hair swept back.

  It was a young girl, possibly ten years of age; too young still to keep herself from blurting it out.

  “Look at his ears! What’s wrong with his ears?”

  Her mother shushed her immediately, but then got a good look for herself. The look of consternation was followed immediately by disgust.

  “A plague born,” she spat, taking her daughter by the arm and hauling her away. “Don’t get near him.”

  Perhaps that would have been the end of it, unfortunate as it was, had it not been for the fact that others heard her, more than they had heard her daughter to begin with. Those who heard, looked. One of those who looked, a miller who was covered in flour dust, sucked in a deep breath in surprise.

  “Not a plague born,” he said, “a cursed one.”

  “Doesn’t he look familiar?” said the woman next to him. “I seem to remember that face.”

  “Forged,” said the miller, in almost reverent fear.

  The words echoed far enough that the crowd shrank back. Ruben poised over Thorn for a moment, clearly hesitating, then reached down to help him up. Thorn grasped his hand readily enough, gritting his teeth, and released it as soon as he stood upright again. He shook his hair back down over his ears, letting it sweep to his jawline to hide his deformity.

  “Why should you help me?” he said. “Stay here, if you want. I can find another legendarian.”

  “Not here, you won’t,” said Ruben. “Anyway, any man who knows Riskel when he hears him is all right in my book, no matter what the laws say.” He cast a glance side to side at the people, who were murmuring amongst themselves. “My training tells me we are approximately three minutes away from having bricks flung at us. Perhaps you’re in even more of a hurry than your companions?”

  Thorn did not wait to answer, but instead plunged through the crowd. Enough of them had caught the words plague born and Forged that they parted before him, unwilling to be so much as brushed by him in passing. There were many prayers muttered below breaths, many people spitting in his wake, and one old woman made the sign of the devil to him, eyes narrowed with hatred. Thorn kept his head down, not even looking to see if Ruben followed him.

  He broke into a run only once clear of the people and didn’t stop until he found the alleyway where he had left Jelen and the others. She waited for him, practically on her tip-toes, watching for him to come around the corner, wanting there to be a stranger beside him. And there was a stranger, loping along behind him, because Thorn was moving far too quickly for things to have gone as well as they should have, and at least the presence of the other man would set her mind at ease on that point.

  “Legendarian,” said Thorn, swinging one hand back to the young man, unable to put his finger on his name at the moment. He was feeling a little haggard in the wake of the happening in the market square; his hand actually shook. “Legendarian, Jelen. Jelen, legendarian.”

  It only made sense to call her by her assumed name, of course — she was only the princess to those who she knew were on her side. It was a clever decision, he told himself, not at all a slip of the tongue and an accident. She glanced at him swiftly, and he read gratitude in her gaze.

  “Ruben,” said the legendarian, beaming at them. He didn’t seem to have any other facial expression. “I hear you’ve been in urgent need of a legendarian.”

  “Yes, quite,” said Irae, and she was entirely focused on the legendarian, not seeming to realize that Thorn was harried and out of breath. She clasped her hands. “We are in need of your help and experience. I have a number of questions to put to you —”

  “As we go, perhaps,” suggested Thorn. “We have to go.”

  She turned to look at him at last, eyebrows raised questioningly. “What happened?””

  “There was an incident.”

  Karyl coughed and covered his mouth with his hand.

  Lully snorted. “Not just me, then,” she said.

  “Are you all right? Did they recognize you? Are they following you?”

  “Maybe, maybe, and no, I don’t think so. We should still leave, however, just in case they decide to.”

  She heaved a sigh, though whether of relief or long-suffering, he could not be sure. “Tell me.”

>   “You know how you told me to go amongst people as though I were a normal, everyday person?” She nodded. “Well, it was a terrible idea.”

  “Why? What did you do?”

  Thorn spluttered.

  “Er, he didn’t do anything, really,” Ruben said, coming to his defense. He patted Thorn on the shoulder, not noticing, or ignoring, Thorn’s flinched. “It was only that there was an unfortunate mishap, and a little girl got a good look at his — well, what would you call it? I suppose for the lack of a better word, I would call them his ears.”

  Irae turned another questioning glance on Thorn, who heaved his own exasperated sigh and pushed his hair back, trapping and holding it with one hand at the back of his head.

  “Oh,” said Lully, quietly.

  “What on earth?” said Karyl.

  “It does look rather — peculiar,” said Ruben, turning his head this way and that as he examined Thorn more closely. “Your ears — well, you don’t exactly have any, do you?”

  The effect was disturbing, as Thorn knew perfectly well, and he ducked away from Ruben in annoyance, shaking his hair back down to cover.

  Irae said nothing but looked at Thorn with something like sympathy.

  He shook his head at her. “You can’t control the people.”

  “Things can change,” she insisted, gently.

  “Regardless of what it looks like, regardless of why it is,” Thorn told her, “it stirred up some things among the good townspeople of Deen that would be far better abed. It would be for the good of all of us if we could leave. Sooner rather than later.”

  Irae hesitated for another moment, and then nodded.

  “Very well,” she said. “I had not intended to have the legendarian come along with us, but I suppose there is nothing else to be done.” She turned away from them and nodded at the bags waiting just by the door of the kitchen. One of the bags turned out to be Graic, sunk into herself and listlessly biding her time on the cold cobblestone street.

  “Gather up our supplies. We will go into the forest and regroup. I suppose you know your way about the forest here?” The question was directed at Thorn, and very pointed, but he didn’t even mind. He only nodded, rather than pursue it. “Very good. Let’s go.”

  Lully took up a bag and the bow and quiver that Jelen had previously carried. The kitchen maid looked much more comfortable with it.

  “I don’t suppose you mind coming with us,” Lully said to Ruben as she moved past him towards the mouth of the alleyway.

  “Well, I can’t say that I understand anything that’s going on,” said Ruben, “but as that is nothing new, I can’t exactly complain, either. Where are we going?”

  Thorn shouldered his pack.

  “Into the woods,” he said.

  He led them through the back alleyways all through the rest of the town, and they found themselves at last safely in the forest surrounding Deen. Thorn took a deep breath of the dank air, never stirred by a wind. Deen Forest was ancient, full of foxes, snakes, and spiders, and the trees reached overhead to lace their branches like old men lacing their fingers together. Scarcely any light filtered through the closely interlocked limbs, and although they were only a ten-minute walk into the interior, it felt as though they would never see true daylight again.

  “This is rather terrifying,” said the bard, his cheerful voice edged in green-colored fear.

  “We can talk here,” said Thorn. “We should be safe.”

  “I think there are things with teeth in here,” said Ruben, apparently not impressed by this reassurance. “I’ve heard stories.”

  “You’re a legendarian,” Lully pointed out. “If you haven’t heard stories of the forest surrounding your own village, then what good are you?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “At any rate, we ordered you up for a reason. We need to find an Anvil of the Soul.”

  The bard frowned slightly, though somehow his smile remained; his face looked very confused about its place in life.

  “A grand adventure indeed,” he said. “But you know, of course, that the closest Anvil has been stolen. It was held in Castle Balfour, but it is held no more. Highwaymen, they say. Though as there is no highway leading directly through the castle, I reserve judgement.”

  “Yes, we heard,” said Irae quickly. “That’s why we need you. There are other Anvils in the world, and we need to find one.”

  The bard eyed her. “Yes, that is true, as far as that goes,” he said slowly. “But the trails to them are long and twisted. Before we go any further, introductions might be in order. If I’m to give you any help at all, I would like to know to whom I’m speaking. That’s just polite.” He placed a hand on his chest and bowed. “I’m Ruben, as you may freely know. The more people come to know me, the more likely they are to call me Ben. I understand this strange fellow who came to hire me is called Thorn, and this pretty young lady is Jill, or Jell, or something along those lines. The rest of you are faceless conundrums, so to speak.”

  Irae was the first to take a stand. “Jelen Woodborn,” she said, lifting her hand to shake his. “I’m leading this ragtag band. Perhaps not very well, given that we have had to turn to a legendarian for further directions.”

  “Pleased, I’m sure,” said Ruben. He turned to the others, who introduced themselves with only their names and did not embellish on their purpose. To each of them he directed a smile, and lastly at Graic. “And here, if I’m not mistaken, is a wise one.”

  Graic appeared to narrow her eyes at him, though it was difficult to make out for sure underneath the overhanging bags and the mess of white hair.

  “More than one way to flake a fish,” she said.

  The bard smiled, if anything, even harder.

  “She isn’t being rude,” said Irae. “She’s simply outlived her wits, I think.”

  “No matter at all,” said Ruben. “Time comes for the best of us. Now. My next question regards the purpose of the Anvil. You realize, of course — you must, if you’ve gone on a quest and gotten this far — that the Anvil does no good unless you have a vital component to go along with it.” He leaned forward, to the group as a whole, and lowered his voice. “A being of strange powers and persuasions, with not a little magic sparking in its blood — a Forged.”

  The companions were quiet for a moment.

  Then Lully said, “We’re aware, yes.”

  “We have one,” said Karyl.

  Ruben looked a bit disappointed that his revelation had not elicited a different reaction. “That was a recitation from Bermic’s Book of the Cursed,” he said. “Anyway, of course, of course you do.” He looked at Thorn and fluttered a hand at the side of his head, somewhere about his ear. “You. With the, with the — That explains quite a bit, actually. And what do you need an Anvil for, pray tell?”

  “We need an Anvil,” said Thorn, “so we can pay you ten Remes for your services.”

  Ruben nodded eagerly, staring in some fascination at him. “Quite so, quite so,” he said. “No better cause than that. Shall we say half up front?”

  Thorn glanced at Irae, who nodded. He fished in his pocket, withdrew half the

  Coins, and handed them over.

  “Oh, delightful,” murmured Ruben, jingling them together briefly in his hand before stowing them in his own pocket. “Yes, certainly.”

  “I suppose that is enough to tell you what you need to be getting on with?” prompted Irae.

  “Oh, yes, definitely,” said the bard, but he didn’t take his eyes off Thorn. Thorn hunched his shoulders even further.

  “Well, then,” said Irae, taking Ruben by the shoulder and turning him bodily away from Thorn. “Get to legending. I suppose you know your facts?”

  “Certainly! I have been thoroughly trained in all legends and myths, and in the history of potential mythical objects in our legendary kingdom.”

  “Very good,” said Irae. “Where is the nearest Anvil of the Soul?”

  The man faltered a little under her direct stare and turn
ed away to fumble at the straps of his pack. He managed to get it open, but his fingers didn’t seem to be cooperating with him as he would have wished.

  “Well,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Well. It isn’t as though you can just flip through some sort of legendary compendium, you know? That is, there isn’t a mythical objects directory that only legendarians have access to.”

  “What are you saying?” Lully broke in. “You can’t help us?”

  “Of course I can help you!” Ruben bristled. “It just isn’t something as simple as snapping your fingers and calling the details to mind, you know. I have books. I have to research. My memory isn’t what it was.”

  Irae closed her eyes. “Can you just,” she said, and paused for a moment. “Is it possible that you can give us a general direction in which to travel, whilst you do your research?”

  Ruben had pulled a handful of small leather-bound compendiums and an armful of scrolls from his pack. It looked like far too much to have actually been contained inside the pack to begin with.

  “To the mountains in the north,” he said. “I’ll have to find the details, but I’m almost certain that’s the best direction in which to go. There may be an issue with finding it, or at least attaining it, when you get there at last, but it is most likely to be your best chance of reaching your goal in the end.”

  “I don’t trust him,” said Karyl. “We’ve gone from positive, to almost certain, to likely, to a chance, all in the space of a few sentences.”

  “Well,” said Irae, and she clapped Karyl on the shoulder. “I suppose we should look at it this way: what other choice have we got?”

  It was a good way to look at it, if a little frightening.

  Thorn put a hand on the nearest tree trunk, feeling the bark. He could feel the echo of the life of the tree, thrumming through him to find his pulse point, giving strength to his shoulders and courage to his heart. His mouth curved in a strange little half smile.