The hammer fell to the anvil with a final clang. Levan tossed it onto the bench beside him. He took the hot metal over to a tub of oil, and dunked the unfinished blade into it. The flame it produced shot up, evaporating the sweat the lay on his brow. He let the blade rest in the oil tub for a few moments before pulling it out and inspecting it. The black oil dripped down the steel, working its way into the natural grooves and indents of the metal. But the blade was still imperfect and flawed, the edge of the blade was slightly off, and there was noticeable indents in the steel.
Levan placed the blade the workbench and swore, his father laughed quietly behind him, and clapped him on the back. He brushed of the ash and dirt from his hands onto his leather apron, watching as the black that covered his hands transferred onto the brown leather.
“I told you, son. A blade is a much more complex job then some nails and tools.” his father said.
“You’d think by now I’d have done something better than this.” Levan complained gesturing toward the flawed blade.
“Son, you keep rushing it.” Yefim said, “And when you rush a forge like this, you will be left with a flawed blade that can’t keep an edge, nor stand up to likes of true combat.”
“I’m being as patient as I can.”
“Evidently, you’re not patient enough.”
Levan rolled his eyes, while his father continued to chuckle. He brought his eyes back to the blade, its oily finish was even flawed, the excess pooled on the work bench when it should have stuck to the blade itself, or evaporated from the heat and air. Levan’s eyes fixated on the flawed blade. Why can’t I get it right? He thought, Vilip could forge a perfect sword by sixteen. And here I am struggling with the most basic blades at nineteen.
Vilip was always the better smith, everyone knew that, and everyone wouldn’t let him forget that. Vilip was always the better brother, he was the better swordsmen, the better rider, the better merchant, the better lover, the better son. Levan was the reject, he was the leftovers, the one who was finally remembered only after Vilip’s death. And yet, Vilip was the only one he truly related to, he understood him and would listen to him about his complaints and issues. But now he was gone, there was few people that Levan could turn to.
A bag interrupted his thoughts, it jingled as it hit the workbench, “I need you to take these nails and horseshoes to Aleksei by the end of the day.” his father said, “Maybe it’ll take your mind off the blade.”
Levan picked up the bag and weighed it in his hand, eight horseshoes and three bundles of nails, “Anything else you or mother need me to do while I’m in town?”
“No, but make sure Aleksei pays the full amount, as well as the ten grivna he still owes from the last order.” Yefim instructed.
Levan nodded and removed his apron and replaced it with his belt, tying the pouch to it. His hand fell atop the pommel of Vilip’s sword, he caressed the pommel with his thumb and index finger, inspecting the the etched bear with detail. The memories of Vilip flooded back to him; the late nights working in the forge, the laughter they shared as children, the day he received the news of his death. This sword was all that he had left of him.
“One of these days, you’re going to have to move on, Levan.” Yefim said quietly.
Levan nodded, “I know, but with this it still feels like he’s here.”
Yefim nodded, and wrapped his arms around Levan, holding him tightly for a few moments, before releasing him. Levan took a deep breath and left the forge, the cold air slapping his face. He went down the hill into Zoidiv, the weight of Vilip’s sword weighing him down.
Zoidiv was always a welcoming site, the small town had three roads in total, with the buildings that lay upon them set close enough to each other to allow one person to squeeze between them. Levan always welcomed the chance to go into town, it was a refreshing world, one so very different from that of the forge. There was music, laughter, children playing, spouses bickering. The forge only had heat, metal, and work to be done, work that he would eventually have to return to.
He continued his way down the main road, toward the stables, greeting the people he saw along the road. The day was warm, much warmer than it normally would be at mid spring, and the people had already began to wear lighter clothes and shorter sleeves. Though he wouldn’t know if it was warmer or not since this time of year everywhere felt cooler than the forge.
Aleksei’s stable was a much larger than it had reason to be for such a small town like Zoidiv, but alas the town sat on an important road, and nobles and soldiers were always in need of new horses. Aleksei easily was the wealthiest man in the city, though by how often he underpaid, or conveniently forgot to pay Levan and his father for horseshoes, the common man would think he is too poor to even own such an elaborate stable.
Levan worked his way through the property over to the stable, where he found Aleksei, brushing one of his many horses. Levan cleared his throat as he approached to get the old man’s attention. Aleksei turned and rose from the stool he was sitting on, wiping the sweat off of his brow with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Levan, my boy, what can I do for you?” he asked.
Untying the bag of nails and horseshoes from his belt, “Father told me to come deliver your order, eight horseshoes and three bundles of nails.”
“Ah, I see. Let me go grab the coin.” Aleksei said.
“Father also told me to ask for the ten grivna you owe from the last order.” Levan added.
He watched as the man waddled into his house, the house itself was dilapidated in comparison to his elaborate stable and barn. The two story home was built with wood that was cracked and burnt, small holes from termites ran the length of the boards. The second story window glass was cracked, while the ground was littered with shingles that had fallen from the roof.
He saw the silhouette of a person in the second story window, the curtain drew back ever so slightly. Revealing a woman with brown hair and milky white skin, he could barely make out a smile on her obstructed face. Her image put a smile on his face as well, his thought fixated on her.
Aleksei interrupted his thoughts as he came out of the house counting grivna in his hands. “Right, here is ten for last week, and here is fifteen for today.” he said.
“This order is worth twenty, not fifteen, Aleksei.” Levan corrected.
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“Fifteen, twenty. What’s the difference of five grivna anyways?”
“A lot, just grab the extra five grivna, don’t make it difficult.” Levan said.
Aleksei muttered and swore under his breath as he held the coins, “Take the twenty five now, and I’ll give you the extra five next week when you deliver my hammer.”
Levan rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, “God and His Angels, really? That’s what you said last week.”
“You going to take my damn money or not, boy?”
Levan sighed, and took the grivna from the old man, handing him the bag of nails and horseshoes. Aleksei gave him a dismissive thanks and went back over to his horse, just dropping the bag into the dirt. Levan shook his head and looked back at the man’s house. The woman from the window now stood in the doorway, her red and white dress flowing in the light breeze of the day, her brown hair was braided and fell over her shoulder down her chest. She beckoned him over with a finger and a smile.
Levan walked over, a smile on his face, as he got closer the smell of vanilla washed over him, “New perfume?”
She smiled and playfully pushed him, “No, I’ve been baking, Levan.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” he said.
“Well, I think that you want to be fooled.” Liya said.
“Perhaps I do.”
Liya took his hand and led him into the house, the smell of freshly backed breads and sweets filled his nostrils. The room was cluttered with stable and baking tools, the finished breads and sweets let off steam as the rested on the table. Liya continued to lead him into the kitchen, over to a small round sweet that was covered in a white glaze. She cut off a small piece and placed it on his lips. Levan took a bite of the sweet and the flavor of vanilla, cinnamon, and sugars filled his mouth, a combination of flavors that he wasn’t used to, and yet they worked so perfectly together.
“What is this?” Levan asked, still chewing the soft bread.
“It’s called a Cinnamon Cake. Learned about it from trader coming West from Warsosk.” Liya explained, “Apparently it’s a common treat in Terresombre.”
“So those flamboyant men do have some good things over there.” Levan said.
“Levan!”
“What, it’s true.” he said with a smile.
“Well the truth is sometimes rude.” she replied, taking a finger and wiping some of the glaze off of his lips, “You should come by more often.”
Levan put his arms around her waist, “I don’t think your father would appreciate that. And my father would go mad if he worked alone.”
“My father’s feelings don’t matter.” she said, “But are you sure your father isn’t already mad?”
Levan chuckled, “The thought has crossed my mind.”
He leaned in and gave Liya a kiss. She placed her hands on his chest and lightly pushed him away, “I’ve some more baking to do, and I can’t let you keep distracting me.” she said.
“Oh come on, you just said I should come around more often.” Levan complained.
She turned and placed a hand on his chest, “I know, but these cakes aren’t going to bake themselves. I’ll come find you later, God and His Angels know where you’ll be anyways.”
“Do they though?”
“Oh please, you’ll be drinking with Mikal and Stepan, talking about how the smoke in the mountains are from Aubuk raiders or some Kyyrok war band. Like you always are.” she countered.
Levan smiled, “You know me well.”
“Of course I do.” she said giving him a kiss and returning back to the oven.
Levan watched her work for a short time before leaving, as he was walking toward the door he stopped. He peered around the corner, Liya was still over at the oven working, he quickly slipped his hand into Aleksei’s jacket pocket and found a small pouch of grivna. He snatched the bag and stuffed it into his pocket, Thanks for the tip, Aleksei. He thought, as he left the stable.
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The ale was sweet and sour, its contents thick and wheaty from the rye that Kirill used to brew it. Levan wiped the excess from his lip, and placed the empty mug down onto the wooden table. The days were getting longer as they neared late-spring, but at the same time the sunsets became more vibrant and colorful. It was the best time of the year in his mind, the weather, the colors, the natural beauty of late-spring will always outmatch any other season.
Across from him Stepan was still facing the sky as he drank his ale, Mikal sat next to him engrossed in a conversation with the tanner’s daughter, Veranika. She always entertained his conversations, but she never let him get any further than that. It was a true wonder if she actually liked Mikal, or if she was just playing him along to see how long it would take him to realize she was messing with him.
Stepan let out a loud belch as he slammed the empty mug onto the table. Levan couldn’t help but laugh at him. Even Mikal turned over to face him, a disgusted look strewn on his face
“God and His Angels man, I’m trying to have a conversation.” he complained.
Stepan gave an exaggerated bow with his arms outstretched, “My apologies, I forgot you are the most important man in all of Saprosk.”
“Fuck off.” Mikal said, returning to his conversation, as Veranika ruffled his short blonde hair.
Levan couldn’t contain his laughter at the exchange, shaking his head and sending a mischievous grin over to Stepan. He gave a grin back, and motioned for the barmaid to bring more ale over. Levan shook his head and took out three grivna from the pouch he took from Aleksei’s jacket and tossed it onto the table.
“This round’s on Aleksei.” he said quietly with a grin.
He and Stepan shared a chuckle as the barmaid deposited three more mugs of ale onto the table, collecting the empty mugs and grivna. Levan watched as Stepan’s eyes followed the barmaid back to the interior of the tavern.
“You should have asked her by now.” Levan said taking his mug of ale.
Stepan stroked his red beard and took a drink, “No, that’s foolish.”
“Oh please, it’s not like she doesn’t notice your stares.” Liya said, sitting down.
Levan wrapped his arm around her and drew her in, “She’s got a point Stepan, you aren’t the most subtle man.”
“Well the jokes on you,” Stepan said, “I don’t even know what subtle means.”
Levan chuckled and took another drink of ale. The rest of the night had continued the way all of his nights did. Drinking until the moon sat just above the horizon and Kirill closed up the tavern for the night. Conversations about the mundane, and news coming in from Hulansk to Saprosk and every major city in between.
Though recent news landed on Zoidiv, especially after more of Grigory’s cattle had gone missing. Even some of the hunters say they keep finding dead stags, and wolves in the forest, but they haven’t been skinned, just mauled. Nothing like any of the wolves to just kill deer or other wolves and not pick their bones clean.
Old man Yaramir spouted that Tadhiel is punishing us for the doings of the new generation and our, openness to void the marital pact that should be required for sex. But Yaramir by all accounts is senile, and even he was known to frequent pleasure houses in his youthful travels. At least that’s what is said, whether or not Yaramir was truly a sex fueled vagrant isn’t known for certain.
Even so, the mauled animals and missing cattle from Grigory’s ranch did pose concerns. If the main sources of meat were to be exhausted come mid-summer, how would the town have enough supplies for the winter. The thought was on everyone’s mind, but nobody uttered for fear of making it truth.
Though, it had to be bandits of some sort, there was smoke that could be seen in the mountains every now and then. Who else would be lighting fires that far up the Gilnian Mountains, if not those seeking to remain outside the law.
Levan leaned back on the bench he was sitting at, looking up at the sky, Liya’s head was atop his chest. He combed his fingers through her hair, as Stepan argued with Mikal about whether or not Veranika was toying with him. It was the simplicity of this life that made Levan wonder if it was why Vilip didn’t fight his conscription into the army.
The soldiers surely wouldn’t have forced him to go since so many of the other men in town had already agreed to go. They had even said that his skills as a smith would be better suited here in Zoidiv, but he had insisted on going. Did he leave for adventure and duty, or did he just want to get away from Zoidiv, the monotony and normalcy of the forge and easy life in town?
Perhaps one day he’d learn the answer, or perhaps maybe one day he’ll get to answer that same question. If the Aubuk’s still insist on raiding Saprosk lands, the Grand Prince will have no choice but to face the desert men in battle once again. Maybe once the conscription agents come to Zoidiv, he’ll take up sword and shield and march with them. But would that fill the void in his soul?
Levan could never find the purpose that his parents said he should find in life. He thought it would be smithing, but even that didn’t fill his soul. Perhaps it was his impatience to learn the intricacies of forging arms and armor, or perhaps it was just not as entertaining as it once was. What he did know, was that Liya filled that void, if ever so slightly, she gave him purpose.