We followed Alin and Charon back to the forge and its accompanying house, tucked between the rolling hills. Fortunately, loading the wagon was easy enough. They had kept most of the boxes stored in a shed, already packed and labeled. Alin said it was because he planned to take them to sell soon. The forge tools, he collected into a series of metal boxes with padlocks on the lids. It was interesting to watch him lock up the tools how he did. Each box possessed identical locks and used the same key. All except one. The smallest box was unassuming, but different from the others. Alin was careful not to reveal what the key looked like, not even to Charon as he came through the room for more boxes. This special box contained the precious alloy he laced into all his weapons. It was one of the very few things that could kill the Razen. He needed little of it to make a powerful weapon. But it was both expensive and scarce unless you knew where to find it. He chuckled and dropped the key into his pocket. Picking up the box, he gave a nod and secured it in the wagon’s front. All these things were precious to him and likely far too expensive to replace.

Neither Alin nor Charon gave the house or ramshackle forge a second look as we prepared to leave. I climbed into the back of the stained wood wagon while Milo sat in the front beside Alin. I pulled off my backpack, set it by my side, and hauled my knees to my chest. Riding to Sussen cut the travel time down significantly, but there was still a long way to go. I watched Charon fasten the locks on the rear of the wagon. He was stronger than he appeared at first glance. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the muscles of his back pulled taut as he yanked the locks in place and slammed the hammers down. Running his fingers over the latches, he nodded with satisfaction. He called to Alin that everything was secure and sat beside me. Shoulder to shoulder, he was at least an entire head taller than me. He wiped his hands down with a clean, damp rag despite no visible dirt. I glanced at him, not wanting to make any sort of direct eye contact but curious nevertheless as he tossed the rag away. Something about him made my skin crawl and itch as I watched him drag my bag aside and position it in front of our feet. His hand lingered on the handle, his head tilted a bit to the right, eyebrows knitting down as though confused and then lifting in surprise. Releasing his hold on my backpack, he settled back down and slid himself against the wood. He sat close enough I smelled a light aroma drifting from him, a bit like lilacs and soldered metal.

He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief as the horse pulled forward and the wagon’s wheels turned over with rusted squeals. The snap of the reins and the groaning of the old wood and worn metal framing was loud in the silence hovering between us. Charon’s almost calloused demeanor made it seem as if I was expecting something more from him. Despite this, I felt strangely comfortable sitting beside him. Even if we didn’t say a word to each other, I thought he wasn’t as intimidating as he came across. There was something about him…

Alin laughed, full and hearty, as he explained his strange residency in the woods. “Blacksmithing requires space, and plenty of it, especially when you’re working with the sort of material I am. It likes to chip if you’re not careful, and you’ll accidentally burn down half a town!” He hummed to himself at what I could only assume was an unfortunate memory of a past mistake. “It’s a good life, though, for a loner like myself. You don’t get bothered by too many people. See, it actually started as a hobby back in my younger days, back when it was a novelty. People came to fairs and thought it was something special to see me working my ass off, sweating in the heat for their entertainment. It was special, I just didn’t know it then. Of course, after the bombs... after everything went poof and the world started burning, it became more of a lifestyle than a side job. People needed specialized weapons to deal with the Razen as soon as they came knocking.

"Now, if you look out there, see that ridge on the other side of that rise? Right there, the one sticking out like it got blown all to hell with some dynamite for mining or something. It’s a shame we have to abandon the area, I’ll tell you what, that place is one hell of a fine cache of precious metals and minerals,” he explained as he knocked his boot against the box he’d tucked under the front seat. “They’re hard to find, and it was fortuitous that I found it in the first place because that’s just what I needed for the best damn weapons around. They don’t break, and they’ll cut through Razen like a hot knife in butter. And, the way I see it, the closer the Razen march, the more weapons I can sell. That’s the benefit of being one of the few blacksmiths in the area able to make these types of things—dark blades, that’s what everyone’s calling them these days. Sure, standard iron works well enough, it slowed them down out west for a while, but it didn’t stop them. See, I’ve found only this one special compound can truly kill them with any sort of ease. And I’d know! People keep coming back for more telling me all about it. Hundreds of them!”

“It wasn’t hundreds,” Charon corrected.

Alin paused, glancing back at him with a glower. “I could have been.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Anyway, where was I, Mason?” he asked, but didn’t wait for Milo to answer. “Oh! Right, killing Razen! Now, back when I started all this, I used to think it was the silver, which I’d added as a personal touch to make my wares shine at events back when, and to tell you the truth, I still think the silver does it for some of those beasts they have at their disposal. Real animals, if you ask me, but the funny part about it is how they wear those masks. All of them have them, gold or silver, to delineate between who is who and what is what. It’s one hell of a good tactic.” Alin turned to Milo with an excited, toothy grin. “What better way to shield yourself than with the very thing that can kill you? The Vipers; they're the deadliest and they've never worn anything but silver. Smart choice, since you’re asking.”

We kept quiet as he droned on, unaware we’d stopped listening right about the time he got to his opinions on the rumors that the Vipers were people who could turn into massive, deadly snakes. That was ridiculous and made up to scare people, even I knew that. I picked at my fingers, trying to imagine what it was like to fight the Razen for myself. Aside from a few metals, there weren’t many other things that could kill them. They were, as far as most people saw it, as close to immortal as a person could be without selling their soul to some god and binding themselves into an eternity of servitude. Alin couldn’t care less about what people thought the Razen were, or were not, and maybe there was no point to it. They were a lethal force and no one had yet stopped them, not even the Resistance who’d been fighting tirelessly to slow their advances and buy humanity even a little time. Alin seemed only to care about those willing to fight because he made a healthy living from it.

“Then, a few years ago, they started to slow down; you remember that?” he called back to Charon. “Back a few years when they changed course, things were different, weren’t they?”

“Oh, I assure you, I remember,” he said with a sigh, evidentially listening about as much as I had been for the better part of an hour.

“See, he remembers. The demand for these things went through the roof! I was drowning in orders; I couldn’t keep up with it all. And wouldn’t you know that luck was on my side that year? Right about the time I had worked myself to my bones, the weather took a turn for the worse and I had to call it an early night. You should have seen it. The wind was howling every which way, the trees snapping and cracking like they were going to come down. Some of them did, it made one hell of a mess, but I can’t complain about free firewood. Anyway, I was sitting there having a hot dinner on what was the worst part of the winter in the middle of a blustering snowstorm that didn’t know when to quit, when a certain somebody came knocking. It took me by surprise when I opened the door and saw him there. What sort of idiot, I thought at the time,” he amended with a wag of his finger, “goes out in some thin linen shirt and pants, ill-fitted boots with short laces, and thinks he’s going to withstand Mother Nature’s fury? I could have sent him away, thought he was a lunatic, but who am I to turn away a wet dog in December?”

Charon sneered and shook his head in discontent.

“I took him that night. And I swear, to this day, that was the coldest, harshest winter to date, and I’ve seen a lot of them. Anyway, I gave him some of my old clothes, the ones before I filled out,” he chuckled, slapping his gut, “and even though it made him look like a scarecrow, the way they hung off him, he was at least dry. Turning him away would have been abhorrent of me, and you’d think by the way he scowls he’s not grateful for anything, but I knew he was by the way he ate the second I set some food in front of him. He’s good for conversation once he warms up to you, and we talked for the better part of the night, as I recall it, about almost everything. The weather, the food, weapons, the Razen. All of it. I called it an early night and set him up in the guest room and didn’t think twice about him by the time I put my head down. Then, I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when he wasn’t anywhere to be found first thing in the morning. Or at least, that’s what I thought. Tell them where you were when I found you,” he called over his shoulder.

“Outside,” Charon looked at me, a smile sliding easy over his lips as he looked me over for what felt like the hundredth time, almost as if I were some strange puzzle he was trying to work out. “I took a liking to a few of his wares and decided to test them out for myself.”

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“A few? I had a whole collection of swords and daggers, blades from all over the world from all sorts of eras; and he was out there in the front, swinging them around right before dawn like some kind of master. I’ve never seen anyone flow with a blade quite like it, like he’d spent lifetimes mastering every step. Looking at him, he’d think he’s never held a single weapon in his life, so seeing all of that was a little more than peculiar, if you follow me. Hell, look at him now. You wouldn’t think he’s any sort of weapons expert with delicate hands like his, would you? I’ve never even seen a single callus anywhere.” Alin whistles, as if in disbelief of his allegation. “But he’s a hard worker and a better fighter, that’s why I keep him around. Oh! And his pretty face,” Alin said as his loud laugh echoed against the valley, “showed not a single sign of combat. No scars, no marks, nothing. That’s how I knew for sure I had to keep him around. A good face is good for sales.”

Here is the corrected sentence: "Pretty enough to make a pretty penny,” Charon said, reciting what Alin had said about him too many times before, and tipped his head back, prepared for what more the blacksmith had to say. I wanted to ask why he stayed with him if he didn’t seem to like him much, but from the way his shoulders sank as Alin went on, I realized it wasn’t that he disliked him; it was just his demeanor. He was guarded, and who could blame him? Whatever set him out in a snowstorm must have been terrible, and if I had to venture to guess, it had to do with the Razen. Everything bad that happened always came back to them.

“Oh, you should have heard the way he apologized as soon as he realized I’d caught him. ‘I didn’t think you’d be up,’ and ‘I’m sorry, I’ll put them back where I found them,’ and all that.” Alin leaned over toward Milo. “He’s got a proclivity for old classics. You know the ones, handsome, well-crafted, the finer reminders of the old days. Don’t get me wrong, it was flattering that he recognized them and chose them for himself, but antiques like that aren’t replaceable these days. Of course, who am I to deny a man a beautiful blade? That’s like—well, that’s like turning him away in a snowstorm! So, out of consideration, of course, I let him have one. It’s an elegant little thing. A dagger. It’s got this pale, opal handle and long, thin blade. It’s good for a quick stab and jab. He keeps it in boot.”

Charon reached down, turned his foot, and patted at his ankle, his eyes meeting mine only long enough to assure me he was practiced in quick retrieval. A shiver ran down my spine. I hadn’t for a moment considered either to be armed. Alin carried on, talking almost entirely to himself as he mused about that morning and how he inquired about Charon’s training. He asked where he learned, and who taught him so much about such diverse weapons. Charon only laughed in response, never divulging the details. I didn’t think he could laugh by the way his absent stare seemed fixed on the distance out of the back of the wagon the longer Alin’s story dragged on. He hardly moved from where he sat beside me, except for the bobbing of bumps along the way. From time to time, I thought he fell asleep, but then he’d shoot me a quick glance and hum softly to himself the way Milo did when he was thinking about something, usually something I was hiding. Inevitably, he worked it out, and that ended up being a problem later, but until he did he’d give me a side eye and short hum and nothing else.

Alin’s lamentation of trying to pry information out of Charon turned into nostalgia over how long ago those days were and how much had changed since. “Those people in Sussen, if they knew what was good for them, they’d know they need weapons. They need my weapons.” Alin chuckled in a strange amusement about the reality of imminent danger lurking on the other side of the hills, engulfed in flames. “Come to think of it, a stop in Sussen could have its perks. With any luck, we could make a real fortune and unload a great deal of stock, too. Besides, that train from Sussen to the Underground needs all the protection it could get. If the Razen ever find out about it, they’ll invade the city before anyone can escape.”

“Who's to say they don’t already know?” Charon’s eyes shut, exhausted by the constant stream of consciousness.

“If they do, they’ve yet to prove it. I’ve seen what they can do. They would turn that town inside out and let the blood flow down the streets until the rivers ran red. They don’t need a place like that, but it would stop a lot of people from escaping,” Alin said, gruff and certain as he snapped the horses’ reins to pull a little faster up the hill.

Charon scoffed and shook his head. I glanced at him, and the look on his face confirmed he’d seen his fair share of horrors. As it was, Charon was more than just something of a salesman for Alin. He was a refuge like so many others, displaced and lost and trying to find his way. It made sense to me why Alin insisted on keeping him close. There was something about Charon that was effortlessly charismatic, like he’d been groomed and polished to know exactly what to say and when. Alin claimed he had a talent for knowing what people wanted to hear with the same ease as handling the weapons they sold. “He could kill a crowd with his words almost as fast as with a sword, I’ll tell you that!” Alin boomed, proud of his partner. “He’s one smooth devil, and the best partner I’ve ever had; never complains about anything, except the coffee!”

I laughed under my breath. Nothing about Charon seemed that easygoing. He looked over, and I felt his curious, judgmental gaze on me. I dared to look at him. I dared to meet those cold eyes. He tilted his head to one side. The ashy blond hair that he had tucked behind his ear fell loose and scattered over his forehead. He looked better that way, not as bitter or rigid.

He hummed to himself as he had before, looking me up and down, and spoke with a hint of amusement, “Are you scared?”

“Of what?” Of you? Maybe...

“The Razen.” He pointed out of the back. The wagon bounced over the rocky terrain as we left behind the ever-present orange glow of flames and dark smoke filling the sky. “You saw the fires, didn’t you? Impressive, aren’t they?”

“I did. And I wouldn’t say it’s impressive.” I lowered my head to rest against my arms, dragging my knees even closer to my chest, and thought of the horses I had seen the day before, wondering if they were far from the fires. I hoped they were, anyway. They could outrun the blaze, but if the Razen caught them…

“So, are you scared?” he asked again.

“No,” I said. “I’m not scared of the Razen.”

The corners of his lips twitched up in a smile, like suppressed laughter. “You should be scared.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Charon quieted as if holding back something more he wanted to say. He stared at the boxes for a long moment, then tipped his head back with a broad smile. “You’ve never seen them up close, have you?”

“I saw enough.”

“You think so?” His hand rubbed at the center of his chest. “You don’t care to know what they’re like? What they are under those gold masks?”

I turned to face him. My wide eyes traced over the sharp, narrow features of his face. He wasn’t bad-looking when he smiled. I could see what Alin meant when he said he had a pretty face. He was charming when he wanted to be and intimidating the rest of the time. Charon turned his gaze in a languid blink, and his eyes met mine. It was hypnotic. Those silver-blue eyes drew me in like a mouse to a snake, a moth to a flame. My chest went tight. Constricted. I squeezed my knees harder and swallowed against my dry palate. “Why would I?”

He snorted and dropped his head, suppressing a peal of low laughter. The tension in my shoulders released. My chest unlocked. Each breath was short and rapid. My breathing had halted when his eyes locked with mine. That was strange.

Charon shrugged. “I thought, since you’re not scared, then that means you’re curious.”

“Curious about dying?” I shot him a glare.

“Who said you’d die?” He folded his arms over his chest. "Maybe, you would be free. The tether between you and this world would get cut, and off you’d go into eternity.”

“That’s a fancy way of saying they’d kill me.”

He smirked. “Is it?”

“It is,” Alin said from the front of the wagon. His voice was a hard, stern warning.

Charon clicked his tongue and tossed his head, casting the fallen hair from his face. Our conversation was over. Charon chuckled to himself as he settled in against the back wall. We sat in silence and listened to the clop of the horse’s feet and the churn of the wheels. For several tense and uncomfortable minutes, no one spoke. Milo’s quiet voice broke the silence as he commented to Alin about the trail, the forest, and the fire. Alin shared his thoughts on each, and then the bitter silence returned.

Charon’s words swam in my stomach. I’d never seen the Razen for myself, and it sounded as if he had, and he knew exactly what they were. I wondered what sort of hell he’d seen and what nightmare he lived. While the fires were terrifying, Milo and I didn’t stick around long enough to stare down the enemy. If I looked into the eyes of a Razen soldier, I wondered what I would see. What sort of person would choose to join their ranks? Who would want to don those white robes and silver armor? Who would want to put on those gold masks and raise swords and spears against the helpless? And why would anyone want to hide behind shields all in the name of blood-spilling conquest and war? I wondered if there was light in their eyes or if their souls were as dark and damned as their deeds. All who crossed their path fell victim to their ruthless blades and strange abilities. Those who survived to tell the tale escaped and lived on borrowed time, but they were never truly free. Nightmares of the things they’d seen haunted them, and they knew one day they wouldn’t escape. Yet, true as that was, as I sat in the back of the wagon, I couldn’t help but think Charon was right.

I should be scared.