“I didn’t know there was an entrance to the black market in the fields of the mana smith barn?” I say poking my head out of the hole leading to the sewers and black market.
Keith smiles and takes a deep breath of fresh air before saying, “the sewers not only take away human waste, but the waste of the mana beasts contained in the barn. There are several access points throughout these fields to the sewers, but not all of them are all that safe. A few of the guild’s marks have been beasts that escaped the barn into the sewers, and needless to say killing a hydra in a sewer is a dangerous and foul affair.”
Keith helps me onto my feet, and we walk in an ocean of gold that wafts around us in the breeze. We are mindful to not trample the crops as we walk to the monolithic structure that is the mana smith barn. Standing as tall as a small mountain, because it was one at one point, the barn towers over the fields and the village. Some of the original architects thought it should look like a traditional barn and had the mountain that makes up the barn shaped into a large four walled and domed roof structure that appears to be painted in red and white coloring. However, the color of the barn isn’t paint, but gilded rubies and diamonds and the roof is the original color of the mountain stones and dirt. The roof though barely visible does have various plants and trees growing on top of it, noting that the brownish color isn’t just roof tiling like smaller barns would have. The designers of the barn also carved the designs of two massive doors into the front of the barn.
“Is it true that there are nearly a hundred floors dedicated to stables and enclosures inside the barn? That dragons and phoenixes can be seen flying about within it?” I ask staring at the massive landmark that acts as a monument to the creativity and craftsmanship of my people.
Keith turns his gaze to me and raises an eyebrow, “I know they don’t serve you in there but, you at least have been in the barn, right? I mean yes, to both of your questions, but that seems ridiculous to not let the child of the chiefs and future chief of all mana smiths to not at least visit what is one of the greatest achievements of his people.”
I shake my head and say, “The gate attendants stop me at the main entrance and tell me to leave immediately or they’ll call the guards to chuck me out by force.”
“We are just going to have to change that today,” says Keith with a smile upon his face and he begins to walk more quickly through the wheat and eventually our feet meet the main road leading up to the gargantuan barn.
Every step we take the barn doors grow ever taller before us until we stand at the foot of the barn. We are so small in comparison to the engraving of the barn doors that we stand like mice before it. In fact, there is a small hole in the doors that looks like a mouse hole, that both Keith and I walk into and find a service table manned by two polite looking women. When they see Keith approach they smile and wave at him, but when they see me, they appear startled, and one signals for a guard to walk in front of the door leading into the barn proper.
Keith approaches the front desk and with his large smile says, “I’m here to pick up Sleipnir and Epona. My friend here has come along with me to help me prepare my steeds for their next journey.”
“You may enter, but the chiefess’s bastard stays out here. He’ll startle the beasts and may rile them into a frenzy,” says one of the desk attendants with a smile.
Keith puts his gauntleted hands on the desk and glowers down at the desk attendant. The guard at the door begins to move toward Keith and Keith says to both the guard and the attendant, “Why do you hate this man so? His work is some of the best a person can buy. If you look at my gauntlets, these are the work of his hands. Though I wear the breastplate of the elusive Red-Eye, the only person comparable to said smith is the one standing right here.”
Keith lifts his hands and rotates them for the guard and front desk worker to look upon my work. I still remember the day that those gauntlets made it into Keith’s hands. I had convinced my father to sell some of my work as his own, just to see if people would buy the work of my hands. Many mana smiths bought my wares joyously admiring the workmanship, and my father proud of his son and hating ruses revealed the true maker of the goods that were bought with delightful glee. Immediately word spread and every one of my works were returned and money was refunded in mass, except one work didn’t return like the others. Keith begged to know of the smith that actually made his gauntlets, as he heard the rumors that what he was sold wasn’t the chief’s work. He wanted to know who was skilled enough to fool mana smiths and discerning eyes into believing his work was that of the chief of the Tera Artisans.
Instead of being rebuked by Keith for fooling him, he wanted to ask if I accept custom commissions. He didn’t care that he had to use a crippling loan to purchase the gauntlets, all he cared about was finding the person who made the treasure he was luckily able to purchase. My father didn’t like the idea of me working for a strider, but Keith was a tad more persistent than my father’s constantly distracted supervision and Keith became my dear friend. To help Keith pay off his debt that was exaggerated due to my father marking up my products to be on par with the prices of his own, my father’s confidence in me being so high that he didn’t reduce the prices of my wares and even etched his maker’s mark into each of my wares to make our ruse more convincing, I decided to make Keith’s next few commissions on the house as long as he could supply materials rich with mana to make what he wanted.
Eventually with my weapons and armor Keith would become the envy of his guild, and others like Magda and Claude desired the wares of my forge. Keith would go on more successful hunts than his guild mates, return home not as battered, needed less recovery time in between hunts, and his debt decreased faster than all of the debt of his guild mates as well, which made me a smith every strider wanted to meet. Keith didn’t want them to know that I was the chief’s son, and tried to hide my identity, and because my new works carried my maker’s mark and not my father’s, Keith one day told the guild that the smith that was working for him was called Red-Eye, and the nickname stuck.
Keith pestered me to come to the guild with him and how I could get better materials, specifically the materials that I needed to make my soul project. With the possibility of making a dream project a reality, and to obtain materials long denied my grasp, I agreed to go with him. From that point forward, I worked as the guild smith. Sure, I had to work my way into their trust and better arm the striders before they went on hunts worthy of paladin work for me, but I also found people that appreciated me. Keith has done so much for me, and I don’t know how I could ever repay him for his kindness.
Keith shakes his hands and flaming claws burst forth from each finger on the nostalgic gauntlet. The guard looked incredibly impressed, and one of the barn attendants lets out surprised squeak as the fiery claw came close to nicking her face. Keith then says, “These gauntlets fooled mana smiths, paladins, and connoisseurs of artisanal goods that these were the very make of your chief. I’ve heard it said mana smiths judge a person by their wares, as they display the soul of the person who made them. If such power, and artistry is self-evident in these gauntlets, that must mean they come from a person to be venerated not scourged. I’d appreciate that you treat my friend with respect, and not deride him with such a filthy moniker.”
“I heard of that awful stunt. Everyone, I talked to said that the goods were scrap metal at best. This one bares the chief’s mark, so you may have gotten lucky and purchased something from the chief. It looks like you may have been taken for a fool by this bastard. I’m sorry Keith but your friend may be nothing but a dirty rotten liar,” says the guard looking at the gauntlets.
Keith looks the guard up and down and approaches him with a cold confidence, “Funny, the chief himself confirmed my story to me. Also, if you dare call my friend a liar or bastard again, maybe you’d like to feel the heat of Volcanus or the tearing might of Spiraling Tide. Tell me why I should abandon this man that has done nothing but garner my respect and loyalty, and I’ll turn him away right now. If you cannot give me a reason that suits me, I will personally burst through these doors and show him his people’s greatest achievement and never stable my horses here again.”
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The guard backs up and his face is covered in sweat. Keith places both hands upon two swords that hang on opposite sides of his waist. The two front desk attendants look nervously at one another and neither one speaks. They seem constrained by some odd reason into hushed secrecy.
“I’ll tell yuh why… that boy ain’t no boy… He is more beast than man… hic,” says a new voice behind us and a woman clearly having had too much to drink hobbles into the barn.
One of the attendants walks up to the woman and tries to get her to be quiet and in a hushed voice forcefully says, “Go home Maggy. I’m covering for you today, so just go home.”
“Wait, you’re covering for me today… Thank you, I just broke up with…” the woman begins to wail uncontrollably for a few seconds and then as if remembering what she was originally saying continues, “hic… he’s a boy with two seed sowers… and a reincarnation of filth and shame… the fifth tribe of smiths should be gone, but he walks still… as long as he walks the soul rending blade can still be wielded… hic.”
The woman falls over and passes out on the ground, and a dread silence falls upon all those around us. I look around and it feels like a taboo has just been broken, some unspoken law has been shattered, and now a terrible secret has been unveiled. The front desk attendants stutter in exasperation, and the guard passes a hand through his hair.
“She’s drunk and doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” says one of the desk attendants regaining some of her lost composure, “I mean, who has two biological fathers, impossible right. Everyone knows the fifth tribe of smiths is long gone, and the soul rending blade can’t be wielded, as the souls inside of it kill all those that try. It doesn’t even have a handle anymore; I mean who can wield a blade with no handle? She’s clearly going through a rough break up and the liquor is talking.”
Keith analyzing the situation looks at all those around us and places a hand to his face. He takes a few seconds to think and says, “Well if that’s true, that means you still haven’t given me a legitimate reason to kick my friend to the curb. I’d like to show him the barn now if you don’t mind and teach him how to tack a steed.”
“Well, he’s beastly. I mean who has glowing red eyes. He… He’s different in all sorts of bad ways, and even tried to trick people to buy his wares,” says the other attendant scowling at me, her eyebrow jittering up and down in annoyance just being in my presence.
“I’m different as well. I’m an elemental tossed to the side by my own people for differences in our ideas of love,” says Keith turning his attention to the abrupt and rude attendant, and then I see him begin to draw Volcanus. Volcanus is a sword infused with the mana of the blazing mane of the magma manticore, and a roc talon. The blade cuts through the air with such speed and power that it super heats it into a plasma, that can only be described as comparable to the lightning that can be sometimes found in the black smoke of a volcano. The plasma that erupts from the blade can also become projectiles launched with every slice it makes. The blade is in a perpetual super-heated state and glows an angry red and can only be contained in the sheath that is infused with the mana of a whirlpool manatee whisker to keep it cool enough to transport safely.
“Keith, drop the act. Volcanus is far too dangerous to draw here, and I’d rather respect their wishes than trample over them. My parents would wish of me to acknowledge their autonomy and decisions, so I will wait outside. It’s okay, go on without me,” I say, and I begin to back down and walk away from the counter to the guard and attendants’ relief.
Keith grits his teeth and grabs my tunic and says, “no, don’t just back down. They are being beastly, not you. Demand their apology don’t just cower and turn your belly to them to stab.”
“I’m sorry, but I have no authority here. I am just the chiefs’ son, and that isn’t a position of rank or respect. They can call me anything they desire, as that is their right,” I say bowing to the attendants and the guard, “please forgive my friend for his outburst. Also, please forgive me, as I know that my presence is despicable and not easily endured, and my heritage is still a subject of contestation. I know that I shouldn’t be here as you have been clear with me in the past, and I again ask for forgiveness. I do promise that I’ll do all I can to become the chief that our people desire, and hope that I’ll be able to prove myself to everyone at the festival.”
“You better feel sorry for coming here! Nothing you could present would ever convince me that you’re worthy of being my chief,” says the rude attendant and she spits on the back of my head, which I keep bowed low, waiting for the response of the other two smiths present.
The other attendant nods her agreement to the rude attendant, and says, “I think you are well aware, that all of our people are disappointed, that we will have to wait another twenty or so years just to achieve our dream of unity. We will endure you, but not honor you. Like my friend said you will never truly be our chief, only your bride will receive that honor. I won’t accept your apology, as I feel marred in sin just listening to your voice. Be gone foul bastard, your presence stains me.”
The guard lets out a pained sigh and opens the door of the barn. I look up for the briefest of seconds to see a brightly lit inner chamber with levels upon levels of stables and enclosures for all manner of mana beast. A phoenix and gryphon playfully fly down a central hall that is illuminated by magnificent braziers that house large orbs of mana. What I see defies the constraints of my imagination and it enriches my soul.
“I apologize to you Keith, and I hope this satisfies you and your supposed friend. However, I cannot let the cursed child enter here. He may be a proper smith in three fourths of his blood at best, but he is not entirely our blood. A portion of or maybe even all of him is taboo and something our people have attempted to exorcise from our being. We do not blame his parents for what occurred to create him, but we do place blame upon him, as he is a reincarnated and resurrected shame of our people. We endure him to honor our chiefs, but that doesn’t mean we can permit him to dirty us with his presence,” says the guard, closing the door and sealing behind him the wonderous world that should welcome me by birthright. I stare at the door craving to see more than just the glimpse I was afforded, but the words of the guard sink in, and I look at the two attendants who look at the guard open mouthed in shocked silence.
The guard releases a frustrated chuff from his mouth and continues, “the cursed child is probably already painfully aware that his father was tricked by the last smith of the fifth tribe; I mean we all were to an extent. I know we swore to never speak of Gram’s cursed conception, but our silence is betrayed by our treatment of the boy. He will never be accepted by us, especially considering the festival, and chiefly presentation is literally days away, so why not speak our discontent. The chief was sterile and was raped by the taboo smithery of the last smith of the fifth tribe who instilled his very body and soul into his chiefly member. All of us know this to be true, as the cursed child looks nothing like his supposed parents, and what he looks like is exactly how the last cursed smith did. I know we were all desperate for the child of unity, but we should have never consented to that smith’s evil ways. Now a reincarnation and dark sin stands before us, because we were desperate and fooled by a devil!”
“Do you wish to be punished by the chiefs? Stop talking right now!” says one of the attendants, who looks nervously at her companion.
The rude attendant merely smiles and says, “About time, someone broke that silly rule. Walking on eggshells around that horrid creature was a vile chore to keep up for all these years.”
“It’s because it isn’t a good reason! Gram isn’t some reincarnated ancient evil, he is Gram and my best friend!” says Keith his lip quivering and his face curled in a bestial snarl.
“He’s a monster, that’s exactly what he is! He’ll never be more than that,” says the guard putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder, that Keith shakes off immediately. The guard then turns his attention to me, my back growing tired from being bowed over for so long, but I ignore the pain as I wait for what the guard says next, “also, child of taboo, I do not accept your apology either, as why should I stain myself with your forgiveness. I only wish for Keith’s mercy, not yours.”
I can’t stand this situation any longer, and just want to think. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard someone reveal the supposed secret of my birth, but it hurts to know that I’m blamed for a taboo that I didn’t commit. I can only grit my teeth and bear their consternation, as soon I’ll prove all of these people wrong. I have little time to finish my project for presentation, so I must remain strong. I know that they said they wouldn’t accept me, but I want to prove them wrong and show them that I’m not what they say I am. I cannot give up! Like Keith said, I am Gram and not some ancient evil.
A bloody tear escapes my eye, and falls down my face, another beastly attribute from apparently my fifth tribe ancestry. I stand upright and bow my head slightly to acknowledge the guards words and turn around and begin to walk away from the barn. I walk as fast as I can to create distance between me and those mana smiths, ignoring Keith’s calls behind me. I don’t have to endure anymore of this, as if I’m not around Keith can more easily grab our horses and we can ride for Brenwick faster. A mixture of feelings of sadness, frustration, and strangely relief intermingle in my body, and I collapse to my knees in a field of golden wheat and watch as small scarlet puddles form on the ground in front of me. I’ve been treated for years like a monster, because I am one. I can’t deny that, but despite my monstrousness, I’m still human.