The Final Life

by Andrew Mowere

CHAPTER 14

  The duo headed back to the tavern in seemingly opposite moods. Azrael had lost his usual cheer, and rarely responded to Glint’s good natured attempts with more than a word or two. Glint didn’t know what had gotten into the man, and yet didn’t really mind the silence either, so he just enjoyed the white blanket of winter. The snow was starting to thaw out, and the weather starting to slip into the beginnings of spring, but he still had a few days of refreshing, cool snow left. Glint couldn’t for the life of him understand why he had hated the snow just a few months earlier, when relaxing in his own warm estate. The world seemed to brighten with each touch of sunray, and the people in the village smiled at Glint when he waved at them, offering news or small talk. For once, he was the sociable one of the two, while his companion skulked like a solitary dark cloud. When Glint mentioned it to him the necromancer scowled.

  When they entered the noisy tavern, it was already technically evening. They were greeted by Gared cheerfully, the man busily getting ready a meal for a full room of people. Music could be heard and people filled the room with chatter. The necromancer groaned. “Not today,” he said. At Glint’s questioning look, he ungraciously added, “Look, I’m tired, can I just go upstairs? Deal with this for me.” He handed Glint the claws they had gotten together. There were fifty of them, bound together in a thick white string their employer had provided. Glint grabbed the string of smooth, black claws out of Azrael’s hand, murmuring, “Sure, no trouble. He’d be happy though, if you showed up.”

  “I don’t care.”

  That was that. Azrael was the one who had signed the contract for the job, and Glint was more comfortable allowing the man to wrap things up as well. If he did, word was bound to get around that Azrael had helped out with the job, and it would at least allow the necromancer’s reputation to rise a tiny bit in comparison to earlier. The people living in town were not comfortable with the dark haired magician’s presence in their area, Glint had realized. It might have something to do with where the man was obviously from.

  The citizens of Brittania were second to none when it came to the number of Ability users produced. The place was almost like a factory, with the floating island of Aetheria being a hub of the aforementioned. Amongst all the people in the world, those that lived upon the isle had the best talents, educations, and lives. Still, Azrael’s idea of cultivation being a cornerstone of an Ability user’s power permeated Glint’s mind as he made his way to the bar the bar, stepping around tables and chairs. “Hey there,” he said to Gared, who was busy serving the blonde, long haired man to Glint’s left. The blonde man didn’t seem to pay attention to the barkeep, but rather was more interested in his glass of beer, with its foam frothing over the tip.

  “Why hello there, mister Glint,” the old man responded, eyeing Glint from under his thick eyebrows and bandanna, “You’ve been gone away today longer than usual.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I was finishing my job up,” the warrior responded, “fifty wolverines, done and exterminated.”

  “Oh well done!” the man exclaimed, handing the last glass he was carrying to the man to Glint’s right. The brown haired man looked surprised, as if he hadn’t ordered anything, but he also seemed happy enough to accept his gift. “They were starting to destroy the fields we had gotten settled up in the woods.”

  Despite the distraction, Glint maintained a straight face as he said, “Sure, it was my job, you know.” He showed off the makeshift necklace, comprised entirely of normal claws. He and Azrael had agreed that letting people know the true nature of their kills would be a bad idea.

  Most of the wolverines were disfigured, quite literally. They were large only in some parts of the body. Thus, Glint was able to take only claws from normal parts of the body, making it seem like the animals were of normal size.

  In this town, they had to make it seem as if they were normal humans. There was no reason to scare the good folk into taking up pitchforks and torches.

  Glint saw the man who had commissioned the job sitting across the room, nursing a glass of red whiskey. He headed over to the man, who was keeping his eyes on the glass he was periodically lifting up to his mouth.

  “Are you looking for me?” the man spat out rudely, looking at Glint with an eyebrow raised as high as possible.

  “Yeah, I was the one you looked for when you had the problem,” Glint answered with a smile reaching almost to his eyes.

  “Oh.” The man seemed to think about it for a second. “The wolverines?” his eyes crossed and uncrossed once or twice. It seemed he had chosen the wrong day to drink. Glint sighed inwards, marvelling at the stench coming from the short brown haired man. He had a ruddy round face. The warrior was sure that the drink had corroded enough of the man’s mind that he wouldn’t even have noticed if Glint had gotten him a necklace of flowers. Glint had decided never to touch the alcohol again, after what happened with Alfjötr.

  Just as expected, the bulletin owner looked over the necklace with semi hollow eyes. He picked the clinking string up with some difficulty, and Glint snickered to himself, but concealed the sound from the man, who was having trouble distinguishing anything in the tavern’s usual smoky haze.

  That day there was extra entertainment in the place. Beyond the usual chattering and laughter, a bald bard was playing a lute to Glint’s left. A space had been cleared out for him, with good acoustics and lighting, and the man was busy singing cheerful songs whilst plucking his instrument’s strings with a playful air about him.

  As the sounds called the attention of those enjoying their day and the company of others, the bard opened his mouth and began to sing in a deep but pleasant voice. Glint relaxed further at the sound, smiling to himself and letting the tension of the past few days flow out of his well-honed muscles like a smoky breath. Glint found the difference since he started training with Azrael remarkable. Perhaps it had more to do with his growth in his art, but Glint was sure that the necromancer’s hard bouts of sparring had helped his body more than any amount of training with Kob could have.

  Meanwhile, the man was trying to count the claws as well as he could whilst being intoxicated. Glint ignored him, turning in his seat with his elbows propped on the table behind him and facing the bard instead, who noticed the look as well as Glint’s sword and began to sing the tale of a brave knight who had found a great treasure inside a cavern guarded by goblins. Glint hummed along, pleased by the song for now, although he might request something more mundane later. Perhaps a love ballad.

  By the third chorus, Glint was but one of many chanting along with:

  Sir Gaine, he protects the weak

  Finding an adventure to seek

  But if ye be of evil soul, beware!

  His blade shall ye meet

  By that time the person who had requested the job had finished his sluggish counting and had handed Glint fifteen copper coins in a dust collared pouch. Glint graciously accepted the money, then walked away to his usual buddies, once he spotted Jim waving at him.

  It was a great day to have a good time, he thought to himself as the bard moved on to more whimsical songs, designed to capture the body and make those in the bar dance merrily. The music seemed to reflect his the youth’s mood better than stories and games could, at any rate.

  At some point during the next hour the tavern filled up with villagefolk. The room got slowly cramped as the crowd swelled into the room, inching closer to the bard. Glint had to admit that the man in a strange looking white shirt was good with his lute. Perhaps this musician was not on Tim’s scale but just like the youth, he accentuated his music with his skill at reading the crowd’s mood. At times he played a sombre song, of ancestors or love or fictional tales of woe. However, at key moments the man livened things up with a jig, picking men and women off their feet and forcing Gared to clear space for the people to dance. The music seemed to keep a steady rhythm with Glint’s heart, the beats causing him to spring into movement.

  Despite him not being familiar with t
he songs nor the strange orderly dance those around him were doing, Glint slowly picked it up. A man called Barry took him to the side after watching him fail miserably for a few minutes. “I can’t take it anymore. Look, it’s easy enough! The men and women line up into two rows, see? They face each other, and create a beat by clapping their hands or stepping on the floor with their feet, then they skip to each other, link their hands, spin each other around, and go to the other side. They do it in turns. Simple, see?”

  Glint listened to the man’s tirade, a little surprised because he didn’t even know him. “Um, sure, but-“

  “That’s the gist of it, at least.” Barry’s head bobbed as he interrupted Glint. Seeing the warrior’s expression, the man laughed, as did the others around him who were watching the two, amused. A few people had now brought their own instruments to add to the music, and the party was getting lively. “Sorry about that, but it’s a team dance, so we gots to do it right,” he explained apologetically, and Glint nodded in acknowledgment. The warrior replied, “No no, thank you for the information.”

  “It’s no trouble, now let’s go join in.”