To the Stars End- Original Soul

by Demetri Grim

  Leaning over to look at her finished piece he nodded and smiled, clearly impressed by the elaborate knots and sharp spirals she had laid out on the blade. She matched his smile, a knot of anxiety starting to twist in her stomach and she fidgeted. He was never one to pander words. If it was wrong, he let you know and told you exactly how to fix it. But with this project she only had this one chance. Beka needed her design to work, or she just wasted a fortune of magical ore they would never be able to replace. Placing a strong hand on her shoulder, he leaned in as if he was going to whisper a secret, his eyes overdramatically darting back and forth to the corners of the room. She stifled a giggle at his antics.

  “Good work there girl. That's some bloody fine filigree if I do say so myself. Too bad we only had just enough etherium to finish the blade wouldn't you say?” He winked at her before standing again, letting out another loud yawn. He stretched his arms over his head letting his furry beer belly hang out.

  “Gahh! Uncle, stop!” She made gagging sounds and threw her arm over her eyes. Grabbing the first thing she could reach. She poked him with her screwdriver, hoping to make him quit before he gave her nightmares. He grunted and chuckled as the point gave him a good jab. Smacking his lips he scratched his belly, his smile lighting up his face as he moved away from her.

  “That's enough of that, like I said I'm turning in for the night. Finish up with the clay flux I gave ya, and head to bed yerself. We’re going to have one hell of a day tomorrow” Looking back at the glinting silver blade half caked in clay with elaborate swirls of red gold filigree curving and arcing along its length. Beka turned to follow his gaze, admiring her own work with pride as he clomped up the stairs to his room. His voice echoing down to her. “One hell of a day.”

  Chapter 4: One Hell of a Day

  The morning came too early. Beka groaned and rolled over, cursing a band of sunlight that flooded into her room through a crack in the curtain. “Why does it have to land in my eyes every time?” she complained into the open air.

  “Beka? Are ya up? Are ya decent? Can I come in?” Her uncle called from the other side of her door.

  “Yea...” she groaned and tossed her blankets over her head. “ But I don't want to be.” Her voice was muffled by her blanket and she stifled a yawn. Her door creaked open as Montgomery entered.

  “Good, I was coming ta get ya. Get washed up and grab yer thick apron. Were going to start right after breakfast.” Moving across the room he threw open the curtain filling the room with the bright morning light. She groaned again and tried in vain to burrow farther into her blankets.

  “Why always so early Uncle?” She pulled her blanket down under her chin and glared at him with bleary eyes. ”If we start the forge now it's going to be like an oven in there by noon!”

  “I know.” He commented matter-of-factly as he walked back towards the door. ”That's the point, we need all the heat we can get. Unless by chance ya know where we can get some dragonfire to use?” He teased as he left.

  “Dragonfire?! What do you mean dragonfire?!” She threw off her covers and rolled out of bed, her simple brown tunic, a hand-me-down of her uncle’s drooped off one shoulder, the entire thing falling to just above her knees and clinging to her body as she wobbled around the room, gathering up her discarded clothes from the day before. Her interest was peaked by the prospects of dragon fire, but the early morning washing and her hatred for waking up to chores dulled her excitement.

  After a quick wash of her clothes and much too cold of a shower for a building built around a forge, she stomped down the stairs to the main room. Toweling her long tangle of hair dry. “What's for breakfast Uncle?” She called out into the small kitchen in the back of the smithy’s living quarters. Her usual ratty old outfit now a little damp and looking like it had been wrung out by someone's foot. A thick black leather apron that covered her from neck to shin wrapped half way around her lithe frame.

  “Eggs.” Montgomery said flatly.

  “Oh! Eggs and...what?” she asked, dropping into her chair at the table, dumping her damp towel atop the unfinished chain shirt. Right where she’d left it the day the strange elf had come for a visit. The envelope was missing however, and she yawned, figuring her uncle must have stashed it away again. Beka wondered why he coveted the expensive paper so much.

  “Just eggs.” He answered coming from the back with plates of steaming scramble.

  “Oh...goody.” She wrinkled her nose in disdain, her voice flat. She eyed the unseasoned, over cooked eggs that he set in front of her.

  “Quit yer grumbing girl, and get yer damned towel off the table.” He chastised her as he settled into his seat. “There are a few things we have to go over before we start.”

  “Like dragonfire?” She asked, her curiosity peaking once again as she poked at her unappetizing meal with a fork.

  “Naw, that was just a joke. Well, mostly. As I hear it, that is the easiest way to work with etherium. The magical nature of dragon flames apparently makes it mold like putty in yer hand. I don't know if that's true, never done it myself, what with not being on speaking terms with any dragons and all.” He chuckled at his own lame joke. Beka just rolled her eyes and braved a fork full of eggs. ”We will have to get the forge as hot as dragonfire however to make the final casting of the filigree and lay the enchantment. But that's not what I wanted to talk about.” He set his fork down and crossed his arms over his chest.“It has to do with the Lord Kindredstar, our Elvish patron.”

  “Oh, so now your going to answer my questions?” She perked up and took a bite. Despite blanching from the taste, her eyes glinted teasingly, as if she had not pestered him daily for information.

  “This is not a joking matter girl. I had my reasons to keep quiet about it. I'm only gonna say this once. I should not have behaved the way I did with Lord Kindredstar.” His voice became hard and his eyes distant as he spoke. “Even now there are things I cannot say even if I wanted to.” She swallowed hard, instantly becoming nervous as she tucked her hair behind her ear, listening with intent.

  “I didn't realize he was that important, the King of Arcadia’s cousin or not. I mean, we have had King Liam himself in the store on more than one occasion! How can some elf from Septa be any worse?” She asked, her stomach clenching as anxiety threatened to rob her of her appetite.

  “Perhaps not as important to us, sure. But that noble has a reputation. A fairly nasty one at that. When I dropped onto the tavern near Marcus’s, I managed to coax a bit of gossip from a palace guard who frequents it. The fool is well known to get loose with information once he's had a few drinks in him. “ He took another bite of his meal and sighed. “That elf runs the fighting pits at the tournament. He calls it The Menagerie.” Her uncle let the information hang in the air a moment. Beka gasped and set her fork down, interrupting him before he could continue.

  “You’re not joking are you?” Her mind raced with the new information. Finally she had an answer about the man and it was not at all what she expected. It was well known that the tournament fighting pits housed many rare monsters and magical beasts as well as prisoners that the King of Cross sentenced to death by combat. A gladiator pit filled with the most violent killers in the kingdom. To most it was considered a mercy to be given a chance to atone or go down fighting in the great games. But she had always heard no one ever survived their sentence. The elite monsters of the Menagerie were rarely defeated. No one would have guessed an elven noble from Septa ran the pits.

  “People have a nasty habit of disappearing if they offend him.” He continued. ”I can only guess what becomes of the ones who cross him. As lord of the pits I can put money on what befalls them and likely win.”

  “How is it we never knew that he ran the pits? That's a very public position and we work with fighters in the tournaments yearly. Not to mention my brother fights in them all the time. How are we only just now learning his name?” Something about all of this bothered her. Too much was unknown for a position that should have
been public knowledge.

  “I tried poking around a bit about that myself. Seemed odd to me as well. Turns out he rarely visits the capital. He leaves for years at a time, only turns up again on northgate alignments. My guess is to bring in shipments of creatures from Septa, or to haul away the remains of the ones who have...expired.” He shuddered as he continued, taking another bite of his breakfast absently. Beka shook her head, wondering how he could think of eating. Her stomach was in knots, what little appetite she had lost. ”According to that guard I questioned he is not the official envoy for the King of Arcadia, despite his relation. So there is no connection to your mother's return that I can figure. Where he goes and what he does when he's away aside from gathering more critters for his pit I can't say.” Taking on a stern tone his eyes became distant. Beka worried he might clam up again, right when she was finally getting her answers.

  “Uncle? Are you alright?” His face was ashen his hollow distant gaze slowly returning, his eyes focusing finally on Beka as he spoke. He seemed to struggle to get out every word, eyebrows together in what looked like pain, fighting for breath as he spoke.

  “I learned that several palace guards who insulted the elf over the ages, or who failed to keep his beasts secured in the kennels.” he paused and took in a breath, “Every guard who crosses him has abandoned their post. Always to be found the next day near the edge of town, or in the northern forest mangled by a wild animal, or butchered by a Primal.”

  “What! And, and no one stops him?!” She blinked, stammering in disbelief. “How can the King let that happen. That's monstrous! Surely if the King knew...”

  “I dont think its that easy girl, he’s clever, and powerful, with powerful connections and royal blood ta boot. My point is he's not someone to mess with. That's why we have been working his order like he commanded.” He looked down at his plate before glancing to his side, eyes unfocused. He sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. “If we can finish before his deadline perhaps we can get back some favor from the Lord Elf.“ His eyes met hers. There was more to it than that, she could feel it. Yet something was keeping him quiet. Fear and desperation burned in his eyes but he said nothing.

  “Did you get caught asking too much?” She cocked her head and gave him a sidelong glance noticing how his eyes seemed to go distant and haunted again. He was about to change the subject. Just as he had for a week when she asked about what he found out. She felt her frown deepen. He had no reason to hide it now given what he said already. But something was stopping him. Given who they were talking about it must be magic, it had to be, but how?

  “That brings me to the next thing. I fear I may have worn out the elf’s patience, not only with my, crass and rude behavior, but with my pokin around as well.” His voice sounded odd, his eyes flicking back and forth a moments as he spoke the words. Crass and rude? Her uncle never spoke that way. To be honest it was too sophisticated for him. Beka was now certain magic was at fault. Opening her mouth to ask him, her words caught in her throat as he continued. His next words driving the thought from her mind. “I'm going to need ya to deliver the spear in person I'm afraid. I should not return to the high district again, and we cannot trust the weapon in the hands of a runner.”

  “You can't be serious!” She gasped “I can't go to the high district, go to him! Alone! Uncle you have to talk to the King! Im sure he will be able to..”

  “No!” He said loudly, voice tinged with anger and frustration as he spoke. His frown clear under the bristled mustache. “The King will not move against Lord Kindredstar. I don't know what...” He paused and gritted his teeth. ”Politics, are at work here.” He sighed looking defeated and slouching into his chair. “I don't want to know. I'm just a smith, I don't bother with the affairs of nobles and kings, and I have no intention of trying our luck with that bloodthirsty, elitist elf.” Taking a slow deep breath he visibly calmed, though he still looked troubled, troubled and resigned. “For both of our sakes it's better to just do what the creepy bastard says. Besides girl, there is a bright side. Yer going to be taking the weapon to the tournament grounds not the palace. To yer brother, not the lord elf.”

  “Oh..” She slouched into her seat, defeated. For years she had clamored to be allowed to go to the tournament. From the time she was old enough to run, she would follow the length of the festival parade, waving ribbons and later banners and signs for her family's shop as the parade wound through each of the districts of the Capital. The city wide parade heralding the opening of the arcane gateway that joined the twin worlds at the start of the tournament. Fireworks and entertainers, street performers, and knights in armor riding majestic steeds waving long flags of elaborate heraldry. The parade culminating at the great Colosseum. The festivals had dazzled her imagination and sparked a fire inside her that wanted to learn more of adventure, to be apart of the battles not just hear about them. The closest any city girl from Cross could hope for was the tournaments of arms. For years her mother told her she was too young, that the tournaments were too violent for a little girl. That the southern gate alignment on the off years were always too dangerous. To this day she had never set foot inside the Colosseum much less the fighting pits below.

  Beka grumbled her consent to the task, looking to her uncle. He stared down at his place picking away on his breakfast in silence, a frown making his face look old and beaten. She dreamed of seeing the tournaments firsthand. The smithy worked with the knights who fought in the tourney. Not to mention her brother Lavets often came by to visit. But she wanted to see it herself for once! Sure she had tried to sneak away and get into the tournament games on more than one occasion. Always alongside Lizzy, her closest friend, a notorious local street rat that hung about the smithy when she was younger. The two were fast friends and inseparable. Every time the guards caught the pair they would be back to the shop or dropped off on the Magisterium's steps for her mother or father to deal with. This year she could finally go on her own. All the stories of battles and monsters and the epic contests of strength and skill could at last be her stories to tell. It would be the closest she would ever get to an adventure of her own. Beka sighed. “All right uncle, I will go. As long as it's just to the Colosseum.”

  “I thought that might get yer attention.” He smiled a little sadly, “ Pity yer not going for better reasons, But think of it girl! Ya will get to see the inner working of the grounds, before the crowd and all that madness begins. Ya get to go as an honored guest of a noble and smith’s apprentice to a champion in the games! That has to have some merit.” His smile brightened as her own small smile met his. “Might not be the grand adventure ya were hoping for now that yer older, but it has danger, honor, family, all that. And ya don't have to go tromping about the countryside kicking in every hole you find along the way in the hopes some foul tempered beast will come rushing out.” He started to chuckle “ Who needs vicious beasts and dirty campsites far away from home when we have our very own murderous elf to cater to right here!” He beamed at her. Beka laughed along but the laugh sounded a bit forced even to her own ears. Her uncle knew full well she had dreamed of some day getting away from the smithy and the reminder that she could work her life away, toiling in the heat and hammer strikes until death. Just like her father and his father, and his father's father. It soured her mood a little more.

  Beka did not speak of her father much, that was something her uncle understood. His chuckling slowly waned. He must have guessed where her mind had wandered, as he fell silent, poking again at his last few bites of food. Talking about staying to work the shop always left her thinking of her father. She was strong, she knew it. She had taken his death rather well. Yes she cried for a time but any little girl would. He had been a bit older for a human when her mother had met him. But the work they did at the Silver Light Smithy took a toll on one's health. Her own unnaturally long life would have seen him pass long before she was ready, even if he had been a young man. That fact was instilled in her by her mother early on. Learning the tr
uth her human friends and family would all die before she was even middle aged at such a young age had steeled her for the tragic day. The same day she learned of her obligations. As the only child of Thomas Galten the smithy would fall to her when her uncle passed. Beka desperately wanted to get away from that fate. She may enjoy the designing and crafting of filigree but the responsibility of the smithy, the shop, and the physical strength needed to work the forge felt like way too much. As long as her uncle was alive and well she had a chance to see more of the world before the inevitable. Beka had to see more of the world, and her Uncle knew it. A fact that grew harder to ignore as she got older. He managed to keep her busy day after day and she knew he would continue to do so until his time came. It was just the way of it, to work everyday, training the next generation until you’re replaced with your own apprentice. And the cycle repeats itself.

  “I know!” His voice interrupted her brooding. “We can place bets on yer brother, you can have the full sum of the winnings. We can use the gold yer brother earns for us to buy ya a new dress. How does that sound?” Beka rolled her eyes at him, now he was trying too hard. At least he was trying to lighten the mood. It really did make her feel a little better but he needed to get off her case about what she wore. Him and Lizzy both. It was always summer in the capital at the heart of the world and she worked in a bloody forge. It was hot, her outfit made sense damn it.