by William Cali
Pent jumped the fence and approached. Lemen, looking entirely broken, was mumbling, slurring to himself, “All my fault.” He seemed to be sobbing to himself as he drowned his sorrows in liquor.
“I don’t know if that’s really helping.” Pent tried to grab the mug from Lemen, but he was not willing to part with it. He clung to it like a security blanket.
“Oooooh, my big friend.” Seeing Pent sobered Lemen up a bit. “I made a great mistake, a great mistake, and now we’re all dooooomed.” He slouched even further.
Pent felt a pang of sorrow for the man. He had never seen someone so miserable. “This situation is bad news, but we’re not about to give up. I’m not about to give up, and you shouldn’t either.”
Lemen continued sobbing as if he hadn’t heard Pent at all, “We’re doomed, dooooomed. That false knight will kill us all.”
“Listen up, man.” Pent sat down next to the scraggly distiller and slung an arm over his shoulder. “All that’s going on here, it’s not your fault. It’s not. You did everything you were supposed to do. You served him, you were debased by him… You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything that’s happening right now, it’s not because of you, it’s because of me. This is all my fault.”
Lemen stared at Pent with wide eyes. “It’s not my fault?”
“That’s right, it’s mine. But listen, man, listen. I want to make it right. I want to help you all defend this village from Gilbrand, from Yozer, from anybody like them. And I need you to help me out. Can you help me?”
Lemen burped loudly, and the smell nearly knocked Pent off his feet.
“Help yah, can I help yah? Fight Yozer? Fight Gilbrand?” He shuddered. “How can I help you fight? I’m no soldier. I can’t even wield a sword. I’m just a drunken fool. Everyone here knows that, why don’t you?”
Pent smiled and ignored the question. “That’s alright, I don’t need you to hop on a horse, pretend to be King Arthur or anything like that. I just need you to fight with me in your own special way.” He gestured to the mug that Lemen was still holding on to for dear life. “I need to borrow some liquor.”
“You want to have a drink with me? Sure you can.”
“That’s very generous,” Pent said, smiling, “but I’ve got something else in mind. Help me check to see if I’m right about something. Let me get a cup or a mug of this stuff.” He paused for a second. “Make sure it’s a clay cup. I don’t think I can use metal for this.”
Lemen shrugged and rose to a wobbly stand. He sauntered inside and came back moments later with a small clay cup filled about halfway with liquor. He handed it over to Pent, who grabbed it, smelled it, and then took a small sip from it. “It’s really strong.”
“Aye, I been making it awhile. I enjoy it. The weak stuff doesn’t do much for me anymore,” Lemen said.
Pent regarded him nervously. “You know it’s not healthy to drink so much, right? I guess it won’t matter if this idea doesn’t work…”
Pent found a dry patch of dirt and set down the cup. Lemen stared at him as he paced, explaining his plan. “So, it’s been a while since I’ve opened up a chemistry book, but this stuff seems strong. It smells strong enough. Sure tastes strong enough. I think this could work.” He grabbed a twig off the ground and snapped it in half. “Back up a few steps, alright? Not sure how this is gonna pan out.” Lemen happily obliged, staring with a childlike curiosity.
Pent pulled out his lighter, placed the twig in the cup, and lit the tip. When the flame had burned halfway down the twig, Pent cocked back his arm and launched the mug as hard as he could. Here goes nothing.
It soared several yards away into the dirt. There was the sound of the clay shattering on impact, followed by a whoosh in the air as a broad carpet of flame erupted. The fire flared up for an instant, lapping against the dirt and spreading wide along the surface of the ground. It died down moments after, leaving the earth slightly charred. The grass was smoldering in a few places, so Pent ran up to stamp out the little fires remaining, whooping victoriously.
“Now we’re in business!”
Lemen could only stare at the blackened ground, mouth wide open in shock.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The explosion seemed to sober up Lemen significantly. He slowly worked his jaw closed and managed to stammer, “Wha—How—Wha—? You must be a wizard! I have never seen such a thing before!”
“I’m no wizard, I actually get things done,” Pent said as he snuffed out the smoldering grass with his foot. “I am kind of surprised, though. That had way more of a kick than I would have guessed. Have you guys never tried something like that before? That swill you drink, I swear you can strip the paint off a barn with it. It’s too potent.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t understand how you’re even alive, man. You drink more than anyone I’ve ever seen. But this stuff is exactly what we need. It goes beyond flammable; this stuff is explosive. You drop a match into one, and it goes up. If you pack them into a small clay container, throw on a fuse, you’ve got yourself a grenade. We call them Molotov Cocktails where I’m from.”
“Grenate?”
“Never mind, Lem. If I live long enough, I think I’m gonna have to write you guys a guidebook for phrases. Or at least a dictionary.” Pent waved his hand dismissively. “We have the liquor, obviously, but now we need containers. I need as many of those cups as you have.”
“Ooooh, hm. I don’t have any more of those, though. No, I just have the barrels here.” He studied his empty hands. “That was my favorite drinking cup.”
“Sorry about that, man. Don’t worry about that now. I need you to get your hands on more of them. Ask around town and get as many containers as you can that can be held in one hand. And make sure they’re clay, narrow at the top is better.” Pent mimed the layout of a bottle with his hands. “They have to break when you throw them, that’s important. You got it?”
Lemen nodded slowly, pained concentration on his face. “I can do that, yeah.”
Pent patted him on the shoulder. “That’s good. I know you can take care of this. I’ll catch you later.”
Pent walked around to the front of the distillery. Just as he was about to enter the main road, he glanced back over his shoulder and saw Lemen stumble into the yard behind his house and fall over. I wonder if he can handle this.
* * *
Faldo’s home was a work of supreme craftsmanship, and Pent admired the skill and effort the builder had put into his home every time he passed by. Walking up the paved entranceway, Pent paused at the decorative knockers on the door.
His craft is what they needed here. Faldo had expertise that would be invaluable. He was the only one who could draw accurate maps of the surrounding area and who had access to them. His map of the town would be helpful as well. He could identify places where they could fortify their position, places where they could set up traps. And he was a talented builder, with knowledge of architecture, construction, and organization—invaluable skills for setting up an iron-clad defense. Pent needed Faldo on his side.
But even beyond the skills he possessed, Faldo was one of the revered residents of Somerville. Lemen was a drunk, and Hanar spent half his time wandering outside in the woods. Neither of their opinions would hold a tremendous amount of weight. But if he could get Faldo on his side, that would go a long way. He had built most of the homes in Somerville. Everyone knew him. Pent had even heard him referred to as “The first son of the village.”
This jumbled in his mind as Pent walked towards the door and knocked on it twice. A soft voice replied, “Come on in.” Pent heard a scraping noise as he entered the house. It sent a shudder down his spine, though he could not tell why.
Faldo was seated facing away from the door, his ornamental sword in his lap. He was sharpening the blade, carefully drawing the edge over a whetstone, again and again. He glanced up at Pent, “Oh, so it’s you.”
“I can go if you want, don’t mean to be any trouble.”
He shook his
head. “What is it you want?”
Pent steeled himself and stepped forward, taking a seat across from Faldo. “I’ve been going around town and shoring up support to fix this mess. The mess that I made. I know I screwed up, but I don’t think everyone should clear out and risk it all out in the wild. I think if we stand together, we can fight back. We can defeat Yozer together.”
Faldo continued working on the sword, not meeting Pent’s eye. “I’m just a builder. I’m no warrior. You can always build a new house, a new town. But not if we’re all dead. A dead village will never come back to life.”
Pent scratched the back of his head, deciding on his approach. “I remember one of the first days I was here. I went and visited that graveyard you all have here. It’s a pretty grim scene, lots of dead here.”
Faldo grunted his agreement. “I plotted out that land. Most of the bodies had already been buried there before I was born. I just gave them a dedicated place to rest.”
“Did you design that big grave with the warrior statue too?” Pent asked. Faldo stopped grinding the sword and glanced up at Pent, eyebrows narrowed. “That big warrior, that’s your grandfather, isn’t it?”
“So, you’ve been asking around. You’re right, my grandfather rests there. The greatest hero in Somerville’s history.”
“What do you think your grandfather would do? He was important enough for you to make that statue, for everyone in town to consider him a hero,” Pent said. He leaned forward toward Faldo, ready to take a chance. “Do you think he would turn tail and run away? I never knew the guy personally, but a warrior like that? I bet he would stand and fight,” he said, trying to sound fierce and proud. He pressed one hand against his own chest. “If you stand and fight with me, I’m sure the rest of the town will follow.”
Faldo was quiet for some time. He held the sharpened sword in his lap and was staring off into space. Pent quickly considered the distance between the two of them and was thankful that there was a table separating them if something went down. After waiting for what felt like an eternity, Faldo sighed and laid the sword on the table. “You really raised my ire earlier. You came in here, you grabbed this sword, and you near broke it in half fighting that false knight.” He brushed his hand over the sword like a worried father might soothe a sick child. “I made that statue, but this is the only memento I have of my family, the only thing that’s been left behind. It’s just me and Daley now. There’s nothing else of my grandfather’s legacy. Just us and this sword.”
He got up, leaving the sword on the table, and clomping towards the kitchen. “I’ve been thinking ever since you started this whole mess. I suppose there’s one more piece of legacy. This town. That it stands here in this spot, and has this whole time, is a testament to what they accomplished. Establishing a safe home for many in such dark times. What my grandfather chose to do, even though so many others failed.”
He cracked his knuckles and made his way around the table towards Pent. He stopped right in front of him and stood with his arms crossed. “You’ve put everyone in this town at risk. They could lose their homes. They could lose their lives! I thought for sure when you and Hanar left I wouldn’t see you again, but here you are. Trying to convince me to protect a home that you’ve spent barely a month in. You’re doing what he would do.” Tears shone in Faldo’s eyes as he spoke. “My grandfather would stand, he would fight. He didn’t just choose to survive, he chose to live, and where he set his flag was right here in this spot.” He marched over to his sword and grasped it tightly. “I’m with you. I’ve spent most of my life here, and I’m not well inclined to run off and abandon it all.”
Pent stood and smiled down at the builder gripping his grandfather’s sword. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry for putting everyone in this spot. I didn’t want to drag you all into a fight. I did what I felt I had to, what I felt was right. I just didn’t know it’d go like this.”
“My grandfather was a true knight, but that Gilbrand is a fraud. He’s a coward wearing a shield in the form of Yozer’s name. We were wrong to stand aside and let him control Somerville. For us to look the other way, even when he tried to take Mother Lyle’s life… What a disgrace.” He raised the sword in the air and waved it. “I will do whatever I need to honor my family’s legacy and to atone for that mistake. I will fight by your side when the time comes.” He swung the blade in a reckless imitation of a sword fight, causing Pent to back up nervously.
“Alright, man, alright, just don’t hurt yourself. When the time comes, definitely come through with that sword. We can bust some skulls. For right now, I need you to ask around and see who else is willing to go to war with us. We’re going to need as many of the townspeople as we can convince.”
* * *
Pent found his way to the next stop on his list. He considered the smoky hut and winced, rubbing his eyes in anticipation. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to step back in there.” He approached Cenk’s home slowly but was caught off guard when the short, stout man barreled right out the door. He was mumbling something to himself and almost barged right into Pent. He stopped short and stared Pent in the face.
It took Pent a moment to realize that Cenk was waiting for him to speak. He was so caught off guard that all he could stammer out was, “Er, yes?”
“Aye? Ya came here.”
“Yeah, I came here. Sorry, sorry. I came here to ask you something.”
“Aye?”
“Well, you see, man, I personally think your talents are being wasted here. You toil away, day in and out, hammering on that anvil, living in that cancer laden hut, making what? Plates? Forks? Mugs and goblets for Lemen’s noxious booze? You need to be getting deep into the thick of it, man. You should be making something important.” He waited for Cenk to chime in, but the blacksmith only stared in silence. “Weapons, man. You need to be making weapons and armor, things this place actually needs.”
Cenk’s eyes widened. “Das forbidden.”
“Forb—Wait hang on a second, are you not aware of what’s going on in town?”
Cenk waited, mouth closed tightly, glaring at Pent as he waited for him to finish. Don’t think he’s blinked once. “Gilbrand is done with this place, Cenk. He’s coming here with Lord Yozer, planning on wiping everyone out.”
Against Pent’s wildest expectations, the short, bearded blacksmith smiled. It was the first show of emotion he had ever seen on Cenk’s face. He smiled from ear to ear, a grin showing no teeth. “Uh, did you hear me right, man? I said that Yozer is coming here to kill us. I screwed up something fierce, and,” Pent fumbled for the right words, “insulted Gilbrand. I figured you could help us out, so you don’t need to worry about anything being forbidden anymore, right? A couple of swo—”
Cenk grabbed Pent by the arm and yanked him into his home. He was almost dragged off his feet but caught his balance and stumbled along behind. His eyes were already tearing up from the ever-present smoke, and he took a great big breath of it in by mistake, which threw him into a coughing fit. Eyes closed, flailing about, he was unable to ask Cenk where he was taking him.
All at once the smoke had vanished. Pent opened his eyes and noticed he was outside again. Cenk’s hut was behind him. Cent indicated the two X-shaped marks at his feet. Pent groaned, realizing he was standing on a grave. Cenk raised an eyebrow in response and wordlessly handed over one of two shovels he was holding.
“Whoa, man. I’m not about to upset some gravesite with you.”
Cenk pointed down at the marker, grunting out one word. “Dig.”
“Hey, listen, man, that’s not hap—”
Cenk slammed his shovel unceremoniously into the earth and began to dig. Pent reluctantly joined him. Cenk was immensely strong, and, despite performing an entire day’s work already, he did not seem short of breath at all. Pent imagined Cenk on the battlefield, swinging his hammer with crushing strength. If nothing else, we could just put him in front of everyone else and have him swing that hammer of his around. Bet he would t
ake Gilbrand’s head off in one swing.
Cenk dug away the soft soil like a machine. Pent had lifted out barely a foot of dirt before Cenk’s shovel made a clanging sound. The shovel scraped away the last thin layer of dirt, grinding against the metal of a wide container.
It seemed a bit morbid to Pent that the blacksmith made some kind of coffin and kept it buried in his back yard. People bury their pets in their yards sometimes, I guess. Maybe it’s like that?
He heard that same clanging when his own shovel finally hit a metallic surface. Cenk hopped over and helped him clear it, and then took one side of the box, beckoning for Pent to do the same on the other side. Pent was about to voice his discomfort, but Cent waved away Pent’s concerns.
The two men gave the large box a heave and jerked it free of the hole. Pent looked up at Cenk. “That’s too thin to be a coffin. What is this?”
Cenk smiled like a kid unwrapping a Christmas present as he wrenched his fingers into a hole on the side of the metallic coffin. The box split into two parts as he lifted it, and Pent’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t help but grin at the contents of the box.
There was an indentation on the inside of the box in the shape of a long, thin sword with a cross-shaped guard.
“This is a mold, right?” Pent asked, pointing to the metal box. “You pour molten metal into this and it takes the shape of this mold?” Cenk nodded. “So, you can make a sword with this? Swords, even?”
“Aye.”
Pent couldn’t stop smiling. Before, it felt like surviving their situation was a pipe dream. Without real weapons, they would just be bodies thrown into the eager swords of Gilbrand, Yozer, and their men. With this, Cenk could make them weapons, and, with weapons, they could put up a fight.
