“Stay out of this, boy!” The man turned back to the brawl.
Emeline screamed for them to stop, but it had no effect. She turned to the back wall and reached up to grab one of the swords.
The entrance to the tavern swung open with a crash and the brawl slowed as half the men snapped their heads toward the noise. Seelios followed the stupefied gazes of the men and saw his father’s large, menacing frame occupying the entrance. He stared at Seelios for a hard moment, then approached the melee. He grabbed the nearest brawler by the collar of his tunic and yanked him backwards. A crowd of onlookers leapt up from their seats as the man crashed into their table, spilling drinks everywhere.
Another man grabbed a chair and swung, breaking it in half across the broad torso of the smith. Seelios’s father looked down at the man with quiet fury.
“S—sorry, Ricker, I didn’t know it was you!” the drunk man stammered.
The rest of the fighting came to a stop as the other men took note of Ricker’s presence. Garrick picked himself up off the floor, blood trickling down his face from a cut on a swollen brow.
“What happened here?” Ricker asked in a tone that would make a lion feel like a kitten.
The men grumbled among themselves.
“They were bothering the lady,” Garrick said. He wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve.
“Me and the lads were just having a drink until you got into the middle of it!” one of the men spat.
The others in the group started arguing and shouting over each other at Garrick, building into an inaudible din. Seelios thought another fight was going to break out.
“Enough!” Ricker shouted, silencing the crowd. “Miss Emeline, are you hurt?”
“No, sir, and thank you. Things about got out of hand before you arrived,” Emeline said from behind the bar.
“To tell the truth, I had no notion of the brawl. I came for another reason.” Ricker shot a stern gaze to Seelios that made him want to shrink into the floor boards.
“What business do you men have getting drunk in the tavern in the middle of the day?” Ricker said to the crowd.
“What of it, Ricker? We do with our time as we please. It doesn’t hurt anyone,” one of the men said. The others in the group shifted uncomfortably, as if they were unsure they agreed with the statement.
“People in this village break their backs to tend the land yet here you are, drinking the working hours away.”
“But, sir, the blight. We can’t get but nearly as much the yield,” one of the men protested.
“And your solution is to ignore? You’re farmers. Your duty is to provide food to the people.”
The crowd swayed and shifted uncomfortably. Garrick looked around at the men with a certain satisfaction in his eye.
“Especially you, Garrick. I’ve heard tales of you drinking in here more than anyone else,” Ricker said.
Garrick lowered his head, looking as if he were stung with the same guilt as the rest. The men slowly shuffled out of the tavern without saying a word. One stopped to pick up an overturned stool, but scared away when he saw Ricker watching him.
Garrick followed the last man out, but lingered at Ricker’s side. “You’re right, Ricker. I should be tending to my—”
“Go home, Garrick. You’re too drunk to be working your fields. You’ll only end up hurting yourself,” Ricker said.
Garrick slunk toward the door, giving a solemn glance to Seelios. “Sorry I didn’t help you.” He walked out the door.
Emeline cleared her throat and laughed nervously. “You certainly know how to clear a room, Ricker.”
“Good day, Miss Emeline.” Ricker turned toward the front door and began to walk. He yelled for Seelios to come as he exited the tavern.
Seelios was about to follow his father when something caught his eye on the door frame. He leaned and thought it to be a brown piece of food stuck on the wood, tossed from a table in the mayhem. But something compelled Seelios to investigate further. He reached out and pinched it between his thumb and index finger, causing it to crumble to pieces and fall to the floor, leaving a residue on his hand. Seelios brought it up to his nose then lowered it, giving it a questioning look. It smelled of rich soil pulled from deep within the earth.
3
Seelios walked through the entrance of the forge, expecting to hear the sounds of bellows pumping or hammer striking anvil. Instead, he found a large cloth spread out across the work table, covered with clothes, cookware, camping supplies, and other miscellaneous items. Seelios turned and saw his father rummaging through a chest and pull out a purse that he’d hidden away. Ricker walked over to the table, dropped the purse, wrapped the bundle, and cinched it tight with a rope.
The air in the room was filled with a thick, bitter, and uncomfortable silence.
“I . . . thought your trip to Gorynn wasn’t but for another two days,” Seelios said.
Ricker continued sifting and packing, refusing to acknowledge Seelios’s presence.
“Sorry for not returning sooner,” Seelios said with a mumble, watching his father move between shelves and cabinets to pull more items to pack. The silence was almost too much for Seelios. He wanted his father to yell, to tell him how disappointed he was.
Ricker set the bundle aside, laid out another smaller cloth, and began gathering dried meats, fruits, vegetables, and other food.
“I’ll need to trade for more fire rock as our current supply was wasted,” Ricker said. “I’m leaving early to finish forging my commission at Gorynn Monastery since my current assistance and facilities are insufficient.”
The words were said with such calm statement, as if they were a list of facts read off a piece of parchment. They stung more than any amount of yelling could have.
Ricker walked over to another chest and unlocked it with a key. He lifted out a beautiful glass sphere and brought it to the table. The closer Seelios looked, the more he realized it wasn’t actually glass. The way it sparkled in the dim light of candles and forge embers, it looked to be something else. Wrapped around it was a single band of swirling metal, the same orichalcum band that his father tempered earlier. Intricate patterns and lines were detailed into the metal, a style that reminded him of the runes that appeared on Seelios’s ring. Seelios knew that his father was a master smith, but had no idea that he was capable of crafting such beauty.
Ricker grabbed tools off the wall and brought them to the table. “I’ll be gone for several days, possibly weeks.” He moved to grab a short sword that leaned against a rack, placed it on the table, and looked at Seelios with a serious stare. “If anyone comes asking for me whom you don’t know, you’re to hide. If you can’t hide, you’re to run. If you can’t run, you’re to defend yourself.”
Seelios looked down to the short sword upon the table. It was a speech he heard every time his father traveled.
“Please, can’t I just go with you? I can help,” Seelios said.
Ricker narrowed his eyes. “You’re to stay here and look after the forge. It’s from your negligence that I need to make this journey. You’re to scrub this place down until it’s spotless. Not a single speck of ash.” He fixed Seelios with a fierce, lingering stare, daring him to protest or say something in retort. “Perhaps when I return you’ll have learned the discipline to follow through on simple requests.”
Seelios felt the heat of anger. “I was going to return with Garrick, but—”
“Enough!” Ricker said, raising his voice.
Seelios’s anger was chased away, replaced with a hint of fear.
“One day you must learn that responsibility can’t be wished away by juvenile excuses. If you say you’re going to do something, you do it. Your delay has cost us much.”
Shame took over Seelios. He had so much that he wanted to say, to explain what Garrick was going through. About the cloaked man. Suddenly, he remembered using the runic artifact and his pulse quickened.
Ricker raised an eyebrow at Seelios. “Is there s
omething you want to say?”
Seelios jerked out of his trance and met his father’s intimidating gaze. “N—no.” Seelios gave a nervous smile that likely raised his father’s suspicions even greater. Ricker’s piercing silver eyes held for what seemed like an eternity.
“Pack the rest of the fire rock and meet me by the wagon,” Ricker said as he gestured toward the small heap of glittering stones in the corner.
Seelios shoveled the rocks into a heavy cloth sack as fast as he could, trying to avoid another scolding. When he finished cinching it tight, he walked it outside the forge and found his father nearly finished preparing the wagon. The weight of the rocks threw Seelios off balance with nearly each step he waddled toward his father.
Ricker’s open wagon was hitched to two horses and loaded with the packs that he’d put together inside the forge. Sweat was already beginning to form over Seelios’s brow as he wrestled the bag of fire rock toward the rear of the wagon. He tried to lift it up over the edge, but couldn’t clear the top of the wheel. He dropped the bag and took a moment to catch his breath. Ricker reached down and grabbed the sack with one hand, lifting it into the wagon with ease. Seelios stepped aside, helpless, as he gave his father room to work.
They loaded the supplies together in continued silence, broken only by Ricker to direct Seelios where to put certain things or where other items could be fetched. Seelios watched as his father tugged and tucked at the wagon load, tying down what needed to be secured. Once the preparations were complete, Ricker climbed into the seat and gathered the reins. Seelios thought his father was going to ride away without any last words, but just as Ricker was about to set the horse into motion he turned and gave Seelios another long stare. It wasn’t a look like before; there seemed to be no anger, but a certain sense of concern.
“I feel that, sometimes, I ask too much of you,” Ricker said. He raised his eyes up to a black bird flying overhead. “You see that raven? It spends its life soaring from place to place, hunting for its next meal. That is its purpose.” He gave a heavy sigh and looked back down. “I know that you seek adventure and, perhaps one day, you will have it. But you must also remember that you are not a raven, your purpose is different. You are but a fawn finding your way in this world, a way that only you can choose. You will find purpose, and when you do it will make you strong.”
“Father, please, let me come with you,” Seelios said.
Ricker held up a small leather pouch in the air, ignoring the plea. “Mostly silvers and coppers, but I left a few golds. Don’t waste it. For food and emergencies only.” He placed the pouch in Seelios’s hand and the coins inside chimed against each other.
“Another thing,” Ricker said. His face turned to a smoldering stare and he pointed down at the ring on Seelios’s finger. “Don’t disobey my command again.” He snapped the reins and the wagon lurched forward.
Seelios was sweeping up a pile of soot when a knock came at the door. A full day had passed since Ricker left, but Seelios could still hear the words inside his head about receiving strangers. He walked over to a window and cracked open one of the shutters. Garrick stood outside, still fresh with healing bruises and cuts across his face. His dirtied outfit from the tavern had been replaced with something much cleaner; a rich green vest over a white linen shirt matched with a fresh pair of linen pants. He was holding the reins to a familiar horse.
Seelios hesitated a moment, then walked to the front door and pulled it open.
“Greetings, friend!” Garrick said with a bright smile. An awkward silence hung in the air for a moment as Seelios stared, unmoving.
Garrick’s eyes shifted nervously as he waited for a response. His smile dropped to a solemn expression. “I’m sorry for yesterday. My behavior and not helping you, it was horrendous of me.”
Seelios continued to stand in silence, regarding his friend.
Garrick frowned. “I haven’t been myself. It’s no excuse, but far be it for me to ignore my wrongdoing.” He held up the reins to the horse standing next to him. “It may not change yesterday, but she’s yours now.”
The horse’s ears twitched, and she reached out toward Seelios with her nose. Her name was Acorn, a small brown mare that Seelios often visited when he was in Garrick’s stables. Acorn barely gave any mind to those who approached her, except for Seelios. It was as if they had a natural connection, an understanding of each other’s places in the world.
Seelios had always been fond of animals. In his childhood years he befriended a donkey that let him ride on its back. He’d done it so much that it felt natural to ride horses once he’d grown enough.
Seelios looked back to Garrick. “You’re giving her to me?” For a moment, excitement came at the thought of owning Acorn, however, the feeling faded when realization dawned on him. “We don’t have room in the stables. Even if we did, I doubt my father would want to keep her.”
Garrick shrugged. “I’ll keep her in my stables, but she’ll be yours. Visit her whenever you like, take her out for rides as you please.”
Seelios smiled for the first time since his father left. “I’ll trade you,” he said as he thrust the broom at Garrick and took Acorn’s reins.
Garrick chuckled as he looked at the broom handle. “Suppose I deserved that.”
“Hello, girl,” Seelios said as he stroked the horse’s neck.
Acorn snorted softly and nuzzled Seelios’s hand.
Garrick frowned. “I still don’t understand her. She’s never that affectionate with me.”
“It’s probably because you call her dim-witted and stupid,” Seelios said.
Garrick shook his head and smirked. “That’s because she is. Just the other day she got her head stuck in a tree trying to get an apple.”
Seelios brushed Acorn’s mane with his hand. “She was just hungry.”
“There was a pail full of picked apples right next to her.”
Seelios shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t want the ones you touched.”
“The other day she escaped from her stall and ran into the woods.”
“Seems to be a smart thing for a captive animal to do.”
“She barely made it past the tree line because she got tangled in a bush.”
Seelios held up her reins. “Are you going to tie her or should I?”
Garrick waved a hand. “Don’t bother. She’ll stay if she knows you’re here.” He walked into the forge with the broom and paused in the doorway, frozen in place.
“Something the matter?” Seelios asked.
Garrick turned and looked over his shoulder at Seelios. “Do you remember that book we found in my library years ago?”
Seelios laughed. “You’ll have to be more specific. We found quite a few.”
Garrick turned around and faced Seelios with a serious expression. “The one about those demons, the whole manner of them and what they did.”
The lingering smile from Seelios’s laughter faded. He was the first to find it back then, tucked away on a shadowy shelf. They leafed through it and found chilling sketches of monstrous creatures and myths of war between immortal beings. Seelios always had an interest in learning about the history of the gods, but there was something about that book that made him uneasy. He purposefully pushed the names of the demons as far away from his mind as he could. What he saw in that book he didn’t wish upon anyone.
“I . . . vaguely remember,” Seelios said. “Why do you ask?”
“It’s just, the other day I opened it again. I don’t know what compelled me to look, but I found something,” Garrick said.
Seelios raised his eyebrows expectedly.
Garrick had a nervous look. “It said that during their height of power the demons could possess the minds of their minions from great distances.”
Seelios slowly nodded as he thought about it. The thought was terrifying, but the threat of demons was long eradicated by the gods. They lost the war and were bound for eternity.
“You think that’s the cause of your ni
ghtmares? Even if they’re still alive, I doubt the demons even know we exist. Humans weren’t around when demons last roamed free,” Seelios said.
Garrick slowly nodded and turned back to the forge. “Aye, you’re probably right.” He walked in and began sweeping up the soot.
Seelios had never seen his friend so distressed. He walked in, closed the door, and stopped short when he heard the sound of a cork popping from a glass bottle.
“How many is that today?” Seelios said as he furrowed his brow at the flask Garrick had pulled out from his tunic.
“Calm yourself, just little something to lift the spirits. Going to need it if I’m to help you clean this filth.” Garrick took a long draw of foamy amber liquid that looked like ale.
“Garrick . . . you shouldn’t drink this much.”
Garrick threw an annoyed look and corked the bottle. “What are you so concerned about? No harm will come to anyone.” He stuffed the flask back into his tunic and began sweeping the floor.
“Except you. It could harm you. I’ve read—”
“You read what?” Garrick snapped. “You read that taking an occasional sip of ale is bad for you? That I’ll be stricken by some plague sent by the gods? Not everything you read is true.”
Anger stirred in Seelios’s chest. “What’s happening with you?” Seelios yelled. If he was a bigger man, he would’ve tried to punch Garrick, or at least slap some sense into him. “This isn’t the friend I know.”
“I know!” Garrick yelled back. “I know,” he said again in a softer tone, close to a whisper. He turned away from Seelios and leaned on the broom, hanging his head down. He pulled out his flask and took another drink.
“It’s the only thing that keeps the nightmares at bay,” Garrick said as he wiped his mouth with a sleeve and re-corked the flask.
Garrick turned back to Seelios but averted eye contact. “Without it, I’m haunted by awful things.” He looked up at Seelios.
“Garrick, do you remember the day we built the boat?” Seelios asked.
As the Earthen Stag Walks (The Simulacrum Book 1) Page 3
