Instinctively, he pushed the pain away and his world seemed to narrow as he absorbed it. He felt a rage building deep down in his chest and his vision filtered with red. All Logan saw was the man in black. He was all that existed in Logan’s world. No pain, no soldiers, no family, just the one man in black.
He kept moving.
The smirk left the man’s face when he saw that Logan didn’t fall. It turned into a frown when Logan kept coming. Reflexively, his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. He signalled to his soldiers again.
A third arrow slammed into Logan, its barbed head passing through the large muscle of his left thigh. The wound caused his leg to give out from under him, and he crashed to the ground. Logan rolled into the fall and forced himself back to his feet. He staggered forward, his left leg screaming whenever he brought his weight down on it. Again, he ignored the pain and forced himself forward, his gaze never leaving the man in black.
Another arrow drove deep into Logan’s chest. It stopped him in his tracks. He felt it slam against a rib, heard the crack of the bone. Breathing itself became agony as shards of splintered bone raked against his lungs. Logan’s gaze moved down to the arrow protruding from his chest. The pain was incredible and he had to strain harder and harder to get air into his lungs.
He looked back to the man in black who was studying him intently. Logan forced himself to take a step, then another. But even he couldn’t keep moving with four arrows lodged deeply in his body. Slowly, he collapsed to his knees, a mere five feet from his mother’s body. His eyes focused on her.
So close, he thought.
He tried to crawl forward but his left arm was nearly useless. It wouldn’t support his weight and he collapsed to the dirt.
Logan lay on his side, struggling and gasping for air but his lungs refused to fill. He felt the blood leaving his body. No longer spurting, it just sort of oozed away from him. A shadow fell across him as a figure stepped over to him. He struggled to turn his head and managed to roll onto his back. Above him loomed the man in the black armour. A smile creased the man’s taut face.
“Tough little bastard, aren’t you?”
The man raised one heavily armoured foot. Logan struggled to bring his arms up, but it was no use. His body was too weak. As the boot came down across his throat, Logan thought he heard a scream from somewhere far away. Then everything went black.
Chapter Nine: Gone but Not Forgotten
They heavy clang of metal on metal was the first thing Logan became aware of as his consciousness slowly returned to him. It reverberated painfully through his skull and he almost found himself wishing for the peace that came with unconsciousness. He couldn’t be sure how long he laid like that, lost in the constant pounding. Eventually the agony in his head subsided and he cracked open his eyelids. Wherever he was, it was dark. The only illumination was the flickering reflection of flames on stone walls.
Logan carefully moved his head as he scanned the surrounding room. The walls were a dark black stone and extremely rough-cut. If he had to take a guess, he would have said it was more of a cave than a room. Given the sharp rock digging uncomfortably into his back, he figured that his body would probably agree with him. In the distance, he could see the flickering light that was providing the little illumination he had. Slowly, tentatively, he pulled himself up to his feet to investigate.
Amazed that he could even move at all, he cautiously made his way through the darkness toward that distant flame.
He felt his strength returning to him as he neared the flame and saw it for what it really was – the burning coals of a forge. Squinting his eyes against the bright orange light of the coals, he became aware of a figure before him.
Logan focused his attention on the man. Not much taller than himself, the man was working intently at his task. The hammer in his hand was massive, yet seemed to weigh nothing to the mysterious figure. Time after time, he lifted the massive hammer above his head with one hand and brought it thundering down on the metal in front of him. The man may not have appeared much bigger than Logan, but it was clear that he was vastly stronger than the young apprentice.
A sheen of sweat glistened across the man’s bare back and his muscles bulged tight against his skin as he worked the metal. Logan drew closer, and he could feel the intense heat of the forge against his skin. Drawing to a halt, Logan found that he had entered a massive chamber apparently cut from the living rock.
The hammering never missed a beat, always steady and rhythmic, as the figure spoke in a gravely voice.
“Ah … So you’re finally up!”
“Wha … What happened? I thought I was dead.”
“You should be.”
The hammering stopped and the man turned slightly towards him.
“Not the brightest move you know, running headlong into a band of armed soldiers,” he shook his head. “And with archers, no less.”
The man watched him from the corner of his left eye and “tsked” in obvious disapproval. Logan would have said something to defend himself if the man’s presence hadn’t stunned him to silence. He noticed the deformity in his legs first. They resembled the old withered branches of a dying tree. They looked sick and unable to support the man’s considerable bulk.
“Not pretty, are they?”
The man’s tone was calm and accepting, like one who had lived with his deformity for a long time and had come to peace with it.
“I … I’m … sorr …”
The words caught in Logan’s throat as his gaze moved up from the man’s legs to his face. The man had completely turned to face Logan and he had to fight back the nausea as he looked him in the eyes. The right side of his face was almost completely gone, bone showed through at the cheek and around the eye. No lid covered the eye itself, giving it the appearance that it could fall out of the socket at any time. At the man’s jaw Logan could see the whites of his teeth perpetually exposed in some horrific grimace.
If Logan thought things couldn’t look worse, the man smiled. This exposed even more of his lower jaw and teeth.
“Well shut your mouth, boy. You’re gaping like a fish.”
Logan’s mouth clamped shut at the man’s reproach.
“I … I’m … sorry,” he tried again.
“Forget it. I’m used to it.”
The man shrugged off the apology like an ill-fitting coat.
“Come with me.”
He turned slowly on his ruined legs and moved toward a table at the far end of the forge. His gait was odd but he seemed sure on his feet and Logan followed a few steps behind. As he followed, Logan took the opportunity to study the room around him. It did indeed appear to have been carved straight out of the living rock. The walls were the same black stone as in the room he had awoken, though this room was much larger. The floor of the chamber was mostly flat.
“Mostly” might be a bit generous, he thought as he stumbled over a slight outcropping of rock.
The burning coals of the forge were held in a large open oven of the same black stone and a massive bellows was suspended to one side.
Slightly away from the actual forge was a large metal anvil resting on an equally massive stone table that seemed to grow up out of the floor. To the side of the anvil were several large, wooden barrels that Logan figured contained water for cooling the metal. The wall near the anvil was arrayed with all manner of tools, some familiar, some so foreign he could only guess their purpose. A large crack in the rock ceiling above the forge caught Logan’s eye. He guessed that it acted like a chimney for the smithy.
As he looked at the worktables scattered around the chamber, his mouth again fell open, this time in wonder, as he gazed at the items strewn about. Weapons and armour of incredible artistry and beauty lay haphazardly around in various stages of completion.
Even at a quick glance he could tell that the quality and the artistry were beyond anything he had ever had the good fortune to see. Yet, unbelievably, these incredible pieces were just thrown about li
ke mere rubbish. He stared again at the strange man before him.
If this was the quality of the man’s cast offs, Logan thought. What would his finished pieces be like?
The man seated himself at a relatively clear worktable and beckoned Logan to the empty chair opposite him.
“Okay, Logan, let’s get down to business. And stop catching flies.”
Logan forced himself to close his mouth.
“Now, Logan, as I’m sure you figured out … I’m …”
“Hephaestus!” Logan nearly jumped out of his chair as it came to him.
Gods, this really was Hephaestus, he thought. It had to be. Who other than the blacksmith god could create such works of art.
A small grin spread across the good side of Hephaestus’ face.
“That’s right, very good. I’m pleased to see that charging large groups of armed men is not the extent of your intellect.”
“My family … they’re dead.” The knowledge flooded back through Logan like a wave smashing a small boat on the rocks of Solan Bay.
Hephaestus reached out and placed a large hand on Logan’s shoulder.
“I know, boy, I know. I’m very sorry about that. I had no control over it. That’s more Ares’ department than mine. And before you ask, there is nothing I can do to bring them back.”
As Logan absorbed this news he felt it stab deep into his heart. Yet, even as he felt that pain, he knew that in spite of it he would survive. He acknowledged Hephaestus’ statement with a simple nod. The god continued.
“But we really do need to get down to business. I can only keep you here for a short time before the other god’s start wondering what happened to you.”
“Uh … okay.”
Logan really didn’t understand any of this.
“Now boy, I’ve been watching mortals for a long time now, and I can’t say that I’ve been real happy about what I’ve been seeing. Oh sure, Ares is having a great time as you mortals do your best to destroy each other. Hades, the elves and dwarves nearly succeeded a few years back and they wiped out the entire gnomish empire in the process. The trolls are running around killing everything that crosses their path. It’s been open season on shape shifters for centuries and now the humans are killing or enslaving everything they come across,” Hephaestus rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, I decided that I’d had enough. It was time to do something about it.”
Hephaestus smiled at Logan as he continued.
“So, some years ago I decided to make a man. And not just any man, but the perfect man.”
He paused and looked deep into Logan’s eyes.
“And that man is you, Logan.”
Logan sputtered in disbelief as he shook his head.
“Perfect? I don’t think so! I’m so ugly and … and …”
“Ugly is it!” Hephaestus jumped to his twisted feet and slammed his hands down on the table, causing several pieces of armour to bounce from the impact.
“Well, boy, there is much more to perfection than just beauty. I’ll have you know that I took all the best parts from all the races when I made you, boy!”
“When you made? I thought Zeus made …”
Hephaestus began pacing beside the table.
“Oh, yes. Zeus created all the different races, or so he tells everyone. But I created you, boy. I made you here in my forge and then I gave you to one of my most trusted blacksmiths to temper and hone. I am your maker, boy, and I made you to be perfect.”
He sat back down in his chair before he continued.
“But, I made you for a reason. I made you to try and bring some sanity to this sick and twisted world. You are the blade I made to cut the sickness and disease from this place and try to restore the … humanity.”
He smiled at his own small pun.
“But, that won’t happen if you keep going out of your way to try and get yourself killed. That natural healing magic I gave you can only do so much, you know. If you get your head cut off there’s a damn good chance you’ll die.”
Hephaestus smiled at his little joke, but Logan was focusing on other things.
“Healing … magic?” he began slowly.
Hephaestus rolled his eyes and muttered in response.
“Yes … yes … magic. And before you ask, no, you are not a magician or a wizard. Your talents are all completely innate. So you’ll have to depend on your other gifts to keep yourself out of trouble.”
“Other gifts?”
Logan was still having trouble taking it all in.
“Yes, other gifts. You know, things like human cunning, dwarven craftsmanship, ogre’s strength, trollish berserker, shape shifter’s adaptability and of course gnomish intellect. Though that particular attribute seems to be in question right now. Anyway, you get the picture.”
Logan sat stunned and more than a little confused by what he had just learned.
Hephaestus rose to his feet again and stood before Logan. He waited for Logan to meet his gaze before continuing.
“Now I’m going to send you back, boy. And hopefully you’re not going to get yourself killed before you can do at least some good.”
Hephaestus ushered the still stunned Logan back through the tunnel away from the smithy and back into the blackness.
As the blackness enveloped him, Logan finally realized what Hephaestus had told him. He had been created in the god’s forge to return humanity back to the world, but how? What was one man supposed to do? He whirled around to ask the god of the blacksmiths.
“Heph …”
There was no sign of him, and the blackness quickly surrounded him.
Chapter Ten: Morning After
Logan woke sprawled awkwardly in the yard of his childhood home. Everything ached. The arrow wounds throbbed and the simple act of swallowing was torture on his recently crushed throat. Blood had soaked into the soil around him and the remains of his home still crackled and burned. The scent of death was thick in the air and as his eyes focused he saw a crow picking at the remains of his mother. He tried to shout but his voice was hoarse. He grabbed a stone from the ground and threw it at the bird. The crow complained loudly before finally flying away. Logan’s arm ached from the exertion.
Slowly, painfully, Logan raised himself up to a sitting position. His entire body protested the effort. He was alive and he could barely comprehend the reality of that. But, he did understand that if he wanted to stay that way he would have to remove the arrows still lodged in his flesh and clean out the wounds before infection set in. He pulled his agonized body over to the well and began the excruciating task of pushing the arrows through his body. He knew from his mother’s teachings that the barbed tips would make them impossible to pull out the way they went in without inflicting massive amounts of damage to himself. That was of little consolation as his body exploded in pain as he forced the shafts through healthy tissue. He was sure that he passed out more than once during the process.
When he’d removed the last shaft from his body, he did his best to clean his wounds. He even managed to find a relatively clean cloth in his pack to dress them with. Finished, he took a deep swallow of water. His throat ached where the man in black had tried to crush it, but the cool water felt good. He poured the rest over his head, letting the coolness of the water help drive some of the weariness from his body.
He thought of the strange dream he’d had.
It had been a dream hadn’t it? He shook his head and quickly regretted it as a wave of nausea crashed over him. It must have been, nothing else made sense. He’d been severely wounded and grief stricken, it wasn’t surprising that he’d hallucinated.
Besides, he reasoned. No one in his right mind would intentionally make something as ugly as me, let alone call me perfect.
Logan spent a fair bit of time searching the remains of the house for anything he could use. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much left. The soldiers had been very thorough. What they hadn’t taken had been burned in the fire. Eventually, he found one of his mother�
��s salves in the remains of the cold room and rubbed it into his wounds. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about them getting infected.
Near where his father had fallen, he found his father’s large forge hammer. The head of the tool was covered in blood from his father’s defence of his home and family. Logan gingerly sat and pulled the heavy tool to him. As he held the weapon cradled in his lap he began to weep, the sorrow overwhelming him.
It was the caw of a crow that finally pulled him back from that dark place and it was the realization that he must help his parents into the next world that finally brought him to his feet. He spent the rest of the day gathering wood from the forest to build a proper pyre.
As night came, he carried his parents’ bodies to the pyre and placed them beside each other for all eternity. He returned them to the eternal forge and prayed for their souls. As he watched, their bodies slowly burned away. He swore to both of them that he would find his sister, Tanel, wherever she might be.
The fire burned into the night and his parents were given their final peace. Logan slept at some point that night, though given the images that haunted him when he closed his eyes, that was a minor miracle in itself. Yet, it did happen. One moment he was watching the flickering remnants of the funeral pyre and the next he was watching the sun slowly break over the horizon.
With the coming of the morning, he gathered up the few things he had managed to find and slowly began the walk to Solan Bay.
Chapter Eleven: Aftermath
The trip from the remains of his home to Solan Bay took Logan much longer than it normally would have. His entire body ached from the beating it had taken and every step seemed to bring with it a new pain. The wounds left by the arrows’ passage were already beginning to close. But as the morning sun continued to rise in the sky and Logan began to perspire, he discovered a new torment as the salty sweat worked its way under the dressings.
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