by Lee Bezotte
Noticing the new growth on the opposite side of the ravine, the man from the north replied, “That it is.” From where he stood, he could see the place where he’d ended the life of his fellow northerner. Feelings of melancholy washed over him, and he looked down at his handless arm.
Son watched his friend and mentor closely. “Are you okay?” he asked.
A sad smile crossed Dulnear’s face. “I am trying to be,” he answered honestly. “Not having my right hand is going to take some getting used to.”
Son turned toward him and asked, “Remember when my mother died, and my father abandoned me?”
“Of course,” the man answered. “I was there with you. Your heart was so broken.”
“It was a terrible time, but I learned something through all of it,” the boy said.
“And what did you learn?” Dulnear asked.
“I learned that sometimes the parts that are broken grow back stronger than before,” Son said as he pointed toward his own chest, and then to Dulnear’s arm. “It will get better.”
The boy’s words lifted some of the sadness, and the man said, “Thank you. You really do seem stronger since I left Laor. What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Mostly tending the farm, and Maren,” the boy said. “She isn’t much for caring for herself. I think she’d starve to death if I didn’t remind her to eat once in a while. She spends most of her time reading adventure books. I’m not even sure where she gets them!” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I also practice the fighting that you showed me, and I still like to create things out of wood and metal.”
“And how are the crops?” the man from the north inquired.
“Enough to feed us,” the boy answered. “And I sell my creations in the village. They are quite popular.”
“That is great news. It sounds like you really have your hands full,” Dulnear observed.
“I do. And what about you?” Son asked. “I know that things did not go well in Tuas-arum, but what about Faymia? How did she come to travel with you?”
The man from the north paused before answering. “I met her at a pub outside of Ahmcathare,” he said, trying not to expose certain details.
The inquisitive boy pressed, “What was she doing there?”
“Well, she served my meal,” he said, running his hand through his hair, and glancing away from the boy.
“She’s a barmaid?” Son asked.
“Well, sort of,” Dulnear replied.
“What do you mean?”
“She does other things too.”
“Like cooking?”
“Sure,” Dulnear said, hoping it was the end of the boy’s questioning on the matter.
“It sounds like she has many skills. That’s good,” the lad observed.
“Yes,” was all the man would say before resuming his walk.
The two began to make their way back to the house. Neither said anything until Son asked, “But how did she come to join you on your trip to Tuas-arum?”
The man stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and answered, “She ran away from her slaver.”
The boy’s eyebrows raised and his eyes grew wide. “She’s a slave?” he asked.
Frustrated yet amused by Son’s persistent curiosity, Dulnear answered, “Yes, Son, and I nearly lost my life keeping her from being recaptured.”
“Nearly lost your life?” the boy asked, the pitch of his voice getting higher.
“Her slaver recruited some warriors from the south, and they tracked us down near the Fuar River,” he explained. “We had to jump into the water to escape.”
“I can’t believe it!” the boy exclaimed. Then his expression changed, and he asked, “Do you think they are still looking for her?”
“It is possible, but her slaver may think she is dead,” the man answered.
“Even so, if she’s recognized, it will not go well,” Son observed, rubbing his chin.
“I know,” Dulnear said, “and I’m in no condition to fight the slavers off.”
“Is there anything else we can do?” the boy asked. “She must be pretty important to you if you were willing to risk your life for her.”
The man from the north contemplated as they walked. “I was going to help her…” he said before a sudden thought silenced him. The recollection of something rose up in his chest. He looked at his friend and declared, “Son, I have to go back to Tuas-arum!”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MAKES YOU STRONGER
Aesef’s mouth dropped open and he scratched his jaw. “Return to Tuas-arum?” he asked.
“Yes,” the man from the north replied confidently before taking a sip of tea. The two sat at the end of the large dining table. Dulnear’s sword was belted around his waist for the first time since arriving at the old farmer’s house. “I need to collect something valuable from my estate.”
“Dulnear, I don’t think that’s wise,” the old man said. “You’ve only been on your feet for a short time. What if you happen to cross paths with Thorndel?”
The northerner searched for the right words to answer his friend’s question but before he could, Son ran into the room carrying a long, heavy contraption. “I finished it!” he shouted as he enthusiastically presented it to his friend.
“What is it?” Dulnear asked with a curious smile.
The boy’s eyes sparkled and a wide grin covered his face. “I’ve been working on it since we arrived,” he answered. “It’s a hand!”
Fascinated, the man from the north examined the simple device. It was a crudely shaped fist that had been pounded out of iron. It was attached to a metal brace and leather straps fitted with buckles. “Well, I will be,” he said. He then held it up to his right arm and asked, “How does it work?”
Son helped him fasten the fist to the end of his arm. Though it was unnatural-looking, it still looked less jarring than the empty space that was there before. “Now you can punch through anything!” the boy declared.
“I believe I can,” Dulnear agreed with an amused grin. His heart beat faster as he held the fist aloft, and he turned his arm over so he could see it from all angles. Something about the metallic contraption returned a small feeling of normality to the man. “I do not know what to say. Thank you, Son.”
“You’re welcome,” the boy said. “I was happy to make it for you. Aesef helped me with the bracing.”
“But it was Son’s idea,” the farmer added. “He wanted to surprise you.”
“Indeed I am surprised,” the man from the north said, and he wrapped his arms around his young friend. “A thousand times, thank you!”
When he was done hugging, the boy announced excitedly, “I’m going to go get Maren so I can show her!” and he ran out of the room.
Dulnear adjusted one of the leather straps on the makeshift prosthetic. There was nothing between the straps and his forearm, and he noticed that they were leaving an impression. He was so taken aback by the boy’s gesture that he lost himself staring at the device. “If only it held a sword,” he mused.
“Now you know what he’s been doing out in the barn all this time,” Aesef said.
The man from the north broke from his fixation on the hand and looked at the old man. Still smiling, he expressed, “Thank you for helping him. I do not know how I could repay you for all you have done for me.”
“You already have,” the farmer said with a smile. He then took a deep breath and added, “But I have to be honest. I don’t think a metal fist will be enough to defend yourself from Thorndel or his kin.”
Dulnear knew that his friend was right. “I know it is a fool’s errand,” he explained. “But I have to try.”
“And what if you should run into Thorndel on your journey?” Aesef asked. “The children have already lost you once. It would ruin them to lose you again.”
Dulnear looked away and pondered the farmer’s words. “I do not know, it is just that…” As he trailed off, his head became dizzy, and it felt as if the
room was spinning. He wanted to continue, but saying another word felt like lifting a weight that he didn’t have the strength to bear.
Aesef’s voice broke through. “You care for her deeply, don’t you?” he asked.
The man from the north nodded his head yes. “Very much,” he said, bringing his attention back to the iron hand.
“How do you think she would feel about you returning to Tuas-arum?”
“I am sure she would insist that I did not,” he answered honestly.
“And there’s no way I could talk you out of it?” Aesef asked.
“None at all.”
Before the farmer could make another plea, Son and Maren came bounding into the room. They stopped in front of Dulnear and the boy shouted, “See, I told you I made him a hand!”
Maren stood there holding a large book in her left hand, and with her right hand she was massaging her ear. She smiled big and began to whisper to herself, “Fist. Smash. Pshhhh. Ahhh.”
Dulnear leaned toward the girl, holding out his arm. “Would you like to get a better look?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said as she took her hand off of her ear so she could feel the hunk of iron and the attached bracing that held it in place. “Are you going to smash the table?” she asked with eyebrows raised.
“No, but later on we can find some things to smash outside. How does that sound?” the man asked.
An unsuccessfully suppressed smile crept across Maren’s face. She made a fist and lightly touched it to the metal one. “Yesssss,” she said softly, and then ran out of the room.
Son looked like he was about to follow her out until Dulnear grabbed his attention. “Son, can you stay moment? I need to talk to you about my trip north.”
The boy sighed as he turned back toward the man. “Do you really have to go?”
The man from the north looked at Son’s disappointed face and searched for the right words to say. “I am afraid I do,” he began. “But this time, the plan is to return.”
“To Laor?” the boy asked.
“Yes, to Laor. I only have to retrieve something from my estate, and then I will never return to the north again,” Dulnear said, keeping eye contact with the boy.
“How long will you be gone?” Son asked.
“Gone where?” a voice asked from the doorway. Faymia was standing there. Maren was standing next to her, pointing at the new hand attached to Dulnear’s arm.
Son’s eyes widened and the color ran out of his cheeks. He moved closer to Dulnear’s ear and whispered, “You haven’t told her?”
“Gone where?” the woman asked again.
The man from the north stood and faced Faymia. He knew he was going to have to share his plans with her eventually, but was tentative about the conversation nonetheless. Swallowing, he explained, “I have to go back to Tuas-arum.”
A look of dismay covered the woman’s face. “But why?” she asked.
“There is something I need there. It is something that will keep Tcharron, and his slavers, away from you forever,” he said.
Faymia took a small step back. Her lip quivered as she spoke, “I can’t believe this.” She shook her head and continued, “I can’t allow you to risk your life again on account of me.”
“I know it sounds foolish,” the man admitted, “but I must.”
The woman stood tall and pressed her shoulders back. “Well, if you’re going back on account of me, then I’m going with you!” she exclaimed.
Everything in Dulnear wanted to protest, but he did not. He would have died if not for her company on their previous journey, and she would be no better off if he died on this one. He licked his lips and said solemnly, “So be it.”
Suddenly, Son chimed in, “And I’m going too!”
“I’m sorry, it is too perilous, Son.” Dulnear said.
“I’ve been training for a long time,” the boy objected. “Besides, you said that you’re no match for Thorndel left-handed.”
“’Tis true, but you are no match for him with either hand.”
“Maybe so, but I’m sure the three of us can find a way to beat him—if we run into him, that is,” the boy said optimistically.
Dulnear looked at Faymia, and then back at Son. He knew the boy would follow, even if he was told not to. “Okay, but we have a lot of preparation to do in a very short time. And what of Maren?”
“I’ll keep her here,” Aesef offered. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy reading and playing with Phel.”
“Thank you,” Dulnear said. “Now, I suppose I will need to practice my left-handed swordsmanship.”
“And smashing stuff!” Maren added.
“And smashing stuff,” the man from the north replied.
Several days later, Dulnear and Son were practicing swordplay in one of the fallow fields on Aesef’s farm. The man from the north was impressed by how much the boy had grown in his fighting skills. “You are doing very well!” he complimented. “I am glad we are on the same side.”
“Thank you! I learned from the best,” Son said as he blocked a downward strike and countered with a lunge. “Are you sure you’re not left-handed?” he asked with a grin. “I can hardly keep up with you.”
Dulnear returned the smile and moved out of the way of the boy’s attack with a speed that seemed unnatural for a man of his size. The swordplay, and the boy’s company, seemed to fill him with a greater sense of strength and vigor. At times during their training, he even laughed as they exchanged strikes and parries.
Before long, Dulnear noticed that they had an audience. Faymia and Maren were standing nearby. The young girl had a branch in her hand, mimicking their moves and slashing through the air with surprisingly good form and speed.
“She wanted to come watch you practice,” Faymia explained.
“I see,” the man from the north said. He then looked at Maren, knelt on one knee, and encouraged her, “Your technique is nearly perfect. I hope that you never need to use it.”
“Me too!” the girl said as she whacked the large man’s forearm with the branch.
Dulnear rubbed his arm and let out a playful, “Youch! Are you trying to remove the rest of my arm?”
“Uh huh,” she said with a giggle. Then, looking away, she expressed in a whisper, “Pshhh. Ahhhh! I got you!”
The man from the north chuckled and gave the girl a wink. Suddenly, an idea came to him like a splash of cold water to the face. He stood up and spun around to speak to the boy. “Son, can you alter the iron fist you gave me to include a gauntlet that reaches to here?” he said as he pointed to just below his right elbow.
His young friend wore a curious expression for a moment, then a smile crept over his face. “You want to use your arm as a shield, don’t you.”
Dulnear beamed, “You got it, lad. Can it be done?”
“I have plenty of iron,” the boy said. “And I’m sure Aesef can assist me. Is it okay if it takes a couple of days?”
“Of course it is,” the man from the north said as he pushed up his coat sleeve, removed the metal hand, and handed it to the boy.
Son held the device in his arms and examined the place where the fist attached to the bracing. “I’ll get started right now. Maren can help!” he exclaimed as he started to run toward the barn.
As the young girl ran after him, she could be heard asking, “Can we smash things with it?”
“We’ll see!” the boy shouted back, and they disappeared into the distance.
Dulnear and Faymia now stood alone in the field. It was the first time they had been alone together since he first began to recover. For a moment, he lost himself looking at the woman’s face. Her silver eyes were powerful under the textured gray sky. Her hair was braided, but the loose hairs whipped over her forehead as the wind blew them about. “I can see why you love them,” she said, breaking his transfixion.
Hoping the woman didn’t notice that he was staring, he said fondly, “Yes, they are my treasure.”
Faymia smiled and let out a quiet
chuckle.
“What is so funny?” Dulnear asked, smiling with her.
“You seem different when you’re with the children,” she explained. “It’s a side of you that I never expected to see.”
“You do not like it?” he asked.
“I like it very much,” she said. She paused as if she were trying to think of the right words to say. “It’s your eyes. When Son and Maren are near, your eyes look like they have the sun behind them, and they show no trace of all of the things you’ve been through.”
Dulnear thought about her words and it dawned on him how true they were. He felt strong and full of purpose around the children. “When I met the boy, I taught him the ways of a warrior. He was so uncertain and alone, like a lost pup. As we became friends, he taught me how to be patient and gentle,” he said. “He is like my own.”
Faymia looked away for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to bring him to Tuas-arum? Is it a good idea for any of us to go?”
“I am not sure of anything,” the man from the north said honestly. He allowed the woman’s question to settle in. “I am only sure of my purpose for going. I believe it agrees with the heart of the Great Father.”
There was pain in Faymia’s eyes and her forehead wrinkled slightly. “But isn’t that what you believed before you lost your hand?” she asked.
Dulnear looked down and gathered his thoughts. He wasn’t used to having his decisions questioned, but he knew there was truth in what his friend was implying. He glanced at the sky, then at the woman, and said, “I suppose I am learning that being on the side of right is not a guarantee of success.” He rubbed his chin and continued, “But I cannot abandon what is right for the sake of safety or comfort.”
“But if you acted in alignment with the heart of the Great Father, then why didn’t he protect you?” the woman pressed as a tear formed in her eye.
Faymia’s last question seemed to sink deep into his chest. For a moment, he could hear nothing but his own breathing as his mind searched for answers. “The Great Father is good,” he began. “In fact, there is nothing in him that is not good. Water is wet, fire is hot, ice is cold, and he is good. It is his nature to be so. I am a flawed man, and if I have a standard of goodness that is different from his, then it is I who am wrong, not he. I am learning this as I ponder what has happened.”
