by Kris Hiatt
He flipped the pieces over and repeated the process. He wasn’t sure how the acid would react to the wood of the table and to the ground, so he added a few more buckets of water to each. He went back to the table and used a cloth to wipe the beeswax from every piece. He inspected each and decided the result wasn’t as good as he thought it would be; it was much better.
The only thing left was to polish everything and assemble the swords. That meant he needed to see Gil one more time.
The jeweler was leaning on the doorjamb when Treace approached. He pushed off and stood up straight as Treace hurried to meet him. Gil opened the door and followed him inside.
“You look tired, boy,” Gil stated.
“I should,” Treace agreed. “I’ve been up all night.”
“I’ve got it from here,” Gil said, reaching for the wrapped bundle of pieces. “I know how to polish a weapon better’n anyone in this town. You go home and rest.”
Treace didn’t want to, but he knew he was tired and he knew that Gil was right. Treace would probably get in the way of the jeweler anyway. Treace had to explain what he was working on in order for Gil to let him use the acid. Gil said he wasn’t letting a boy, even a smart one, use acid on his own unless he knew what it was for. Once Treace told him what he was doing, Gil offered to help. Insisted on it, actually.
“Thank you, Gil.”
“You’re welcome. Now go get some rest and be back here at dawn.”
“I’ll have to be here a few hours before dawn,” Treace said. “I’ll need to assemble them.” Treace had no doubt the jeweler could polish the swords better than him, but he wasn’t going to let the man assemble them. He would have to drive four pins into each sword to finish them. He would put one pin in the pommel and hilt, and two in the handle. Afterward he would have to carefully grind them down without scratching the newly polished surfaces.
“I’ll leave the door unlocked then,” Gil said. “I’ll be home, asleep.”
“Thank you again, Gil,” Treace said.
“Go,” Gil bade him. The jeweler smiled and went about his work.
#
It had taken Treace longer than he thought to assemble the swords and pin them. He was not going to assemble them until he had ground just the right amount off each pommel; the swords had to be perfectly balanced. Once he was done he looked at them and for the first time in his young life, he was impressed by one of his accomplishments. The swords were beautiful.
He left the jeweler’s store shortly after dawn, leaving one of the swords on Gil’s workbench. He had Jensen ask when the guards planned on leaving, and that time was now. He would have to sprint through town if he hoped to make it before Exodin left.
He had slept for a several hours, but he was still tired. They would be getting the horses ready at the stable if they hadn’t already left. He hoped he would make it in time. His legs ached and his breathing was hard as he rounded the last bend toward the constable’s estate. He didn’t see any horses at the stable and his heart sank. He saw a stable boy and ran up to him.
“Has Exodin left yet?” Treace asked the stable boy after a few seconds so he could catch his breath.
“Yeah, ‘bout ten or fifteen minutes ago,” the stable boy said.
Treace couldn’t believe it. All the work he put in to complete the sword and he wasn’t going to see the look on Exodin’s face when he saw it. More importantly, he couldn’t apologize for being a jack-ass.
“North, right?”
“Yep,” the stable boy confirmed. “That’s where they was headed. I didn’t see it meself, I was in the stable feedin the rest’o the horses, but that’s where they was going.”
That was the opposite direction of town, and Treace couldn’t hope to catch them on foot.
“Thanks,” he said softly and started walking home. He was deflated and just wanted to go back to sleep.
He decided that he would ask Jensen to give Exodin the sword after he returned from the investigation at the mine. He thought he would also write a letter to Exodin so he could apologize. He wished he could do it face-to-face. If only he hadn’t given up on his friend, he wouldn’t be in this situation. While he understood not being able to apologize to a friend for being an idiot, nor not being able to give someone the payment they requested wasn’t exactly the end of days, he still felt bad.
“Well, there you are,” a familiar voice called, drawing him from his thoughts.
He looked up to see his friend on his horse twenty or thirty paces in front of him.
“Exodin?” he asked, confused. “You left already.”
“I did,” Exodin said. “To find you.”
“What?”
“It seems we had the same idea,” Exodin said. “That and I have a letter I was instructed to deliver to you.”
“I’m sorry, my friend,” Treace said, looking Exodin in the eye. He had to look up quite a ways since Exodin had just reached him and was still on his horse. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way. You had a hard enough time dealing with that idiot and you didn’t need me to be one too.”
Exodin smiled broadly and dismounted his horse.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Treace. A true friend isn’t afraid to tell someone the truth, even if the truth hurts. I should have stood up to him, like you said. But I didn’t and I regret it. That’s why I was coming to find you. I wasn’t going to regret that the last words between us were said in anger.”
Treace smiled and moved the wrapped bundle from his right hand to the left so he could shake the extended hand of his friend.
“What’s that?” Exodin asked, pointing at the sword wrapped in burlap.
“Your payment,” Treace said and handed him the sword.
Exodin unwrapped the sword and looked it over many times; inspecting each facet of the sword. He tested the balance and even stepped back and took a few swings.
“This is wonderful. Did you make this?”
“Yes,” Treace said proudly.
“I’ve never seen such markings on a sword,” he said, indicating the acid etched edges of the blade. The central part of the sword was polished to a sheen, yet the edges were encrusted with grey and black lines everywhere: the layers of the sword.
“I used acid to eat away a bit of the metal,” Treace said. “But don’t worry, it’s just as sharp and strong as any blade you’ve held before. What I did was expose the layers to the eye.”
“No, you exposed its beauty,” Exodin corrected, still looking over the sword.
“Is this a wolf’s paw?” Exodin asked, indicating the symbol etched on the pommel.
“Yes. A friend told me that wolves hunt and play in packs. They don’t go anywhere without each other.”
Exodin looked confused.
“A pack is sort of like a brotherhood. Each wolf a brother to the other,” Treace explained.
“Is that what I am?” Exodin asked.
“A wolf?” Treace asked. It was his turn to look confused.
“A brother,” Exodin clarified.
“From my side of things, yes.”
Exodin put the sword to his side and hugged Treace briefly with his other arm.
“Thank you my friend, my brother. It is truly fit for a baron.”
“Maybe someday you will be,” Treace said.
“Hardly.”
“No need to thank me, though. It was part of the deal we had, remember?”
“I hadn’t until you said something about my payment a few minutes ago,” Exodin said, once again admiring the sword.
“It’s ebony wood,” Treace said, noticing that Exodin was looking at the handle. “I didn’t have time to make a proper scabbard.”
“Fit for a baron without, I say.”
Treace wasn’t sure what to say, so he remained quiet.
“You leave in a few days for the College, right?” Exodin asked.
“Yeah, but it’s just to take the entrance exams.”
“You’ll get in.”
“Hope so,” Treace said. He wished he could have as much confidence in himself as others seemed to have for him.
“Oh, here’s that letter for you. It’s from the constable,” Exodin said, pulling a letter from a pack on his horse.
“What’s it about?” Treace asked, taking the letter. He wasn’t certain as to why he would be getting a letter from the constable.
“No idea, it’s for you to read, not me.”
“Well, thanks.”
“I’ve got to go, the men are a ways ahead by now and I need to catch up.”
“Wait,” Treace said. “Can you tell me about my father?”
“I don’t have time to do him full justice, but I can tell you he was a good man, and smart. I see a lot of him in you. That will have to do for now, but I’ll tell you all I know when the next we meet.”
Treace wasn’t sure what to say, and wasn’t sure he could say it if he did. He knew his father was a good man, but it was nice to hear someone else say so.
“See you, my friend,” Exodin told him.
They shook hands and Exodin mounted his horse and rode away without a look back.
Treace opened the letter and began to read as he walked. He didn’t make it far before he stopped.
“Wren, you bastard,” Treace said to himself.
He thought briefly of going to the constable to try to talk some sense into him, but quickly discarded the notion. He was stuck in a difficult situation and he had no idea how to tell his mother. He wondered if he even wanted to take the entrance exams. He sighed and walked on, realizing he didn’t have much choice.
Chapter 8
Up to this point the wagon ride hadn’t bothered Treace much. Until now, Jensen had passed the time by telling him and his mother stories of his childhood and early adulthood. There were many times Jensen became animated and Treace could tell he was getting to a good part but Jensen would pause, look at Treace, then skip ahead in the story. Treace knew he was avoiding the parts involving any lady friends he had, but that was more for his mother’s sake than his. Jensen gingerly skipped parts where he wanted to talk about his father. Treace knew that Jensen was trying to spare his feelings, and appreciated the thoughtfulness of the smith. But now, Jensen seemed to be running out of stories about his upbringing; the trip to Haven was two weeks long. It was another three or four days by sea to the College once they reached Haven, depending on the weather.
Treace also used the time to study for the exams, especially during the couple of days that it rained. The wagon was covered, so he could escape the rain, but it left little else to do. But he thought if he studied any more he would lose his mind. He practically had the books memorized already. Which, given the contents of the constable’s letter, was quite prudent.
He hadn’t told his mother or Jensen of the letter. He decided it best they didn’t know. He didn’t want them to worry more about him than they already did. He didn’t know what they would do if they found out the constable had amended his letter of recommendation. It stated that if Treace failed the entrance exams that he wasn’t welcome in Lake City. There was also a provision stating he couldn’t come home should he fail any year of coursework. It said the town didn’t accept failures. He knew it was Wren’s doing, but it didn’t matter. He had to pass the tests and get accepted. He had no other choice.
The wagon struck a large rut and jolted him from his thoughts. His mother opened the flap to the wagon and looked back at him with a smile. He smiled back.
He was very happy that his mother and Jensen were able to join him for the journey to the College. Mr. Hosmer, who owned the Lumber Inn, was kind enough to let his mother take the necessary six weeks it would take to get to the College and back. Jensen closed his forge down for the time being, but wouldn’t be completely without a source of income; he had brought three crates of horseshoes and several left over swords to sell in Haven. Jensen was going to stay in Haven, sell his wares, and watch the wagon and horses while Treace and his mother took a ship the rest of the way to the College. If Treace was successful, then his mother would board a ship and meet Jensen in Haven and the two would travel together back to Lake City. If he wasn’t successful, well then he figured they would all travel back to Haven together; probably in silence as Jensen and his mother thought about all the time they wasted preparing him for the exams. He didn’t want that to happen, and he vowed not to let it.
“Treace, come on up here,” Jensen yelled loud enough for Treace to hear from the back of the wagon. “I want to tell you a story.”
It seemed Jensen hadn’t run out of stories after all.
Treace made sure the box containing the sword for Jensen was still hidden before he got up. He told them the box was a gift for his would-be tutors. He didn’t like lying to them, but he thought it was one of those little lies that were okay to tell if you didn’t mean any harm by it.
He went to the front of the wagon and climbed over the rail to join Jensen on the front bench. Jensen was driving the wagon and Treace’s mother sat next to him. After settling in next to his mother, she got up and started to climb into the back of the wagon.
“I’ve heard this one before,” she said. Treace noticed her face was a little flush. He wondered what the two of them were talking about before Treace joined them.
“I don’t think you’ve heard this one,” Jensen said after his mother was gone.
“Another story about how you grew up?”
“No, this one is a different story. And it isn’t about me,” Jensen said. Treace thought he added the second sentence somewhat hastily.
“Is this the one where you tell me women are like flowers and men are like bees in that we pollenate the flowers?” Treace asked.
Jensen stared at Treace with a red face for a short time.
“You mean you know?” Jensen said. He wore an alarmed look on his face as he spoke.
“Of course,” Treace said. “I’ve read many books. Not all of which my mother knows about.”
“Oh, right,” the smith said. “Of course you have.” Jensen’s mouth opened slightly but then closed quickly. To Treace, it looked like Jensen wanted to say more, but the smith kept his mouth closed.
Treace put it all together then. Jensen and his mother were in love. He felt his face go flush. He wondered how he hadn’t picked up on all the cues already. With all the looks between them, the quiet conversations, the close proximity in which they usually sat, it was obvious now. Treace marveled at his ignorance regarding the subject. He wondered briefly if he should be mad. The idea left his mind more quickly than it had formed. He wanted to think about the subject a little further before bringing it up to either Jensen or his mother. Maybe one of them would bring it up.
They rode together in silence for many minutes.
The hills rolled by and Treace thought about Jensen and his mother and knew he was right with his estimations. They were in love. He was happy for them. He wanted his mother to be happy; she deserved to be happy. So did Jensen. The man had been a very large part of his life for the last few years and Treace knew he loved him, at least to some degree.
Treace decided to let it go for the time being and instead focus on his surroundings. He admired the scenery and couldn’t get over the change. He was used to rocky outcroppings and massive hardwood trees all around him. As they neared Haven, the ground was mostly flat with only very small rolling hills that infrequently sprang up. There weren’t any of the massive hardwoods that he was used to, but there were a few groves of smaller hardwoods, pines, and bushes. They had passed several farms in the last few days, and Treace remembered thinking that their crop fields were at least ten times the size of ones in Lake City. Another of those farms loomed in the distance.
“I have another story, and while this story is similar, it’s not quite the same,” Jensen said, breaking the silence.
“Do you love her?” Treace asked, looking directly at the smith. He figured it was already difficult enough for Jensen, so he thought h
e would help the process along.
“Wha-what?” Jensen sputtered. His face immediately turned bright red.
“My mother. Do you love her?”
“Treace, I…” he started, then stopped to give a great big sigh. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. That was not my intent in befriending you.”
“I don’t care about the intent, nor if you meant for it to happen, Jensen.”
Jensen looked at him and Treace could tell he was trying to gauge exactly how Treace felt.
“But, I didn’t,” Jensen said.
Treace stopped him with an upraised hand and closed his eyes. Treace could see how his words could be misconstrued, so he wanted to clarify for the smith. He opened his eyes a few seconds later and looked Jensen in the eye.
“I don’t care about the intent,” Treace began again, speaking softly. “Because as long as you love her, and she loves you, then I am happy.”
“You are?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“What about your father?” Jensen asked in soft, quiet tones that Treace thought included a little disbelief.
“He’s dead, Jensen. I miss him terribly and not a day goes by that I don’t think about him and wish that he was still a part of my life. But he’s not. He’s not there for mother and he’s not here for me,” Treace said a little more forcefully than he had intended.
“He loved you, you know.”
“I’m sure he did,” Treace said. He could feel his emotions well up from within.
“He loved you more than you know,” Jensen confidently said.
“How do you know?” Treace demanded. He had so many emotions in his head and heart at that moment. He was happy for Jensen and his mother, but he was very sad for the loss of his father, and he was angry that he barely knew him. Tears started to streak down his face.
Jensen looked away from him, but Treace could still tell the smith was thinking hard about what to say next.
“I just do. Just trust me on that one, okay? He loved you. So do I.”
