Prelude (The Songs of Aarda Book 1)

by K Schultz

  Laakea was tired and at least as hungry as Rehaak. “Let’s eat. We can continue my pointless hammering later.” Laakea returned to the forge house, where he snatched his shirt from where it hung on the wall. He drew on his shirt, and the two friends strolled to the house. He would solve the riddle of the blades after lunch. He couldn’t resist the metal’s lure. It had begun calling to him, drawing him to itself, even in his dreams.

  Welding Characters

  The afternoon passed and evening approached, and the only reward for Laakea's efforts was a spectacular lack of progress and exhaustion. He could barely lift his arms and had no energy left to spend on irritation or anger. The metal resisted change and appeared to contain memory and a will of its own, but knives couldn't spring from the earth untouched and unplanned. Someone had worked the metal and imposed his will on it, and now it imposed its will on Laakea and drove him to continue despite his fatigue.

  Rehaak, equally exhausted, found the energy to pull the hammer and tongs from Laakea’s hands. “Stop it. You cannot continue without food and rest." He pushed the youngster into the house, and after they had washed up and eaten supper, the two men sat before the fire while Laakea explained his problem.

  “Ah.” Rehaak nodded while he listened to Laakea vent his frustration.

  “Do you understand?” asked Laakea once he finished speaking.

  “I understand—you are trying to change the material’s shape, but you cannot. Your words are like wind in the trees. I hear the sound, but the terms have no meaning to me.”

  “Oh.”

  “I suspect what I feel now is similar to your confusion when I tried to explain the concept of k’harsa. We speak the same root language, but some words and concepts, relevant to each of our species and cultures, have no equivalents in the other’s language and culture. I wonder how much the Sokai changed over the centuries? Meeting the Sokai...hmmm...that would be a memorable experience,” Rehaak mused aloud as his attention wandered.

  Laakea had held out a faint hope his wise friend might resolve his problem. “I must solve this puzzle or continue with the resources we have. I hate to admit defeat, but we can't afford to waste time while I figure this out. I am glad I only committed two blades to this project. There are seven unspoiled blades, a small arsenal. More than I can use, but I want the extra reach of longer weapons. I must complete my apprenticeship and forge the swords I see in my mind because there is more at stake than merely creating better weapons.”

  Although his failure at the forge upset him, it gave him an exciting challenge. “I’ve enough charcoal to make several more attempts. I’ll continue until we run out, but if I don’t master the metal by then, we’ll continue our quest without new weapons. The Code teaches men to make choices and live with the consequences.” Laakea muttered another of his father’s aphorisms, “What we cannot overcome we must endure.” Despite his obsession with the project, he knew they must give up soon if he failed.

  Each morning, though their muscles ached, they started anew. Rehaak and Laakea fell into bed exhausted each night, rose the next day, and began again. The arduous work had hardened both men. Their unrelenting labors blunted even Rehaak’s sense of humor. Left to his own preferences, Rehaak would never drive himself to exhaustion, but he wanted to support Laakea since he owed the lad his life.

  Rehaak found the work easier as the days progressed. Although he was feeble compared to Laakea, he was much stronger and leaner than he had ever been. Laakea had added many pounds of muscle mass through his brutal efforts at the anvil. Rehaak admired the young man for his discipline and determination.

  Laakea’s fierce assaults on the metal continued until, at the end of the fourteenth day, he dropped his hammer and let out a whoop of triumph.

  “What happened?” Rehaak asked.

  “I removed the guard and the tang from the blade. The metals seem to require different heat levels. The green metal might work easier now, or I can forge a decent weapon from the steel alone.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It's excellent. While I tried to work the two metals together, it was impossible because they require different temperatures, but now that I have them separated, I hope I can work them both like normal steel. I still don't know what this greenish metal is. The blades are hard, light, and sharp, but it might be brittle. It's too early to tell yet. The green metal alone might not have enough weight to cleave armor or bone.”

  “Why must it be heavy?” Rehaak asked. “It seems a lighter blade is easier to wield, and that should make it better.”

  “Well, it takes as much force to stop a blade as it does to swing it. Have you ever noticed how a heavy ax splits wood easier than a light one?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “It’s the same with weapons. A light weapon is easy to wield but bounces off dense objects unless its user swings the blade swiftly, and its edge is razor-sharp. A more massive blade will cut deep with a slower swing, but a heavy weapon requires more strength to move. The weight makes it awkward to use for defense, but its mass absorbs shock far better.

  “The blade’s balance is another issue one must consider. You must use the mass of the handle to balance the weight of the blade, or it becomes awkward to use. There are similar trade-offs with hard or soft metals. Hard metal will hold an edge well, but it may chip or shatter. Soft metal will not shatter, but it will not hold an edge. More carbon means harder steel, but hard, brittle steel may chip when struck.”

  “What is carbon? And how does it get into steel?”

  Laakea took a deep breath and prepared to launch into another long explanation, but Rehaak preempted him, “The wind is about to blow through the trees again,”

  When Laakea raised one eyebrow and grimaced, Rehaak said, “Please, don’t attempt another explanation of how carbon works with steel. I used to think we spoke the same language, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “I may have to work both metals separately before I can work them together.”

  “You know, I had similar thoughts about you and me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “An idea struck me like a hammer blow.” Rehaak grinned and raised his eyebrows.

  Laakea shook his head. “Very punny, I’ll try to contain my laughter.”

  Rehaak threw up his hands. “There was plenty of welding occurring—it was man-to-man, not metal-to-metal. We work as a team now, welded together by our labor in the smithy. Before we met, the Creator shaped us through our separate experiences, but now the Creator has welded us together. It was just one of many stray notions I got, while I sweated and strained through the long days.”

  Laakea shrugged and returned to work, but the strange metal remained spectacularly stubborn and resisted him again. In moments, he went from exuberance to despair as the obstinate stuff mocked his skills. In a fit of loathing, he picked up the hot metal with his tongs and threw it onto the floor. The moisture in the dirt steamed while the knife lay cooling. Laakea threw down his tools and muttered, “I quit.” After a short pause, he picked up the metal and threw it back into the forge. “I can’t quit. It won’t let me.”

  As Laakea spoke, they heard noises outside the forge house and reached for the weapons available to them. Rehaak grasped a stout piece of wood for a club, while Laakea held his tongs in one hand and his hammer in the other. Laakea and Rehaak took positions on either side of the smithy’s door. Shirtless and drenched in sweat, they stood and waited to face whatever came through the opening.

  Isil Meets Laakea

  As Rehaak and Laakea stood inside the forge house expecting an attack, a gravelly voice outside said, “What be that horrible stench I smells from in there? Pee-ooh! Smells like a barrel chock full o’ unwashed arseholes to me!”

  “Isil? Is that you out there?” Rehaak grinned at Laakea and dropped his makeshift club.

  “Yup. Come out here and air yourself out, so’s we can talk proper. ‘Cause there ain’t no way I’m comin’ in there. That place smells wo
rse’n a stink-cat’s backside. Don’t you bathe?”

  Rehaak stepped into the bright sunlight with Laakea. Isil assessed them both.

  “You got yourself a new hairdo, huh? Have you been workin’ out? And who be this strappin’ lad with you?” Isil grinned at the young giant beside Rehaak and ogled the rippling, sweat-soaked muscles of his chest and arms.

  “I see you has gained a lot o’ muscle, Rehaak. You is no longer the scrawny scholar I met on the road. You has taken to shavin’ too. If I never read your note to come here, I might have passed you by on the street and not known you.”

  “Isil, allow me to introduce my protector and savior, Laakea.”

  Laakea bowed to the older woman. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. Rehaak has told me stories of your adventures.”

  Isil acknowledged his greeting and flashed her famous smile at him.

  “Now we have the formalities concluded, let us get better acquainted. A meal is in order, do you not agree?” Rehaak’s face took on an expression somewhere between hope and desperation.

  Laakea shrugged; there was no point arguing with Rehaak. Besides, he was tired and hungry too. Isil had just arrived and deserved a proper welcome. “I was ready to abandon the project anyway. Why should I torture myself with my repeated failures?” Once inside the house, Isil and Rehaak prepared the food together. Laakea protested since it was his house, and as a proper host, he should make the meal.

  Rehaak laughed and said, “If you want to be a proper host, you had best not poison the guests with the stuff you cook.”

  “You’re lucky I am a proper host, or I’d part your hair with a blade, like your six friends did that night.”

  Isil laughed at the banter passing between the two men. “You two sound like an old married couple, but what happened since I was last at your cabin, Rehaak? Who gave you the new hairstyle? Not that I find it unattractive.”

  Rehaak told her what happened to the miller’s son and followed it with the story of his second battle with the knife-wielding assassins. Laakea filled in the blanks where necessary and added his own comments along the way. Once Rehaak had finished his story, Laakea took up the narrative where Rehaak’s memory failed and concluded with his guess about the origin and purpose of the attacks.

  “You see? I’m not the only one what says you’re the target o’ this nonsense.”

  “Good.” Laakea grinned. “Maybe two of us can get the idea through his thick skull since he won’t listen to me.”

  “Well, I still don’t know why anyone wants to pay someone to kill me,” Rehaak countered.

  “Neither do I, but are you sure you haven’t forgotten something?”

  “Yup, be there somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ us about your past then? I got my own ideas about the source o’ this trouble, but we best learn everythin’, just in case.”

  “What do you mean? Your own ideas?” asked Rehaak.

  “I’ll be tellin’ you directly but answer the question first.”

  “I have scoured my memory. Despite my misdeeds and failures, I can think of nothing prompting these attacks.”

  “No jealous husbands nor cheated business partners? Stuff o’ that sort’ll earn you grief for sure.”

  “Yes, if you want our help, Rehaak, you must tell us your whole story, so we know what we’re up against and can prepare for it.”

  Rehaak felt trapped and outnumbered. One part of him craved honesty with his friends, but another part feared it. His nightmare of being naked and hiding had become real. He got up to leave. Rehaak wanted to run far and fast. He headed for the doorway. “I need fresh air to clear my head.” I will not submit to an interrogation.

  “Stop where you are,” Laakea commanded. His voice rang with irresistible authority.

  Rehaak stopped, compelled by the power of Laakea’s voice, unable to move any farther toward the door. He looked at Isil and found her paralyzed too. He turned his head. The boy looked as stunned as he and Isil. Once the compulsion wore off, they stared at one another in silence.

  Laakea spoke first. “What just happened?”

  “I dunno. You done it, whatever it was.”

  “Yes. It was your voice, Laakea, but the power in it stopped me as if I had run headlong into a wall. Are you sure your parents never mentioned this ability to you?”

  “No! I’m sure I’d remember if they had.”

  “I thinks we be needin’ to just sit a spell and talk this over. We gotta lay everythin’ out in the open. There’s too much goin’ on that we don’t know, and what we don’t know can kill us.”

  “Fine. I’ll go first,” said Laakea, power still surged inside and emboldened him to face any peril or hazard.

  “No.” Rehaak looked at his feet and rubbed his palms on his thighs. “I should go first since I kept things from both of you.”

  Isil’s History

  “You got no monopoly on secrets, Rehaak, but I believes I should be the first so’s I can explain what is happenin’. Laakea can go last since he ain’t accumulated the history we has.”

  “It’s fine by me,” said Laakea. “As long as we get it done. Rehaak already knows everything about me anyway.” Laakea looked at both Rehaak and Isil while he spoke. “So, no more secrets then.”

  “You mightn’t like what you’re about to hear,” Isil said. “But before I says anythin’ else, I’m comin’ with you. If you’ll have me. That’s why I be here. I be done with the freight business. I done gave up my monopoly from the king.”

  “What did you do with your wagon and mithun? You told me they wouldn’t go anywhere without you,” Rehaak asked.

  “I sold the wagon, and though it about broke my heart to let them go, I put the beasts out to roam and fend for themselves. Found a beautiful pasture for them too. They was the best team I ever had, but they was almost past the age where they could pull for much longer anyway. I would’a needed to replace them in a year or two, so I retired them early.”

  “You mean you have given up everything to come on this fool’s errand with us? Why?”

  “I reckon you’d best listen to my story and stop interruptin’ me every couple o’ sentences.”

  “Yes, please go on, Isil. Just ignore him. It’s what I do.” Laakea grinned impishly at Rehaak.

  Rehaak slapped the back of the youngster’s head with his open hand while the boy looked at Isil with feigned impatience.

  “You’re both impossible! I got a good mind to thrash you both and leave now. This be too serious for such foolishness.”

  “We’re sorry, Isil,” Rehaak said, looking contrite. Laakea nodded, and they both fell silent.

  Isil took a deep breath as if preparing to lift something weighty.

  “When I was a youngster, I had the usual upbringin’, I suppose. My ma and pa taught me to raise draft mithun. They was herdsmen themselves. I suppose that explains why I ended up with four of them and the wagon. But that’s only the beginnin’ and the end of the story. In between is where my real story lies.

  “When I was your age, Laakea, I got to feelin’ like I was missing too much o’ life, livin’ out there in the back o’ beyond with my family. Many o’ the young folk what used to live ‘round our parts had moved on to better things, so there wasn’t no one my age thereabouts. I was alone. I was restless, and I fretted ‘bout what I should be doin’ with my life. Believe it or not, I was quite a looker when I was younger,” she said and smiled again.

  Laakea nodded solemnly and whispered to Rehaak, “I can relate to her isolation, but I’m having a little trouble imagining Isil as either beautiful or young.”

  Rehaak nodded but remained silent.

  Isil continued, unaware of the byplay. “Well, when I was ready to climb out o’ my skin from boredom, this handsome fella came ridin’ by on a big animal—a horse, he called it. I never seen such a beast before.”

  “I have read they were once numerous in Aarda in ancient times,” interjected Rehaak. “If any still exist, they are in Baradon. I
imagine because they used them in combat, most perished in the wars.”

  Isil ignored the interruption and continued, “My parents always told me they hoped I would have a better life than they did. The life of a herdsman ain’t much of a life. I would’a thought they’d be right happy about my prospects with this young fella, but they just didn’t like him. You could tell he had money, and he done things I never dreamed of. It was like heaven, just listenin’ to his tales.

  “My folks didn’t want me to have nothin’ to do with him, but to me, he was a dream come true. When he asked me to come with him, I threw my clothes in a sack and snuck off with him once my parents was sleepin’. This fella promised to take me away from a herdsman’s life, and he did, right enough, but it didn’t turn out the way I expected.

  “We traveled around a lot in the beginnin’. He had meetin’s with odd folk all over Khel Braah, and he took me along. We ended up at his big beautiful home in Narragan, a palace for a country girl like me. I was livin’ a dream with fancy people, fancy clothes, and parties all day and night. He was a good man then, or leastways I thought he was.

  “He was involved in a lot o’ business ventures. I found out later that some was aboveboard, and some wasn’t, but I never knew the difference, just bein’ a stupid farm girl. In the beginnin’, he treated me like a princess out o’ a storybook. Then I got pregnant with our child, and things went off track.

  “He grew tired o’ me, called me coarse and unrefined, ‘cause I didn’t talk and behave like the big city folks. A little farm girl didn’t fit with his image as a mover and shaker among the high and mighty of Narragan. I changed to please him, but it weren’t enough.

  “He started disappearin’ for days, and I never knew when or if he would show up. I was lonesome and scared when I was by myself, but I was more lonesome and scared when he was there with little Eyhan, our son, and me. I wanted to go home, but he told me he would never allow it. The boy was his, he said, and he would never let me leave with him.