115 Three Days: Rain

Chapter 115: Three Days: Rain

/There is a story yet to be told. Of a thing with many legs that hunted a young boy. But that thing, of course, had a life before that too. In fact, before it hunted the boy, it was entirely different from now.

And that is where its story begins. Like most other stories, though certainly not all, it begins at the beginning. With the first signs of life of the little being that would eventually be the thing.

After all, nothing starts as serious a hunter as the thing was near the end of its lifespan. It began as a stray, born in a land far, far away. Its skin was a leathery grey back then, too, blending in well with freshly fallen snow that carried some trace of ash. The thing, after all, was born on a snow covered mountain that saw ash fall from the sky occasionally.

On just such a day, when ash fell alongside snow, the thing was born to a dead parent. There was only one parent, for two were too many to produce another one of theirs, one was all it took. But the thing's parent had died before it was born, yet its warmth sheltered it for the final day it needed to be able to walk by itself.

And so, the thing crawled free from the embrace of what was once its creator, another thing much older.

When the thing was born, it was hungry, naturally, but it did not cry out. There was no need for it to, in fact, it knew it would be dangerous. There were so many bright, shining windows in front of it, but the thing could not read, and so simply had to wait for them to disappear.

The sight may have been funny if it wasn't so strange. A young thing, a being with wrinkly, grey skin, standing in a gentle drifting of snow and ash where one could hardly see it. Back then, it was completely frozen, scared that the screens of light may lash out if it even moved, and so it waited. Eventually, they were gone, and the thing let out a whimper.

At the start, like all things, it was quiet and fragile, and so it knew it had to eat. And to its luck, very close to it, there was a source of sustenance.

The thing's first meal was one of its own, one with grey skin that was wrinkly and though, and it dug its long maw into it and devoured. All the thing saw, after all, was food, the warmth it had felt keeping it safe long gone from the carcass.

After eating, it rested, muscles rippling underneath as the grew more, to make the thing stronger, more resilient. Unconsciously, it knew that the next meal would not come so easily, not to it, not in the place it found itself. The cave it was in would grant shelter for now, but the thing already knew that the next time it had to eat, it would need to work for it.

It would have its first hunt./

(Legends: The Thing - 1; Ashen Snow)

- - - - - -

Reyndan wasn't like Cluddan before it. The day was much more quiet, more solemn. In Stormbraver, towards the morning sunrise, clouds covered the sky, and soon drops of water began to fall from them.

The rain was necessary and welcomed by the plants that still lived, and for those that died, it would help replacements find their tide. The fields, which had been first scorched, then fed with blood, finally calmed a litte, as the ash was washed away. The pyres of bodies no longer burnt, seeming more like a memory, and the skies declared the fight over.

It hadn't been without sacrifices, countless city guards risked their lives, and many of them died, but in the end, Stormbraver stood. It had weathered yet another confrontation, as the northerners pulled back.

Celebrations were skipped, though. This fight had brought too many wounds, and now was the time to lick them, rather than to party. The city's defenders weren't unharmed, and yet, they were already busy with procedures. Luckily, many of them were taken care of by the city council, who had, in their old age, all kept away from the fighting.

But who was truly hurt? Well, the northerners, of course. Many of their upcoming heroes had been dispatched on this attack, and almost as many were felled. Even Scarlet Inagra, the 'Crimson Queen' of the north, had incurred losses. Most notably, the arm she sacrificed to barely block an attack from Lucia.

Of course, that attack also went through Esmeya's barrier to shield the battle away to some degree, and more than contributed to the fact that the earth in front of the city was now scorched, but nevertheless, the northerners had lost more. Just having Scarlet retreat was a sizeable boon to their efforts.

However, from that last attack, two more things became absolutely clear to the council. Firstly, the war had to end, one way or another, and secondly, they needed to sort out a reward for the Church of Order. Still, all that could wait. For now, it was onto the rain to extinguish the last embers of battle, and let people grieve their lost ones in peace.

- - - - - -

It was Reyndan and the caretaker sighed. She had finished the work that begun recently. The blood eclipse was not a long one, lasting simply a day, and it was not enough to kill her, either, but so many of the creatures had come, and burying all of them had taken some time.

With exasperation, she wiped the sweat from her brow, and leaned the shovel against a bench made of iron. She sat down on it, let her shoulders slump a little, and laid her chin in her open palm.

Things had been to rowdy, recently. Going back and forth, making sure to round up all the bodies, it had taken quite a while. Still, even after all that while, the stench of blood hung in the air of her graveyard, slithering in between the gates of fog that separated each space. It permeated the serene place like a plague, like an insidious killer, like it was laying a trail for something to find it.

Nothing would come. The caretaker knew that much, of course nothing would come. This realm had seen more than a simple blood eclipse, more than what a husk can conjure up. But it was a place of rest, and the fact that the stench did not see it as such? She minded.

Eventually, it would fade, as all things did, but eventually was not soon enough. In fact, the more she thought about it, the caretaker realised that perhaps, she should take care of the stench herself. It wouldn't be the first time she drove out such ethereal things, and as per the usual, it would not be the last time either.

Having made up her mind, the woman nodded, then leaned back on the bench. She would drive it out tomorrow. Today was Reyndan, and she had worked enough for a little while. The thought brought a small smile onto her face. Yes, that was right, she had worked a lot, and she deserved a little rest.

The smile turned into a grin. Right, yes, she should rest. Take a break from all the shoveling and listening, make a request for stillness to everyone. They would understand, they knew what kind of place this was, after all. And then, once she had rested, back to work it was.

She stretched her arms far behind her, the muscles in them groaning a little from relief. Just a little rest, all to feel a bit more human again.

A slight drizzle began to pour down around her. Yes, this was good. Now all she needed was a hot fire and a good cup of tea to have half a day off.

- - - - - -

Now, for Mercury, the sky was clear. The sun shone down, unobstructed, and yet somehow, it rained. Because rather than drops of water, it rained sparks. He was watching Yasashiku forge outside, on the anvil. He was wearing smithing gear, holding a piece of metal between tongs and smacking it with a hammer repeatedly.

Slag fell from the surface of the piece, getting knocked off by the impact, every stroke of the hammer heavy and firm, yet somehow gentle. The noise of metal hitting metal rang out loudly, and yet in Yasashiku's eyes, the glow only reflected care for what he was making.

Usually, to show off, he would be presenting his greatest masterpieces. Swords which cut through stone as though through air, shields upon which the hardest spears would shatter. Mighty pieces of armor with nary a gap in them, but he showed none of those to Mercury. That was what people idolized about smithing, the battlefields, the weapons, all the important stuff.

But to Yasashiku, while all that was part of smithing, it was only one aspect of it. Perhaps the most beloved one among soldiers and seekers, and maybe even the flashiest one, but not the only one.

He was forging a nail right now.

As stupid as it sounded, this was one of the most important functions of a blacksmith. How often would people buy swords and pikes? Sometimes, certainly, but often enough to live a fulfilling life? Only in times of war.

No, a blacksmith would craft what brought food on the table, and by necessity, they made items which were more commonly used. Nails for carpenters, as an example. They crafted saws and horseshoes, chisels, nails, and even hammers. Axes for chopping wood, the blades of ploughs to cut through the earth, and all manner of other everyday tools.

Pots and pans, forks and spoons, hinges and doorknobs. A blacksmith who makes a king's sword, sharp enough to cut a person in half with no effort at all, but who cannot forge a spoon, is a blacksmith worth less than half a dozen nights, both in terms of money and time.

So, the first thing he showed Mercury was forging a nail. There were dozens like those in his house, and while one could do construction without them, they made things much easier as well.

And to Mercury, watching the old man work was incredible. He'd really thought that Yasashiku was just talking when he said that every project deserved the same amount of passion, be it a blade you pour your heart into, its hilt carved from dragon bones, or a nail to make a house last. But watching him work? Mercury could tell that he'd really meant every word.

Every strike of his hammer was fluent, as though in dialogue with the metal. It pushed and prodded, until the shape was just right, firmly and gently guiding the pieces in place. Some sparks of metal landed on the thick apron he wore. With a smaller piece such as this, there was not as much, yet to Mercury it was still beautiful.

Sparks drew arcs through the air before their light extinguished when they cooled down a little, and the nail seemed almost like a fountain these strange fireflies dove out from, another handful rising into the air with every strike.

And then, after what felt like only a moment of fascination, his new teacher grabbed the nail with tongs, and quenched it in oil. Of course, that was not the end of things quite yet, as the old master still had more heat treating to do until the nail was finished.

Still, that could be done in batches, while the hammering had to be done one at a time. And the speed at which his master was doing it was one Mercury could only respect.

- - -

The day, to the young mopaaw, passed by rather quickly. He had dinner with his teacher, thanked him for today's lesson, and then went to sleep in his chambers. After the long day of focusing and trying to absorb as much as possible, Mercury actually fell asleep rather quickly, and for a while, it seemed as though no dreams would come today.

But if there were no dreams at all, then would we truly be here to hear about it? No, we wouldn't. Quite frankly, if there was a whole section just about how well the cat slept, I am unsure whether I would narrate it or let Jeff do it for me. He seems eager to have his next appearance somewhat soon, but frankly, I'm rather hesitant in leaving him any amount of creative freedom in how he tells the story.

Eventually though, he will return. Just as Mercury always ends up returning to the same place every few nights. As always, when he woke up in his dreams, he found himself in a verdant field, grass stretching out all the way until the horizon. There was a citadel of fire to the north, a sinister mountain range to the east, a castle of glass to the west, and finally, a small fountain down south.

In the middle of all that, on the soft grass, laid Mercury's astral body, as well as someone else who had come to visit once more.

'What is up, young Mercury?' old Dreamweaver asked, their thoughts as clear and melodic as always.

'I believe you already know, old Uunrahzil,' Mercury replied back with a smile. He was aware this teacher of his knew more than they let on, he could read it after all. Golden rays of pride underneath the small greeting, a radiance of content at their student's growth. That is what dominated old Uunrahzil's mind, and they made no attempt to hide it, either.

'This one sees thee hath taken upon another master's teachings?' they asked, gently. Mercury read again, and luckily, there was no envy or displeasure, simply a sense of light curiosity.

'Indeed, it is so,' he said, and under his tone, he sent images of how Yasashiku was. Patient, but unyielding, reliable and firm. 'He is a master of craftsmanship. Mainly metalwork.'

'Hm. It is good to have wide horizons, young one,' Dreamweaver slowly thought, 'learning craftsmanship is a wise step for you indeed. We shall hope our teachings harmonize well together, shan't we?'

'Yes, teacher,' Mercury replied, smiling. He could tell Uunrahzil was not displeased at all, in fact, they seemed quite happy with what Yasashiku was teaching him. Perhaps it was the down to earth nature of his teachings, but whatever it may be, Dreamweaver glossed over it this time.

'But young Mercury, I doth believe thee hath something else to tell as well?' they asked again.

'Thine eyes pierce through me once more, old Uunrahzil,' Mercury replied. 'But I believe thee have seen it already anyways, no?'

'Uhn. Yes. This one has done so. In our old age, we have forgotten ourselves and even sent a message,' they explained, and Mercury felt as though he could feel a tinge of... lament? What was so bad about the message?

'We hope thine surprise was not too great. We but rarely watch over thine life, young Mercury, and when thee understood the nothingness in between, we felt that, too. Because we are tri'ht. Learners, together,' they explained, almost as though making an excuse.

'I did not mind. When I saw the message, I simply felt happy, that is all,' Mercury thought to them, and almost immediately, he could read a soft sigh of relief. Perhaps the old being had lost another student over such a dispute once. He could only guess as of right now.

'Your words calm this one's mind, young Mercury. After gaining ihn'ar of <Nothingness>, how have you been feeling? Has thine perception of things changed?' they asked.

Mercury spent a moment thinking before answering. It was strange, he read some sort of expectation from old Dreamweaver's words, but he really hadn't felt much different at all. 'I have not,' he finally answered, and he read a feeling of confusion back at him from old Dreamweaver.

'You... haven't?'

'No, I feel the same,' Mercury thought.

'S'rit. "Strange",' old Dreamweaver said. 'We suppose you must simply master the next step with more difficulty then.'

'What is the next step?' the young one asked.

'Visualisation, young one. Thee must see what you wish to make before your inner eye, let your thoughts glide and yet have them remain fixed on what you wish them to. It is in between meditation and dreaming, to some degree, it's-'

'You mean daydreaming?' Mercury asked.

'Daydreaming? Yes, I... we suppose that might be a term you could use for it? To dream during the day, yes, for beings who sleep during the night it would be a good description of the feeling. How do you know of this?' old Dreamweaver asked, genuine curiosity and surprise written in their thoughts.

'I can already do it, old Uunrahzil,' Mercury simply said.

'Huh?' and for the first time, the cat had the pleasure of seeing the almighty Dreamweaver staring at him speechlessly.