 
The Blacksmith Soldier

Written by Levi Shipley

Contents

Introduction

The Girl

An Excursion

To Live Again

Another Attempt

Dark Tunnels

Without a Road

Under the Willows

Bluehold

Ruaza

Thick Walls and Wedding Bells

The Sea Serpent

Where Souls Die

After Life

# Introduction

There is a world in which death is feared and also disregarded. This world is called Tarmos and holds three nations: Paxia, Orengard, and Ruaza. Outside these places is an island named Hado.

In this world souls are connected to the earth. When someone is born they bear a birthmark upon their chest. This symbol represents the Halostone closest to their birthplace. Should someone die after reaching both physical and mental maturity, they will be returned to their Halostone and resurrected at the point they fully developed. Some are brought back in the middle of normal life, some near the end.

However, there are others who are cut down before their peak, or simply refused to mature. These poor souls are cursed with unrest and become poltergeists. In this state they possess the yet to be born babes of the world, creating terrible beings. Some are made into conjoined twins, one good and the other being a manifestation of the poltergeist, evil. Others are made into giants, while some cause split personalities. But no matter the case, they are eventually sent to Hado. Here they will leave the free world in peace.

As time goes on, the number of lost souls increases. Hado will be overpopulated, and the three nations will find themselves in strife.

It is in this world that Artemis, a third life blacksmith, makes his living. In the burg of Garn, Paxia, he crafts fine shields, armor, weaponry, horse shoes, and miscellaneous requests. He had three sons, only one of which made it to a second life. His wife vanished the day their second and third son did not return from the Halostone.

# The Girl

One

Despite the world's rapidly growing population, Garn is nearly a ghost town. The fifth lifes and older have all left for Ruaza, and few first lifes learn maturity here. Couples have given up on raising children, as they fear they will be condemned to Hado as possessed or eventual poltergeists. Here Artemis accumulates a small wealth from his monopoly.

But life here is empty for him. His immortal rebirths lay a future of loneliness before him. His only living son Felix resides in Orengard as a bounty hunter of poltergeists. Artemis spends his nights in solitude and ponders the fate of his dying world. The forge gives him little comfort, for its heat reminds him of the fire in him which died, ironically, when he was reborn a second time.

A morning dawned in mid spring. The air was crisp but pleasant. The pestilent insects had yet to awaken from their winter slumber, but the birds had begun to declare their songs. As he approached the little oaken shanty which housed his forge, he detected soft weeping from behind the forge's stone walls. Artemis decides to ignore the moaning. It's likely just some first life who realized the futility of their existence. Maybe a distraught mother. It certainly sounded female, but for all he knew it could be a cat.

Business is slow, which could be expected on such a nice day. No one ever wants to browse shops when there are berries to be plucked and children to be watched. The gentleness of nature seems to quiet man's rage and stem the need of weapons. Even the horses keep their shoes. It is slow. It is boring, and Artemis becomes restless.

He walks behind the forge, partly curious but mostly agitated. What he sees is a young girl, definitely a first life, curled up and drooling. Her hair is short and wheat colored. Her skin a mild olive. She is frail, but not emaciated.

"Well now," He begins, "having a bad morning, hmm? And on such a nice day." He waits for her to reply or at least begin to blubber again, but she does not. Instead she pushes her head up the gray stones and sighs.

Artemis contemplates leaving her. Surely she'll not remain there forever. Then she would be someone else's problem.

But no, he simply can't abandon her now. Maybe because he is growing soft hearted, or maybe she reminds him of his wife. Either way he offers her his hand. At first she only looks at his large calloused hands, making him believe for a second that she truly wanted no help. Then she takes it. Her hand is small and soft, but her grip is firm.

"I'm gunna close up shop, then. No one's bothering me in a useful way today anyhow." He sighs then looks at her timid face. Their hands release as she stands upright. "Let's get you some food. And some for me as well."

Two

If asked about their dinner now, Artemis wouldn't call it awkward as he had thought then. He may even call it oddly pleasant. Across the splintered wooden table he kept behind his cottage sat the girl, still silent. She didn't even make audible eating noises, but Artemis didn't care. Conversation was something he understood well but had little love for.

They ate lamb and potatoes. Artemis worked his kitchen just as well as his forge and laid a small dish before her. Thankfully she either was not picky or just polite, because she began eating. Slowly but making progress. He poured her a glass of homemade birch beer, which he chilled in a deep cellar. He didn't like the real stuff with alcohol. It addles minds, and losing his intellect frightened him. And he knew his temper was thin when he drank. Soda, however, was a fine substitute.

The sun finished its daytime arc, casting amber rays upon the grassy fields. In this light the green became gold, while the blue sky became amethyst. A breeze came through and ruffled the meadows, giving Artemis the sight of a golden ocean. The girl watched in silence but with intent. Artemis's heart dropped. He knew a sight like this would not roll around again for some time. In between there would be pain and hardship. From here, life would go downhill again, as it does. He believed this was perhaps the perfect example of a bitter sweet moment. The moment itself was delightful, but knowing it would end soon and be followed by darkness, made it terribly unpleasant.

Artemis fashioned up bedding for her in his guest room. The room once belonged to his sons and was very large. Though she didn't ask him for lodging, he knew she had nowhere else to go.

As she slept he ventured outside to gaze at the moon. He sometimes found himself up for days without sleep, but watching the great white disk thicken and thin seemed to give him reprieve. This was a night without rest, a night to do thinking. But his mind was empty as was his soul. Immortality always comes with a price. His price was peace.

Three

Fatigue. It always crept up on Artemis when he missed sleep. And now it was coming full swing while he worked the forge. The girl, who had yet to utter a word, was sitting on the east side of the shack and gazing into the forest. Artemis sluggishly hammered away at a tempered blade, working in the fine points and giving it his signature strength.

The day progressed as usual, and he paused for a lunch break. He decided that he should sit next to her and share some food. Slender as she was she could use it. And perhaps she might speak to him for once. If only to tell her name, which would be a start.

Artemis rounded the shanty's southeast corner to see that the girl is no longer sitting down there. She is not in sight as far as he can tell, but he assumes she is taking a stroll. After all, he wouldn't be able to tolerate sitting and staring all day either. There were no visible footprints or any trace or track that might indicate where she trotted off to. she needed a break. She'll come back.

She didn't.

She had a meal, a bed, and some one sided conversations. Maybe that's all there was to it. Artemis wanted to believe that, sought to believe it. But a part of him knew that something more malign was behind her disappearance. However, he shrugged it off and continued with another average day.

Four

That night he did not sleep so much as sink into a world of terror. In a dream Artemis watched the girl run through the forest . . . away from something. That thing he could not see, but what he could see was fear abounding in her face. He was floating in the trees and held no power to save her. Yet she continued to run. Her petit frame somehow garnering the strength to outrun her pursuer. At least for now. And the dream went on like this, until his desire to save her was so great that his mind began to reel, and the world around him fell apart. Then there was darkness.

And then there was his bedroom ceiling.

Only a parcel of sleep this night. His intuition was still flaring, and he needed to search for her. Whether in vain or not, it would comfort him to try. He fitted his boots and huntsman coat that had been a gift and jogged from his home and into the Har Woods. The air was thick and cold, the sky a billowing black cloud cover, and his boots soaked through. He went on until he came to the place where the wood was closest to his forge. There were footprints. Or perhaps there weren't. Artemis had forgotten his lantern and hadn't fully adjusted his eyes. But as it stood, he was almost certain that there was a fresh trail. He could swear two sets made an impression in the soggy dirt, one light and shallow and the other larger and deeper.

His mind whirled for a moment, running through what a devious man would do to the poor girl. If only she would've called for Artemis, but she didn't. A fact which now made him believe she couldn't. He knew nothing about her, really. And the idea that she could be a mute seemed so very prevalent.

But only a man had taken her. No giant, for the prints were not so deep as that. They were not quite his size, which boosted his courage. Knowing that most people indeed rest, Artemis began to follow the tracks.

Five

Pine needles crunched under his feet while he moved. The light of the moon was beginning to pierce the cloud, and he was able to see. There were indeed two tracks, and one was the girl's. The other was sharp and deeper than he first thought. Artemis was no hunter, but he recognized that deep print. For he had made such items that would leave a print like this. The deep one belonged to someone wearing armor.

A weapon was something he never even thought of bringing, but now he believed that he should have. Still though, he made too much ground to turn back to his house. And it was very likely that even if he did, it was already too late. But what he was too late for, he did not know.

After following the trail for about a mile, Artemis came upon a house. It belonged to his friend Dral, and Artemis thought it a good idea to stop in and hear from his friend. The house was made of logs and covered from foundation to chimney in moss and ivy. The front door was the only clean part and no light passed through the windows.

He knocked on the door and waited. As he did this, Artemis thought about leaving his friend to sleep. After all, it was quite late and there were dangers ahead. But before he could leave, the wooden door opened up a few inches, creaking as it did.

Dral's face was haggard, and his black hair was splayed out to the sides. Only the right side of his face was visible. Just below his chin the blade of a dagger glinted in the moon's dim light. Recognition came over his face, and he pulled the door wide open and lowered his weapon. He was clothed in a sooty cotton robe, but his feet were clean. "Artemis?" Dral rubbed his eyes, which were wide and the same color as his door. He turned to make sure his wife did not stir. "What are you doing out here so late?"

Now more than ever, Artemis wished he had not stopped. Dral had been his friend for many years, and even though Dral couldn't die permanently, Artemis still reserved a fair deal of concern. "Did you hear anyone come through here earlier? Maybe clad in armor?" His feet willed him to move on, but he stayed in place and waited for an answer.

Dral ran his fingers through his curly hair as if trying to correct it. He gave up and shook his head. "No, I don't believe I have." He put both hands in his hair and tried again. Still the tight spirals refused to bend the way he wanted, and he lowered his arms in defeat. But before Artemis could reply, Dral went on. "What's this about? Is something wrong?"

Yes, something was horribly wrong, but Artemis didn't want to say so. "Oh," He said, trying to be as calm and collected as possible, "I'm looking for someone who wandered this way earlier."

"Out here in the middle of Har? That's not a wise decision, not wise at all." Dral walked back into his house and left the door wide open. Before Artemis felt awkward and before he left, Dral came back fully clothed and with his bow. "Let's go look for them together. I see you aren't armed. And there are bears out here."

Artemis shook his head, but Dral pushed through him and down his walk. Artemis sighed and showed Dral the tracks he had been following.

Dral studied the two sets and looked up at the blacksmith. "There are two people out here." A pause then. "What exactly is going on, Artemis?"

If only he had just went on without consulting his friend. Soon Dral would be a part of this mess, but it wasn't his to contend with. Artemis dropped his gaze to the tracks and then looks into his friend's eyes. "I found a girl yesterday crying behind my forge. A first life, I think." He wiped his face from forehead to beard in hope that the gesture would somehow comfort him. "She didn't say a word, but I gave her food and lodging. I mean, she needed it."

Then came a pause and Dral broke in, the moon's light casting a shadow from his brow that made his eyes seem to sink in their sockets. "Well alright. And then?" He spread his arms and shrugged, but the concern marred his face.

"And she sat behind my forge all day today. But when I went to check on her, she was gone." Artemis closed his eyes and tried to picture the day that just passed. In the distance an owl begged to know who was in its forest, and it received the sound of rustling trees for an answer. After feeling satisfied with his memories, Artemis continued, "And I just thought she moved on. First lifes are like that sometimes." A frown grooved onto his face and added ten years to his age. "Then I had this awful dream that she was being chased by something, and I couldn't help."

Dral's mouth opened as if to reply, but he said nothing. Artemis had never been one to share, and hearing him do so further conveyed the gravity of events to Dral. Dral looked down at the unhidden trail and watched it journey deeper into the wood. There were dangers aplenty deep in the forest, but to ignore the plight of the helpless was far more dangerous. "Well, it seems that her pursuer is walking in tandem with her. So I don't think she's at risk just yet." And though he said this, Artemis could feel the biting insincerity it held. He could just hope that he was right, even if he didn't mean to be.

Six

The woods darkened again as the full moon receded behind a wall of thick cloud. Their steps crunched under their feet, and the trail became hard to follow. But they pressed on. Every minute or two they would stop to check the trail and be sure they hadn't lost it. Somewhere a coyote yipped and was echoed by a dozen more. Over the hills to the south was a deep rumble of thunder.

Then the moon returned, and the path was made clear again. As if to signify the light, swarms of fireflies danced in the dark night's light. They landed and lifted from ferns that swayed gently in the forest wind. The pale green light they made radiated and dissipated like twinkling stars.

The two men followed the trail to a spring where it seemed to stop. Taking their quarry's advice, they both drank from it. The water was cool and fresh. They drank from the font and watched as the liquid poured from it and over rocks. A doe was standing no more than twenty feet from the men, and had they not already been occupied Dral would have taken the shot. And again the owl questioned its visitors, and the doe replied by trotting away into the dark.

Beyond the spring was Har Wood's heart. From then on the trail went, and there was little else to take note of. As Artemis and Dral followed, they saw a den of foxes, raccoons digging for scrap, and many more fireflies. But for all the life they saw, the girl and her companion were not among them.

Seven

Morning came, and the two stopped to rest. They had been so caught up in their search that both had forgotten just how far they traveled. They were half a day away from home now, and both were exhausted. Whoever took the girl was ready for long travel even in armor. Thankfully the spring air was warm this morning, and they were able to sleep against parallel trees without the comfort of a fire.

Artemis awoke first, as sleep was a thing his body often rejected. Even so he didn't think he had felt this rested in year, and it brought a smile to his face. He woke his companion. Dral, who was a light sleeper, awoke and readied to nock an arrow. But seeing that his sleep was disturbed by the blacksmith, he settled down and stretched as he stood up.

They yawned simultaneously. Then both looked at the clear path. It didn't seem that the ones they followed stopped at any point to rest yet. It lead to the other side of the wood in the plains west of Drath, a large town known for its fishing industry.

The men were hungry. And before continuing, found a doe similar to the one they'd seen the night before. Of course, they are all similar. Dral made the kill and did the cleaning. Artemis cooked the meat over a fire, and they both ate their fill. What remained after, they left for the coyotes. It was just too much to carry for half a day's walk.

The plains made a bad place for tracking. The ground was heavily vegetated, and finding what looked beaten down is easier said than done. But the trail had been a straight line all through Har, and the two could only hope it stayed so through the fields.

The ground hardened as they walked, making any signs they saw begin to fade. The afternoon sun blared down on them whenever the clouds gave it a chance. It was unseasonably warm this day, and the two began to sweat. They could only hope for rain or another spring, as the next large patch of water would not be safe to drink.

There were buzzards circling over something to the north. To the south was the mountain line resting on the horizon, which gave it a blue corona. And ahead of them was the outline of large buildings. The path, if they were even still following it, seemed to lead directly toward Drath. Beyond that was an ocean, but they could not see it.

The two entered Drath exhausted and on the verge of dehydration. Dral had, in his excitement, forgotten that he left his wife at home without even saying farewell. But in his thirst this thought was far away and unimportant. The heat made his bed hair turn into a raging mess.

There was a well near the entrance. And when the two found it, each drank from it without thought. The dipping ladle was cold and covered in scratches, but it brought water to their lips as it should. Having their fill, they stumbled into the town proper.

Dral patted Artemis on the back. The blacksmith didn't notice, as they walked up to a tavern. They stepped in, greeted by the sight of salty men and dour women. The floor was made of dirt, the rest of untreated wood. A sour, musty odor permeated the air and seemed to make the room darker. Behind a wooden counter, that was really no more than a long table, stood a bright eyed young man who didn't match the general mood.

"I'm heading back." Dral said to his preoccupied friend, hoping Artemis would catch at least part of what he said. "Branni probably pulled out half her hair by now." Seeing that the blacksmith only looked ahead, Dral went on, "Maybe I'll catch up to you in a few days if you haven't come back yet. I'll try to keep an eye on the forge." He waited another moment for a reply, but received none. Dral spun around and left the tavern.

Eight

Artemis stood at the entrance for a few moments after Dral left. Then he whispered "thank you" and walked to the bar. The young tender looked at the blacksmith with high hopes and expectation pouring from his eyes. Hope for what and what he expected, Artemis did not know. No other patron paid either any mind and were content to just wallow in silence and body odor. Then Artemis put his tired hands on the wooden counter and started to speak, but the young man started first.

"How can I help you, good sir?" His words did not seem projected from his mouth as much as it seemed that they were escaping from long imprisonment. His hair was red and slicked back. The eyes that beamed were blue, and under these were traces of red stubble. He wore deer skin of deep brown, but his character seemed to outshine his dingy appearance and surrounding.

Artemis didn't request a drink, though he wanted one with some kick. And he didn't ask about the girl, not yet. "So, you peaked. Congratulations, that's a real milestone."

"Yes, Sir! Thank you, Sir." His face radiated with joy and pride. But it would fade away eventually. Most did.

"Now," Artemis began his real inquiry, "Did someone come through here in the last day, wearing armor and with a young girl about this height?" He raised his right hand about five feet off the ground and looked at the boy expectedly. In that moment Artemis closely resembled the tender, but he would never know it.

The red haired young man bit his upper lip and stared at the ceiling. He did this for about five seconds, though Artemis would've said it was five minutes. Then he nodded, and his beamish smile put a halo on every word he uttered. "About an hour after dawn today. There was a man covered in black armor from head to toe, and he was walking with a young girl at his side. Though it seemed more like dragging her to me." He stopped for only a moment, making sure the other patrons were still listless. "And that was some nice armor. Whoever he was, he must have been very important."

Artemis thought of how genuine first lifes were. This boy was now safe from death's hold, but death could still be painful when it hit. And he thought that what the boy just said could be dangerous depending on just who this knight was. But Artemis thought he might as well sink the tender into even deeper waters. "And where did they go?"

The young man pointed toward the ocean that laid on the other side of the wall. "To the port, it looked like."

Artemis did not think to bring money with him, but there was a silver piece in his right pocket. He removed it and set it on the counter for the red headed boy, and he nodded with a smile almost identical to the boy's. After this, Artemis walked outside

Nine

The outside was only slightly more pleasant smelling. Though the air was not as dense, the stench of fish drifted through the air in concentrated pockets. He would walk for twenty feet in reprieve. Then dead fish would fill his nostrils and twist his stomach. But behind the fish was a heavy, caustic aroma of salt. He thought that if the fish were cooked, the salt would be complementary.

Artemis came to the pier and walked to the end of a dock, where a man was sitting with his feet dangling over the murky water. There was a wooden boat anchored next to the man. Two buoys were chained tightly to the boat, their orange paint faded to a creamy sunset shade. The boat itself appeared empty save for its rudder control and some dirty barrels. There were badly eaten tar letters on the hull that proclaimed the name of the ship to be "Sp ar Hu er."

The man at the water's edge turned his head and revealed the dirty graying beard he wore. Above this were dirt and scars. On his forehead was a tattoo of an anchor that seemed to rest on his eyebrows. His eyes were gray and murky, but he seemed to retain some vision in them. The hair on top was a perfect match with the beard, dark brown and dying. He was dry, but his clothes seemed to be eternally drenched in saltwater. Splotches of white residue marred his vestments, and beside these were drooping bits of seaweed. Fishing hooks, that were beyond rusted, were latched into both his beard and his jacket.

Artemis looked down at the old man, not sure whether or not to pity him. Water splashed up over the docks and matted down the bottom stretch of his right leg, but he disregarded this. The wind blew his hair off his forehead, and he had to squint to keep his eyes from burning. The wooden boards underneath creaked and moaned, as if begging to be retired from the restless ocean's ire. Finally Artemis spoke up.

"A man in steel came through here earlier with a girl." Artemis began. A seagull flew over him and cast its shadow on his eyes. "Do you know where they went?"

The old man remained still with his back to Artemis. Seconds passed by, and he made no attempt to answer. Instead, he just looked out at the gray water that reflected the darkening sky. But he did finally speak. And when he did, the words came out of a meat grinder. The voice he used was low and haggard. It was as if his throat was filled with coarse fibers and rusty nails. "Orengard. By sea is quickest, but a storm is coming even quicker." Now he did turn to Artemis, and his gaze was awful. "Must be important. Then again, the knights of Orengard think every blasted thing they do is important." As he was finishing, the man reached into his jacket and produced tobacco. He rolled it up in some paper from another pocket with speed that could only be attained from decades of the habit. He lit a match and began inhaling the gray smoke.

Artemis watched him for a moment. The deftness this man had in rolling a smoke impressed the blacksmith. But it did not impress him enough to leave him in wordless awe. "Can you take me after them?"

After exhaling all the smoke in his lungs. The fisherman answered dryly, "Nope." He inhaled again. This time he spoke as he released smoke. The words seemed to shape the gray puffs into billows matching the size of each word he said. "The storm will take Spear Hunter to The Depths. And if the weather was good, I'd have to charge . . ." He thought for a moment. The smoke now fully free of his lungs. ". . . eight gold pieces." He looked at Artemis and smiled. His teeth were yellowed and stained with tobacco, and they were also receding crookedly into his gums. "It would be less if more came, but I'm no ferry. The one the knight took won't be back for a couple weeks." He inhaled one more time and threw the cigarette into the water, where it floated for only seconds before being taken by a gull for nesting. "But I guess you're in a hurry."

Artemis stared at the fisherman's sloped back. The smell of smoke was added to his nostrils. It too was unpleasant, but it was also fitting. He turned from the fisherman and walked back across the dock. The boards under his boots screamed for relief. He would need to bring supplies to make a trip to Orengard, money at the very least. While the man sitting at the dock was still in earshot, Artemis called back, "I'll be here again in a few days. And I'll take you up on that eight piece offer."

# An Excursion

One

Artemis's mind was going ahead of his feet. He arrived home only an hour after dark and in a great sweat. He'd been running the whole way home, and his legs chastised him for it. But while he still had a bit of energy to spare, he gathered up clothes and supplies at the foot of his bed. He would use them in the morning for his journey, but for now he would sleep.

Again he slept more peacefully than he had in years, despite having the dream of the girl running a second time. In fact, he slept in. The sun was overhead by the time he gathered up the things he needed for travel. He put extra clothes into a sack and slung it over his back with rawhide ties. In a satchel on his left leg, he put fifteen gold pieces, twenty silver, and sixty copper half pieces.

He opened up a great wooden chest in the closet next to his bed. Inside was an assortment of weapons he made for himself over the years. They were all lethal, from daggers to two handed swords, maces, spears, and even a few throwing weapons. But most of them were useless to him. What he took out was a steel sword about two and a half feet in length. One handed swords were something he knew how to wield properly, and efficiently.

This one in particular had been made for his oldest son Felix. It was perfectly weighted in the hand. The blade had two edges and a groove down the center, and at the bottom of the hilt was a small square pommel. In the center of the guard was the name "Felix" etched into the steel between the blade and handle. Artemis had made this for Felix as a going away present, but his son refused to take it.

Still this had been one of his best creations. It held an edge better than all the works he made before it and was currently sharper than his razor blade. He took it and put it in its sheath. Then he tied the sheath to his waist and double checked the room to make sure he'd not forgotten anything. When he felt satisfied that everything was done, he closed the door to his room and locked it. The key was in a false compartment in the door frame, and he doubted anyone would break in even if he left the door unlocked. Then he did the same with his front door, but for this one he kept the key in the sack with his clothes.

The storm that ravaged the ocean wetted everything while Artemis slept. His boots struck the ground with a low splash in each step, and he slipped in mud several times on his way to the forge. But above the ground, the air was dry. At the wood's edge a low fog was rising. And above all this was a bluish white sky. There were thin cloud on the horizon, but as it was one might think that rain never touched this sky.

While he was rearranging things at the forge, making sure no one would come by and steal his tools, Torin Fyst walked up to the smithy and made a short whistle. Torin was Garn's wealthiest denizen who prided himself in horse shows. He made a fortune by investing in Halostone relief stations that would give clothing and succor to the newly reborn. He owned a fleet of carriages and sleds, but never drove any himself. He could afford to hire drivers to cart him all over the land, so it was odd for him to show up at the forge himself instead of sending one of his many servants.

"Artemis!" Torin squealed. His voice was high and feminine, though his body was large and rounded. From a pocket resting on the girth of his stomach, Torin retrieved a tan piece of parchment that had been rolled up. He unraveled it into the short scroll that it was and began reading. "I need two dozen shoes for the drafts, a dozen for the minis, and four for my yearling. I couldn't find you yesterday, but two trips isn't so bad."

Artemis thought it might have been better for Torin to send a servant. He knew that the front hooves were not the same size as the rear ones, and Torin never mentioned hoof sizes. "Well, that's well and good. Do you know the oughts?"

"Oh," Torin shuffled his feet for a few seconds and placed a greasy palm on his forehead, "Fendor knows. But I thought I could use a walk, maybe lose some weight and make the horses' jobs easier." He paused another moment and pursed his lips as if trying to push the memory out of his mouth. But he shook his head. "Sorry. But you've made them before. Do you remember?"

Artemis did. "Yeah, I can have them done by next Fairday."

"Why, that's the end of the week!" Torin leaned over Artemis's anvil and swayed back, nearly losing his balance. "I thought you might have them done by tomorrow, maybe even tonight."

Artemis finished stowing his tools away in the ground in a sealed container and stood up. He grinned at the overweight man, again resembling that red headed boy. "No, not this Fairday. I mean the one after, or perhaps three or four down the line. I'm going on a little excursion." Seeing the color run out of Torin's face made Artemis continue, "If you want them sooner, you'll have to find someone else to make them."

Torin's face began to turn a pink, and his nose flared. A great deal of sweat beaded on his forehead, and he seemed to be out of breath just talking. "I'll pay double!" Then he reconsidered. "Surely you have some already made up that I can buy."

Artemis walked out from under the forge's roof. Normally this little shack was thick with hot air, but that day it shared the mild air from outside. He passed up the fat man who was staring at the blacksmith with a bewildered twist of his head. The sun landed softly on Artemis's face and made the kinks in his beard turn gold. "Yeah, I've got some. They're not the sizes you need though. Yours are too small." And he began walking in the direction of Dral's house, the way of Drath.

Two

Torin called after the blacksmith a few times but wasn't willing to walk after him. Artemis was excited to be off, and that was a feeling he'd not felt in years. He had always been content to just hammer away at the forge, especially after Felix left. He and Dral would shoot the breeze over drinks back in what seemed to be ancient days, but Artemis had a habit of drinking just a bit too much too often and work suffered. But these days he had a habit of sitting outside and staring at the sky.

Sometimes he would hope to see his wife and sons come walking through the woods and into his view. Now and then he would hear their voices, always full of joy to be reunited. Of course, there never was anyone behind the voices but his own mind. Artemis would go into the world now, and just maybe he would find the ones behind the voices. Or he hoped to at least.

Three

Dral's house was just as green as it had been, but now the sun shone on the ivy which made it bend out, trying to capture more rays. Artemis knocked on the door again, louder than he did before.

This time Branni came to the door instead of Dral. Unlike her husband, her hair did not seem to bother her. Although that could be because her hair was done and not splayed out to the sides wildly. Although she did not get out as often as her husband, her skin was a darker tone than his, almost to the point of being complete ebony. She looked up at Artemis, who stood a foot taller than she. "Artemis," She regarded the sack on his back and the sword on his hip, "Dral is out hunting. If you need him, he probably won't be back until nightfall."

Artemis wanted to drop the bag on his back to the porch floor while he talked to her, but he knew that if he did she would ask him to come in and wait for her husband. But he didn't have time to wait, at least he didn't think that he did. So he shifted his weight and tried to get the sack to rest in the middle of his back. "Well, I'm going on a trip." He looked away from her and to the forest beyond. In truth, he was trying to see Drath. "I might be gone for a month or better. And I thought he should know, you too. I don't want everyone getting worried."

She nodded. Then she placed her hands on her hips and pushed her eyebrows together. "And where might you be going?" Her brows parted, but they remained lifted above her eyes as if upheld by the question.

The blacksmith didn't even realize that he was still staring into Har. The sight of the pines and what laid on the other side of them brought him into a lull. And a surge of anticipation rushed through him, lifting up his insides and making him feel weightless. "I'm not sure myself." He rolled his eyes up. Then said, "I'm going away."

Four

His friend's house was behind him now, and all that he could see was forest. He went on, following the trail he had before, though now it had been washed out.

He camped that night in the same place he had with Dral. But he resolved to wake up at dawn this time, which would be easy for him to do. He made a fire not for warmth but to keep animals at bay while he slept. He'd gathered up edible berries on his way and sat staring at the fire while eating them. He would chew the bodies and spit the seeds into the fire. When he finished eating, his fingers were stained with purple juices. He was sure his teeth were similar and spent a few moments digging seeds out from between them. After this, the tiring fingers of sleep crept into his mind, and Artemis drifted off to the crackle of burning twigs.

He woke up half an hour after dawn, but that was close enough. He felt rested and thought that if all he got from this journey was good sleep, that would be enough. There were still embers burning in his fire ring, so he stomped on what seemed to have a chance of rekindling and covered up everything hot with dirt. He was hungry again, but food could wait. He reequipped his bag of supplies and checked to make sure his sword had not come up out of the sheath while he was asleep. Everything was in order.

Five

The stench of dead fish and saltwater was not as strong this time. The sky above the water was blue, and where it wasn't there were small, wispy clouds that meant nothing to sea fare. There were more people moving about Drath than before, fishermen readying for the day ahead.

Artemis passed the red headed boy on the street. The boy was still beaming. Others were not so ecstatic, but they were moving. Despite the change in atmosphere from the last visit, the port seemed to be blanketed in gray. There was plenty of brown, green, and tan. But the essence of gray smothered the place as if the very color of life had been drained away. Artemis didn't plan on staying.

The old man was in the same place with the same boat. He was raising the ship's anchor, climbing in and out for various things. He stopped when he saw the blacksmith but continued before Artemis came up to him. He wore the same clothes as before, or they were similar enough that Artemis could see no difference. It was almost comical seeing the seaweed drooping from his arms. The way the green stuff would sway back and forth, but the man didn't pay them any heed whatsoever.

The fisherman wiped his forehead, removing sweat and knocking a clump of dirt free. The stagnant gray eyes squinted at Artemis, and his lungs took in a raspy breath. His jaw moved as if he was trying to talk, as he coughed up a glob of phlegm and chewing tobacco. But he remained silent and waited for his visitor to speak up.

The blacksmith looked at the fisherman's gray beard, thinking of how his too would turn that color, again. Seeing the diseased eyes of the man in front of him made Artemis wipe his own. His own hair was naturally a dark gray, and without the wind some of it drooped over his eyes. "I've got four pieces now. And you can have the other half when we get to Orengard." He patted the satchel on his leg lightly so that he didn't reveal just how much he carried.

"That will do just fine." The fisherman put a knuckle to his chin and gave his best toothy smile, showing all the misshapen and receding teeth. His mouth closed, and his beard dropped with his frown. "I can't guarantee a safe voyage, ye hear. This ship is full of holes. These buoys keep it upright, but that's a long trip for a boat such as this." He reached into his mouth and a second later pulled out an infected tooth. The odor coming off it made the dead fish smell like perfume. He tossed it casually into the water behind him as if he'd done nothing more than spit out chew.

He was careful to grab only four gold, so it took a few moments for him to feel the correct pieces and filter them from the rest. He withdrew four and closed up the satchel. Giving it to the fisherman did not make the old man smile, which surprised Artemis. Instead the old man dumped the gold into his crusty vest where it fell in with rusty hooks.

"Get in the boat. We'll set sail in a few minutes." The man sighed under his breath, but Artemis did not hear it.

Six

Once they were about a mile from shore, the water lightened. The murk of Drath seemed unable to swim out this far. Ahead was endless shimmering water, a sight Artemis had never before seen. The sun bounced off every ripple, and the ocean was made into rolling silver because of it. The air was still salty, but the dead fish were downwind.

Spear Hunter rocked from side to side in the small waves. The sound of water crashing softly into the sides was slow and rhythmic. The old man seemed to adjust naturally and didn't sway in the least bit. Artemis, however, felt his balance teeter several times, but he kept his footing. The hull under their feet creaked and moaned the same way the dock had. The buoys that had been attached to the ship chimed in the rhythm as the fisherman never removed their bells. There was no sail on the boat, but if there was it would only be pulling them back to shore.

"Following the knight to Orengard, eh?" The old man perched himself on an empty barrel near the rear of the ship. The current was pulling them out, and he didn't need to operate the rudder just yet. Out on the water, the old man seemed younger, full of life. At least, as much life as his old body could show. His murky eyes seemed to hide a sharpness now instead of just decay, and the nails in his throat, still there, did not sound so rusty. "I still remember the way, but it's been well over a century." He coughed, but not in the raspy way he did at the dock. He was clearing his throat. "A grand place, The Land of Castles."

"I've never been there." Artemis was standing on the bow and looking over the side. There were fish out here in the ocean that he'd never seen. He wanted to say more, but his mind emptied and his tongue tied.

"He's probably some noble, that knight. Or a successful mercenary." He looked up at the blacksmith who was very obviously out of place. "A soldier left over from the War of Rebirths. That's what I'd say. One that just couldn't let the fight go." The nails rusted a bit at this, and he returned his eyes to the floor.

Artemis barely heard the fisherman. He was too captivated by the bizarre schools of fish passing by. What he did was the war. He wouldn't let it show, but it was that war that killed his parents when he was only a toddler. Only first lifes can bear offspring, and neither of his parents ever came back.

He was orphaned with no other family to go to. As Artemis grew older, he watched his fellow orphans become adopted by happy, sometimes broken, families. He watched as his best friends walked out the front door of the orphanage for the last time. What happened to them, he did not know. All he knew was that none came for him. When he became a teen, he knew the odds of a family would be slimmer every day. In the end he was too old to stay an orphan and was turned into the world with none that he could call family. No one had ever so much as implied it, but Artemis insisted on himself that he was unwanted. It was not a pleasant thing to remember. And though he tried to hide it, the bad memories seemed to be leaking from his pores.

"The war that the first lifes fought." He said. "It was meaningless. All they did was waste energy and send people to Hado." Even though he was staring at the water, his eyes were looking at the past.

"Yup. I lost two of my sons in that war. My third was so shaken by it that he . . . took his own life." The old man ground his rotting teeth together and clenched his eyes. Even though Artemis wouldn't see the gesture. "And the fate he gave himself is even worse."

Artemis turned toward his ferryman and dropped his jaw. "He sent himself to Dystopia?"

"And will live in endless nightmares forever." The man coughed and spat a dark brown ball of phlegm over the side. "But maybe someday there will be a way to end this cycle. Oh, I never did grab yer name. I'm Roderick Leehammer."

Artemis thought of the sons he lost, and of Grena. Could there ever be hope for them? He hoped so. "I'm," He hesitated. At first he wanted to say that he was no one at all, but that wasn't true, not quite. "Artemis Knox of Garn." He turned away from the water and looked at the old graying man. Out here on the water, this exchange seemed cold and solemn.

Seven

They were out on the open water for days. For sustenance they caught and ate what they could. Artemis was fascinated by each and every thing they found and did what he could to prepare them. Roderick had next to no culinary skills and would've been content to eat the fish raw, but Artemis managed to cook their catches over a small gas heater. There was no way to season anything, but everything tasted fine the way it was.

Summer was still a few months away, but all day sunlight without reprieve began to bake the men. Roderick explained that when he'd last visited Orengard he was in the ferry, which had roofing. Out here on Spear Hunter was turning dangerous, as the sun started to peel their skin and dry out their minds. Though it was far too warm for it, Artemis covered himself up with some of the extra clothes he'd brought and offered Roderick enough to cover up as well. The men were overheating, the only water for either was in their food.

"Will we make it?" Artemis asked from under a veil of shirts.

Roderick did not answer at first. Instead he whistled an old sailor's tune from under his own pile of clothes. He answered as he stopped whistling, without any pause in between. "Maybe. I'm thinking we will. If not, I've lost this ship for what will probably be the last time. I'll have to find other work, which is fine. I'm getting tired of saltwater. You would be out at least eight gold, some clothes, and that nice sword." He yawned even though he'd just woken up half an hour before.

On the horizon was a zit. Far off to the west was a landmass. "Is that Orengard?"

"No." The fisherman didn't even need to look. But he did look to see just what it was. "That, traveler, is Hado. I'm surprised we can't hear wailing. Must be a calm day over there."

That night they ate their fill of Davir fish, which are similar to swordfish but much smaller. The cool night air was a grand respite for their charring skin. Without trees or mountains to block light, the moon, even now that it waned, illuminated all the water around them.

Roderick explained that Orengard should be in sight by dawn and reached by late morning. But the fisherman was restless and remembered that Artemis never explained himself before. As he hauled up another small group of Davir, he asked. "So, why are you chasing after the black knight?"

Artemis felt déjà vu, thinking he'd already answered this. But he couldn't recall the words coming from his mouth. "He has someone dear to me." But that wasn't how he meant it, it had to be stronger. "And I don't know why he does." The blacksmith sighed. He didn't know why the girl was so important that he would drop everything and go to a foreign country to find her. It made no sense to him, and yet here he was. And it felt right.

"I saw the girl, if that's who you mean." Roderick pulled up the net and dumped half a dozen Davir onto the deck. There were others as well, but they were not good to eat. "If she's your wife, she seems a bit too young. I'd wager she was your daughter, but you don't strike me as a first life, or a second for that matter." He wrapped up the net, being done with fishing for the night. "But she's definitely a first life. So who is she exactly?"

Artemis got the heater running and started cleaning his half of the Davir. Even though they still lived when he picked them up, their eyes seemed dead when they regarded him. Out of water, they might as well be. "I don't know."

Eight

Into the port there were a few minor setbacks. The tide was low, and Spear Hunter broke her underbelly on several rocks. She sprung a rather dangerous leak in rather safe waters. As they docked, Artemis and Roderick had to pull the ship with ropes to get it where it needed to be. As the fisherman tied it in place, the ship sank to the shallow floor, never to float again. Even with the buoys, it was ruined.

"As promised." Artemis again reached into the satchel. This time he retrieved the second half of the gold pieces he owed and handed them to the old man.

"Good doing business with ya." Roderick looked at his sunken boat and sighed. With all his congestion it sounded more like a growl. "I guess."

"Sorry about—"

"Don't be. Does it look like I was making a good living off it?" Roderick spread his arms to further expose the grime that he was covered in. "Like I said, I'm tired of saltwater."

As Artemis gathered his supplies, Roderick stared at the useless boat. The blacksmith waved at the fisherman, but the old man went on staring. Roderick's eyes seemed to crust over with a few more layers of cataracts, as if he was now completely blind.

Artemis walked into Jakul, Orengard's own version of Drath. But there was no dirt here. Nor was there wood or the smell of rotting fish. The sailors looked just as salty as Drath's, but every street and building was made of stone. Everything here was gray, and Artemis was sick of that color by this point. It was as if the people of Orengard had nothing but mortar and rock for materials. From the port's wells to the pubs and fisheries, everything was built with imposing slabs of stone.

Artemis walked into a tavern not unlike the one where the red headed boy worked. Inside was a very similar display of weathered people. A dampness drifted through the air, and the thick walls blocked most of the light from outside. Even so, there were some aware enough to mock the blacksmith for his sunburn. At the counter was no boy but a worn man no older than Artemis, yet he carried the weight of twice as much age.

The patrons watched the smith with his pack, satchel, and sword with envious eyes. But they stayed back. Too much weariness stood between them and Artemis. He meanwhile placed his hands on the counter just as he had at the last tavern. He looked into the tired blue eyes of a balding man and asked, "Have you seen a black knight come through here with a young girl?"

The tender's eyes brightened and widened. He straightened his posture and spoke in a low voice as if the tired patrons might be spies. "Aye. But what business do you have with Sir Icarus?" As he spoke, the words progressively became smaller as the question was a narrowing tunnel.

"I just need to talk to him." Artemis hoped.

The man's face became worried and nervous. His frown was low enough that it wanted to drop off his chin. His brows furrowed together, forming a bushy tent above his eyes. The worn skin of his cheeks creased in every direction, and he no longer seemed to be Artemis's age but perhaps thirty years older. He glanced anxiously at the sword on Artemis's hip and replied. "If that's all there is to it." His face lighted but only by the smallest degree. "He went to the East Inroad. On his way to his castle no doubt."

"The knight has his own castle?"

The tender's face eased again. This time by far more noticeable degrees. He realized that Artemis didn't know enough to cause trouble, not yet that is. "Uhuh. He was once a great warrior, I suppose. His exploits landed him an esteemed position, and in time he took over this land." He sighed in relief. "He has a lot of ambition. He may even take the country someday."

"The Inroad," He asked, "where is that?'

"Only road leadin' out of town." The tender hitched a thumb over his shoulder, the second time Artemis had someone point him through a wall.

The blacksmith reached into the satchel and picked out a silver piece. He placed it on the counter, and the tender grabbed it hurriedly, as if the patrons would come to life and take it. The exchange was fast and awkward, Artemis's hand not even leaving the surface of the wood before the tender snatched his tip.

Nine

And so he walked east in pursuit of the knight king. The sky was thick with clouds, but Artemis's reddened skin still throbbed in pain. Soon it would all peel away. He wore long sleeves to further guard his skin, but the heat rising from his arms threatened to burn him out. He put the coat he'd been using for its sleeves over his back, but he kept his arms out. In a way Artemis appeared to be wearing a cape and in another he seemed to be armless. But whatever he looked like was of little importance. The sun was off of him even in its weakened state, and he kept cool. Well, cool enough that is.

The Inroad was paved with cobblestone. He had never seen anything like it in Paxia. And it made him think that he could gain some good experiences from this journey on top of good nights of sleep. Beyond the road were rolling hills to the south and high mountains to the north. At the foot of the colossal northern mountain scape was a forest of redwood trees, known in Tarmos as Babel trees. The southern hills, already dwarfed by the grand mountains, had a thin patch of pines at their base that ran over them like an uneven beard.

He camped that night to the north, as he wanted to rest at the feet of the towering trees. Never in his lives had he seen anything so large that was alive. Somewhere in a dark corner of his heart, he desired to stay in these woods forever with the giants. But that was wrong. Magnificent as this place was, he knew he could not stay. Eventually he would die again and be returned to Seldren, where his own Halostone waited. And with these thoughts, he slept peacefully once again.

The skin of his arms and neck was starting to peel, when he awoke. The ears and nose would be next along with the forehead. Then he hoped it would be done with. He gathered his provisions and drank water from a canteen he'd filled in Jakul. His stomach roared and shrank away; it would have to wait.

It rained most of the day, and the cobblestone glistened with pounding water. The constant drone of droplets on stone and grass put Artemis into a rhythm that he would never be able to describe. The tempo of all the sounds was too grand, the orchestra too enormous. He fell in line with the sounds and had to accept that he could not do it consciously.

The water fell and gathered on the hood of his jacket. It would run to where the mouth of his hood hung over his forehead and drop off here. These droplets were fat and would fall from the hood and pass his nose close enough for him to feel them go by. Then they would descend under his chin and fall to his feet. If he listened carefully he could tell these apart from the natural drops. And sometimes they would strike one of his boots. Whenever they did this, he could hear the cluster of droplets break free from one another and splash in their own unique directions.

The leather boots that housed his feet no longer thudded against the road as they had the day before. Instead their own noise was muffled and masked by the low splish splash sound of puddles being disturbed. They were small pools and none seemed to throw any measurable amounts of water, but were just as loud as the tromping of boots through deep water.

Ten

And he walked on like this, the sound of water his only companion. His eyes stayed on his feet for the most part, and he never saw the castle as it drew closer. The wind was at his back, guiding him along. The water that touched his burned skin was soothing and very cold. Somewhere west, perhaps over the ocean, was thunder. But here the rain was only accompanied by an occasional gust of wind. The true thunderheads would come in summer when the heat helped to charge things. But for now it was just rain, cold bleating rain.

The shadow of the castle's gate fell over Artemis, and he looked up. A building as tall as the Babel trees was before him. Its turrets stretched out in every direction. This structure too was made of stones, but these were darker almost as if they had been scorched at one time and just recently were fading back to gray. The gate itself was twenty feet high and twenty wide with crisscrossing bars of iron and its own contingent of two heavily armed guards. A watch house, which was also part of a wall surrounding the castle, was wrapped around the iron gate. Somewhere inside would be a wheel and pulley that could lift the colossal door.

"Halt!" Bellowed the first guard. He even raised his left palm, which was covered in shining steel armor, and drew a sword with his other hand. "What business do you have here?"

Artemis was almost shocked by the guard. He was staring so intently at the castle and all its features that he'd forgotten the two watchmen. "Oh," He stumbled for a moment to find the right words, "I'm here to see Sir Icarus."

The first guard looked at the second and nodded under his gleaming helmet. "Sure, you can see him."

Artemis was about to give a thanks. But the second guard had crept behind him and struck the blacksmith over the head with the pommel of his sword. Artemis felt pain for only the smallest measurement of time, and it faded. Everything faded. The rain and gray atmosphere gave way to utter darkness. The sounds muffled themselves as if everything was suddenly submerged in water. And before he hit the cold stones, his eyes rolled back and consciousness fled.

Eleven

He awoke bound and in an illustrious chamber. Every wall had a red and gold banner hanging on it. There were chandeliers and stained glass windows, though neither gave off a great deal of light. He was tied to a chair at the head of a small set of steps that lead up to a throne. The throne itself was golden, the seat and back of red velvet. Under the chair he was in and leading up the steps was an immaculate red carpet with gold trim and frills.

The darkness that took Artemis was gone, but in its place was a throbbing just above the back of his neck. He couldn't move his arms, but he thought there might be a bandage on the wound. Somewhere in another room was a man crying, but in what direction Artemis could not tell. The acoustics were astonishing. Ahead of him, to the right of the throne, were heavy footsteps.

From behind a pillar resting against a wall came the black knight. His armor shone as if it were covered in a layer of smooth plastic. The edges of his mail were colored in a light gray, nearly white. On his back was a red and gold mantle, which he took off and let rest on the back of the throne. His helmet was visored and came down over his face. The shoulders of his armor were squared and came off his collar a few inches, giving him a wider range of movement. From the temples of his helmet came forth steel wings that were streamed backward. The knuckles of his gauntlets were spiked, as were his kneecaps. Curving back on his elbows were blades, designed very carefully never to interfere with the one inside the armor. On his chest was the etching of a stone surrounded by a corona, a Halostone. And on his feet were plated boots which sharpened at the toes, just as the prints had in Har.

"You know," Icarus began, "you are very lucky to have come this far. Usually when someone comes to my doorstep, I just have my men rob them and kill them." His voice was muffled under the helmet's steel, but it still carried well to every inch of the room. He sat down in the throne, his armor clanging together as he did. He rested the bladed elbows on his spiked knees and stared at the bound blacksmith. "I prefer it that way." He looked to his right and nodded at a servant that Artemis could not see. Then he went on. "But before they could put you, poor wretch, out of your misery, they noticed a very nice sword in your possession." At this Icarus lifted off his knees and reached behind the throne, never taking his gaze from the blacksmith. He revealed the sword made for Felix and threw it to Artemis's feet.

The world was clearer and more real than it had been only minutes ago. Artemis looked at the sword he worked so carefully on. Memories with all their sorrows flooded back into him. "I made that for my son."

Icarus wrapped his right hand on the right wing of his helm and said, "I know." He ripped the helmet from his head in a flash and threw it at Artemis. His aim was precise and struck the blacksmith's nose with great force. His unmasked face smiled as he watched blood begin to trickle down the man's face and catch in his beard. "Just for me." And Felix began to cackle.

Artemis's eyes were watering from the blow, and he had no hands to wipe his vision clear. But he recognized his son before him. The oldest and only one left laughed at his injured father. "Son?" Artemis meant to be loud and pronounced, however, this came out choked and teary.

Three servants came from a room behind the blacksmith. They wheeled in a tray with various torture tools. From shears to whips, splintered boards of wood and straps designed to rip ligaments, they had it. But amongst all the classics was a new device, a makeshift tank with two small hoses attached. At the end of the hoses were small brass nozzles that came to a frightening point. Once the servants had the tray in place next to Artemis, they backed away.

"Splendid!" Felix exclaimed and nearly jumped out of his throne. His hair was light silver, almost white, just as Artemis's father's had been. The eyes below the hairline were green and bright, Grena's eyes. "So tell me father," His tone calmed, "what do you know about The Angel?"

"I don't follow you." The blood had dried, but made a mess of his face. He looked up at his son, gloom brimming on his face. "Why don't you let me go, and then we can talk? For your old man?"

Ignoring the second half of his father's reply, Felix grinned and rolled an armored hand. Admitting in a small way that his father couldn't know what he meant. "The girl you came here for." He rose from the throne and began walking toward the blacksmith. "She never speaks, but is just the sweetest thing. Cries a good bit of the time, but," He stood almost on top of his father. "that can be muffled." He bent down and pressed his eyes into Artemis's. There was a grin on his smooth face that revealed an unsettling amount of his teeth.

Artemis leaned back. His son was disturbing him, and he just couldn't bear to look at Felix this way. "I don't know anything about her, really. But she's young and afraid. I fed her and gave her a place to stay, but you dragged her all the way here. Who knows what awful things you're doing to her, my son."

The grin fell away, and Felix stood upright. He looked invincible inside the steel armor, and he wore it as if it were weightless. "I'd never harm such a delicate flower. But fine, we'll do this your way, old man." He beckoned to the servants, and they promptly came forward. Two of them took the hoses and stood behind Artemis. The third stood over the metal tank with his hand on a crank sticking from one side. "You may begin, but not too much."

The two servants pierced Artemis's back with the sharp nozzles. Their accuracy was surgical, both heads were embedded into his kidneys. That pain alone made Artemis scream in agony, but what came next was worse by far. The last servant turned the crank slowly and easily. The inside of the tank made a few whines. It pumped air into Artemis's kidneys and forced them to expand. Just the bit of air made Artemis wish for death, but before he could black out from pain, the airflow stopped. The pain did not recede, but it also did not increase.

"I'll let you catch your breath for a few moments. While you do, I'll tell you what I know about the girl." Felix crossed his arms and looked down at his father with contempt. "After that you're going to fill in all the holes. You're going to tell me what I DON'T know. Got it?" He waited only a moment for a reply. Artemis could only nod. Felix went on. "She's no first life, or any life. I'm not so sure she's even human." He smiled. "Another reason I call her The Angel. But you see," The wicked smirk on his face flared. "she has a unique ability. Whenever she is even remotely close to a poltergeist, she absorbs it. She takes its pain, its essence, and doesn't even send it to Hado. She simply gives it rest."

Artemis raised his head to meet his son's stare, but he remained silent. He could speak now, even through the pain, but now he was intrigued.

"How? I ask you. Can I make a living from hunting poltergeists, if she can outright destroy them all from a hundred miles away?" The tone implied that he wanted an answer, but Felix kept going. "I can't. And if she ever got to Hado, why then it would be all over. No more ghosties, no more moolah." He looked down at the sword made for him, his silver hair falling over his eyes. "I could kill her, but that might just send her back to a stone."

The pain was still there, but now he felt able to ignore it fully. "So what would you do to her then? And if you ask me, the world could do without all these damned phantoms plaguing us!"

Felix perked up his head. "Hide her away. Far from any life. Gotta make a living, father. As you surely know. And my men don't run on fear alone. Now answer me. What am I missing?"

"I didn't raise you to be like this! If I had known you would—"

"Shut up, you miserable bastard!" Felix's right hand came across his father's sore nose, breaking it and drawing blood again. "You didn't raise anyone! It was your responsibility to make sure Cedric and Geoff made it to a second life." His eyes widened and shimmered. There were tears in there somewhere, but he would not let them flow before his father. "I raised myself and made it to mine. But you were always off at the forge, trying to make extra coin. Mother couldn't do it alone, and I couldn't handle any more than myself." His fists clenched, and he was about to strike his father a second time, but decided not to at the last moment. "When they were run down by the bear, they were more than old enough to get a second life. But you never taught them maturity, and where are they now? I'd wager on Hado, and this girl would simply destroy their souls."

Artemis couldn't answer. It wasn't pain that held him back, but the truth. He knew he failed to teach his sons better, and it was true that greed was the cause of it. The shame in his heart made his face burn redder. But he was past that now. In fact, it might have been the loss of his sons that taught Artemis true maturity himself, but he wished he could give his up to have his sons back.

Any trace of tears on Felix's face that might have been were gone now. He stood over his father with dry hateful eyes, doing all he could not to grind his teeth. "Now answer me. What else do I not know about the girl?"

Artemis pushed away his shame and grief. He looked into the spiteful eyes of his son and felt the unbearable gaze run through his own soul. "I don't know." His voice was low and hoarse, though his lungs and larynx still functioned.

Felix sighed and chuckled. He wiped his face down with an armored hand, catching his lip for a moment and exposing the sharp teeth of his lower jaw. "Just as selfish as ever. Right dad?" He shook his head and rolled his hand again. This time the last servant pumped in air until the blacksmith's kidneys burst. Felix looked at the agony on Artemis's face without the slightest hint of concern.

Artemis was plunged into shear horror. He had kidney stones in his last life, but that was a massage compared to this. Tears streamed from his eyes without any consent from him. He tried to scream, but the pain was so intense that all he could manage was a high pitched moaning. It was now that he wished his body would go into shock and steal away his consciousness, but it refused. Perhaps this was punishment for failing as a father, but he didn't think even this was enough to make up for what he had done. Or hadn't done, rather. The air stopped after both kidneys burst, and he could feel the bloated cavity in his abdomen fill with air and blood. He coughed up blood, but he did not choke. It seemed that he would suffer longer than necessary.

Felix reached down and lifted up the sword that had once been his gift. He held the blade sideways and examined the full features of the sword. "You know, I prefer two-handed blades. I mean, I've always been a bit too strong to just settle for these little things." He looked through the sword and at his father's writhing face. "But I think that I'll keep this one after all." He drew the blade back, smiled with all his teeth, and plunged it through Artemis's heart. The steel went through ribs, flesh, and spine. But it didn't stop until after passing through the wooden back of the chair. "I like that." Was the last thing Artemis heard before darkness overtook him.

# To Live Again

One

He passed through the world, as everyone in Tarmos does when they die. But he would not remember it; no one ever does. Unlike those who are spiritually incomplete, his spirit had a place to go. Were he not finished, his soul would wander aimlessly and go mad. It would scour for his ruined body. But he was whole, and so his soul flew with purpose.

He flew over the ocean that he'd crossed, seeing Roderick in Jakul in high spirits. He went over Drath and beyond Garn in only seconds. Somewhere in Har Dral was hunting a bear much like the one that killed the smith's two sons. The forge laid dead without anyone to tend it. Beyond Garn his soul soared above the hills. Clouds parted for him as he went. He passed the Sten Forest, which was far smaller than Har, and descended into Seldren.

His new eyes opened. His body was ten years younger than it had been only moments ago. He screamed in agony and gripped his sides, still feeling the pain of his old ruined kidneys. Behind him was a large white obelisk with a hollow in the shape of a disk near the top, his Halostone. A young man dressed in a white duster ran to him and placed a robe on Artemis's shoulders. The smith reluctantly released his sides and covered himself up with the robes. He'd been kneeling in pain but forced himself up, the young man helping him walk to the station.

Two

"That must've been some way to go." Said the man in the white coat. On his head was a green headband that read in large black letters "Seldren Halostation."

The station itself was very similar to the forge, in size at least. It was only a bit larger and had an overhang on the side closest to the stone, presumably to keep the workers out of rain. Two others stood under the roofing, another man and a young woman both wearing the same headband. There were two rooms inside, a small sitting area and a storage room. The whole thing was made of solid stone, carved out of a boulder. The roof itself sat oddly on top as if the stone rejected it, though it served its purpose adequately. There were a few wood framed windows, but their profile was so low that Artemis didn't even notice. On every inch of wall, was paint or a piece of parchment advertising some business.

The attendant gave Artemis bread and grape juice. Then the young man proceeded to talk about the station's larger contributors, but Artemis ignored this part. When the attendant finished talking about the sponsors, he put aside a pen that he'd been using to scratch a paper, or perhaps he was writing on it. "I know it's not my place to ask." He said. "But how did you go exactly? I've never seen anyone come back screaming, not like that anyway."

Artemis had finished both his food and his drink and sat staring at the sleeves of the robe he was given. It was white and soft, comforting. He saw the hands coming from the sleeves, and they were his. But these were smoother than the ones he'd been using earlier that day. They were less worn, as was the rest of his body. He was in his fourth life now. "Painfully." He muttered, the taste of grapes still in his mouth.

The young man didn't scratch the paper, but picked up the pen and stood ready. "Can I get your name? We're trying to compile a list of those tied to Seldren."

Artemis would've concluded it was for a census even if the attendant hadn't elaborated. He looked down at his chest where the halves of the robe parted. On his sternum was a discoloration like a birthmark. It was in the shape of a mountain peak, and in its center was a normal patch of skin that resembled a pine tree. Though the mountains of this area were not high, this was Seldren's symbol, the mark binding him to this specific stone. "Artemis Knox." He replied and closed the front of his robe.

"Ok. That's all I need." The young man made a few more swipes with his pen. Then he holstered it in a drinking cup that housed other writing tools on the little table. After this he walked into the storage room with the paper and came back without it. "You're free to go whenever you like." He raised an arm and held it out to the door, not pointing but holding out all his fingers. "And keep the robe. We've got plenty. Thanks for the cooperation."

Artemis opened the door. He couldn't remember opening it in the first place. Before both feet were outside, the young man called after the blacksmith.

"We've got a bin to your left with shoes and boots in it! You're welcome to a pair." The man said before returning to the storage room for some other item.

Artemis looked through the wooden container and indeed found a fitting pair of boots. They were already worn and dirty, but they would be far better than going bare. As he strapped them on, he thought of how convenient these stations were. They had just been built in his last life, so this was his first time visiting one. He could remember the first and second time he came back. He'd been naked and cold both times, as he had made a habit of dying in winter. There was no juice or bread, just a new empty stomach and miles of travel without clothing. He had been lucky both times that he had gotten home before being overtaken by frostbite.

But that pain was not something he had to deal with before. Often the body would remember its last suffering, and there would be a tingle of some sort upon rebirth, but the intensity of his ruined kidneys superseded a mild buzz. Even though it was diminished, the pain that Felix inflicted was tremendous.

Three

There was a strong breeze blowing through the Sten Forest, and Artemis became agitated by the loose robe. Thankfully, the air was not the usual icy gale that he was accustomed to at rebirth. Before long the cool air of spring would give way to the thick rushes of hot summer wind. For now it was just chilly enough to bite his face and keep him on edge.

Unlike Har, Sten was without evergreens. Most of the trees here were in full bloom, if they had flowers to bear. Others were budding, and some seemed to think it was summer. The bugs that had been absent not so long ago were coming out of their dormant state, and the blacksmith found himself swatting gnats and deerflies. The breeze seemed to neither affect the trees nor the insects, and he found himself at an annoying disadvantage to his surroundings.

The hills were not as difficult on him as they would've been that morning. Even so, the bread and liquids he had before were running thin in his system, and he was growing hungry again. He knew that he would be home long before dehydration and starvation affected him in a noticeable way, but it still seemed like a real threat.

On his way down the final slope before Garn, he slipped in some lose dirt and went tumbling down the hill. He jostled down the hill like a rolled up carpet, ruining the white robe and losing one his boots. His head spun as he rolled sideways, which sent his hair streaming to the sides like strings on a spinning rotary. The remnants of his first meal rebelled against his stomach, and he lost even that on the way down.

He came to a stop in a mud pit at the bottom. Even now that he had stopped, Artemis struggled to come free of the robe, or perhaps it was a straitjacket. But he did manage to escape from the once white, now brown, restraint. There was no one to laugh at him, but he laughed for them. He was unharmed, though he did feel queasy, and was still a fool. He retrieved the lost boot from its own restraint of wet dirt and emptied it of debris. He reequipped the boot and tied the robe's front together with its original rope.

Four

It was dusk when he arrived in Garn. And at that time, every citizen was in their home eating. The few that weren't eating were not near him, and that was just fine. If he was seen, none would recognize him. He was younger, sure, but he was also covered from head to toe in mud. It would've been a fine time to get a burst of rain, but the cloudy sky had no water to yield. No matter, he would clean himself up in a creek later, and after sleeping a bit.

His house was a welcome sight. Artemis could imagine himself walking in and relaxing. He saw himself, covered in mud, collapsing on the floor on the other side of the door. And he looked forward to it. The sound of boots on his porch felt warm and familiar, and he was glad to be home. He put a dirty hand on the doorknob and applied pressure.

Of course, the door was locked. He was not foolish enough to go on a journey without locking the front door. He reached into the pockets of the robe, hoping somewhere in his mind that if he believed the key to be there that it would be. But there was no key, only pockets caked with drying soil. He scratched where his forehead met his hairline and sighed. He knew the exact specifications of the key, and he knew how to make it again at the forge. But fatigue, his old friend, was dragging his eyelids down. It also wasn't safe to operate the fire with a cotton robe, but that was secondary to exhaustion at this point.

He walked around to the back of his house. He stopped for a moment to look at the table he and the girl had eaten at. Then he hobbled up onto the porch and approached a window. The window slid open without much effort, as this was a century and a half before locking windows were invented. He crawled in without thinking of just how easily anyone could've done just that. Artemis closed the window behind him and breathed a long sigh of relief.

It was no warmer inside than it had been outside, but the lack of wind made him feel a great deal more comfortable. He retrieved his bedroom key from its hidden compartment and unlocked the door. He almost fell just walking in, his feet catching on the long robe, but managed to keep upright. He didn't want to cover his bed in dirt the same way he was doing to the rest of his house. So he sat down in a wooden chair next to his bed.

A surge of energy passed through him when he sat down, and he no longer felt like sleeping. The events leading up to his third death ran through his mind, and it made him feel alive. He felt butterflies loop and swirl through his insides and wanted that feeling to go on forever. It would be easy to go back to his normal life, easy to let Felix complete his plans. But that would be no life, and Artemis knew it. His sleep would confirm it. And so he resolved to not go on a journey; he would go on a quest.

And he dreamed of great accolades, thinking he could just sit and ponder such things all evening. But the ever hungry arms of sleep wrapped around him without the blacksmith even noticing. The energy fled without warning, and he began to doze off. After a few minutes, he was lost.

Five

He awoke the next morning on the floor well after dawn. He had fallen off the chair in his sleep and never stirred. Aside from a ravaging hunger, Artemis felt better than he ever had. The mud had all dried, most of it now spread about the floor as dirt. As he stood, large clumps fell from him and added to the mess. Something to clean later.

There was molded bread in his pantry that he promptly threw out. But there was unleavened bread in a cabinet next the first that had kept. He took it out and set it on his kitchen counter. Then he walked down to his cellar and walked to the far wall. He lit his way with a lamp he kept down there for that specific purpose, as there were no windows here. A metal door was embedded in the wall. He opened it and withdrew a chunk of raw ham. Then he quickly closed the door, mist coming from the ice inside as he did. This was something he had crafted, the first refrigerator, but hadn't bothered to tell anyone else about it.

He looked at the dark room before returning to his kitchen. There were wooden crates spread across the room. Most were filled with old smithing failures. Why he held onto these faulty weapons and gear, he did not know. But it comforted him to see how far he'd come, and maybe that was reason enough. One of the boxes, however, was filled with Grena's old clothes. Though now they were almost nothing but rags from moths, he couldn't let go of them. Artemis had no way of knowing if she made it to a second life, and holding onto these made him feel like she was still around.

He cooked the ham on his stove, never even knowing how many parasites he was killing by doing so. When it was cooked, he put the ham onto the unleavened bread and put a second slice of bread on top. He didn't call it a sandwich. To him it was just a cleaner way to consume meat and bread. If he were asked to name it, he would have called it bread and meat. There were some things that he was not very creative about, and making names was one of them.

Six

He cleaned his house that day and himself. He put on real clothes after this and went to his forge. Torin and Branni spread the word that Artemis was off on an adventure, so he didn't receive any customers that day. And he wasn't about to announce his return either. He was at the forge for himself. He made a new key for his front door and began working on a suit of armor. The way he felt that day at the forge was phenomenal, as if all his days of bending and reforming steel came down to this task. The key was a minor part, but what he was planning for the armor, what he was accomplishing, was far better than any he'd done before.

He returned to the forge the next day and continued working on the armor. He put careful attention into each piece, making it strong and light. He began work on a new shield and a sword that he thought would hold up to the one he'd made for Felix. A few people came by and noticed him that day, but Artemis was focused to a point where he couldn't hear the people calling his name from just a few feet away. But the people stayed to spectate.

As the day went on, more people gathered around the forge. To them this was a magnificent display. Some noticed that this blacksmith was younger than the one they were used to and mumbled to themselves about what could have happened to him. By the end of the day there were better than two dozen people congregated outside the little open shack. Still the blacksmith saw none of them. He just went on heating and cooling, hammering and rolling.

When he finished for the day, a woman, older than he now but actually born decades after, spoke up. "And who is this fine suit of armor being crafted for?" There were many others in the crowd that were about to ask the same, but she beat them to it.

Artemis had just put away his tools, when he looked up. He was surprised to see all the people that had gathered. He took a few moments to appraise his audience, as he'd never played to one before. Then he spoke, "I am making this for myself." He didn't need to search for the sour faces in front of him. He knew there was more than one. "Sorry."

Seven

That night he did not sleep well. He was back in his son's castle in a dream, watching the girl be chased by Felix. Artemis was disembodied and voiceless, and he struggled with all his might to help, all in vain. Felix, caught the girl next to his throne and began strangling her. He was pushing her into the side of the illustrious chair, lifting her small frame from the ground. Her dangling legs kicked in desperate resistance but to no avail. As her olive colored face began to fade to a sickening blue, Felix turned and gazed up at his father. His lips were red, dripping with blood.

Artemis woke up gasping for air. Every muscle in his body ached, and he felt as if he'd been tortured all over again. Then he remembered his efforts from the previous day and that they were not yet complete. As he rose from his bed, his left shoulder popped along with his hip. His body felt heavy, and joints that he didn't think he used were filled with cement.

He was drinking root beer and eating flat bread when he heard the knock at his front door. Artemis walked to the door a bit awkwardly. His right hand was still holding the glass of soda. As he opened the door, the knocking started again, but he interrupted it. The door opened up, revealing a beautiful spring day and Dral.

His oldest friend stood for a few moments examining the blacksmith. But behind the curiosity was a dark tone of concern with a hint of surprise. "Going away and then some." Dral let himself in and walked to the kitchen. Like a true friend he helped himself to food and drink, as if it was his house as well. "Don't you think you're getting carried away?" His mouth was now full of crumbling bread, but he kept going. "I mean, don't be so proud. Just let her go."

Artemis drank his soda and refilled his glass from the pitcher. Then he drank more. He wasn't very hungry, but he was parched. "The knight that took her thinks she's the end of all poltergeists. And if she was, he would have no source of income."

Dral finished chewing before replying. "Well, I guess that's more important than I thought. But do you really think that's the truth?"

"I don't know."

"See that's the problem. You can't just go get yourself killed over not knowing something." Dral finished his bread.

"But if it is true," Artemis looked into his glass and saw himself reflected up from the sweet liquid, "then maybe my sons can be free from whatever torment they're in. And maybe the people in Dystopia can rest too."

Dral wiped soda from his mouth. His wrist would be sticky. "Well, if it were true, and if it were up to me, and if, and if, and if." He set down his glass and dusted his shirt of crumbs. "Then I would think her presence on Hado would do the most good."

"Supposedly she absorbs the spirits, and they just disappear. But if he has her, she'll never get anywhere close to Hado." Artemis was happy to see Dral pick this all up as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

Dral walked back to the front door and let himself out. Before he closed the door, he called back to the blacksmith. "Do what you think you must. No one can stop." He had the door almost shut but then added. "But be more careful this time." The conversation ended.

Eight

Artemis finished his equipment that day and brought it home to make plans. The buzzards were fewer in number that day but twice as provoked. The half dozen that watched him that day only jeered him and wished the worst. They didn't realize just how selfish they were. His armor was complete, and he would set off again. This time he would be prepared.

The nightmares returned yet again. The same as the night before. In the morning he would go into the waking day to fight such terrors, but for now they would haunt his sleep, steal his rest. His sleep was uneasy, and he fell out of his bed three times that night before finally stilling.

He gathered up some gold the next morning. He wouldn't take as much as he had the first time. Just enough to ride the ferry. After that, he would find ways to get by. He didn't take any silver or copper. There was no use in bringing a small fortune when there was a very good chance that he would die again.

He did grab two extra sets of clothes. He put the clothes into a very similar sack as last time, though it was smaller and acted like a backpack. Even so, he was prepared to go without changing clothes. It wasn't like anyone would notice or care about the horrible stench he'd produce.

He donned his armor. It wasn't even half as elaborate as his son's, but hopefully it would be as effective. The greaves strapped on easily enough, followed by the cuirass, arms and gauntlets. He hadn't polished it to shine, as that was usually just a customer's vanity. So it was a dull gray. The pieces clanged together, and it seemed to be up to specs. It protected every part of his body but a small target on his elbows and behind his knees. The helmet was visored like Felix's but without wings. Each shoulder had a neck guard made of sloping steel. His shield was more reflective than the armor itself and was almost perfectly round. It had two handles, one to hold onto and one for the elbow to hook on. The sword was identical to the one Felix took except that his name was not on this one.

He stepped outside. It was another beautiful day to do ugly work. The wind from the south whistled against his armor. Already he could feel the heat being trapped inside the steel with him and knew he would need to adjust to it. Not a soul stood between him and Har, not even a bird. Only the wind was there to bid him farewell.

# Another Attempt

One

He trudged through the forest with his extra weight. It had been a long time since he wore armor, and there was a certain art to it that he'd forgotten. His steel clad feet sank deep into the soft soil of the forest, leaving tracks not unlike his son's. The visor was lifted, so his vision was broad. The wind continued to whip around him, but now it was joined by the sound of swaying, creaking trees. He was warding off the tiredness of his extra weight, but none patted his back for it. The forest was empty, and he walked alone.

The smell of salt was stronger than ever in Drath as was the dead fish. His steps were heavy and hard on the dry ground of the town. Somewhere in the second floor of a house nearby, a little boy was balling about losing his last tooth. The citizens regarded him uneasily and kept their gazes to the ground as he passed. Those who chattered on the streets hushed their gossip and made themselves appear busy.

As Artemis approached the ferry's dock, a young man rounded the corner of a boathouse. The man's hair was a thick brown but wildly flying in every direction. In his hand was a homemade cigarette. He was wearing a rusty colored vest covered in ruined hooks. His face was dirty but clean shaven, and he was smiling with teeth that had only begun to turn yellow. He must've been in his early second decade, making him younger than Artemis was now. His gray eyes twinkled, and his lips curled into a suave grin.

The young fisherman saw where this armored man was going and dropped his cigarette. It fell to the ground and lit a small pile of straw, but the man made no attempt to put it out. Luckily the fire fizzled out. He opened his mouth and released the foul, smoky air that was trapped within. "I guess you could call me a ferryman too, steel toe." He laughed as if this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. Then he walked around Artemis and on his way.

Artemis lifted the helmet from his shoulders and watched as Roderick wandered away with no boat to call his own. How he died, the blacksmith did not know. But he did care, though he also knew that he didn't need to. He fitted the helmet back onto his head and continued to the ferry's dock.

Two

The ferry was a two level flotation device that happened to have a steam powered engine. It was rectangular in shape and as aerodynamic (or perhaps hydrodynamic) as a barn. There was a hull that housed an eating and sleeping area. Above that was a flat deck with an awning. A broad wooden walkway bridged the gap between the boat and the dock. Overall it was white in color, the paint holding up fairly well in most places. Leaning against one of the awning poles was a middle aged woman in a ruined uniform. Her top was a button up that might have been white in some long ago era but was now a dark, dingy soot color. The same could be said about the slacks that she wore and even the high boots and buccaneer cap.

As the metal encased blacksmith approached the boarding area, the woman whirled from her casual stance and drew a pistol from her side. She had it aimed at the sweet spot between Artemis's eyes. The little gun was made of Babel wood and iron. The hammer was cocked and by the look on her face, it did not seem that she was hesitant to let the lead ball fly. "You stop right there!" She said and appeared pleased to see that her command was heard. But still she held her aim and seemed too focused to break for blink. "Are you from Orengard?"

Artemis was surprised to see a gun in a backwater port like Drath. It made him worry that firearms may turn into more than a fad, but it was a thought to ponder later when he didn't have one to his face. "Not from, but I'd like to go there."

The powder ignited, and hot lead bent on death propelled itself from the flintlock. Despite her immaculate aim, the ball did not strike the smith. Instead it missed him by two whole feet to his right and met its resting place in the murky waters of the pier. Before she began to reload, she pulled up the wooden walk. As she readied another shot, she continued questioning the blacksmith. "And what would you do there? Your friend, or king, Icarus already killed everyone in Jakul for letting some intruder pass through. They don't need your help."

His time was getting shorter, and there was a good chance she would not miss again. He could have run away, but Artemis just stayed on the dock unmoving. "I'm going after Icarus." He swallowed and tried to wet his mouth that was turning to cotton. "We are not friends."

The pistol was ready again, and she aimed it once more at the blacksmith. She fired again, the lead struck the visor of Artemis's helmet, an easy enough adjustment for the next shot. He was close, and the ball had no time to drop. She began to reload again, powder and lead balls in separate pouches strapped to her belt. "I don't believe that. I think you were sent to silence me, the only survivor. That way I'd be too scared to squeal on your pretty boy Icarus in my next life." She took her eyes off the pistol for only a second to look at the armored man. "I guess most of Jakul got tortured before death. Had their kidneys burst."

"I just want to go to Orengard. I've got three gold to pay you with."

She aimed again and fired. The lead struck the outside of the blacksmith's left neck guard. Then she holstered her pistol, a scowl mixed with a smile as a look of utter frustration and acceptance battled for control of her face. "Fine." She said as the smile won out. "It seems I'm not meant to kill ya. You better understand how lucky you are. I've never missed a mark more than once." She didn't wait for Artemis to reply but instead replaced the walk. "You'll pay now and leave your sword and shield with me for the trip."

"Thank you." He tried to hide his relief, but some of it spilled over into his words. "What about my armor?"

"Keep it." She said while readjusting her brimmed hat. "It makes you slow."

Three

He paid for the trip and sat down under the awning. She stood on the opposite side with his sword and shield behind her feet. They waited a few hours until enough patrons boarded. She didn't tell them of Jakul, and that made Artemis uneasy, but there would be far worse things to take him off kilter in the days ahead.

She collected her due and walked down to the engine room. A few minutes later two large exhaust pipe at the rear of the ship began to billow with steam. A moment later the ship lurched forward into the ocean beyond. She steered from the rear, behind the awning, but never took her eyes off the blacksmith for more than a few seconds at a time. As for the rest, they went on without noticing the tension between the slumped man in steel and the captain.

Eventually Artemis forgot that he was being monitored. The ocean was pulling him away. And unlike the last trip, he was free from the scorching slow burn of the sun. He looked out at the water, how free it was. It could flow from shore to shore and come down over the land. It ran down the rivers and melted from the mountain caps. It was possible, he thought, there might be drops that traveled the world and back, but it could never enjoy where it went. It was just a substance and lacked the ability to feel, but if it could . . . .

A man and a woman began arguing at the stern. The yelled back and forth the rest of the trip whenever they were awake. Artemis tried as best he could to ignore them, but their volume against the silence of the water made that impossible. Soon he found himself listening to their petty squabble. He learned just how diabolical the man was for looking at the captain with wandering eyes and what a harlot the woman was for talking to the man's brother. After listening, sleeping, and listening again Artemis decided that these two must be first lifes. Then he thought there was a good chance that neither of these two would ever become second lifes.

Four

The ferry docked in Jakul, and the patrons disembarked. Everyone was happy to get away from the screaming couple, it would seem. They dispersed in every direction without hesitation as if knowing where to go, and most of them likely did. The boarding plane dipped and bounced with the departing, and the pier followed up with its own creaks.

Artemis was the last to step off. His sword and shield were thrown to the floor next to the walk. The captain stood away with her pistol raised. She brought the scowl back to her face and said, "If you try anything now, I'll have this thing up against your face before I pull the trigger. I promise not to miss again."

He reached down. He had an urge to close his visor, but she would take that as a bad sign and shoot. And there was no guarantee that the visor would save him. He picked up his gear, sheathing the sword. Then he walked down the plane like a man walking the plank and set his heavy feet on the wood of the pier. As he did so, his ears were immediately greeted by the sound of her raising the ladder.

He didn't bother to turn and face her, as he knew she wasn't looking. She would be sailing back to Drath, to Hell with anyone that wanted to join. And so he walked into Jakul.

Five

The citizens here were times and times over more afraid of him than the ones in Drath. Whoever caught a glimpse of the blacksmith turned white and ran into hiding. Instead of a little boy crying over a lost tooth, he could hear the cries of adults. He recognized some of the citizens from before, but they seemed younger by at least a bit. Still there were many missing. In particular, Artemis noticed that there were no children running about.

He did not feel welcome in Jakul, and he wasn't. So he continued on the Inroad, just as he had before and camped in the same place. There was no rain to beat against his shell, but there was a cloud cover. And he was thankful for it, as he had yet to adjust to the heat of armor. He thought it ironic as well. He could endure years of working the forge in its dry, burning air and still find wearing armor a difficult task.

He did not plan on waking early, as he knew he would not be able to. A mixture of excitement and fear was washing over him and stirring up thoughts of fancy. He imagined himself as a gallant knight, rescuing and protecting those who needed him. He sat in front of the fire dreaming awake of battling fearsome beasts and foes. Artemis's adrenaline built up while he thought of these things, but behind that was a dreadful cynicism. He also thought (in the back of his mind) of the horrors to be seen. He thought of his son's malice and of those lost. He pictured the slaughter that must have taken place in Jakul soon after his death, and he found it all haunting. In these troubling thoughts Artemis spent his night dwelling and dreaming before fatigue, his old rival, overtook him.

He awoke to the sound of a hummingbird beside his ear. He'd taken off his helmet and used the small backpack as a pillow. From only inches away from his head, the fast beating bird dipped its pointed beak into a lily, pulled up and flew away. To have that kind of flower here was strange, and it was stranger still that he had not noticed it the night before. As the blacksmith sat up, he watched in fascination as the little hummingbird returned to the lily for a second helping. Then it flew away, and he did not see it again.

His armor bumped into itself as if it were fidgeting, but it was just his own restlessness. The fire had gone out at some point in the night. High above the Babel trees the spring sun crested over its arc and lighted through a thin, wispy cloud layer. There was no wind that he could feel, but the clouds above moved rapidly over the face of the sun as if they were being drawn somewhere to the south.

Artemis went back to the road and continued toward his son's castle. The mountains to the north were shedding a mask of fog. Behind their beard of low cloud, they seemed to laugh at the blacksmith, and he couldn't say how. The hills in the south only watched from their post, peering over their trees and at Artemis. His feet struck the stone hard with each step and announced his presence, and perhaps the northern mountains were laughing at just how small he was.

Six

The castle was a few shades closer to gray than it had been before as if the rain washed away some of the darkness. The two sentries stood their watch just as they had before, but seemed more relaxed than the last time. Artemis walked up to them, his sword drawn.

They had been talking about who could eat a whole turkey faster, but stopped and did their job as the blacksmith approached. The same one that commanded Artemis to stop did so again, this time with a stronger hint of apprehension. Both drew their swords and repeated halting commands.

Artemis disarmed the one that had hit him over the head and drove his sword through the guard's exposed neck. The sentry's body fell over. But before it collapsed onto the stone, the body inside the armor vanished. He turned to the first guard and deflected three oncoming swings. Again Artemis disarmed the guard. Artemis killed this one just like the other, and the reaction was identical.

It had been many years since the blacksmith fought, and he thought it would take longer for the muscle memory to recover. But the body he was in now was only a few weeks from its last fight, though it had been a hundred years since he last took up a blade.

He'd been a mercenary whose only motivation was coin. It was his decision to give up destructive fighting (and take up smithing) that had brought him enough maturity all those years ago. But fighting is not always pure destruction, and Artemis was certain of it. He knew that there were times when it had to be done. Like a volcano, it could tear down but also build up. He'd given up the pointless struggle. But if it was meaningful, if it was noble, he would fight again.

Artemis entered the watch house and found the crank. He turned it and listened to series of cogs and pulleys pull up the iron gate. With the system in place, he was able to lift the whole ton of the gate with little effort on his part.

He walked into the castle's courtyard. To his left and right were statues of armored knights kneeling to whoever walked the path from the gate to the front door. Beyond these were hedges trimmed into animals. Artemis could recognize one that was a deer and another which was an eagle. There were also a leopard, a lion, and an elephant. But he did not know those animals. There was no grass in the courtyard. In its place was a layer of golden straw that seemed fresh enough to have been cut that morning.

The door was before him. It was red with golden vertical stripes. It was made of two parts, each having a knocker in the shape of a lion's head. The door stood four feet over Artemis's head and only helped to accentuate the grandeur. There was an arch above it of black marble.

He tried to open it, but the door did not so much as creak in response to his efforts. He stood there for a few moments and looked at his surroundings. There were no guards in the courtyard. The only other life that he could see was a battalion of hummingbirds happily buzzing around a bed of flowers at one end of the court. Then he did what was simplest and used the right lion's head and knocked three times. He waited ten seconds and knocked three more times but with more force.

Seven

There was a shuffle of feet on the other side of the door. Then the sound of several latches being released and the moving of a large board from a notch. The left side swung open and in the threshold stood a balding man in a gray buttoned vest and black pants. He looked straight ahead and then to the right, away from Artemis. He turned to the blacksmith and jumped backward, tripping on the edge of the carpet and going on his back.

Artemis stepped inside and looked at the gasping man. He was in the throne room again. But the room seemed brighter than before as if only half of the lights had made an effect before. After observing that the room was unguarded, he looked into the sprawl man's copper colored eyes and loosened his shoulders. "Where is Felix and The Angel?"

The balding man was propped on his elbows now. "If you mean Sir Icarus and the girl, don't bother."

The prone man could not see it under Artemis's steel grated visor, but the blacksmith was scowling. "Now," He said in a growl that he did not expect from himself, "you tell me where they are, and I'll be the one to decide whether or not to bother." He tightened his grip on the sword.

The man on the floor was sweating, but he did not seem concerned about the blacksmith's demand. He smiled, revealing perfectly kept teeth that complemented his neat attire. "This is why the boss didn't tell me." He laughed for effect but was cut off from a bout of coughs. He grunted and then began to bellow, "Seize the intruder!"

Artemis planted the sword into the man's chest, cutting off his call for help. The body disappeared, leaving only separated articles of clothing. A few seconds passed, and the doors on either side of the throne room burst open and spewed out a dozen soldiers in total. They yelled and ran into one other in a ramshackle fashion that was almost comical. Some still had sauce on their faces from a meal they'd just come from.

Artemis dispatched them with less effort than the two sentries. Eleven bodies vanished in the fight. The last one remained and writhed like a headless chicken on the floor. Artemis had seen such spastic jerking before when he found Geoff's and Cedric's mauled bodies in Har. They would twitch and flinch for a time before stopping, but the body would remain to rot. As he looked at the soldier's jumping body, which belonged to no more than a boy, Artemis wondered if it was youth of body or soul that kept the soldier from returning to a Halostone.

The castle was devoid of guards after this. But it was also free of Felix and the girl. Artemis scoured every room in the castle and came up wanting. Felix had left with the girl, but to where he did not know.

Eight

He came to the dungeon, the last place for him to check. It was under the throne room and stank of mold and urine. The only light inside was coming from dimly burning torches on the walls. Cells were lined up on either side. Some had open doors and were empty, while others held wailing occupants.

Artemis found the cells' key on a ring hanging on the entrance's threshold. He walked up to the cells and examined the occupants. The first on his left that housed a person held a man screaming. The lunatic flew at the iron bars and did all in his power to reach through and strangle Artemis. This cell he did not open.

The next had a woman of exquisite beauty inside. She wore just enough to cover herself up, but upon seeing Artemis at the bars she curled up and began weeping. Her hair was matted down and scraggly from dried sweat and patches of dirt blotted her face and body. As she cried, she faced the cold stone wall farthest from the blacksmith and chanted to herself. She was begging no one in particular not to hurt her anymore and that she would listen. This cell he opened but had to pretend that he left the room for her to leave. When she thought he was gone, she peeked her head from her prison like a gopher and looked left and right. After a few moments she darted up the stairs to an antechamber. Artemis did not see her again.

Two more had women just like the first. The second, however, never budged from her corner, as she was dead and never coming back. The last walked out instead of running and thanked Artemis in a voice so small that he did not hear it.

The other side was empty except for one that seemed to produce most of the odor in the dungeon. Inside was a scrawny thing that could not quite be called a person any longer. It hissed and scratched at the walls. But before Artemis could leave it to its devices, the thing with its long ruined black hair came up to the bars and began to speak.

What came out of its mouth was just short of what a snake would sound like. "I know where the pretty went." It giggled over its own congestion and began to lick the bars of the cell. "And master too. Master I once was and master no more, hee." It squealed and twirled around as if it was trying to show off the most splendid regalia. But all it showed were the places that its bones were trying to escape from its unhealthy, almost transparent skin.

Artemis looked at the vile creature and wondered if it meant to say that it was once king of this castle. The idea seemed ludicrous, but somehow that made it feel more credible. He held the key just out of reach of the captive, but the thing never reached for it. "Where is Icarus and the girl then? If you tell me, I'll let you out."

The thing pulled its hair together and began to whip it around with the flicking of a wrist. It giggled at this and pushed its face through the bars, but not the whole head would fit. As it drew closer to the blacksmith, its gaunt features became more evident and sickening. How it managed to stand up with such atrophied legs was astonishing. "Your son." It stuck its tongue out and lolled it up to its filthy nose where it proceeded to pick with the long muscle. "He took the pretty and his most strongest men. Hee hee." It hissed as it found gold in its nasal passage then went on. "And is going to hide her somewhere deep." It brought its now loaded tongue to its mouth and opened up. It ate away, making a point to show Artemis its crooked yellow teeth.

The blacksmith tried his best not to vomit. He could feel his esophagus shorten and ready to pump out his breakfast. But he managed to hold it back, hoping the thing didn't know how disgusted he was. "Where is he taking her to?" The words started wobbly from his urge to release his stomach contents, but it smoothed in control by the end. "Tell me, or you can stay in here and wallow."

The thing pulled its bony face from the bars and began to swing around on them. Its face was lifted to the ceiling and smiling as if it were catching the first beams of sunlight after a long winter. "To the mountains, dear knighty. To the big mountains." It stomped its feet in a hurried pace and raised fists to its mouth. If it were a completely different being altogether, it might have resembled an anxious little girl. But as Artemis saw it, it was more rat than man. "The ones up north that is." It moved forward again and latched its teeth onto a bar like a dog would do to the leg of its victim. "Now you must let me go, hee." It squealed and bounced up and down. Somehow its bones did not crumble under this exertion.

Artemis stared at it for a few moments. The putrid odors were beginning to lessen from his exposure, but he did not want to stay any longer. Nor did he wish to let the thing go free. But he promised, had made it himself. "I'll let you out. But if you try anything, anything at all, I'll have you cut in pieces."

"Oh never never. Could never betray hero. No never."

Artemis put the key in the lock and gazed at the creature hissing at him. "What evil happened to you?"

The thing did not reply but came scampering out of the cell as fast as it could. It moaned and yelped as it slid on the slick surface of the dungeon. It stubbed a toe, growled, and ran up the stairs. Artemis could hear it knocking over vases and other display items. A distinct thud came, and he knew it knocked a painting from a wall.

Artemis walked inside the thing's cell only a step. There were crude, caveman like drawings etched into the walls. Most were of a stick person getting attacked by what appeared to be a giant hand. There were others that he could see from where he stood, but Artemis would walk in no further. The floor was slick, and he thought that his breakfast would go if he fell down.

Nine

The throne room was a complete disaster by the time Artemis came up from the dungeon. What was breakable was broken. The things that weren't were askew and scattered as if a horde of toddlers had been through. As the full room came into view, his stomach lurched again. Near the entrance the thing was bent down, eating the stilled corpse of the remaining soldier.

Artemis left through a rear door. He thought that if he passed the creature, he would be too compelled to kill it to stop himself. The rear was identical to the front in every way save for the hedge animals. There was a dolphin, a tiger, and flamingo here. None of which did he recognize.

There was a crank on the encircling wall to lift the gate. As he opened this one, two more sentries were alerted and came running at him from their post outside. Artemis let the gate fall on them. Their suits of armor depressed, and blood gushed from both. As soon as the blood started to be released, it stopped and the shells were empty. He continued raising the gate and locked the wheel in place.

Ten

The road on that side of the castle soon deteriorated to gravel and then dirt. Eventually it came to a fork. The road going south seemed well kept and clear, but the one running northward was overgrown in brush. There were signs of the brush being knocked back recently, so Artemis took that path.

There was a multitude of thorns growing on either side over the road, all determined to overrun the path. They reached out and tried to rip the flesh from the blacksmith's legs, but failed in every attempt. Every once in a while, a limb would stretch across the lightly worn trail and try to trip Artemis. In this they succeeded on several occasions, making Artemis tread more carefully.

The laughing bearded mountains were ahead some miles away. They did not seem to be laughing any longer. Now they just seemed to be mountains. Inanimate objects resting in place, that or they were sleeping.

The path was graded and going upward. The slope began to wear at Artemis's stamina, and he decided to stop and eat. As inconvenient as the thorns were, their bushes held ripe raspberries. He ate of these freely and was glad that his son's men did not trample them to nothing. The seeds stuck between his teeth, and the juices stained his fingers. If he had a mirror he would see how stained his mouth was, but he relished every bit of it. He didn't eat his feel, as he thought he could go on eating the berries indefinitely, but he ate until his hunger subsided and continued on.

The thorns and brush died back, and the road returned to gravel. He found his heavy feet sinking uncomfortably into the loose pebbles. It required a great deal of extra effort on his part to keep up with low traction. But he trudged on, thinking all the while how well trained both his son and his men must be. And how brave the girl was.

The gravel transitioned into paved stone. When his feet found purchase on the reliable road, Artemis thought he was walking downward and not up. The resistance was gone and he sped his pace.

# Dark Tunnels

One

He came to a town not unlike Jakul. The houses and stores were all made of stone with thatched roofs. Clothes were hung on lines that would crisscross from building to building. The air here was colder than it had been at the castle, and this reminded Artemis that he'd been traveling up hill. There were children and happy families on the street, none happy to see him.

A man in clothes identical to those worn by the doorman at the castle came stumbling up to Artemis. His gut was more like that of Torin Fyst's but not even half as loose. His hair was hidden by a tall show hat with a white band running around the base. His face was clean and freshly shaved. The chin that should've been rounded by fat was squared and jutting. His nose was not so much a set of two nostrils as it was a peninsula trying to escape from the continent that was his face. As he reached out to shake hands with the blacksmith, he doubled over for a few moments and caught his breath. "Welcome to Fenril." He said in an exasperated exhale. Then he held out his left hand, as was customary in Orengard, and waited for the knight to shake his hand.

Artemis was taken aback by the anxious man. He reached out his hand more from reaction than from acknowledgement or courtesy, and the hatted man took it. Artemis was about to ask about his son, but the man began shaking the hand exuberantly.

"I am Bori Fenrir, mayor and descendant of the town's founder, Olag Fenrir." Said Bori as he released Artemis's hand and tried to bow without his gut unbalancing him. His hat slipped from his skull and fell to the stone, revealing a greasy mat of gray hair underneath. He replaced his hat and cleared his throat. "Please let me show you into town." He whirled around on the balls of his feet and began walking. But not hearing Artemis follow made him stop after half a dozen steps and turn around.

The blacksmith was smiling under his helmet at the clumsy mayor. He was laughing silently. And if he hadn't been covered in armor, his shoulders and chest would've shown the bouncing of said chuckles. He lifted his visor and exposed his face from the forehead down. "Did a group of men come through here with a young girl?" This was the only thing he needed to know.

The mayor's cheerful face became grim, and the shadow of his hat's brim made his eyes seem to shrink into his skull. "Yes." He said in a low shaky voice. There were beads of sweat forming on his head hidden by the hat.

Artemis wanted to smile but found himself unable to. "Are they still here?"

"No. They left and went on north toward the mountains."

"Well, it's good to be on their trail then." Artemis sighed in relief. Part of this was in knowing that he was on course. But a larger part was from anxiety. He was not ready to face his son again.

The mayor clasped his hands together and began knotting them over and over. "Are you one of Icarus's men?" He swallowed and let his hands fall to his sides. "If so, please just move on. We don't need any more trouble." In his tight vest and worried expressions, the mayor seemed to be a frightened rodent and not a leader.

Artemis lifted his helmet from his head and placed it in his backpack. The resemblance to Felix was obvious, but the mayor didn't notice. Or he pretended not to notice, and perhaps he never saw the face of Sir Icarus. Whatever the case was, Artemis doubted he would need to wear the helmet in such a subdued place as this. "No. But I do have business with them." He smiled and tried to reassure the frightened man in front of him. "Please, show me into town."

Two

The gas powered street lamps were being lit as Bori showed the blacksmith the business section. In particular Bori mentioned the inn owned by his brother. There were bakeries and delis on one side of the business street. On the other was a blacksmith forge, a bank, and a coffee house where people went to smoke opium. At the end of the street was a dead end, the inn. In front of the inn was a dry fountain and some rose bushes.

Bori left Artemis and went on his way. The blacksmith stared fondly at the town's blacksmith forge before moving on to the inn. He would've browsed the other shops, but they had all closed at dusk.

The inn itself was no more than another house but with a sign hanging in front on the gate which read "Inn." The door was locked, and so Artemis knocked. A man answered the door and asked if Bori was there. Not hearing a response, the man unlocked the door and opened it. He wore a thick wool shirt and pants. Slippers were covering his feet, and he looked comfortable but disturbed by his visitor.

"This is the inn, I take it." The blacksmith said and retrieved his last bit of money, a gold piece. "I'd like to stay the night."

The man was thin and tall with a stern expression on his face. He resembled the mayor just enough that Artemis could believe they were brothers, but he thought only half-bloods. He stared at the armored patron unsmiling and replied after wetting his dry lips. "Rate is three silver a night."

Artemis handed the man the gold piece. "This is all I've got. Can you break it?"

The man looked at the gold piece, then at Artemis, then back at the gold again. "Nope." He said and put the gold into his pocket. "The bank could do that, but they're closed now. You've got two nights here or one with free food. You can decide tomorrow." He yawned as if it were the dead of night. "I'm Bren Fenrir. Let me show you your room." He walked away, forcing Artemis to follow or be left outside.

Three

The room Bren showed Artemis was the first of three guest rooms on the second floor. Inside was a sheetless bed, a window that overlooked the other businesses, and a stand with a lamp on top. Bren did not explain any other details to the blacksmith. He simply opened the door to Artemis's room and disappeared back downstairs.

Artemis closed and locked the door. He walked to the stand and tried to turn on the lamp, but it would not light when he turned up the wick and made sparks with its flint. Under the lamp was a note. He took the note to the window, where just enough of the day's dying light shone in. It read "If you want light, you can get your own fuel. Don't burn down the place!" It was charming and annoying. He tossed the note to the floor, feeling contempt for Bren.

He laid down on the bed, setting his pack down near the window. The bed was made of several layers of mats bundled together. It was lumpy and stank from use without washings. But Artemis didn't care. He didn't bother to take off his armor either, just the sword. As he rested on the old bed, he tried to bring back the fantasies of chivalry that he had the night before. But before he could relive those things he created in his imagination, sleep swept over him and took him to the things he did not want to relive.

Four

He dreamed of the disfigured man in the dungeon running ahead and taking the girl. He dreamed of Felix killing Geoff and Cedric with his bloody smile. He dreamed of Grena standing in a field of wheat, crying and walking away. In one dream Artemis was chained to his Halostone and forced to have his kidneys ruptured for all eternity. In another he sat on Felix's throne while the castle burned down around him. And there were many others, most about death. Some were of being buried alive again and again. He awoke many times from these horrors, always hoping to fall asleep to better dreams.

The worst dream is the one that caused him to stay awake. He saw himself on the road past Fenril (which he'd never been to) on his way to the mountains. As he drew closer, the mountains grew in size and changed in shape. He couldn't turn around, as some force forbade him from doing so. The mountains became skulls with sharp teeth and too many eyes. They watched him with hunger in their gaze as he approached. The sky above turned darker as he approached until it was beyond night, and nothing but the dreadful mountains were visible. He could no longer see the road, but he kept moving forward. He dared not look back, as he could hear some awful thing following him. He had no way of knowing what it was, but he felt that it must be the embodiment of all evil, and to look into its eyes would mean death. As he came to the base of a mountain which seemed to be more demon than geologic structure, its jaw opened and fire spewed forth from its inside, surrounded by the sound of wailing multitudes. He stood at the maw, frozen and horrified. Screams emanated from within, many begging for death. He willed himself to turn and run back to the light of day with such vehemence that Artemis did manage to turn slightly. But strong, cold, clawed hands clamped down on his waist, crinkling his armor like paper. Pain shot through his abdomen as the hands began to crush his insides. Then he was thrown forward into the voracious mountain's fiery blaze and swallowed up by the hellfire.

Five

He awoke as the first light of dawn bounced in through the window. He was covered in sweat and screaming. Downstairs Bren yelled for him to shut up. He rolled off the uncomfortable bed and clenched his face. He flicked the pooling sweat from his hands and took deep breaths, hoping that this too was not the beginning of a nightmare. Somehow he had been sent to Dystopia in his sleep. A fear washed over him as he thought that might be the only place he would dream of from then on. For now he was awake and safe from those horrors, and there was work to be done.

Bren had extra eggs and bread laid out on a plate in the kitchen. The eggs were rubbery and the bread stale. He let Artemis drink a cup of water but no more. The blacksmith ate and drank unhappily, not from the nightmares or the food's taste but from the biting contempt that was radiating from his host. Artemis was almost to try and wave the contempt away, as if it was a smoke that was drifting to him.

He bid Bren farewell, to which Bren did not respond. The door of the inn closed with a rattle behind Artemis as he left with his supplies. He had intended to go north after waking, but he was overcome with curiosity and walked to the blacksmith forge he'd seen the day before.

A first life was standing in the work area, heating the embers and yawning. He wore a heavy leather apron with iron rings coating the front. Tinted glass lenses covered his eyes and were tied on with rawhide. He looked positively green with inexperience, yet his equipment was on par with Artemis's. "Need anything forged?" The young blacksmith said to the veteran. There was a certain quality in his voice that suggested his desired answer would be a "no."

But Artemis replied, seeing just how green the boy was. "A demonstration would be fine. I'm not in the buying mood, but maybe if I saw your skill . . ."

The boy nodded and lipped a silent affirmative. He shambled around the forge, seeming unable to decide what to use. He settled on a steel tube and covered his hands in thick gloves. He inserted the tubing into the heating oven and pulled it back out seconds later. He put it back in after seeing Artemis raise his eyebrows before taking the piece out again. He placed the barely heated end on the anvil, ignoring a vice from forgetfulness, and began to hammer the unyielding piece of metal. When he saw Artemis cross his arms in confusion, the boy threw the metal into a cooling tub, splashing water up onto the street. "I can't do this." He said in a fluster and walked over to the heating oven and smothered it in ashes. He sat down on a little stool beside a workbench and looked up at the armored man. His face was red and full of shame.

Artemis saw another young man in the boy's place, one who had just given up a scoundrel's line of work. He remembered his own frustration all those years ago. "We all have to start somewhere." He looked at the fine tools and kept forge then asked, "How did you get such a fine forge so early?"

The boy took off the apron and hung it on a hook beside the bench. He seemed to have taken half of his weight off in doing so and appeared several inches taller. "Oh." He mumbled to himself then remembered he was still conversing with a client. "I'm just an apprentice. I started two days ago, and I don't know half of what I need to. This is Mathen's forge."

"And where is Mathen now?"

The boy shrugged. "Icarus took him with. He said 'In case the old man gets any ideas.' But I don't think he was talking about Mathen." He raised off the stool and shrugged again, as if he had somewhere he needed to be.

Did he think I'd have Mathen forge something for me? Artemis uncrossed his arms, the clanging of metal catching the boy's attention. "Well, he is an odd one, that Icarus."

The apprentice nodded reflexively then looked the veteran's suit up and down. "That is fine work, sir. It's almost as fine as Mathen's."

The word "almost" was subtle and undeliberate, but packed all the sting of a slap to the face. Artemis knew it was no insult. In fact, it had been part of a compliment. "Thanks." Artemis let escape from his mouth, which desired only to be passive-aggressive. "I made it myself."

"I wish I had that kind of skill." The boy said dreamily, almost sleepily. He yawned and ruffled his wheat colored bangs, which had taken up an itch. "You know, Icarus wasn't always a tyrant, sir. He used to be something of a hero in these parts for driving out the poltergeists." His gaze dropped from Artemis's and to the cold piece of metal soaking in water. "Mathen used to make all his equipment. He still does, but these days it's out of fear more than anything else."

Artemis felt the guilt of failure rise up in his chest and fill his throat. From there it congregated in center of his mind. "I'm sorry to hear that." And more, but no more would come out.

"Maybe he'll go back to that someday. Be a hero again."

Artemis smiled, and for more reasons than the boy knew. If others could have hope for his son, then he could as well. "Yeah. That would be best." The blacksmith wheeled around, ready to head north but stopped and looked back at the boy. One question rose to his mind. "I'm under the impression that Icarus did not always rule the castle near Jakul. Can you tell me about the old ruler? I'd understand if you're too young, because— well, you know."

"Oh, everyone knows about him, sir." The boy swatted a hand at a fly on his leg. "Even though I wasn't around for it, it's a rocker story now. My grandfather told it to me a hundred times." He paused as if this was a sufficient answer. When he realized that it was not, he continued. "His name was Cancer Esten. And he was possessed at birth by a manic poltergeist. It went unnoticed for many years, but eventually he'd succumbed to delusions. I guess he inherited the castle from his father Leo, who decided to travel the world." He stopped, again thinking this was sufficient. But he saw that Artemis wanted the entire story and went on. "Well," He said yawning it out, "most people think Leo left to find a cure for Cancer. No one knows for sure though. But anyway, somehow Cancer's human side matured even with the poltergeist blight. And that's supposed to be impossible."

The boy wiped his eyes and sighed. "He had been poisoned by his own attendants, as they grew tired of his mad raves. But when he returned, they had no choice but to put up with Leo's son. I guess the poltergeist attached itself to Cancer's soul, because he was still insane when he returned." He shrugged. "And it went on like that until about ten years ago when Icarus overran the place. Most of Cancer's servants serve Icarus now." He scratched his smooth face as if there were a beard to resist his fingers. "Cancer came back again after Icarus killed him. Not sure what happened after that. I imagine he's kept in a dungeon somewhere now."

Artemis nodded, thinking the apprentice would ramble on if he did not. He thanked the lad and waved him off.

Six

No one bid him safe travels, and the jovial mayor was not to be seen. He took a few minutes to quench his thirst at a well and to regret forgetting a canteen. Then he moved onward and reequipped his helmet. He'd built up a case of helmet hair that would gnaw at Dral's sanity, and thought he looked better with it on.

The road turned into dirt once out of Fenril, which he'd learned was better than gravel. As he walked, he began to notice the odor he was building. Artemis would have to deal with it and many other inconveniences, he knew, if he wanted this journey to be successful. But where was success? If he found Felix and the girl, he would have to take action. Artemis was unsure if he would be able to overcome Felix and his elite men, doubted it even. And if he could just have the girl away from them, he would have no place to go. They would catch him and kill him again.

But perhaps there was no long term solution, he thought. If he could just bring her to Hado, maybe he would do the world a favor. He could eliminate most of the poltergeists, if Felix was right. And Felix seemed right more often than not. He had called his father out for failures that were true. And somehow he knew that Artemis would pass through Fenril.

Lost in his thoughts, the blacksmith tripped on a rock protruding from the path and went sprawl. A pain, small and far away then large and blaring, shot through his right knee where all the shock of impact went. To his left in the brush, a grouse took flight in hurried commotion. If he were as old as he had been a week ago, Artemis thought the combination of these two things would've given him a heart attack. Of course, he had no aortic lock up, and the damage to his knee was superficial (though the pain would disagree). He had drawn his sword, when he heard the bird and now he appeared to be an overturned silver turtle waiting for an adversary to appear from the sky.

He righted himself and was glad that only a grouse had been there to mock him. He looked at his bane, the rock. It was no bigger than someone's nose and yet had the power to topple a stalwart knight such as Artemis. As he stood, still staring at the wee pebble, the pain in his knee became a dull throb. Soon it would be gone, and his body would forget it ever happened. He moved on.

Seven

The mountains were larger than he expected. Never before had he seen ones such as this. After a full day of traveling, they still seemed to be far off and laughing.

He camped beside the road and ate squirrel. The meat was little and tired, but it surpassed Bren's eggs and bread. He built a fire, a larger one than he had before. It was colder up on the forehills. But he didn't kindle it up to full comfort, as those ahead would be able to see a bonfire such as that. Then he would awake in Seldren, the hope of his mission quashed.

He sat against a Babel tree, hoping that sleep that night would not take him to Dystopia. His body had been warm, but as he grew drowsy and his metabolism slowed, he became cold. He fell asleep that night worried and cold, an owl in the distance questioning his identity. Every creak of every branch sounded like an approaching assassin, or maybe a bear. A bear would've been fitting, it would've been justice. But as usual, it was only the wind.

He awoke the next morning to the steady wail of wind through the trees. There had been nightmares that night as well, but to his mercy Artemis could not remember them. The flowing air was crisp and dry. Somewhere nearby a buck was grunting, and just as far away in the opposite direction a woodpecker was drilling into a tree. There were paw prints around his camp from something small, a raccoon he guessed.

As he stood up, his stomach rebelled and scorned him for not eating yet. The pain of it seemed to make his organs draw closer to the digestive one as if it intended to consume the rest. As it subsided, his torso felt cooled. Artemis decided to catch and eat a few more squirrels before moving on. He just hoped his stomach caught the message so that it would not rebel again. Of course, he knew it would. The idea of it comprehending anything was impossible.

The rain came down again after he left the camp. It wasn't the downpour it had been when he died, but a steady drizzle fell from the sky accompanied by a cold breeze. What struck Artemis about the rain was how dry the air felt only an hour beforehand. Now he was drenched inside his armor, which now panged like a tin roof.

The dirt of the road became soft and unsure. He found himself slipping on any grades he came to, but after a few hours of this struggle he saw hope. Indentations on the path were clear, and he knew he was gaining ground on Felix. How much he was uncertain, but the smallest but lifted his spirit. He only wished that he knew their destination, so that he could take a shorter route. But for now he would settle for riding their trail.

After walking another hour he came to a point where the trees opened up on either side to open fields of grass. Here a doe walked across the road some twenty or thirty feet ahead going to Artemis's left, and both he and the deer were frozen in place by the other's stare. She was a robust animal, her fur changing in shade to match the season. Her tail was uplifted, and her eyes focused on the strange metal creature. Behind her, sitting on a Babel stump, a blue jay bounced around the stunted wood as if in search of something it dropped. Then the doe raised its head high, its eyes wide and ears perked, and ran back the way it came. She was in such a worried rush that even she slipped a bit in the soft earth.

Artemis should have read the sign, but he was no woodsman, not in the least bit. He watched her run off into the field to the right, when he should have been looking to the left. At the man with a claymore. In fact, he was so transfixed that he did not see the man until the distance between them was only a few yards, and the man readied his sword.

Seven

The blacksmith raised his shield to the falling blade. Another second and it would have dented his helmet, and his skull. The attacker roared like an injured beast and let loose a flurry of attacks. Artemis blocked every strike, waiting for an opening that did not want to come. This adversary was not like those in the castle, the throw away warriors. The man with the claymore thirsted for the blacksmith's blood and seemed happier every time his attack was deflected, every time the challenge became greater.

There were no more deer and no more blue jays nearby. The woodpeckers went silent and so did the crickets. The animals that could not flee from the sounds of crashing steel hid and made themselves unknown. In the distance a flock of crows took to the air, spooked by the fleeing doe. The chipmunks ran into their dens, while squirrels chattered and complained about the raucous.

Water was flung from the flying steel of the claymore. The man behind it steaming from fury fevered skin. His face was covered in a rusty red beard that complemented his rage. His hair was short and of a flaming color. Green eyes with pinhole sized pupils went unblinking. His arms were mapped in scars and tattoos, popping veins aside. He wasn't wearing armor like Artemis thought he would. The fuming man's body was covered in a vest of steel links. His legs had denim to protect them, but Artemis did not recognize it. His feet were bare, save for the mud caking on them. Artemis supposed the man had a tongue behind the row of crushing yellow teeth. The nose and ears were battered like those of a career boxer. And under the tattoos and links was a great deal of strength.

The raging man stopped his barrage of blows to let loose another battle cry. In that moment Artemis closed the distance between them. At closer range, they were fighting his fight. He stopped the fuming man's attacks before they could even garner swing speed. He made several of his own attacks, all of which were dodged or blocked. A clumsy block from his attacker, and Artemis made a good swing at a tattooed neck.

The man stopped Artemis's blow by restraining the blacksmith's arm with a vicelike grip. He then proceeded to attack singlehandedly at Artemis's shield. His screaming was inside of Artemis's left ear. His blows had little leverage and were hardly any more than gentle tappings at this point.

Artemis bent his knees and used his attacker's efforts against him. He pulled the screaming man toward himself and used his right leg to unbalance him. The man's arm that had been latched onto Artemis's sword arm twisted as its controller fell and was forced to relinquish the blacksmith. The man swung his sword in a backward arc while he descended, but it was deflected. Before he could right himself or come off the fog of fury he was in, Artemis pinned both arms to the ground. The blacksmith drove his sword into the small area between the man's chain vest and his chin.

The sword went through to the dirt behind. Blood came forth and mixed with rainwater. The combination ran from the sides of the man's neck and made their own little stream on the road flowing back to Fenril. The man looked at Artemis with hatred, the fury not ebbing even in the minutest degree. Then his body vanished and left behind only his weapon, clothes, and blood to prove he'd ever been there.

Artemis fell back and sat in the mud. He looked at his sword, still standing dug into the earth just above a chainmail vest with bloodstains along the sides. The cold rain ran into his armor and comforted his heated blood. He was gasping under his visor and lifted it as if that would provide more oxygen. A chill ran down his back, but he did not shiver. His feet were soaked, and he was unsure if that was by rain or sweat. He removed the helmet and let the steady water saturate his hair. He stayed sitting and washed the inside of his helm with water. Then he let it collect for a few minutes and drank from it.

Eight

As he stood up over the remains of his opponent, the tingling of cut off circulation made itself known in his feet. He shook both, feeling the thousand or so needles in each flare up before calming again. He lifted his upside-down helmet from the ground and drank what had pooled in it again. He reequipped it and looked once more at the chainmail. The blood had faded to nothing when he retrieved his sword.

He walked more cautiously from then on. He knew his son suspected him, but now he was certain that Felix knew. And even if he didn't now, Artemis thought he would when the redheaded savage did not go back to report.

The rain stopped soon after the battle, but the sun was still hidden behind the clouds. Every step Artemis took was accompanied by the sloshing of his soaking feet, now raw from pruning. After some time nature decided to come from its hiding place and continue on, as if no battle had ever occurred.

The ground hardened not from dryness or from paving but from natural rockiness. Stones blotted the landscape, as trees and other vegetation died away. The petrified remains of ancient woods still stood, and Artemis felt as if he were in a graveyard. There was no life here except for a few happy scavengers that found lost creatures to feast upon. Somewhere in the forest of dead trees, a pack of coyotes yipped Artemis a welcome. The trail Felix and his crew left before, vanished in the rocky ground.

A buzzard flew over Artemis's head going south. It would find the empty chainmail and go wanting. As it went over, it looked down at the blacksmith and met his gaze. Perhaps it was sizing him up, or perhaps it was just a bird's observation. The blacksmith did not know what to make of it.

A wind howled through the unbending, uncaring bramble of ancient trees. The sound and feel of it sapped Artemis's liveliness, carrying it away into the dead woods. The sound of it turned from a howl to a sighing whisper. It was distant but all around him. He thought it sounded like drowsiness, rest, and fatigue. Behind that it was barbed with darkness. Hidden in the whisper, it demanded death and surrender. As it lulled him and made the remains of his saturation evaporate in icy chill, Artemis began to wobble in step. The wind overpowered his strength and rocked him in his gait. It would rock him to sleep. It would call him to death.

Nine

He was surrounded by walls of living flesh. Up to infinity and down to a never ending plummet, bodies were sewn together in writhing meshes. They called to Artemis and begged him for an end to their misery. Hands reached out on both sides and felt for his legs, but they could not grab hold. He began walking on the air ahead, never thinking to look back. An orange glow illuminated the way and the walls, but its source was unseen. The wretched souls that failed to gain his aid began to moan and sob without control.

The smell of decay was strong and wrapped around his stomach, forcing it to give up its contents. As Artemis prepared to lose chunks of squirrel meat, he was startled when blood and human fingers poured out. They fell through the air he walked on and into the abyss below. Hands went out and caught the fingers. And with his stomach emptied, the stench of decay vanished.

Ahead the orange glow increased, and his eyes burned. He reached to his inflamed sockets. To his horror, worms crawled out from his eyelids and burned his hands as he pulled them out. The things were fat and black, as if charred. Looking with his nearly blinded eyes, Artemis saw that these things were centipedes. They bit and stung his hands and eyes until every one of them was pulled free. He dropped them to the abyss, and again the hands went out to gather, to reap.

Farther yet he felt his abdomen tickle under his armor. He peeled off the protective steel without a thought and let it fall. The hands did not gather up the steel. He pulled off his shirt and looked at his stomach and chest, where the itch seemed strongest. His skin had been eaten away by hungry maggots, and his organs were exposed under crumbling layers of dead muscle. His intestines spilled out, and the pain of it was crippling. The maggots fell away and were reaped. His kidneys tried to roll out, along with his spleen, gallbladder, heart and lungs. He pushed them all back in, though none were attached and couldn't possibly do any good for him. The heart still quivered and pumped air as if it were blood. The lungs billowed and caved, while the stomach rumbled. He held them all in and kept his hands over the cavity. The hands that could not hold him before now reached out and restrained his arms. They held his arms out as if he were being crucified, while other hands went down and began ripping his organs out while he watched. After his organs were harvested, a skeletal clawed hand reached over his head and crept down his forehead. It plucked out his eyes and popped each next to his ears.

Then all of Artemis's strength left him, and he was pulled in half horizontally. Every nerve screamed in agony as if they were somehow left intact, and he joined in the chorus of moans and anguish. He could feel his pelvis and legs even though they'd been detached. The sound of weaving followed.

Ten

He awoke on the side of the road a little after midnight, crying before he'd even regained control of his body. When he did have control, he did not stop his eyes. He could still feel the lingering pain of his ruined organs and smell his rotting flesh. His eyes burned and he reached for them, half expecting to feel burnt centipedes crawl forth. But there were no centipedes, and he could feel that the skin of his torso was still as it should be. It took a few minutes, but his sobs settled and he anchored himself to reality.

He did not go back to sleep that night. Instead he continued on in the darkness, which now did not feel very threatening. Compared to the dreams, he thought it was even comforting.

But eventually the nightmare seemed hazy and far away, and he was able to regain his confidence.

He did not travel as swiftly the day after or the next. Artemis became wary of the path he walked, both while awake and asleep. He was still surround by an endless sea of petrified trees. At midday these things were fine and mellow. But at dawn and dusk, the death of the stone woods seeped into the shadows they casts. He could swear that the shade was waiting to grab his ankles as he went and drag him back to Dystopia.

Eleven

On the third day, Artemis was free of the dead woods. The ancient Babels shrank away behind him as he approached the foot of the mountains. Their height seemed to reach into the heavens, their breadth spanning the horizon. Ahead of him a few hundred yards was a patch at the base of the grand peaks that was devoid of any remnant of life whatsoever. Beyond this clearing was a knoll, which hid whatever was at the very base.

He surmounted the rise and gazed beyond the clearing. A wooden arch led into a mountain. Old rusted carts were lying about outside, toppled and full of puddling rust water. Somewhere under the dirt and rock were tracks that were once smooth and functional, but now eaten away and broken. A downed pole still had some remains of an oil lamp nailed to the end, but the rotted wood would disintegrate around the nail if touched. The ground of this area was blanketed in stone powder, undisturbed by the wind. The head of a pickaxe jutted from its rocky grave next to Artemis.

There were armored knights standing outside the mine's entrance. Each wore armor identical to Felix's, but theirs was red and gold in color and lacked the winged helmet. Four of them in total, two on each side of the entrance. Felix and the girl were nowhere to be seen, and the guards appeared anxious.

Artemis had no chance of sneaking around them, so he ignored every wise thought he had ever entertained and charged forward. His sword drawn and visor down, the blacksmith hoped to take them by surprise. His legs pumped his armored body forward, the extra weight wearing down their strength. The sound of his feet striking the tough ground was about as stealthy as thunder and a train wreck put together.

To his great surprise, the guards did not take notice to him. They all tilted their heads toward the tunnel, as if waiting to hear some important news. By the time the most aware turned, Artemis had cut him down, the body vanishing from its armor. The second went just as easily. The third deflected Artemis's sword with his own but was not fast enough to stop the blacksmith's next strike.

The last backed up and took a defensive stance. He wielded a spear and a small spherical shield. His head was hidden under a bronze sallet with poked vents. His shoulders were not quite as broad as the rest and stood a few inches shorter. He rested the shaft of his weapon on top of the shield. Something about him reminded Artemis of a creature he'd heard of as a child called a scorpion.

The spearhead slid forward, and Artemis thought also of a wasp. Artemis deflected but not without his shield being dented. He made his own swing, but the knight pushed away his blade with a careful, and instant, roll of the spear. This was followed by another jab, which Artemis was forced to dodge. The spear caught a soft spot under his shoulder, and Artemis felt the cold steel open his skin followed by pain, and they continued this dance.

The knight's movements were swift and sure, while Artemis's were strong but always off course. He was tired from his morning travel and uneasy sleep and feared he would lose this battle not from injury but from fatigue. He deflected a few more times, angling his shield so that it would not be damaged. His mind drifted to the raging man he'd killed a few days before. He now wondered, lost in the pattern of the fight, if the man with the claymore had been a part of Felix's brigade or not. But Artemis had an idea.

The two had been rotating in tandem like a pair of hungry wolves revolving around prey. Artemis had a view of the tunnel five times now, and saw that it was dilapidated. The knight thrust forth the spear, but Artemis did not deflect the same way as before. Instead he allowed his shield to take a direct pierce from the spear, and by doing this the spear's head was embedded into the shield and useless as a weapon.

Artemis took this moment to drop the shield. Being at the end of the spear, the knight was unable to hold it up and raised his own shield, shaking the spear to free it. Artemis ran forward and tackled the knight. The soft spot under the sallet revealed itself as the knight fell. The blacksmith did not hesitate and punctured this weak point. The sound of a breaking windpipe preceded the sound of metal scraping spine and rock.

A feminine moan followed this and what might have been the word "bastard" or "base lard." A leg went up and kicked Artemis in the crotch. Then the leg inside the armor vanished, and Artemis was alone.

Twelve

The clotting wound in his armpit dropped a few rungs on his list of priorities. Just because he wore armor did not mean that the blacksmith's manhood had been protected from the shock of the blow. If anything, he thought the armor only helped to equally distribute the pain. He fell backwards and rolled on the ground, curled up like a dying spider. If his son had come out of the mine at that time, or even a child with a fist sized rock, Artemis would've met with certain doom.

But no more foes came to challenge the squealing warrior. He was given respite enough to recover, standing up with extreme caution. He removed the spear from his shield, a pang of regret rising up at the sight of the marred defense tool. As he sheathed his sword, his abdomen experienced an aftershock and he doubled over. Below him, half buried under rock and the rest in dust, was an old iron plate. He thought it might have been a sign in some long ago time. After that he waited a few minutes, making sure the pain would not come back in more waves.

Then he entered the mine.

Oil lamps older than he adorned the walls, unlit and dry. There were spider webs hanging off each lamp and on every support beam. There was an acrid aroma drifting in the air from ahead, where the darkness would be absolute. Every few steps his feet would ring as he touched exposed rails. An insignificant air pushed its way from the darkness, intensifying the pungent smell of sulfur.

He nearly sliced a bat in half as it screeched and flew over his head. It crawled to the underside of a beam or rock above and made no more sounds. Loose dirt fell from a wall behind, the fear of a cave-in swept over the blacksmith and departed just as swiftly. There were odd noises coming from deep inside the network of tunnels. He thought them as nothing, but the way the echo warped them was eerie. It was as if the mine was a breathing lung, and it was very sick.

He came to a T in the tunnel. To his left was more darkness and the ambient sound of ill respiration. To the right also was the unhealthy sound, but in that direction he saw faint lights. Someone had been that way recently enough to have burning lamps still aflame, and so the blacksmith took that path.

A short distance from the T, and he heard the echo of two men conversing. Knowing who it was, the blacksmith hurried for a place to hide. The voices drifted and bounced from the beams and continued on behind him. But steadily, they became louder. They drew closer. He found an unlit path to his left and took a few steps into it, resting against a wall in the shadows where he was sure he could not be seen. The pack on his back compressed, and he heard the sliding of fabrics against each other, hoping that the sound would stop.

Then the voices were close enough to understand.

"Yes, I'll have someone go down there twice a day to feed her and clean up. The men out there now can call this their new station." Felix's voice was magnified in the confines of the mine. Here he sounded like a king.

"But what about your father, sir?" Echoed the second man's voice. It sounded like the voice of a friend, but Artemis couldn't help but hear a twinge of fear in it as well.

"He is no father of mine." The words echoed off the walls and into Artemis's heart. "We needn't worry about him. Even if he got the girl, he would die before leaving with her. And if not then, then soon after." Felix laughed, the bounce of it made him sound like an insane demon. "Worst case, he gets her out and lives to see the light. Even gets out of our grip." The voice was now only a few feet from the turn leading to Artemis. "But we know exactly where he'd be going after that, don't we Mars?"

"To Hado. But if he made it—"

"He won't. How could he without help?" The voices were now in front of Artemis's corridor. Felix and Mars were silhouettes in the dim light. Felix stopped and stared in Artemis's direction, into his eyes even. The blacksmith tensed but moved not an inch, his lungs frozen stiff in his chest. The shape of a horrifyingly deadly sword was on the shadow's back, along with what might have been a cape. "What do you think is down that way?" The blacksmith's tension loosened.

"I haven't the slightest clue." And the walking continued, the shadow figures disappearing behind an equally dark corner. "Was it necessary to kill the old blacksmith from that village?"

"Of course not." Felix snickered. "But it's easier that way." The reverberations of the voices were getting farther away, trailing. "Besides, he'll know not to help the meddler." They rounded a corner to the exit. The voices kept going but were indistinct.

Artemis slid from hiding more than walk. His legs felt like twitching vats of jelly, and his heart was unable to decide whether to beat faster or beat off rhythm. He stepped into the dim light of the corridor and followed the lights in the direction Felix had come from. He had little time to go undiscovered, and once he was certain that his son could not hear, he began to run.

Thirteen

The smell of sulfur grew stronger as he ran, burning his nose. The sound of his running steps was like a rock bouncing endlessly down into a shaft. The idea of his steps carrying to the entrance became a concern, but he couldn't slow now. He ran through networks of webs that somehow his son had avoided. A spider bit his neck, and he felt the swelling itching bump growing just below his right ear.

Fifteen minutes of running went by, but to Artemis and his steel ladened legs he might as well have been running since dawn. His breathing was heavy and hot, the sulfuric stench only adding to the misery. Sweat trickled from his chin and ricocheted from the plating on his chest. The steady clanging of his armor was dull and tried to lull away his energy. The corridor of spider webs and dim lamps seemed never ending, and a seething despair rooted itself within him. He began entertaining thoughts of forfeit, of rest, and of admitting his futility. His dropping energy ate at his self-esteem, and the blacksmith wondered what hope there was of success for him. The sickening thought grew, and if it was not quelled soon, it would win.

He stumbled on a broken section of track. If there ever was a better wakeup call than a banged up knee, Artemis could not think of one. Again his armor did little to absorb the shock of the blunt blow gravity delivered. He writhed on the floor, remembering his quest and what a sorry state he had been in to even think of throwing in the towel this late. The pain overshadowed the smell. It overpowered his pessimism, and it drove him forward (after a few seconds of rubbing the pivotal socket and cursing under his breath, that is).

He could no longer run, and he knew he shouldn't. He would only wear himself down again. But he did walk, and he did so as quickly as he could. His feet dragged along the ground, sending debris splattering against the walls. The volume of it was obnoxious, but perhaps it no longer mattered.

Further down the corridor the path split again, light leading to the left. He followed the lanterns into an open chamber. Mine carts rested in place still on track. Beside each of three tracks was a lever that operated the stopping mechanism on the tracks. All three were engaged, sending rusted metal stoppers up from the ground and blocking the carts' axles. To the right was a great darkness, and Artemis felt that a cliff awaited his clumsy feet in that direction. To the left were more rows of lanterns. Twenty feet from the last cart and between two lanterns was a wooden door that leaked with slivers of light.

Artemis walked to the door, his strength renewed. At its foot was a set of unoccupied clothes. A blood spatter was above this on the door's frame, and the blacksmith realized that Mathen had been killed here. He turned the knob. It had either been locked, or the mechanisms within were beyond repair. The knob broke, and the door pushed open half an inch. He applied gentle pressure, thinking somewhere in his mind that he was still sneaking.

A small room with walls of dirt was revealed. In some long ago age it might have been used for storage, but now all its stores were bare. Candles lined the walls and cast dancing shadows against the dirt. At the far wall was the girl. She was asleep. Her arms were bound by chains that had been anchored into the wall behind her. She wore overalls of the same mysterious material as the highwayman's pants and a white cotton shirt, both stained with dirt and sweat. A plate of uneaten berries was in front of her and despite the circumstance, she looked peaceful.

He walked to the far wall and pulled on the anchored chain. He looked down at the sleeping first life, her shadow dancing behind her motionless body. The anchor pulled free from its socket of earth and sent a small cascade of soil onto the girl's head. She awoke as Artemis pulled on the second anchor.

Fourteen

She looked up at him, not with fright or surprise but with a tired acceptance. Artemis looked down and lifted his visor, placing an index finger over his smiling mouth. He returned to yanking the anchor and freed it as well. The girl rose without a word and lifted the chains. The blacksmith offered to carry them for her, but she would not release them.

They stepped into the chamber and stood next to the closest cart. The girl let the chains fall into it as he scoped the corridor. The sound of metal footfalls drifted down the corridor before the chamber, and Artemis knew they would be caught.

He kicked the rusted lever by the cart, lifted the girl, and set her into the rusted tub on wheels. A few more kicks, and the lever released, but the cart remained in place. He began pushing it, hoping it would not only move but stay true to its rails when it did.

The steps stopped at the chamber's entrance, Felix and Mars stood over the final footfall's origin and stared into the chamber. "Your selfishness knows no bounds, does it?" Felix's voice seemed to shake the whole passage.

The cart budged, and Artemis had to hold it from rolling away. He turned and faced Icarus. "Son," He said. Inside he wished their relationship could be mended, wanted to bring it up now. But all that he could say was "this isn't right." And he climbed into the cart.

Felix darted forward, somehow attaining a sprint with all his armor holding him down. He drew the serrated sword from his back. "Don't ever call me your son! You unholy bastard! That you dare come here and have the audacity to kill my Ophelia!" He came up to the cart, which now rolled in pace with his run, and brought the sword down upon Artemis's raised shield. Then, before the cart outran him, Felix sent his metal clad left fist into Artemis's unprotected portion of face. He then stopped and let the cart screech on its rails away into the darkness.

In the blinding darkness, Artemis's nose had been broken again. It bleed beyond his concern, and he let it go until it stopped. The girl behind him made no sounds nor any movements. The cart rocked and bounced in different places, but it indeed stayed true through the darkness.

Once again he'd been called a bastard in a single day. As the cart screeched and screamed on its ancient wheels, he thought of it. He had never known his father and wondered if this title was inaccurate or not. The cart was struck by a beam of light that shone through a vent to the surface. It turned to the right and sloped downward, wanting to pick up speed that friction would not allow. Artemis decided the title was meant for him.

The chains slid about in the cart and made their own rumblings above the horrid ones the cart made. Sparks began to shoot out from under them as the belly of the cart struck a series of what were either rocks or its own axles. The blacksmith became aware of how imminent another death could be. At any moment the cart could fly from its course and mutilate them. And if it did not, he knew that was no guarantee that the rails would not end in a wall of collapsed rocks.

The smell of sulfur rose and dissipated in the stale wind of the mine. It mixed with the unpleasant odor of guano and hot metal. The sound of disturbed bats and squealing steel were soon no more than white noises, ambient and unimportant. The howl of true wind added to the fray every minute or so from unknown caverns in the darkness. A fast ticking sound began at the front left of the cart, and the blacksmith knew one of the wheels had a flat spot.

The real wind started behind them and pushed them forward. The cart rose in speed, all the while begging in its own language for brakes. The air around them started to taste fresh, and some distance ahead at the bottom of another slope, was a blanket of light. The cart whistled down this grade, and the light of day was in sight. It burned the blacksmith's eyes and forced him to shut them as the impact came.

Fifteen

The cart launched its passengers into the sunlight. The sound of it tumbling over rocks was like that of a plate of steel being slid across a long expanse of asphalt. Artemis rolled and bounced on the hard ground, his armor denting from the force in various spots. He slid a little way, pushing loose rocks aside and making a miniature gulley. He was sore, but alive. Thirty feet from him the girl stopped rolling.

His left arm was sore, and he remembered the sword his son had felled onto the shield. He thought now that he was lucky to still have an arm to hold his shield. The shield itself laid in the wreckage a few feet from the cart and had been cracked; it would no longer be able to serve as an adequate defense. He looked at where the track ended and was not surprised to see a chipped stopper, the cause of the express cart emptying.

He walked to the battered girl and helped her stand. She was scuffed and some blood ran out of her scraped hands, but otherwise she seemed unharmed. She nodded at the blacksmith but remained silent. Perhaps it was because of how short her hair had been that he did not notice the chunk missing on the rear side of her head. And when he did see it, he wondered if it had been torn in the crash or before.

# Without a Road

One

Despite being very sore and very tired, the walk downhill was mild and therapeutic. The flow of blood in veins and the smell of spring pines had a way of taking the mind away from the body's pain. The path at this exit had been old enough that the trail was grown over in grass. The soft green blades were a welcome floor to Artemis's worked feet. The air was fresh, the taste of it settling in their mouths and unburdening their lungs.

Nature seemed friendlier to Artemis. The pests which gnawed at him before in their little swarming clouds were not to be seen. He was unsure, but he thought that the flowers and shrubs perked up as they passed. Hummingbirds flocked to these flowers, leaving only to hover inches from the travelers and examine them. A pair of fawns danced in a field they passed, skipping about and chasing the other's tail. They passed a mother coyote on the side of the road that was feeding her young. Artemis never bothered to draw his sword, as the things seemed to look at the two as if they might have been a tree or some other docile background object.

Two

Dusk was a few hours away, and both were worn. The young girl appeared to be Artemis's new age, while he looked to be his old. They limped in their steps, while their stomachs demanded sustenance. The blacksmith knew they would need to stop soon and make camp, but he had no idea how far his son was from catching up or if his men would have returned to help as well.

At the edge of a field full of high grass and cherry trees was a cabin not unlike Dral's. The sun was sitting on the upper branches of the surrounding trees, ready to rest for the night. A woman was hanging clothes from the side of the cabin on a white cable. She wore a rough farmer's tan above her freckled arms. Her hair was long and matched the sunset, drooping over her face as she dipped clothes into a wash basin and wrung them. The freckled arms were strong and toned but also smooth. She lifted her head to the armored man, who now carried the girl's chains, and ran into her house.

Artemis walked to the door and knocked. His gauntlets struck the wooden frame harshly, almost threateningly. "Would you let us rest here?" He looked at the tired girl and felt his own fatigue swell in response. "We are both tired and hungry. I will do chores for you in exchange."

Something heavy slid across the floor on the inside and rested up against the door. "Slave driver, be gone! I wouldn't house you if you were my brother." As she said this, she beat her hands on whatever was in front of the door. Behind her somewhere was another voice, a wild, garbled one. She told the other voice to hush.

Artemis leaned forward, resting his visor on the door. "I let this one go, but her masters could come for us. Please," He was sleepy and yawning, "give us shelter from this storm."

The girl began to sob, and a boy's voice came from the inside. "Praises be! Did you do this?" The woman bawled. The boy's voice said that it was so. Artemis didn't understand what she meant, but understood the sound of the heavy object sliding away from the door. A latch released, and the door swung open.

Three

That night they sat in the cabin's dining room/kitchen eating bread. The inside was unfurnished save for the dining table, some chairs, and the beds upstairs. There was a cabinet in the kitchen that held her tools and a stove island to cook on, and the object that had barred the door was a small wood furnace. But otherwise everything was bare.

The boy, who could have been anywhere between ten and thirteen, sat next to the chained girl. His red hair was sloppy, and his face was odd as if he wasn't sure what to do with his expressions. Artemis sat across from the woman, eating his fill with helmet removed and his odor venting from his armor. He set his gauntlets under the table, and the boy would look at them every few seconds, bursting with curiosity.

"He was possessed ever since he was this tall." The woman said while holding her right hand just off the seat of her chair. "The knights would've killed him if ever they saw him, so I always kept him inside."

"But it's gone now, mother." The boy said in what was little more than a whisper.

"Do you hear th . . . " She began but couldn't hold back her tears. She stood up from her place at the table, walked to her son, and held him to her chest. She wept into his sloppy hair and spoke with his shoulder as a rest. ". . . that? My son's voice. His very own voice." And she continued to cry.

Artemis could only smile at her and look at the girl, who returned his eyes with a little smirk. His son had been right about one thing.

Four

The next day Artemis helped the mother with laundry and removing the ivy from the eves of the house. The boy ran carelessly around the house, laughing at and touching every oddity he came in contact with. The girl sat against the house and picked at the metal cuffs on her wrists with a piece of wire she found. From a stranger's perspective, one might have thought the four were a family.

The day after Artemis went into the woods and caught a battalion of squirrels, trapping being the only hunting skill he ever learned from Dral. He used his clothing bag to carry them back to the house. His armor and extra clothes were inside at the feet of the bed the girl was using.

He laid the sack of rodents on a pile of ivy that had been removed, while he washed his hands and face with water he pumped from a spigot behind the house. As the cold spring water chilled his face and chest, he thought of leaving and of staying. He felt at home in that place, but he also thought that a home was a thing he could no longer have. He had wanted to stay only as long as it took for the girl to heal her abrasions and eat a few decent meals, but this place was enticing to him. And the longer he dwelt there, the longer he wanted to stay.

The woman walked behind the house to where the blacksmith was. She had what appeared to be a folded tangle of cloth in her right hand. Standing where she was and looking at him with her green eyes, she was a twin of Grena's. She smiled at the blacksmith and his dripping head then said, "Get those clothes off!"

Artemis's chilled face heated back up, and he blushed. He would've argued with the woman, but she resembled his wife so closely and her voice was just so commanding that he felt he couldn't deny her anything. He folded his arms and began pulling off his shirt.

When his shirt was over his face, the woman added. "Not in front of me. Put these on and then give me the dirty ones you're wearing." She pitched the cloth at Artemis. It unfolded in midair and revealed itself to be a pair of pants and a shirt that he had brought. Both landed on his covered head.

He stood there, stomach exposed and a set of clean clothes covering the neck hole of the shirt he wore. Though the woman could not see his face, he was blushing three degrees redder than before. "Yeah," He stumbled, "I know." He walked away, still in the form of the headless horseman, to change. Even though he could not see it, the woman was smiling at him.

The day after this there was a knock at the door. Artemis and the girl hid in the kitchen pantry. The woman went to the door and asked who knocked.

"Lord Icarus." Mars said. "And Company."

"I need to speak to the homeowner, or resident, or whatever you are." Felix said through the door and his winged helmet.

To keep from looking suspicious, the woman unlocked and opened the door. "And what business would you have here, my lord?" The boy walked from the kitchen and saw Felix and was frozen in place.

"A fugitive might have come through here with another." Behind his helmet was anger and hatred. "The older one is a male, and he is armored and dangerous. The younger is a girl. She had short dark blonde hair. He may also have chains on her wrists."

"Sorry." Said the woman. "I certainly would've noticed a spectacle like that coming through, but I have not."

Felix said nothing more to her. He turned to the boy, the sound and intention of his craning head was reminiscent of aiming a rifle. "And you, small arms, have you seen this 'spectacle?'"

The boy shook in fear and bowed his head. His legs wobbled and his hands clasped each other at his waist. He stared into the locked digits. "No, sir." His words sounded sincere to Artemis who was behind a door in another room, and one had to wonder if the boy even understood what Artemis and the girl were.

A long silence came and the returned warriors behind Felix shuffled their feet. "As you were." He spun, his ebony and silver cape whirled with him. The sword holding it down stared at the woman and boy, as if it too had its own hateful eyes. Mars stepped away from him, and a shorter knight with a spear closed distance with Felix and threw an arm on his left shoulder. The way this shorter knight walked was different from Felix's gait and all the rest.

"Sorry about the disturbance, ma'am." Mars said and followed Icarus. From around the corner of the door, a redheaded man with a claymore appeared and walked at Mars's heels.

That night Artemis sat outside and stared up at the waxing moon. Not long after he did, the woman came outside and sat next to him. Inside the youths were asleep, and all was well with the world. Or close enough at least.

The moon was gibbous, but it looked full to Artemis. A clear sky let it radiate all its dusty light. The fields around the house were coated in the blue aura of the night, while the sky was a deep navy, starless but infinite. The owl asked his only question, while the crickets sang. The wind was low and bent only the tops of the Babels, the whooshing of their needles carrying softly to the two's ears. Somewhere far away a wolf howled over the loss of a pack member or some other tragedy. Rabbits hopped around the field behind the cherry trees, eating clover and living. Life was moving.

"Stay here with Sten and I." The woman whispered into the blacksmith's ear as she wrapped one of his hands with one of hers. "The knights will not come back, and this is a home for you." She squeezed his hand and rubbed the back of it with her thumb.

A thousand voices in his head screamed at him to say yes. But all he managed to do was look at her with a slight tilt of his head and some effort on his right eye. The begging in his subconscious could not be ignored any longer. "What is your name?" This was not what the voices wanted him to say, but it came anyway.

She looked up at the moon, perhaps realizing what beauty it held. "My name is Merith." She slid closer to Artemis, her legs pressing against his. "And what is yours?"

His eyebrows raised. He could've sworn that he introduced himself, but he answered just the same. "Artemis."

"And the girl?"

"I don't know."

She locked her fingers into his. "So you were a slave driver?"

He thought he was smiling at the absurd remark, but in truth his entire face sagged. "No, but that's a complicated mess. I guess in some fairytale rendition of my story, I would be the knight in shining armor, the hero." He looked at Merith's pine green eyes, and a moment later she met the gaze. "I am no hero."

She leaned in and kissed him. Her touch was warm, and Artemis had forgotten the feel of a woman's love. "This is no fairytale." She leaned in again. This time he was ready and returned the affection.

He pulled his head from hers, his eyes welled in tears but he did not feel sorrow or remorse. A stream ran down his left cheek and was caught in the stubble of his younger face. "We can't stay."

Merith smiled and released his hand. As she did, she stood and stretched. In the moonlight more than ever, she looked like Grena and the thought tugged at the blacksmith's heart. "Nothing is final. Think about it."

And he did.

Five

Artemis slept in the kitchen that night. He thought that if he went upstairs and saw Merith sleeping the way Grena did, he would not be able to say no any longer. His heart would cave, and he would live there until Seldren took him. Then he would come back. He didn't understand why such a thing was incorrect. All humanity ever wanted was happiness, and yet he was turning it away. Would it be a hollow joy? He thought not, but it still was not the path for him.

That night his mind took him back to the castle. He sat in the throne, but the throne was seated in the dungeon. His arms and legs were strapped down to the illustrious chair. Across from him was Merith in the same chair he had been tortured in. A pain flooded his kidneys as an invisible pump ruptured them. He sat there in agony, Merith unable to move either.

Cancer's cell was opened by a ghost's hand, and he came ambling out thinner than ever. He limped to Merith with a ravenous grin marring his already disgusting face. His hair was drenched, dropping a red liquid to the floor below that could only be blood. He stood over her, drooling and squealing. He stomped his feet the way children might when they think they have been wronged in some horrific way. He bent over her, while she mouthed words of warning Artemis could not hear. Cancer latched his teeth onto her shoulder and began eating. Every bite went through flesh and bone as if her body was made of warm butter. Blood fountained from her sockets until her face turned white and still. Within a minute, the detestable thing stomached her entire body. His metabolism was extreme, and he began putting on muscle and resembling a healthy human being.

When Cancer had finished his feast and added a hundred pounds of muscle, he turned around to look at the blacksmith. His long oily hair fell out and white seedlings replaced them. Then Cancer closed his black eyes and opened green ones; he became Felix.

Then his son stood before him, and Artemis screamed for him to stop. But no sounds would exit the blacksmith's mouth. A lever like the ones in the mine appeared on the wall, and Felix walked to it and pulled it. A great hole opened up in the floor in front of Artemis's feet. Merith's blood fell into it and down through the abyss of writhing arms.

The throne was tipped forward, and his restraints were broken. Artemis fell into the chasm of Dystopia, his insides ravaged but his life remaining. The smell of sulfur and rotten flesh filled his nostrils as he plummeted too quickly for the arms to catch him. The hands that touched him burnt like hot coals and grew more intense with each slap.

The faces in the walls behind the arms took the girl's face and screamed in Cancer's voice for mercy. He continued to fall, the pain within spreading to every inch as if the rest of his organs were rupturing in some chain reaction. His entire skin burnt and sizzled, but the nerves refused to die. The bottom became visible, an endless bramble of glowing red thorns. He tumbled into these jagged vines, and they wrapped every part of the blacksmith's body in one final climax of pain before his body was torn to pieces.

Six

In his sleep he had rolled under the table. As he awoke screaming, his body catapulted forward and struck his head on the underside and lodged splinters in his forehead. He crawled out from under the table to see Merith's worried face looking down at him. She held him in place and gently pulled splinters from his forehead.

He stumbled outside and to the pump. He washed his sweating face in the cold water and drank as if he'd just come from a desert. He was panting, and his body seemed to weigh more than usual. He sat down beside his water source like a worn animal and let the sun shine through the water on his skin.

Merith came outside and stood behind him, her arms crossed and her face full of worry. She took a few steps closer to the blacksmith, but he raised his hand in a halting gesture.

"This is why we can't stay." He said with his heaving lungs. "I must live like this until I've made things right." He turned his head so that he could see her with his peripheral vision. "But not until after that could I even consider it." Then he sighed, and his downcast spirit was made evident.

By that afternoon the girl had picked both cuffs from her wrists. They gathered up their supplies and Merith added a few of her own for the girl, mostly clothes and brush. Sten clung to Artemis's legs, while Merith struggled to scold the boy for it. Though he did relinquish the blacksmith's leg, sobbing all the while like an abandoned dog.

"Where will you go?" Asked Merith.

The blacksmith shrugged. "Not to Paxia. He would expect us there." Artemis did what he could to hold back the grief of "him" being his son. "Same for Hado, although I think that's where we'll eventually need to go." He readjusted the pack on his back. "South for now."

"Be careful, please." She stepped up to him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He smiled at the affection and returned it. This would be the last time the two would ever see each other again.

# Under the Willows

One

They walked south through the forest. The idea that Felix would be in Paxia or Hado brought Artemis comfort. He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders, enough so that the journey began to feel pleasant. Almost like a vacation, or playing hooky.

The air tasted like sap and life, that first afternoon of their real journey. It was no fairytale, but Artemis would've argued that point now. Mockingbirds sang to the beat of their steps, squirrels chattered like tiny drummers, and the gentle breeze laid the rhythm. Butterflies of all forms fluttered about the path like gleeful sprites, landing on one flower only to spread its colorful wings and land on another. The girl picked these flowers and rested them on her ears. Of course, the butterflies came to the flowers on her head and formed a corsage of white spots and gold stripes, black rims and blue circles, orange bands and creamy swirls.

The forest was an orchestra, playing the sweetest melodies. The voice of the songbirds was ever steady and always harmonic. The caress of swaying branches against one another added an undertone of calm and serenity. This forest could have been a million miles from the Jakul castle or the mines. For all he knew he might be walking on air without an ounce of steel to hold him down. He watched as the girl twirled and skipped with her entourage of floating pixies, and thought his son was right about a second thing. She was an angel.

And the thought of such responsibility grounded him. He wondered how it could be that of all the people on Tarmos, it was he that was tasked with being her guardian. Artemis was the one to escort her, to protect her, and take care of her. He knew what he had done, or not done, to his sons, and in a way Felix was justified with his ire. And Artemis's destiny would be the safekeeping of a benevolent child. It boggled his mind until he realized that this was his redemption, his cleansing.

He touched his healing nose. The thing was settling crookedly, so he tugged it forward. He heard the snap and felt the return of pain, but at least now it would settle into a position he could breathe with. This spontaneous healing practice brought him out of the euphoric swell of the forest around him, and all he saw was the girl walking in front of him. The sound of the natural symphony seemed far away, but he was happy to have heard it as long as he did.

Two

They camped in the forest with no road to return to. The girl slept as if she were dead, while Artemis set a few simple snares nearby. He wondered what her voice sounded like and if she ever used it.

He fell asleep the same way he had been since leaving Garn, in fear of where the dreams would to take him. In a display of cruelty, his mind would forget the dreams he had that night, though he would wake to think that was a mercy.

Three

He stood in the meadow behind his house, where the grass was more gold than green. A distance ahead was a woman in a white robe with her back turned to the blacksmith, her long red hair swaying in the same breeze that made the grass bristle. Artemis ran to her on legs lighter than air, while the smell of roses wafted through his healthy nose. But even though he ran with such vigor, he drew no closer.

Then a second person appeared beside the woman. A boy at the door of adulthood stood beside her a few inches taller with his back turned. His hair was gray and short, and he wore the blacksmith's hunting pants and smithing apron. The woman took his hand, and they both stood gazing into the endless fields of gold beyond.

Then a third appeared. A second boy, the twin of the first, stood by his brother and took his hand. He wore a green robe embroidered with silver symbols representing the Garn Halostone.

And then a third appeared. A mighty knight in black jagged armor and a winged helm. He stood taller than all the rest and also took the hand of the last to join. As he did, he threw down his helmet and looked back at his running father. His silver hair reflected the light of the golden meadow onto his broad smile, a smile Artemis had not seen in many years.

At that moment Artemis's legs moved him forward, and he joined the four gazers. He stood next to the woman and took her hand. She looked into his eyes with an angelic smile, revealing herself as Grena. Geoff and Cedric did likewise with their own confident, masculine upturns of their lips. Even Felix was happy in that moment. The five looked ahead into the endless ruffles of golden grass and beyond into the radiance of an eternal sunset.

The wind pushed gently against their backs and carried them away like dandelion seeds. Even Felix in his armor was as weightless, and they were all aloft as wisps in the wind. Together they floated over the field of endless light, over long miles of blooming flowers, and into the light of paradise.

Four

He woke up before the girl a short time after dawn, not able to remember any of the things that took place in his dream. He had set five traps the day before. Two failed to entrap and one never activated. The other two upheld rabbits from tethers in their trees. One had its neck snapped by the force of the trap, while the other squirmed and squealed at Artemis's approach.

He had both hares cooked by the time the girl stirred. He handed her a pair of legs, and she ate graciously. This meal was much like the first they had together. But unlike before, Artemis found this quaint and homey. No sound came from her chewing, which seemed innocent compared to the loud, slobbering way he ate his own food.

Southward and downward seemed to be the way of the world. But the world was not unending, and soon the terrain leveled. When it did, the ground became marshy, and the Babels receded to give way to shrubs and moss. Willows filled in the remaining space and drooped their branches in the two's faces.

Mosquitos glided through the air like long nosed assassins, striking when you didn't know and where you couldn't see. Soon the blacksmith and the girl were covered in little itching welts. Whatever spell the creatures had been under before had no effect on the pests here. Deerflies joined in and began their own, more noticeable, assault.

Five

After the bog was a stream with a high bank on the other side. The two crossed and climbed the wall of dirt and rock. The ground was dryer and easier for Artemis's steely feet to walk upon, but there were no less pests.

A snake slithered from under a gnarl of roots and lunged at one of the blacksmith's legs. It had its head severed after finding that steel plating was not as yielding as flesh. Several more came from the tangled knot and made similar attempts. Fearing for the girl, Artemis let her ride on his back. But by doing so, he could no longer fend off the snakes.

Persistent as a spoiled child, would best describe these belly sliding reptiles. They followed the now burdened blacksmith for half a mile. And whenever one snake gave up, another would take its place. Their fangs bounced and scraped against his greaves. Their hissing was unsettling and unworried, as if taking down knights was routine for them. Their beady black eyes stared into Artemis's gray ones whenever the chance arose, and he was reminded of Cancer. And a frightening thought surfaced in his mind that these snakes were not hungry but somehow evil. They could never hope to devour steel, and their persistence extended far beyond territorial.

The mosquitos and deerflies continued to attack, but neither Artemis nor the girl spared them a speck of attention. The swarms of green, black, red and yellow around Artemis's feet was disorienting. He found himself staring ahead, past the willows' shade, just to keep from dizzying. He trampled many of them, which always preceded more hissing and vengeful strikes.

His back became sore from the extra weight and from the manner in which he was forced to walk. Soon it would go out, and he would fall to the ground, bringing the girl with him. As if knowing this, the snakes doubled their efforts to topple him by weaving over his feet much in the same way a housecat runs in front of feet. The extra effort to stay upright further strained his back, and Artemis was certain that soon the vile spade headed things would win. What their prize would be, he did not know. He supposed bragging rights must be driving the snakes onward. This thought sounded ridiculous to him, and in its own way of being silly, helped alleviate some of pain that had begun to bunch up in the middle of his spine.

Six

He closed his eyes and thought of better times. Left right left right would go his legs, and no further would he think. His mind would be what brought him down, and so he placed it somewhere else. He thought of his house in Garn. He thought of his family and he sitting on the roof, looking at the moon together. He tasted root beer in his mouth as he imagined himself sitting at his table laughing at some joke his sons had come up with. He felt as though he could reach out and touch Grena's face as she laughed alongside him.

When he came out of his self-inflicted trance, the willows and snakes were behind them and they stood alongside a deep canyon. He set the girl down and examined the hard ground. It was as dry as a baked bone, and he never would have known that a marsh was in the distance. The canyon dropped at a ninety degree from where they stood down about eight or nine hundred feet. The thick sandy rock it was made of was pale red. The floor of the canyon was a dead river bed. The once flowing sediments striped it in layers of purple, white, and yellow. There were no plants of any significance in any direction but the ones they came from. Somewhere ahead on the horizon was a green sliver, but Artemis wasn't convinced that it was life.

They followed the canyon, being mindful not to find a pit or ledge to tumble from. The air matched the ground and was grating on the lungs. The blacksmith stopped often to pop his back or let his lungs rest. The girl seemed unaffected by fatigue and harsh air and skipped along.

Seven

The blacksmith became exhausted but pushed on until dusk. Then he set up a camp of dry grass bedding and a fire of loose twigs. The girl fell asleep after eating leftover berries from the forest, and Artemis felt a touch of jealousy because of how well she slept. He was up longer and took his time to watch the waning moon rise over the horizon and settle at another point of it. Once the lunar night ended, he too left the waking world and slept peaceably.

Morning came late in the dry lands. The blacksmith awoke to the girl kicking his chest plate. It was the first time someone had ever woken up before him, and he took a few moments to absorb this before rising.

The remnants of the fire had been swept into the canyon. What was left was the unburnt thickness of the larger twigs and a few charred chunks. The grass bedding formed cutouts of the two where they had slept, but soon this too would fall into the ancient riverbed.

They walked toward the green on the horizon. The blacksmith's unyielding feet rattled on the hardpan. The girl went on skipping and collecting scattered desert flowers. The sky was clear and soft blue. Far ahead were thin clouds, which meant nothing more than water existed. To the west on the other side of the canyon some vultures circled around their quarry. The wind blew in that direction, and unnerved Artemis just a bit to think that the birds could catch their scent.

As they traveled south, the canyon's depth decreased. What had once been a deathtrap was now no more than a painful tumble and maybe even a sprained ankle. It bent to the west and continued growing shallow.

In the east were dusty mesas which looked down at the two. Artemis couldn't help but think of the mountains that he thought laughed at him. And for reasons unknown to him, he did not want to be caught in their shadow the next day. The thought of their shade somehow reaching out and dragging the two into a pit of scorpions, which he had been told lived in places like this, was both ridiculous and yet frightening just the same.

He walked up to a very odd tree on their way to the green horizon. Its bark was ruffled and rigid. On its bizarre branches were a small number of pink flowers and spines. Anyone familiar with the area or with badlands could've said it was a cactus. But to Artemis, it was both an abomination and a thing of beauty. He didn't dare touch the protruding needles, as he assumed there was a death on them. It would sum up his opinion of Orengard, he realized, for the rest of his life.

# Bluehold

One

The green was life, a forest of stubby trees and ferns. On the other side of this dwarfish wood was a valley with a healthy river running through it. Up the river to the east was a walled city which had been hidden from view by the high hills that surrounded. The river ran under the city and onward to the west, an iron sewer gate marking its exit from the stone city. Artemis and the girl approached this city, sidling the slopes and trying not to tumble down into the waters.

The walls alone were forty feet high with watch houses attached that added an extra fifteen in various spots. Beyond the behemoth walls were turrets that threatened the skies. The drone of crowds echoed over the walls along with the smell of baked goods. A man in chainmail holding an iron shafted spear stood by an impressive door that had been embedded in the wall. Above him was a watch house with two guards. He appeared bored, that is until the blacksmith and girl approached.

A daze was thrown from him, turning him into a new, more aware creature. "Stop." He said. The links of his armor clinked together like a pile of coins sloshing about. "What business do you have in Bluehold?" The guards above him leaned over the wall and examined the visitors.

"We're—"

"Lift up that visor first. I need to see your face."

Artemis did as he was told. "We're visiting, I suppose. I never even knew this place existed."

One of the guards above laughed. "Foreigners then, surely!"

The other. "We should let them in, Kiln. He must have coin if he can afford armor like that."

Artemis was flattered but held back any thanks. In truth, he had spent his last in Fenril.

Kiln looked up. "Don't be so damned hasty! It's my job to decide."

The second. "Yeah, and we're the ones who have to open this heavy door, and boy aren't we just tired."

The first. "I really don't care."

Kiln sighed but did not continue with the two above. He looked at Artemis's healing face, then the girl, and then back at the blacksmith. "Does 'Wings of the Sun' mean anything to you?"

Artemis furrowed his brow and thought. He had a suspicion that the guard wouldn't let them enter unless he knew what it was. After a few moments of deep thought, he shook his head. "Sorry, I don't. If it's something local, I wouldn't have a clue. Like he said," He bumped his head upward but never took his eyes from Kiln, "I'm not from Orengard."

The second again, now cackling. "What did I tell you, Kiln? I can call them a mile away!"

The first, with a hand on his forehead. "Just shut up, Loki."

Kiln's face softened, and he tapped his spear twice against the wall. "Open up!"

The two above disappeared into the watch house. A few moments later came the whine of rusty metal rubbing together and old cogs turning. The great iron door opened an inch, then a foot, then enough to walk through. The cranking of machines went on, and Loki yelled some inaudible blasphemy in the process.

Two

With the door opened, the true city was in view. The houses were no different than those of Fenril, except these were much closer together and far more in number. The turrets they had seen were a part of a castle a mile into the city. Its wings were hidden from view by the homes, but judging the distance helped to approximate the size. By comparison this was a king's castle, and Felix's was a humble mountain cottage.

They entered, the door shutting behind them. The river was given its own channel in the center of the city, dozens of bridges crossing it. People crowded the streets and bustled about, chattering and bumping into one another. The smell of baked goods was stronger now, and Artemis observed a number of pastries cooling on second floor windowsills. His stomach jumped to his chest as he watched a man eating a cinnamon roll on a house stoop, and he knew the girl would be hungry as well.

They wandered the streets of Bluehold most of that afternoon. There had been a hundred things, he thought, that caused his stomach to grow impatient. It seemed that a bakery or restaurant was on every street, as if Bluehold rested on an endless deposit of sugar and livestock. The bellies of the citizens reflected this truth and were well rounded. To them Artemis and the girl were gaunt.

Then the familiar bang of a hammer on iron bounced down a street to Artemis's ears. He walked to the source of the hammering with the girl and was not surprised to find a blacksmith working at his shop. The man was about the age Artemis had been a few weeks ago and was working on a multitude of projects. His apron bulged out from the paunch stomach underneath, and his brown beard hid a second chin. Despite how strong his arms were from smithing, they still jiggled a bit from the hanging lard.

The man looked up from his anvil at the two window shoppers and rested his tireless arms. "Another one, eh?" He stared Artemis up and down, grinning all the while. "I can have you whatever weapon or armor you need in three days. What'll it be?"

Artemis looked at the steel of his right arm. "I don't need anything now." He thought of the broken shield in his backpack. "You seem busy though." There was nothing in particular that stood out about the man Artemis was talking to. But the sense of occupational comradery kept him from walking away.

"Well, you know how it is now."

"Yeah." But Artemis did not know.

"So did you get that armor from Ingvir? It looks like his work."

Artemis rapped his chest plate with a fist, smiled, and shook his head. "No, I made it myself." And then a plan began to formulate in his mind, so he went on, hoping it would unroll. "But we're just visiting Bluehold for a short. And then we'll be off. You wouldn't happen to know of someplace I can earn some coin while we stay, would you?"

The man pointed one muscular yet flabby arm down the street but quickly pulled it down. "Why," He said, "I'd be happy to hire your help, if that's the kind of work you're capable of." He smiled, and despite all the sugary food he must have eaten, his teeth were white and straight. "Help a fellow blacksmith out, during these busy times, eh?"

Three

Artemis spent that night helping the Bluehold blacksmith, whose name was Anders. The reward for those few hours of work was two pieces of silver, the amount Artemis made on a full busy day. It would be enough to lodge and to eat, under normal circumstances. He knew that he had been gouged in Fenril.

Anders put his tools away and shook Artemis's hand. "Come back to tomorrow for a whole day, and I'll pay you a gold piece. I need all the help I can get."

Artemis gathered up his armor and packed it away. Then before waking the girl from her resting place behind the forge, he asked, "Why are you so filled with orders? I can see this is a large place, but you act as though things have been ramped up lately."

"You mean you aren't involved?" Anders had an expression on his face which could either have been disbelief or constipation, but it was probably disbelief.

"No?"

"Oh, you would know for certain if you were." His expression of flabbergast dissipated. "We blacksmiths have been worked to the bone for the last couple of months, but by Grendel is it lucrative for us." He pretended to scratch his nose, but in truth he was picking at it. "That Icarus fellow is getting more wily by the day, so we're fortifying down here and well, everywhere. I guess his fortifications are like a pea compared to Bluehold, but I also hear that he is ruthless and unmatched in battle."

The idea that Felix was causing such distress across the country bothered Artemis on a personal level, which he hid from Anders. "I've heard of him. Is he really putting people on edge here? Isn't he up by Jakul?"

"In Leo's old castle, to be more specific. Yes and Yes." Anders hung his apron on a hook and stopped digging at his nose. "But like I said, nothing to worry about. Bluehold has never been overcome, and it certainly won't be by some rogue tyrant like him." But Artemis thought there was a whisper of doubt in Anders's voice.

Four

They ate cinnamon rolls much like the one the man on the steps had eaten earlier and reserved an inn room. Artemis instructed the innkeeper to keep the room from being reserved.

Artemis continued helping Anders, and the girl continued to linger around the forge. She would go out only to buy pastries for the two blacksmiths. Artemis told her that she was old enough to walk off during the day, but she seemed content not to. And of course, business was booming.

"You've got a fine daughter." Anders remarked one day. "You did a fine job raising her."

"Thank you."

"But she doesn't look like you one bit, why I'd say Icarus looks more like you based on the posters I've seen." Anders chuckled and slapped Artemis's back. This was while the girl was on one of her food runs.

"Well, she's not really my daughter, though I think of her as one." He wanted to be as far from the Icarus remark as he could be.

"Did you buy her?"

"Adopted." Without any hesitation. And they returned to forging.

Five

Having been in Bluehold for two weeks, Artemis decided to take the girl around the city the second Fairday he had off. They woke up early that day. He slept on the floor and she on the uncomfortable bed. Under the bed was his armor and sword tied up in an overstretched bag. He had slept once again without nightmares and could recall faint hints of a pleasant dream, but soon it would be too hazy to remember whatsoever.

As was routine, Artemis lifted himself from the wooden boards with pain radiating through his back, thighs, and upper arms. She jumped from the bed like a young sprite, whatever aches she could have had the day before did not follow her through the night. And as usual, that twinge of jealousy touched him for but a moment and was gone. He left the room and allowed her to change into fresh clothes. When she came into the hall, he did the same. Artemis locked the room's door with a brass key and let it slide to the bottom of a pocket.

They ate buttered rolls at one of Bluehold's thousand or so bakeries. This one happened to be across from the inn. They drank coffee, Artemis's black and hers almost as white as the cream she put in. He wondered if she had ever drank coffee before and started to regret his decision of giving it to her.

They stood before the castle, a fantastical achievement of stonemasons and architects. In the warm sunlight of mid spring, the stones of the fortress seemed to shine. Despite being called Bluehold, the castle's mammoth walls had been painted a faint violet. Artemis thought it was too feminine, but the girl was mesmerized.

From their vantage point on the outside, the palace seemed to be built for giants. Colossal turrets with coin slot windows spiraled up from the wings. A cathedral with stained glass at every chance and its own gate stood apart from the rest and was the only part the public had access to. At the peak of The House of Martyr Ulfgar was a bell tower that rang three times at noon daily and would be used if ever there were an emergency.

The door of the antechamber was doubled and stood forty feet high by itself. Over this was an arch made of two warrior statues, each holding a stone sword over the entrance that met in the center. The door itself was black iron and was patterned with meaningless, but gaudy, calligraphy of the same color as the stonework. The roof went up a hundred feet higher than the door and stopped just short of the height of the spires. A circular stained glass window was just below the pinnacle of this roof where the two sides formed a sharp peak. Overlapping segments of the roof cascaded along the wings and all their many rooms. It stood as if it were an immovable manmade mountain and ran the length of the half mile wall and challenged the hills of the valley.

One of the guards began staring at Artemis and the girl. A boy wheeled a cart by that had been filled with sacks of flour and sugar, neither of which could be farmed over the northern hill in the desert. Behind them a tile slid from a roof and shattered on the stone sidewalk, sending shards and ceramic powder in every direction. And they continued to explore.

They visited the eastern wall where the river ran into the city. A gate just like the western one allowed the water to flow under the massive wall. Here the water was clear and free of debris. They watched the water flood in and swirl around the iron bars, forming short lived whirlpools of foamy water. A man on the other side of river dumped a bag of rotten carrots into the water, and it was swept away to be someone else's problem.

Just then a piece of white paper floated in from upstream. It was swept into the stone bank of the river under Artemis's feet, where it clung. Artemis bent down to grab it, never thinking of it to be important, until he opened up the ruined parchment and read the words left on it. The girl went on admiring the river and never noticed the sickness on Artemis's face, the discoloration of complete surprise and dread. He read the paper, trying not to whip his head back and forth.

Did you think you could hide from me? Did you truly believe that you could take her away, and I wouldn't find out? Your arrogance is matched only by your foolishness, old man. You cannot run from me, hide from me, or hope to defeat me. I advise that you leave the girl unattended outside the city wall one night in the next three days, or I will take her back by force.

Oh, and that whore in the woods got what she deserved. Same for that possessed boy.

Lord Icarus

Artemis was about to crumple the paper and drop it into the river but folded it and slipped it in with the key. The girl looked up at him and smiled, and he returned the gesture. He patted her head, as they walked over a bridge to the side where the man with the carrots had been. Halfway across the bridge Artemis glanced over his shoulder and observed all the pedestrians he could see. Recognizing none, he sighed and they moved on.

Six

They came to a candle shop that caught the girl's gaze. Seeing her interest, Artemis bent down and asked her, "Would you like to go inside?"

She neither spoke nor nodded, but she smiled and glanced away from the blacksmith.

"After you." He said and opened the door.

Artemis had thought the violet of the castle had been feminine, but once in here he had to reconsider that. If it didn't smell like vanilla, then it was pumpkin. And if not that, then lavender or cinnamon. He had never even experienced any of these scents in his time, but now he had a sensory overload of it. And despite his outward puffed chest, he had to admit on the inside that the place had a pleasant odor and a soft atmosphere.

Behind a sandy colored counter that was draped in frilly skirts and adorned with unlit wax was a truly aged man. His only remaining hair was a willowy white tuft on his neck and a forest in his nose and both ears. His skin was loose and marred by liver spots. His thin hands were resting on the counter, the veins within showing. He wore half framed glasses that rested so low on his nose it was a wonder that they still helped. He smiled at the two, the wrinkles of his sagging face running together and pushing out.

After a few moments, Artemis looked down at the top of the girl's head, which remained in place. "Do you see anything you want?"

The girl shook her head.

"Well, look around anyway. Maybe you'll see something you like." He gave her a gentle push, and she began looking at the merchandise. Artemis thought back to when his sons had all been children. He had taken them to a candy store in Garn in celebration of Geoff and Cedric's birthday, and they had the same look of wonder on their faces then as the girl did now. The memory made him wince.

"I think you might like the tropic candles." The old man said in a jovial but strained voice. He pointed with an arthritic finger at a wall covered in colorful candles that appeared to be candy. "They're new from a trade route we made with Ruaza." His voice and appearance were old and weary, yet jolly and brimming with good spirits. He was the perfect image of a grandfather.

She never picked one out, even though Artemis told her repeatedly that he would buy her one. Since she spent the longest time staring at one that smelled like a cinnamon factory, he walked it to the old man and paid for it. Nothing in particular stood out about this candle other than its overpowering aroma, and that seemed to affect its price.

Seven

They walked back to the inn. The girl skipped the entire way, while Artemis carried the candle in a little paper bag and glanced about whenever he had a chance. It was late afternoon by this point, but Artemis felt as though there was a darkness looming just outside the walls. And he thought the darkness had a name.

He opened their room's door and half expected to see Felix on the other side. But the room was empty of life and untouched from that morning. The girl jumped onto the bed, and Artemis thought he heard her giggle.

That night she sleeps soundly, but he remains awake. Propped against a wall, Artemis holds out his sword and flinches at every disturbance. Shadows passed under the doorframe, and he readies himself only to have the shadows move on. The sound of breathing in other rooms becomes apparent to him, and he tries to hear their voices. Always expecting to have the door in front of him battered open, his muscles tighten and he remains awake.

But when the sun crested over the walls of Bluehold, the inn door remained whole. Artemis's eyes felt as though he had been in a brawl all night in which he wasn't allowed to defend himself. The girl began to stir with her usual energy, but Artemis felt no envy. He had done this to himself, and his body would pay for it as it always had before.

Cement in his knees made Artemis wobble down the street more than walk. There was an urge inside of him to lie down in an alley and doze, but as enticing as that was it was also ridiculous. By not resting his body was in shambles, every joint scraping together in stiff refusal. Every step sent pain into his knees and hips, making him believe this was somehow the oldest he'd ever been when he was still in prime years. A second wind would come, he knew, but the whiplash of a later crash would be insurmountable.

Anders, an ever observant man, took a short glance at Artemis. "Well, Art, you look tired today." He was equipping his heavy apron and finding the back ties a bit hard to cinch. He grunted, ignoring the fat that wanted to prevent the knotting. "For me, it's too many cakes and beers at the end of the day. Your version of that is five feet tall and inedible, I'm afraid." He exhaled and finished tying. "Of course yours won't keep your pants from fitting."

Artemis chuckled. To him Anders was a fellow blacksmith and a friend that he respected. But behind the surface, Artemis disliked his fellow worker's upbeat attitude. The cheery, jolly quality of Bluehold's citizens was pleasant, but Artemis thought it was a poison. He thought it was complacence, the proud's bane. As Artemis watched the flush skin of Anders's face spread in a dopey smile, he realized just what the people of Bluehold were. Behind their impregnable wall and reserves of food, they were sheep.

"I need a favor." Artemis said, trying to cast away his doubt in the citizens.

"I suppose I owe you one."

The speed in which Anders replied made Artemis feel a cloud of guilt rise in the back of his mind. "I need to leave her here while I run an errand. I should return before noonday."

"Is that all?" His back was turned to the two while he unlocked his toolbox, his voice bouncing from every facet of the forge.

The girl tugged at Artemis's shirt with a begging stare he remembered far too well. To the girl, "Stay here with Anders. Bring him one of those rolls he likes, if you want. I'll come back." Her face changed to a calmer one, but he recognized it as distrustful acceptance. It would do.

Eight

His energy returned as he neared the castle gate. It would dissipate and leave him shriveled by nightfall, but for now the mechanics of his body ran smoothly, blissfully ignoring its inner alarms of depleted strength. The tenderness under his eyes faded away to a light irritation. The second wind had begun, and he would ride it as long as he could.

The guard that had taken to staring the day before stood at the gate. The setup was identical to the one outside the city with two more stationed in the castle's own wall, but these seemed better disciplined by leagues. As Artemis walked up to the stern faced soldier, the man looked away as if ashamed to have been staring the day before. He beat the handle of his spear on the stone floor and did all in his power to send Artemis a piercing gaze. He stepped forward, as if trying to imply he was about to rush ahead and tackle the blacksmith. "Stop! Castle Bluehold is off limits to citizens. Turn back now or be thrown into the dungeon!"

This was, to Artemis, a stark contrast to the usual wave of good spirit that seemed rampant in Bluehold. "I need to talk to . . ." He paused, unsure of who he needed to speak to. ". . . the king? Or whoever is the ruler of this city." Artemis reached into his pocket and withdrew the paper. "I believe this proves Icarus is planning an attack in the next few days."

"Give me that!" Although he requested it, the guard snatched the note from Artemis before the blacksmith had a chance to give it. He squinted at the paper as if reading were a challenging task. If he didn't wear a frown before taking the note, he did now. He tapped the head of his spear against the floor twice. "Open the gate! Then keep it shut until we return." This time his gaze was piercing. "Follow me, and don't try anything."

Nine

From the inside of the castle wall, Bluehold seemed to be more mountain than ever. In courtyards not unlike those of Leo's castle, hedges were trimmed into an array of animals and fruits that Artemis had never seen. The thin clouds which flowed overhead gave Bluehold the look of toppling over, as if it were moving and not the clouds.

The black door is before them, and the guard strikes it twice. It opens, releasing the scent of fragrant oils and foods as it does. The room inside is cavernous. Marble pillars bridge the gap from floor to ceiling, a silver speckling coating each. A red carpet runs from the entrance to the back of the room where it splits into two staircases to the left and right, which curve toward some room above. An unlit candelabra droops from the high ceiling adorned with gold stems and a silver chain to hang from. Humble round headed wooden doors are at the sides, leading to the wings. Silver sconces hang on the marble columns, gleaming in the light of the room.

The guard brought Artemis to the stairs at the end of the room and up the left set, though the choice was irrelevant. Both sets of steps led into a ballroom with a myriad of unused light fixtures and offset doors leading to privies. A blue rug covered this room's floor and was trimmed with golden frills. Murals on the walls depicted lighthearted events performed by caricature characters, from children running around a maypole to a king laughing as he spilled his wine. From the ceiling hung thousands of colored glass orbs on little shining chains.

Ten

Before Artemis could enjoy the room, the guard led him further up the steps into yet another expansive chamber. This one's walls were lined by stiff shouldered knights wielding swords and shields. At the end of this room, which faced the front of the castle, was the circular segment of stained glass Artemis had seen before. The carpet here was a brilliant golden color and was complemented by golden sconces and two golden thrones before the stained glass. Sitting in the left throne was a short chubby man wearing an expensive, but quite cheesy, blonde wig. Sitting next to him was a slender woman almost double his height, who liked to wear her brown hair with white streaks.

"And so," Said the short man to the tall woman, "I told him to just put another lump of sugar in it." He slapped his knees and cut off his own wind with his chuckling, so much so that he struck up a few hiccups before quieting.

The woman smiled falsely, as she had heard his jokes many times over throughout the centuries. She was the first of the two to regard the blacksmith and the gateman but waited for her husband to acknowledge them. To her it was a fun game to gauge how unaware he was by how long it would take him to react.

One of the knights lining the wall coughed, and the gateman appeared indignant for it. The short wigged man looked away from the woman that was already gazing upon the visitors and pretended as if they had only just arrived. "What's this then, eh?" As if realizing how fake his hair was, he readjusted it in the guise of scratching his scalp.

The gateman kneeled and pulled Artemis down with him. "Sire," He said, "this man claims to possess information that could help us brace against the Icarus threat."

"Well, stand up! I can hardly hear ya." His smooth oily face folded from his toothy smile, and he looked more like a pug than a man. His wife went on staring at the newcomers in her knowing way.

Artemis stood and looked over his shoulder at the continuing staircase. There was more above, but he dismissed it for now. The guard handed back the note, Artemis stepped forward, and the knights tensed and blocked him from the king. One of them took the note and walked it to the short bald man, keeping the blacksmith away. "Icarus plans to take someone from the city by force." He said this as vaguely as possible. He did not want them to know the note was for him. "The note could be a day old already or more"

The note was in the king's hands. He squinted his eyes and turned it over and over. Then he held it to the light coming through from outside, but still he made no reaction. He placed a doughy hand to his forehead and sat back down in his chair, panting.

"Give him some sweetened tea." Said the queen to no one in particular. An attendant rushed from the room, being seen by Artemis for the first time, and returned moments later with a sliver cart with a white porcelain pitcher on top. A hot liquid was poured from the pitcher into a silver mug. Artemis assumed this was the tea, although he had never known of such a beverage beforehand.

The gasping man sipped at the earth colored drink, his hands shaking at first. After a few minutes in which the queen appeared more impatient, the king set down the mug on the cart's upper tray and breathed a sigh of relief. "There was a spell." He said, and the queen rolled her eyes.

Eleven

Outside the city to the north, just over the steep hill and before the desert, Felix stood with a legion of warriors. His three most trusted allies stood with him, his love Ophelia the War Maiden, his tactician Mars the Warbringer, and Gunther the Red Savage as most called him. War machines were rolling in on the hardpan pulled by horses and oxen. Most of these were catapults, but there were also large stones on rollers meant for downhill combat.

"What do you think he'll do?" Mars asked Felix from the other side of a temporary wooden table.

"I doubt he'll leave the girl to us now, so we won't worry about it." Felix looked up from a map that had been marked with execution plans and to his second. "He'll scurry out once the blaze gets going, and we'll snag him after we take the city. But no hurry."

Ophelia stood next to Felix and stared at the side of his winged helmet from under her own helm. "How did you know he wasn't on his way to Hado like you said before? You never did explain that."

Under his visor Felix was grinning. "Remember the two in the cabin?" He waited for her to nod. "The boy was still learning how to control his voice. If he hadn't spoken up, I would never have known he had been possessed." He returned her gaze and looked through the narrow slat separating her eyes from the outside world. "I also found a pair of chains in their bedroom when we returned."

Gunther began laughing and slobbering at this. Above that he began humping the table and groaning, which he stopped doing only after Mars struck him on the nose and scolded him like a dog.

Felix sighed. "We'll cover the rocks in pitch and set them on fire. The stones won't burn, but most of those houses have thatched roofs and soft insides." He slid a finger over the map, showing where to position the catapults and where to aim them. "Try and spare the castle. It rather suits my large personality, and I'd like it to go undamaged if possible. But don't hesitate to take it down if it comes to that."

"The fat and blind." Mars crowed. "We should also pay attention to the cathedral. They'll use it as a shelter. And remember not to try the gates; they'll just cover us in burning oil if we do. Follow the boulders through the wall itself. They've been asleep for a good while and believe that wall keeps them safe. We'll play on that ignorance."

"Gunther." Felix said and the wild man perked up dumbly. "You and a contingent will take care of the lower quarters, the citizens and the foot soldiers. Get your job done, and then you may do as you please for a time." Gunther drooled and nodded. "Ophelia, I want you to take care of stragglers and search the houses. Just in case the girl is still in the city, and I'll have help to aid you." Back to Gunther. "And if YOU see the girl, you are not to harm her in any way. Any others are fine, but not her."

Mars waved a hand over the castle's place on the map and glanced at the black knight momentarily. "Then that leaves us to take care of the knights, the pawns, and the king."

"Tonight."

Twelve

"Ludicrous!" Said the roly-poly king in his loudest voice as if trying to somehow increase his stature. "That this bandit should be so bold." He snorted, and the queen winced in disgust. "Hmph, the audacity! The . . . the . . . ." He sat down, out of breath and weak kneed. The attendant offered him more tea, but he brushed it away. "It's just so silly."

"Your grace," Said the gateman while taking glances at Artemis, "shouldn't we find the target of this note? Perhaps if we turn him over, we can avoid conflict."

The king flapped his lips with a finger, forgetting that he was in the presence of others. "If the note is even true. But no," Coming out of his daze, "if my citizens are not safe here, they aren't safe anywhere. Icarus is as threatening to us as a legion of lemmings." He ran his fingers over the precipice of his throne's armrest. He turned to one of the two closest knights. The one his attention was upon wore a purple cape over his armor, the only in the room with such a novelty. "Double the guard these next few days, in case." The king's face contorted as if he were swishing mouthwash. "Tell them they'll be paid double."

"But—"

"Enough. We will not negotiate with brigands such as his ilk. Besides," He yawned, "Icarus would come here eventually. Hopefully it is now, while he is still impotent. Now be off, I've more jokes to tell." And the queen an expression of someone who had been shot in the stomach.

The gateman shoved Artemis to the ground as soon as they were off the castle grounds. "Whether or not Icarus would come here in time of his own accord, if people get hurt in the coming days from him," In his fluster he had to pause a moment, "the blood will be on your hands!"

Thirteen

Artemis returned to Anders and the girl. Neither of them noticed his arrival. Artemis began making what was on Anders's order list that was not in progress yet. And the day went on as usual.

That night he fell into a deep sleep, though he wanted to stay vigilant. In a dream, he was in Har again. He laid on the cold, moist earth about twenty yards away from the spring he and Dral had drank from. It was night but unnaturally dark. He could not see the sky above, nor could he see in any direction farther than that of the spring.

Then in the direction of Garn, he heard wailing and swift moving footsteps. Artemis rose to his feet and ran toward Drath. The spring faded away into darkness, as the path ahead became visible. There was no source for the insignificant light, but he didn't care to think about that. His pursuers gained on him, and he realized his fleeing was futile.

He stopped to face whatever things followed him. A mist floated inches from the needle bedded forest floor, producing an unseasonal chill around his ankles. The bark of the trees darkened as if dying, and their branches twisted into hideous faces. He no longer thought this was Har, but some accursed wood on the outset of Dystopia, which would be more accurate.

From the darkness, slowing to ensure Artemis would feel the full effect of its presence, came a tall figure cloaked in a tattered hooded robe of impossibly dark color. To the left and right of this newcomer were two more on each side. These Artemis recognized as Felix and Mars to the left, and the female knight and highwayman on the right. Behind the cloaked figure Cancer crawled on the ground and babbled some nonsense.

The hooded one revealed his hands, which were fleshless and bloodstained, and drew back his hood. Artemis recoiled at the thing's face, for it was his. The cloaked doppelgänger reached behind its head and pulled the skin of its neck, tearing the mask of Artemis's face free. It dropped the useless skin to the ground, where it began to rot. Cancer lunged forward and ate with the worms that infested it.

Behind this mask was a red skull. Cracks ran along the temple, while the jaw was chipped. The teeth within had no gums to attach to, but remained all the same though badly decayed. Black spiders crawled from its nasal cavity, and centipedes welled up from its neck. The eye sockets were hollow, but the pinhole within each emanated the thing's very being. The robes fluttered about not from wind, but from its own weightlessness. The material of it was no fabric, but the pure essence of miasma. It pulled an hourglass from what must have been its ribcage. The falling grains of sand were silver in this false light, and a blue ghost flame sat atop the time tool's head. The top chamber had only a few grains left, which sent dread into Artemis's heart.

Artemis put his hands to his face and withdrew them in pain. Blood coated his hands, and he watched blood drip from his chin into the mist below. His face had been torn off.

The skeleton opened its mouth, revealing a green worm with a forked head that served as a tongue. It had no throat, but a dark smoke poured from its jaw and sent the centipedes and spiders into a frenzy. The eye sockets somehow seemed to point at the blacksmith, eyeless as they were. As the last grain of sand fell to the bottom chamber, the blue flame died and the forest came to life with serpents, scorpions, spiders, and all other messengers of death. As these things converged on Artemis, falling from trees and rising up from the earth, the skeleton in the cloak of death spoke with the voice of all suffering "I can never be escaped."

Fourteen

He woke to the crashing of the bakery across the street. In his state, he thought it was the candle falling from the nightstand and closed his eyes again. Another thunderous crash, this one rattling the inn and waking the girl. He sat up, the blood rushing to his head in pain. Artemis walked to the triangular window, stepping over its broken glass as he did, and looked out onto the burning street.

The city might have smelled sweet with all the melting sugars and crackling cinnamon, but mixed with the roofs' tar the odor was choking. The smoke was thick, and indistinct figures ran through it in panic. There was screaming and crying, not all from adults. The sounds of fireballs smashing into buildings was horrifying. Every time a structure collapsed, it would be met with a tide of bellows and wails. The ground shook as the northern wall gave to a rolling boulder. Then the sound of clashing blades and cheers rose.

He equips his sword and boots and grabs the sack of armor and clothes, not having time to suit up. He herds the girl from the room the instant her own feet are covered and down into the lobby, where a panicked innkeeper is babbling about raising fees. The door leading outside is ajar and as they pass through it, a flaming projectile crashes into the inn, going through to the base and crushing the innkeeper. A great blaze follows this, and Artemis pulls the girl down the street to the west.

He catches glimpses of the river, which is now crimson in color and riddled with corpses that writhe and splash against the current. Behind them a bakery folds over and blocks the street, the stretching of its wooden support beams bursting like card decks. Someone screams for help, but Artemis cannot hear them in his focus. Another glimpse of the river through an alley reveals enflamed citizens plunging into the filthy water.

They pass a man huddled under an overturned cart, the smoke weakening as they go west. It isn't until now that Artemis realizes who is attacking the city. To that point he had been in survival mode and not had time to consider, but as the choking, burning sensation of his throat lessens, he knows. This makes him run faster even with his burden, while the girl keeps pace.

A hot tile slides from a roof and strikes the side of his face, cauterizing and slicing in one action. He never feels it and won't notice the scarring wound until later, adrenaline blocking all ill feelings. Glass is blown from windows, as infernal flames gush out. Orange light reflects from the thousands of glass shards on the stone, as they crunch under feet.

By some grace, the western gate is open enough to fit through. Artemis and the girl squeeze through, and he drags his supply bag, ripping the straps a bit. The guard outside and the ones above are not to be seen, but they keep running along the river. The gate barring passage through the waterway is clogged with dead bodies and debris, forming a macabre filter.

The outside is peaceful, as if nothing in the whole world could ever be wrong. But the raucous of Bluehold echoes over the not so impenetrable walls and washes along the river. Pieces of bloody cloth float downstream faster than the two can run, some smoldering still.

Fifteen

They had to tear down the castle gate and burn the cathedral, but otherwise Bluehold Castle was unblemished as Felix had desired. The firelight of surrounding homes made the glossy violet paint reflect white apples. The rune layered iron door stood agape, showing refugees waddling back and forth within or lying injured upon the floor.

Felix turned to the left and right, smiling at the hedges that seemed so similar. Mars stood behind him, and behind Mars was half a hundred of their best soldiers all strung up on the heat of battle.

The fat, penguin of a king came to gap in the door as if queued to do so. His hands were behind his back, and he wore a pygmy's set of gold colored armor. The blonde wig was replaced by a short red one, as if to reflect fury. His uncovered face was glazed in sweat and was flush. He opened his mouth.

Felix did not give the man time to speak. He raised his left hand and shot it forward. An archer took aim and let loose an arrow which pierced the king's right eye. The little golden clad man fell and disappeared from within his armor. The poisoned dagger behind his back bounced against the stone floor below, a valiant though failed effort.

Knights marched from the castle, some taken down by archers. Felix charged forward, his armor like a second skin, and began killing as he always had. His sword swung harder and faster than the rest, and his weaknesses were never found. The knights vanished one by one, leaving only the husks of their armor as evidence they ever existed. The warriors joined in and lost few, leaving those same lifeless shells behind when they did. In thirty seconds, the castle's defenses were dead.

Felix whiffed the air on the inside of the castle as if he was absorbing the fragrance of a field of roses. The obese citizens trembled at his sight and the sight of his soldiers. Two dozen warriors split from Felix and went to search the two wings. Felix, Mars, and the rest walked up to the empty ballroom and then to the throne room. Every inch of the view satisfied Felix, and he became euphoric by the time he saw the queen.

She sat in her throne unattended. The flickering lights of the sconces cast sharp shadows on her face, making her look even more slender. She looked at her adversary and raised her still colored eyebrows. Her gaunt frame hardly seemed able to hold up her dress, but she made no signs of fear or even of the slightest concern.

Felix looked at the unattractive woman across the room then to Mars. "Take her captive. Maybe Gunther will like her."

"You're too kind, sir." Mars's voice was dry but happy.

"I can be, can't I?" Felix glanced from his visor at the queen, who now showed an uneasiness add to her sharp features. He walked up the final flight alone, laughing on the inside and celebrating already. His head rose over the floor of the final room. There was a thin layer of dust at eye level. All the light of this room was gathered at the far end and being produced by half a dozen candles along the wall. A man in a gray robe kneeled between the candles and stared at the wall beyond, or perhaps he was praying.

"Will your hunger ever be satisfied?" Asked the robed man in an old, whispering voice coated with sorrow. "Shall your greed ever be quelled, your desires ever reached? Or will you find this world lacking?"

Felix moved closer to the old man. Over his head the ceiling sloped on both sides to a point in which a head could not fit. His serrated sword was drawn and held out as he stepped over ancient plates and solidified puddles of wax. His feet left prints in the soft wax, and he disturbed dust which had known peace for an age. He stopped for only a moment. "I shall wipe out all the corruption, and all shall live eternally." He would have said more, but the unresponsive old man cast a sense of foolish romanticism on Felix. He stood behind the old man, as the man rose up and faced Felix.

The man's white hair was thin, but his face was young and full of life. His mouth broadened in a grandfatherly smile that seemed to be a citywide trade. "I know the truth." He said, as Felix plunged the sword into the man's chest.

The man neither vanished nor writhed. He died and was still, which put a quizzical look onto the black knight's armored face. Felix dropped the ragdoll body to the floor for someone else to deal with. Ulfgar had been the real power behind Bluehold for some time. The imbeciles that acted as rulers were a convenient front, but now all were deposed and the city was his.

# Ruaza

One

Both Artemis and the girl were gasping, but they did not slow. He wanted to be at the edge of the world before stopping, and if it weren't for their physical bodies, he would have. The river was below them now by a few yards and was clearing, either from a dying battle or from a thickened filter of bodies. Looking back, he could still see the rising smoke and light of fire bouncing from the clouds. But the screams and crashes no longer reached their ears, and that was consolation enough for now.

They walked when they could no longer run, until late morning before pausing for a break. Both were tired and drenched in sweat, but neither was willing to drink from the river. How far west they had traveled, Artemis was unsure. He sat down on a smooth rock beside the river, the sheath of his sword scraping against it. The girl sat on a stone across from Artemis, faced him and yawned silently,

They were in a canyon like the one they had seen after escaping the snakes. This one's sculptor still ran, and that was the only real difference. The river was quiet here, almost inaudible, and flowed along the floor as smooth as glass. The air was dead and stale and somehow dry beside the water. Maybe a bit farther up, they would feel comfortable drinking the water.

Artemis equipped his armor and tumbled off his rock and dozed. The clanging of the steel against the rough canyon stone was like that of hammering and a grinding wheel. The sound echoed through the canyon for none to hear but a few mice and some lizards. He slept peacefully, which also meant dreamlessly. When he awoke, the girl had gathered up a pile of flower petals, which she laid on the flat of a smooth, clean boulder.

He had begun to feel naked in Bluehold without his armor, but now that he was in it he remembered how much heat it locked in. It was in this moment that Artemis thought the shoes he had promised Torin might take even longer than he guessed, an odd thought for an odd moment. The girl began chewing on the petals and looking for approval from the blacksmith. He took a few of the petals and, unable to decide on whether or not they were edible, began eating them as well. After all, they had to.

Two

One of Dral's relatives, a druid, had told him that flower petals were sweeter than honey. Now Artemis knew he had been lied to the way a child is lied to about the Boogeyman and Haloman (although he was beginning to wonder about that Boogeyman). They were bitter and left an aftertaste to rival, but they didn't seem to be poisonous. For survival, they were good enough.

"Where did you get these?" He asked.

She pointed further into the canyon.

"Well," He was trying to keep his face from imploding as he finished the last of his rations, "we need to go that way anyhow."

Beyond that it was a walk along the glassy river. At times the bank was narrow against the wall and they had to sidle to get through, but even that was not so difficult and only had to be done a few times. For the most part it was a steady movement, except for the uneven rubble, but that only troubled Artemis and his stiff steel boots.

Beyond the canyon, which had been long and winding, was a grassland fueled by the now opened up water. There were little shrubby trees here and there in the plain, and further ahead was the outline of buildings. It was late afternoon now, and the setting sun gave the little prairie a kind of sepia tone ambience that reminded Artemis of the day he and the girl had eaten behind his house. And on the inside he laughed, because the ups and downs of life had come as expected, and here was another beautiful, bitter sweet moment.

They camped in the grass that night. He made sure as best he could that a fire would not set the whole plain ablaze by forming a crude fire pit with stones. They were both hungry that night, but they were also alive.

The next morning they walked to buildings that had been in the distance. The place turned out to be a little village named Tilla. It was the first settlement on the other side of the border between Orengard and Ruaza, but Artemis did not know that until later. The houses were simple and by no means seemed to be made of stone. They were white and appeared to be made of bound sand. The roofs were tiled with reddish orange curved ceramic that looked as slick as wet ice. And despite the flowing river nearby and the grass, there was a distinct grit that seemed to cover everything and wedge itself into every crevice.

A white church, same as the houses, stood at the northern edge of the village where it loomed with a humble but reverent belfry. People marched the dirt streets, most of them chicken farmers, in the casual fog of morning drowsiness. They wore straw hats, dirty white shirts, and bib overalls. Strands of black hair drooped out from under their headwear for most, but some were also gray.

Artemis walked up to a woman who was filling a pitcher with water from a well. She didn't notice him at first, or perhaps she didn't care. Either way she kept filling the pitcher with repeated dunkings of the little bucket.

"Excuse me, miss." Artemis said.

She looked at him and the girl. Her eyes were like almonds, brown and hard. But she refused to speak until her business with the pitcher was finished. "Welcome to Tilla." She said with rolled Ls. Later Artemis would discover that this was called an accent, for now though, it was just a strange way of talking. "You don't need to participate but please be silent during." And with that she took her pitcher and walked toward the church.

Artemis didn't know if she was being rude, or if he was. But thoughts of etiquette were unimportant at the moment. What mattered far more was getting water out of that well to drink, and so they did.

Three

As he drank his share from a ladle and passed it to the girl, the church bell chimed. The clanging of it was not unlike the one which went off so furiously the night before, but Artemis had been on an adrenaline rush for the last and never noticed. The bell's ringing cut through the chicken farmers and all those still inside. Doors opened and pitchforks were thrown down, as every citizen in the little village wandered up to the little church and disappeared within.

There hadn't been much of a bustle, but now there was a dead silence. Not that he should care, but this was all peculiar to him. He didn't trust it, but he would be quiet for now as he had been asked to be.

An hour passed, and the people were released from their holy house. Back to the chickens and back to the pantries they went just as they had come. Artemis and the girl, though still quite hungry, felt rejuvenated. His curiosity peaked, and his legs began moving him toward the church.

The girl followed timidly as if the straw hatted chicken farmers might mistake her for poultry and throw her into their flocks. Compared to the village houses, the church was clean like the grit was repelled by it. Artemis approached with the girl on his heels, observing the thick board door of the church which still hung open. The woman at the well came out a moment later with an empty pitcher in hand.

He walked into the sanctuary. The smell of incense was strong here and reminded him of the candle. The walls bore no murals or religious symbols, which made Artemis even more suspicious. Rows of uncomfortable looking benches ended before a block shaped pulpit. Behind the sanctified podium was another bent over chicken farmer, although he was dressed more formally than the rest. A black poncho and clean hair were part of his features, but in that environment he was overheated and coping with it.

The man in the poncho righted himself and looked at the knight. A smile stretched the tanned leather that was his face. He shared the same eyes as the woman at the well, but his seemed sharper somehow as if the almonds were really stones. "All are welcome!" He said and opened his arms, making the folds of his poncho square him into a second pulpit.

Artemis nodded and removed his helmet. The girl revealed herself and took a seat in one of the wooden pews, awaiting a sermon or for Artemis to leave. "Hey." Artemis said and continued to inspect his surroundings.

"Have you come for the teachings of Jaren Feliz?"

"No." Artemis replied. "But who is that to begin with?"

Under the sunbaked flesh of the man's face came a blush. "That would be me. I've been teaching happiness for afterlifes for thousands of years. Your young friend has yet to come to a second life, I'm sure. But you look like you've been seasoned at least a few times."

If Artemis had been curious before, he was bursting with fascination now. And even though he tended to hate religious jargon from ancient blowhards, he wanted to hear this Jaren out. So he sat down, like any pious pilgrim would, and rolled his wrist. "Teach me, if you can."

This lit a match under Jaren's poncho, and he gripped the pulpit with dry but strong hands. A breeze closed the door, but Jaren did not pretend for even a second that it closed by his will, which encouraged Artemis. He coughed and began to preach. "I have plenty to say, but since you look like a passerby, I'll just stick to the core." Sweat beaded on his forehead. "When man is born into this world he is given the gift of Seed. To the woman goes the gift of Womb, sometimes called Hospitality. When they come together, mankind is blessed with the miracle of Fertility. And so is the first lifes' responsibility to bless our world.

But to those willing comes the knowledge of Maturity, the salvation of the Stones to whomever grasps that life is more than theirs alone. Those who know this truth are granted afterlives. In the afterlife, whether it be the first or the twentieth, the gift of Seed and Womb are taken away and replaced by the curse of Futility as you may already know."

Jaren stepped away from the podium and walked around it to the front. "And without Fertility, many afterlifes tend to lose the gift of Imagination or Creativity and go on to live unproductive, unfulfilling lives. Over and over again. But this is fallacy!

There is no reason to grow sour with age. The opposite is true; we must sweeten and grow more noble. It is the responsibility of afterlifes to spread Maturity to the firsts, so that we may all go on in harmony and dispel the ignorance which breeds poltergeists. Ideally we should work toward a goal of global afterlifes, where all firsts have passed on and the world will grow no more. The job of afterlifes is to bring as many firsts into Maturity as possible. Then maybe someday we can achieve the perfect, utopian society." Jaren wiped the sweat from his brow onto his poncho, where it would leave a stain. "There." He said. "Even if you don't participate in the religion of Afterlife Gospel, as we call it, you must admit that it is a good and noble way to live. And as the true religion, you can see its goal is the ultimate peace of humanity."

Artemis scratched his growing beard. Sand and knots had managed to work into his chin, and his hand caught on them for a moment. "That sounds like a very calm way to live, I guess. It also sounds like missionary work, but the people here seem content to stay put." And listen to you blather.

"Oh, we have emissaries that are out doing the Good Work. But yes, many are too comfortable where they are. That can always change though." Jaren walked behind the pulpit and returned with a worn looking piece of paper. "Here," He said while still approaching the foreigner, "take this if you don't think you'll be staying. Sometimes the mission comes to you, after all."

Artemis took the paper. On it is scribbling which retells what Jaren had just said and a sketch of a Halostone. He put the thing into his breastplate the same way a woman might stuff a note into her bra, and he gave Jaren a nod. "I'll be sure to go over this in my travels. Now," The real business, "is there some place my . . ." No, Jaren would never believe the girl was his daughter. He thought for a name and grabbed the first one to come to his mind. ". . . Angela and I can lodge." He patted his backpack, which held clothes and a broken shield but no money. That had been left in the nightstand.

"Why, you can stay with my wife and I, if it is only for a day or so." Jaren began walking about the sanctuary, extinguishing incense as he did. "Then I can go into greater detail. And, actually, that brings me to another point. The afterlife is long, so finding a mate in the first life is key to staying happy. It isn't pivotal exactly. I would say that friends can keep you happy, but I always recommend having a companion that can complement you throughout eternity."

Artemis picked up his helmet. "Yeah, that's great. Can't wait to hear all about it." And the girl stood up. He thought she might have snickered.

Four

Jaren's house was as humble as all the others in village. Slick tiles, presence of grit, and chicken droppings in the yard. His wife was the woman with the pitcher, someone who Artemis knew he wasn't going to like. The inside was as bare as the church, and the lack of color unhinged Artemis a bit.

Dinner was eggs and flatbread. Artemis could have suggested one of his sandwich ideas, or any other of his culinary tricks, but that would seem imposing. He also didn't want to get too friendly with the crackpot sage and his wife. It was one thing to pass through town and another to end up being a holy roller's bodyguard or waterboy. The girl, who would be called Angela, was just as quiet as ever but ate with due ferocity. Artemis kept his eyes on Jaren and the pitcher woman that was his wife, and this was more than a little unsettling.

Jaren talked about having a healthy relationship with a compatible mate, which caused his wife to blush and Artemis to resent him. Not that Artemis disagreed, but his host came off pretentious as if Artemis was too foolish to know basic facts of life. He also spoke of the first lifes' need for Maturity, which put Geoff and Cedric in the front of Artemis's mind. Other than these things, it was all ignorable gabbing.

Artemis and Angela slept in a guest room with a single cot. The girl had the cot, and Artemis took the floor. Jaren's wife told Artemis he could remove his armor and change. That she would wash his clothes. But he declined the offer. For some reason he didn't want to peel his steel in that house.

Five

Propped against a wall with one hand on the hilt of his sword, Artemis returned to his nightmares. In this one he was granted the mercy of not being physically tortured himself. He was in the Bluehold Castle courtyard. All around him were the hedge animals he did not recognize, and below them soldiers clashed blades. The knights of the throne room fought a black knight, who was singlehandedly making fools of these veteran protectors. The diabetic king fumbled out of the black iron door, waving a white flag. But the black knight, having killed the last of the elite, turned his sword on the king and cut him in two.

Now Artemis noticed something odd. The body of the king did not vanish and neither did the bodies of the fallen knights leave their armor. The death was permanent for whatever reason, and the bodies did not twitch. Then he looked up, as the black knight entered the castle. High above the black door but below the stained glass was the phantom, The Reaper. Its red skull poked out from under its hood of miasma, and its hourglass was in hand. It floated against the wall, dropping and rising the way a swimmer might when they tread the water.

The specter stared at Artemis. Though it was too far away for the blacksmith to see this, he knew that it was. The castle crumbled and the sky went dark. Artemis felt the presence of unlimited evil swirl around behind him, and he was filled with dread. His line of sight to the phantom became dark, and all he could see was the flame of the hourglass. Then he felt the ground phase out and himself falling.

Six

He awoke, drawing his sword and staring into Cancer's face in the doorway of the guest room. Artemis was too shaken by his dream to stand, but he pointed the blade at the thing he wished he had killed. A moment passed, and Cancer's form melted away to Jaren's. Artemis lowered his sword but did not sheathe it. He took large breaths and tried to slow his racing heart, which he was certain would rupture itself at the pace it was pumping.

"You are troubled?" Jaren asked.

Another deep breath. "Yeah."

"Are you grieving, or perhaps you feel guilty?" Jaren leaned on the threshold. "Or was there trauma you've had to endure?"

What's with the "or?" It's all three. "No more than anyone else." Artemis tapped Angela's shoulder, and she awoke. To her, "We're leaving soon, so don't be too groggy, ok?"

"You seem like a good man," Jaren shrugged and unfurled an arm.

"Artemis Knox."

"You should stay, at least until she is mature. It would be in her best interest." Jaren's eyes wandered toward the girl.

"I'll decide what's in her best interest." He said.

Jaren backed away from the door and into the hall. "I'm sorry to hear that, friend." He walked away.

More eggs, these ones more like rubber than chicken embryo. Jaren continued to steal glances at the girl, and Artemis's attention shifted to the man and not his jug handling, egg burning wife. It occurred to Artemis that Jaren had unhealthy interest in the girl, and that his advice about finding a lifelong mate probably didn't line up with what he practiced.

Jaren marched to his church, and his wife to the well. Artemis did not wave them off, and Angela, clever girl, did not make eye contact with either. Back to following the river for the blacksmith and his young companion, and back to smoke and mirrors for the chicken farming priest. That would be just fine.

Seven

They drank from the river and ate petals when they had to, which was often. Artemis thought his son could be following. So when the waters were shallow, they crossed. And crossed again at the next shallow, hoping to mask their trail. Also the water against their ankles was refreshing.

Artemis wondered about his dream the night before. Had Felix been given some power to keep his foes dead? If so, he just might conquer the world which he so despised. Tilla would be razed, Artemis knew, if only because they passed through. And just how much of Jaren's sermon would get through to Felix then? None, at best. Then there was no way to avoid it. Felix would hunt them down for as long as he needed, and Artemis's endurance would fail. Was that what the dream meant? He doubted it was as simple as that, but perhaps that was a part of it.

They turned north away from the river and in the direction of the coast. The sun beamed on them without mercy, and Artemis wondered if his armor was reflecting the heat away or trapping it all in. Before long they stopped and took a break in the shade of a large cactus. And, knowing they would die otherwise, Artemis cut into great spiny thing. He thought of eating it and never expected it to hold water, and even though it was warm and bitter they both drank it.

That night they reentered grasslands. Angela fell asleep just as easily as ever, but he sat a while and entertained thoughts of success. When his fantasies of being a hero ended, he piled up the fire and let fatigue take him away.

Eight

That night he dreamt of the reaper chasing him through the canyon. The river running beside him was red and was the only thing producing light. The phantom floated over the blood in pursuit of its quarry. The hourglass in its hand burned brightly with a green flame, while the sand sank.

As Artemis leaves the canyon and comes upon the grassland before Tilla, hands reach up from the ground and trip him. He tumbles into the low brush, now certain that he is doomed. His muscles lock up, and he finds himself unable to flee anymore. Artemis rolls over so that he may see Death before he dies. He watches the specter's free hand go out and grasp a long scythe with a shaft made of bones and a blade eternally dripping with blood that would be useless for harvesting wheat.

But then someone stands between Artemis and Death. He cannot see who it is, as Artemis can only see the back of the newcomer. Bodies begin flowing down the river. One of them, he notes, is his own body. The one in between glows with radiance that doesn't cast light onto any of the surroundings. The aura materializes into a brilliant mail of armor, and a sword of gold appears in the savior's right hand.

Artemis watched this advocate run forward to Death and swing the sword. Death wailed, and the flame of the hourglass overtook him and cloaked him with its rage. The sound of clashing steel followed this, but Artemis grew sleepy in his dream and could not hold his eyes open to see the victor.

He woke up, and it was still night. As Artemis sat up, he heard rustling behind him. He turned and saw nothing. Assuming it was a rodent, he slumped forward and relaxed. Then he relaxed a bit more, and then he felt the dart in his neck. It stuck in the tiny patch of skin between his helmet and his neck guard at the base of his skull. He wanted to pull it free, but his arms would not move. Then he fell asleep.

# Thick Walls and Wedding Bells

One

He was without armor and his sword when he awoke. Lying on a cold stone floor he saw the bars of his cell and crawled to them. There was a fine cot next to him, and both the floor and bars were polished and clean. He saw the queen of Bluehold sitting in a cell across from his. She was as motionless as ever. There were other cells on both sides, but he couldn't see into them. Sconces threw enough light that he did not feel as if he were really in a dungeon. And in an odd way, Artemis felt comfortable.

The highwayman appeared at the queen's cell and opened her door. As he walked in, she slapped him once and tried for a punch. He stopped her arms and forced her against a wall, where he began licking her ears and tearing at the rag of a dress she wore. She kicked and pushed and even tried biting him, but it was no good. Artemis tried to yell at the Red Savage, but his voice was gone.

Felix came and also entered the queen's cell. He pulled the man off the queen and broke his nose with a well-placed blow. The highwayman drooled and backed away, but the queen did not give out any thanks. Felix scolded the Savage and told him to take her somewhere secluded if he wanted to have her. The highwayman's face lit up under his bloodied nose as if it weren't even broken. Then he grabbed the queen and pulled her from the cell and further into the dungeon where Artemis could no longer see. Felix walked to his father's cell.

"Well," He said, "You're a rascal these days, aren't you?" He removed his helmet and bent down to look at the incoherent blacksmith. "You know, they asked me 'Do you want us to kill him?' And I thought, yes, yes! A thousand times over, yes!" He set the helmet down. "But what good would that do me, or you really? You'd just come back again and give everybody grief. So I told them to put you to sleep. Yeah, that would mean I've got to pay to keep you alive. But when I look at the alternative, it was pretty clear to me what was best in the grand scheme of things." His eyebrows raised. "No, I don't like that word 'scheme.' It makes me sound like you. Plan? That's better, but I'm still not happy with it. Oh well, I'm sure you get the point."

Artemis tried to speak and wasn't sure what to say, but something would be better than what he came up with. Which is a low moan and some drool.

Felix smiled. For only an instant, his face seemed to hold compassion. "Oh that'll wear out before long, and you'll be back to your old gabby self." He tapped an iron bar with the steel of his hand. "But don't think I'll be coming down here for some fatherly advice and bonding time. I've got more important things to do." He straightened and took the helmet from the floor. He took just enough steps to be out of view and then came back to Artemis. "Almost forgot. Future king of the world, and here I am losing track of the small stuff. The girl is fine, so I don't want the guards here to have their ears beaten down by your worries, alright." He tapped the bars again but this time with the helmet. "I hope you remember this, you're awfully loopy right now. Ahh," He said, "if you see Gunther, that fellow I had to reprimand, down here trying to rape someone in the dungeon, then you can holler at the guards. He had a nasty habit at the old castle of doing his business for all to see. I mean, that's just disgusting. And this is too fine a castle to have such things taking place in it." Another tap. "But if we don't give him something he likes, he starts going after furniture like a dog. I could always banish him, but he's just so effective, you know? Anyway, if you warn the guards that he's trying to make a mess inside the castle, I might have them bring you a bigger portion of food. Hell, if you do it enough, I might even have them bring you something that tastes good. I want you to remember that. Just because I'm keeping you alive doesn't mean I'm keeping you healthy." His head cocked to the side. "You don't want to end up like Cancer, do you? I thought not." Then he walked away and did not come back.

Two

The queen was moved to another cell not long after that, and Artemis never was able to tell if Gunther was being rowdy. They fed him just enough for life and no more, and most of it was indeed bitter and disgusting to eat. He came to know three guards, one that never spoke, one that seemed to take a mild interest in his story, and one that would remind Artemis on a regular basis that he should kill himself. And he went on living in the prison, starving daily and failing at every attempt for freedom, for the next five years.

Then one night as the blacksmith ran his bony fingers over his ribs and waited for his nightmares to take him, Ophelia walked up to his cell and removed her sallet. "Do you remember me?" She asked.

Artemis looked up at her from his cot. He hoped she would be pleasant, but he didn't expect it. "I killed you, and you kicked me. It hurt."

"Yeah, you were a fighter, I remember. Doesn't look like you could fight your own reflection now."

"Probably not."

"Well listen, I know you and Felix don't get along very well." She grasped the bars and leaned forward. "Clearly. But I thought I should tell you that he and I are getting married. I would invite you to the ceremony, but I'm afraid you didn't make the list. But just thought you should know." She released the bars and replaced her helmet. "Well, I'm busy. Good talking to you, Pops." She began walking.

"Wait."

"What?" She stopped and asked.

"What do you think of Gunther going around and violating women? And that my son lets it happen?"

From under her helm was the sound of someone spitting out a large gulp of coffee. "You're a funny one, you. I think you should be invited anyway." She lifted her helmet and made sure Artemis could see her mocking smile. "The weak have their place. It's as simple as that. If they had less place than even that, I suppose we'd have to cut them down. They're kind of like cattle, you could say." Then she walked away.

"I see." He said to himself. And that was another day.

On another day after that, Gunther slammed himself against the bars of Artemis's cell and slobbered frantically. He took his claymore from his back and slid it into the cell as if trying to poke the blacksmith and gain his attention. Artemis sat against the far wall out of reach and stared at the uncouth man. After some time, Gunther became bored and walked away.

Three

A few days after that, the interested guard was posted to watch his cell. She never took off her helmet and neither did the other two. But her attention to his happenings made Artemis want to see her face, though he knew he never would. Other than the two of them and some prisoners, they were alone. And she walked to his cell.

"So how are you today, Art?" She asked and leaned a spear against the wall between his cell and the next on over.

"Alive." He said. "But I guess I could be worse."

"Cheer up, you grouchy bastard." She sat down and folded her arms. "If you do, I'll bring you some decent bread tomorrow."

He laughed and wiped his dirty hair to the side, trying to make his face look brighter. "I'm the happiest man in the world."

"Now don't go overboard on me." She unfolded her legs and stretched them out. For the smallest instant, Artemis wondered what her legs looked like under the steel but the thought of bread was stronger. "I hear Redhead was down here the other day trying to poke you with a sword. Any reason for that?"

"Is there a reason for anything he does? Because it made him happy in some way."

"Well, if he does that while I'm here, you let me know. Ok? I'll straighten him out."

Artemis snickered. "He has that done to him enough."

"You're sick, Art." Her voice was elated. "You know what I meant."

A few more weeks passed, and he was closer to six years than five. The interested guard was on watch on what might have been a Fairday, but he had no way of knowing. She came to his cell, as she always did. And today, he thought, there was an extra measure of pity being spared just for him.

"How do you feel today, Art?" She asked and leaned her spear against the adjacent wall as she always did.

"Weak." He said and looked at the twigs that were once his arms.

"You know, they just finished the ceremony. The whole castle is preoccupied with the reception now."

He sat on the cot and propped his head in his hands. "I don't suppose any cake was saved for me."

"I doubt it." She opened his cell door, grabbed him by an arm, and pulled him into the dungeon hall. Then she took her keys from her hip and put them in his hands and closed the door. "Oh look," She said, "you tricked me while I was checking to make sure you weren't dying. And now you're loose! Why, if you had planned it out, you could go throw on an extra pair of chef's wear that would be in the first door on the right after heading up the stairs. I doubt you'd even be recognized. You could get the girl while everyone's distracted and probably get away before anyone knew what happened." She sat on the cot, and it bent down much farther than it did for him. "I guess you're just clever like that."

A haze was lifting from him, and he thought that when it had gone he might awaken to the sight of cold stones as usual. Then he understood. "Thank you." He raised the ring of keys to his face as if losing sight of them might make them disappear. "But where is the girl? I could never find her in a huge place like this under my time constraint."

"Oh, I would imagine she'd be at the reception. She used to be kept in a tower, but things have grown more lax since you've been locked up for so long." The cot creaked, and she stood. "But I would never tell you any of that. Not one word. By the way, I'm Lumera."

"Thank you, again. Thank you."

Four

He unlocked the queen and gave her the keys. She went on to unlock the others that deserved freedom and told Artemis she could guide them out. She offered to show him a safe escape as well, but he was forced to refuse.

He found an extra chef uniform and hat, hoping it would mask how gaunt he was, and a pair of boots to hide his dirty feet. He stumbled through the kitchen but tried not to bump into any of the two dozen cooks that were buzzing about inside. After this he entered the antechamber, where a few people were cleaning up from the ceremony but the bulk had moved on to the courtyard.

Shoulder to shoulder would've been roomy compared to how many people were stuffed into the front yard of the castle. The castle, he noticed, had been repainted a dark gray almost black and was covered in calligraphy of a white tone. It looked far manlier, but it also seemed to carry an evil weight. But the people were jolly and cramming their faces just as they had those years ago.

Felix and Ophelia had a buffer space around them that would've been considered a luxury in that packed environment. They were bobbing for apples out of a shared wooden tub, and the girl was nearby in a chair with her arms folded over her billowing yellow dress. Artemis thought that his son looked happy, and a sense of pride washed over him. His son had shed the armor that seemed to be a part of his very being, and he thought the two looked like any normal couple would at their wedding. He wanted to make a toast, to congratulate his son and the bride. The last thing he wanted was to crash the event, but he had to.

He pushed through the crowd and thought his disguise might be unnecessary with the walls of human bodies blocking a good view of him from all the guards. Artemis got behind the girl's chair and moved closer to her. The people were absorbed in the festivities and didn't seem to notice the man pushing them out of the way. The girl, although he supposed she was a woman now, was the only person he could see that was sitting down.

Mars and Gunther were in the crowd on the other side of the girl. The Savage was clapping uncontrollably, while Mars was attempting to flirt with a bridesmaid. Artemis wouldn't have been able to say these people were murderers if this was his first time seeing them, but he knew they were.

He leaned over the girl's chair but not enough to make himself stand out from the crowd around him. Felix and Ophelia's backs were to him, and that put him at ease. "Angela, it's Artemis. We need to leave." Although he wondered if taking her away really was best for her. He had whispered this, but the crowd overpowered him and he repeated in full voice.

She turned and looked at the sickly man behind her. Her eyes widened and she stood. The crowd parted for them, and they walked toward one of the food tables. But it was too loud to talk there, and so they went to the north castle gate where wagons of unattended supplies were stationed.

He knew it would not be long until someone came for the supplies, so he unloaded one of the wagons with her help. Though it could be said that she unloaded it with his help, and very little of it.

She climbed into the wagon, and he covered her with a tarp. "We're going to have to run a long way before we lose them." Voices from behind a side door of the castle. "If I don't come with you, head for the coast and I'll look for you. But don't turn back, not even for a moment." She seemed to understand.

The door opened to some servants, and Artemis greeted them with a friendly wave. "I've got this one unloaded."

"Great." Said a beer goggled man in a uniform identical to Artemis's. "We need to move it out and bring more in." A sober looking fellow in raggedy sackcloth led a horse to the wagon and attached the tongue to the harness. The wagon rolled away on squeaking wheels. "Come on," Said the bubbly chef, "help me get this inta the kitchen."

Artemis tried to lift a barrel of grog that the girl had removed, but he was unable to lift it up. As another wagon came, loaded with more supplies, and filled the void of the other, the chef walked over to Artemis. There were others attending other carts, but they were in their own world. The chef staggered over a bent over Artemis and came close to tripping on a tray of flagons. "Hup!" He toppled over.

He stood back up and kicked away the tray. A few of the other servants stopped to watch, and an archer along the castle wall turned away from the festivities. "Hup!" He said again and clouted Artemis alongside the head. The blacksmith fell over with no resistance, and the archer knocked an arrow. Felix broke away from the apples and to the edge of the crowd with Ophelia for some air. As he did, the chef knocked Artemis again and pulled the hat from his head. "Git up already!"

The archer saw the emaciated face and took aim. He released the arrow, and it pierced the back of Artemis's skull. The chef staggered and fell over backwards again at the sight of the disappearing body.

Five

Felix drew a revolver from a holster. It was a prototype that a first life had invented for him as a commission, and he never did anything without it even in his armor. He fired at the archer on the wall, the bullet going into the narrow slat of his helmet with inhuman accuracy. There was a scream from the crowd as the hollowed armor fell from the wall and separated on the ground.

"Who was that archer?" Felix asked no one and the crowd silenced.

"Jans Feden." Mars replied as if Felix had been speaking directly to him.

"Jans is hereby exiled." Felix holstered his gun. He waved his arms about to convey to everyone to carry on. And they did, uneasily at first, but they did. "Who was that?" To the tipsy chef.

"Jans Fendlin." Replied the drunk.

"The man he killed."

"Oh." The chef rolled onto his belly and stood up after a small struggle. "One o' the 'ncompetent 'pprentices, your sirship." He fell over again, and another servant dragged him away.

"Check the dungeon as soon as our guests leave." To Mars who now stood beside him. Mars nodded, and Felix, in the commotion, forgot about the girl missing from her chair.

Six

Artemis awoke with a pain arcing from the base of his skull, as the young man came and gave him a robe. They walked into the station, and Artemis ate bread and drank juice. The man asked his name, but Artemis did not feel comfortable giving it. "Roderick LeeHammer." He said and sipped the last of the sweet liquid.

He walked home after that. The trees had begun losing their leaves, and he supposed it might be early autumn. But the temperature held, and he was thankful for that.

His house looked like an illusion when he first saw it. The windows were all broken, and there were holes in both the walls and roof. Thick vines of briars wrapped the sides and crawled into the shattered glass. The table in the back had fallen apart and was no more than rotten mush. The porch had collapsed, and the doorknobs appeared to be rusted into a state of immobility.

He pushed the back door open, and it ripped the decaying frame like it wasn't even there. The odor of rotten wood and must passed through his nose on a mission to make his nostrils close up. The hall was full of dust, and rats had tunneled into the walls, scurrying and scratching at the bones of the house. There would be something spoiled in the basement fridge, and his bed would be infested with vermin. As he came to the door of his room, he looked into the kitchen and saw a pair of green eyes watching him from a gap in the doors of his cupboards. As he pushed the ruined door from its hinges, the eyes vanished and a possum appeared from an open set of doors, where it jumped onto the kitchen counter and ran out another broken window.

It was night now, but the sky was clear and the moon full. A dusty light poured in from the compromised windows and lit his bed as if the light were showcasing it. Of course, the mattress was riddled with holes, and he knew a colony of rats was in it. The chair he had slept in all those years ago was still there, though one of its legs had been gnawed through. He didn't bother looking into the closet's trunk. He just sat in the chair, which still held him even though it was unbalanced, and slept.

He had grown so accustomed to his nightmares while being held in his cell, that they no longer bothered him the way they once had. He dreamt of dying, he dreamt of Dystopia, and he felt pain. But none of it mattered to him anymore. The Reaper's gaze held no fear, and the hungry hands of the undead took his organs without breaking him. All he could was hope that when he awoke, these monstrosities would leave him enough energy for another day

Seven.

He woke up on the floor the next morning. The chair had given way and was nothing more than kindling now, but he had slept through the fall. He walked over to the closet and removed the door. Opening the chest, he rummaged through stacks of ruined clothes before finding some pants and a shirt that would hold up. He looked for the money he had left, but it was gone.

Artemis went into his cellar and had to tread over piles of disheveled weapons that had magically been removed from their crates. He reached into the one closest to the fridge and felt around the bottom. Just as he had left it, there was a small pouch of silver pieces. He took it out and placed a fistful in his hand. Then he dropped the drawstring bag into the crate and left the house.

He hadn't been to The Flagon since he was married, but he thought this was a fine time to make another visit. It was an inn, it was a restaurant, but more importantly it was an alehouse. Sawdust coated the floor and stuck in clumps from spilled whiskey. Torin was in a corner teaching turkey legs who was alpha and slugging down a pint in the process. The barkeep was the same one that had served Artemis when he was not much more than a boy, but that had been ages ago. There was a grotesque woman made of leather and stench sitting on a table with a trio of plastered men ogling her from their seat and leaning forward to get a better view. Cigar smoke drifted through the light of the windows like a thick fog, and a man with his wide brimmed hat tucked low was playing Fairday Over the Sea.

Artemis sat on a stool by the bar and rested his balled fist of silver on the counter. The barkeep said something to Torin, and the tabletop woman glanced at the fat investor. Artemis opened his fist and let the silver fall into a little hill. "Give me the strongest you've got and as much as this will buy." Artemis said and never raised his head to meet the tender's eyes.

"Want anything to have washed down?" He asked while scraping up the silver.

"And dilute it? No thanks."

Eight

He went home with three bottles of Death Shakes. By the end of the evening he had none. Artemis went into a couple fits and tore down the remaining doors of his house and broke any window that had more glass to yield. He ripped the cupboards apart and screamed about the price of Danishes while talking to the ground up wood that was once a table. He asked the moon who Icarus was and how many shields it would take to build a raft. He threw his chest into the yard and dumped the ruined clothes, all the while calling them filthy vermin. He finished off that third bottle, breaking it over his head when he did. He walked in front of his house, howled at the moon, and passed out.

In a dream he was standing at the edge of the willow woods and gazing at the canyon beyond. All three of his sons were with him, but they were ahead and dangling their feet from the ledge. Ophelia sat by Felix, and the two had their arms around one another.

He looked into the willows and saw Grena pushing aside the branches and coming toward him. All he could do was watch and feel his heart swell with joy as she approached. She wore a white robe like snow, and as she embraced him in a hug, he thought it felt like cloud. She kissed him, and he wrapped his arms around her.

He had missed the sensation of being loved, and it was at this moment that Artemis knew he was dreaming. Just a few more moments, please. He wrapped her more tightly, and she told him that she loved him. He pulled her in more and rested his chin on the soft skin of her neck. Then he died of alcohol poisoning.

His arms went out in front of him and grasped at nothing. Artemis began dry heaving, and veins of pressure ran through his temples. A girl ran to him and gave him a robe. He told her his name was Cancer Esten. Then he ran home, feeling the pulse of his blood hammering at his skull.

He slept on the robe he acquired before and used his new one as a blanket. He could smell the fumes of whiskey he'd spilled over the floor. As he laid on the floor of his room as still as he could, Artemis told himself that he would never do that again. The throbbing in his head faded, and after a long period of listening to raccoons climb over the roof, he fell asleep.

Nine

When he woke up, he ran to a window and tried to vomit out of it. But nothing would come of that, and his stomach settled after. He walked to the threshold of his room, wondering what to do, when Dral walked through the opened front.

"Learned to party while you were off?" Dral said from down the hall.

"I don't think I learned a damned thing, Dral." He entered the hall and sat down against a wall, clutching his stomach.

Dral closed the distance and leaned against the wall Artemis faced. "What were you doing? You've been gone for almost six years."

"Getting myself into trouble. And really, I don't think I did anything else."

"Well, don't go getting into trouble with the wrong people." He slid down the wall and put himself at eyelevel with the blacksmith. "Icarus is strict, and he likes to punish people."

"Icarus?"

"Where have you been, Art? He finished conquering Paxia last year." A deep sigh. "He calls it the 'Kingdom of the Sun.' Some tyrant from Orengard."

"So he did it, huh?"

"Well, there. You knew."

"Dral, I can't stay here. I made someone a promise. I have to take them somewhere."

"The girl?" Dral asked.

"Yeah."

"At least you found her." Dral took his head from the wall and combed the back of his neck with his fingers. "Oh, since you went to Orengard, did you happen to run into your son?"

Artemis's stomach lurched, but the dry heaves stayed at bay. "Actually, I did."

"And how's he doing?"

"Fine. Really fine. He just got married."

Dral leaned forward. "That's wonderful. Is she a nice girl?"

He thought of the kicking and of the shoulder wound. "I've met nicer, but she suits him."

Dral left after this and let Artemis prepare for another trip. The blacksmith went into his cellar and took the rest of his silver. Then he took a rusted short sword from a bin. It was not good. In fact, it would probably break the instant it struck up against steel, but he had neither the time nor the motivation to craft another.

He strapped the tetanus blade to his hip with some rawhide and put on his shoddy pants. He smelled like liquor and sweat and broken hope. He found a pair of chewed up boots in the kitchen, which he donned and watched the strings break free of. His head pounded and his tongue tasted like copper. He sneezed, sending shrapnel through his brain and making him double over. As if his stomach knew this position, he began heaving over the kitchen table but couldn't produce.

He walks over the front door, and it crumbles. He turns toward Har and sets his course for Drath. A few people see him. They point, they yell after him, but he ignores them. They want shoes, or they want hinges. They just want his service, but he can't stop for them. Artemis began traveling.

# The Sea Serpent

One

He traveled without thought. To the coast by Drath he would go. And then he would walk the shores until he found Angela. And then? Well, then he would get her to Hado. Maybe the ferry in Drath would take them for all his silver, or maybe he would never find Angela.

Dusk came by the time he reached the coast. The light glimmering off the water made him wish he had brought forge glasses, so he looked away. He stood on a beach just outside of Drath. The air was fresher here than at the port, but he could smell the lingering of rotten fish. Rocks plagued the sand and broke the shallow waves that washed the shore.

He slept on the sand that night with no fire. He pushed sand over his legs and chest to insulate and used a rock as a pillow. The stillness made his heart sound loud and worried, but the breaking waves soothed.

He continued the next day and the day after that. He didn't see Angela on either day. He did, however, encounter a few vagabonds living on the temperate shore. Most of them kept to themselves, a few jeered his junk weapon, and some asked for a handout. He wondered what drove them to live without a roof and then thought of his own house. They were his kin.

On the third day he had walked around the inlet that all three nations shared and entered Orengard. He ate fish that he caught with some sticks and roots as a net. For this he built a low fire and seared the meat over the coals, as he didn't trust uncooked seafood. Doing this made him happy, and it reminded him of the way he felt when he first left Garn in search of the girl.

Two

Another day went by, and the sand in his boots became so packed that he had to remove his boots and dump them. The sun shined down, but it was weak. The steady salty sea breeze rubbed at the side of his face and whipped the tail of his shirt. Beyond the beach was a marshland he had never been to, and from it came terrible howls that the ocean wind could not push back.

That night he found a nook between two cliff sides. He walked to the back of it where the waves did not reach. Algae sprouted by the entrance before dying away to moss that hung from the ceiling. Some bats flew over his head and startled him enough that he tripped and splashed into the water. His sword came free of the rawhide and plopped in the saltwater. He picked both it and himself up and thought sarcastically that the saltwater would make his wondrous sword rust faster.

He sat down on a rock that seemed dry enough. He laid the sword down next to him and rubbed the stone he sat on with a thumb. The texture of it was both smooth and sandy at the same time, and it comforted him. He sat there in darkness for a few minutes before hearing fabric slide against itself in front of him. A few more minutes passed, and his eyes adjusted to the low light.

Angela sat across from him, still wearing her yellow dress though it had been stained. She looked at him the way someone might look at a quiet business partner. She wanted him to speak up.

"How long have you been here?" He asked, not surprised to see her.

She raised a hand and made a zero with it.

"Then we have time to sleep for the night." He swallowed a lump in his throat. "But then we have to hustle. Did he see you leave or find out after I . . . you know?"

She shook her head and then shrugged.

"Well, we had better'd hurry anyway as soon as daylight comes."

The next day they walked toward Drath. Her silk dress made a whooshing sound with every step, and after some time she hiked it up to stop it. The rawhide strap on Artemis's side had begun to make his hip chafe. Every few minutes he would, without knowing, reach at his side and scratch the irritated skin. They passed endless camps of wayward souls, each looking more inviting than the last.

Night fell on them the way a net might fall on a rabbit. She breathed heavily, and he began carrying his sword in hand to spare his side. He didn't want to make her walk into the darkness of the shore, but after the capture he needed to be certain they were free of all pursuers. They ignored the cozy fires of vagabonds and the kind offers of strangers for cooked beans. His hope was that those they had passed would signal them if Felix was on the trail.

At dawn the day after they could walk no more. So they took the comfort of fellow homeless and sat by a dying fire's embers to rest. Noon came after short hours of nightmares, and they ate seared fish. He gave their sympathetic host a few cooking tips and offered a piece of silver.

But the scruffy man laughed and pushed the blacksmith's hand away. "And where would I go to spend this?" His head shook and clumps of sand loosened from his scraggly hair.

Three

After what seemed like a lifetime of hard travel, they reached Drath. Angela's yellow dress was about as fine now as the flaking rags Artemis wore, and her now long hair hung in her eyes like seaweed. He put the sword into the strap and felt the itch rise up again, but he ignored it. Roderick was sitting on a dock and smoking just as he had when Artemis had first met him. The crust on his back was clear even from the street.

Farther up the lady captain stood by her ferry and waited for travelers. If she had been happy before the two arrived, all traces of that joy fled when Artemis approached with Angela in tow.

"No handouts." She said while sliding a hand down to the butt of a pistol.

He pulled the little coin purse from his pocket and held it up. At this moment he wished he hadn't spent so much of it on booze. "I'll give you all my silver, all I have left, if you'll take us to Hado."

"And what business do you have there?" She pointed at his waist. "With that toy, I don't think you'd be a bounty hunter."

"I'm paying. Will you take us?"

"Let me inspect your purse." And he tossed it to her. She pulled the string and sifted through the insides. Her face did not lighten, but it also did not grow dourer. "But I'm not going to wait around for you when we get there. And don't think I'll come back for you either."

"A one way trip is fine."

She put the silver in a pocket. "No, it isn't. But hop on." And they did.

Four

He sat against one of the side handrails, on the verge of unconsciousness. The wheel was nearby, but she didn't ask for his sword this time. Instead she began talking to him and how she first became a ferryman. She said something about not having the connection she wanted and then her first day at sea. Her story amused him, and he wished he'd been more wakeful. And before her story ended she asked him about his family.

"Well," He said, "one of my sons has become quite a success, but we don't get along well. It's just me and Angela now."

"How long have you two been married?"

He was asserted into consciousness a bit further. "We aren't. She's my daughter." He paused and looked at the captain. Her hair was tucked into her hat, and her weathered skin was somehow fair. And he desired, for no reason apparent to him, to see her hair down. "I adopted her. Looking at me now, you may not think I'm very well-to-do, but I'm trying to do better than where she was."

She didn't reply to this, and the lulling waves put him to sleep.

In his dream Artemis stood on the water of the ocean. In his dreamy state he didn't bother to question why he could do this. To the horizon in every direction was endless water, placid as glass. There were no ripples nor waves. The sun above him was tinted green, and the sky was the color of a bruise. The air tasted like pure salt, and he felt a smothering heat wrap around him.

He tried to take his shirt off, but it caught on the air as if hooked. He tried to unbuckle his pants, but they would not yield. Then he bent down and tried to scoop up water to splash on his face. But the surface of the water was like concrete, and he could not break through. He began to sweat and beat his fists on the water, but he could not have it.

Then he heard the crashing of a wave, and his spirit lifted. He turned around to see the loose water, but what he saw making it terrified him. A great beast was under the water's surface, breaking the tension and swimming toward him. Artemis began running on the water's surface away from the predator.

His feet came down on the water and made a splashing sound, but the water was undisturbed. And the creature closed in. The running was swift, but the beast's swimming was better. The thing was under him now, and a tentacle broke through the surface and wrapped around the blacksmith's legs. It pulled him down, and he sunk through the water. Artemis knew he would die soon, but he waited for the soothing feel of the water first, but it never came.

It burnt like fire.

Five

He rolled to one side of the boat and then to another, waking him and with a few gashes to look at later. The ferry rocked, and both the captain and Angela were clinging onto the support beams. Artemis grabbed hold of one and looked over the side to the roaring ocean.

The waves battered the boat like an angry mob. The wind rushed against the water and stirred up its fury. Rain did not fall as much as it seemed propelled sideways from blasting gales. Thunder followed great white streaks, and the low booming made Artemis feel as if the world itself was scolding him.

The captain told him to hold on, but over the calamity he did not understand and released his grip. Then a wave, one that would have made him faint if he had seen it, lifted the ferry and held it at a sharp angle. Angela and the captain dangled from their supports, but Artemis lost to gravity. While he was in the air, everything seemed to slow down. He had enough time to see the captain's hatless red hair being whipped around like an unhappy flame. He saw the darkness of the sky and the way the lightning lit it into purples and grays. The salty air had a charge to it, and he thought it smelled fresh and inviting. Then he connected with the beam, and all was dark.

"My icy veins melt away

On my final day

Through bluest sea and over greenest land

Our time is now at hand.

Oh! Orry, captain of the sea!

The birds fly free into the sky

Not burdened by my plight

I watch them through mine eye

And take this humble fight.

Oh! Orry, captain of the sea!

Feel the wrath upon the tide

From waters none can hide

But under that very lie

To the sea, we must die.

Oh! Orry, captain of the sea!

The birds fly free into the sky

Not burdened by my plight

I watch them through mine eye

And take this humble fight.

Oh! Orry, captain of the sea!"

This is the first thing he heard after the thunder. It was sultry and sweet and reminded him of Grena. He faced the sky from laying on warm moist sand. His head throbbed as he opened his eyes and gazed upon a blue sky that may never have been threatened by clouds. He sat up and muttered. "Huh?"

"Did you really think I missed three times by accident?" The singing voice echoed.

"What?"

"I said 'you hit a beam with your head and went out.'" The captain replied then added, "You're lucky you didn't hit a little harder and vanish on us. Though I guess being here might be worse than going back to your Stone."

"Are we on Hado?" He asked and rubbed his forehead with a gritty hand.

"No." She bent down behind him and used one of his shoulders to rest her arm on and point to the sea at a speck sitting on the water. "That's Hado. This is a sister island. Might be Cyprus. Or it could be Evernus for all I know. Lost all direction in the storm."

"Shouldn't we be headed there then?" He sounded as if he were about to fall asleep again.

"Did you lose your memory? If my boat is still intact, I haven't an urchin's chance in a desert of knowing where it went to." She exhaled hard from her nostrils. "But I'd say it's Orry's now. At the bottom."

He noticed sweat beginning to bead under his eyes. "Can we swim there?"

"There's a current running around Hado that leads to the deep ocean. So no."

"Would it sweep us to the edge of the world?"

"To Dystopia with that thinking." She said. "The world is round, and there is no edge."

"I'd always heard—"

"Fools who did not bring enough food for the voyage is what you heard. I did not say the trip was a skip, did I? They go out there without the provisions, starve, and come back only remembering the hallucinations." She kicked the wet sand, and a clump of it floated through the air and upset a shallow breaking tide. "If there were an end, it would have to be made of mountains. Or else all the water would fall off."

"Where's Angela?"

"Gathering up cord bowls and making a water trap. A clever one, she is. How did she learn so much? I took her for being slow at first, but maybe that fits me better."

He ignored the question. "That's great. Any idea on how we get off this island?"

"We'd have to build a new boat. Or die. Unless you want the Dystopian route, we'll have to wait for age, illness, or a good storm."

His head throbbed again, and he closed his eyes. "Then we'll be here awhile." He scratched his nose and ran into a hard plaque. Had he a mirror, he would've known for sure that it was blood. "I'm Artemis Knox. A blacksmith and a fool."

"Yeah." She said, giving his back a pat and beginning to walk inland. "And I'm Lydia," A pause, "Cedar."

Six

Later that day he attempted to cook with the cord bowls, but the milk inside tasted bitter no matter what he tried. But that was fine. The liquid did smell sweet to him, and he was convinced that in time he could make something delectable out of it.

They made tents with the leaves of palms and strung them across tree gaps like hammocks. They made fire with dead brush and tree bark. Artemis fashioned a spear from one of the trees that they took bark from. He sharpened it by scraping it up against a rock that was too large to lift and hardened it by repeatedly soaking it and heating it in hot coals. He managed to harpoon a seagull with it, but the bird dragged both itself and the spear into the sea before dying. And he had to make another.

Time rolled on, and weeks began to pass. The girls made themselves new dresses from coconut fur. For all of Artemis's smithing skills, he was unable to make anything better than a loincloth. Angela gave him what he would've called a kilt, if he could do such a thing, but he thought it was a skirt. At least no mountains were there to laugh at him.

He talked to the captain often and thought of her fondly. On one particular afternoon, he was sitting at a fire and tempering another spear while she was polishing a pistol that had had its powder ruined. While they did these things, he stole glances at her. He thought her hair had been gray at their first meeting, but when he was thrown into the beam it had been the same blazing tone as Grena's.

And this reminded him of the woman and her son from the woods. His list of people he'd let down was growing, and he wondered if he should ever bother to write it down. And what had made him consider staying with that woman, whose name was lost to him now? The resemblance, he thought. And there wasn't much else other than the hospitality that could have done it. So here he was, feeling those same desires. But without care and a home, all that remained was that familiarity. That could not be enough, he knew. That was a poor and superficial excuse to feel attraction, and it bordered on obsession.

She turned and glanced at him, but he turned away before their eyes could meet. She treated him amiably for someone who had once tried to shoot him three times during a conversation. And he wasn't going to sit there and fantasize like a teenage boy about how she might feel. Such things were beyond comprehension, so he turned and looked at the vast ocean instead.

Seven

And here he was, doing Felix's work for him. He wanted to hide the girl away where she could never see a poltergeist. On this island with two afterlifes, she might as well be hidden on the moon.

That night Artemis sat on the shore and looked toward Hado. Though he could not see it in the darkness, he listened for the wails and cries of torment from the suffering souls. Roderick had told him they could be heard carrying over the waters, but Artemis was beginning to think that had only been for story sake. Over the ever flowing waves, he didn't think he could hear their wails even if he was a dog. But knowing that it was out there made him feel like he was in reach of a great goal that was forever being snatched away at the last moment.

And then he thought of walking into the water, letting the current take him. The Reaper would have his prize, but Artemis would no longer have to live with his son's hatred. It was the kind of hatred that he could feel from any distance, always burning and forever sharp. Perhaps it could not reach into Dystopia. And in some way, there might be a peace there for it.

He laid on his side there in the sand. It was soft to sit in and to stand on, but the more sensitive skin of his face felt the coarseness of grains and the hard remains of shells. The waters came in rhythmically and nibbled at his calloused feet. He settled in the sand until his body felt molded in. Artemis thought of what success could mean and what was beyond it. And as he did, he drifted away and was gone.

He woke up, thankfully before the sun had begun to bake his unprotected face. As he sat, a pile of leave slid from his body and he knew someone had come to blanket him. But who had done it was his concern. There was no reason for the captain to have done it, but he wondered even so. And then he dispelled the "youthful" thoughts and walked to camp.

Eight

Lydia made a case of cord bowl shells that morning for her pistol and set it inside. Artemis came up to her as she was laying the case into a hollow she'd carved at the base of a tree.

"When do you want to do it?" She asked, piling dirt onto the hollow. Either to keep it from him or to keep it from weathering. Artemis did not know and did care.

He stuttered for a moment and gave up trying to form words just yet. "Hmm?"

"Start on a new boat."

"I don't know anything about boatbuilding." He stared at her back. She seemed frozen, and he wondered if she was still listening. "But if you do, then sooner would be better than later."

Her hair was wrapped up in a bandana made of coconut hair and soft tree bark. A strand escaped from the cap, and it looked red to him. "I know what makes a boat float, so that might be enough. If we can replicate it, that is. I don't suppose you know how to keep seals, do you?"

He did. "I can try."

"You'll have to." She said and pushed the red strand back into her head wrap with the same ease one might have brushing a lock of hair from their eyes. "Otherwise we'll be swimming. And that current doesn't soften for another two months."

He looked into the foliage to see if Angela was in sight. She was not. "You plan on going on to Hado, not just returning to shore?"

"You two would be bugging the salt out of me the second we hit dry land." A grin. "Besides, we won't be able to pick and choose what port we'd land at with whatever flotation device we build here. And back there on the mainland it's sure to be chilly." She motioned at the kilt and loincloth he wore and the nothing above that. "We'd freeze before even getting to land."

"Is it really that cold back there?" He cocked his head as if there was some chance he could see the continent. "Things are pretty mild here."

She furrowed her brows like he had just told her that sand was made of grains. She laughed, and even though he was the target, it made Artemis smile to hear her. "Yeah, trust me it's a different world back on the big rock."

Nine

They began building the "Hydra" that day. According to Lydia, the hydra was Orry's mythical sea dragon that would help him if ever he was surrounded by enemies or caught on a sandbar. Their Hydra, with its frame of dried palm wood and hollowed cord bowl supports, would not be quite as mystifying as a sea dragon. But if it could take them to the next island over without being pulled out to oblivion, that would be just fine and dandy.

As they stockpiled the supplies they would need to finish the raft, Artemis began thinking of the harm of staying. It wouldn't hurt to just stay here on this island and live at peace with the warm weather, and the company as well. He thought Lydia could be Grena's twin, but he also knew that the years of separation could make him fabricate such thoughts. But the idea that she might be, forced him to come up with a plan. As he laid down the last armful of three eyed fruits, he thought of one.

Ten

What he had in mind was a rectangular bed of tied up wood with hollow bowls lining it for buoyancy and just enough room for the three of them to stand on. What was taking form was more like a canoe than a raft. It was narrow and long. The sides came up to the ribcage of a sitting person, and they didn't bother throwing seats in it. Not finished yet, but it grew closer every day.

He made paddles out of the same wood and method as he did the spears, two for each of them made six. And he made half a dozen extra spears and set aside a length of bark to use as rope for them. He didn't like the idea of eating raw fish, but he thought getting to Hado might not be as swift as the steamboat would've made it. And a few harpoons couldn't hurt either way. Angela sewed together water cannels to bucket water out with, and Lydia continued testing the craft's durability.

Their hammock camp had upgraded into a small hut with the corners being made of still living trees. The roof was made of a crude thatch and held together by the same hair that held together their clothes. Artemis laid on one side of the hut, while the ladies slept on the other. The ground was soft and cool, and the air was thick with moisture. A wind rustled the heavy leaves of the above palms, and it was the sound of it, not the actual temperature, that sent shivers through the blacksmith. He looked at the gapped walls made of branches and thought the Hydra could be done the next day if they took from the hut. And then his thoughts froze at the howling of the wind. A storm had come.

Eleven

He darted out of the shack, almost tearing the door off as he did. Lydia woke up and ran after him. But Angela did not realize what happened and fell back into sleep. The two ran to where the construction was taking place along the beach just into time to keep the tide from pulling it out. Artemis grabbed onto one of the sides, hoping Lydia's strength tests had been true and that it would not snap free.

As he pulled, the wet sand gave way under him and he fell. He rolled forward, still latched on as the ocean began dragging both he and the Hydra out to a certain doom. But then Lydia wrapped around his chest and tugged both back. He found purchase and together, they were able to pull the ship far enough onto the beach that the ocean could not reach it.

A wave broke over the beach and descended on the two like a hammer. The ship remained in place, but Artemis was sent backwards in a rushing swirl of water. Lydia was close by and doing likewise. He tumbled against the sand and felt his weightlessness for a moment before the waters dissipated. He ambled himself up and looked at the angry sea beyond. It seemed to be more enraged than ever now that the boat was out of its reach. The wind wailed as if it were a spoiled child with its newest toy taken away.

Then the waters receded lower than he had seen the tide go the entire time he'd been on the island. Artemis sighed and wiped the water from his forehead. His heart jumped up and down in his chest, and he felt ready for another bout of waves. "Thanks." He said. "I guess we can go back to sleep." He turned to her and waited for the nod.

"No." Lydia replied. "We move the Hydra further inland and then we take Angela as far to the center of the island as we can. Or to the highest point. All of us."

"Why is that?"

Her hands were already on the ship. "A deathroll is coming." She pointed at the retreating water and began dragging.

"And that is, what?" He asked and began to help pull the Hydra to the tree line. The air settled and became stagnant, but the sky remained dark.

They dragged the crude thing to the woods and rested it behind a stout palm. "A big wave, Artemis. A really big, really deadly wave."

She ran toward the hut, and he followed. "How deadly, Lydia? I've never heard of such a thing."

"I don't know." Over panting. "Sometimes they aren't that bad. And sometimes they can kill everything on an island."

He ran faster.

Twelve

He woke Angela and got her to her feet. Then he turned to Lydia, "How much time do we have?"

"Five minutes, an hour. There's no way to know." She beckoned at the two with an eager hand. And they began heading for the island center.

There had once been an active volcano where this island rested. It was the source of the island, though it had been dormant for centuries. But if they could reach the center where lava once flowed, they could climb the summit and find some safety. Whether they had plenty of time to reach it or if there was no hope of it, was unknown to them. But that fear drove two of them and carried along a third, baffled one.

Fifteen minutes of running and pushing aside the thick leaves. It might have been an hour or no time at all. He had no perception left of the clock, but seeing the slope made a fine substitute.

Unhappy birds squawked around them in a cacophony of other pleading yelps. Every living thing on the island seemed to have the same intuition as a sailor and knew of the coming destruction. Screeches came from the trees along with chattering from the ground and enough yipping to make one think the creatures were forming an acapella for the untalented.

Small trees rooted at the base provided footholds, and the three scuttled up. A series of ledges were overcome as Artemis helped Lydia and Angela up them and was then pulled up himself. After a bit of this, they came to a point where the rises were too high and could not be climbed. A couple hundred feet above sea-level was all they could get.

They each sat against the side of the dead volcano and looked out at the vast waters. Artemis could see Hado despite the oppressive darkness, and he wondered just how the accursed souls there could survive. And he knew that they could not. A few thoughts later, and he realized that they must be crowded and not have enough food to survive even in fair weather. If that was the case, then they must be in a state of perpetual starvation. But he thought of them all taking to cannibalism.

Lydia explained to Angela what it was that they ran from and why, but she never took her eyes from the horizon. It would be soon now, and the Hydra would be claimed. If it wasn't, then going to Hado was nothing short of absolute destiny and calling.

And then it came. A massive rolling wave the size of Bluehold Castle came rushing from the furious ocean that had been denied what it desired. It was as high as they were, and dread settled into Artemis's heart. But the fear was tame and quiet, from petrification. He watched the unholy water comb over the beech, shaking the island and rattling his nerves. The Hydra had been out of sight this entire time, but the deathroll washed over where it had been and uprooted legions of palms by the shore.

His heart sank as the hut was taken like a pile of sticks by an avalanche. It swept over the island in a fraction of the time it took the three to run across it. It made a sound like thunder that seemed to cause his bones to ache. He wondered what would have happened if he had never woken that night, or if Lydia hadn't been there with him. He and Angela would've been lost to watery graves. He'd have been sent to Seldren again, and for her a mystery. Either way, he would've lost her again.

The trembling, snapping trees were overshadowed by the speeding thunder. It came to the mount and slammed up against it. There were animals in the water, he knew, that were having their lifeless bodies smashed like rotten tomatoes on a fool's face. The bulk was just below them. Had they not come over the last rise, they all would have died inches away from safety. A geyser of foaming water sprayed into the air in front of the three and made a wall of liquid for a moment before falling apart and descending on them like rain.

A rumbling followed this, and after a few moments there was calm. Artemis leaned his head against the sure mountainside and exhaled. Angela, quiet as ever, leaned back as well and closed her eyes. His eyes darted at Lydia, and they were both smiling. Then she began to sing.

"His hand is upon us

The ramparts they break

Down from an Isthmus

A shattering lake.

The rolling tide beckons

It calls to me still

The captain, he reckons

We're in for a thrill.

Islands once eternally lost

Pay for the ultimate cost

Time is in the sand

Digging at the land

Marks the great treasure

Double the measure!

We carry this weight on our shoulders for sure

Down to our salty grave

Burdened and tired we tried to ignore

How much loot can we save?

Then the dawn breaks

We follow our path

Triple the stakes

And sail from the wrath.

Islands once eternally lost

Pay for the ultimate cost

Time in the sand

Digging at the land

Marks the great treasure

Double the measure!"

He turned and looked at Lydia's glowing face. Even in the darkness, he thought her voice gave off a radiance. A part of him ached that Angela had fallen asleep and had not been able to hear. But a greater part of him was entranced by the melody and compelled him to come forward. "Grena," He began, "Felix is Lord Icarus. I believe my failures to raise Geoff and Cedric drove him to . . ." Then he stopped. He just couldn't force any more of it out.

She never looked at him, only gazed over the cliff at the torn landscape. But she did smile, though it seemed painful to do so. "Did you think I missed you three times by mistake? You of all people should remember how good I was with a bow."

"It can't really be."

"You were suspicious enough to lure me out, weren't you? Then it must not be so hard to believe, Art." She stood and walked to the ledge. Her feet made a sloshing sound through the moist dirt. "You never came looking for me."

He bowed his head and clasped his hands. For a moment he thought it might have been more pleasant if the water had killed them. "I wallowed instead, mostly in a flagon. And I'm sorry for that. But—"

"You're making up for it now. Yeah, I can see that. It dumbfounded me that day you came wrapped up in your tin and told me to 'follow the knight.' And it was worse when you wouldn't change your mind."

"You remember it all very clearly."

"Of course I do!" Then softer to let the girl sleep. "You had suddenly crawled out of the brig you built yourself and then decided to take a journey. At first I thought you lost your mind."

"I might have. Will you forgive, Grena?"

"Forgiveness can come after Hado. But first I want you to tell me why we're going there. And it would be a nice bonus if you told me why our son went and conquered the world."

# Where Souls Die

One

So he told her, and she listened. Whether or not she believed him, he could not tell. Parts made her laugh, and some made her grimace. When he finished they both slept. She went to her own dreams, and he to his nightmares. A rift formed between them, and he supposed that was only natural. Never was it his intention to mend that gap, just to be able to see her on the other side of it was better than good enough for him. And as his demons tortured him that night, his mind laid at rest.

Perhaps the lack of adrenaline caused the trip down to be harder, or maybe climbing down is the harder of the two. When they reached the base, they did not sprint to camp to test their time. No thanks, they were tired and walking would be a relief. Debris littered everything, and half of the still standing trees had been stripped bare. Plenty of cord bowls dotted the island, but none were still attached.

The hut had been so utterly decimated that Artemis couldn't discern any of its parts from any other wreckage. And the Hydra could not be found, not a single part of it. Time to start over.

Two

That week felt to him like an eternity. Grena distanced herself from him when she could, and if she couldn't she would ignore him. He guessed her to be true to her word, that he wouldn't get any further along that line until after Hado. The ship came back together without much effort, and he felt free to use the endless supply of refuse the deathroll had made. They were, in a way, cleaning up the island.

Grena insisted that it be named the Hydra Mark II, but Artemis couldn't understand that. Since the first one had never been finished, he thought this might be a Hydra Junior but not an actual sequel. But she named it the Mark II, as she was the seafarer.

Reassembled and finished, they readied to test their new vessel. He tied a rope to the stern and let the body float. He tugged one end the way one might a kite and was pleased by the way it did not fill with water and sink. Grena and Angela climbed aboard while he still held the rope and tested the buoyancy. To the surprise of Artemis and Angela, it stayed afloat.

The next day, Grena suggested, would be the best time to sail off. She told this to Angela and Artemis wondered if it was her desire to leave him behind, though she said it out loud and in front of him. Or it might mean nothing.

Artemis sat down later that afternoon and looked at the beaten arms and legs he employed. All the years of working a forge didn't add up to the damage sun exposure gave him. It made him think about how much longer he had. At this point he seemed to go through lives like napkins, the idea of wearing down his Halostone growing very real. Dirt stains had become a part of his hands, as sandy bits stuck in the ravines that lined his palms. The shade of a stout tree protected his neck while he looked at his reddened legs. There was a sore spot on his neck and all over his shoulders. Soon it would peel off, and he'd be cursing himself for not sewing together some sort of cloak.

Angela sat across from him and molded sand into castles. Two of which might've been carbon copy replicas of Bluehold and Leo's. Her skill was outstanding, and he knew she too was a craftsman in her own way. Grena went to the grave she made for her pistol. He knew the bullets were wasted, but he was also certain the gun had sentimental value to her. And who had made that gun for her? He doubted she simply went out and bought it from a wholesaler. A gunsmith had made it, just for her. He knew this with absolute positivity. Times had moved on as had people, and he was being left behind.

Three

He leaned back against the tree and began daydreaming. He imagined himself visiting his son, in his own domain, and sharing a pleasant conversation. Maybe he could bless the newlyweds. He saw himself saying goodbye to Angela, as her time for sheltering came to an end. He thought she would go on to be a successful artist. And he thought of Grena forgiving him. Artemis didn't think he would ever be able to call her his wife again, but he would settle for forgiveness and her happiness. It was bitter to look at all of this and see no one by his side, to endure eternity with, and to not have his other sons brought back.

A few moments after Angela built a metropolis of fortresses, she stood up and kicked them over. No look of loss on her face, only a smile. They would be washed away by wind or tide soon enough. She, as the creator, should have the right to tear them down.

Grena did not come back that evening, but he felt no worry. He thought he should, but somehow he knew she wanted to be away. He had little to go on to give him that reason, but he knew. Angela seemed to know as well and fell asleep under her hammock like a rock, as usual.

He stayed up and looked at the full moon. Rotting in that cell, Artemis had forgotten the great white globe. Tonight it looked larger. Maybe that was how the ocean made it look, or perhaps it was the harvest moon. It filled the dark sky with a dusky purple light that seemed to push away the stars. He could see the shadows of the trees around him and the glitter white light bouncing of the rippling waters below. He saw Hado, his destination, as a silhouette on the horizon.

That island of lost souls was the end of his journey. A bastion of torment for all who failed at life itself. Some had been cheated of it, but most had shrugged it off. He believed he might've done the same had it not been for Grena.

Heavy air sank into his lungs, as the lulling waves massaged his ears. The soft moonlight wearied his eyes, and he shut them. He slept that night without a nightmare to haunt him.

Sleeping with his back against a tree, comfortable as it might have seemed, left him to deal with a horrible knot the next day. He slouched over onto his hands and knees and pushed himself up. Forgetting the leaf hammock, he accidentally thrust his head through the green canvas. No matter, he wouldn't be needing that again. He popped his back and let Angela remain asleep. Then he went searching for Grena.

Four

Ruts by rows began appearing as he walked through debris. The earth had been scratched away by raw hands. The largest cavity was in the place of the buried pistol. That had yielded nothing, he saw, and a multitude of smaller ones radiated around it. But he wasn't looking for the pistol.

The sun rose over the water, striking the tender spot behind his neck where it had already ravaged. The smell of salt on the air could no longer be smelled, and he thought for a moment that he might as well be on the edge of Har again. Artemis continued to climb over what was left of the tropical environment and the ditches that littered amongst it all. Hundreds of holes were plugged with warped bark and half-stripped cord bowls.

His feet filled with splinters from the decimated woods, and the going became staggering and limping instead. He paused every minute or so to remove the jagged slivers of wood and curse himself for not making shoes. At one point he tripped over a branch that had been wedged in the dirt and fell face first into a bramble of chips. His front side was plastered by superficial bits of impaling spikes, which he retrieved with great fury before marching further on.

The sun rose halfway to its crest, and the warmth of it made Artemis sweat. He thought he'd never get used to this climate even if he spent another ten lifetimes living out there. So he stopped for a drink of water. A fine puddle of the stuff collected in a pouch of leaves that had fallen into place just so. To his wonderful surprise, the liquid was still cool. Salt free even.

A stubborn seagull hopped around on the beach below. It had all the hunting grounds to itself now. The thing reminded Artemis of himself and Garn. Once upon a time, he had a monopoly there. That might've been a few centuries ago for all he cared now.

Five

A sleeping figure with hair of fire and the snoring of a boar laid propped against one of the straggling palms. In her lap was a drying flintlock, and on her cheek a ray of sunlight. He came up to her, and her rasping breath startled him when he first heard it. Then, seeing the source, Artemis gingerly approached. By doing so, the debris seemed less wanting to pierce his soles, and he wondered why he had not walked so tenderly before.

He kneeled by her sleeping form, as drool escaped her mouth and dripped into a wet patch of dirt. He smiled at her. He always thought the way she slept was cute, but he never told her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, never even thinking of the saliva that was inches from coating his hand, "Grena, it's time to leave." A sudden urge to wrap his arms around her consumed him, but he resisted.

She jumped as if she had both been out of breath and falling. Her legs kicked out in front of her, and she opened her tired eyes. Grena stretched her arms and knitted her hands over her gun. Her arms quivered from fatigue, and blood was caked under what remained of her nails. Her knees were darkly bruised and also stained. Her breathing by itself sounded tired. "I almost thought I'd lost it."

"Well." He began but had no way to finish. All he could do, all he did, was smile at her and wish she would return the feeling.

"Everything is set to go?"

"Mmhmm."

Her mouth gaped, and she stared at the iron under her clasped hands. "I'll be a bit out of sorts today. You'll have to do most of the crew work."

He nodded and waited for her to stand. Some moments passed, but she remained still. "Are you ok?"

"I overdid it, Art. I can hardly even lean forward." She took one quaking arm and holstered the pistol into her belt of soft bark. "I'll either catch up, or I won't. I just need some time."

But Artemis knew she wouldn't be catching up, and he couldn't leave her. Not after all that time apart, not when he was this close to righting his wrongs. He slid an arm behind her back and another under her knees. Artemis grunted and got her off the ground. Once he stood upright and had her leaning against his chest, she seemed to lose half her weight. And he walked down to the beach, away from the splinters.

Six

She fell asleep again in his arms, but Artemis fulfilled one of his desires. She was in his arms, right where he wanted her to be for the last century. He pushed the sentimental thoughts away, as they made his eyes well. There would be time for tears of joy later, preferably while they all sat at a dinner table drinking root beer and enjoying his best dish of chicken and potatoes.

The sun, weakened as it might be in autumn, sat on his head like a hot coal. His gray hair seemed to be withholding a furnace from reaching his scalp, and for that he was glad. He leaned his head forward, sacrificing the skin on the back of his neck in order to shade Grena as she slumbered. The tide was low, and the sand dry. His feet burned with each sun baked grain, and he wanted desperately to walk closer to the water where the sand would be wet and cool. Deposits of salt residue rubbed into his wounded feet, and lit the splinter cuts ablaze.

When they returned to camp, Angela stood against a tree with impatient folded arms and regarded the blacksmith with a look of pity. Artemis crumbled under the shade, almost spilling Grena onto the ground. He set her down and crippled over, as she began stirring, and rolled around in an attempt to pop his back into place. Or at the very least, take stress away from his cramping muscles.

"Why did you do that?" She asked.

Half-moaning he replied, "I didn't want to leave you."

"The gesture was nice, Art. But I meant it when I said I'd catch up. The best time to leave won't be until dusk. Or we wait until tomorrow."

Some of the cramps subsided. "I misread."

"And now we're both incapacitated." She looked at Angela, who shrugged. "Well, we're in good hands. It looks like YOU'LL be doing most of the crew work. Think you can handle that?"

Angela nodded.

Artemis sighed.

Seven

Later that day Artemis managed to walk upright in short bursts. Once to take care of business, the other a return trip. Angela built the campfire that night and waved Artemis off every time he tried to explain to her how to cook. She knew, and he was being a pest about it. He fed himself without aid, thought Angela had to bring him his food.

Grena refused to be helped with eating. She had food in her lap and every minute or two, reached down to take a few bites. Then a respite followed accompanied by a number of facial distortions she seemed unable to stop. Maybe, he thought, if he crippled his back again to embrace her she would feel better.

An aching back, along with a deflated ego, did wonders to keep Artemis awake that night. The cool dirt on his back felt like an expert massage, but he would have asked for a sleeping concoction instead. A waning gibbous peeked at him now and then from behind thin, wispy clouds. And he thought all the while how much time he was wasting that would be better spent asleep. For a moment, he even pondered if using jellyfish venom would alleviate the pain and then let his mind focus on rest.

As if hearing his wailing thoughts, Grena broke from her own sleep from under the next tree. She crawled to him, which was the best she could do, pistol still holstered on her hip. She laid next to him and clasped one of her ravaged hands in his own. Then she stared up at the white light, caught in Artemis's unrest.

He supposed plenty of things would be fine to say at that point. A few things came to mind that he'd read in books. Good stuff, great stuff according to the stories. But he didn't want to ruin the moment, so he just squeezed her hand and tilted his head. He saw her smile, when he did this. And that was better than any conversation he had ever had, or ever would. Then he fell asleep.

Eight

He woke late that day. He turned to see no one lying beside him, so she had become mobile. Now for him, his back felt recovered. But he knew better, that as soon as he moved the pain would return. The question was how much.

He tried to roll, more of a mild adjustment in truth. The pain sprouted in his upper back behind his heart and speared its way down around his spine. It hurt but just a strong throbbing. To him, that meant he could move even if only in a hobble.

When he stood up, the pain receded a bit more. It occurred to him that this was not the starved body, nor was it the old one with ruined kidneys. This one still acted young and healthy, but Artemis thought he could break it of that in no time.

He walked down to the shore, the "harbor" as he called it. Grena and Angela stood by the Mark II, inspecting it one last time. His going was slow; he didn't want to push this back any longer. Artemis waved at the young woman, and she saluted him. Grena waddled over to Angela and said something to her that Artemis couldn't understand over the washing of the tide.

His feet seemed sorer than the back that had crippled him, and he was glad to be down by the waves in the cool sand. Room for three, buoyant, sturdy enough, and done. The ship was indeed shape, though such a thing would never be seen in a production line. "Are we ready to voyage?"

"In a few hours." Grena said and tugged at a few of the binding ropes inside the Hydra. "Until then, we should relax. Get some food in our guts too." The blunt speech was a new thing to hear from her, but he liked it. "In case it takes a little longer and we can't get food on the way."

He nodded and thought he might have wasted a trip down there, when he could have just slept a bit longer. "Will we use this to get back to the mainland after Hado?" The first time he had even thought of this himself.

"If it works, I don't see why not." And neither did he.

Nine

The hour came that afternoon for sailing. A clear sky with only the smallest blots of clouds here and there, a mackerel sky on the horizon. The setting sun burned the atmosphere with amber and rose gold. He felt his heart pounding in excitement, as waves of anticipation washed over him and silenced the rolling ocean. The air tasted sweet, and his body forgot the pains.

"Give us a push." Grena said as she hunkered into the Hydra.

"Hmm?" Artemis lifted from his daydreaming daze as Angela sat behind. The boat sat most of its body in water, but a portion at the rear was held on a small sandbar. He cut the ropes tethering it and gave it that push before replying, "Sure."

He sat behind Angela and took up his paddle. As he dipped the head in water, Grena looked over her shoulder. "Not yet. Use the handle." She looked at the water beside her. "It's still too shallow. You'll break the head off here."

Roderick had been right about one thing; you could hear the wailing. At first he thought it was the sea breeze whistling around even though there was nothing out here for it to whip around. But as they came closer, the human element rushed forth and followed by a chorus of screeches. Like a knife against a steel rolling pin or the feel of cold wind passing over dead teeth, the sounds grated against Artemis.

Angela began crying hard enough that she could no longer help paddle along. Artemis took up the slack while she matched Hado's screaming. Grena turned to Angela, concern and confusion layering her face like bark on a tree. She continued sobbing as they ate a few rations of dried fish that night, but Artemis thought it had slowed down.

Ten

Morning came, and he went on paddling for her. Grena hauled up her own and sat it beside her. "The current has us now, so take a rest." And he did. The Hydra did not slow when he laid the paddle away, but his heart kept its hastened beat and his arms grew restless.

"Tell me." She said as she folded her arms and leaned forward, almost becoming the bow itself. Though Angela sat between them sobbing, it was as if the gap between them did not exist and they were alone together. Even the wails seemed to hush so as to not interrupt the two. "What are you seeking to find at the end of this journey?"

His eyes beaded on the island ahead. "Redemption? I just believe that if I can get Angela there that she can put the poltergeists and everyone they've tormented in peace."

"I thought you might be trying to get the two of them back."

His eyes fell to his tanned knees. He couldn't stand to look at her gaze that wasn't even fixed on him. "Just relief for them."

"Or maybe she sends them off to Dystopia. Art, you don't know. But I hope you understand that it won't be like the old days, not ever again."

"Of course I know that." His eyes went up to her back again. "The last part, that is."

"Well, what are you willing to settle for?"

The journey had been all about not settling, not letting things be as they are, of not going stale. He didn't know what he would settle for when things all unraveled and came to a close. So he said, "The best that I can." He blushed, and the feeling of it bothered him. He had three sons with Grena, and yet this might have been the first time they'd ever spoken. "I wouldn't mind it if you came back. Or I could always move up to Drath, maybe learn a thing or two about gunsmithing." This last part he wanted to both recant and reinforce, so he let it be.

She began whistling a tune he'd never heard. The melody overpowered the crashing waves and soothed his raging arms. For the remainder of the song, he forgot that he had just asked her to come back.

"The maiden, she came to me

With fright, a horrible plea

'Save the starving village

Spare us from the pillage.'

Crew readied to sail

Wind rushing at our backs

Never to fail

We give the world what it lacks.

The shore is bombarded

By canons it's parted

The barricades fall

None are too small.

Our cutlasses swing

'Round the harbor ring

The pirates lose sway

Victory is ours today.

The maiden, she came to me

With fright, a horrible plea

'Save the starving village

Spare us from the pillage.'

Crew readied to sail

Wind rushing at our backs

Never to fail

We give the world what it lacks.

By brotherhood we are driven

To us courage has been given

Faithful servants of Orry

Captain of the sea!

Be merry this day

Blood has come undone

Of villains, hurray

And Orry has won!"

Eleven

Angela ceased her tears, and at that moment the wails from the island halted. Artemis took a few moments to notice this as he was still riding the waves of the melody in his mind. The instant he realized that he was not a seafaring hero was the same moment he knew the island had been made safe, or safer at least. Sobering he asked, "Who is this Orry anyway?"

Her shoulders raised. "The captain of the sea. Or, more plainly, an old legend." She looked over the side. "We can paddle again, or we can walk."

He jumped from the boat, water coming up only to his stomach. Angela came next and then Grena. He grabbed the rim of the starboard and pulled the Hydra along as they waded to shore. Then he thought of what he had said and how she did not answer him.

Leaving the ship just above the tideline, they camped inland that night under the canopy of thick trees. This island had been either been spared from the deathroll or was given mercy from its full fury. The trees did not seem to be uprooted, and the animals sounded as if, though angry because of intruders, they still lived in multitudes. They didn't see any of the formerly possessed, and he thought it would be just fine to wait until morning before dealing with them.

Angela sat away from them, resting against her tree and staring deeper into the island. She didn't sleep for some time after that, but she was gone enough that Artemis and Grena felt comfortable sitting next to each other, aching and reminiscing.

The once brilliant bed of embers that composed Grena's hair had faded to a dirty snowfield with only a few rust colored streaks remaining. Whatever life she was in now, she was older than he, but to think of it in total years lived she was still younger. But her energy was youthful, almost matching his. Salt and sand and waves might have bleached what had been hidden under her hat, but she remained untouched by it.

And he couldn't take his eyes from her, even though he knew how he needed to rest. Artemis wanted to tell her something, anything at all. Just so that he could hear her voice again. Yet he also kept himself silent. The powerful and unfounded feeling that he would make a mistake kept his tongue in check. After an hour of listening to one another breathing, she broke the silence for him and not to say what he wanted to hear.

Twelve

"Orry was the son of Aurias the Cartographer and a mermaid named Pyrwana." She began. "Aurias was mapping the coastline of Ungotha, a land lost to legend that all of mankind supposedly came from.

But one day while he was on the east coast on a peninsula called Heavensfall, a great wind came followed by a deathroll. He tucked himself into a ball as compact as a cannonball and survived the wave. But it dragged him out to sea, where he floated aimlessly for many months.

Eventually he washed up on the shore of an island and uncurled himself. A turtle saw him do this and thought Aurias was his kin, so it put him on its back and carried him inland. It left to find food and never returned. Aurias, having almost starved to death, laid on the ground and began crawling in hopes of finding food. A large sloth saw this and took him for kin. So it dragged him into a tree and waited for Aurias to strike up a conversation. When the sloth fell asleep, Aurias tried to climb down the tree. But he fell, though he stayed unharmed. An albatross saw this and took him as kin, so it picked him up and dropped him on the shore. Then it flew down the coast, never to be seen again.

At this point he gave up on finding anything to eat and decided to imagine what his finished map of Ungotha might have looked like. It was then that the mermaid saw him dying on the beach and took pity on him. She swam up as close as she could and then slid across the sand to him.

She fed him fish, and after a few meals he was able to talk and stand on his own again. He thanked her for saving his life and asked her for her name. She told him that she was Pyrwana, the daughter of a fairy and the sea, which is what all merfolk are supposed to say when they speak of their parents. He thanked her again and told his name.

They went on talking, and he told her that he'd never eaten fish before. And she told him that she had never eaten anything but that and seaweed. So he promised her that if she would continue to meet him on the shore every night at sunset that he would bring her a dish that could only be obtained on land.

The next day they met, and he gave her some cooked chicken. She was delighted by it and thanked him. The day after he gave to her wild pheasant, and again she thanked him but also gave him a kiss.

He found himself smitten and, on the third day, he wanted to give her a very special meal. So he hunted down the turtle that carried him inland, and he prepared it. Then he found the sloth, killed it, and prepared it. After this he used bait to lure in the albatross. He caught the great bird in a snare, slew it, and prepared it.

That evening he gave Pyrwana the three course meal. She ate it, thanked him, and fell in love with him. They were married in a great cathedral under the ocean the next day in the merfolk city of Astenia. Aurias was given the power of water breathing so that he could be with her under the water, and she was given the ability to change her tail into legs so that she could walk with him on land.

They had a son and named him Orry, which in an ancient language of Pyrwana's people means 'He who turns the tides.' Aurias instilled in his son the knowledge of navigation by stars and landmarks. Pyrwana gave to him an understanding of the sea and how everything in it worked in tandem with all its other parts. As he grew older, he became a mighty man and surpassed both his parents in their areas of strength.

Time passed after that, and one day a band of diving pirates raided and destroyed Astenia. In that act they singlehandedly wiped out all the merfolk, as it happened that they had all gathered there for a festival, and both of Orry's parents. Orry cursed himself for not being there to protect his family and swore vengeance.

The current buried the massacred people, leaving Orry to focus on his new purpose. He vowed to conquer the waters and keep raiders in check. So he raised a crew and built the greatest sailing ship, which he called Heavensent after the place his father had been before finding his mother. That's when he set the precedent that all great vessels and weapons needed to be named.

After eradicating the numerous clans of seadogs from the North Land, Orry tamed the Hyrda and it accompanied him and his crew ever after on their endeavors."

She glanced at Angela then back at Artemis. "He went on to do all sorts of things after that, and I guess it would take me a few days to tell all his tales. But that's his setup, who he is. And according to the myth, he, his crew, and the Hydra are all immortal and are still guarding the waters even now. Not that I've ever seen them. But then again, I've never had to deal with pirates either."

"You've been a ferryman this whole time?" The first tendrils of fatigue set in, and he yawned.

"No." She said in a hollow tone as though that were the whole truth. Then she licked her lips and dropped her hand to the pistol. "I did about a decade or so of sailing with a cargo company. The Swift Fish they were called."

He wrapped an arm around her and hoped she would not remove it. She did not. "What was your job while you were with them?"

"Well, at first I helped load and unload ships. But eventually I got involved in navigating and actually running the ship."

"Sounds like you would've been running things before too long."

"You goof, I was running things!"

He smiled. "But you left. Why?"

"I fit right in with the rest. It was surly, and I learned a few things a lady probably shouldn't." She tried to hold in a laugh. "I just wanted to strike out on my own and see what I could manage. So I used some of the money I'd saved and bought that steamwreck. You know, that thing was pristine back when I first got it."

A leech bed of guilt formed in a little pit between his heart and his stomach. "I'm sorry about that."

"The sea will take what it wants when it wants." She rested a hand on his. "Have you just been a blacksmith all this time?"

He wanted to look at the sword on his belt for emphasis, but of course it was long gone. "Yes. I mean, there's only one other thing I know how to do. But you remember, I left that life behind me. Even if the experience still turns up useful."

A warm hand crept up his thigh, and he fought off a shiver. "You're good at a few other things too, I remember."

Any feeling of tiredness from before fled him. He pulled her in, and with her, a thousand memories. They felt each other's touches for the first time in over a century. And once Angela fell asleep, they did more than that.

# After Life

One

They moved further inland the next day in search of the island's accursed Halostone. Whether it even existed or not was another matter. Artemis hoped that it did, as it was his fountain of youth, his holy grail, and his redemption.

They didn't run into any of the possessed, and that began to worry him. If they weren't savages anymore, then they shouldn't be an obstacle. But the idea that they might be hiding and preparing an ambush set him on edge. Every snapped twig and every cord bowl falling from its tree might be an attacker. And without a weapon to defend himself and his group, he felt as though he were naked and at the mercy of whomever inhabited the island.

The ground leveled, and soon they found themselves passing through a bayou. Artemis had been told about places like this and even had the privilege of cooking alligator meat on an occasion. But he had no experience ever being in the swampy environment and supposed the closest he could think of was the time he'd been running away from snakes.

"Don't stand near the water's edge." Grena warned. "Basilisks will lunge from it and snatch anything just in reach. And once they have you in the water, they have all the leverage."

"A reptile?"

"A large one. Orry was said to have wrestled them for a sport and never lost."

"I saw one once." He replied and watched his feet to make sure they were still attached. "But it was already dead. Tasted fine, and Dral made a decent pair of boots out of it."

"Good to hear he's still around." She guided them up a bank. Mosquitos began pestering the three with great enthusiasm. But the tiny itching bites of that particular nuisance was preferred over the flesh rending kind given by basilisks.

The ground made sopping sounds under their feet, while a choir of frogs croaked in the background all around them. The sun was above them somewhere, but it was hidden most of the time by thick moss-covered trees. The smell of stagnation was strong, and to left at the base of the bank something decided to submerge itself in water.

A large mosquito zipped by Artemis's face and was followed by an iridescent red dragonfly. He watched them cross the boggy waters as the pursuer closed in on its prey. Water skimmers dotted the stilled water surface. Here and there were little legions of flies and gnats converging on points of interest, such as a half rotted muskrat. A human forearm floated in a pool off to the right and was dragged under by a basilisk.

Artemis turned to Grena and eyed the gun at her hip. "Did you save any shots?" A hopeful look radiated from his face as if it somehow increased the odds.

Her hand graced the handle, and her face soured. "Only one."

He nodded and returned his attention to his feet. That was better than he expected. How great she was, to somehow save a whiff of powder even through the tumult. He loved it.

Two

Angela stopped and leaned against a dark and moist tree. She stared into the marsh beyond as if looking into the eyes of a good friend. A minute of this, and the other two began to think she'd fallen asleep. A fly landed on her nose and she swatted it, then looked at her surrogate father.

"Does she mean to say something? It's a bit hard to interpret." Her hand was on his shoulder and her mouth only a few inches from his ear. She was whispering. Then to Angela. "Is the Halostone close? Can you sense it?"

She nodded and turned her gaze away.

"But there's something wrong, isn't there?"

She nodded again and her now lengthy hair fell into her face, forming a nice little veil of dirty gold.

Artemis sighed and observed his barren waist. A dagger would be good enough, maybe even something he had no training with like a spear. But on his hip was a filthy rag that resembled a skirt and a few burrs, nothing lethal.

A little way up from there was a cloud of flies hovering over a mound. The density of the winged pests was so great that the mound itself looked black and indistinguishable. Artemis pulled a chunk of bark from a tree and tossed it at the swarm. A wild funnel of black dots whirled up from where the bark landed and revealed what they so obsessed over. Under the coat of black was a pile of bodies.

As they approached the Halostone, they passed many more such mounds but didn't bother to disturb the euphoric insects any more. The stench of it became universal and inescapable and seemed to fill the air with a miasma. The environment was choking and thick and soon, he thought, they would have to turn around.

Three

But then a sudden break in the trees and swamp came, and they entered a refreshing clearing. It was a perfect circle of dry, hard tanned dirt. At the center was a stone pillar made of black marble, the Halostone. It seemed to be repelling the water and trees from the surrounding area. To either side of it were a large number of soldiers and a few recognizable faces.

Felix waved a plated arm into the air and, with the other, slapped Mars's shoulder. "There they are!" He called as if talking to the final and most important guest at a party. "I was just about to tell the boys to pack up! Get over here!" He beckoned with that waving arm.

What other option was there? Artemis led the approach, and the two followed. He kept looking over his shoulder to make sure they hadn't been taken.

The dry dirt was a welcome change from the bog, and he found himself enjoying the walk. Despite how ominous the Halostone was, he could not take his eyes from his son who was waiting as patiently as a statue. The sun above lit the area, but its warmth was hollow. The air was even steadier than it had been in the bayou, and Artemis felt himself pushing the air out of his way just to walk forward.

When the three were close enough that Felix didn't need to shout, they stopped as he chuckled. "Nice drake." He said to his father.

Artemis looked for the "drake" as soldiers encircled them, the dark pillar being the only gap. He shrugged. "You waited for us."

"You probably think it's a skirt. Whatever you call it, the thing is tattered." He removed his helmet and handed it to Mars as if this had all been rehearsed. "I was close to going back to the mainland and searching. Between that storm and the deathroll, I would expect you to be at the sea floor before here. But this is convenient, so I thank you for that."

"I'm sorry, Felix." As he said this, the soldiers and the two behind him seemed to melt into the background. "Is that what you want to hear? I'm trying to make things right again."

A jagged hand crossed over Felix's polished chest. "Pulls at my heartstrings to hear that." The hand dropped to his side. "I believe you, but that doesn't set things right. And erasing my brothers won't make it right either."

"You can't possibly know that will happen to them."

Grena stepped up beside Artemis. Her hands shook, and she clasped his hand in one and balled the other. "Felix," her voice was light and sure, something it hadn't been since before her days at sea. "please don't fight us."

Felix motioned to one of soldiers behind him, and few moments later that soldier dragged a naked man into the circle. The man's breath was raspy, and his hands rattled. The soldier backed away as the man sat up and began making pleading gestures at Felix. "This is one of the people on the island that she 'cured.' He's been a cannibal most of his endless life." He pulled the revolver from his hip, aimed, and pierced the man's forehead with one deliberate shot. All of this happened while the "fff" was still drifting in the space between.

The man fell on his side. "Now, what's wrong with what you see?" Felix asked.

Artemis wished that he had covered Angela's eyes, but he replied without trying to do so now. "You just killed a man who begged for mercy. That's what's wrong."

"A moral compass you are that tends to point south. No." As if to children. "This man forfeited his life eons ago when he refused to mature, and he further threw his life away by partaking in human flesh. Now tell me what's wrong, with him."

The image of Cancer hovering over the young guard crossed Artemis's mind and burnt the scene of it into the dark of his eyelid. "He isn't twitching."

"He has become truly dead." Felix kicked the body. Ribs cracked and blood splashed onto his ebony boots. "Then tell me, what happens to this man's soul? It is not reborn, but neither does it go on to haunt the living." Two soldiers stepped forward and dragged the body away. "Does he wind up in Dystopia, or has he been erased? The son of the harlot you were with in the woods was like this. Same with Ulfgar."

"Who?" Artemis was curious about who Ulfgar might be. Grena meanwhile prodded the side of his head, wondering who the harlot was.

Felix began shedding pieces of his armor, and Mars began piling them under the dark pillar. Under the shell he'd worn was a sleeveless green flannel. Below that was a pair of those foreign things known as jeans. His revolver was still holstered at his side. His arms were striped in scars as if he were part tiger. He lifted that sickening serrated sword and let the dull side rest on a shoulder. A soldier approached him and gave him the sword he had once used to end Artemis's misery. "I would've felt guilty with all that steel on." He tossed the smaller sword at his father's feet.

"I can't." Artemis said, staring at his masterpiece.

"You must." Replied his son. "Or she will go through the same thing I put you through at Leo's castle." Felix raised his free arm in Grena's direction. The scars of his arm changed shaped as he did so, stretching and compressing like a skin accordion.

Artemis's sides hurt at that moment, and he picked up the sword. Felix had planned this out, he knew. And the idea of what was about to happen filled his heart with a bitter acid. His arm quivered a bit with the weight of the blade, and he only hoped that he would be able to fight. Then a soldier pushed the blacksmith forward, and Artemis staggered into the center of the ring.

Four

Felix trotted forward with his mother's eyes, his grandfather's hair, and Artemis's face. Rage seemed to exude from his gaze, and behind that was a steel. The sword lifted, and he began swinging it in the instant to follow.

Artemis deflected the heavy strike, little shocks going through his hands and numbing his forearms. He tried a counter, but Felix blocked it and kicked him in the gut. Artemis struggled to keep from crippling over, and in doing so kept himself from being decapitated by Felix's next swing.

The ring shifted as the two moved. Angela and Grena were restrained by their shoulders to keep them in place. On the opposite side of them, Mars crossed his arms and observed the event as if it were a museum curiosity. Ophelia's eyes darting between the two combatants, relief on her face. Gunther bounced up and down on his haunches, stopping only to scratch himself.

Artemis's tongue was dry, and he wished he could pause and drink a gallon or two of water. But the steady, deliberate slashes coming from the tyrant would leave no time for reprieve. His sword could not hold up for much longer, and his body seemed to be dulling his reflexes.

Defeat is a thing that often is realized at a last moment, but it gives the losing party a sense that it might have won were things a bit different. The kind of defeat Artemis was looking at was the kind that can be seen from a distance but not stopped. The panic of despair tried to form in his mind, as he lost hope. He thought for a way to get out of this losing battle but could think of none. Artemis went on stalling as best he could, searching for a way out all the while.

Perhaps seeing where the fight was going, Grena reached for her gun. This was one of the very few times she knew she would have to shoot on the draw. The gun raised, and she aimed for the slightest measure of time. As the soldier behind her began to react, she pulled the trigger. Powder ignited, and the lead ball whizzed through the air.

Felix stopped his onslaught the instant the shot passed its sound through his ears. Artemis staggered away from him and tried to catch breath. In the next instant the lead tore through Felix's body. But where it struck was not where Grena had intended. One of his ears had most of itself shredded off the king's skull, but nothing was fatal.

He turned to her as and charged forward. She threw her arms up in a cross, but that did no good. Felix thrust his sword through both of her forearms and then her chest. Blood sprayed inches away from Angela, as Grena released a choked gasp and disappeared.

His attention back on Artemis, Felix ran to him and disarmed him. He knocked the blacksmith to the ground and began beating on him with his fists. Gunther giggled behind them like a child, but all else were silent.

Five

Angela sidled the ring, while the soldiers were still caught off guard by all the chaos. Gunther saw her inching toward the Halostone, slobbered out a grunt, and moved in her direction. But Mars caught this, pulled the savage back, and walloped him in the face as was procedure with Gunther. The red headed man whimpered and let Angela go. Then all attention went to the pummeling.

The world was getting blurrier for Artemis every second. He was certain somewhere in the back of his mind that he had passed up a concussion some time ago. Only a matter of time before all was black, he was in Seldren, and this miserable quest would be at its start again. The only thing keeping him awake now was the occasional drop of sweat that would drip from Felix's forehead to his own. Every time it did, the world would brighten a shade before going two shades darker.

And then something unexpected happened. Felix stopped punching and stood up. His eyes turned toward the pillar. It took Artemis a few moments before he was also able to see what the stir was. It was hazy at first, but then his eyes cleared and he saw.

Six

The Halostone had collapsed around Angela. She floated above the ground as if upheld by the lost power of the black stone. Everything but the people standing became absolute darkness, and all the vanished light went to her. It wrapped around her and became a brilliant golden mail of sunlight.

From the darkness beyond came a flicker of green. It drew closer and took form. An hourglass was the harbinger for the cloaked reaper. It's left hand of white bone wrapped around the top of the burning device. Its right hand gripped the pole of a scythe. The dark robe of miasma it wore seemed to scream the wails and agonies of all those that had ever died, and Artemis could hear his own voice mixed among the countless others.

A sword and shield of resplendent white light filled Angela's free hands. She raised up over the rubble and drifted toward the reaper. Staring directly at her was blinding, yet none of the light she was covered with was able to light the ground around her. All the soldiers, Felix and his trusted officers, and Artemis watched in frozen astonishment as Angela began fighting the very image of death itself.

The sword and scythe collided with one another as each unleashed supernatural flurries. But all was silent, as if the battle was a slideshow. Artemis felt separated from her and the phantasmal creature like looking through a window into another plane of existence. They spun in a death dance over the absolute dark.

As the fight went on, the reaper's flaming hourglass changed its fire from green to blue and then red, orange, and yellow. It shimmered a purple at one point before turning a brilliant white. But it always settled back on green. The light from this cast itself on the skeleton's face, and no matter the color of the flame, the skull was always a blood red. The light did not reach the sockets as though the inner parts of its skull might be filled with the essence of darkness itself.

Artemis sat up and then stood. His son did not bother or did not notice and let him be. Gunther watched in mindless amazement, drooling and moaning every now and then when weapons came together. The blood under his nose had dried and mingled with the red beard. Mars's arms were still crossed, and he looked unable to unlock them even if he wanted to. Ophelia had dropped her helmet to the colorless ground, her hand frozen in the shape of release.

And then the reaper stopped its attacking. If a face without skin can convey emotion, it conveyed stubborn anger and humiliation. Then its entirety froze up as if petrified, and the flaming hourglass went dark. Artemis looked at the burnt out hourglass and saw that all the sand had fallen through. Time was up.

Seven

The sword of light in Angela's glowing hand pierced through the cloak of disease and out the other side. The thing couldn't have a beating heart to puncture, but it reacted just the same. That face of bone contorted and the jaw dropped to wail. The screams of those that died ceased, and Artemis was spared from his own voice.

The hourglass shattered. Sand fell from its prison like snowflakes and sparkled in Angela's light like silver dust. The wooden frame turned to smoke and dissipated. The reaper threw its head back, and the hood fell down. Dying worms crawled from a hole atop his skull, as the scythe's handle crumbled and the blade rusted away to nothingness.

She began to channel the light into her foe, her armor melting off into the fatal wound. The skeleton collapsed into a ball suspended in air at her chest. She backed away as rays of light ate away at the dark being. The miasma faded. The red bones vanished. And then nothing but light remained.

It broke apart and light drifted back to where it belonged. Artemis looked down at his birthmark, as it began to burn. He saw most in the ring clutching their chests, and he did likewise. The light passed through their hearts, and all the afterlifes fell to the ground dead. A few first life soldiers remained, but Angela disappeared altogether.

Around the world all the afterlifes lost heart and fell. Halostones crumbled, and all poltergeists were released. Cancer Esten was scratching at the bark of a tree in search of grubs when his death came. He smiled in relief when it did. Torin went while in a ride through Har. Dral and Branni were together at their table when it came to them. And they remained dead, free of the cycle of rebirths.

From that day onward the world belonged to the first lifes. Death became permanent, but progress flourished. Mankind came to appreciate the value of a short life and went on to achieve many great things. In time the records of Halostones and afterlifes died away, and such odd things were told to children as bedtime stories. But forever after these would only be known as myths and fairytales. The greatest of which was first told by a first life called Lumera.

The End

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