Soul Forge (Book One of the Soul Forge series)

The rest of the walk to the nearby village was quiet, save for the rain pelting the dirt. Eventually, there were lights in the distance. By the time they reached the inn, it was night and both of them were soaked to the bone. Sypher held the door open for Elda, not meeting her eyes when he let her get out of the storm first. She found it an odd juxtaposition that his words were so harsh, yet his actions were polite. She was still pondering over it when he approached the bar and took down his hood.

“Soul Forge! I thought that was you,” the bartender greeted cheerfully, sticking out a hand that Sypher shook with a faint smile. He was a half-Orc with a friendly grin, dark hair curling over his forehead and falling into bright green eyes. He addressed Sypher like they were well acquainted.

“Edward.”

“Been out hunting demons again?”

“Not on purpose. I did find the Behemoth I’ve been looking for.”

“Oh? I’m assuming it’s dead, since you’re standing here?”

“It is, along with the flocks harassing the village. It was hiding in the storms.” Sypher took a seat at the bar and gestured for Elda to sit beside him. She watched the whole exchange with raised eyebrows.

“Devilish bastards, those demons,” the bartender nodded. “Thank you for helping us once again, Saviour.”

“I told you to quit the titles,” Sypher grumbled. Edward grinned and set a full tankard down in front of him.

“On the house, Sypher.” He went back to polishing another tankard, studying Elda while the Soul Forge took a drink. “Would you mind explaining to me why our dear Princess is covered in mud and sitting at my bar?”

“She’s the new Keeper,” the soldier answered with a shrug.

“And I married him,” she added cheerfully. Edward’s eyebrows crept so far upwards, they disappeared beneath his curly fringe.

“My condolences,” he answered eventually. Elda snorted when the Soul Forge scowled.

“You’re one of the few people I tolerate, Ed. Don’t push it,” he muttered.

“Crack a smile, soldier,” the half-Orc teased. “Any man lucky enough to have the Princess on his arm should be dancing with joy, not trying to curdle his ale with his eyes.”

Sypher cast him a dark look. “Spend more than five minutes in her company and you’ll reconsider that statement.”

Edward clicked his tongue dismissively and turned his attention back to Elda. “Tssk, ignore him m’lady. He’s got an attitude problem. What can I get you to drink?”

“Wine, if you have any,” she answered with a broad grin.

“Finest wine in Eden,” Edward beamed, retreating to fetch a bottle from the cellar.

“You’re friends with him,” Elda teased when the bartender vanished, nudging Sypher with her elbow. He looked down at the spot where she’d touched him, then up at her face with something bordering on irritation. “I knew you were capable of being nice.”

“I saved his wife and daughter from being eaten a few times.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “The villagers are friendly to me because I spend more time out here than anywhere else. The outlands across Valerus are suffering, and I try my best to stop that.”

“And there was me thinking you were just in it for the glory.”

“Glory is a lie,” he grumbled. “Stories of battle are glamorised. War is a nightmare and fighting demons is worse, but if I don’t do what I can, what’s the point of me?”

“You’re more than just a weapon, you know. If you let people in, you might find yourself being a bit less angry at everything.” She rested her elbow on the bar.

“I doubt that.” He drained his tankard and stood, addressing the bartender the moment he reappeared with a bottle in his hands. “Do you have any rooms free?”

“Only yours. We got a trading caravan through last night.” Edward looked up from the goblet he was filling with a frown. “Why do you need a second room if you’re married?”

“It’s a marriage of inconvenience,” Elda quipped before Sypher could make a cutting remark, raising her eyebrows at him.

“Can I have the key?” he asked, ignoring her jibe. Edward tossed it to him and went right back to pouring. “It’s the third door on the right when you’re done here,” the Soul Forge told her. Elda watched him disappear upstairs, not missing the tightening around his eyes when he tucked his damaged wings in to avoid catching them on the narrow walls.

“Forgive me for asking, Your Grace, but why did you marry him?” the bartender asked, setting the wine down in front of her. “He does so much for us, but I’ve never met such a troubled man in all my life.”

“It was him, or the ruler of Falkryn,” she answered, looking down at the wine in her goblet. “Lord Horthan has violently murdered his previous three consorts.”

“Ah. Better a grumpy husband than a murderous one, I suppose.”

Elda looked around the tavern. “Does he live here?”

“Not permanently. Most of the inns throughout the valleys keep a room spare for him though. He’s a familiar face out here.”

“Doesn’t he have a house?”

Edward cocked his head. “What would be the point? He’d never be there. You saddled yourself to a nomad, Your Grace. He never stops moving.”

“Why not?”

“Who knows,” Edward shrugged. “He says it’s because he’s constantly hunting demons. I think he’s running from something.”

“Like what?”

“Himself.” The half-Orc smiled, relaxing the furrow in his brow. “Sorry, that was dark. What I mean to say is, I think he knows the kind of danger he surrounds himself with. If he never puts down roots, he can’t get anyone else hurt.”

“And they can’t hurt him either,” Elda realised.

“Exactly.” Edward nodded. “I’ve been watching him come and go for seventy years, m’lady. He’s never brought anyone along with him.”

“If he had a choice, he’d leave me behind.”

“I know him. If he really felt that way, he’d give you his room and find somewhere to sleep outside.” There was a twinkle in Edward’s eye. “He doesn’t speak well, Elda. It’s his actions you should pay attention to.” Elda blinked, stunned by the wisdom of a complete stranger.

It made sense, all of a sudden - the way he squeezed her hands when she panicked at the wedding, the holding doors open, the looks she couldn’t understand. His harsh words were a front to keep people out. If he was venomous, they recoiled and stayed away. But he couldn’t change his muscle memory. His actions were unconscious glimpses of what he was like without his walls. Elda found herself captivated by it.

“I think I should go upstairs myself,” she smiled, sliding off the stool and emptying her goblet. “Thank you for the wine and your hospitality, Edward. And for your wisdom.” He tipped an imaginary hat to her before she bounded up the stairs.

Sypher was perched on a bench built into a large window with an uncomfortable frown on his face. One knee was bent on the bench, his elbow resting on it and a book clutched in his fingers. The other boot was on the floor, his leg stretched out as though it ached. His wings still hung awkwardly behind him, struggling to heal on their own. With his armour gone, his scarred torso was thrown into sharp relief in the firelight.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to fly tomorrow?” Elda asked doubtfully.

“They’ll be mended enough by morning.”

“Can you even move them?”

He looked up from the page and scowled. “Not much.”

“I have something that might help.” She slipped the two packs off her back and started rummaging through them, eyes widening when she realised what was missing. “My new bow! I dropped it when I fell!”

“And your arrows,” he noted, returning to his book.

“How am I supposed to fight without a weapon?”

“You’re not fighting anything until you’ve spent some time with Gira.” His answer was absent, his attention focussed on the page.

“Why not?” she frowned. “Isn’t the whole point of this trip that I learn to fight?”

“The whole point is to keep you alive. You’ll learn to fight somewhere safe.”

“That’s not learning to fight, that’s learning how to be a punch bag. I can’t fight monsters where there aren’t monsters.”

He turned the page, still not looking up. “The first part of becoming a Keeper is learning to interact with your Soul Blade. Gira is in tune with his in a capacity none of the other Keepers have managed. Training with him will benefit you.”

“I’ve interacted with Irileth already. She calls me her friend,” Elda protested.

“It’s not enough,” he shrugged, wincing when it pulled his broken wing. “With the right connection between us, your Soul Blade will become a part of you. Irileth will feel like an extension of your soul.”

“What do you mean ’the right connection between us’?” she echoed. Sypher looked up at last, realising his mistake. Elda folded her arms across her chest, daring him to stay quiet. He sighed and set the book aside, running a hand through his muddy hair.

“One of the reasons I can’t stand the Keepers, is because the link with them is an invasion of privacy.” His tone was subdued, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“How?”

“It’s a link between your consciousness and mine. When it grows, it becomes strong enough to communicate through. We can sense thoughts and feelings from one another.” His head dipped. “No secrets.”

“I don’t have secrets to keep.”

“I do.” He closed his eyes, obviously wishing he could take back the slip up. “I need to protect myself from the bond for as long as I can.”

“How do you expect me to become a Keeper if you hold back from the task you exist to complete?” she asked incredulously.

He glared at her, red eyes burning in the low light. “The same way the Spirits expect me to suffer, lifetime after lifetime. The same way they intend for me to keep on going, no matter what shit they throw my way. Because you have no choice.”

“Sypher,” she said his name softly, almost like she was trying to calm a cornered wildcat. “I have a choice.”

“You have the illusion of a choice.”

"Listen to me,” she insisted. He fell silent. “I have a thousand choices to make, and any one of them could be wrong. I could pick the wrong fight, make the wrong shot, I could decide not to do something and a hundred people could die. I don’t know what will happen next, or how many lives could be lost because of me. I need your help. I can’t make the right choices with nobody to show me what they are. You might think you have no choice but to be what the Spirits intend, but I don’t believe that. I believe they gave you a purpose, and how you meet that purpose is up to you.”

“What do you know of them?” he countered, bitterness making way for an aching, crushing sadness. The sound of it took her breath away. “You don’t know anything.”

“Because you won’t tell me.” He sat in stony silence. She sighed and chewed her lip, teetering dangerously close to making him furious. She wanted to get past his rage so desperately, but he was nowhere near ready. “Come on. You look exhausted and your wings are covered in mud.”

She beckoned him towards the washroom, ducking through the door and frowning at the large stone basin. A brass spout was set at one end, reflecting her confused expression back at her. She looked around for the switch to get the water running, coming up empty.

“It’s a tap,” Sypher said from behind her, making her jump. She turned to find him leaning against the door frame. “You turn the top.”

“Oh. We only have stones in the palace.”

“Enchanted switches are too expensive for people out here.” He passed her and turned on the faucet, water pouring out in a loud rush. “Now explain to me why you’re trying to run me a bath.”

“It looks like you’ll struggle to clean your feathers,” she shrugged. “I thought I’d help.”

“Now you’re offering to bathe me?” He squinted at her. “Did you hit your head when we fell?”

“I’m not trying to seduce you,” she snapped, cheeks reddening. “You’d be keeping your trousers on. They’re ruined anyway.” To her surprise, he seriously considered her offer of help. She saw his throat move as he swallowed, hands clenching into fists for a second. He looked back at the feathered limbs and sighed at the sorry state they were in, hanging limply behind him.

“Fine,” he admitted eventually. “I can barely move them. Just...” He trailed off, struggling with himself.

“Just what? Keep my hands on the feathers?” she asked archly. He nodded, his expression grim. Elda thought he almost looked...frightened.

“I can’t stand being touched, okay?” The flash of shame on his face shocked her. He sighed again, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck and scowling at the floor.

“I understand,” she smiled. “I’ll only touch feathers.” She didn’t pry; the topic was obviously either too painful, or too embarrassing, for him to even think about. When the bath was full, he climbed in, positioning himself so his wings hung carefully over the side of the basin. He kept his eyes on the surface of the water, lips pressed into a thin line.

Elda went back to her pack and found the healing salve, slipping the small vial out of the pocket of her folded trousers. Back in the washroom, she dropped some of the vial’s contents onto her cloth and tipped the rest of it into the bath. The Soul Forge watched the cloudy liquid disperse warily.

“Healing salve,” she explained. “The best Valerus has to offer. I thought it might help speed things up.” Her own body ached, littered with several large bruises, but Sypher needed the salve more. She didn’t have any broken bones to mend, and she couldn’t imagine how awkward it must be to suddenly have wings he couldn’t get rid of.

“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly, tensing when the cloth touched the first feathers. “Just don’t assume this makes me like you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she promised, fighting a smile.