Sword of Destiny

Here was not where he expected ‘where’ to be. His breath caught, and there was a rhythmic rumbling sound in his ears. That was a new sensation for him, and he pondered its source. It was probably nerves, but it could also have been excitement. It was certainly madness.

It was a plain old street, oddly familiar, though not forged of pleasant memories. Citizens bustled past, not noticing him. Ignoring him even. Just like the old days. Nothing seemed to change, but he had. He was sure of it.

It was a warm afternoon, the late season, and there was to be one final push against the invaders. But before that push, he needed to be here. At least, that’s what the prince decreed. He wasn’t so sure.

The building looked noticeably finer than when he’d fled it three years ago. They had spent the earnings well, and a congregation of military folk evidenced the flourishing business. He spotted familiar faces amongst the punters, and a jet of cold went through him. He quite literally had no idea how this would play out.

“Joss!”

He turned to the screech and found his mother near-hanging from an open ground floor window. Her lined old face was edged with what appeared to be a combination of joy and fear. It occurred to him that he understood so little of her that he couldn’t place the basis for either emotion. He reached with his right hand and brushed her outstretched palm, shivering at the touch. She smiled. He was her little girl, and he had returned. He wanted to scowl at his mother, but he found that he couldn’t. He may have even missed her.

“Little Jossie. You’re back.”

“Brother.”

It was his waste of a fourth brother, Brin, looking as meaningless as he ever did. Brin was still bigger than him, but he had never been stronger. Not since the days of the violation. He released his mother’s hand, and with a whinny of apparent delight she galloped through the smithy. He walked past his bully of a brother but didn’t even dignify the fool with a glare. Jossie had grown beyond the bullies. He had grown bigger than this entire place.

Because you couldn’t beat a mandahoi. But he was going to try.

“What clothes is them? You pretending to be a soldier now?” It appeared that Brin’s language lessons had not been high yielding.

“Joss. You really shouldn’t be here. Father’ll go mad.”

Ah, there was Brother Two; the rational sibling. His air of confidence suggested that he had now adopted his rightful place as the chief-deputy of the smithy, usurping the older but less useful brother. That was amusing. He offered his brother a callous smile.

But he wasn’t smiling inside. He balled his fists, stopping them from shaking. The shadow of his father was looming.

“Father will understand.”

“Understand what?”

And there he was. The huge frame of his parent. His fear. His father stayed within the bounds of the smithy, and the shadow hid his features. But it was clear that joy was absent. His mother hung at his father’s left, pleading for mercy. That was strangely satisfying, however useless the gesture might be. In one corner he had never been so wanted, but in all other he was only loathed. What was to be done with such contrasting emotions?

And standing at his father’s right-hand was Brother One; the failing brother. He wore that same sultry face, but this time it was not baked with mischief. It was he who made the mischief today. He swallowed his nerves.

“What do you want, little Jossie.”

His father was being patronising, and annoyingly it worked. He rubbed at a rib on his right-hand side, the one that always ached. His father had given him that injury during their mighty scrap. That fact had only just came to him then, but it was now as clear as the azure blue sky. Not that the ache had over-bothered him, but that was an important day because he had won. This was his chance of a final victory.

“I am in the army now, Father. I am of the Royal Guard.”

His father waved a hand dismissively in his direction. “The Royal Guard is full of crooks. No wonder they took you in.”

There was audible gasp from a number of the loitering clients, and one man even huffed and strolled off. His father must have really wanted to dig if he was willing to lose business over the insult.

“And soon to be journeying to the borders. To the Mandari borders.”

His father gulped, the man’s apple highlighted by the sinking sun. Did that suggest a touch of something softer? Perhaps.

“Then death awaits you. The deserved fate of a crook.”

His mother whimpered, and he may have actually been relishing her affection. How had he never seen that before? Most likely because it had never been there before. Maturity did wonderful things to a man, and he was only just maturing.

Brin shifted at his side. Brother Four would never mature.

“I am no crook.” Of course, that wasn’t entirely true. He was absolutely a crook – just ask the baker. But he hadn’t been a crook until his brothers had set him up and chased him from the smithy. His father’s eyes shifted in the shadows.

“You were going to leave with my property. That is theft.” He didn’t really want to argue about this – that wasn’t why he was here – but one effort to pave the truth must surely be worthwhile.

“If I had been looking to steal your property, I would have been gone before the sun was up. I would have succeeded.” His right fist clenched and the perspiration on his forehead grated. Rarely did he get so tense these days.

“Are you trying to blame―”

“I am not trying to blame anyone. I was merely attempting to offer the truth. But if the only way down that path is by the Hater’s Embrace, then I will forego the pleasantries. Let’s get down to business.”

His father stepped from foot to foot. “What business?”

This was why he needed his father; he was a fabulous blacksmith. “I need you to make me a sword. I need you to make me a Mandari forged blade.”

Silence settled. The hushed chatter of the punters and general din of the city faded with the passing heartbeats. Only silence. And between him and his father there was something darker too. It stretched, expanding, every moment heavier than the last. He raised his left hand, a heavy velvet purse gripped within it. It was the prince’s money, all the prince’s money, and he could see his father’s eyes switch. The pressure went up a notch, but ultimately it broke. And oh how it broke.

His father had never been like this before; at least not around him. Laughter had not been a big part of his life.

“You want me to make you a sword after what you did to me? You are mad, Son.”

Had he ever been called son before? Yes he had. In those days of perfection. But it had never burrowed like it did in that moment. It was sour.

“I have coin.” He shook the purse, and the gold inside clinked. But his father was immovable.

“Coin is of no use if you don’t have my respect. I will not help you.”

He rocked from side to side and his shadow shifted. His head dropped. How could he have been so stupid? Some grudges ran too deep, and a look at Brother One returned that same infuriating smile. He had been beaten three years ago, and he could not turn the tide today. Here, he was always the bullied.

But then the smile melted on Brother One, and his shadow did something else. It morphed and warped, and stretched to the side, breaking. And then there were two shadows, and someone else cleared their throat. He smirked.

“Master Kantal the senior, how pleasant to see you again. After your previous fine work, I would dearly like to commission you for a piece of similar quality for my squire here.” The prince eased the sabre from its housing and offered a bright flash of a smile. “You would not deny a prince, would you?”

His mother curtsied and ejected a little yelp of joy.

Brin’s jaw dropped, and he sunk into kneeling submission.

Brother One ducked back into the darkness.

The entire population of the street stood dumbstruck.

And his father softened. Oh how he softened.

“Of course, your highness. I would be delighted to accept your commission.”

The prince took the velvet purse and threw it over. “This needs to be extra special. I want a double edged straight blade. A warrior’s blade. But it needs to be light as the wind, and strong as the Mandari resistance. And I need it forged in five days.”

His father looked flustered. “Your highness, where in l’Unna would I get that much Mandari steel?”

“Already sorted,” and with an extension of the prince’s arm, a cart trundled into view. Only then did he enjoy the moment.

The prince turned to him. “Come. We have preparations to make. We are going to war.”

All of a sudden, those sunny days with his father melted into the meaningless. This was what it was to be happy. Of course, he was still not entirely sure why the prince was supporting him, but he would not dwell on that now. It gave him his purpose.

“Jossie!” He turned, and his mother was galloping towards him, her eyes averted from the prince. She held a cloth parcel before her, and she held it out to him. Then she offered the gift, head bowed, and he acknowledged it with a gentle touch of her outstretched palms. This was most unexpected. What gift would his mother have for him? She didn’t even know he was coming.

But when he unwrapped the cloth, he almost kissed her.

“Thank you, Mother. This is a gift of great value.” She didn’t lift her eyes, but her lips curled and her cheeks went rosy. He looked down at Delfin’s journal, the Queen’s Descent, and placed a gentle hand on his mother’s cheek. What an unexpected gesture. He opened the first page and the leaded scrawl was still there: ‘Even you couldn’t beat a mandahoi’. It had always been his destiny after all.

They walked from the smithy, and the prince looked at him side-on. “Why were they calling you Jossie?”

He growled. “Because that is my name. My mother wanted a daughter.” He didn’t know what to expect. Mocking laughter most likely.

“Well it isn’t any more. I think our fates are entwined, and I think that we should recognise that shared direction. From now on you shall be Adnan ap Kantal. We are brothers in arms, and brothers in name.”

His breath caught. If it had been a theory before, then now he was certain. Their fates were shared, and it was all because you couldn’t beat a mandahoi. But he was willing to try.

He gulped. What had he done?