Chapter 13 - Warmth

I spin threads from the moon shadow and fill them with love. They weave and braid together in a practiced dance, gradually forming a shimmering silvery-blue sheet. It’s much nicer to do this in the comfort of a pillowy chaise than while hiking across frigid glaciers.

Lara has been watching from the couch, mouth gaping. “What are you doing?” She asks.

“I’m making you some robes! I wanted to thank you for giving me a new home. I can’t just take your yamba for nothing in return.”

She puts her hands on her mouth. “Thank you.”

“Wawa!” Ruby says, grabbing onto the fabric and trying to tear it. When she fails, she just starts spinning around, wrapping it around herself instead. She ends up getting all tangled up and she falls over. She can’t dislodge herself from her little cocoon, so she starts crying.

“Aww! So cute!” I squeal, and help her out of her predicament.

“Ayla!” Ruby says.

“Yup! That’s me!”

Lara smiles. “You really don’t have to feel like you owe me anything. Even if you hadn’t saved my life, I haven’t had such pleasant company in ages.”

“Still, my father once told me to always give as much as I take. It was right before he went to fight in the revolution. I don’t know if he’s still alive, but if I ever meet him again, then I want to be able to tell him that I never forgot what he taught me.”

“It’s possible to give too much, you know. Sometimes it’s okay to be a little selfish,” Lara says.

I frown at that. “So many people have sacrificed themselves for me. My best friend, my mom, all the men of our village, even that crazy mage Zalorian, though I don’t think he was doing it on purpose. It’s not fair. I owe them all so much, but they’re gone.” I sniffle, wiping a tear with my sleeve. “You remind me of her. My mom, I mean.”

“Oh Ayla,” Lara says, hurrying across the room to hug me. “None of that was your fault.”

“See? That’s what Mom would’ve said.”

Lara laughs. “Then she was a very good Mom. You should listen to her.”

“Yeah. She was a dressmaker you know. I’m so happy she taught me how to sew before the soldiers came.”

Lara smiles. “Oh, so you’re a professional then. I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“I’m still not as good as Mom, but I’ll try my best!”

When the robes are complete, Lara is absolutely overjoyed. She insists they are better than her official priest robes, and she starts wearing them to all her seminars and official congregations. The shimmering material becomes the talk of the city, and suddenly I have a bunch of people asking me for commissions. I happily oblige them. I was going to charge Mom’s usual price of twenty copper coins, but Lara objected to that strongly, and insisted I demand a frankly absurd amount of gold. I told her nobody would ever buy a dress at that price, and she told me that I had terrible business sense. It turns out Lara was right. They actually bought it!

I feel like we scammed them.

But now I’m officially a professional dressmaker, just like Mom!

Also, I’m rich!

“I’ve never seen gold before. Let alone twelve whole bars.” I poke it with my claw. “Huh, it really is soft, just like they say.” I pick it up. “And heavy.” I hand it to Ruby. “Wanna hold it?”

Ruby takes the gold and chomps it. “Anh?” She has to strain to rip her fangs out of the metal.

I giggle. “Did you think it was food?”

“Bu!” Ruby clutches the gold to her chest.

“What are you thinking about spending it on?” Lara asks.

“I want to buy a new sword! There are so many amazing blacksmiths in this city,” I say.

“Oh? I know just the one.”

Lara takes me to a ramshackle place down a back alley. It’s a quiet shop, away from the main industrial complex of the city. Inside, there’s an old Marmothi smoking a copper pipe. He is lounging in a hammock stretched between the walls.

He spots Lara, and slowly rolls onto his side, turning to face us. “So this is our honored guest, the new primogenitor. Now what are you taking her to little old me for?” He squints at Lara. “Don’t tell me…”

“How would you feel about firing up that old forge again? One last project?” Lara asks.

He grumbles. “I’m retired. You know that.”

Lara leans in. “Oh? Are you going to pass up a chance like this? Just think about it, Mugen. You’ve always said a legendary blade is made by the wielder, not the smith. The weapons of the supreme ancestors are treasures whose names have gone down in history!”

There is a glimmer in his eyes, for just a moment. “Perhaps once, those words would have set my heart ablaze, but not today. Today, I want to smoke my pipe, and swing in my hammock.”

He does just that.

“Have you truly lost the passion in your heart? Do you truly have nothing better to do than smoke and nap? Are you just an old fool, waiting for your legend to die?”

“Yes, truly. That is what I am. I’m satisfied with what I’ve accomplished. My passion has faded. There are plenty of brilliant youngsters around with the talent to surpass me. Go to them.”

“But they don’t have the experience. You’re the best smith in this city. Don’t deny it.”

“I’m not impressed by your flattery Lara. It’s time for the next generation to take their turn.”

“Come on, Mugen. Please? Look at her, just look at her. Ayla, give him some kitten eyes.”

I look down at the floor. “I think he’s right. I don’t care about getting the best smith ever. I want a sword that was made with love, by someone who is excited for the future. Not this guy.”

“Ha! I like her! Lara, you found a good one!” Mugen says.

Lara smiles. “Okay. Maybe you should choose the blacksmith, Ayla.”

“Let’s go to the big street where all the hammers are banging!” I say.

“Come by and tell me about it later. I’m curious who she’ll choose.” Mugen puffs his pipe.

“Sure thing,” Lara says.

I head to the street with all the blacksmith shops. There are so many to choose from, and they aren’t just making weapons. They’re hammering all sorts of tools and metal things, stuff like door handles and strangely shaped parts that look like they might be for furniture. I want to get a sword, so I narrow it down to shops with swords on display. There are still plenty of options.

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I watch and listen. The threads of fate are vibrating all around me. In each clang of a hammer, there are a thousand thoughts and feelings.

My livelihood depends on this.

I have to prove myself.

Gotta support the war.

I want to make Dad proud.

My eyes turn to that last one. It’s a kid, a boy only a couple years older than me. I go to him.

“Hello!”

His eyes go wide. He glances between me and Lara. “It’s an honor to meet you!” He bows. “Primogenitor! Priestess!”

“Just call me Ayla. What’s your name? Do you make swords?”

He looks up at me. “My name is Quinn. I do make swords, but I’m not as good as my dad yet.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s been sent to Glacier Burrow, to help them arm their forces. He won’t be coming back for at least a few years.”

“Are you running the shop by yourself?”

“Yeah! I haven’t got much business since he left, though.” He laughs, scratching his head.

“Well you’re about to. I want to hire you to make me a sword.”

He blinks. “What? There’s no way, I couldn’t possibly! You’re a primogenitor! You should be going to one of the masters like Horgus or Geldric! No, you should try to find old Mugen!”

“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”

He stares at me, mouth gaping. “Why?”

“I liked the sound of your hammer.”

He glances down at the cooling piece of metal he had been banging. He blushes, just a little.

“It better be an amazing sword, the best you’ve ever made. Will you do it?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’ll do it.”

“I want some runes inscribed, moonlight and lightning.”

“I don’t know any runes, but if you paint them on metal plates with acid, it will etch them in. Then I can incorporate the plates into the sword.”

“Wow! That’s such a great idea!”

“It’s just a standard technique.”

I lean forward. “Oh, and I want it to be pretty, but still really strong. Can you do that?”

“Yeah, I can. What material do you want?”

“What would you recommend?”

“If you want a really impressive blade, we could use mythril, but it’s expensive, and I’ve only worked with it once before. Also, mythril can’t be etched by acid, so for the runes we’d have to fold in plates of a different material for at least part of the blade. Maybe copper? That has good affinity with lightning.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“What sort of sword are you looking for? Straight? Curved?”

“I miss being able to hit things with both sides of my sword. Straight, long, and thin, please.”

He nods. “I’ll need some payment up front, because I don’t have enough money saved up to buy the mythril.”

“That’s fine. I brought my gold.” I dump all twelve gold bars onto his workbench. “I can pay you some more, after I sell more overpriced dresses.”

His eyes bulge. “That should be enough. I’ll make sure to buy really pure mythril.”

“Great! When should I draw my runes?”

“We can do that right now.”

He takes us into the back of his workshop and hands me a square of copper sheeting, as well as a fine-tipped paintbrush and a jar of yellow liquid.

“Go for it. We should make a couple of copies of each of your runes. Incorporating the runes multiple times makes the sword have a better affinity with your magic, but if I fold in too many of them, it will compromise the strength of the mythril.”

“Okay, let’s do moonlight first.”

I paint my rune onto the plate, as carefully as I can. This is so much easier than scratching a rough approximation into bone with a rock. I can actually draw the rune properly, in as much detail as I want, and if I make a mistake, I can just start over. When I paint on the copper with the acid, it turns bright green, so I can easily see what I have already drawn.

I end up making six plates, three of each of my runes. He dunks the plates in water to wash off the acid and finalize the runes, and I check them over once more to make sure they’re correct.

“They look great!” I say.

“That’s all I need from you. I just need to buy some mythril, and I can get started.”

“Wonderful! Thanks Quinn. I’ll come by in a few days to check on how it’s going.”

“I won’t let you down!”

“Bye-bye!”

I head back home with Lara. “Are you sure about this Ayla? I’m sure Mugen would’ve relented if you had just given him those kitten eyes. He can make a much better sword than that boy.”

“You’re wrong. Quinn’s sword will be better. Make sure to tell Mugen I said that.”

Lara smiles. “If you say so.”

“I say so.”

She doesn’t believe me, not really. She also doesn’t see the threads of fate that are coming from Quinn’s heart and wrapping around his hammer.

I yawn. “Let’s go home. I don’t want to leave Ruby alone with the acolytes for too long.”

I’m getting settled into Lara’s place quite nicely. She had a guest room which has become a bedroom for Ruby and me, our own private space. I didn’t even have that back in my village.

Varg demands to teach me reading and writing. I can’t wait to learn of course. It’s hard though. I have to memorize so many letters, and words are spelled weirdly sometimes. I study the books he gave me every night, painstakingly sounding out the words, and asking Lara for help when I can’t figure them out. Ruby is learning everyone’s names, which is very cute.

The high priest spends most of his time meditating in the sacred enclave, but sometimes he has tea with Lara and Varg. Today though, he wanted to have tea with me, just the two of us.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” I say.

Gorentus nods.

“You’re not very talkative, huh.”

“I am old,” he says.

“I wanted to ask about the other primogenitors. What does it mean, exactly? Lara said that when I have kids, they’ll be Catkin too, but it has to be more than that. The whole burrow is treating me like I’m somebody super important, but I haven’t even done anything. What is it that everyone is expecting of me?”

“You have certain qualities, that ordinary beastkin do not. Your blood is pure, as close to that of the spirits as a person can be. All other beastkin are, at most, half-blooded.”

“Why does that matter?”

“The spirits are eternal, and they have passed this trait on to you. You will surely die eventually, as all things physical do, but it will not be to the ravages of time.”

My eyes go wide. “What? Are you saying I’m immortal?”

He nods slowly.

It takes a moment for that to sink in.

“Then the other primogenitors, are they still alive?”

“Some. Ours, sadly, is not.”

“Have you met any of them?”

“Weyna, the primogenitor of the Marmothi, and Ymir, the primogenitor of the Jotnar.”

“But the Jotnar aren’t beastkin, are they?”

“They are spirit-kin just the same. Elementals. Their blood is that of the ice spirits.”

“Hold on.” My stomach drops. “If I’m immortal, am I going to look like a kid forever?”

“It is said that Weyna obtained her spirit blood as a small child, as you did. Her aging began to slow one year after her first womanly bleeding. Then each subsequent year of aging took ten times longer than the last.”

“What’s a womanly bleeding?”

Gorentus clears his throat. “Ask Lara.”

“So if it happened now, I’d age normally for one year, then it would take ten years for me to age another year, then a hundred years for me to age the next year, and so on?

“That is how it was for Weyna. I cannot say if it will be the same for you.”

“Gods, I hope this womanly bleeding thing doesn’t happen until I’m bigger.”

“Weyna did occasionally complain about the spirits keeping her a child for too long.”

“How did she die?”

“She and Ymir fought together, and died together, protecting these mountains from an avatar of Shogoguai the Obliterator, an Old God.”

“How long ago was this?”

“One thousand years ago.”

“Wow, you really are old.”

“I was the only remaining survivor among the Marmothi. I found human brides willing to help repopulate our people. My children are quarter-blooded. They sadly do not live as long as me, two hundred years at most. Even I am now nearing my time. My strength has been fading for many years now.”

“That must have been painful.”

“We persevered. Now, we once again face extinction. Once again, we will persevere.”

“The unspeakable king?”

“Skald.”

The world trembles. A pressure falls upon us. For a moment, some of the threads of fate around Gorentus become infested by an inky purple, twisting and writhing into knots.

My heart thunders. I’ve never seen anything like this. Will he be okay?

Gorentus breaths deep, and the threads settle, returning to their usual ethereal state.

He sips his tea.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Perhaps I should stop using his name, like the others. I only have so much left in me.”

I shiver.

“Three hundred years ago, we and the Jotnar had a festival to commemorate the day that the avatar of Shogoguai was driven back. We would partake in revelry, and also in friendly spars. There was a young Marmothi who wished to prove herself, my granddaughter Weyna, named after our primogenitor. I cared for her deeply. She challenged a cruel and arrogant Jotnar prince to a duel, and she was mortally wounded. In a fit of rage, I intervened. I struck the prince down and crippled him. He has held a deep grudge ever since, towards me and my children. For two centuries, he plotted in secret. He stole his father’s heartshard, a great treasure of Ymir’s, and like a fool, he swallowed it, thinking that it would grant him its power.”

“Did it?” I ask.

“Somewhat. It became lodged in his throat, in the scars I left behind. Now, when he speaks, the relic’s power is carried by his words. This was enough. He has attained power beyond our means to temper. Though we are lucky, perhaps, that it was only this. If he knew how to wield the relic as Ymir had, the Marmothi would have been exterminated long ago.”

“What is this heartshard exactly?”

“I am not qualified to answer. Go to Oasis Valley if you wish to learn of them. I know only that they are fragments of something greater, fragments of the World Heart.”