MrNepathy's Blog

“There was a time before the beginning of this. It was your first meaningful journey. The ceaseless rain had made the mountain pass almost impossible to traverse, but you and your would-be squire, Benton, pushed your horses to their limits once you were on more secure ground. You arrived at the gates of a city you had never been to. It was a city built around a pleasant hill, a hill that cast its morning shadow upon an even more pleasant lake.

“The guard at the gate of the walled city stopped you, but you were on business for your Duke, so he let you and Benton within the walls. They were expecting you after all.

“’First time to the city, good sir?’ the guard asked.

“’I am not a knight-‘ you responded.

“’Not yet, at least,’ Benton answered.

“’But yes, this is my first time in your lovely city. Your king chose his capital well.’

“’He was but a boy then,’ the guard replied, ‘And now he seems as old as the stones that make up his castle. No worse for it, though.’

“So you were taken to the stables to tie up your horses, and then to the guest quarters. You told Benton that you would like to see the city and you left him to take care of arrangements for the meeting. If the meeting was successful, your Duke would reward you with your first piece of land. You would become a land owner and you would be knighted.

“On your walk through the city you saw the shops, the taverns, the people. The people looked healthy and happy, though busy in their work. It was not a town that was struggling or oppressed. Unlike your own capital city, you felt like you could walk around without your hand on your shortsword, which, to be fair is an abysmal weapon that no one should want to touch, not handsome like a longsword…

“But just when you were feeling safe, you heard a scream. It was a scream of pain and desperation, and it was coming from the bakery. So you put your shoulder against the door and charged in, drawing your sword as you did. And inside you saw a woman behind the counter. She was sweaty, frantic, swearing and above all else, lovely. You said when you burst in she had a look on her face as if you were the last thing she needed.

“’Not the damsel in distress you were looking for?’ she asked you.

“You put away your sword and shook your head. As you walked over to the counter she started to kiss the palm of her hand, which was sore and rapidly turning bright red. ‘No, but can I help you?’ you asked.

“She quirked her head at you and her big eyes opened even wider. She was so surprised she looked up from her injured hand. As if in reply she said, ‘Stupid hand slipped and I smashed it on the pot. Almost fell into the oven itself…’

“Her tone made you want to leave, but your eyes would not leave her and you before you knew it, you were smiling.

“’What are you smiling at?’ she asked, her tone finally dropping. The intense look she has used when attacking her hand with a mother’s healing technique was gone.

“’What? No…’ you stammered, ‘Not at you, I just… Can I help?

“You had fought orcs, taken knights from their steeds, but this woman taught you fear, the thin elegant fear of nerves.

“’You look strong enough, come here,’ she commanded. And you listened. You joined her behind the counter and she pointed towards the mound of dough, ‘Get kneading.’

“’Of course,’ you answered, then looked at the dough as if she had asked you to alchemy it into gold. ‘Not with my…’ you said as you looked down at your legs.

“’No…’ she sighed and then she folded over the dough, pushed into it and folded it over again. ‘Now you…’

“Under her watchful eye you folded and refolded the dough, taking her advice when she gave it. Your nervousness splayed throughout your body, but it was mingled with joy and you would glance at her, asking directions when you knew the answers, but questions meant looking into her eyes and you faked stupidity to steal more glances. As she nursed her hand, you began to sweat. Every time you thought you were done she pushed another bowl of dough towards you with her elbow. Finally as the sun started to fade from the sky, she looked at you, smiled wider than you had seen her smile before and said, ‘You really are terrible at this.’ It was punctuated with a laugh and the slightest of winks. You stuck out your tongue at her, a childish gesture fitting the boy you had suddenly become again. ‘You can take it out of my pay,’ you responded.

“’I will have to, if the bread is ruined,’ she quipped.

“It was then that you heard someone calling your name from the street. You looked back at her, blushed and said, ‘I have forgotten the time, or the purpose of my visit… I am afraid I must go.’

“’So your name is Garner then? Mine is Emma.’

“’Emma,’ you said softly, more to yourself than to her. ‘I suppose it would be foolish and perhaps cruel to hope you hurt your hand again tomorrow so I can help you once more.’

“She laughed, ‘Come back tomorrow and we shall see.’

“Before you left, you lifted her hand, carefully holding it by the fingertips and rather than kiss the back of it, like a gentleman should, you turned it over and gently kissed the palm where she had hurt herself. ‘Tomorrow then’ and then you fled before she could respond, suddenly embarrassed by your own boldness. You found Benton in the street and followed him back to the quarters. He looked worried and you could not quite explain where you had been. You simply said someone needed you.

“The negotiations were handled in the evening after a fine feast. Someone complained about the bread and you had to laugh. The king said his scribe could have the treaty ready by mid-day, but you told him you were not in a hurry.

“So the next day you returned to the bakery, pacing back and forth in front of the window before going in. There an older woman greeted you and you look dumbfounded. Just as you were leaving, Emma walked in. ‘Looking for me m’lord?’ she asked, a hint of a smile creeping onto her face as she pushed her hair back from her eyes.

“’I came to complain about the bread, clearly your baker needs another lesson,’ you replied. The old woman behind the counter looked ashamed, but Emma was quick to ease her worry.

“’He is teasing, I believe,’ and then she turned to you, ‘Today the work is easier, though your strength will come in handy. We have to go to the market.’ And so you spent the day with her. You went to the market and got flour, then to the dairy for butter and milk, the tavern for salt. When your arms were tired, she turned to you and said, ‘Just one more trip, we need apples.’ Her smile eased your fatigue and caged your complaining tongue. ‘Fresh apples,’ she answered before you could ask your destination. She led you to the hill. Though she looked sure of her footing, she feigned otherwise and held out her hand. You helped her up and as you got to the top of the hill and stood under the big tree, you found not a single apple. You turned to her, but found her hand was still in yours though you were on level ground.

“’I must confess lord Garner, there are no apples here… it’s just a lovely view I wanted you to see. You seem… lost in our town, so I was sure you had not seen it.’ But you were looking her, not at the view. You had to force your gaze away. A shiver slid across the land and when it raised the bumps on her skin, you tossed your cloak about her. Her head came to rest on your shoulder and you were afraid to speak. So you didn’t. In silence you watched the evening wind wake the surface of the water, rippling it and then when the stars started to appear you walked her home. At her door, she looked at you, ‘Unfortunately my hand feels better today so there is no reason to kiss it, though I think my cheek hurts from smiling the length of the day.’ You kissed her upon it. As you turned to walk away, you looked back, ‘You never did give me another lesson on baking.’

“’There is always tomorrow,’ she said with a smile and a promise.

“’Yes, always tomorrow,’ you said with a sigh and a sadness so profound you claimed it had weight. You returned to your quarters and the next day you woke to find Benton waiting, treaty in hand. After a rich breakfast you exited the castle and walked through the town.

“’When you return, you will be a knight. I suppose I should get used to calling you Sir Garner,’ Benton said.

“You weren’t paying attention, you were staying at the bakery, so much so that you did not realize you had stopped walking. ‘What is it Garner?’ Benton asked. ‘What are you looking at?’

“’My future…’ you answered quietly. You turned to him and before you could think, you said, ‘Take your horse, take the treaty and return the duke. Claim you handled the negotiations, claim I fell on the journey back, claim you are me, claim whatever you want. I’ll write whatever you want. You can be Sir Benton.’

“’Have you gone mad?’ Benton asked.

“’Quite the opposite,’ you replied. He protested, but you sent him on. After he departed, you stood outside of the bakery a while longer, then finally walked in, looked at Emma and said simply, ‘I believe you owe me a baking lesson, and you stole my cloak.’ She smiled and your future began. That’s the answer,” Otroj said as he finished the story.

Garner was face down on the ground. The soil of the Underworld was cracked and abrasive. Though his flesh was dead and he could feel no heat, he could see the way the heat lifted from the surface, waving lines in front of his eyes, blurring his vision. Otroj was in his hand, his metallic face fixed upon the dark, rolling sky of endless smoke.

“The answer to what?” Garner said as he slowly lifted his head.

“You asked what hope is. That story is about hope. I know it’s impossible to fathom in this place, but you must find it. Hope is essential to all of the good things, like love.”

“Love?” The word was a faint, vague shadow in Garner’s mind.

“Yes, love. Love is what made you rescue Elzalynn and lengthen your journey. It’s what has compelled you on this impossible quest. It’s what has kept you sane all of these years… it’s,” the sword hesitated, “It’s what made me tell you this story, what makes me want you to get up now. Find your will and fight. If you fall here, if you let the darkness swallow you… Please Garner.”

Otroj scraped against the rocky floor as Garner pulled the sword in close. He lifted his hand and stabbed the tip of the blade into the cracked ground. With great effort Garner pushed himself up.

“How do you know that story so well?” Garner asked.

“You’ve told it to me hundreds of times in voice and in your head, on purpose and subconsciously.”

“And that’s hope?”

“Yes, and you’re the only person capable of it in all of this cursed realm.”

Garner pressed his hand to his side, and felt the large gash in it. It went from his pelvis to his ribs. The exposed organs were long dried and useless, but the muscle tissue that was supposed to be there served a purpose. “I suppose I should get to it then.” He gripped Otroj by both hands and braced himself for the oncoming swarm. It would be another few long days in the Underworld before he could escape. “Thank you, my friend. I may need to use my powers to survive… I might push the edge quite a bit.”

“I will be here to pull you in,” the sword promised.

“There is always tomorrow,” Garner pledged to himself.