The morning sunlight had begun to pour through the cracks of the wooden shutters on the window. No roosters signalling the daylight and the muffled voices in the street below indicated that it was not dawn, but still early morning. Gideon rolled over, turning his back on the window and pulling the cover over his head. Raspy groans of exhaustion and disapproval escaped his lips. Another moment passed before he took a deep breath and rolled onto his back, pulling the sheet from his face. Livid, blue-grey eyes peered through opening slits, blankly focusing on the ceiling. A couple slow blinks later, his focus remained unchanged, but his thoughts started to creak through the grinding gears in his mind. Gideon took a deep breath before he sat up, pulling the sheet completely off his body. Naked, he turned his body to rest his feet on the cold planks of the floor. He hunched forward. One hand reached behind him, pressing on the sore muscles of his back, while the other rested an elbow on a thigh, his fingers massaging the bridge of his nose. Straightening, he stretched his arms backwards and rotated his shoulders, and his head rolled in a circle with the slightest pop and crack barely perceptible to his own ears. Leaning forward once more, he held his face in his hands as he wiped the moisture from his eyelids and scratched the scruff of his short facial hair. Pulling them away, he inspected them: palm-side, they were ordinary, labor-worn hands calloused from years of use, but turning them over revealed a history of abuse and violence. Spotted scars dotted across the fingers and knuckles, which were swollen from repeated fractures and breaks. Shoulder-width apart, he stretched out his arms, still focusing on his hands, looking at each in turn. He spread his fingers as wide as he could, and his left hand began to tremble. Flashes of visions from the night before invaded his thoughts as he blinked. He forced his eyes shut to block out the memory and slowly brought his arms in. Still trembling, he watched his left hand accusingly through narrow slits, before he clenched it in a fist and rotated it about the wrist. No sounds accompanied him short of the sharp breaths of exhaustion and stress. Left hand finally still, Gideon took a deep breath in, held it, and exhaled slow and steady with closed eyes. He braced his hands on his knees, hesitated, then finally stood up.

Next to the foot of the bed, Gideon’s clothes sat in a clustered pile. He picked up his trousers and put them on one leg at at time, but it wasn’t until he pulled the cloth tunic over his head that he hesitated slightly. His body still radiated the warmth and energy from last night’s events, a feeling he still felt uncomfortable with as it washed over him. He wasn’t sweating anymore, but adding clothes even now made the heat barely tolerable. He took a deep breath as he pulled the clothing the rest of the way down to cover himself, swallowed dryly, and reached for his boots. The mud caked on them dried to a pale brown, and it crumbled between his fingers as he picked at them, trying to clean the soles.

He stared at his leathers. Before he bothered to grab his armor, he went over and opened the shutters on the window, careful to keep his eyes in the shade, if only for the sake of his comfort. Bright as the daylight was, the early Spring air still had a tinge of cold blowing through the light breeze. Gideon gave it a moment to fill the room, taking more deep breaths, allowing his skin the moment to cool. Finally, he picked up the worn, leather cuirass, picking off specks of dirt and dried mud before putting it on, adjusting the straps on the sides.

Setting aside the cured leather gauntlets resting on top of his sack, he pulled out a couple long strips of linen, and wrapped his hands and wrists. Hand trembling again, Gideon balled it into a fist and clutched it with the other, a harsh exhale grunted from his breath. Collected, he slipped on his gauntlets and tightened them snugly, inspecting the rune work on the along the face of them.

Heavy, stomping footsteps approached and came to a stop outside his door. Two firm knocks rapped on the wood. Ignoring them, Gideon packed the rest of his sack. A moment later, the door opened and a large figure lowered his head to pass the threshold. Before he could say anything, Gideon spoke up with a dry, raspy voice.

“I’m awake.” He cleared his throat at the sound of his own voice. Cinching the sack closed and throwing it over his shoulder, he grabbed the stone grey cloak and tucked it under his other arm as he approached the doorway.

The towering man stood firm in front of the doorway. “Are you better now?”

Gideon stared straight forward into the pale, tattooed chest of this living obstacle, deflecting eye-contact of any kind. “No.” He looked up. “But I’d like to get out of here before most people know we’re gone.”

The man’s head dropped and he ran a hand over his bald, inked scalp. “Most. But the qarn, the…father wants to talk to you.”

Gideon took a deep breath, his eyes darting to the side in thought. They snapped back to attention. “If it’s all the same, Taas, I’d rather not.”

Silence filled the moment and the space between them. A light gesture of his muscular arm towards the bundled cloak. “Another storm’s coming soon.” Taas turned, bowed under the door frame and left, his heady footfalls creaking the wood with every step.

Gideon stood a moment in thought. He dropped the sack and put on the wool covering before picking it back up. As he went to leave, half-way out with his hand on the door, he stopped, something catching his eye in the room. Slowly, he came back in, went to the window, and closed the shutters.

Hood up, he thought to make his way down the stairs in silence, but he remembered the obvious clamor that his companion made not too long ago, so he opted for speed. To his surprise and relief, no one was around on the first floor. He kept his pace, leaving through the back and heading towards the stables not far away.

“Sir?”

Gideon froze. The voice came from behind him, to the side. He must have just passed the man without noticing him.

“I just…I just wanted to say…thank you. For saving my boy.” He took a step forward.

“Don’t,” he said, interrupting the man’s movement. “Don’t…thank me.” Turning his head only slightly to acknowledge the man without seeing him, his body shifted. “Thank your mother. She gave her life for the boy’s.” The man stood in silence as Gideon walked away.

Approaching the stables, he took his sack and tied it down onto the greathound’s saddlebags. It turned and sniffed at Gideon, then turned back to the food in the trough. As he checked the rest of his things, he noticed Taas in another stall, preparing his own, much larger steed. “You couldn’t stop him?”

He turned, acknowledging his company. “I’m not your guard, vessec.”

Gideon stared at the intricate tattoos covering the giant’s bare back and limbs. “I can see why people would be confused.” Bags secured, he went to the other side to check his weapons. “But I would appreciate any help in keeping a low profile.”

Taas barked a single laugh. “Ha! The Gods’ Chosen wishes to be unseen.”

Gideon snorted a breath and exhaled. “They chose me. I didn’t want any of this. I still don’t.”

Turning halfway to better offer his attention to his companion, he asked, “Then why save the boy?”

Gideon took a deep breath, dropping his head a moment to consider his words. “He was suffering.” Patting down the bags, he checked the straps. “And I didn’t save him. She gave her life for his.”

Taas inhaled as though to speak, but he stopped short. Turning his back, he finished packing the bags on his mount, and pet it up near the neck, scratching behind its ears. The rain started in heavy, cold drops, pattering into the dirt with audible thuds and pops. He looked out at the clouds gathering in the sky. “We should go.”

Untethering the reins and climbing their hounds, the two trotted out of the stables. Cornering the front of the house, a boy shouted out to them, “Hey, mister!” They paused a moment as the child hurried to catch up. “Hey! Mister!” Gideon turned and looked at the boy. No longer the pale, gaunt thing from the night before, he had color in his cheeks and he was beaming with joy, even in the light rainfall. He looked back at his father, who nodded in approval. Turning back to Gideon, he said, “Thank you for saving me!”

It hurt. Gideon looked at the boy with mournful eyes, but he forced a weak smile. It took a moment, but he sniffed sharply when he realized he didn’t take a breath. “She lives in you, now. Make her proud.”

“I will! I promise!” All smiles, the boy ran back to his father, and they waved goodbye.

Offering a single hand wave, he turned back straight in his saddle and tugged the reins to get moving. The two rode in silence to the edge of town, where the gates were opened. Intricate rune-wards were cut into the boards and posts all along the fence line, including the planks set into the dirt that marked the threshold of the town. Gideon’s breath quickened as they approached. All sound ceased to him except the pounding of his heartbeat. To this day, he still held every reservation about traversing the wildlands of the Reach, but they had no choice.

Crossing the threshold of the gates, nothing happened. He exhaled smooth and slow. The skies darkened further, and the rain began to fall in sheets. Thunder boomed in the distance.

---

The rain eased up, but it didn’t stop, a light drizzle falling from grey skies.

“We’ve been riding for an hour, and you haven’t said a word.” The two rode abreast along the muddy, dirt path.

“Are you better now?” Taas asked, his attention still on the road. His bare skin wet with the sheen from the rainfall.

“My skin isn’t on fire, if that’s what you mean.” Gideon watched the distance ahead, occasionally scanning the edges of his periphery. The grassy fields were quiet, and that made him all the more suspicious. “Normally, you take these moments on the road to practice your words with me.”

“Last night…” Taas started, but stopped.

“What about last night?”

“I’ve been…focusing on last night,” he offered flatly. “Not just thinking about it, but…” Taas took a breath. His words were good, but more advanced phrases still escaped him in this new, foreign tongue. “You called it, ‘mediation’?”

Gideon nodded in understanding. “Meditation, yes.”

“I… understand the pain. But I don’t know the cost.”

Gideon turned over to look at his companion. “What do you mean?”

There was an audible grunt of frustration. “I was the… hunt-master for my tribe. I taught others how to track. I taught others how to use the animals we hunted. I am no spirit leader…shaman. I know our ways about life and death, but I did not teach them. To see something like that…” He motioned with his hands in gesture to his face, “So close…” His hand took the reins again. “Your burden is great.”

Nodding his head as he understood the sentiment. “It is. Thank you for the concern.” Silence filled a few moments as they moved onward. “Does it change your mind on guiding me to the Smith?”

“No.” His body made no gesture, no sign of hesitation or deception. “I will guide you to the Smith, and from there, I will follow you.”

“That isn’t necessary…”

“I ask you,” Taas said, ignoring the comment, “why do you seek the Smith if you want to lose your calling?”

“I’m hoping the Smith can help me actually.” He snorted sharply. “Or at least point me in the right direction to someone who can.”

There was a momentary pause. “Do they still talk to you?”

“So, you believe that now? Because of last night, I gather?”

Taas turned his head slightly towards the smaller man, and gave the slightest nod.

“No, I haven’t heard them in weeks. Normally they keep me up at night, talking to me about the gloom and doom ahead or sometimes they try to inspire me to be the great one they expect me to be.” He took a deep breath and forced the exhale. “It’s been awhile since they’ve said anything. But last night was different. My dreams weren’t my own. I saw their memories, the woman and the boy.”

The giant looked over at him, giving his full attention and wanting to know more.

“I saw a life well-lived and a life just beginning. I saw…and understood why she was willing to give her life for the boy. She was always the giving kind, the selfless kind. And that life treated her surprisingly well. In the boy, I saw hesitation, fear. Especially recently. He misses his mother. She died a year ago. Outside the greatness of being ‘Chosen’… I do hope–and it was the grandmother’s hope as well–that he take her courage and live a selfless and compassionate life. Her memory shouldn’t be wasted.”

“Her spirit lives on. Ederith.” Gideon could hear the smile in Taas’ voice.

“No, not quite immortal, but it’s… her legacy. And that should be honored.” His eyes lazily took in the forest in the distance approaching them. “Some of us have a past that we cherish and hold up as an example, as she did. Others have a past that we can’t escape.”

“Ashes and Smoke,” the giant offered. A common saying among their kind, from what Gideon learned. “The fire burns, but what’s left is Ashes and Smoke.”

“Why those two? Why not just ashes? Smoke doesn’t ever last after the fire is out.”

“One long, one short.”

“What?”

“Ashes… stay. Smoke… leaves.” Taas gestured with his meaty hand. “One is always there, the other is fading, forgotten over time. Like the fire, but slower.”

Silence took over again. Whatever Taas was contemplating, he wasn’t making a discussion of it. Gideon’s thoughts lingered on that phrase. Flashes of memories he’d nearly forgotten came to him. The fire burned hot, even through the storm that night. Crackling wood and the shouts of outsiders. The dying screams of his family as he was taken away. His big sister crying out for him. Blinking back into the present moment, he swallowed hard.

We saved you.

Skin crawling from the surprise, Gideon’s eye twitched in irritation. They were speaking to him again.