Land of Shadows (The Legend of the Gate Keeper Book 1) (5 page)

Chapter 4

The whole town was bustling with energy ahead of the upcoming celebration. The streets were alive with colorful streamers hung from the trees planted on the sides of the roads. Wagons parked up and down the sides of the streets were sprinkled with colorful sparkles and glitter. Almost all the shops would be closed today, but their doors would be covered with still more vibrant decorations.

Some porches held scarecrows sitting in rocking chairs, wearing hats and smoking pipes, while others had baskets of fruit that anyone was allowed to enjoy. Others hung origami birds attached to thin wires so they would appear animated while twisting in circles with the slight spring breeze.

It was midday. Everyone was still setting up their stands and carts to be filled with fruit pies, chicken kabobs, kettles full of baked beans and other sorts of wonderful things. There would be a stick-fighting tournament later in the day, as well as choreographed sword-fighting that would resemble a dance. Others would wear costumes and parade around the streets, handing candy to the children.

A common sight year-round, but especially today, were black banners graced with an orange sunset. This was the flag of Bryer, and the symbol used to represent the town both during business and celebration. But tonight’s celebration was to be the envy of all. Around this time every year, Bryer celebrated “Sanctas,” or “The Harvest.” In its early days, Sanctas was a way to celebrate and be hopeful that the bounty of crops that year would be plentiful. It was a long-standing tradition, a custom only done by Bryer, which had been practiced for many, many years. But in reality, the long-standing tradition these days was simply a celebration of life.

With all the unrest and hard times to be found in Tarmerria, Bryer considered itself to be quite lucky, all things considered. Similar to Denark, Bryer’s trade business was vital to surrounding communities, so they were in little danger of being attacked anytime soon. The money they earned was plenty to sustain the smallish town, and Lord Hubert Pike was more than fair when it came to taxation as well as the general business of running the town and its people. What he had discovered in his many years of service was that balance was always the key. Even when the crops yielded far more than was expected that year, the surplus was divided equally in all phases.

Taxes were rarely ever increased because he stuck with the yearly budget, never getting out of control when it came to spending on necessities for the well-being of the town. If the delicate balance of business with Denark ever went south, there would be enough coin left to turn the local economy in another direction if need be, even if that took a few years.

As the lord walked down the main street made of gray cobblestones, all who saw him waved and whistled. He waved back and greeted most folk by their first names as he shuffled along. There was no entourage of soldiers or leathers scanning the rooftops for assassins with crossbows, or leading him through the streets, peeping around every corner for trouble. This was his town, and as much as he loved it and every soul within its borders, they loved him back tenfold.

Hubert was a tall, heavy man with broad shoulders who exuded an aura of confidence when he marched down the street in long strides with his head held high. He wore a permanent smile as he gazed from one side of the street to the other, with his long, gray ponytail whipping back and forth presenting a stark contrast to his bald forehead. A long, brown coat made out of wool, matching pants, and a pair of black leather boots completed his attire. He strolled past all the shops and their owners, whom he saw almost each and every day. After deciding the yearly party preparations were coming along quite well, he decided to stop by the blacksmith’s.

The shop was owned by Henry Aethello, but most of the work was done by his son, Eric.

The tall, young man was at his usual station in the booth outside the shop, banging away with his hammer, wearing his usual black, sleeveless leather vest. He carried on as he assembled a set of horseshoes for an order that was less than twenty-four hours old. The young man’s arms bulged with muscles built up through years of not only blacksmithing, but weapons-training with his father almost every day.

Eric had learned to utilize his time well in order to accomplish all the things he was not only ordered to do by his father, but also loved to do. Eric enjoyed the grind of his full day from morning till night. The daily regimen was always the same. After waking up bright and early, he began studying the lessons chosen by his dad, which was common in small towns like Bryer. All children were home-schooled, and it was the parents’ responsibility to make sure their children were properly educated so they could contribute to the benefit of the town as they got older. This benefited them as well, seeing as most would spend their entire lives here.

He studied mathematics, languages, and quite a bit about history. His father emphasized this heavily and made sure he studied for at least four hours every morning year-round. This was followed by intense sparring, including hand-to-hand combat and the use of various forms of weaponry. The long sword was his weapon of choice, and the one he excelled with during practice. One day a week was set aside to learn ranged combat, including the crossbow as well as a longbow.

Eric was not really sure why his father pressured him to such a great extent to learn all these forms of combat, but he didn’t really care either way, since he loved every minute of it. The hours and hours spent training with his father after his studies were finished brought him pure joy. He would get lost in the deadly dance of blade on blade as he fantasized he was on the battlefield during the famed Undead War, butchering crytons left and right. His father had served in the army of Taron and had been promoted to general before meeting his mother and moving to Bryer. There they started a family as well as a blacksmithing business. This was how he attained all of the combat skills he was now passing down to his son.

Eric had no memory of his mother. His father told stories of how wonderful she was and how much he missed her. She had gotten sick and took a high fever shortly after he was born, never recovering. Even though it was not logical, Eric had somehow always felt responsible. The rest of the day would be spent in the shop banging away with his hammer, making everything from cauldrons to blades, from axes to sickles. Sure, Eric also made weapons, but these were mostly custom jobs that came at a price—a price many seemed willing to pay, given his reputation as one of the finest craftsmen in these parts.

Eric lived his life by a handful of simple rules: protect the ones you love, and fully commit to everything you do. He truly never strayed from these beliefs. Every book Eric studied, he did his best to force every word to memory. Whether he was making a simple candlestick or sparring with his father, using all the energy he could muster, it was with complete dedication to be the best. For the friends and family he held so dear, he would gladly give his live. This complete dedication to a lifestyle so few would ever choose simplified everything in Eric’s eyes. When you know you’ve given one hundred percent, how can there be regrets?

Lord Pike strolled up to the booth just outside the blacksmith’s shop, where Eric was working. In a deep, booming voice, he said, “Afternoon, Eric, seems you are busy as always. I assume you will be joining in the celebration this evening. I mean, you don’t work
all
the time, do you? Maybe a break once a year wouldn’t kill you...would it?”

Wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, Eric put down the hammer and turned slowly to meet the smile of Lord Pike, returning it with a bigger one of his own. With his other hand he wiped the damp, curly brown hair from his eyes. “Yes,
Hubert,
I will be attending, since the whole town would not have fun unless I am there. And no, I don’t work all the time. I took a break two years ago and found it quite dull.”

The two kept their faces straight as long as they could before tight smiles could no longer be held back. Lord Pike muttered something about Eric being crazy as he strode away with a huge grin on his face. He had always liked Eric and enjoyed talking to him whenever possible. He was one of the few who were not intimidated by his presence. Sure, everyone respected and even adored Lord Pike, but few could be themselves in front of him. It seemed to him that Eric would smart off to a king if he felt like it. In an odd way, he respected that.

“One of these days he is going to make you leave town,” came a familiar voice from behind Eric. He whirled around to see his dad standing there in a brown sleeveless shirt, displaying muscles nearly as big as Eric’s.

Unlike Eric’s brown curly hair, Henry had short blond hair and was about two inches shorter than his son. However, both had soft dark eyes that always appeared to be deep in thought.

“I don’t think that will ever happen. After all, who will make his candlesticks?” Eric said, thrusting his head towards his dad and grinning as his hair fell back into his eyes.

Henry forced half a smile before dropping his eyes. “Be sure to get cleaned up soon. Once this gets going, there will be no business to be had. Might as well get out there and enjoy yourself.” He reached up and clasped his wrist in his opposite hand, stretching hard while making a groaning sound before walking back inside the shop.

Eric just shook his head, wondering. There had been news a few years back of the raid on Brinton. Rumor had it that the assault had been led by a pack of leathers hired by Athsmin. None had been left alive, and any that might have escaped surely fell victim to the wilds of Tarmerria. For some reason, his dad had been absolutely crushed by the news. Eric knew his father as a caring man who would go out of his way to help strangers. Never before had he seen the man act like this, however, as he cried literally for days on end. Years removed from the incident, he was still a broken man. Whenever Eric asked why he was so attached to something that had so little bearing on his own life, he would just revert to tears all over again and say nothing.

It’s not like he knew anyone who lived there
. Eric learned to just stop talking about it and hoped time would heal the mysterious wound. The festival would begin shortly, and it was time to clean up his work area before getting ready.

Rolling his neck as he stretched out his arms, Eric suddenly noticed two girls watching him from across the road. Who knows how long they had been there, but both smiled when they saw that he had finally noticed them. Realizing he had been inadvertently flexing his muscles, he felt heat build in his face as he awkwardly looked away. Then, right on cue, he dropped the large hammer he had been using with a loud clang. Spending several seconds fumbling around trying to pick it up as fast as he could, he did his best not to look back in their direction. His face was pure fire.

“All those muscles and not a brain in your head,” came a chuckling voice from behind him.

Eric whirled around, already wearing a huge grin, knowing exactly who this was. There stood a lightly muscled young man of average height. Blond spiky hair, light blue eyes and a huge grin made Jacob seem like the most charming young man alive. This was not far from the truth, as Jacob had stolen the heart of almost every girl in town. With his hoop earrings, flashy smile, and masterful charm, it was hard not to think of him as anything but a ladies’ man. But he had special combat skills that were nearly unmatched, and he had won the stick-fighting tournament almost every year. Looking past his charm and good looks, he was quite dangerous in his own right. He sparred with Eric all the time, and although Eric was better in almost every other weapon, he could not touch Jacob’s skill with a staff. Not that Jacob was any slouch in other forms of weaponry, but a quarterstaff might as well have been part of his own body.

“Since it appears you blew it with two girls at once without saying a word to either one—which simply
must
be some kind of record—I guess I will have to take both of them off your hands,” Jacob said, trying his best to keep a straight face. “No, no. Don’t thank me yet. I will try my best to assure both of them you are
not
mentally challenged, although I’m afraid this might take all evening.”

The two young men shared a hearty laugh. Although their personalities were very different, they complemented each other quite well.

Jacob had always done well with the ladies, and he had a very aggressive personality—but not always to his benefit. He had gotten in many fights with the other boys for stealing girls’ hearts. Sometimes it was an older brother seeking revenge, other times a rival who had his eye on the same girl. He had a bit of a temper himself, and it found him trouble more often than not.

Eric, on the other hand, was reserved with the ladies. Not that they didn’t like him; far from it. With his long, curly brown hair and bulging arms, the girls would watch him all day as he trained out in the yard. Shortly after that, they continued to watch as he began working away in the shop. He was always in control of his emotions and never let them get the best of him. Eric hated making hasty decisions, and always took the time to think things through.

As different as they were, the two friends loved each other like brothers.

“So, are you going watch me tonight?” asked Jacob, still grinning widely. “I’m considering using a little tree branch this year to even the odds, you know.”

No doubt he was talking about the stick-fighting competition. Eric respected Jacob’s skill, but always thought he could do with a little humility. Although to be fair, his arrogance spilled over into all aspects of his life, not just his skill with a staff. He was just very sure of himself at all times. Eric could not deny his jealousy of Jacob in his free-spirited ways.