Chapter 2

The Sword in the Box

β

Silence, pure and unbridled silence. This dark color of sound crept sleepily across the mountain range every morning, very nearly since the dawn of time. Blankets of lazy clouds drifting just over the tops of rocky peaks speckled with patches of snow here and there. Slivers of dawn's rays shone blazing trails across the very tips of the mountains, casting long-reaching shadows across the land as the sun slowly ascended to its daylight throne. Gradually came the waking sounds, stirs and echoes from the valleys below. Squeaks and squabbles, yawns and chirps as the world and all of nature slowly rose in time with the sun.

Silence had occupied this mountain range, silence as the grave. Eerily cold yet welcoming, replaced now by the dawn stirrings. One such stirring broke clearly above the rest, one particular sound that had fought the silence since before the first twilight rays of morning. The slow, rhythmic cackle of wooden wheels grinding along long-trodden stone paths through the mountain range. The melodic bobbing of passengers and belongings held in the back of a horse drawn cart carried along the dawning mountain, almost seeming as a wake-up call for the sleepy peaks. The clopping of freshly shod horse hooves set a merry beat to the entire melody, framing the procession into something of a tiny orchestra.

Sleepy brown eyes the color of aged mahogany gazed across the serene beauty stretched out before them, drifting occasionally to the other passengers that sat alongside their owner. A lively young couple that was just a tad too forward giggled lightly at some shared inside joke. The man leaned in closer and hugged the clearly pregnant woman, a gentle sort of embrace, as an aura of joy beamed off the both of them. Opposite the young couple sat and oddly ragged man wrapped in a dingy grey robe, a hood obscuring the top of his face. Clearly asleep, a thin line of drool could be spotted precariously dangling from his slacked mouth.

The same sleepy brown eyes turned their gaze once again to the narrow pass of the mountain. Rock by boring rock they counted to tedious moments passing by, very nearing lulling themselves to sleep. One such rock found its way under one of the carriage's wheels, jostling the entire group and waking the owner of those sleepy brown eyes once more. An irritated look glazed across them as the journey pressed onward, winding slowly down the final mountain between them and home.

β

Lillian gazed longingly upon the cold, unmoving visage of the mountains stretched out before her. Patient, sleeping stone behemoths as they seemed to lie there, ever vigilant guardian of some long-gone world. Watching and waiting, sleeping but aware. Always guarding, those mountains. A vigil kept, surely since the beginning of time immemorial, with unwavering might imposed upon the scenery around them. Their shadows cast as long curling fingers that caressed the savannahs below with every dawn's rise and every dusk's descent. Their snowy caps akin to the wizened scalp of some great mage of stories and song. Yes, she gazed ever so intently upon these mountains, wishing to them, nay, praying to them that they would bring the last remaining Paragon home to her again. She prayed with all her might that these mountains, the very same that have separated them for these six years, would bring her brother home at last.

It had been two entire months now since the courier last came. Two entire months since that clockwork delivery had found her, assuring her that one Paragon remained in her life. Assuring her that she wasn't completely alone, torn entirely from the familiar faces of love and kindness she'd known through her formative years. Ah yes, two entire months since that clockwork delivery now weighed heavily upon her heart as she silently gazed upon the stony vigil, reciting her silent prayer.

Funny how these things work. Funny how despite the common knowledge that the Gods exist, that they even live among us now, people seem to forget that prayer is a very real thing. Funny how people forget that their prayers are heard and answered, always. Yes, people forget this because the answer is usually neither obvious nor what we want. Yet, usually is not always. No, usually is not the rule nor is it written in stone. This all occurred to Lillian as she gazed upon the waking mountains, bathing in the golden glow of dawn, when she spotted a dot traveling along the descending path into her village.

This dot, of course, meant nothing to her at first. Why, it could have simply been a speck of sleep still stuck in her eye for all she knew. So she simply kept staring, kept praying, kept thinking. Her gaze never broke from that stunning wall of sleeping stone giants. She traveled along in her thoughts, eyes glued as ever, to places far beyond the mountains. She basked in the beauty before her, thanking the Gods for the gift, happily chanting her prayer.

She had to remember to be thankful. She had to remember to appreciate whatever the Gods let her keep. They had shown her this by taking so much away. So even though she chanted that prayer so relentlessly, she also chanted her thanks in between the prayers. Lillian watched those mountains for hours, praying and thanking, appreciating and hoping…

β

Midday now. The sun is at its peak, gazing down lovingly upon the land as it just barely brings the temperature above a cool chill. Autumn, that is indeed the season. The leaves rustling like mesmerizing, living dresses of scarlet hues upon the trees. The clear and slightly emerald-ish creeks and brooks trotting along. The distinct smell of the changing, cooling air.

Deep brown eyes take this scenery in, now awake and aware. A pointed nose, perhaps just slightly longer than it should be, is tickled by the faint scent the autumn air brings along with it. His thoughts are everywhere, bouncing like rabbits at play, when a familiar sight raises him from daydreams. It had snuck up on him, but it was unmistakable. Lincoln could now distinctly make out the small village sprawling along the savannahs at the base of the mountain, the same base his carriage now approached.

A sudden gust of joy and excitement filled him with an energy he hadn't felt since leaving the smithy nigh unto a month ago. Indeed the journey home had been long, but thanks to the carriage it was not arduous. Merely a tedious waiting game, which he had now won. His home was there, plainly in sight, and this gave his legs an urge which was quickly becoming undeniable.

Mother, Father and Sister all awaited him. They were there and he knew they would be equally excited as he. They were there, ready to hear of his exploits in the town beyond the mountains. They were there and he could not wait to see them.

The urge was a burning desire now, nearly unstable in its fervor. With little more thought left to give, so excited was he, Lincoln leapt from the side of the cart. He cleared the railing, belongings upon his back, and hit the ground running as though possessed. So sudden and swift was his departure that the other passengers thought he'd been stolen away by a bandit or some such. With a light chuckle upon seeing his mad form running toward the village, everyone released a collective sigh.

"My my, but isn't he full of energy?" giggled the soon-to-be mother, "Must be his own wife awaiting him at home!"

"Hm, surely someone dear awaits him…" chimed in her husband, gently wrapping his arm around her.

They watched the young man gradually fade away to nothing as he ran off into the distance.

Ω

Lincoln ran as fast as his legs could carry him, pumping them with the rhythm of one in flight from mortal danger. But there was no danger, only the excitement of returning at long last to home. So he kept up the maddened pace until it had finally brought him to the outskirts of the village. There he finally slowed himself down, allowing himself to catch his breath.

Once he'd managed to slow his ragged breathing somewhat he stood up straight and took a look around. The streets were bustling, as much so as a small village can, with the activity of the locals. Mothers walked with children in tow to do their daily shopping. A number of food stands were set up along what passed for the main street. Mongers barked their wares to the passing people, hoping to make a sale. Men walked around carrying various odds and ends, most likely to wherever they spent their days working.

It brought back memories of his time doing odd jobs all over the village. Though the Ansley's were relatively unknown just ten years ago, Lincoln's constant and feverish work ethic had made the name synonymous with unyielding effort.

He began to slowly walk into the village, passing the few houses lying on the very edge. Little by little he made his way to the small fountain in the center of town, surrounded on all sides by various market stalls.

The slightly off-colored water bubbling from the top cast glints and sparkles in all directions. Buildings of simple wooden design framed the fountain square with three cobblestone paths leading between them, away from the fountain. All the buildings were painted a humbled whitewashed color, imparting the simple form of the surroundings.

Slowly, one by one, people began to take notice of the familiar person that had just walked into town. A nagging feeling at first, then an almost nauseating realization sunk in. One by one the people recognized the other surviving Ansley had returned. The look crept upon their faces. It was an unease that awkward news always brought along. It was very nearly sense of guilt that painted itself on the villager's faces as they realized who had finally come home.

He could see it, though the reason was lost on him. He could sense their unease through the thickening atmosphere. He could read the look on their faces. Slowly, in turn with the villager's, his sense of relief and joy faded away. Replacing it was a growing anxiety. One poised to choke him.

"Excuse me, young man…" said a satin haired woman, stepping up to confirm his identity, "Are you, by chance, the Ansley boy?"

The reservation in her voice reverberated through him, setting his nerves afire with worry.

"Yes, ma'am. I am." He replied, now sure there was something amiss.

Others stopped and gathered around, keeping a fair distance, to see for themselves if it was really him. Most of the village had believed him gone for good. Therefore it struck them as odd that he would return so soon after the tragedy had befallen his family. Perhaps he'd heard the news. In any case, curiosity had overtaken them and they wanted to know. They wanted to see with their own eyes and hear with their own ears.

The crowd all wore worried looks upon their faces. Sad almost. They stood around him, increasing Lincoln's already heightened alarm. He looked from face to face, the same expression seemingly copied on every one of them. At last, he could take the silence no more.

"Has something happened?" he asked timidly, not entirely wanting an honest answer.

"So he hasn't heard…" one of the villagers muttered to another. It was just barely audible, but he heard the old man's words clearly.

"What happened?!" he now yelled, his alarm peaked.

The satin haired woman who had originally spoken to him turned her face away from him for a moment. She looked to the ground as if searching for some dropped piece of jewelry. It was obvious she couldn't bring herself to reveal whatever horrid news awaited him. So he looked every other face around him in the eyes, one by one, hoping to find someone brave enough to tell him.

"Your family is dead, kid." piped in a man, very near his own age, with no hint of pity in his voice.

"Johan, watch your tone!" yelled an older woman, his mother by the looks of it, before smacking the man across the back of his head.

The words did not immediately sink in. They didn't even register for a few minutes. The sound crept through his mind and minutes passed before he could decipher it. It was as if he didn't know the language the man had spoken to him.

"What do you mean…" Lincoln whispered.

"Your mother and father died, Linc. A few months ago now…" this time he recognized the speaker instantly.

It was Iselde, a girl had been courting on occasion before leaving across the mountains. Her honeyed voice did nothing to soothe the growing disbelief and despair within him. He looked her in the eye.

"What happened?" this time his voice was strong and commanding.

Over the next few minutes the crowd dispersed. Only a few remained as he was brought up to date on the events that had transpired. The seemingly minor plague and how it had only claimed one life in the main village. The way it crept into the outskirts, effecting the houses in the fields. The way his sister had fallen ill. The way his faithful parents tended to her.

They gave him every detail that they knew, even incriminating themselves. As they told him, his parents might have been spared the grip of death had anyone known they'd fallen ill sooner. However, no one had bothered to check on them until it was too late. His mother had already passed and his father was beyond any help the village could muster.

Every last detail revealed, a welcome home gift from hell, it slowly crept into him. The truth sank slowly but surely, like a boulder sinking into muck.

So, this is what I come home to… Why?

It wasn't easy, but Iselde managed to talk him into joining her at the pub to sit down. He followed along listlessly, much like a wind-up doll with a broken spring. The pub was very close but the walk felt like ages.

α

Lillian was busy washing some dishes, one of the few tasks relegated to her, when a neighbor suddenly appeared just beyond the kitchen window. He looked both excited and distinctly alarmed. Rapping loudly upon the window he scared Lillian quite badly. She almost dropped the plate she had been scrubbing. Lightly clutching her chest, and with a deep breath to calm herself, she pushed the window open.

"What's wrong?" she asked the man with her melodic voice.

"It's Lincoln! It's your brother!" the man yelled, clearly out of breath and very excited, "He's come home! Quickly, he's at the pub right now! They're filling him in about the plague and I'm sure he needs you right now…"

The man didn't stay long enough to see Lillian's eyes pour like rivers. Vision obscured by the furious tears, she dropped the plate and bolted for the front door. It was flung open and she was running for the village square in an instant.

Her frail body was of exceedingly poor health. It was certainly not built for this kind of heavy sprinting. Yet all the same she furiously pumped her legs, right foot after left. She ran as though it was only natural. She ran as though it was all she ever did. Yes, that very moment she was running towards the last thing that mattered to her, the last remaining Paragon. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to think. So furious was her pace and equally so the pain it brought.

Lillian didn't care. She wanted to get there to see him. Though this was the first time in her life she had ever truly ran, it mattered not. With the lone thought of reuniting with her brother burning like the sun in her mind, Lillian ran her frail little body to its absolute limit.

Ω

Lincoln sat at a small table in the corner of the village pub. It was a dingy place, yes, but warm and welcoming. The soft glow of magic-stone lamps cast golden light throughout the watering hole. The thrum of energy coursing through them gave the place an entrancing feel. Worn pinewood boards made up the floor, stained from years of merrymaking and cavorting. The walls were a cast slurry of sand and other odds and ends. They had a very intricate pattern running all along them.

With the light of early evening still shining brightly through the front windows one could see that it was not busy. A few customers here and there nibbled on a small meal or drank down a pint of water or tea. Nobody was merrymaking this early. Nobody was cavorting in the day-lit bar. Yet even if the cover of night were upon them, no one would want to.

A foul pallor of a mood had fallen over the guests, most of which had followed Iselde and Lincoln inside. The circumstances of his return were anything but jubilant. Nay, he was instead met with what amounted to the worst news of his life. A burden immediately thrust upon him for which there was no provision to carry.

"Lincoln, I'm so sorry for your loss…" Iselde whispered shamefully, reaching across the table to grab hold of his hands, "Your parents really were amazing people. They have been missed."

She was not the best at consoling, even when prepared. Today though, she was caught entirely off guard. His return, while welcomed, was unexpected to the furthest degree. Though she desperately wanted to comfort him there were no words she knew to help.

"Iselde, it's okay. I'm just in a bit of shock." He murmured in reply, trying to reassure her instead, "And, I don't mean to be rude but I need to check on Lillian. I have to see she's okay for myself."

He'd been informed that, due in large part to their parents, Lillian had miraculously survived.

"If you feel up to it, I'll take you to see her." Iselde offered.

"Yeah, I'm definitely up to it."

"Well then, let's go. It's a bit of a walk."

Iselde stood up and began to walk to the door, stopping when she remembered she needed to pay her tab. She turned around and walked back to the bartender.

"I'm sorry, just give me a moment to pay and I'll be right out." She told him, a small smile across her face.

Shrugging his shoulders Lincoln continued on toward the door, reaching out for the handle when it flew open with all the fury of a great storm. He barely had time to realize what was happening before getting a thorough mouthful of aged oaken door.

α

Lillian was almost there. She could clearly see the fountain growing in the distance. Her legs were on fire, or so it felt. Her lungs as well. It seemed as though her tiny chest would pop at any moment. Yet it would all be worth it soon. She knew it would. He was so close now. Six years had passed so slowly but now it seemed only the blink of an eye.

At last she reached the great oaken door of the pub. Still in a full sprint she braced herself for the imminent impact and threw herself into the door.

It wasn't bad as she had expected. Of course, the door had been left slightly ajar as someone was opening it from the other side. When she hit it swung wide and fast, knocking the poor sod on the other side across the face and onto the ground. Lillian herself rolled into the pub like a child's bouncy ball, coming to a stop upon hitting the bar. She propped herself on her elbows and slowly sat up, eyes squeezed shut as she winced at the pain flooding into her all at once.

After a brief moment she opened her eyes and turned to see what damage she might have done. The first sight that registered was also the only sight to do so. She could see her brother laying on the floor, his face battered from the door's violent opening. It took her only a moment to put two and two together before the scream.

With a wail that would frighten a banshee, Lillian looked straight up at the ceiling and passed out cold.

ϕ

"Look at those two… You'd never guess how young they are if you didn't know…" sighed a young man, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He ran his fingers through the light-blonde locks that sat carelessly across his face. A face now contorted with the worry of one whom has bad news to impart.

He stood in the center of a cozy little cottage. His feet were planted carefully atop a threadbare rug which was once the color of mid-spring dogwood blossoms. Now though, just as age had worn its body so too had it worn its color to a dingy grey. The rug still managed to serve the purpose for which it had long ago been purchased. It sat atop a simple wooden floor of pitched planks. Of course, as time and the elements had worn the pitch down, there were many small cracks and crevices all across the floor. Threadbare and dingy, the rug still managed to hide and insulate most of the worst crevices.

The planks themselves were once of oaken make. Not to say that age had changed them to some other material, but it had worn them just as the pitch and the rug. Once a light sandalwood color, time had stained them to an off-brown with faint hints of green. All the same they retain the sturdiness for which the tree they came from is so famous. Years of being tread and sat upon had not weakened them, though the constant creaks elicited by the slightest movement begged consideration of the integrity.

The boards made up the entire floor of the living area, meeting the walls under a, once beautiful, mahogany molding. Perhaps one of the last adornments left in the house that could testify to the taste of its original builder, the molding between floor and wall traveled all throughout the house. It was still vaguely decorated with the embossing of Gods and Goddesses. The deep brown color of the wood had stood up to the test of time's passage, perhaps as well as the house's central supports.

The walls framed in the color pattern nicely being made of rosewood stained a slightly darker color. Their age showed through in that the stain had faded slightly over the years, leaving behind something of a shading effect. The two-toned color cast a warm energy through the room.

Crowning the top of the rosewood walls was another set of molding, this an off-ivory color. It was deeply engraved with murals depicting a great, bullheaded man locked in combat with what could only be described as a bulwark of a man. The scene was a fantastic antithesis to its comrade laying upon the foot of the walls. It strongly captured the soul of this house's builder and original owner.

Above the heads of those occupying the small living area was a sturdy ceiling of roughhewn logs, perhaps of alpine or oaken make. Framed by strong pitch and clay this ceiling had stood valiantly against the weathering of eighty-one year's passage. So finely made it showed not the slightest hint of its age. Five distinct beams ran across the sturdy ceiling with a humble brass chandelier hanging upon the center. It cast a warming glow upon the room with its eight little magic stones. This same glow had been upon the walls and floorboards for the last three quarters of a century.

Truly, anyone who knew the Ansleys and their desperate finances would never have guessed at the true value of this modest-seeming house. It looked fairly lavish to the untrained eye, but a master appraiser would have known immediately that it was built by one with truly great tastes and equally deep pockets.

The young man turned his attention away from his observations of the house, of whose owners he might have been slightly jealous if not for their present situation, and considered whether or not to wake the sleeping siblings. They were both laying in simply patterned chair of fair quality, the fabric reminiscent of cotton-soft burlap. The chairs were positioned on either side of a small sofa, perhaps just wide enough to fit four modestly sized people if they sat uncomfortably close together.

To his left hand side was a young man with a slightly muscular, lanky build. Perhaps just under six feet if he stood straight up this man was not particularly imposing. His skin was just a shade darker than fair, arms fairly covered in a light-colored sleeve of hair. He'd grown quite a bit since Raphael had last seen him. He hated to lay the full extent of the terrible news upon his cousin's shoulders. Alas there was no avoiding it and he knew this.

To his right hand side lay a petite girl just on the cusp of blooming into womanhood. Her vaguely-blonde hair, the color of goldenrod just beginning to wilt and brown, lay loosely around her pallid face. Her button nose flared slightly with every inhaled breath. This girl had been his guest for the last few months. Though under terribly unfortunate circumstances she had remained in remarkably good spirits since recovering from the trauma of her loss. Always so willing to help around the house, despite her own frailty. Always so ready to infect you with her loving smile. It pained him to tell either one what he was loathed to reveal.

Decision reached at last, Raphael takes a deep breath and walks to the man first. He places a hand on his left shoulder and shakes him slightly until he responds. With a rustle and a grunt he slowly opened his eyes and straightened up. Before he could realize who had woken him Raphael moved over to awaken the girl. As before he places a hand on her shoulder and gives a light shake, rousing her from the comfort of slumber.

"Raphael!" beams an elated voice from behind him.

He turns to see Lincoln, now awake and standing, holding his arms wide open. He closes in and the two share a quick hug, a greeting of reunion between long-separated family.

"Lincoln!" once more comes an elated voice from behind him, this time of a high pitch.

Raphael can barely move out of the way before the tiny girl bolts past him and slams into the just recently standing Lincoln.

He just barely manages to stay standing. Lillian is hugging him so tightly it is surprising. He did not know her fragile frame could exert such strength. Lincoln wraps his arms around her in response, hugging her just tightly enough not to hurt her.

"Lincoln! You're home! You're really home…" she begins to sob.

"It's ok Lil, I'm home. I'm here." he reassures her.

The siblings hug for just a little longer before Lincoln carefully separates the embrace. He holds her shoulders and kneels down to look his sister in the eye. The slight tremble he can feel brings forth a twinge of sadness in his heart. She's been so brave to push through this tragedy. He's so very proud of her.

"Lil, I'm so sorry I wasn't here. I didn't say goodbye and you had to face this all alone." Lincoln began, the pangs of guilt all too easily heard in his voice, "But I'm so very proud of you! You held together, Lil. Now I'm back and you don't have to handle it alone anymore, ok?"

Lillian choked back her tears and flashed a big, almost silly grin at him. It was real but it looked almost put-on. He patted her lightly on the head and smiled back.

"It's good to have you back, Linc." Raphael chimed in, a little sorry to break up the touching reunion, "I'm very sorry Lincoln, but I'm afraid I have even more bad news for you."

Lincoln turned to look at his cousin. He could see the seriousness on his face was no act so he decided it would be best to take a seat. With an unceremonious flop he placed his rear firmly upon the couch behind him. He patted the cushion beside him a few times to tell Lillian to sit beside him. She quickly took the offered seat and they both turned their gaze back to Raphael. With a long sigh he began to relay the news.

"Listen, your parents were great people. Unfortunately they've left you quite the burden to carry." he paused, turning his gaze to peer out a window, "As the sole heir of the Ansley estate you're now about fifty-two-thousand vals in debt. Your parents did everything they could to keep this place afloat and your sister in as good a health as possible."

Feeling the pressure, Raphael decided to take a seat as well. He took a few steps over to the chair that had been occupied by Lillian and slowly sat himself in it. He leaned back and crossed one leg across the other thigh. With a deep breath he continued.

"The line of credit your parents held with the local doctor is now yours and it's in collection." he only had one more tidbit to impart before this nasty business was done with, at least for him, "Lastly, and for this I am sorely ashamed and sorry, I cannot offer the both of you to stay with me. I'm afraid I simply don't have the finances to support either of you any longer."

Raphael hung his head in shame and hoped Lincoln could accept his circumstances. He very nearly held his breath in anticipation of a furious response. After all he'd basically just thrown the two to the wolves with this bombshell. Even Lillian hadn't known of the massive debt awaiting them.

"It'll be alright, Raph…" Lincoln broke the silence with reassuring words and a bright smile. It was much unexpected. "That's some really shitty news, but we're still alive, Lil and me. We can get through this 'cause we got each other, ya know?"

It struck Lillian just how much that sounded like their Father's last words. It was quite calming to her nerves to hear such a thing come from Lincoln's mouth. Still a pang of guilt remained in her heart from what Raphael had told them, but now she knew for sure it would be okay.

"Well, I'm certainly relieved to hear you put it that way, Linc." Raphael said, scratching the back of his head nervously.

Raphael stood up and gave a deep bow before turning to head for the front door. He'd been fretting this conversation for months now and it was a great relief how well it had gone. He knew Lincoln was a good man, responsible and level-headed. Even still, this was something that would put a strain on a saint's patience.

"I'll check in on you two as often as I can, Linc." he said as he neared the door, "If I can help you out I will, though I'm afraid I can't offer too much…"

"It'll be alright like I said, Raph. Just be sure to let me know if you hear of anyone in town looking for an employee."

Raphael grabbed hold of the door and pulled it open before turning around and meeting Lincoln's gaze. They locked eyes for a brief moment, a look of understanding passed between them. The kind of look that passes between adults on equal ground. It was a strange feeling. Lincoln was only just barely a man when he had left. Yet now he stood here, the aura of a full-fledged adult with him. Raphael couldn't help but admire his growth.

"I will, Linc. Keep your chin up okay, cousin?" Raphael smiled and gave a final bow, "See you later."

"Goodbye for now, cousin." Lincoln replied, giving a bow and a smile after in return.

ϕ

Lincoln gave a final wave to his departing cousin before closing the door behind him. He sighed deeply and turned to face his sister who was still sitting on the couch. The evening sun cast rays of deep gold upon the interior of the home he'd been gone from for so long. It was serene and surreal, to finally be back and taking in such familiar sights.

Looking around he spied the pile of his belongings setting against the far side of the wall. Suddenly reminded of the present Harvey had given to him he walked over and picked up the box. He hadn't really given it all that much thought since he left the smithy. It just couldn't compete with the excitement that the prospect of returning home had brought. Then, in the shock brought on from the terrible news he had received, it was completely forgotten about for the better part of the day. Now though, brought back to the forefront of his mind he wondered what might be in there.

"What's that box you're holding, Brother?" Lillian's soft voice chimed in, breaking the silence and his line of thought.

Lincoln turned to face her once more, walking back over to sit beside her on the couch. He plopped down with a sigh, the box clutched between his hands. He turned his face to look her way and flashed a big smile.

"It's a parting birthday gift from my Ma- my former Master." his smile twitched a tad, "I thought we could both take a peek at it together. Wanna?"

"Oh my, I'm so sorry! I forgot your birthday had passed in all the turmoil!" Lillian yelled, a small grimace of shame coming upon her, "I'll return in a moment, Brother!"

With that she leapt up and disappeared into another room. Lincoln could hear the sound of items being rummaged around. A small puff of dust trailed behind her a Lillian returned, a small box with simple brown butcher's paper wrapped around it clutched to her chest. She stopped in front of her brother and held out the box.

"This is for you, for all the birthday's I've missed!" she proclaimed excitedly, her head bowed somewhat.

Lincoln set Harvey's gift on the floor beside him and reached up to grab the box she offered. It was about a foot long or slightly more, maybe five inches deep. It felt heavier than it seemed it should.

"Thank you, Lil. I should've brought you something too…" he said, remembering he'd missed as many of her birthdays as she had his.

"That's okay, Brother! You've done more than enough for me already. Now, open it up and have a look!" her face was filled with excitement, a wide smile making small dimples under rosy cheeks.

He'd really missed those smiles while away. She used to smile the same way when their mother would praise her for learning something new or cleaning around the house. It was the same smile she'd have when their father would give her a big hug. Now that they were gone it made him all the more grateful to see that smile still existed.

With a big smile of his own Lincoln peeled the neatly wrapped brown paper off of the box. Underneath the paper was a simple wooden box with a neat little latch and two hinges on the back. He admired it for a brief moment before thumbing the latch and opening the box. What he saw inside made his heart sink, realizing he hadn't told Lillian he was released from his Master's service. Inside sat a pair of tongs and a small hammer, the type used for shaping precious metals into jewelry.

"Lil, I…" he couldn't choke out his words, the tears were already coming. Not very manly but he was always a little apt to cry. Indeed, Lincoln was not what you would describe as a particularly tough example of a man.

"What is it? Do you not like them?" Lillian asked, her excitement now replaced with worry.

"No!" he replied quickly, sniffling as he wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeve, "They're wonderful, Lil. I really do like them a lot. It's just that… Harvey released me from being his apprentice. I'm not a smith anymore…"

Lillian was aghast at this revelation. She wanted to snatch the box and throw it out the window, or perhaps bury it somewhere far off in the fields.

"Well, let's see what he gave you then." she wheezed, trying to divert her mind.

"Lil, honestly. I really do like your gift. I'll cherish it even if I never get to use it." He was smiling again, having successfully choked the sorrow down into his gut.

Following her suggestion, Lincoln gently closed the box and set it on the small table in front of the sofa. As he reached down to grab Harvey's gift once again, Lillian sat back down beside him. She was burning with shame over her own gift and desperately wanted to see what the smith had given him. She hoped it would get her mind off of her own blunder.

Lincoln set the box on his lap. It was perhaps three feet long, about four inches wide and not terribly deep. It was very thoughtfully wrapped in a soft, velvety red cloth tied together with a simple yellow string. The weight was perhaps around eight pounds, give or take. With gradually deepening intrigue he slowly pulled the string holding the knot together. He unraveled the string and folded the cloth out of the way.

Underneath was a mahogany box with the Smithy's title carefully charred into the top. A shiny silver latch adorned the front, holding the box tightly shut. On the back were two blackened steel hinges that perfectly accented the deep brown of the wood. Now truly impressed and curious, he opened up the latch and opened it up, swallowing the lump forming in his throat.

Inside was a simple looking amulet of slightly tarnished silver. It had the look of master craftsmanship about it but had clearly seen quite some years. Unadorned with jewels it did have a character of intrigue to it. All along the face of the pendant strung on the chain were symbols of some kind he'd never seen before.

As Lincoln pondered the locket his eyes noticed the other two presents in the box. To either side of the amulet sat a small bar of solid gold. It was the severance pay he'd been promised in the contract, by about three times over. His breath left him as he stared in disbelief at the shimmering contents of Harvey's gift.

"Wow…" Lillian whispered, her eyes transfixed by the seemingly lavish gift, "Hey, what's that under the necklace?"

Lincoln looked a tad closer and noticed the slip of paper under the pendant of the amulet. He lifted the amulet and undid the clasp, pulling the chain around his neck and affixing the clasp back in place. It felt right, oddly enough. He then picked up the slip of paper and unfolded it to see what was within.

Dear Lincoln,

I hope you can make some good use of this. There was

a time when I'd worn this amulet myself and it has kept

me from harm on more than a few occasions. I never

did figure out what the markings meant, but they

seemed to protect me when danger would find me.

Well, happy birthday kiddo. I hope the amulet keeps

you safe wherever you might find yourself.

-Harvey

"What a guy… Thanks, Harvey…" Lincoln muttered under his breath.

Looking at the two gold bars he could guess it was about six-thousand valis. Quite the severance package no matter which way you looked at it. This would ensure that he could provide Lillian her medicine for at least a month and keep them both fed. This was just the windfall he needed to hold them over until he could find work.

"You know Brother, I kind of hated that smith for taking you from us…" came Lillian's almost sleepy words, stirring him from his pondering, "But he really is a good guy after all, huh?"

Lincoln couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, he really is. I'll have to thank him for this someday."

ϕ

The two made light chatter for a time after, talking over the events of the last six years in some brief detail. Though Lincoln wanted to know more about their parent's passing he was relieved that the topic was not brought up. The conversation instead stayed fairly lighthearted and simple, just two siblings catching up after years apart. It went on that way for perhaps an hour before hunger made itself known.

"I think I should get us some dinner ready. What would you like, Lil?" Lincoln queried, digging through the modest rations in his rucksack. He assumed, and rightly so, that their house would be devoid of food since it had been uninhabited for a few months now. Anything not used or disposed of was bound to be rotted at this point.

"I'll help to, Brother!" Lillian exclaimed with a sparkle in her eye, "It'll be easier to decide if I'm helping to prepare anyways."

The two set to work with the dried meats and few, long-lived veggies he had packed for rations. With some small effort they had managed to prepare a modestly flavored stew and some salad. It was a meal of meager flavors, and yet the company with it accented the food so as to be somewhat of a delicacy. Indeed as the flavor of a good cheese is far amplified with fine wine, the siblings discovered the same application could be discerned from proper company.

Laughs and smiles were shared over flippant conversation and jovial tone. The house seemed to almost respond in kind, an energy of warmth and comfort seeming to exude from the very floor. It too was happy to have the light of joy and family within its halls once more, a light only brought by the descendants of its original builder.

Lincoln and Lillian could both sense the ardor seeming to permeate every corner of the house. In fact, Lincoln could almost swear it was coming from one point in particular. As if the house's heart were radiating this feeling. He simply brushed off the feeling though and looked his sister in the eye, a seriousness coming upon his face.

"Lillian, can I ask you something important?" he chimed calmly.

"Of course! Is it bad?"

"No, no… It's about our finances." he replied, hoping his tone was reassuring enough, "I was wondering if you'd be okay here by yourself while I'm out working. When I find work, of course."

"I know I'm frail, brother, but you don't have to worry that much." Lillian's reply came across almost as if she was faintly aggravated at the implication that she needed to be babied and watched over.

"I know you're strong, Lil. I just wanted to be sure you'll be alright."

"I'll be fine. But do you have to look for work so soon after coming home?" the look in her eyes was almost something of melancholy.

"Yeah, I need to get to working again as soon as possible. As long as I'm alive you'll never need to worry for medicine or food or anything!" this time Lincoln's tone carried a fervor behind it, a sense of divine duty if you will.

"Thank you, brother…" Lillian sighed, her heart filled with gratitude, "I'm lucky to have you."

His intentions made clear Lincoln stood and stacked up their empty plates and glassware. He took it to the kitchen and began to rinse them off. Lillian simply sat there, her mind filled with thoughts of a bleak future. She worried for her brother if he had to spend his days providing for and looking after her. It was certainly a burden, yet she also remembered the final words her father had imparted to her. With that she couldn't bring herself to be sad about it, instead filled entirely with gratitude that the Gods had given her such a blessed guardian.

After cleaning up what was left on the table she went to check on her Brother. Upon entering the kitchen he was drying off and putting away the last fork. Therefore, with everything taken care of and their bellies full the two decided it was time to turn in. They walked across the living room into their respective rooms, traded their goodnights and went to sleep.

ϕ

The next few days were a monotonous parade of disappointments. Like clockwork Lincoln went out every morning, shortly before the shops and businesses would be opening, to seek employment. He pursued this task with the zeal of a driven man. Every day he would walk out into the early-morning chill of autumn, his footsteps on the cobblestone paths around town becoming a wakeup call for those still sleeping. Every day his head would be hung in disappointment as he returned home, no job to show for his efforts.

At first he went to his former employers at the wood mill and the granary. They were just fine as he found out, just enough business not to be lacking but not enough to hire him. After this he tried the farms and fields to see if they needed extra hands. Each time it was the same story.

Once he had exhausted the places nearby he began to go into the main town. Perhaps, he thought, the stalls and merchants might have need of him. Alas it was all the same, no matter to whom he talked. All were doing just fine and had no need of an extra pair of hands. This continued on for the next week until he had exhausted even the main town of options. No one would hire him it seemed.

The financial windfall from selling the two gold bars would not last forever, he knew this well. Medicine was by no means a cheap commodity, nor were the payments on his inherited debt. The mounting hole in his severance pay only served to increase his alarm and add further fervor to his seemingly futile search for gainful employment.

Lillian hated to watch her brother like this. It was different from how he'd been before leaving for his Apprenticeship. Back then it was a dutiful pursuit just as now, but this sense of emergency was not so burnt into his figure. No, at that time it was merely the fervent pursuit of a responsible, respectable son seeking to aid his family's finances. Now it was the almost maddened hunt of an older brother desperate to take care of his sister.

What's worse was that she couldn't help him. The frailty which was the source of most of their predicament was also a great cage of chains that stayed her feet. So she pushed herself instead to do what she could to keep their home clean and welcoming for his return. This was her daily pursuit. This was the duty she carried out with all the same fervor as her Brother's search. Dusting and cleaning around the house or doing their laundry. Some days she'd wash the dishes and only when necessary would she rest her fatigued body.

It was nearly three weeks into this, as the horror of their dwindling finances loomed over their heads, that Lincoln left even earlier for the wood mill. He decided to try a rather underhanded tactic, intending of doing some of the miller's early-morning tasks for him in hopes that it might increase his favor. It was the slight rustle and commotion of Lincoln's preparations that stirred Lillian from her slumber. The door closed slightly louder today than before, just as she was rising from her bed.

With a yawn all too big for her tiny face she stood up and changed out of her sleeping attire. With fresh clothes and slight fatigue upon her she proceeded to the lavatory to rinse the sleep from her face. The invigorating feeling of the warm water on her freshly woken face was just the pick-me-up she needed.

With vigor and purpose she began to walk the house, attempting to discern which room needed her attention today. It was quite the balancing act she had to perform in order to affect any real progress with her daily cleaning. Being so sickly she did not have the energy of other girls her age and could only clean effectively for a few hours a day. Therefore it was important to make sure she kept up with the rooms they occupied most, saving other rooms for fewer cleanings. With good time-management she could clean two rooms top to bottom in a single day and still have decent energy left over to prepare some dinner.

As she walked around, contemplating which room to choose, her eyes were drawn to a room that had not seen much use at all since the death of their Great-Grandfather, the house's builder. Their Father had once told her it was the man's study. This was believable as it was filled front to back with dusty old books and scrolls rendered worthless by their esoteric subject matter. Having cleaned most of the rest of the house already, and recently so the more occupied rooms, she decided this would be today's candidate.

She crossed the threshold, rag and broom in hand, and set to work upon the old study. With vaguely practiced movements she swept up the thin layer of dust that had settled upon the floor, taking care not to breathe too much of it. After she'd piled and scooped it up she proceeded to open the window on the far wall and dumped the dust on the grass beneath. This also dispersed the dust she'd stirred up into the air.

Lillian walked over to her left, positioning herself in front of a fascinating painting on the wall between two bookshelves. While waiting for the dust to clear enough that she could remove the rag tied around her mouth and nose, she decided to have a look at the painting. It was a simple rendition of a legend as old as human history. 'The Flaming Sword in the Garden' was embossed in raised, bronze letters on the bottom of the simple wooden frame.

The title was quite fitting. A luscious garden was depicted in the background, trees and bushes with all sorts of fruit and berries on them. Grass as green as emeralds stretching far off into the horizon. A crystal clear river flowing behind a giant tree in the center of focus. A great flaming sword thrust deep into the ground, barring any from crossing it. This was indeed one of the oldest and perhaps saddest legends that still lived in the minds of the world's inhabitants.

According to the legend there was one God who created all things and he had originally intended for humanity to live in a great paradise. That paradise was this garden, all the food and water one could ever need within easy reach. No need to work or labor, no need to kill or hunt. It must have been a great place indeed.

But, as the legend goes, the first two humans angered this God somehow. So he told them to leave the garden and cast down a great sword into the earth. When it landed it came set ablaze with a living flame, barring passage back into paradise from all. From then on, after the two had left sight of the garden, the paradise disappeared from the face of the earth. At least that's how the legend went. No one was quite sure where the story came from or when it was first formed, but many such works of art dedicated to it had arisen over the centuries.

Lillian turned her gaze from the piece and looked around the room. The rays of early morning sun lit up the study and she could see the dust had either dispersed or settled. With a sigh she untied and removed the rag from her face. Folding it carefully she decided to begin the cleaning with the painting. Even if it wasn't valuable enough to sell it still meant something to her so she wanted to take care of it first. With careful motions she wiped the dust from the surface of the canvas and the frame.

Satisfied with that she moved on to the wall beneath the frame. It looked a little different now that she was seeing it up close. This section of wall seemed to be just a tad more aged than the rest for some reason, though she couldn't put her finger on it. Deciding it didn't matter she set her rag upon it and started to bear down. Yet, the wall had other ideas apparently.

Before she'd put hardly any weight on it, three panels snapped apart and almost crumbled to dust entirely. With something between a gasp and a shriek, Lillian toppled into the hole in the wall. It was just high enough that she didn't fall in entirely, instead being lodged almost as if she were leaning on her stomach. With her posterior sticking out of the wall and her feet now a few inches off the ground she gave a small grunt, positioning her elbows to lift herself out of the wall.

As she moved her arms she could feel something rigid between them in the darkness. She stopped and felt the object for a moment before continuing to push herself out. Now free of the wall she ran back to the desk near the window and opened one of the drawers on the left side. She reached in and pulled out a candlestick and a base with which to hold it along with a few matches. With jittery hands she struck a match and lit the candle.

Lillian's heart was pounding faster than it should be. She had no idea why but something felt off about all this. It almost seemed like the hole was somehow speaking to her, calling to her even. She slowly approached and peered inside, the candle peeling the darkness away like a lifting curtain.

It was indeed a box much like the one the blacksmith had given her brother, only this one was much longer and deeper. In fact the only real resemblance between the two was the make and craftsmanship of it. Even covered in dust as it was, surely many decades worth, she could still tell the skill of whomever had made it was exceptional. It was an almost obsidian-black color, a strange set of letters engraved and painted across the top.

Being the children of poor farmers neither she nor her brother had learned to read beyond the basics. This seemed funny to her sometimes considering they had such a study in their house, yet all the same the little bit she could read wouldn't let Lillian decipher what was on the box. With a twinge of disappointment, and a lot of curiosity, she wiped the dust off of it with care so as not to stir it into the air. Once she was satisfied with this she decided to lift it out and carry it into the living area to await her Brother's return home. She wrapped her little hands around the box and pulled…

It didn't budge on her first try. Its weight was far beyond what she was expecting and Lillian ended up, almost comically, smacking herself into it instead. Thankfully it wasn't hard enough to hurt her, though it certainly didn't feel good. Now knowing the box was heavier than it appeared she prepared her thin arms for the second attempt. With care not to drop the box she slowly lifted it from its resting place and carried it into the next room.

Lillian truly had no idea exactly how drastically the contents of this simple container would change their lives. Indeed, what may at first seem to be a simple coincidence is often the first step in the grand machinations of the Gods themselves. In fact, far away where it could be seen by absolutely no other, a Being of great divinity cracked a small, sly smile across its glowing face.

Ω

Lincoln trudged slowly towards home, his shoulders slumped deeply with disappointment. His plan to try and convince the miller to rehire him had completely backfired. The old man was furious that he'd already done most of the tasks for the day. He yelled at him for hours, explaining that there simply wasn't enough work to justify hiring him again, before telling him to leave and not come back. This was quite bad as news in such a small village spread very quickly. Lincoln was sure that everyone would've heard about his blunder by the day's end. So with the sun still hanging in the middle of the sky he trudged homeward.

He walked up to the front door and opened it listlessly only to be greeted by Lillian's beaming smile. Not that she didn't smile at him every time he came home but today was different. There was an almost impish look to her smile today, or perhaps playful was a better description. In either case he was curious to know what she was on about.

"You look excited." he chuckled, walking in and closing the door behind him. He went straight to the sofa and sat down with a graceless plop. In his lackluster mood, and curious over his sister's slightly off smile, he failed entirely to notice the elephant, or box as it were, in the middle of the room.

"Don't you notice something? Maybe just in front of you?" Lillian chortled.

Lincoln looked at her, puzzled, before turning his gaze to find what she was referring to. It took him only a moment to locate the large black box in the center of the table, just in front of the sofa. It nearly startled him that he'd missed such an obviously out of place object so easily.

"Where'd you find that, Lil?" he asked, a minute trace of surprise in his voice.

"Well, I was cleaning out the study," Lillian began, almost excited to recount the tale of her mysterious discovery, "and I sorta fell through the wall-"

"Are you okay?!" Lincoln asked in shock.

"Yes yes, I'm fine Brother." she reassured him, resuming her tale, "As I said, I fell through a bit of the wall under that old painting. Inside I found that box. It's kinda heavy too and I'm dying to know what's in it, but I decided to wait on you."

She flashed another of those vaguely impish smiles and sat down next to her brother, eagerly awaiting the revelation of the box's contents.

"Well, I guess I shouldn't keep you waiting. Let's have a peek, eh?" Lincoln chuckled, leaning forward to grab hold of the box. He could tell she was very excited and curious, infectiously so as it was getting to him as well.

He lifted it, noticing the distinct weight and a slight shift from within, and place it on his lap. Lillian leaned over a tad to get a better view. Lincoln's heart suddenly began to pound out of his chest. As sense of great excitement washed over him as he could that presence once again. The strange symbols on the box almost seemed to come alive and pulsate with energy. It was as if it was a beating heart calling out to him, begging him to peer within.

With a cold sweat beginning to gather upon his forehead he undid the clasp on the front of the box. With bated breath and trembling arms he wrapped his hands loosely around the lid and lifted, opening it with a groaning creak. What he beheld inside made his heart jump for some reason he would ponder for many months after.

The first thing to catch his eye was a very well-made, leather-bound book with a name he could only partially make out. The first portion of the name was that of his Great-Grandfather, a man he'd only heard about a few times throughout his life. He knew he had built the house his family had lived in for just over eighty years and he knew the man was not born in this village. Besides that he knew little else of him. So it came as somewhat of a surprise to see part of his name, accompanied with a title, on the cover of this book.

"Francis the Bold…" Lincoln muttered.

"You can read that, Brother?" Lillian cooed with a bit of awe.

"Yeah, I learned a little bit more about reading while working with Harvey."

He lifted the book and his heart flipped as he could fully make out what was under it. There sat a masterfully crafted, if somewhat plain and very dusty, broadsword. It was of a very common design, perhaps about twenty-four inches from guard to tip with a handle just big enough for one hand. The blade was about three inches wide at its base, tapering straight into a fine needle of a tip. With a puff he blew the dust off to reveal the true, off-silvery hue of the blade. Even at a glance it was clear how deadly sharp it still was.

The handle, though small and humble, was equally well made. It was wrapped in what felt like soft cow-leather, a bronze chain curling around it. The bottom of the pommel seemed to have once had an inscription on it, though this was rendered illegible by the many scratches and dings that told of its use in combat. Its hilt was properly crowned with a straight cross guard of exceedingly simple design. Being little more than a thin piece of sturdy, marred steel that had clearly weathered many blows and parries. The weight of the blade overall was very well balanced, something his time with Harvey had taught him to feel.

Lincoln stared intently at the blade. It seemed to gaze at him in return, almost singing a haunting exhortation to combat and adventure. Lillian was unfortunately deaf to the song and simply watched her brother gaze intently upon the sword now held in his softly shaking hands.

"Brother… are you okay?" came Lillian's soft voice, snapping him from the trance.

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm alright." he muttered with a trace of nervousness across his face.

"Hey, there's something else in there." she said, pointing a tiny finger at a small ring.

Small being a reference to the finger it originally sat upon. When Lincoln picked up the ring it was clearly too big to even fit around his thumb. It was a simple gold band, akin to a wedding ring, with the exception of a small engraving on the inside. Lincoln brought the ring close to his eyes to try and read it but it was no use. He couldn't recognize the characters of the word. So with a sigh of disappointment he set the ring back in the box and placed the sword over top of it.

"What do you think this was doing in the wall, eh Lil?" Lincoln asked, turning towards his sister.

"I have no idea where to start thinking of an answer." she groaned, leaning back and closing her eyes, "But I am sure that book could give us a clue. Think you can read it, Brother?"

Lincoln picked the book up once more and took a closer look at it. He could make out the name on the cover and that it was a journal. It apparently belonged to one "Francis the Bold". The cover felt quite old and looked the part as well. He ran a finger gently along the cover and the spine, feeling the many wrinkles and scratches of repeated use.

Opening it his jaw gradually began to drop open in complete and utter shock…

Ψ

To whoever finds my blade and my journal I ask that you read it throughout. Though you owe neither commitment nor bond I ask that you read this and consider my request.

I have taken up the name Ansley as there are many who envied and hated me, enough that I feared not for my own life but for those I loved. I faked my death and took up this named to run like a coward instead of facing my enemies. I left my pride and my honor at the maw of that horrid pit, hiding myself under cover of night and stealing away. Though I stand by my decision, for the sake of my love, I would ask that whoever you are you would take up my mantle. I beseech you stranger to lift up this blade as I once did and find that which I left behind in that fetid, living abyss.

My name now is Francis Ansley, but I was once Francis Grisham known as Francis the Bold. Please read my tale and reclaim my mantle.