I followed Flint through the narrow, winding streets back to our workshop. The day had been rough, but not as rough as the realization that I was far from where I needed to be.
Flint pushed open the creaky door, and we stepped inside. The cluttered room felt like a chaotic sanctuary, a mix of scribbled notes, ink stains, and half-finished glyphs. I slumped into the chair like I'm fourty by the table, letting out a heavy sigh. Flint dropped his leather bag on the table and began unpacking the parchment.
"Unlucky day, huh?" Flint said, glancing over his shoulder. His tone was light, almost too casual. "Don't worry about it too much. Crafting takes time. It's not something you get right away."
I stared at the table, feeling a mix of frustration and uncertainty. "Why do you even bother with me, Flint? You seem to care, but why?"
Flint paused, then leaned over the table across from me. "Well, kid, I guess it's because I was lonely," he said, his voice softer than usual. "When I started out, there was..." he hesitated thoughtfully, "No one was here to share craft with. It was just me and a lot of mistakes."
I looked up at him, trying to read his expression. My eyes wandered to the reddened lightning scars.
He continued, "I know it's tough right now, but that's part of learning. You won't get it all in one go, man. I'd be pissed if you did." I breathe out a chuckle and he continued, "You have to work through the rough patches to find the good stuff. Focus on each step, and don't rush it."
On that last part I disagree, I don't ruin the moment though.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a worn leatherbound notebook, filled with sketches of glyphs and scribbled notes. "Here," he said, handing it to me. "This is something I've been working on. It's got all the glyphs and techniques I've picked up over the years. Study it, practice, and maybe it'll help."
I took the book, feeling the weight of his trust in my hands. "Thanks, Flint. I'll do my best."
He gave a curt nod and started tidying up the room. "We should head to another part of town soon. I know a place where we can find better materials and maybe learn a thing or two. Let's get moving before it gets too late."
I nodded and stood up, following Flint as he gathered his things. The workshop felt a little less chaotic now, I took a deep breath, clutching the book tightly.
-
We head down the wide streets, I look around and realize how I don't smell the rot that would leave me nauseated. I'm slowly getting used to the place and it unsettles me, if I stay longer I'll end up looking like the people here.
I look at Flint's back and wonder why he is so diffrent from all of them. Besides my camo pants he now wears, he wears a tight tattered black shirt and his weathered leather boots that protect his feet from the mysterious puddles we stomp in. Our bags are not too heavy with our paper and equipment we took.
I thought we'd take more in the cluttered place.
I watched a rat seemingly play in one particular puddle and bumped into Flint as I kept walking. I look around him and saw a group beginning to encircle us.
We were trapped.
Again.
"Are you kidding me." Flint groaned, "alright, one at a time ladies. I got plenty of beatings for all of ya." He started tying his hair into a pony tail.
I'm not so enthusiastic, and threw my stuff down ready to fight. Not with glyphs but with fists. None came for us. They stood there and watched us. Sneered and judged us before one side opens to a path. In these parts, everything looks like an alleyway. High wood and stone buildings pile over the streets. The darkness is something I still need to get used because when I look at Flint and then to dark path, I don't see what makes him so afraid.
I don't even hear the footsteps, only the sounds of the crowd growing louder.
I finally see it- him. A man walks tall among them, he is covered in tattoos of complicated designs, his face, lips, bald head even eye lids were not spared. His fleshy neck wore were wrapped with chains, a tight large gaudy belt hid the beer belly he had spilling over, black pants draped over his boots and his pitted eyes wore wild grey irises equally as his flaring braided beard.
"What the hell, he looks like he's over 2 meters tall." I say more to myself than to Flint, but he replies either way, "He's my dad..."
I looked at him shocked looking to him then to the grizzly giant, "Ya father?"
I want to tell Flint to tell his father off, to tell him that we don't want to fight. Then a gentle voice came, "Where are you off to boy?"
"None of your business."
He shrugs, "Around here, everything is my business." He looked at the bags and sighed, "That one particularly so. My son decided he'd steal from his old man, trying to run away again like a rat. I am truly disappointed." The man shook his head.
Flint clutched the bag, "When are you ever not? Plus I found this parchment fair and square- ain't seen a name on these."
He laugh and walks closer, "Don't be so childish." He raises his arm wagging his finger, "Now that you mention it. It was when I saw how much you beat up my boys to a pulp." He claps thunderously.
Flint stays silent and he continues, "Though I could've given you so much more. I taught you craft, how to fight, how to survive... you know that." He pauses thoughtfully, "Your brothers don't compare to what we had."
"You didn't give me anything, you tried making me like you!" Flint spat.
"And what am I?"
"A monster."
He laughs as he begins to circle us like prey, and he finally sees me but he turn his attention back to Flint.
"A monster..." his voice is low and mockingly sweet now, "Is that what you told yourself when you let you mother suffer? She was screaming in agony, rotting. Begging for you,praying for you... I heard her squeal like that for 2 more years." He stops infront of us, "You selfish river turd."
Flint was shivering, with what was anyones guess, "Shut up, shut up. Shut your bloody mouth!" He could barely look up biting his lip, "You don't know... anything about me."
The man knelt on one knee, "Oh but I do, because I made you. No matter how far you run, where you hide, what you do. What I left behind still remains."
Flint's breathing is heavy, his eye open slightly to revealing something intense and deadly in them. His father smiles, rising to his feet.
"Now hand over my parchment and we'll go home." He outstretched his hand to him, "You could teach your brothers a thing or two."
"I'm not-" In half a moment his father drove a heavy fist into Flint's face with the other arm. Flint stumbled back falling onto the ground.
"I thought so..." The man sighed shaking his hand and sucking his teeth, "I'll drag you home then."
I freeze before forcing myself to run and help Flint up, his nose flowed red painting his mouth.
His father's voice is still so soft but loud, "I am Horn the Butcher, and I will not let my son live in filth any longer." He stomps towards us now.
Flint spits blood and shoved me aside into the now jeering wall of men, "I am Flint... the Butcher. Piss off."
Arms grabbed and restrained me to them as the rabid crowd shouts their names.
FLINT! THE BUTCHER!
HORN! THE BUTCHER!
FLINT! THE BUTCHER!
The two circled each other now, waiting for the first to strike.
Flint is the and bolts to the giant. Horn waits lowered his stance and with powerful legs launched himself foward, he fist swings like pendulum and it lands hard on Flint as he blocked it with his shoulder.
He is lauched and tumbled into my discarded bags. He rises slowly coughing. Then quickly he raised a parchment already folded with glyphs and flicks it. Horn grabs it and tears it between his fingers before it could activate.
Flint lunged to his feet, wiping blood from his lips, his eyes locked on Horn. The air was filled with bloody glee. Flint was quick, darting to the left as Horn's heavy fist came down like a sledgehammer, whistling in the air where Flint was a moment ago.
Flint rolled out from under him, his hand slipping into his pouch now filled with parchment. In a single fluid motion, he produced another glyph parchment. His blood was his ink, his finger a lazy brush. Flicking it into the air with a sharp twist. The symbols glowed infront of Horn activating a fire spell, but Horn was surprisingly fast. He surged forward, swatting the parchment from the air before it could ignite, shreds of glowing paper scattering into failing embers.
Flint cursed under his breath and backpedaled, barely avoiding a crushing blow aimed at his ribs. Horn followed close. Flint spun sharply, his boots skidding on the breaking cobblestones, narrowly dodging another fist that flew inches from his face. He just needed space and a good opening.
Horn wasn't giving him any.
The larger man's movements were raw, brutal, but controlled and purposeful, each punch carrying the power of a 12 gauge shotgun shell. Flint twisted and ducked. He flicked out another glyph, this time throwing it directly at Horn's feet. The glyph flashed, and cooled the ground rapidly like a cold snap. The ice quickly swallowed his boot that was submerged by the heel in a puddle, Horn didn't flinch. He stomped forward , the spell barely slowed him.
Flint stumbled back, breathing hard. His chest heaved as Horn closed the distance again. Horn swung down, a fist falling straight for Flint's torso. Flint leaped back, the impact sending shockwaves through the stone floor as dust and pebbles scattered from the force.
How the hell?
Where is this strength coming from? Sweat ran down Flint's brow, his fingers fumbling to produce another parchment. He scribbled hastily, barely finished the glyph before Horn was on him again.
This time, the glyph connected.
A bolt of lightning shot out from Flint's hand point blank, striking Horn square in the chest and electrocuting both, Horn more so. The giant stumbled, his body jerking as the spell crackled through him. Flint darted forward, using the momentary daze to launch a flurry of punches, his fists connecting with Horn's side, ribs, and jaw.
It barely moves the beast like he did to Flint.
Horn recovered throught flurry. His swings were slowed, wild, he throws a wide uppercut leaving him vulnerable. Flint sees it to buy realises too late that it was a feint, catching Flint off-gaurd he kicks him in the shoulder and sent him spinning. Flint skidded across the ground, but rolled to his feet, his breath ragged, eyes wide with the same glee as his father. The same I saw when he took the guys out with.
Horn was already on him and grabbed Flint. Flint surged up to Horn and slaming a glyph in his ear before a shockwave ripped through the air. Horn stumbled back dizzy, flint almost as much.
Somehow Horn recovered first, blood dripping from his ear. Looking at his son proud before grabbing his head, lifting him up by the head until his feet dangled in the air, and crashed his skull head first into the cobbled street.
It should've killed anybody, but it didn't kill Flint. He breathes through a mangled nose and lost a lost tooth.
The crowd cheered louder, screaming one name now.
HORN!!! THE BUTCHER!!!
HORN!!! THE BUTCHER!!!
He raised his hand to silence them and slowly they do. He grabs Flint's head and drags him walking to me. His body slumped, struck by lightning burned his chest blackened and steaming.
"You... what was my son to you?" He asked with a ragged breathe.
"He was my teacher..." I answered.
"What?! I can't hear you speak louder!" He turned his now good ear at me.
"He said he was his teacher, boss!!" One man that still held me said.
"Don't yell, I ain't deaf!" He looks at me once more, "Hmm, take him to Weatherman. Make sure to give him a good time." Horn shows me his bloody grin then spit at me.
He drags his battered and unconscious son still by the head into the darkness with the bulk of his men to follow. Three left with me take me to 'Weatherman'.
They were kind enough to let me take Flint's book with me so long as I kissed their feet. The embarrassment is lost on me, my mind still on the fight.
Still on losing Flint.
I don't know how to feel anymore. Flint made me forget I was ever trapped down here, that this is where I belonged in someways. What do I do, my guess is that I join this gang and find a way to break out Flint. How do I fight his father? And if his siblings are anything like him, I'm screwed.
I look at a stray puddle and see myself for the first time in a while. My grime and dirt mark my cheeks, achne rages on my face, my hair matted a deep brown. My eyes are red around my green eyes
I feel discarded, a shell of what I was.
This place makes you forget a lot of things.
-
We go higher in the Fold, walking on streets that looks like they are trying to emulate the surface with poorly coloured buildings. They push me forward as I try to admire a bird, there is a glint of light that flashes in my eye.
A bluking figure is poised with a long sword, it swings in a flash cleaving through a man's skull. The others a frightened, I am horrified. One pulls a dagger and stabs at the man, they glance off. This man is clad in radient iron armour, and he doesn't bother with his sword and grabs the man like Horn grabbed Flint and slammed him to the wall and pining him there with his sword, pulled then drove his sword down his throat and into his gut from the looks of it.
He turns to me and find that a shakey dagger is pressed to my neck, the last man holds it to mine. The knight looks at us behind the barred gaping maw of a bullfrog helmet.
He raises his sword at him.
"D-Don' come any closer or I k-kill 'em." The man threatened.
The knight's answer echoes throught the helmet, "You would be doing me a favour... but know this: kill the boy, I kill you. Leave the boy and I leave you be."
He doesn't hesitate and runs away.
The knight looks at me and stalks forward letting his sword scrape acrosse the stone, "You... do you remember me?"
I shiver in fear.
He looms over me like a statue carved with malice, "Listen to me and listen well. You will come with me back to Improst; The Spine. You will wait the rest of your days until to be judged by the Queen. And when you are deemed useless, and when you face your execution. You will not meet a faceless man there to kill you, you will find mine bare before your death." He puts a cold steel hand on my shoulder, "This is not a promise but a vow. Use your last words to pray for your God when that time comes... Mine are unforgiving."