Chapter 12: Part 12: The Heroes of Our Wasted Youth

Glancing over at the sea of expectant faces, Sebastian was struck with the memory of what it had felt like that first time when he had been a trainee watching the experienced Relicts practice. Could almost feel his lungs pumping and heart racing, muscles still burning from his own practice just ended a few short minutes ago. The bruises were already forming, and he knew his shoulder would be a menace by the evening from where he had landed on it hard even with the handful of snow he was holding against it.

But that first sight of two Relicts facing off just in front of him? It was a spectacle not to be ignored, two of the world's most fearsome fighters going at it in a practice that had seemed so very real. Both of them nearly blurring with speed, the whole courtyard ringing with the sound of their weapons meeting.

Surely he was witnessing the settling of a blood feud, generations deep. What else could possibly explain the ferocity with which these two warriors set against each other that morning?

Until the grey-haired Relict watching them cried "HOLD!" and the most miraculous thing Sebastian had ever seen to that point happened —

They did.

Freezing in place almost as if struck by some magic spell, both Relicts held stock still as Old Thomas had walked over, studying them. He had whispered something to one, too low to be heard even by Relict ears. Then he poked the other into holding his sword at some angle that was nearly an imperceptible change from where Sebastian was sitting, before stepping back once more.

At the shout of "ATTACK!" time seemed to move once more. But sped up now, as if the Relicts facing each other were moving even faster. Sebastian thought he might have even seen a spark fly when once their blades met, though these were only practice weapons of regular steel.

Good quality stuff, a weapon still more than suitable for any jarlsguard or hedge knight. But certainly nothing to the level of the misteel they would be using out in the field in a real fight.

"Baz — you ready?" Destan called hesitantly from across the square they had claimed as theirs this morning for weapons practice. He'd just finished pulling his long hair into a rough tail to keep it out of the way, drawing his sword and settling into the ox.

"I'm sorry, been waiting so long for you to finish doing your hair I'd nearly fallen asleep," Sebastian replied with a smirk as he shifted his weight into better position to counter. "You give the monsters you hunt warning like that out on a job? Be a bullshit way to go, death by over-politeness."

"Going to cry at my pyre?"

"No, but I'll sure miss all those free cards you keep bringing me. Now shut up and attack me, I want to try that move you showed me yesterday."

 

As the weather began to warm and the sun deigned to make an appearance slightly more often, Sebastian was able to trade his chore rotations in the kitchens and laundry for any that let him work outside. Usually the ones that let him practice climbing up and down Eldfäst's stone walls, for preference.

He had no lack of takers either. Most Relicts seemed to avoid heights, preferring to keep their boots planted firmly on the ground. Sebastian had never quite worked out the why, but it meant he usually had his pick of such jobs that needed doing, instead of getting stuck with those he hated.

It was scutwork — roof repair mostly, cleaning out the castle's guttering, keeping an eye on the plants that liked to grow in and up the castle walls. But at least it was outside in the sunlight and air, and not somewhere in the bowels of Eldfäst, surrounded by the noise and press of dozens of other Relicts.

Your standard ivy and erinus he could rip right out, and ryndalon was simple enough to gather the petals and tuck them into his belt pouch before he weeded out the vines. But mistwort he needed to bring up a specially lined and segmented basket so he could harvest its flowers, leaves, and berries. All separate; all plump and practically dripping with a sticky sap that was invaluable in many concoctions.

Inside the keep itself, there was markedly less in the way of stories and merriment and song as the days began to grow longer once more. Fights erupted across Eldfäst. At least one of the long tables in the Great Hall had been smashed beyond repair, and three of the benches just this week alone.

Destan grew even quieter than usual and Emrick more chatty if you could believe it.

His debates with Oskarl became less discussion, skating much too close to outright arguing instead. A not insignificant number of their habitual late-night philosophizings were ending with the other Relict slumped over in his seat with his eyes closed, pretending to snore loudly — almost as if he had fallen asleep.

This despite knowing full well they could all tell by his heartbeat that he bloody well hadn't.

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As for his part, Sebastian tried his best to stay out of it. Took on more stints cleaning the moss off the north tower, or catching trout in the nearby streams; the water high with the snow melt and the fish fat with eggs.

Made him feel a bit cowardly maybe, avoiding his only friends like that.

But even after all these years he still felt far too aware of how much younger he was than they, how much later he had been absorbed into their group. The shadow of rejection was always ever-present in his mind, despite the decades he could now count of calling the older Relicts his friends.

Call it a side effect of a Relict's inhumanly long lifespan. Hard to feel equal perhaps, when the Relict sitting next to you could conceivably have changed your great grandfather's nappies.

Who knows, maybe in another decade that feeling would finally go away and he could tell Oskarl and Emrick they were both being idiots.

Someone should.

Gods knew Destan wouldn't, or he would have done it ages ago. Instead he would slink along after Sebastian, offering to lend a hand with the fishing. They both knew it was just to escape the pre-spring bickering though, even if neither would ever come right out and actually say it.

It was almost as if they were all trying to find ways to ignore that itchy feeling they could all feel growing under their skin.

A sense of cabin fever, maybe.

But everyone in Eldfäst was on edge this time of year. It was as if the very air inside the keep hummed and buzzed with some unknown current.

Waiting.

 

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Author's Notes:

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