Page 1 of Rise of a Fallen Man

Chapter 1

Salas

“This way, son. In the bucket it goes.” Father directed the heavy sword blade that required two pairs of tongs to hold toward the barrel of water.

Gripping the handles of my tongs with both hands, I strained my muscles and bared my teeth from the effort. The water bubbled and hissed as we plunged the hot metal in it.

“Well done, Salas,” Father said after we had finished for today.

He wiped his sweaty brow with his thick forearm. And I mimicked his gesture, wiping my forehead with my sleeve. The pounding of horse’s hooves against the packed dirt road came from behind the workshop.

“Mother is back.” Father took my leather apron from me. “Go check on the pie and see if she needs help to unload. I’ll close up the shop for the night.”

“Yes, Father.” I took off my work gloves and placed them on the shelf by the door before leaving.

“And fetch some wine from the cellar, boy,” Father shouted after me. “She likes a glass of wine after a long day at the market.”

I dashed into the main room of our log house. With a large hearth in the center, this space served as a kitchen, a dining room, and a living room all at once. A square wooden table took most of the space in front of the river-rock hearth. I’d already set it up with the earthenware bowls and carved wood spoons for our dinner.

There were just three people in our family. I was an only child. Mother said there had been a time when she wished to have more children, but the gods decided otherwise. Sometimes, I wished to have a brother who’d share the chores with me. But when I worked with Father at the forge, I loved having his undivided attention.

After taking the rabbit pie out, I set it on the table. The thudding of hooves and clanking of metal grew louder in the yard.

“Stand still, you demon!” Mother yelled at the horse.

She sounded frustrated, clearly needing help out there. Leaving the wine in the cellar, I ran into the yard to help before her frustration would blow into anger. She wasn’t a cruel woman, but got angry and snappy at times, especially when she was tired.

“Greetings, Mother.”

I grabbed the reins of our horse. He shook his head, impatient to get the harness and the collar off.

“Oh, there you are, Salas.” Mother looked exhausted but relieved to have help.

Children’s laughter came from the road on the other side of the house. My ears almost twitched with excitement resonating through my chest. A year ago, I’d be running out there, too, to play tug or hide-and-sick with the neighbors’ kids.

But once I’d turned twelve, Mother decided I was too old to go outside unchaperoned, especially since some families on our street had girls my age.

“Girls are nothing but temptation and trouble,” she’d said. “You better stay home, my boy, keep your father company, and learn the trade. People like to wag their tongues and make stories out of nothing. If you’re home, no one can say a single bad word about you. This way, it’d be easier for you to find a good woman to marry when the time comes.”

There were a few boys my age on our street who were still allowed to play outside. None of them were as tall as me, though.

The last time I had gone to the market with Mother, a customer ran her gaze up and down my body and smacked her lips.

“Are you looking for a wife for that one already?” she asked.

“No. He’s way too young,” Mother snapped before sending me to sit in the wagon, out of sight.

“Couldn’t be that young.” The woman laughed. “He’s as tall as me.”

“He’s barely twelve. Hey, how about this sword for your husband?” Mother grabbed a weapon, turning the blade to reflect the sunshine.

The woman ignored her, staring at me as I tried to hide in the wagon by folding my legs under me. All my limbs seemed to have grown way too long lately. Mother often complained about how fast I was growing out of my clothes.

“Twelve, you say? What are you feeding him to grow that big? My husband is twenty-seven. But I bet your boy would wrestle him to the ground before we could even blink. Look at those arms of his!”

Mother huffed, losing her patience.

“Here.” She grabbed another sword. “This one is nice and light. Perfect for your puny husband, who can be so easily overpowered by a twelve-year-old boy.”

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