Page 18 of The Blacksmith in My Tavern: Tales of Bleakness

My slow smile is followed by a low chuckle that soon turns into a deeper guffaw.

My dear son never forgot about the damn sword I had hidden under my bed, even though finding it was one of the rare occasions that I took the strap to his behind.

I carefully lay the note down on the table.

And then I sit.

A part of me is devastated that my son has gone; in my heart, I already know he will not be coming back.

I am confident Gray is the bastard Callum refers to and equally sure that the big shifter means Ada no harm. He also won’t hurt Callum, not without damaging what he seeks to build with Ada. Callum will prevail, but perhaps not in the way he expects. Gray is a shifter, after all, and they are more inclined toward sharing a mate than humans might. Not that either man has a choice for I sense fate is at work.

I should have had that talk with him. But this and that happened, and there was never any fucking time. Today, I sense the Goddess at work, forcing matters to a head.

There has been a pull between the three of them since the beginning: Gray, Ada, and Callum.

My son is gone. I already feel how fate guides his path, just as it is acting upon me.

My thoughts center on my homeland and the place I have recalled with increasing frequency in my dreams. Callum was still a babe when we left, yet it is where his roots are, too. Eastern Hydornia: where the mountains climb toward the sky, and the forests are lush and thick. There is a village where I grew up, apprenticing to the local blacksmith—my father—and where a pretty shifter lass used to sneak to when she wanted to escape the harsh politics and dangers in her life.

I didn’t know her story. She was just a lass with an eye for mischief. It was many years later when I learned about her status, but then we were both maturing, and I was fucking gone for her and only her.

As I carefully close the note, it feels like I am closing more than a piece of paper.

“It is time I moved on,” I say to myself. It will take a while to get my affairs in order, to find a buyer willing to take on the shop, although a few have approached me over the years, and I will put the word out.

I feel light like a weight I have carried for too long has been lifted from my shoulders.

I feel free.

Bleakness is changing—the Blighten’s grip is slipping—and while my work here might never be done, I believe it is time.

A village is calling to me. A village where I grew up. Far away. A place I only now recognize as home. It will have changed. There will be different people there. Some of those I once knewwill have passed over to the Goddess’ side. There will be new people, too, who I will meet and learn about.

My heart lifts as I consider the road ahead—the long journey—and the only sorrow at leaving Bleakness is related to the hold a certain lass has over me… and I wonder.

It’s time for that talk. If she will listen. If I have not fucked this up beyond recovery.

While I have not yet gone, my mind is already disconnecting, and so it is a sense of nostalgia that calls me to a familiar tavern—The Green Man.

I rise, lock up, and head out the back toward a familiar place. It was quiet when I left, but time has passed, and the patrons will be arriving by now. Although the weather is grim, with snow blanketing the ground, The Green Man is always cheery. The fire is always well stocked, the food always tasty, and I already anticipate Tim’s booming hail as I push the door open, for it never fails to put a smile on my face. I want to store it up as a reminder, when I am gone, that I have friends here.

Except, today, as I open the door, Gareth is barreling out and nearly knocks me off my feet.

“Heath!” he says. “Was coming to look for you!”

Inside, the fire is blazing with the usual cheery glow, but that is where the scene diverges from my expectations. There are no customers gathered in the taproom. Rather, the only ones before me are Anders, Tim, and a weeping Betsy.

Gareth shuts the door behind me and slams the bolt across.

Before I can say a word, Betsy is in my arms, crying her heart out. I soothe her hair back from her tear-ravaged cheeks, feeling that telltale softening in the center of my chest. “Hush, lass. It is going to be okay. I know what this is about.”

“They are gone,” she sobs.

“Aye, I know.” With her still clinging within the circle of my arms, I explain what I know. These people here are part of myinner circle, and I have trusted them the whole time I have lived in Bleakness. Now, it is time to trust them with my deepest secret.

So I do, leaving no part out, for they will need to know everything if I am to ease their concerns.

As I come to the end, Anders shakes his head. Betsy is now tucked at my side, no longer weeping but giving no indication that she plans to let go.

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