Chapter 54. Redemption.

  “I have nothing more for you Sid, I was hoping the eyepatch, and awakenings would help direct your instincts.”

  “About Xulu, it didn't look like he was wanting to destroy the races, it looked like he was harnessing their talents.”

  A blank expression slowly cast over Scarlett while she thought.

  “Explain your vision to me.”

  So he did. Told her about the cult. The man who he suspect may have been Xulu—only because they supposedly share a vision—and how he crawled into the carcass of a bear. Trying to become one with the creature—was that how it worked, didn’t sound right, but what do I know.

  “Destroying the entire class while stealing their abilities. What is it about the magical race that seeks ultimate power over others.” Scarlett questioned herself, as she grabbed the blade from another table. Sid was a bit confused with her remark.

  “Are you not of the magical class?”

  “Oh, I am, do you not think I seek power over others?” It was a grimace smile. “I have a different grasp over others but all the same. I have my own army, they gather me things for my shop, and in return I tailor some threading that doesn’t rip, or a nice pair of boots and gloves."

  This was similar enough he thought. Sure it wasn’t bending the forces of nature and genocide, but it seemed like a slight form of mind control, or at least enslavement.

  Scarlet tightly twisted a black wrap around the iron handle of his sword.

  “Give me your hands Sid.” Scarlett asked, holding hers out. Sid placed thick hand atop the pale shaking palm.

  The seamstress began to wrap the same soft black material around his wrist. The same goes for the other. She recited a few lovely and long syllabled words he didn’t know. While she sang these words the wrapping around his wrists and around the handle of his sword shimmered. It was dim red glittery glow, before fading to the original matte black materials.

  “What was that?” Sid asked while she stepped to the end of the room.

  “Name your blade.”

  Sid was still looking at his wrists before looking at Scarlett. Who was now standing across the room. He thought for half a second and knew exactly what to name the blade. It was easy once he eyeballed the elven pouch. Sid was about to say something, before Scarlett spoke again.

  “Do not name the blade Clayton or Sophie, it does not work if the weapon was branded from a fallen.”

  “I don’t know any other names.” The baby was about to cry again—he couldn’t help it Sid was still a bit choked up from everything.

  “Sid work with me.”

  Sid thought for a long time. Occasionally stopping for a moment to scratch Fenrir’s face. The scarf was remarkable too. His hand would pass right through, like it wasn’t even tied around the shadowy neck. Sid’s curiosity was elevating about what the purpose of this scarf could be. Walking around the room he continued to ponder on the name of the blade.

  He glanced at it upon the table, Scarlett had let the sword rest, as she was tired of standing and holding the weapon. She went to her spinning wheel and made threads.

  Sid looked at the dark handle. Newly bound with that unknown material looking like silk but clearly it wasn't. Occasionally a soft red shimmer would spackle a glazing sheen like the wrappings around his wrists. His wrists would sometimes shimmer with that same red hue.

  He noticed the black polished stone in the pommel. It had become cracked. Only a small nick. But that little fracture sent multiple shattering veins rippling for its center. That dark rock now looked like black ice. The wide hilt a burnt rainbow of colors, and his heirloom tied around such a protective barring. The blade blackened with scorched markings, showing a slight bend from helping assist the man to his feet. There at the bottom small edges gave the blade dull teeth. The tip was gradually soften like an old tooth.

  It was still very sharp, just rather worn down. Sid had used the sword as a can the last three days. He reached for the handle.

  “Don’t Touch IT!” Scarlett screamed at the man now grabbing his hand like something bit him. “Have you thought of a name yet.”

  “Not yet I was wanting to remove the pouch.”

  Scarlett pushed from her table and leapt from her chair. Untied the string, walked past Sid and back to her threading wheel. Climbed back up into her chair, pulled herself closer, causing the wooden legs to honk against the stone flooring. The wheel began to spin rapidly as her elbows weaved up and down with a steady motion. It wasn't long before the wheel stopped and she sent a frothy enchanting hand over the new string. Standing on her chair she stepped onto her table and held the threading open.

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  “Okay come here.”

  Stepping closer, Sid tucked his chin. Allowing her to fit the pouch around his thick neck. Safely against his chest.

  “The name of the blade?”

  Scarlett asked once more.

  Sid looked the blade over. He knew what he was going to name the blade. It was a name that would fit his style of life from now on.

  “Redemption.”

  Scarlett smiled grabbing the blade. She said something completely foreign. Whatever she was saying—it didn’t belong in the mountains. Lifting the weapon again she stepped from the big man.

  “Call for your blade.”

  “Redemption.” Sid said with a bleak tone, and an open palm.

  The frail seamstress frowned, before snapping at the man. “Call for the blade! is this your weapon or not! Bleed for the weapon Sid, like you want it!”

  She couldn't see the fierce gaze Sid had fixed upon the blade. All she could see was the faint glimmer of an intimidating stone. That ugly yellow one dimly glowing were an eye should be. Right there behind those tentacles—what a mean looking man he was wrapped in those colors.

  Sid reached for the blade, and the layered echo of carnivorous predatory howls shadowed his voice as he called for his weapon with a harsh manner.

  “Redemption!”

  Scarlett flinched at such a shout—atta boy. She knew he could do it.

  The wraps over his wrists erupted with a red smoke same was true for the material over the handle of the blade. Just as soon as the command left his lips, the weapon was forcefully ripped from Scarlett’s weak clutches. Flipping and slashing across the room before Sid grasp the handle—damn he looked amazing. Blade glowing. Wraps flaring. Badass eye beaming under that mean hood. He most definitely looked the role.

  “What is this?” He asked completely wide eye. He had never had magic of his own and this was amazing.

  “Yes, it’s remarkable isn’t it, now use it!” Scarlett said throwing hand after hand of small throwing knives.

  Sid lifted his arm. A smokey red shield appeared right them on his right arm, collecting five sharp points. Scales deflecting three more, while he swiped the last two away with the red-smokey blade. He even took slow strides, advancing on the seamstress. She didn’t notice until it was to late. During a reach for a new nimble blade. The cold smoky glow of Redemption lifted her chin. Forcing her to stare into that ugly stone hiding under the hood.

  “Not bad for an old blacksmith.” Scarlett said sarcastically.

  Sid gathered the small blades and removed the five from his smoky shield , returning eight blades to the mystical threader.

  “I also practice with the weapons from time to time.”

  “There should be ten of these Sid. Did you find them all, I don't want to step on one of these tomorrow Sid.”

  “I deflected two with the blade. But I don’t see them anywhere.”

  “Interesting. Peculiar really.” She said looking at the fading smoky glow as Sid holstered the sword within the coat.

  Being rather impressed with Sid’s skill, and interested in why he practiced with the weapons, she asked.

  “Now why would a blacksmith need to practice with weaponry if he had no intention of using such stars in the skill.”

  Sid actually had no answer to this, he rather just snorted and brushed off the question, with a question of his own.

  "What does the scarf do?”

  Intrigued by the question Scarlett smiled at Sid, and ruffled Fenrir’s head who sit at eye level with the short round woman.

  “I have no idea.”

  She tried for the silky smoke that now seemed to be bound with the pup, the wispy trails continued to form and fill the spots she brushed past. The scarf keep its form with each stroking. Fenrir was curious with the item too.

  “You have no idea? Well, what about mine, what are the abilities?”

  “Not a clue—but I can’t tell you how good it feels to finally use that spell.”

  Sid pulled his hood down, looking at Fenrir, then following the old hands who inspect the mystic threads.

  “How?”

  “Its new to me Sid, I'm used to making threads that mend themselves.” She pet Fenrir’s soft head before stepping back to her threading wheel. “Like I said I'm a Dreamcatcher."

  Sid looked at the woman curiously, he needed to pay attention to his dreams, is this what she was trying to riddle to him. He continued to listen.

  “Night after night, a series of repeating visions harassing my thoughts as I sleep, each morning I spin, mend, stich and charm.”

  “But you have no idea what it is you are doing?” Sid interrupted with a simple question.

  “In a stage of mild sleep paralysis, I guide my mental being through each dream, experiencing the terror again, through a long troubling process of deciphering. I’m able to see the messages in my visions. While this goes on—within my dreams I can see certain items that are projected greater than others. Certain items I know. Items I can mend, my physical body collects, conjures, and sends search teams for these items, before long I awaken, holding a new article of charmed clothing."

  Sid just as confused as the woman.

  “So, you’re stitching new threads in your sleep and charming each one with unknown magic? Isn’t that a bit reckless or endangering?” He asked looking at Fenrir with slight worry, then down at his own articles.

  “Well, when you say it like that, yes it is a bit reckless."

  Sid looked at the woman again.

  “I'm sorry Sid, I wish I had more explanation for you, I was only asked to deliver the message.”

  “Wait.” Sid thought for a quick second, piecing things together pausing while another memory hit him like a landslide.

  “Sid?”

  “Stop talking."

  Scarlett hushed, and listened as Sid still had his hand out. She watched one eye get mean, as the stone became narrow and cold.

  “You said you are just a messenger.”

  “Correct.”

  “And that I was selected by the Seven.”

  “Yes Sid, what’s wrong?”

  His face tightened. Eye this close to flooding. Sid was hot. Gripping his fists that dull red smolder rolled from the wraps, and his voice got mean.

  “Did the gods kill my son just to deliver a message?”

  “Why in all of the acts, would the gods destroy a human just to ask for ones help?”

  “Because I'm a brutish old prick who needs motivated.” Sid said coldly—yeah it was almost the season of Frost but you could literally see the chill in his breathe. “Did the gods kill my son just to deliver a message?”

  Scarlett looked at the man with hollow eyes.

  “Sid.”

  A fat finger hushed the woman.

  “Who do you play for?”