Rekindle Ch. 01

It wasn't until he finished the food that he surveyed the shrine. He had been so absorbed with the food that he hadn't yet seen it. It hadn't occurred to him that they would do something so... monstrous. He tried to run to the altar, but his legs wouldn't listen. The pain was secondary now; he needed to check the altar. His right leg was the problem. His bottom portion was at an odd angle. The answer was in his head and, with one more look at the altar, he dug his foot into the dirt and twisted the leg back into place. He buried his mouth into the dirt as he screamed from the agony. This pain was nothing like the finger as it resounded through his entire body.

He swallowed as much of the pain as he could bear and struggled to his feet. He still had a heavy limp, but he could walk now. He rushed to the altar and finally saw it from the front. The strength drained from his legs, breath escaped in a pained gasp as he witnessed the destruction. If the altar had been saved, any amount of pain was worth the trouble. The throbbing in his leg seemed to double when his mental pillar finally crumbled. Tears flowed freely as he wept without control. His wails continued far into the evening until he could no longer muster the strength to cry. He had been sifting through the crumbled front of the rock that housed the small alcove to find something he could salvage, something to fix this.

Just before he gave up, JUST before his hope and will were completely washed away, he found it. The altar had crumbled, shattered to dust without mercy, but there was one thing that had weathered time and nature for countless decades. It would not fall to such wanton destruction. A face, perfectly preserved, survived on a piece of stone. Something had survived! Light finally shone in that bleak day, his body filled with energy as he tucked the stone into his shirt. The pain was more bearable when Vincent began to crawl out of the clearing. His legs were still far too painful to move, but they could now push him along the ground a little faster.

The boys eyes were cold and determined. A fire had been set in his mind what they did to him and the one thing that helped him, was not as important a this. He would learn to fight against this pain and broken body to rebuild this shrine. And not the tattered remains that lie in ruins behind him. He would create a true shrine to her. Whoever she was, she had helped him live until now. She had given him the strength to deal with such adversity in his life and he led to her destruction. He owed her that.

He had never been very religious, still wasn't in the traditional sense. He knew there were gods to worship in the world, but they had never done anything for him. He knew the woman was probably some god from an older, forgotten pantheon. She might have been evil or a threat, could have even been someone responsible for his miserable existence, but she had done Vincent a kindness. Yes, he truly owed her for the small peace she had offered him through those years. So he would learn. To build and craft. To mold raw materials into refined works of metal and stone. First things first, however, leaving that place. Vincent's jaw set as if to hold his tongue still by force, giving off only a stifled groan as he planted a mangled foot and hauled himself up the dirt..

The sky was light in the sky when he saw the town. He limped painfully, his body tired and weak, through the gate and morning fog. His fatigue was a potent drug to numb his pain allowing his legs to stand. The forge door groaned in protest as it allowed the deformed form into collapse next to the embers for warmth. He closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep full of nightmares and brigands.

The following day passed without Vincent notice. While his will to survive and avenge may have returned him to safety, the mind and body needed to recuperate eventually. The blacksmith screamed, a terrible sound, upon seeing the child that morning and she rushed him to the abbey. The priest there had once been a doctor, but even his god could do little for the Vincent.

"The bones have already been set my child. There is magic in these scars, but it was rushed...incomplete. You would need Imperial Royal mages to mend his body. I am sorry." His elderly hand swept the black cloth of the holy man to one side so he could sit heavily. "The wounds must have been fatal and the healing has both saved him and obscured what did this. It was no beast to be sure, and no amatuer that attempted to undo this. The mage was impatient, however."

The blacksmith rested her elbows by the head of the bed Vincent lay on. His jagged jawline was propped open to allow ragged breathing in his sleep. His neck was at a sickly angle sideways and the left side of his forehead looked caved in. The rest of his body was like shattered glass fused within a flesh container.

"How will he live beyond this? His legs hardly look fit for walking and...gods, can you hear that wheezing?" The ragged breath caught on the bed before breaking through whatever obstruction formed in his throat. The blacksmith face was empty of emotion, dried tears telling of her day of worry. Her mind was as tired as the body from trying to find any good in this situation. If not for the abnormal breathes and tremors throughout his body, she would have thought Vincent dead. A sigh took the last of the emotion from her voice. "What do I do now for the child?"

The priest looked over the boy once more, sadness in his eyes, before looking away and shaking his head slowly. "What you can."

Vincent awoke the next day and with him woke the pain. He lie there for several minutes as the multitude of problems in his body signalled their existence. Muscles taut and waiting for at least the sharp pains to pass, the truth dawned on him: This was his new reality. A particularly sharp pain in his mouth distracted him. With some difficulty, he reached up and pulled the piece of metal loose. A rod only a few inches in length used to prop his mouth open. A hot tear of anguish rolled down his face. The agonizing pain was nothing before the helplessness he felt, unable to even sleep without aid.

This was no nightmare from which to be awoken. The heat of his weakness was cooled by the cold determination that it created. He locked his jaw and got his leg over the edge of the bed. Testing his knees, he found the bone had finished setting and facilitated a limping walk across the room. After a few more minutes of practice, the stars and blackness stopped encroaching on his mind every time his weak leg carried his weight. No more cries for help, no more sounds of pain. With that silent declaration, Vincent head to the forge.

Luckily for him, no one saw his first attempt at walking on mud that left his clothes dirty. His cool facade was lost in the mud as frustration rushed to takes its place. Something that had once been so basic now left him writhing in the dirt from the painful fall. It was not three meters to the forge and he had already failed once. A pain stabbed at his torso, a pain not from within his body. He rolled over and pulled the rock from his tunic with a clean hand. One look at the face gave clarity to the situation. He had what time was left in life to finish what he was about to start. This emotion only pushes his goal further away. Pulling back the numbness he had obtained from years of isolation and bullying, the frustration cooled into determination.

Vincent tried to rise in one go. A futile task. The pain from each failed attempt caused each of his muscles to falter. The comparison came to him then, for the first time. IT was like a beast, stubborn and unwilling. A horse afraid of spurs, a mule fearful of the whip, failing at its task for fear of pain. His body was no longer his own. It's agony was a mental assault that only reminded him of his poor ownership. Mental and useless. He had no need for a Beast unwilling to yield to it's master. He was in command and his body was to listen. It's endless reports of pain and suffering would see no pity from Vincent. Ignoring the Beast got Vincent on his feet on his next try. Each step after that was accompanied by soreness as the Beast's way of vengeance. The boy would have none of that.

Ignoring his appearance, Vincent pried open the door against the will of the heat inside. His uneven steps were unheard by the smith who seeked to drown herself in the embers and steel of her trade. There was no light save from the beast of heat and creation from which the smith pulled her trade. The slack tub still held the dying orange glow in the shapes of farm equipment and blades. The heavy apron and massive padded leather gloves held tongs and hammer in powerful arms as she beat the desired shape out of unkempt ore. He was in awe as he witnessed a smith without distraction, without equal in his eyes. Vincent waited for the hiss of the water before making his presence known and attempting to speak. By the time a word was uttered, the heat had already drawn sweat from his brow and dried the once cool mud.

"I wish-," His first words were cut off as he heard the rasping croak that was his voice. A well of that fiery emotion began to flare only to be forcefully choked out of existence once again. Setting his jaw properly, Vincent spoke again in a damaged, but steady voice. "I wish to learn your craft."

The hammer stopped and the words sank into the silence that followed. Removing the cloth that covered her face and transforming once more into the woman he recognized, she turned to look him in his eyes. They were the only undamaged part left on him after his ordeal. If she were to judge off them alone, he would seem thrice his age. Where there should have been a child wracked with pain was instead the focused mind of someone who had matured by necessity. She knew not why he wished it, but she understood that he had something to help him carry on with his life. Looking straight into those near black eyes and finding no wavering or shallow intent, The blacksmith nodded.

"I do not teach in half measure. You will not stop until I say you have mastered my craft or i say you are inept, Vincent. If I see no future for you as a smith, I will never teach you again." The blacksmith let the words sink in for a moment. The boy's eyes did not lose focus and his will was unchanged. "Do you still choose to learn now? So soon after your... incident?"

The boy's response was immediate. He walked over to the anvil and felt the heat that remained. There was only one thing he needed to test to know his answer. The hammer felt warm from the blacksmith's touch as he raised it over his head. The bones creaked in defiance and muscles strained to their limit as the hammer rose. With resolute force, Vincent struck the metal with all his might. Pain flew up his arm, reaching crescendo in every joint as his muscles screamed at him to stop, to fall to his knees and clutch the offended arm. Yet the hammer did not fall. He only grimaced and forced the pain back under his will. He stared at his arm with disdain, waiting for the broken parts to understand that he would do as he pleased.

He turned slowly to the blacksmith, careful to not betray the pain. "If that was a solid swing then I am ready." The blacksmith saw the truth despite his stone face. His arm had a shake to it and his lips turned white as they tightened. He was still a child, after all. Still, she felt the need to do something for this child and his determination gave her a clear option.

"Then we shall begin now. The coastal farms have let their tools rust and need a full compliment by next week. With an apprentice, we will finish this in half the time." The heavy apron and gloves creased as she shifted in her seat. "I hope you did not expect much free time from now on."

He walked to her side to await her direction."I think I can sacrifice that much."

The slack tub was full and Vincent covered in charcoal and soot before the night was done and he wearily lowered himself into bed. The Beast wanted to restlessly turn about in his sleep and wait for the pain to stop. Vincent would have none of it on this night or the many that followed.