The not-immortal Blacksmith

Maxwell

Necallhill, Ehelm Province, Kingdom of Garthia.

4th of Kusha, the month of Harvest.

2290 Years since the New gods came.

[Vast Listen, Curator of the Heretic Collection here! The following entry from the Heretics journal was heavily inked over, and took actual days to recover. Enjoy]

Due to all the kerfuffle about the Leviathan, the Heretics Day celebration has been postponed until tomorrow. Thanks to the stupid serpent, I now have a lot to think about that I decidedly do NOT want to think about. I am not a god. I am not a godling. I am not a demi-god. All of these things are descended from gods, either from the “normal” way, or from direct creation. Last I checked, I have no gods in my family history.

It does disturb me that the snake made mention about being “touched” by the gods. Is there something about shaking hands with the gods? If that’s the case…I’ve been touched by…seven…eight…gods? Maybe more…I’ve lost track. Does being touched by the Fae count too? I’ve touched/killed a lot more of them.

I don’t understand any of this. Don’t I need to be worshiped…Shite. I am being worshiped. Shite. Shite. Shite.

-

The early morning of the Heretics Day celebration was cold and still. A fog filled the streets of Necallhill causing the lights of the city glow softly. Early risers began their trek to shops and wharfs in the early light. By the time the city properly awoke, the fog had burned off, and the air had warmed to a reasonable temperature.

Maxwell rolled out of bed with the sun barley poking above the horizon, yawned and stretched. He quietly stalked to where Grendel lay next to the fireplace, and nudged him just below the ribs with his foot. “Get up, street rat. We need to hit the baths before Brianna gets up.”

For his part, Grendel just grunted, “haserfab”, and rolled over.

“Alright, pitcher of salt water it is.” Max replied quietly.

Grendel shot to his feet. “I’m awake!” he all but shouted.

Max slumped into a nearby chair. “If you can’t wake up from being startled without all the noise, how are you going to survive on your own?”

“…sorry sir…” Grendel replied, face going pink.

The main door to the apartments opened, and Bri strode in wearing a loose dress and with a towel wrapped around her head, “Good morning boys!” she said smiling, “You had best head to the baths before the rush. It’s Heretics Day, and people want to be clean before the celebrations start.”

Max and Grendel left.

-

The town square was already bustling with people as Max, Grendel, and Bri exited their lodgings. Stalls, large and small lined the perimeter of the square, selling all sorts of treats, wares, and games. After a short while Grendel left for his own adventures, leaving Max and Bri to their own devices.

Holding hands, Max and Bri walked the rows of stalls, stopping occasionally to admire an interesting shop, or just a piece of finely crafted jewelry that was on display. Max was surprised to find himself smiling after the first few uncomfortable minutes of getting used to holding hands with someone after so long. The smile continued to grow as the pair stopped at the occasional food stall for a treat. The happy mood came to a sudden end when a resounding crash came from the harbor.

Max shuddered when a familiar voice bellowed from the harbor, “Maxwell the Heretic! I summon you!” The Leviathan had returned. Max bolted for the harbor.

-

“What took you so long, godling?” The leviathan asked as Max raced out onto the pier the beast had decided to coil part of itself on.

The harbor was crowded with people fleeing to and fro, and Max panted as he looked up into the wagon wheel sized eyes. “I got here as fast as my legs could carry me. Snake.”

The people stopped moving, and stared at the man who spoke to the Leviathan in such a manner.

The Leviathan laughed, a deep horse chuckle. “So amusing, godling.”

“What do you want?” Max asked, lungs having recovered. “I thought you were off to see if those treats of yours were still there?”

“I have been and gone.” The Leviathan stretched. “They are still there, barely.”

“Then why are you here?” Max asked.

“Because I wanted to thank you.” It “smiled” down at him. “And to inform you that I have decided to fulfill my debt by becoming the guardian of Your Islands.”

Max gulped. The islanders stared.

“…um…Okay?” Max finally replied.

“As long as the ships of the fleet fly your colors, they will be safe.” The Leviathan continued. “Woe be unto those who attack them.” And the gigantic beast slipped off of the pier, and was gone.

Max looked behind him at the mass of people staring, and gulped.

-

Maxwell looked out from the stage that had been set up in the center of the square early in the morning for the festival, shook his head, and looked to Brianna, “Do I really have to do this? It’s going to ruin our vacation.” He stared at the throngs of people who sat or stood in the afternoon light.

“Yes, you do, and no it won’t.” Bri replied. “I have the new flag right here” she patted a plain brown package next to her chair, “and you know how to talk to people.” She gave him a big smile. “I know you can do this. When you get to the part about the flag, I will have it run up the pole right there.” She pointed to a large flagpole, currently unadorned with a flag. “You will do fine.”

Max grumbled to himself, but when the Mayor gave his announcement that Max was here, he stood up and stepped out of the shadows to stand at the podium. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentle—” He was interrupted by an almost defining mixture of cheers and booing. He let noise continue for a ten count, before raising his hands and Shouting. “Enough of that! I know some of you would be hard pressed to care any less about me, the government, or the kingdom I’m supposed to represent.

“And that’s fine! I’m not much for government, of kingdoms either!” The crowd quieted almost instantly, and then the whispering started.

“No, we are not going to rebel against the crown. I’ve seen that. It isn’t pretty. It’s also not worth the time or effort!

“Anyway, my name is Maxwell Smithson, known to some as The Heretic. I want you all to know that I have no intention to alter any of the laws or traditions of this island, or your neighbors to the south. That’s too much politics for me to care about. From what I have seen and experienced so far, I like this place and the people here.

“Now, the only thing that I have to change, that’s right, have to change! Is the flag. Apparently, I need to have one, stupid that it is. Anyway, my wife, Brianna has the new one.” Max gestured to the flagpole where the new flag was rising.

As the flag was slowly raising on the pole, a soft wind began to whisper through the square. It tugged at the flag, fluttering it. The higher the flag went, the more the wind stretched it out, until finally the whole of it could be seen. A blue banner with the Smithson family crest in the middle, above the crest was the crest of Ehelm, below and to the left and right of Max’s crest were the crests of Rorevilia and Golstran respectively.

“Now, so you know, the flags for the other provinces will be similar, but with their provincial crests at the top; that way you know which province someone is from.” Max nodded at the crowd. “Now go and have some fun!” He walked back into the darkness in the back of the stage.