Rafta

Old Calvin had his own special corner of the tavern. When he and Deme arrived, the innkeeper set aside two tables in north side of the room, along with several jugs of water. He ushered away other guests and yelled into the rear kitchen “Calvin is here!”

“Please,” Old Calvin motioned to Deme. “Do you not see who I come with? There will no heavy drinking today.”

“The snowstorm must be ending,” the innkeeper raised an eyebrow, “for Old Calvin to not come to the tavern to drown his days in liquor.”

“Must you embarrass me in front of my guest, Meredus?” the old man sighed. “Deme, what would you like?”

“Just water is fine,” she replied.

“Some mead for me. And something for us to eat please,” Old Calvin said. “Some olives and bread, I think.”

The innkeeper cast Old Calvin another dubious look before running into the kitchen.

“You’ve made quite the impression on him,” Deme said.

“You’ll have to forgive Meredus,” said Old Calvin. “Few barkeeps are as generous as he is. If I was him, I would have had me barred on sight years ago. Hired a guard just to keep me out.”

“You can’t stop yourself?” Deme asked.

“Well,” Old Calvin looked like he was fishing for a less shameful answer. “No. I cannot. But it is not yet time for much drinking and we aren’t here to talk about such things. You wished to know about Rafta?”

“You said you’ve worked with it before. Long ago.”

“Long, long ago,” Old Calvin stressed. “Had the opportunity once, long before I came here, for a local warlord in the east.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“And you never will,” Old Calvin shook his head. “The demons laid claim to the east many centuries ago.”

There were still black hairs clinging to the blacksmith’s gray mane.

“Centuries? You don’t look that old, old man.”

“That’s one of its mysteries,” Old Calvin laughed. “I’ve been living longer than anyone here. The Withering Flower is the culprit.”

“I hope you know you sound crazy,” she said. “I’ve never heard of Rafta bestowing long life.”

“I am crazy,” Old Calvin frowned. “Hundreds of years of life from exposure to the flower. Watching my loved ones perish as I move on, watching their children perish as I live on. Do you know why Meredus does not cast me out?”

“He feels sorry for you?”

“He pities me,” Old Calvin shook his head. “He cannot understand what I am, but he knows a wretched old man when he sees one. That is why he gives me drink. He knows that it helps me forget.”

The innkeeper returned with a basket of bread and a plate of juicy olives.

“Your mead is coming,” he said.

“But have you forgotten then?” Deme asked. “Do you still remember this place in the east?”

“Yes,” Old Calvin whispered. “Oh yes. Our dune gliders sailed on seas of gold. At night, the moon sisters, Ava and Marya, were accompanied by a million stars. And the roads between cities were paved with topaz and opal. And every day the forge was hot beneath the sun, and no warrior was ever wanting for armor.”

“And Rafta?” Deme chewed on an olive.

“The local lord, a young princeling, I forget his name,” Old Calvin said, “commissioned from me an armor and a sword. He supplied the materials. I forged them. I never asked where he found The Withering Flower, but it was the first time I had ever laid eyes upon it. Have you seen it yourself, Deme? Has your father?”

“Neither of us,” Deme shook her head. “My companion has told me what it looks like.”

“Hmm,” Old Calvin mused. “Then you’ll know it’s an unremarkable flower, but you know it when you see it, somehow. It looks like a sunflower, but with pink petals and a white center. It doesn’t glow like you’d expect it to. There’s nothing extra like thorns along the stem. It almost looks like a common weed.”

Deme shuddered. Weeds.

“And yet,” Old Calvin sat forward in his seat, “you feel power in the petals. You rub your fingers on them and you just feel something but it feels… fleeting, like if I were to show you that power would vanish.”

Old Calvin snapped his fingers.

“Like it had never been there.”

“How did you use it?” Deme asked. “It was your first time, wasn’t it?”

“There’s no book or anything if that’s what you’re asking,” Old Calvin replied. “My master told me you just used it. I’m not sure what she meant by that, but that’s what I did.”

“Just…used it?”

“I tossed petals in the hearth and pressed others against beams and heated rods and dumped its stem into the barrel when I cooled the sword and armor,” Old Calvin explained. “Nothing happened at first. Nothing that I could see at least. Then…”

“Then comes your drink.”

The innkeeper returned with a foamy mug and placed it on the table.

“You have any problems with Old Calvin, you holler at me,” Meredus looked at Deme.

“He’s fine,” Deme responded curtly. “Thank you.”

Meredus shrugged and sauntered off. Old Calvin’s hands shivered as he clutched his mead. He looked at Deme, who gestured for him to go ahead and take a swig. Old Calvin then tossed his neck backwards and dressed his lips with wine. His body froze. The only movement was the rhythmic bobbing of his throat and the flow of mead.

“Where was I?” Old Calvin gasped and slammed down his mug. “Sorry.”

“Nothing happened at first,” Deme said.

“Right, nothing happened,” Old Calvin remembered. “A fine steel armor with leather straps and trims. A fine steel longsword. Sharp, sharper than normal, lighter too, but that is what I thought I was delivering to the princeling."

“Something was off once the princeling received it,” Old Calvin continued. “His secretary rushed to fetch the alchemist from his chamber. I thought I was about to lose my head. But after the alchemist finished his inspection, the princeling dropped the fattest bag of gold I had ever seen and congratulated me.”

“The armor. The sword,” Deme muttered. “It wasn’t steel?”

“Pure Ventium!” Old Calvin laughed. “I couldn’t believe it. Rafta, The Withering Flower by which all metals are born, which can turn steel to the light, nigh indestructible Ventium. As a blacksmith, I’ve never felt more alive.”

“And did you ever use Rafta again?”

“No,” Old Calvin sighed. “The demons began their war, claimed the eastern lands over the next many years. I armed common soldiers instead of kings.”

“And the prince?”

“Killed,” Old Calvin said. “Myself and the rest of his retinue fled into the desert until we reached the west. I’ve been here ever since.”

“You said that Rafta gave you long life,” Deme said. “Was that true for the others?”

“The alchemist, the secretary, they’re long gone,” Old Calvin shook his head. “Perhaps it’s just the life of the blacksmith that Rafta imbues with long life, but I shall never know.”

“Why not?”

“My master once said, Rafta comes to us once in our lifetime,” he said. “She even said that the flower withers when it senses the presence of another, hence its name. We blacksmiths, Deme…”

“We?” Deme blushed. “I’m not—”

“I would not have sensed the armor in your bag had you not cared for so it well,” Old Calvin beamed. “Do not be so modest. We blacksmiths, we are afforded at most one shot with the sacred flower. I hope you find it, before all of this ends.”

Old Calvin gestured towards the ceiling.

“My goodness. Look!” came a voice from outside. “Innkeeper! Come out!”

“Coming!” Meredus hollered and crossed the tavern. A moment after the innkeeper stepped outside, glass and wooden trays crashed onto the patio steps.

“What’s going on?” Deme asked.

“Let us see,” Old Calvin rose from his seat. “It’s getting too warm in here.”

Old Calvin leaned on Deme’s arm and the two made for the entrance. Deme saw that the snowstorm had subsided. The dull, gray palette of the town had been banished by a calm, amber glow.

Outside, the tavern guests and Meredus the innkeeper appeared mesmerized. The evening light of the Endire sifted through dispersing clouds. Broken glass glimmered beneath the patio roof.

The visage of the Abish Royal Academy and its three scholarly towers appeared for all peasantry and common folk to see. Its misty green aurora was missing from this vista, but only a mage would have noticed the difference, and the only mage in sight was Lavenza, who trotted down the snowy slopes towards the village and did not once turn her gaze skyward.