Fate weaver’s convergence

 

The march back to the city was not unlike the trek outward. There was the occasional break and the same soundless nights. Even with his lack of hostility, it seemed that sleeping around the hidden behemoth of a slime made the group weary. Pulling the train of carts along, weighed down by their share of megafauna, was taxing but familiar in small ways.

 

It was like exercising with equipment on earth, ropes over my shoulders as I imagined a sled with forty-five-pound weights on it. The hardest part was continuing from a stop. It was two days later, and we arrived in the morning as we camped on Brenton's outskirts. Lapsha was shooed back to the temple in the sinkhole where he stayed, and I had a more pressing matter than reuniting with the soft furs of my bed. 

 

It was a sight for some of the outer city residents, already accustomed to seeing my feats of strength. The guards, however, took to fetching spare horses and clearing the crowds, releasing me from my duties as an escort. It would spawn another rumor to give Sabine thought to outperform.

---

“Damnit, hit my damn toe. Don't feel broken, but sure may as well be stubbed to hell!”

 

Findlay swore to himself, hobbling through the front door of his shop. In his hands, he held a sack of dried meat, a tomato, and some bread. The dwarf inspected the door for a moment, huffing to himself at some oddity he took notice of.

 

“It's about time you're back, old man.”

 

I playfully chided, swinging my feet in the air as I sat on his countertop. Findlay turned suddenly, jolting in surprise.

 

“How the hell- your Gods’ damned parents teach you not to break and enter?”

 

What? You left the door open.

 

Findlay seemed perturbed, his face morphing in anger as he realized his mistake mid-thought. His eyes fell to his keys, sitting on one of his display tables from before he'd gone out. Noticing my confusion, Findlay breathed and seemed to discount his own frustration. 

 

“Forget it. What do you want, brat? Wasting my time? Giving up on the hunt?”

 

Findlay looked to the dull slab of rock at the floor of his counter, appeared to nod in surprise, if only slightly, and shook his head. 

 

“That ain't jade.”

 

My smugness died down.

 

“Wait, what?”

 

I asked, looking at Findlay in confusion.

 

“What do you mean that ain't jade?”

 

The dwarf placed his thumbs along his belt and cocked his hips.

 

“Girl, do you aim to be some kind of mineral scholar? The crust isn't nephrite; it's quartz.”

 

Quartz?! You mean I fuckin hauled my ass out there, nearly got Myles eaten, and fuckin dragged a Gods damned slab or bullshit back here? Fuck that!

 

Findlay could see my internal struggle, pursing his lips before speaking.

 

“Good ol’ quartz.”

 

Findlay stopped to think, ignoring my dejected outward expression. He focuses on it for a forward moment without saying anything, wiping a hand along the quartz slab.

 

“Aventurine.”

 

He spoke, seeming aggravated to a degree, before huffing and moving for what I assumed was a kitchen area. Not a word further was spoken as he began rummaging for cutlery to prepare a sandwich.

 

So that's it? I fucking-

 

I held in the urge to slam my fist on the countertop.

 

Fucking DAYS wasted. Fuck my life… Fuck!

 

I sighed outwardly, hopping to my feet.

 

Fuck it, I don't wanna look at the stuff, the bastard can keep it.

 

I didn't register it at the time, but looking back, the muffled exclamation from Findlay sounded something close to-

 

“It's not the right stone, but… damn.”

 

The creak of wood echoed through the shop as I moved for the door, its chimes ringing as I slammed the door behind me. 

---

“And you just left? What was it you were trying to get, anyway?”

 

Callum looked at Kiyomi as he questioned her, only taking his eyes off of her to quench the steel he'd been working. She nodded quietly, her knees hugged into her chest as she lowered her head. Her left horn cradled in between her knees as she gazed outside. 

 

She always holds this stuff in. It pissed me off when I found out she took off with Avery for this very thing without telling me. She’s never gonna grow out of that impulsiveness. 

 

Callum brought the steel back to the forge, holding it in place until the metal glowed a vibrant orange. Bringing it back to the anvil, he rotated the piece back and forth as his hammer fell. With the flow of sparks, so too did his thoughts. 

 

But, she surprised me. Findlay and I hadn't talked in some time. She brought the S.O.B. out of his slump.

 

Callum snuck a glance. 

 

Is this about that thing Hatsumi mentioned? Shit, think back. We were both drunk out of our wits. What was it again?

---

I refused to tell Callum why exactly I went to his ‘rival,’ worried in one part that he’d take it as an insult and another as him trying to make the gift in my place.

 

What the hell am I gonna get her now?

 

“Yeah.” 

 

I grumbled, looking away from Callum. I was staring into the green open yard. For some reason, I didn't want to go home, so I sought Callum out for affirmation. 

 

“Well-”

 

Callum shook his head.

 

“While I’d love to, that dwarf has more than one problem with me. I'm not sure I could convince him otherwise. You said he wouldn't take coin?”

 

I shook my head. Callum placed the steel aside, producing a cigarette. 

 

“Didn't mom tell you that you should stop?”

 

I looked up, nodding to him as if to call him out for it. Callum tilted his head, fishing his apron for a match. 

 

“Mhmm, you gonna tell her?”

 

He asked, his eyes looking up to me as he hesitated. 

 

No.

 

“Nah.”

 

I said, lifting my head and looking at him with my head resting on the wall. 

 

“Why’s that?”

 

He asked, smirking, cigarette hanging freely. I shrugged, kicking my legs out straight. 

 

“I dunno.”

 

I don’t feel like moving onto the Lapsha subject yet, for one. The more you smoke, the less you tend to talk around me, and I feel more accustomed to our silence than others. I can't speak on quitting anyway; I never stopped using snus on Earth.

 

My tongue prodded at my lip. 

 

Huh, craving that rootbeer base now… wintergreen. 

 

I shook my head.

 

“Figure you need the stress relief.”

 

I avoided eye contact. From my periphery, though, it was easy to tell that he dropped his arms and placed the unlit match back in his apron. His boots scuffed against the stone foundation as he moved across the room to the table I sat on. 

 

“Kiyomi.”

 

I turned to the left, a stray bang blurring my view of Callum.

 

“This is an addiction, not relief, for me.”

 

He hopped onto the table, its legs shuddering with his weight added to mine. 

 

“As ass as it sounds, you and your mother are stress relief for me.”

 

Callum nudged my shoulder, prompting me to turn my head further to him. 

 

“This?”

 

Callum held out the rolled cigarette, its tobacco leaf exterior still wet from his lips. He waited for me to lock eyes with it before shifting it in his fingers and flicking it directly into his forge. I chuckled, tail waving from side to side. 

 

“Uncle Cal, you act like you can’t just pull another out the minute I leave.”

 

It was a cute gesture, but I wasn't gullible. Callum seemed to take that to heart as a challenge; however, he suddenly locked eyes with me as he fumbled to pull the rest of his cigarettes. 

 

“I do this-”

 

Callum's eyes flicked to behind me for a moment, then back to me. 

 

“And you tell me why, precisely, you needed help from him to begin with. 

 

What? Wait, are you ser-

 

I watched the small twine bundle of tobacco fly through the air, landing with the sound of fire, finalizing Callum's dedication to the subject. I gulped, my eyes shifting to him awkwardly. Callum sighed, placing an elbow on his farthest knee. 

 

“Shit, gonna regret that later.”

 

He nodded as if to confirm something to himself. 

 

“But you don't like seeing people concerned about or inconvenienced by you.” 

 

He nodded again, staring at the fire and then back at me. 

 

For fuck sake, guy, you didn't have to-

 

“That tends to get you to talk.”

 

Callum nodded to the smithy’s far end, to the entrance. 

 

“Don’t get your tail in a twist over the old man just yet. Bastard might be a bit short on nerves, but he might just beat you out in patience.”

 

I turned my head, my tied hair more than likely swinging back to hit Callum's face. Findlay was there, arms crossed, leaning against the worn support pillars. The dwarf rolled his eyes. 

 

“I never said that aventurine was insufficient.”

 

Findlay gruffed. 

 

“And to answer your question, the Anthim’s Anchor was a Myr’s be damned ship ram. Blasted Shin-risians wanted an imperial styling to their flagship in case they went to war. Think of it as a taunt.”

 

Findlay smiled, an ugly one saying ‘he loved every moment of it.’

 

“Wha-”

 

He began hobbling over, lifting a small scrap of wrought iron from his table and throwing it at Callum’s boots. 

 

“Hey, fuck off with that!”

 

He snapped his fingers, pointing at the dwarf.

 

“Aye, aye, but don't forget, you asked for help!”

 

Findlay’s demeanor morphed from his earlier grouchy air. He seemed more jolly and mischievous. 

 

“The fuck? I thought you two hate-!”

 

I receive a flick to the horns.

 

Shi-

 

“Sorry.”

 

I mumbled.

 

“Kiyomi, your were gone for a week, and word travels fast here. You act like there's a thousand black smiths in this city.”

 

The two look to each other. 

 

“I’m sure there's only over a tenth of that. Unless someone is taking on an apprentice that we don't know about.”

 

Findlay lifted his brows, looking down to his cheeks as if to doubt himself. He then looked back up.

 

“So, I got here in time to see what exactly she was plotting for?”

 

Callum nodded, prompting Findlay to take a seat across from us. He pointed to a barren countertop. Findlay, walking over, counter at nose height for him, looked back to us, holding his arms out, and then mouthed the words, ‘The hell, you expect me to jump?’

---

About ten minutes passed, but the time was used well. We’d cleaned off a sizable work area, Findlay fetching a bundle of paper and charcoal while Callum brought about chairs. Beryl told us of the aventurine I’d brought him, discussing why exactly he’d decided to follow through with the offer. 

 

“Being as it’ll be something he can’t make money off of.”

 

Findlay looked to Callum with a tilted head. 

 

“I can work with you regarding your Lamia friend. You see-”

 

He cleared his throat. 

 

“Aventurine IS a comment thing to confuse for jade. It's green, a mineral, and to anyone who doesn't know the damn difference, relatively the same for decoration. Granted, that's as long as you have someone good at hiding the more glaring differences.”

 

He began drawing, Callum interrupting his speech to comment about articulation and such. 

 

“It’s quartz, more inconsistent in its structure—compared to jade, at least. But what it gains from this is a sort of ability to provide a circuit, so to speak—again, compared to jade.”

 

Findlay paused, looking back and forth between us as if to await our acknowledgment. We both nodded in an exaggerated fashion for him to continue. He chuckled, pushing up a set of glasses he’d donned to ensure his lines remained consistent. 

 

“Apologies, but what I mean to say, is that aventurine lends itself, in this instance, to be more of a focus for mana than most other mineral.”

 

He paused, nodding. His unprompted info dump continued.

 

Holy shit, calm down guy, what are we getting at?

 

I was slightly overwhelmed; it was like his ability to hyperfocus was triggered. 

 

“Well, shit, I mean anything else that isn't metal or another quartz. You can achieve the same shit with any quartz, but-”

 

Findlay held out his drawing hand as if to bid some inexorable force from pushing him onward. 

 

“Beryl, she’s a mage?”

 

Finlay asked, waiting for our confirmation as if he hadn't already been told the fact.

 

“Those blades your ex-wife has-”

 

Findlay paused, looking down and closing his mouth before continuing. 

 

What? Wait, what? I thought they never-

 

I looked to Callum, who looked like a ghost attempted to possess him. It took him a moment to recover, brushing the comment off. 

 

“Beryl’s a mage, so you’re thinking of a mage focus?”

 

Callum asked, his throat sounding dryer than before. Findlay scratched his throat, clearing it.

 

“Yes, that.”