Jacob Pt 1

Jacobs back ached by the time dusk had arrived. A full day of hard labor, mucking stalls and feeding the horses at dawn followed by the long hours as an apprentice blacksmith. He looked off into the distance, watching as the wind pick up and leaves swirl around his horse Tug’s hooves. As he neared his family home, Tug pricked her ears at the sound of the others nickering in greeting. His thoughts drifted to the warm food sitting on the table, and his stomach rumbled as if in response. The winds had been quite strong today, carrying with it a chill that nestled into your very bones, especially after a long ride home on horseback. With home in view, he spurred Tug on, galloping into the barn and dismounting quickly. He fed his mare, giving her a pat on the neck and remembering his father's voice from when he was a child.

It had been a day similar to this, when the only thing one would want was a warm bowl of soup and to stay inside, fighting the cold. He had been ready to run back to the house, the freezing wind biting through his thick winter jacket, and eat dinner when his father had grabbed him by the collar and turned him to the barn. “They're your animals- they eat before you do whether you're hungry, starving, or not.”

Jacob smiled to himself, remembering the type of man his father had been before he was killed by the rebel soldiers that ran wild in the county. It was just him and his mother now, her hair graying, and her face showing her age deeply. Her eyes still held the same veracity they always would, dark green like his and kind with smile lines at the corners.  

Flicking up his collar, Jacob ran to the front door, slamming the gate to the barn closed on his way over. As he pulled open the heavy oak door of his home, he was greeted by the scent of a fire in the hearth and jasmine from his mother who rested on the wooden rocking chair she had gotten as a gift from his father and him many years ago. She stood up, smiling as she wrapped her arms around him. She was small, and frail, age beginning to take its toll.

“How was the forge?” she looked at him with a questioning look, as if she knew something perhaps she shouldn't.

“Not too bad. I'm still training so it's really just work with the billow until Jason thinks I’m ready for more.” Jacob had never been a good liar- especially to his mother. His nails dug into the skin of his hands, the strain of keeping a nonchalant face almost unbearable.

He was part of the revolt against the rebels. Jason had upgraded him months ago to second in command. Between the two of them, they made about seven swords a day for the King's army. It had to be kept secret. His mother could be put to death for knowing something like that, and him with her. He looked at himself in the mirror by the stairs, a prized possession. Most couldn't afford a thing like that. Cracked and covered with dust, it had been passed down for generations by his mother's side. He could see himself in the mirror, his arms corded with muscle from the forges, his face beginning to grow scruff, and his eyes the same as his mother's. Suddenly pulled from his reverie, shouts from the village floated down to his small house.

“What the hell was that?” his mother's face was a mask of worry.

“I don't know. Probably just a bon fire, perhaps offerings to the gods.” Jacob shrugged through his worry. He knew his mother didn't need more on her plate. Jacob kissed his mother on the cheek and began to walk up the stairs. Turning back, he looked at her, his hand resting on the railing. The worry lines on her face were prominent, “Do you want me to head back to town?” He asked, the exhaustion clear in his voice.

“You're right. It's probably just the village having another bonfire.”

Jacob nodded. The village usually had tons of bonfires around this time of year.

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A crash echoed through the small and shabby house, seemingly next to him.

Jacob's eyes snapped open, but he remained unmoving. It sounded more like a bang than a crash he thought groggily, perhaps his mother was out enjoying the cold air as she did sometimes. Rolling out of bed, he padded across his room and opened the thick wood door of his room, the hinges squealing in protest. His mother lay near the fire, its embers low and quietly crackling. Her breathing even, she was obviously asleep. She looked younger when she slept, the normally lines of worry gone, leaving her looking peaceful and calm.

A glint of armor and the whisper of steel was all he had time to take in before a sword flashed through the air, pointing directly at his throat. Jacob froze in his spot, his mind instantly racing to come up with a plan.  A large man stepped through the shadows, as if materializing out of thin air. A grim look was on his face, matching jacobs own mask of calm.

He was huge, the leather bands of the armor straining over the bulge of muscle. Standing well over a head above Jacob, he looked like a giant. “Bring me to Jason.” he spoke quietly, obviously aware of Jacobs sleeping mother. Jacob laughed, a quiet chuckle and flicked the tip of the sword hovering over his throat. Up close, he could recognize the workmanship. Obviously an expensive piece, worth a small fortune most likely. “Who is Jason?” He asked, a challenge in his eyes. Perhaps sarcasm could buy him time. The sword was unwavering, a normal person would have had to drop it by now, such a large blade obviously heavy.

The grip on the simple but finely crafted hilt tightened, the annoyance obvious in the man's eyes. His short cropped hair was a light blonde, his eyes seemingly black in the darkness surrounding them like walls. Jacob didn't need sight. This was his childhood home, he had lived his life here and not much had changed. They stood there, staring at eachother and gauging one another. His mother moved in her sleep, mumbling something about breakfast in the morning. The man's head turned, his attention momentarily taken off of Jacob. A thick scar ran the length of the man's neck, whitish and sickly looking.

Jacob exploded into action. Swiping up, he knocked the blade from the brutes hands and found it in his own. It was even heavier than it looked. Instantly he dropped it, knowing a fight with a large blade would only slow him down. The man grinned wolfishly, yellowed teeth gleamed in the light streaming in from the moon. A blade appeared in Jacob's hand. One he had made himself, perfectly balanced and a familiar weight in his hand. His eyes glittered, confident in the skills he had been taught over the years to protect himself and mother. He flipped it once, and charged, his speed almost unbeaten on the field.

The man's elbow slammed into Jacob's face. He could feel the blood dripping onto the floor already as tears sprung into his eyes. For someone so large, his reflexes were oddly fast. This time the man himself charger, a quick move that would have shattered a normal person's knee cap and brought them down screaming. Jacob dodged him, spinning as he passed by and slicing up towards the man's exposed throat.

“It's been awhile since I've had a proper fight.” The smile twinkling in the man's eyes was obvious. He was enjoying this, Jacob realized with horror. “Should be over soon enough.” He grinned back, one that he didn't think would reach his eyes at all. The man darted forward, feigned to the left, struck right, and sent Jacob slamming against the wall. His dagger clattered to the ground, its sound loud enough to wake the dead. Jacob sank down onto the ground, the pain exploding from his chest, making it hard to get enough air. He instantly knew at least one rib had been broken. As he approached, Jacob saw the glimmer of his dagger in the mans hand. Death by his own weapon. How ironic, when not only was he a blacksmith, but one who made weapons for a living. He looked up at the beast of a man standing above him, unwilling to die begging for his life.

The man stumbled, coughing up blood. Confused, Jacob could only stare as the man slammed to his knees, the mere weight of him cracking the floor boards. A crossbow bolt glistened through his armor, barbed, and deadly looking. Crimson blood began to pool from the man's chest, obviously a killing blow. His mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes blazing with adrenaline and most likely some rage as well. She dropped the crossbow, letting it slip from her grasp as she sat down heavily in the kitchen chair. “What the hell was that” her hair hung in strands around her face, giving her the appearance of a wraith. With difficulty he stood, pulling up his shirt, checking for the flesh wounds.

Approaching his mother he sat down across from her and began to recount to her the last few months.