The Armorer

A Story by Sam Ammons

interpretive

The Armorer

Heavy snow shifted out of the bluish white clouds rolling over the mountains, covering the forest with a three foot blanket of ice. A lone figure trudged through the knee deep snow following the path snaking its way up the side of the hill.

He was a lean man, tall and muscled after spending his adult life building homes across the countryside. Thick graying hair peeked out from under the fur hood of his wolfskin coat, which caught the thick flakes falling from the sky. His jaw muscles rippled with the endurance of the cold, turning his clean shaven face a bright red.. His breath clouded for a moment before disappearing behind him as he pushed on to the orange glow from the cabin, beckoning him to warm himself by the fire. The man finally reached the summit of the mountain, the log building was before him, sitting in a large clearing overlooking the landscape.

The setting twilight revealed stark white wilderness with blues fading into shadow. Large rivers still ran through the valleys, while smaller streams froze on the surface, the water underneath flowing freely onward, filling the torrential rivers moving ever forward.

Nathaniel Greystone stopped in the clearing, and took a deep breath. Fresh pine was in the air, along with the unmistakable smell of smoke from a fire. Plums of smoke floated from two chimneys rising from the cabin, hanging in the frigid air, disappearing into the growing night as if time had stopped; the full moon reflecting off the snow making the dusk as bright as early morning. The earthen cabin stood before him. Nathan continued toward it, his steps leaving deep routes in the snow, the only sound was from his feet crunching the path he was leaving behind him.

Nathan walked past the front of the cabin. The front door locked solid, and impossible to pass. The two windows on either side of the door were covered with a thick layer of ice, making the unknown interior a mysterious id. He continued around the cabin until coming to a open structure under a slanted roof at the side. Nathan walked into the work area and looked around.

Work tables crowded the covered area, tools scattered here and there. A large forge still burned its chimney disappearing through the roof. Various sized suits of armor lay discarded on benches and tables. Nathan picked up a suit of leather armor it looked like it was made for a ten year old.

"Hard to believe you were ever that small isn't it?" A voice asked from behind him. Nathan turned to see the armorer walk down the steps from the closed side door.

"Oh, yes," he said. The armorer stood in front of him like a mirror image. Nathan turned the armor over while running his callused fingers along the deep scratches all over the leather. "I never would have thought a ten year-old girl could be so feral or cruel. She would have ripped me to pieces on that playground."

"I've no doubt."

Nathan set the armor back on the table where he found it remembering the girl's score of words, but they no longer had sting. He bent down and pulled a chain mail shirt from under a work bench. Links in the back and chest were bent and mishappen.

"You were thirteen when I made that one for you."
"I remember," Nathan said passing the mail from hand-to-hand., "I was battered and bruised from the constant pounding. Everyone coming into their own, it was a harsh time for everyone." He tossed the metal shirt on top of the table. A silvery glint caught his eye. He pulled a canvas sack from atop a pile of coal, and found a discarded polished cuirass. Nathan lifted the heavy thing before sitting it on the table. He ran his hand along the huge rent in the breast plate.

"I thought this wound was going to end me."

"It very nearly did. I wondered if you would give up at only fifteen."

"Do you have something warm to drink?"

The armorer smiled, handing Nathan a steaming bowl of liquid. He walked over to the forge to warm himself. The glowing red and orange embers flickered and flared as if they were alive and breathing. Nathan downed the pine needle tea in one long drink. He took the bowl and laid it on a work bench beside another polished cuirass. This one was totally askew as if someone had tried to wring the water from a rag.

"My first actual battle," Nathan said looking closely at the wrenched hunk of polished steel.

"And you fell. Hard."

"I never thought I'd stop spinning and tumbling down that damn slippery slope," he said with a laugh.

"But, you did catch yourself," shrugged the armorer, "The armor did the job, so you could stand again."

Nathan grunted in agreement. It still hurt. The pain of it still lingered like an old wound that took too long to heal. A full suit of armor stood upright beside the table.

"How in the hell could I even move in this thing?" he rapped his knuckles on the breastplate. It toned with the sound of a deep bell.

"You encased yourself in that monstrosity because you were so afraid you'd get hurt again. It took me months to get it through to you, it was rubbing you raw, and making your skin so sensitive that you could barely be touched without it causing you agony." The armorer squeezed on the bellows making the coals in the forge glow a brilliant red. "So, to business. What brings you here, Nathan?"

"I was wondering if I needed to tweak this armor at all?" He took off the fur coat revealing a tight fitting armor. It was form fitted to his body, fitting perfectly to him like an iron skin.

The armorer walked over, and ran his expert hands over the steel. "No dings, knicks, or dents. Nothing. You're wife and I did a very good job, Nathan. She helped make this perfect as much as I did," he paused. "I was very sorry about Amy's passing."

"Thank you," he said. "She was the love of my life. We had thirty five years together, and we never regretted a single moment, but I think I'm finally prepared to move on."

"Well, I'm sorry you wasted the trip."

"It wasn't a waste. Reminiscing sometimes readies you for the path ahead."

"Sometimes."

Nathan walked over to a barrel filled to the brim with water. He cupped his hands into the water, and brought them to his face, splashing the refreshing coolness over his brow. He straightened, looking at the reflection in the mirror.

Nathan took a towel from the hanger beside his porcelain sink and dried his wet face and hands. He put his razor away and walked out of his bathroom into his bedroom. He was halfway dressed. His shirt and sport coat lay out on his bed. Nathan put them on, and picked up his keys, turning off the lights as he left his house. He climbed into his truck, and started down the dirt driveway with thick trees on either side. He pulled onto the paved road, turning left. Nathan passed neighborhoods of cookie cutter houses, on his way to the interstate, and the city. Mary would meet him at the restaurant.