Her eyes were not so brilliant now, the blue irises had somehow faded and looked cold. Paul didn't know her name, he had only just met her before the accident. He recognized this scene, its details seared into his mind. Her face was so close, if she were breathing he would have felt it.
With a jolt, Paul awoke. His body was trembling and engulfed in a cold sweat. He struggled to remember his dreams, but the only sensation that lingered was the enormous emptiness of the blue eyes of the woman on the bus. They seemed to pierce right through his soul. He got up and watched the sun rise outside his window. The morning was just beginning to stir, and the horizon was aglow with a pastel pink ribbon of light. The subtle rays of sunlight slowly cascaded over the landscape, casting a brilliant golden hue across the sky. Once he had adequately calmed himself he left his room to greet the day.
Garrett was awake, busy wiping down the wooden bar with a rag that had seen better days.
"Morning, Garrett"
"Aye, it is morning, it happens every day doesn't it?"
Paul wasn't in the mood to explain what he meant. Last night's sleep had been less restful than his stay in the barn. The tavern owner set a mug down in front of him and nodded toward it.
"You'll want to wake up. Those barrels are about as heavy as I am."
Paul took the wooden mug. "When do they arrive?"
"Some time between now and sunset."
"Ah, well, in the meantime I think I'll go for a walk."
"Don't go far, they'll expect you to unload quickly."
After Paul finished his drink he stepped out into the village. He had learned that there wasn't much to this place. Most of what people would work on consisted of either working the fields just outside the village or cutting suitable wood for the winter. There was a potter just down the road from the tavern, but other than that it was all homes or barns. It hadn't taken long for him to walk the length of the place and become horrendously bored. He would have liked to go back to the blacksmith, but if he wanted a place to sleep he would need to wait until after the beer cart came. He meandered over to the village green, where a few children were running around swinging branches and chucking rocks. As he lay on the grass, he ran through all the possible options he had for the future. Fortunately, Paul had chosen to pursue a degree in mechanical engineering. He felt like he could do anything, he just needed to figure out his first step. He thought the blacksmithing trade might be a good place to start, though he had a feeling it would take him some time to learn the craft. That old bastard would teach him, eventually, he hoped.
He needed to organize himself, and to put his thoughts somewhere they couldn't be forgotten. A journal would be nice, plus he could sketch out designs and ask the blacksmith how one could go about making them into reality. Paul's thoughts were scattered when something whacked the back of his head. He looked around and found the culprit. A light brown ball lay beside him. It hadn't hit him very hard, but it still hurt enough for him to take notice. Another glance at his surroundings and he had identified the thrower. A child with wide eyes was gaping at him, his friends saw their chance and darted away to hide. Paul got up, ball in hand, and approached the frozen elf.
"Is this yours?"
The elf slowly nodded.
"Would you like it back?"
"A-aye."
Paul handed the little one his toy.
"Are you a monster?" said the little elf.
"I don't think I am."
"My friends said you were a monster who was wearing an elf's skin, and that's why you're so tall."
"No, I'm pretty sure this is my skin."
The boy hung his head, "I'm sorry I hit you. I didn't mean to, I promise!"
"Well, since you said sorry, I think I can forgive you this one time."
The other kids hadn't gone far away, likely hoping to test the stranger to determine if he truly was a monster. After seeing that he had not consumed their friend, they felt a bit more confident and left the safety of their hiding spot.
"What's your name?" asked the little elf.
"Paul, how about your name?"
"Teon!"
"Pleased to meet you, Teon!"
Teon laughed, which gave the others reasonable cause to assume the stranger was probably not a monster. Timidly, they joined their friend and observed the stranger curiously. As children do, they began to state the obvious.
"You're really tall, mister." said one.
"Your ears look funny." said another.
"Do you want to play with us?" asked Teon.
Having accepted the challenge, Paul received a brief explanation of the rules; essentially, you had to kick the ball, chase it, and then kick it again. Oh to be young again, and so easily entertained. It was fun, and given his size advantage, it seemed that Paul was a natural at this game. The children grew tired far before he did, they called it quits and decided to interrogate him some more. Most of them wanted to know who he was, where he was from, why he was so tall, and why did he talk so funny?
"I'm from a place very far away."
"How far?"
"So far, that even if I were to walk for a thousand years I probably wouldn't get back!"
This answer seemed acceptable to them.
"How old are you?"
"I'm twenty-three years old, pretty old huh?"
The children laughed at this, "Nay! How old are you really?"
"I'm not joking, why is that funny?"
"Because if you're twenty-three, then you're still younger than me!"
This confused Paul, surely this little redheaded child was only eight, ten at the oldest.
They must think it's a funny joke, he thought, there's no way someone so small with a voice that shrill could be older than me.
"Alright then, how old are you, miss...?"
"Astrid! And I'm turning thirty-two in a few weeks!"
Paul laughed and played along until he heard Garrett calling to him.
"OIE! Paul! The carts are just coming up the road. Time to earn your room!"
He said his farewells to the children, who ran off to play their ball game some more while the grown-ups worked.
Paul had been expecting a beer cart with maybe no more than ten barrels. What he saw was 8 carts, loaded with barrels. It was far too many to move by himself.
"I thought you said a beer cart Garrett! That means one!"
"Aye, most of these are headed up to the Landowner, Baron Aldis. He lives in a motte and bailey no more than eight miles from here"
Paul's relief was apparent. "Oh, well good. I doubt I could move all that by myself."
Garrett chuckled, "Aye, so do I."
One of the carts pulled over to the side next to the tavern. The driver hopped down and greeted them. Garrett handed the elf a small brown pouch, then turned to Paul.
"Right, so I need thirteen of 'em. I'll go unlock the cellar, just put them down there and I'll deal with them after you are done."
* * *
Garrett wasn't exaggerating when he said that the barrels would be heavy, as it took the remainder of the morning to finish the task. Covered in sweat once again, Paul found a seat in the tavern and threw himself into it. Garrett came up from the cellar, poured himself and Paul a drink, then sat down across from the exhausted man.
"You work like an ox, you know."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Aye, oxen work tirelessly. You never took a break, I watched you. Most elves would have carried maybe three or four of those, then sat and drank for an hour before getting up to do it again."
"Well Garrett, I have plans for today, aside from moving heavy barrels of alcohol."
"Ah, you gonna go and play some more ball with the kiddies?"
"Wha- Oh! Right, yeah, no I didn't plan on playing ball again. They have an odd sense of humor, you know. One little girl said she was thirty-two! Can you believe that?"
"Aye, If I saw right, that would be little Astrid. She's the youngest of Bendan's and she turns thirty-two in about three or so weeks, I think."
Paul stared blankly at Garrett, "You're joking...right?"
"Nay, I remember when Benden and his wife Randi went about to show off their newest. That would have been around thirty-one years ago."
"How old are you Garrett?"
"Hmm, oh I believe I'm about seven-hundred and thirty, or somewhere around. It gets hard to remember how long you've been around after the first two hundred or so years."
Paul's eyes widened in shock, "You mean to tell me...that the children who I was playing with...were older than me?"
"Well, how old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
Paul had barely finished saying his age when Garrett burst into laughter.
"Nay! You're just a wee lad then, eh? You look like you're well into your nineties Paul. Twenty-three, HAH!"
"No, I'm serious. Most of my people don't live past a hundred years, let alone two!"
Garrett stopped, "Whaddya mean?"
"Well, we get old, what do you mean!"
"Aye, we all get old, but only the mortal races die of old ag- oh, wait, if you're not an elf, then what are you?"
"Human, that's the term we use mostly."
"Hu-man, right...I thought you had served the King, missing bits of ear and all that...you really mean it? You're not an elf?"
Paul nodded.
"Well...what in Erowin's name is a hu-man?"
* * *
The sun was already about halfway through its descent to the west when Paul started out toward the blacksmith. His conversation had been particularly enlightening, Garrett didn't believe him when he talked about buildings of steel and glass that rose high above the trees. Though, to be fair, the trees here can get incredibly tall. Another thing Garrett didn't believe was that at almost any moment in time, one human could talk to another, no matter how far away they were. This concept took some time to explain of course, using analogies about magic mirrors and windows, as Garrett had no other frame of reference for the fine details of telecommunications.
It wasn't long before the familiar sound of hammer falls shook Paul from his thoughts. The old elf was at work again and paid no attention to him as he approached. Paul watched as he paused, held up his work to inspect it, and reheated the metal before continuing to beat the glowing material. It wasn't until he was next to the old elf that he noticed him.
"Ah, the apprentice returns! Right, you'll be working on something new today." The elf said apprentice with a certain mocking tone.
The blacksmith placed his metal back into the coals and pushed down on the billows to heat it up once more.
"You canny beat knife making, best profit. Everyone needs a knife."
"I never asked you for your name." Said Paul.
"Honestly boy, I thought you were a fairy in disguise. Wouldn't give it to you, canny be losing me name."
There was an awkward silence, "Ah, me name is Dallin."
"Right, well, what should I do for you today Dallin?"
Today, you will be helping me make a knife. I didn't know you were deaf as well as daft."
And so it begins huh?
Dallin instructed Paul that he would be holding the metal as well as pumping the bellows today. Which was a step up, at least as far as he could tell it was. The old blacksmith had a habit of getting loud when Paul did something incorrectly, which just so happened to occur often.
Bright red embers flew away from the forge with each blow of the bellows. Paul watched as Dallin worked the forge relentlessly. Sweat poured out over the blacksmith's forehead, and such was also true for Paul despite his greater distance from the heat. The glowing metal was rather enchanting to watch. With every strike of the hammer the metal seemed to shed an outer layer that crackled and would be flung off with the following strike. Eventually it stopped looking like a hunk of metal, and began to resemble a blade. The transformation was something that Paul had only ever seen in videos. Here in real life before his eyes it was quite a bit more interesting.
He had gotten into the rhythm of it now, and Dallin was too focused to yell at him anyways. To Paul this felt like a good sign. It wasn't long before the blacksmith sat his hammer down and reached for the tongs. After he had them he lifted the glowing shaped metal and walked swiftly to a barrel of water where he proceeded to plunge it into the water. There was a loud hiss, and steam rose from the barrel's mouth, then a sort of tinging sound rang out.
"Damn it all!" Shouted Dallin as he brought the tongs out of the barrel.
Paul saw the tongs were now empty, and what the blacksmith said next didn't quite surprise him.
Dallin seighed, "I dropped the damn blade."
The mouth of the barrel stood at about the midway point in the blacksmith's chest. So, of course, the short elf had to try to practically jump into the barrel if he wanted to reach the bottom. After a few futile attempts, the blacksmith wore a scowl before speaking.
"I canny reach it…"
A moment of silence, then Paul spoke.
"Would you like me to help?" He said as he began to approach the barrel.
Looking down into the thing, he could see it at the bottom. He leaned over the side and reached down, it took a second but Paul's reach proved to be great then the elf's. As he brought it up out of the barrel he heard Dallin scoff quietly.
It was dusk. The sun was sinking behind the mountains to the west, and work for the villagers was done for the day. This, of course, meant that it was time to get drunk. Paul's legs were sore, not as sore as yesterday, but sore. As he entered the tavern, Garrett called him over.
"Paul, tell them what you told me. About the buildings made of glass and the towers that talk. Listen, Bendan."
The group of elves was watching him intently, waiting for him to speak.
Paul sighed, "Skyscrapers, they're taller than any tree where I'm from, hence the name. They scrape the sky, and it's hard to explain cell towers, I'm not going through that again."
A few of them laughed, and the others merely chuckled and went back to their drinks. One of the elves, however, sat without reacting.
"My daughter, Astrid, told me about you. Said you were younger than her. Is this true?"
"I am twenty-three, yes, and she's going to be thirty-two right?"
"Aye, I would have guessed you were one or two hundred. Your kind must die pretty young then. I'm sorry to hear that."
Bendan turned back to his drink and joined in on a conversation among the other elves. Paul walked to the other side of the tavern, Ella was tending to the pot that hung above the fire.
"You must be Paul. My husband has been talking about you non-stop."
"Ah, yeah, sorry about that. I probably should have stopped after explaining what a human was."
"Oh, no, please don't be sorry. It has been a long time since my husband has laughed like that. He's been melancholy ever since our eldest son was taken to serve the King."
"Really? Well, I'm glad that something I said could cheer him up."
"As am I. Here, tonight it's rabbit stew. My son, Wystan, went out to hunt today. I hope you enjoy it."
She handed him a bowl of thick stew. Stew or soup, it seemed to Paul that all anyone ever ate here was stew or soup. He didn't mind though, food is food, and better yet, no one asked him to pay for it.