A few minutes later, Esterian was comfortably seated at a table in the inn. It was late afternoon. The tables were emptying, and filling. Some had just finished lunch. Others were just arriving and settling in for a big night of drinking. Esterian had ordered some stew. He got up and went to the innkeeper. He was sitting in a chair behind the main table of the inn, dozing off slightly. His massive belly was quivering with every half snore. Esterian touched him lightly on the knee. He sat up with a jerk. Rubbed his eyes with his hand, yawned massively once and looked at Esterian.

“Ah me boy. It’s been a while. What can I get ya?” He turned around, and picked up a glass from behind him. He looked at it, frowned for a second and wiped it a bit with the cloth hanging from his waist. Apparently satisfied, he nodded once, yawned again, and looked expectantly at Esterian.

“Can I have some beer?” Esterian asked hopefully. He was 18, and so he could, but his mother would kill him for it. But somewhere deep down, he just knew that he had to have beer. One of the trials of adulthood, he joked to himself.

“Ye look old enough. Okay. Yer stew’s about ready too. That’ll be 10 pieces all together me boy.” The man poured some beer and took up the bowl that had just been placed in front of him by one of his helpers. He tore off a decently large piece of bread from the loaf placed a little off to the side before handing everything to Esterian. Esterian emptied his purse, and placed the coins on the table in front of the man. He had just turned away when the innkeeper said,

“Care to join me, boy? I’m bored, and nothing passes time faster than some talking.” He took up another glass, wiped it a bit, poured himself some beer and looked up at Esterian. Esterian shrugged and sat back down.

“Marge! Get me some stew. And make it hot this time!” he yelled out. A woman nearby, presumably Marge, rolled her eyes, and left to the kitchen. A few moments later, she reappeared with a steaming bowl of stew, and bending down, placed it in front of the innkeeper.

“That’s me girl!” he said. Before Marge could straighten up planted a wet kiss on her cheek. Marge cringed a bit, smiled sweetly, curtsied rather sarcastically once, turned and left.

“Married 15 years we’ve been. Don’t make em like that anymore.” The innkeeper sighed. Both him and Esterian ate their soup in silence for a while. All of a sudden, Esterian said,

“I met Jifar. Seems his wife died a while back.”

“Ye. I heard. Was at the funeral too. They’re blaming it on wolves. But no wolves I know have that big teeth. I dunno boy. Ye best be careful. Living alone with your mother is not all that safe.” He pushed his finished bowl away from him and sat back in his chair, with his beer in hand.

“How is yer mother? Haven’t seen her in these parts for a long time now. Must be 4 or 5 years.”

“She’s doing okay. I guess once I could start coming into town, she just decided not to.” Thinking of his mother reminded Esterian of the conversation he’d had with the cobbler about the Reckoning. Esterian, emboldened by the half glass of beer in him decided to chance it

“Sir, can you tell me what the Reckoning is? My mother won’t and I can’t seem to-“

The innkeeper held up a hand to cut him off. His mood seemed changed. Some of the regulars at the inn who had been listening in on their conversation suddenly busied themselves with their soup.

“First off, my name be Mycal. Not much of a name, but that be mine. And boy, there be no faster way to make a bother of yeself in town than to talk about the Reckoning. No good will come from it”

Esterian swallowed some beer. Looked down at the table. Nodded his agreement. He started apologizing, but Mycal silenced that with a raised hand as well.

“There be no bad blood between us now boy. Ye wanted to know, and I won’t fault ye for that. Now come, let’s have another beer.” He poured Esterian one more.

Esterian sipped the beer. He was starting to feel warm inside. His fingers were tingling slightly.

“We’ve had trouble before cuz of the Reckoning, my boy. Rumors of a group dedicated to removin all traces of it mean trouble for lil folk like ye and me.” His face grew serious for a minute, before the familiar grin returned.

“Moza, Give us some music!” He yelled again, this time in the direction of a thin man standing off to the corner, with white wisps of hair, holding what seemed to be a board of wood with some strings drawn across it.

“And Marge! Get out here and give us a dance!” Marge reappeared in the room, with an exasperated look on her face, but Esterian could tell from her eyes, that this was something she looked forward to doing.

Moza tugged once on his collar, trying to get some semblance of dignity and started plucking at those strings with his fingers. And to the resulting tune, Marge started dancing. She spun around, kicked her legs in the air, dropped to her feet, stood up again, and soon everyone in the inn was clapping their hands, keeping the beat. She spun faster and faster, before throwing out her hands, clapping them sharply above her head before collapsing to the floor. Moza played a bit longer before he too stopped. The applause was deafening, and more than a few glasses were tipped over. Mycal was beaming, from pride at his wife’s performance, from glee at the all the beers that would be reordered. Marge stood up, wiped her brow, bowed once to the crowd and went back to the kitchen. Moza bowed a few times, before a tomato hurled at his face indicated that his moment of glory was over. He retreated back to his corner, and slouched again.

Esterian’s stew was over, his beer drunk. He was feeling a bit tipsy, and the inn was very welcoming. He was in no rush to get home, so he sat back in his chair, and put his feet up. Mycal was already nodding off in the chair opposite him. The door slammed open.

Everyone turned to look. Standing in the doorway were two men. They were both easily six feet tall, and while one was fair, the other was dark. Both their heads were shaven, and they wore identical uniforms. White with gold trim, and in the center of their shirts, was emblazoned, a golden phoenix.

“Who is the master of this establishment”? Asked the fair man, looking around. His nose was crinkled, from the aroma of the beer perhaps. The dark man was just standing there, doing nothing.

Mycal slowly stood up. His massive bulk making that no easy task. Marge had come running from the kitchen as soon as she heard the door slam. She helped her husband to his feet.

“That would be me, good Sir. Mycal’s me name, and this is me humble inn” He bowed low.

“Yes. Humble indeed. We require food, and drink. As soldiers of the Holy One, I need not tell you that these are not requests, but rather commands. We require them immediately, as well as rations for two days of travel. I assume there will be no problem?” He slowly moved his hand to the silver sword hilt at his waist. The blade hidden inside the scabbard. Esterian hadn’t noticed that till now. He looked over at the dark skinned man. His face was impassive, and at his waist was a silver dagger.

“Of course Sir. I will make arrangements right away. Marge, our finest beer and stew. Hurry woman!” he yelled to the woman who was right next to him. Marge flinched from that bellow, turned and hurried away. The fair soldier was smirking. He took a step inside and sat down at the table near Esterian’s. Everyone in the room still had their eyes on him. The dark soldier was still at the doorway.

Mycal sat back down and wiped his brow. Took a long draught from his beer, and seemed relieved only when the fair man started eating his stew. Marge went over to the dark soldier, but he waved it away. She went back to the kitchen to prepare the rations.

“Mycal, who’s the Holy One?” Esterian whispered. Something told him the soldiers would not take too kindly to someone not knowing their leader.

“Where did ye grow up boy? Under a rock? How can ye not know about the Holy One?” Mycal looked surprised.

Esterian felt like a child. His mother had never told him anything. And as a child, he’d always been excluded from the big discussions at town. The only reason he’d been allowed inside the inn last time was because it was raining and even then, Mycal had been careful to only talk to him about Jifar.

The beer was getting to Esterian’s head. Not bothering to whisper this time, he asked again

“I don’t know who the Holy One is. Will you tell me or not?”

Silence in the inn. Broken by a whistle of air and a gasp as the fair soldier drew his sword and placed the blade at Esterian’s throat. The blade shone with a faint white light. It radiated around him. Esterian felt a something soft flow into him. The dark soldier was still at the doorway, but his expression had changed into one of slight interest.

Esterian felt the blade rise within him, but it seemed to hold back, waiting to see what would happen.

“Boy. What you have said constitutes treason, punishable by death, and it is my absolute pleasure to carry that sentence out.” He drew the sword back.

The blade was still waiting. Esterian began to think it had abandoned him. He was suddenly sober. The alcohol had run its course. Now he was free to fully appreciate the scene. He was standing, with the fair man, about his height holding a blade in his right hand, ready to strike him down. Mycal had risen as well, terror in his eyes. Marge had just entered the main room, with the rations in one hand. They dropped to the floor when she saw what was happening. The dark man still stood, leaned up against the doorframe, hand on hilt, bemused expression on his face.

Mycal lunged to the ground, clasping the fair man’s feet.

“Please, Sir. He is my sister’s boy. She only passed away yesterday. The boy was never right in the head. Can’t even remember what he had for breakfast. And in his grief, he’s had too much to drink. Forgive him Sir, I beg you!” He was bowed down at the man’s feet. The tense situation had shocked the drawl out of his voice, and he spoke perfectly. With his left hand, gestured for Esterian to bow as well. Esterian fell to his knees. The blade still held back.

“Forgive me Sir. What my uncle says is true. I don’t know what came over me. Spare my life, Please.” He too bowed down. Marge picked up the fallen rations and came over. She too fell to her knees, and held up the rations as an offering.

The fair man seemed mollified. He sheathed his sword, and stepped back.

“Boy, I spare you today. But next time, I shall not spar you for anything. Of that you have my word. Come let us go.” The last part was addressed to the dark man. He chuckled once softly, picked up the rations and the two of them left.

It was only after the two of them had left, did Mycal, Marge and Esterian rise to their feet. Esterian stammered an apology, while Mycal was busy consoling Marge who was in tears. The others in the inn looked at them a bit more and returned to their drinks. A few minutes later, the conversations had resumed, and the inn was noisy again. The events of before almost forgotten.

“Boy, ye gotta think. I know ye don’t know anything, but don’t make it that obvious. Ye almost got yeself killed. And for what? One drink too many? I think ye should leave. It’s getting late. And yer mothers all alone.” His drawl had returned. With one arm around his wife’s shoulders, he pointed to the door with the other.

Esterian apologized again and left the inn. He had walked for a few minutes, and had just turned down an alley that would take him to the main gate when he heard voices behind him.

“That’s him. That’s the boy.”

Esterian turned around to see a group of four men. One of them, the speaker had his hand in a bandage. It was dim, almost night, but Esterian could make out who it was. The man whose hand he had accidently broken in the morning. They must have been searching for him, and had probably picked him up outside the inn. They had waited to get to a secluded spot before they moved in. Esterian groaned. Today was not a good day.

The men fanned out. Till they formed a rough semicircle. With Esterian at the center.

“You attacked me first. All I did was defend myself.” Esterian said warily, as he looked around. All the men were easily twice his weight, though they were all a few inches shorter than him. Reach was a good thing, but not as good as numbers.

The speaker chuckled.

“You think I care? My hand’s broken. I won’t be happy till both your hands, and both your legs are broken too.” He took a step forward, and laughed.

“Boys, to work!”

The four men were grinning menacingly now. They held no weapons, but fists were good enough to break bones. They were circling Esterian, keeping him off balance. Esterian looked from one to another, trying to judge when and where the first strike would come. Suddenly the man to the leaders left gave a cry and rushed forward. At the same time, the man from the extreme right charged as well. Esterian felt the blade. Again, when he opened his eyes, time seemed to be moving slower. He could see the two men running towards him. He could see their fists curling, and their clothes moving as they ran. He could see the fat on their faces shake, their eyes close, the spit flying from their mouth. The blade gave life to his feet, he dodged both attacks and ran behind the leader. Both men crashed, and collapsed on the floor. Time was still slow. The leader was looking around, to see where Esterian was, but before he could see, Esterian jumped right, and landed behind the fourth man. The blade made his fist stronger, like before, and he drove it into the man’s kidney. Before the man collapsed, Esterian followed it up with an elbow smash to the side of the head. Esterian saw the man’s eyes roll up, and he too fell to the ground. Esterian took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Time went back to normal.

He could see the three men lying on the ground. The first two were groggy. Each of them had been built like a stone wall. They were both reeling, trying to get up, but not managing, falling to their feet every time they tried. The third man was a mess. Blood was leaking from his nose, and Esterian was pretty sure he’d broken a few ribs with his punch to the back. The leader, the storekeeper, the man with the bandaged hand was staring at Esterian, disbelief on his face. In an instant, he pulled a gun from his pocket and shot Esterian.

He could see the bullet coming towards him. He put his hands up, but before he could move, the bullet just fell to the ground. Two inches from his out stretched hands, the bullet just stopped, mid-flight and fell. As it did, Esterian felt a slight poke in his skin, where the bullet should have hit. He looked down, but his skin was unscratched. The man shot two, three more times. All with the same result. The bullets just fell to the ground, accompanied by a poke that Esterian could feel, and dim metallic thuds as the bullets hit the ground. The gunshots were loud and would attract attention. The man looked at Esterian like he had seen the devil. The men on the ground were looking at him the same way. Their faces were white, not just with pain, but with fear as well. The two who were still conscious picked up the third man, blood still pouring from his nose, and holding him up, ran off. The leader, still looking as if at a ghost, took one final look before he too turned and ran off. Esterian turned and ran the other direction. Only when he was out of breath did he stop.

He looked down at his hand. It seemed normal, but it had stopped bullets. He may never have seen one fired, but he knew what they could do. The stories he’d read had had bullets in them. Bullets should kill. They should have torn through his heart, and out his back, and Esterian should have bled to death slowly as the man with the broken hand had laughed over his body. Instead, he was fine. The bullets had fallen out of mid-air, and the man with the broken hand had ran. It didn’t make sense. He had never heard of bullets being stopped.

Oh but you have, said a voice from the back of his head. Esterian frowned, trying to remember. With a chill running down his spine, he remembered. The Shadow of Heaven. He can stop bullets. His mother had told him that anything thrown at him just drops to the ground. Doesn’t matter how fast, or how heavy. It just drops. His head was spinning. Did that mean he was like the Shadow? Was he supposed to be a killer? A man feared for bringing death? Questions were running amok in his head, but no answers. He got one. A thought flashed through his mind. A voice he had almost forgotten.

I told you, Este. I am forever here for you, and I shall forever lend you my strength. Trivial things like stopping bullets I can do with ease. There is much more I can do.

Esterian’s head hurt. The blade had talked to him after years just to dismiss stopping bullets as trivial. He was tired, and scared and late. He pushed all thoughts from his mind, and started walking to the main gate, and home. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he could feel the blade sporting a self-satisfied smirk, chuckling softly to itself.

The dark man had been hiding in the shadows of one of the buildings. He had followed Esterian from the inn. Even he didn’t know why. He had felt something when his partner had drawn his blade. The child had reminded him of someone he had met a long time ago. Someone distinctly unpleasant. Even thought the feeling had been only for a moment, he had followed the child. His partner was amusing himself with a lady in a house nearby anyway. The dark man walked over to the spot of the brawl on quiet feet. He had waited for the crowd that had formed after the shots had been fired to disperse before he had moved in. In that time, he had lost sight of the boy. Thankfully, the crowd had just milled around, looking at each other, gasping at the pool of blood on the floor, and had left, leaving the bullets on the ground.

The dark man picked one up. It was almost weightless. It still surprised him how something so small and insignificant could end a life. It didn’t even seem fired. The tip was still curved, the shape retained. But the blackening and the groove marks on the sides were evidence enough that it had.

The dark man picked up all the bullets and put them in his pocket. What an interesting young man, he thought to himself as he started walking back to his partner. The bullets clicked together in his pocket. He put his hand in to stifle the noise. He started whistling to himself as he walked. The Holy One would be pleased. After all, he had found the first powerful Godless One in years. The dark man allowed himself a moment to think of the rewards. Maybe he would get his wings. No that was too much. Still, he was happy. He started whistling a new tune. Maybe his partner’s ‘friend’ had a sister.