“I—I’m sorry,” J.T. stammered after a few long moments of silence. They climbed over the frozen hill and across the field toward Matt’s forge. Smoke curled from its chimney, drifting away on the winter wind.
Phelan shook his head. “It’s all right. When you’ve lived as many lifetimes as I have, it’s almost to be expected. The losses still hurt, but I’m afraid that they no longer surprise me like they used to. Except…there are times when I think that I should tell someone something because it would make them smile, or laugh, or just because they would love to know it and it doesn’t hit me until that moment that they’re gone—sometimes for a very, very long time.”
“It’ll be like that with us someday,” J.T. said.
“No.” Phelan swallowed against the tightness in his throat. “No, it won’t be. With everything that’s happened to the world, time touches all of us the way it touches you.” He smiled faintly. “We’ll age and die just like the rest of you. High time for it, too, I’m thinking. I’m ready for a normal life.” As if I could ever have something even vaguely close.
Another silence stretched between them until they reached the forge, but it was a silence so loud that Phelan could hear all the words that were going unspoken. He knew that Jameson MacKenzie felt sorry for him—not for the first time, likely not for the last.
“It’s all right,” Phelan said as he paused just outside the forge.
“Right,” J.T. said after a moment’s hesitation. “Of course.”
“Are you two coming in, or are you staying out in the cold?” Thordin asked as he poked his head out into the afternoon chill.
“We’re coming in,” Phelan said, then slid past him into the forge. Matt was at the anvil, his brother-in-law at the bellows, the pair working on a broad-headed, double-bladed war axe that looked oddly familiar. He arched a brow, glancing at Thordin. “A new one?”
Thordin shrugged slightly. “It’s not for me. I thought I’d teach our young smith how to use it.”
“Oh?” Phelan’s gaze met Matt’s over the glow of the coals, the glowing red heat of the axehead on the anvil. The younger man met his gaze for only a moment, then looked back to his work.
“Whatever I need to do to protect my family, Phelan,” Matt said quietly. His hammer rang against the metal. “It’s all any of us would do. I’m not that great with a sword.”
Thom snorted softly. “If you worked on it a bit more…”
“There’s not a lot of time for it these days,” Matt countered, though he smiled weakly at his brother-in-law. “Doesn’t help that my teacher was down for the count in the clutch.”
J.T. winced. “Yeah, well…”
“Don’t sweat it. I’m not very good and I know it. Maybe an axe will suit me better.”
“Likely will,” Phelan admitted, thinking back to long-ago yesterdays with another man, another friend. “You won’t know until you’ve tried it on for size, anyway.”
Matt nodded.
“Have you made something for your sister yet?”
Matt froze, blinking and staring at Phelan. “Made something? What are you talking about?”
“It’s Midwinter,” Phelan said. “Yule. Heart of the season.”
His companions stared at him for a moment as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. Then Thom began to laugh.
“Of course it is,” he said, abandoning the bellows. “Of course!”
As Thom breezed past them out into the cold, Phelan couldn’t help but smile.
Now to the messy business of finding a way to get back to the new normal. I think we’ve made a good start of it.
“Where’s he going?” Thordin asked, blinking in confusion.
“Unless I miss my guess, he’s gone to conspire with his wife.” Phelan’s smile brightened. “And that’s exactly what we need him to do.”
