Chapter 4: Working for Borht

As Arthur approached Borht, who was methodically sawing a thick oak beam, Mordred slipped away discreetly toward the back of the house, his heart beating like a war drum. Arthur took a deep breath and walked toward the village chief.

- "Good morning, Mr. Borht," he said, trying to appear confident. "I've come to honor my debt."

Borht looked up, wiping the sweat beading on his forehead. His muscular arms gleamed in the morning light, and his calloused hands testified to decades of labor. A benevolent smile lit up his face, marked by the years.

- "Arthur! There you are at last, my boy. I was hoping you hadn't forgotten our arrangement."

He set his saw against the workbench and straightened to his full imposing height.

- "Well," he continued, rubbing his hands together, "let me explain this morning's program. You see those logs over there? They need to be cut into uniform-sized firewood for my customers. I'll show you how to do it and then you can work alone like a big boy."

Borht meticulously explained each gesture to him: how to position the log on the sawhorse, where to place his hands on the saw, how to maintain a steady rhythm to prevent the blade from getting stuck. He also showed him how to handle the axe to split the larger logs, and especially how to stack the cut wood according to its size and type.

- "Oak with oak, beech with beech, and watch out for birch which dries faster," he explained patiently. "My customers are demanding, and my reputation depends on the quality of my work."

Arthur nodded conscientiously, but out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two figures creeping furtively along the barn wall. Mordred and Selena! His cousin had managed to find the young girl, and they were now walking away hand in hand toward the small woods that bordered the property.

Selena was indeed as beautiful as Mordred had described. Eighteen years old, she had inherited her father's imposing stature, but softened by an entirely feminine grace. Her chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, and even from a distance, Arthur could see the gleam of happiness that illuminated her face.

- "Arthur? Are you listening to me?" asked Borht, frowning.

- "Uh... yes, of course!" the young man replied hastily. "You were saying... about the stacking?"

- "I was saying that you need to make straight piles, otherwise everything collapses at the first gust of wind."

Borht was beginning to turn toward the spot where Arthur had glimpsed the two young people. In a few seconds, he would discover his daughter's disappearance. Arthur reacted instinctively.

- "Mr. Borht!" he exclaimed in a voice louder than necessary. "This saw... it seems a bit dull to me. Don't you think it should be sharpened before we start?"

Borht stopped short and examined the blade carefully.

- "Dull? Not at all, it cuts perfectly well. Look..."

He picked up the saw again and began a new cut to demonstrate the tool's efficiency. Arthur took the opportunity to glance toward the woods—the two figures had disappeared. Perfect.

The morning passed faster than Arthur had feared. The work was hard but rewarding, and Borht proved to be an excellent teacher, patient and encouraging. Soon, Arthur mastered the basic movements and could work autonomously under the benevolent supervision of the village chief.

The sun was now high in the sky when Borht finally put down his tools and stretched with a grunt.

- "Noon!" he announced, wiping his forehead with a grimy cloth. "You've worked well, Arthur. Your debt is cleared."

He gave a friendly but vigorous pat on the young man's back, who nearly sprawled full-length in the courtyard dust.

- "Thank you, Mr. Borht," said Arthur, regaining his balance. "It was... instructive."

- "You're welcome anytime, my boy. You have good hands for woodwork."

Arthur was heading toward the gate when he heard Borht scratching his head with a puzzled air.

- "Now, that's curious... Where has Selena gone? She should be preparing the meal at this hour..."

Arthur quickened his pace and left the courtyard before Borht could ask him embarrassing questions. He headed toward the village square and settled on the church steps to wait for his cousin.

The village was bustling with activity at this time of day. Farmers were returning from the fields for the midday meal, women were coming out to hang their laundry, and children were running between the houses, shouting joyfully. Arthur was observing this familiar bustle when he finally spotted Mordred crossing the square with a light step.

His cousin was unrecognizable. His green eyes sparkled with happiness, a blissful smile stretched his lips, and he seemed to be walking on a cloud. Arthur leaped from his perch and ran to meet him.

- "So?" he exclaimed without preamble. "Tell me everything! How did it go?"

Mordred stopped and took Arthur in his arms, hugging him with a force that spoke volumes about his state of mind.

- "Arthur, old friend, I don't know how to thank you! Without you, I never would have had the courage to speak to her!"

- "But tell me! What did she say?"

Mordred stepped back, his eyes bright with emotion.

"She... she said she would wait for me. Ten years, a hundred years, a thousand years if necessary! She said she had loved me since that famous dance, two years ago, and that she thought she was going mad when she learned of my enlistment."

- "And about the marriage?"

- "We'll marry as soon as I return! She wants to keep her heart free until I can offer her a real life. In the meantime, we'll write to each other, and she'll come see me on every leave."

Arthur felt a surge of joy for his cousin. In this hard and uncertain world, it was rare to see love triumph over obstacles.

 - "I'm so happy for both of you!" he said sincerely. "Selena is a wonderful girl, and she's lucky to have you."

- "No, I'm the lucky one," Mordred corrected. "And it's thanks to you that we were able to talk. How can I ever repay you for this?"

- "By being happy, that's all I ask."

They took the path back to the farm, chatting joyfully under the midday sun. Arthur noticed that Mordred seemed to have lost ten years, as if the anxiety that had been gnawing at him for weeks had suddenly evaporated.

Isabella welcomed them on the threshold with a radiant smile. She didn't need to ask questions: Mordred's happiness was visible from miles away.

- "I suppose certain conversations went well?" she said with a knowing wink.

- "Mother, I..." Mordred began, red with confusion.

- "My son," Isabella interrupted, tenderly caressing his cheek, "I know that look. It's the same one your father had when he returned from his first meeting with me. Selena is a good girl, and I'm happy for you."

The six days that followed passed in a whirlwind of activity. The harvest was in full swing, and every member of the small family was mobilized from sunrise to sunset. Arthur wielded the scythe with growing efficiency, cutting the golden ears in whole rows while Isabella and Mordred gathered and bound the sheaves.

The weather was mild, with just enough sun to ripen the grain and morning dew to prevent the ears from becoming too dry. The fields resonated with the song of the harvesters, those traditional melodies that peasants sang to rhythm their work and forget their fatigue.

In the evening, after the frugal meal taken by candlelight, Arthur would go up to his room and take out his mysterious stone. This habit had become a comforting ritual, a moment of calm after exhausting days.

- "Good evening, my beauty," he would murmur, turning it between his fingers. "Another day passed. The fields are gradually emptying, and soon we'll have enough to get through the winter."

The stone seemed to react to his voice, its golden glow intensifying slightly. Arthur had noticed that this phenomenon occurred mainly when he was moved or tired, as if the object was capturing his emotions.

One evening, driven by a curiosity he couldn't explain, Arthur had gently tapped on the stone's surface with his fingernail. The resulting sound had amazed him: a crystalline tinkling, pure and musical, that had resonated in his room like the song of a bird.

- "You're really not an ordinary stone," he had murmured, fascinated. "What are you hiding inside?"

But the stone kept its secrets, content to pulse gently in his hands like a slow heartbeat.

The harvest work was coming to an end when Arthur woke up one morning with a particular sensation. It took a few seconds for him to realize: it was his birthday. Seventeen years old today.

This date had special significance for him, and not just because it marked another year. It was six years ago, to the day, that Aunt Isabella and Uncle Gareth had revealed the truth about his origins to him.

He still remembered that evening with painful clarity. He was eleven years old and Uncle Gareth had called him into the dining room with his aunt Isabella; his cousin Mordred was not present. He had spoken:

 -"Sit down, Arthur," his uncle had finally said in a very calm voice. "We need to talk to you."

What followed had turned the young boy's existence upside down. His mother, whose name he would never even know, had arrived at their home on a stormy night, pregnant to her eyes and obviously on the run. She had begged Isabella to help her give birth.

Arthur was born that night, in the guest room that was now his. His mother had spent a few days recovering from childbirth, stubbornly refusing to reveal the father's identity. Then, one morning, Isabella had found her bed empty. The woman had left as she had come, in silence and mystery, leaving behind only a newborn and a purse of gold to pay for the care received.

- "We know nothing more," Gareth had concluded. "Why did my sister Milanne leave so hastily without news? What had she done during all those years of absence? All we know is that she loved you enough to risk her life giving birth to you."

The shock had been enormous for young Arthur. For months, he had felt like a stranger in the only family he had ever known. But Isabella and Gareth had shown infinite patience, constantly telling him that he was their son by heart, if not by blood, and that nothing would ever change that.

With time, Arthur had come to accept this truth. His mysterious origins had become a part of him, no more or less important than the color of his hair or the shape of his nose. Isabella and Gareth were his real family, the one who had raised and loved him.

Today, on this seventeenth birthday, Arthur thought back to this story without bitterness. His biological mother had her reasons for leaving, and perhaps it was better that way. At least, he had grown up in love and security.

He dressed quickly and went down to the kitchen, where Isabella was already waiting for him with a particularly warm smile.

- "Happy birthday, my big boy," she said, kissing him tenderly. "Seventeen years old! You've become a man."

- "Thank you, Aunt Isabella. Where's Mordred?"

- "He's finishing loading the last cart of grain. We finished last night while you were sleeping."

Arthur felt guilty for not having participated in the final work, but Isabella brushed aside his apologies with a gesture.

- "You've well earned a good night's sleep. And besides, we have a surprise for you."

- "A surprise?"

- "The merchants arrived last night! They've set up their camp on the village square. Tonight, there will be the traditional evening gathering with storytellers!"

Arthur felt his heart leap with excitement. The arrival of the itinerant merchants was the most anticipated event of the year in BrownStone. These men traveled throughout the Empire, bringing with them news from the vast world, exotic goods and especially, fabulous stories that made the inhabitants of isolated villages dream.

But what excited Arthur most was the prospect of hearing Kaer, the old village tanner, tell his legendary stories. For if Kaer was a respected craftsman in his daily life, he transformed in the evening into an extraordinary storyteller, capable of holding an audience spellbound for hours.

His favorite tales spoke of a distant era when heroes rode majestic phoenixes across the skies of Aethermoor, restoring justice and order throughout the Empire. These stories were so vivid, so detailed, that Arthur sometimes had the impression that Kaer had lived them personally.

- "Tonight is going to be magical," Arthur murmured, his eyes bright with anticipation.