I.
The sound of the bell on the door sounded and Mr. Gellerg rustled awake and sat up stiffly on his stool behind the counter. He was noticeably grumpy, having been jarred awake from a particularly compelling dream involving a girl he used to know back home. It had been non-stop busy for the past two weeks as city dwellers prepared for the following days festivities. Little children running amok in the streets pulling their tired and labored fathers by the hand through the crowds of tourists bustling up Main with packages of food and party favors they couldn’t afford. Gellerg hated this time of year. He hated crowds. He hated the frenzied idiots who would no doubt sully his shop front in their drunken debauchery but most of all he hated being interrupted from his afternoon nap.
He hastily stood up placing his hands on the small of his back and giving a slight wheeze as he fiddled his vertebrae back in their place. Gellerg was too old, particularly to still be running this shop on his own but help wasn’t cheap and he had no family to speak of anymore—not after the war. So this was life, fitting in naps when he could and dealing with the teenage hooligans. The store had been his life for the past 65 years. It had outlived 6 brothers, 2 parents, a war and a girl (the one from the dream, in fact, the one from many dreams). He had given everything to maintain it and though it had always been a tough road, this year had been particularly bad, he thought bitterly—though he thought that every year. He had inherited it from his eldest brother who had inherited it from their father. He never really thought his father would have wanted him to have the store. Ideally, Gellerg wouldn’t have wanted it either. It sold mostly war relics: compasses, swords, maps and gunpowder. There were some items that were handmade by soldiers in the trenches for their families’ back home, items they never thought they would be able to deliver themselves and were mostly right about. Gellerg hated the war and wanted no part of it. His father, a retired colonel, never understood his son’s distaste and thus would never have left the store, a monument to the very thing Gellerg hated, to him. However, after the death of the Colonel, war waged again and when men go to war, especially when they are so very outmatched, they rarely come home. Gellerg lost all 6 brothers in the span of 3 months. A terrible waste.
It wasn’t out of honor that he kept the store alive but, for a more selfish reason, it was all he ever knew. There is something that happens to a man who loses his family, he attaches himself to other things. Some men choose the drink, some men choose the gun, Gellerg chose the business. In recent years, now that “peace” had fallen on the World, the store became more of a museum than anything else. Little boys with soda sticky fingers would wander up and down the aisles looking at the blood stained shields and smile to themselves.
Is that real blood?! Cool. How much?
Bastards. No real idea of what had been sacrificed. Gellerg never said a word. Gone were the days of protest. Now he could barely see and his only solace was the brief time he could shut his eyes entirely and dream of a woman’s smile and a moonlit stroll.
The clearing of a throat awoke him. He had nodded off again, this time standing up. It was getting worse and worse. Before his blurry eyes stood a boy dressed all in black. He barely came up to Gellerg’s chin and he stood a few feet away. He was wearing dark pants and a dark tunic. On his head he wore a black skullcap and even though Gellerg could barely see, this boy's eyes were so blue they seemed to pierce him right through the heart. He must have been standing staring at the boy for too long because the boy asked, “Are you ok?”
“Yes,” Gellerg stammered, “I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve met anyone with blue eyes.”
“Oh,” the boy seemed nervous. He shifted his glance immediately and turned away.
“Are you robbing me?” Gellerg asked point blank.
“No! Why would you think that?”
“You’re dressed all in black and you’re wearing a skull cap. Not to mention, you’re in here when everyone else in town is watching the parade and acting like idiots.” Gellerg calmly stated. Then with perhaps a little hopefulness in his voice he said, “They wouldn’t hear me scream, you know.”
“I’m not here to rob you. I was hoping you could help me with something. I understand this is a military outfitting store.”
“Used to be. Not much need anymore.”
“Right, well, I was hoping you might” he paused, looked down at his hands and then up to Gellerg again and continued, “I was hoping you might have Breeder clothing”
Gellerg’s heart began to beat. He hadn’t heard that word in so long he had almost convinced himself that it didn’t exist.
“I don’t use that word, boy, and I would appreciate if you didn’t use it in my store either. If you feel differently you can see your way out.” Gellerg was angry. In a twisted way it almost felt good. Anger makes you feel alive and so often these days he just felt indifferent. The boy on the other hand became noticeably agitated and upset.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered “I don’t understand. I didn’t know it was a word that I shouldn’t use. We are talking about bearers, correct?”
Mr. Gellerg felt himself coming alive. He puffed up his chest and strode toward the boy with such conviction that it made him think for the first time, that he was his father’s son.
“They are not breeders. They are not bearers. They are women. Now, as I said, if you have a problem with my rules then…”
“No! Honestly, I don’t. I apologize.” The boy had his hands raised instinctively to protect himself. This was a boy who was no stranger to fighting. Worse than that, he seemed the type who was no stranger to losing. “Honestly, I, I didn’t know. I’m sorry”
There was something about him. Perhaps it was the apology that got Gellerg, so sincere, so easy. Could he have honestly not known the history behind his statements or was he like the other boys mindlessly walking down aisles of blood seeing only glory and not pain?
“Sir,” the boy started again “I came here to see if you had military clothing made by w-women. I know that that was law during wartime. Women” he struggled with the word as if it were entirely new to him “made the men’s clothing—for luck—for honor. Do you have any?”
He was not the first to come into the store requesting this item. Many people over the years had come and asked the same thing. It wasn’t always so rare to come across, but now, in these days anything even rumored to have been touched by a woman was worth more than some people’s entire estate.
“You can’t afford it.” Gellerg said quickly and then turning back to the counter he sauntered to his stool and sat.
“I assure you, I can.” The boy said coming to the counter and laying down a sack of coins.
“Coins? For women’s thread?”
The boy took the coin purse back and stood for a second. He was obviously figuring something in his head. His hand went to his pocket and stayed there.
“Can you assure me that you have what I want?”
Gellerg thought about turning the boy out, but there was something about him, the eyes that burned so blue that Gellerg could not turn away. He rose from the stool and went into his back room. When he returned he was carrying a coat box. He set the box on the table.
“This was my brother Samuels. He died in the war.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as Samuel.”
Gellerg opened the box and cleared the purple velvet away from the coat that sat inside. It smelled musky: blood and neglect. He pulled it out of the box and it hung perfectly. The craftsmanship was unmatched. It buttoned at the left shoulder and then down the flank of the coat. Each button perfectly spaced. Each swath of wool that cascaded down perfectly stretched and woven into a military style captain’s jacket. The brass buttons were tarnished but still shone impressively in the light from the dim bulb of the shop. Gellerg gave it a shape. He could almost see Samuel saluting the men, burrowing into the rich folds of the coat against the winter wind and finally lying in a heap with all the others with only fabric between captain and private. There are no ranks amongst the dead.
The boys’ eyes shone. He had never seen anything like it in his life and he obviously wanted it.
“May I try it on?” He asked.
Gellerg hesitated only for a second and then came around the other side and slid the coat on the boy’s shoulders. When he stepped back and looked at the boy in the coat, it was as if his brother had finally come home to take over the business. Gellerg had to put his hand to his throat to keep from weeping. Instead he quickly shook his head and said, “You’ll need to take care of this. It doesn’t really fit you but you’ll grow into it. God willing. How much do you have?”
The boy, overwhelmed at Gellerg’s change of heart pulled something out of his pants pocket and laid it on the counter. It was a gold pocket watch. Gellerg had to keep from gasping; gold hadn’t been seen around these parts in years, maybe even decades. It was a commodity he only remembered from his youth and had since come and gone. Gold of this size would allow him to retire and close the shop for good.
“Did you steal this?” Gellerg questioned.
“Not everyone in a skullcap is a robber, you know. You gave me a part of your family’s history and I’m doing the same for you. That’s been in my family for years. It’s a fair trade.”
“Indeed.” Though Gellerg knew it wasn’t. The coat was worth a large sum of money but nowhere near the price of the watch. “Is there something else in my shop that you want? A gold watch, after all, is hard to come by.”
The boy smiled a little bit and, almost wryly asked, “Do you have fire powder?”
“For guns?”
“For wind.”
“Ah, yes” Gellerg also smiled, “The wars secret weapon. Most commonly used amongst spies. Yes, I do have a small amount.” He wandered to the far left corner of the shop and grabbed a small red pouch from the top shelf. “Be careful with this, it’s dangerous.”
“So are the people it protects you from.” The boy turned and in a few quick steps was at the door.
“You should know,” he said as he turned the knob to the shop “you shouldn’t sell that watch in this city, unless you trust the right people. Family heirlooms rarely go unnoticed.” And with the tinkling of the bell, the boy was gone.
Mr. Gellerg thought that was a strange thing to say, especially because it was such a false statement. Family heirlooms were always bought and sold on the market. It was the major currency of the day. Silly boy. He picked up the gold watch and felt the weight in his hands. The boy had no idea what he had given up, if his father knew there would surely be Hell to pay. He chuckled to himself as he palmed the watch and then with a click of the fastener he opened it.
As soon as the gold shield lifted from the clocks face, it was if lightning had struck Gellerg through the heart. If not for his stool, he would have gone straight back onto the floor when he fell. Shaking and clutching the stool with his right hand he stared at the open watch. The crescent moon printed on the porcelain finish shone openly at him, the sign for silver. The thick brush stroke that swirled around the clocks face to mark the numbers and the diamond like precision of the hands that jutted out from the center were undeniably royal. With each tick that the second beat out, Gellerg felt his heart clang loudly in his chest. He couldn’t stop staring at that moon. Even when it hung in the sky, citizens of this city never thought of it as a celestial masterpiece but rather what it had become for them: the King’s symbol, the sign of war and the symbol of blood. The boy in the shop, with his fragile way of speaking and his piercing blue eyes like the eye of a flame, the boy who now wore his dead brother Samuel’s coat, was no ordinary young person spawned and raised in the cities shackles and dirt. This boy, who so easily set his watch on Gellerg’s dusty old countertop was the son of the moon, the heir to the throne. This boy was the silver haired Prince Artemis, the one whom all the celebrating was for.
