The not-immortal Blacksmith

78 The Not-Immortal blacksmith – A Farmer makes a Friend

Osowiec Fortress, Russian Empire.

August 6, 1915.

The chlorine gas hung thick in the air as Corporal Ivan Volkov prepared to charge the German lines. He had rounds left in his 3-line rifle M1891 Dragoon (what the west called a Mosin-Nagant), and 4 stripper clips left in his pouches. 11 rounds for the Nagant M1895 revolver he had taken from the corpse of an officer. Bayonet was fixed to the rifle, he was ready to die for his homeland. And make the German bastards die for theirs. He charged.

*-*-*

The celestial realm.

Narissa, goddess of Tranquility, was having a bad day. Not only had she received bad news from the small god of divination about the impending demon lord, but in trembling hands she held a letter. Not just any letter. The letter was addressed to her, using her full name, and written in the ancient script. It contained two words: Fix It. No signature. No return address. Nothing. But she knew where it was from, and her soul quaked.

*-*-*

My Dell, the real Western Wilds.

50th of Kielat, first month of summer,

2138 years since the new gods came.

The bear dragged a wounded soldier to my doorstep today. I yelled at the idiot to fix him. He's been asleep all day.

*-*-*

Ivan clung to his rifle, now empty after the charge, as he fell from the clouds. The wind buffeting him back and forth, forcing clean air to circulate through his lungs. He didn't know what was going on, or what had happened. There was a flash of light, then falling. He impacted the ground outside of a cave, and fell unconscious.

- - -

Max looked out his new front window, and saw the bear dragging something towards his house. Sighing, he walked out the door and shook his head. No. Not again. That Idiot!

The bear deposited a mostly dead man in front of him, and ran for it's life. Max rolled his eyes, looked up to the sky and yelled, “Look, you idiot! If you're going to deliver strange men to my house you had best heal them!”

A beam of softly glowing yellow light fell from the heavens, knocking Max's hat off his head, and revived the withered grass at his feet.. “You missed, you idiot!” A second light shot from the heavens, bathing the now dead man in light. The man coughed, blood spewing from his nose and mouth. Max rolled him onto his side, and the man fell into a fitful sleep.

*-*-*

53rd of Kielat,

He woke up today. Very weak. Fed him and got his story. I've heard of poison gas spells like “Q'ell's Deadly Cloud”, but this guys stuff sounds...monstrous. I'm glad he lived.

*-*-*

Ivan looked out the window at a peaceful blue sky. He was lying in a bed that wasn't his. The room wasn't his. The log walls looked like something out of the old country. He could believe that he was in an old farmstead in the country, If it weren't for the Piksi that kept looking in on him. At least she spoke perfect Russian.

“Oh, the big strong army boy is awake! I should go tell the boss!” It said, and flew off.

I'm either dreaming, or I'm dead. Ivan thought as he struggled to get out of bed. Bathroom. Bathroom now. His body screamed. He stumbled towards the door, and fell over a bedpan. Bedpan. Good. He relieved himself, washed his hands in a conveniently placed basin, and stepped out into the larger room beyond the door.

He was definitely in a cabin. The large room had a kitchen area on one end, a table with four rustic chairs around it with place settings for three and a pot of something that smelled good, as well as a fireplace with a comfy looking chair in front of it. No art hung on the walls, but a gorgeous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. He waited for the dream to end, and the pain to resume.

“It's not a dream. This is your new reality.” A gruff voice from behind him said. “Welcome to Gristal. That's the name of our world. From your injuries, and your weapons, you were brought here from Earth, probably from some battlefield or other. Don't worry, It's all in the corner by the fireplace.”

Ivan's eyes followed the spoken description, and alighted on his things. Rifle, revolver, clothes, boots, it all looked to be there. It all looked clean. And polished. He exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” The voice replied. “You might be surprised how many times this has happened to me over the years. Stupid gods.”

Ivan slowly turned around to look at his benefactor and saw a young man, in his mid twenties, slightly unkempt beard, average height, and eyes. He couldn't focus on the man's eyes. They slightly glowed in varying colors, and it was a bit unnerving. “Thank you for saving me. I...I should have died. I was charging the German lines...bullets were screaming past me...I emptied my rifle... and then they broke and ran... and then I was falling...” Ivan started to sob. “My friends, my brothers in arms, they died...I couldn't save them...”

The strange man stepped close and gave him a hug. “It happens. Needless slaughter. You did the best you could.” He patted Ivan on the back, then stepped away. “Now come, sit down and have some stew. Food will help you feel better.”

They sat and ate in silence. The piksi sat cross legged on the table and ate as much as Ivan did, matching him bite for bite. She even used the same sized spoon! The man spoke again, “Don't Mind Brandy, she always eats like a horse. She tried to eat my horse once, after he kicked her.”

The piksi, Brandy, piped up around her spoon, “Not my fault. The big bastard was trying to steal my sugar cube!”

“And if you hadn't been teasing him with it, he wouldn't have tried to eat it.” The man answered. Then looked over to Ivan, “My name is Maxwell, by the by. You can call me Max. Most people do.”

“Mr. Maxwell, Where am I? What happened to me?” Ivan asked. “How did I come here?”

“Well, firstly, call me Max. Secondly, you are on the 'planet' Gristal. More to the point, you are east of the 'Demon lands', in my little slice of heaven. Later on I can show you a map. We're a bit far from any real civilization, but I like it that way. Third and fourth, you were grabbed from home by one of our idiot gods and dropped somewhere near where the local bear lives, and he dragged you here.”

“... um ...”

“Yeah, that's what most people say.” Max said, giving a sad smile. “I've done this a couple of times before. The idiots upstairs think that just because I went on one big adventure with a 'Hero from another world', that I'm the best person to show the new ones the ropes, as it were. Looks like they finally decided to just drop people in my lap, as opposed to asking first. Stupid pattern recognition.”

“Okay. So another world. It's like the old fairy tales.” Ivan shook his head.

“So I've been told.” Max gave half smile. “You look tired still. Why don't you go back to bed, and we can talk more at supper.”

Ivan helped clear the table, and noticed that there wasn't a stove in the kitchen, and no pot holder in the fireplace. Finally, with some hesitation, he asked, “Um, there's no stove. How did you cook the stew?”

“Magic pot. Cooks while I'm bust. Best thing the mages ever came up with.” Max replied. “Sure wish I had brought it along when I was in the army. I guess I can be stupid too.”

Ivan shook his head and went back to bed. Food in his belly, he was asleep before he hit the mattress.

- - -

What felt like minutes, but was actually hours later, Ivan awoke with something small bouncing on his chest. He cracked open one eye and saw the piski. “Please go away, rusalka of the wilds. I have nothing to offer you, and no inclination to make a deal.”

“Finally! Someone who understands the old ways!” Brandy said, grinning, then shouted over shoulder, “Hey, Max! I like this one! Can I keep him?”

Ivan's eyes shot open, as he sucked in a breath, about to scream for help, when Maxwell answered loudly from the other room. “Brandywine the Fairy! I've told you no on the subject of that so many times, I'm sick of you asking! The answer is still NO, and will continue to be NO.”

Ivan slowly exhaled.

“Spoilsport!” Then Brandy whirled, “DID YOU CALL ME A FAIRY?!?!?” And flew into the other room. Sounds of clattering and banging were heard for a few moments, then a metallic clang was heard, and the fight ended.

- -

Supper was an interesting affair. It included soup, salad, roast duck with a honey glaze, and a delightful cinnamon cake for desert. Ivan was stuffed, so he bribed Brandy with the last third of his cake.

“So. Tell me about when you came from. I've met enough of you people to know about Earth. But people come dropping in from different times.” Max started the conversation.

“August 6th, 1915. My unit was defending the Osowiec Fortress for our great Russian Empire. The evil Germans fired canisters of poison gas over and into our defensive trenches.” Ivan felt the burn of the gas upon his skin and eyes once again, and shook from the memories. “I was in the far back of the trench work, right in front of the fortress walls, and the wind saved us from the worst of the gas. But it still killed us, just slower than our comrades in arms. When they stopped shelling us, and the gas had somewhat dissipated, the German army started to march through, and kill anyone who was left alive. They were mercy killings, to be honest. The few of us who remained, we bandaged ourselves the best we could, covered out mouths with whetted cloth, and charged the German lines. We were already dead, but we could still move, so we went. I saw the Germans break. But then I was falling. And then I awoke here.”

“So the gas, it gave you those burns?” Max's eyes were wide with horror. “They did that? To people? That's horrific! Barbaric!”

“Yes.” Ivan's eyes leaked, and tears started to run down his face.

Max passed him a handkerchief, “Here. Keep it.”

Ivan soon went back to bed.