“You know, it’s dangerous up at that old fort. You sure about this, kid?” Marta looked up at the young man for only a moment, then dipped her rag in the bowl of oil and went back to polishing her sword.
Her house did not look like the house of an old soldier. The one-room hut had knit goods hanging from strings all over. Her elbow kept bumping into the spinning wheel that she had pushed out of the way to sit down.
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy said. “Life has placed me on this path. I must face danger head-on and reap its rewards.” He proudly stared out the window and into the distance.
Marta glanced out the window. The boy must have been looking at something else. All Marta could see was her husband, Karl, wrestling an unruly sheep in the hopes of shearing it.
Marta wrinkled her sunscorched brow. “Kid, I get it. I fought in the war, back before you were born. It was exciting. We were rebels. Some of us were even heroes.” She hesitated. “But this little expedition of yours… you’re risking an awful lot on the off-chance that you’ll find some hidden treasures that might not even exist.”
“I know, b-but…” the boy stuttered. He was a young man, lean and strong, but he had the wide eyes of a child.
“Like I said, kid, I get it! We risked our lives, too! But we always knew what we were fighting for. We knew it was worth the risk.” Marta drew her rag across the blade one last time. She picked up the newly-polished sword, holding the blade with a rag so as not to dirty it, and pointed the handle toward the boy. “What are you fighting for?”
He grabbed the sword by its hilt and gripped it tightly. His eyes narrowed, and with grim certainty, he said, “It is my destiny.”
Marta stifled a laugh. “Destiny?”
“I’ll show you.”
The boy sat the sword back down on the table. He knelt down and rifled through his old leather satchel.
“This is my destiny,” he said, handing Marta a pile of papers.
Marta looked over the papers, slowly mouthing a few of the words. She asked, “What am I looking at here? I’m not a magician or a lawyer.”
“They’re patents of nobility, Marta. I am the one true king of this whole land.” He smiled, finally revealing his secret. “My great-grandparents were dethroned by the Empire and driven into hiding. My family has kept this secret since then. Now, I shall gather the wealth to rebuild our court. I will reunite our land and forge a new kingdom!”
Marta dropped the papers on the table. “Burn these.”
“What?!” The boy took a step back.
Marta stared him down. “During the war, we fought for independence. We drove away the soldiers and prefects who stole our food and goods. We killed tyrants and oligarchs. We risked everything, sacrificed anything, so that no one would own us any more. We fought so that you could be born free.”
“This is my birthright, Marta.”
Marta looked like she had just bitten into a lemon.
“Build a farm, “ she said. “Learn to sew. Start a traveling band. Go to that fort and risk your life just because it’s fun. Whatever makes you happy.” Marta grabbed the sword off the table and returned it to its holder on the wall. “But, I assure you, no one wants another king.”
“They will learn…”
“No, kid,” Marta pushed the pouch of coins back across the table to him. “I will not.”