The Weight of the Laddle

The stew was bad, the fireplace was smoky, and there stood Silas. Silas was a man who would whisper sorry to the floor just for walking on it.

He’s spent mastering how to be invisible; unseen. Like a ghost. And in the village of Oakhaven, being invisible didn’t mean people didn’t notice you. It meant being the man whose name people forgot even when he was talking right in front of them. Silas worked in the tavern like a piece of furniture. Which is essential, but ignored. The tavern was one that always smelled like rotten wood, burnt fat, and animal manure. He was a man with an odd nature: he had hunched shoulders, and a stutter that got worse when the owner yelled, and had these hands that shook and got weak when cutting onions.

The people in the village thought Silas was a man who needed help. A man who had seen too many bad things in the wars, and had come back with a broken heart. They felt sorry for him. Were even a little annoyed with him. He was “Silas” a man who could not even use a sharp knife without cutting his thumb. A man who jumped when he heard a door close.

All of that was about to change in this one night.

“Silas you burnt the stew again you swine!” the innkeeper, Barnaby shouted, hitting the wood top with his hand.

Silas jumped, the big spoon in his hand hitting the side of the pot. “I am sorry Mr Barnaby. The wood was wet. I-I’ll-I will start again. I will be fas-faster I promise.”

Barnaby said “See that you do. Always just slowing us down. We have men coming. They are mercenaries that work for the King. If you mess up while they are here, you’re the one who will be in trouble, not me. These men do not accept apologies.”

Silas nodded, then quickly looked at the floor. He went back to stirring the stew moving his hands slowly on purpose. This was something he did every day. Nobody noticed that he looked at the door every time it opened or that he counted how many steps each traveler took. Looking at how they walked and how their boots sounded.

Underneath the dirty clothes and the stutter, Silas was a man who knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how many steps it took to get to the back door. He knew which floorboards made a noise. He knew that the big spoon he held was heavy enough to cause damage to someone if he needed it to.

With this extra knowledge, he never wanted to hurt anyone. He wanted to be the man who burnt the stew. He wanted to be the man who was afraid of his own shadow. Because the man he used to be; The man he had hidden for years, was a man who did things that still keep him awake at night to this day.

But as the moon shined down on the tavern, the air in the tavern got thick with the wind blowing on the walls. And the sound of horses. The mercenaries have arrived. They were quiet but scary. Tall and menacing. Footsteps so heavy, they made the strongest boards on the floor creek. They took over the table in the middle pushing aside two local farmers without saying a word.

Their leader, a man named Kaelen had a face that looked like he had been in many battles and fights. He had a grisly scar on his cheek, and a mean look in his eye. He put a sword on the table and said “I heard this village is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of place where people come to hide.”

As they sat down, Silas came to their table to pour them some stew. His hand shook while over their glasses. Some hot stew spilled on Kaelens hand. The tavern got very quiet.

“I-m, I am so sorry sir " Silas said, his voice shaking. “My hand tends to be just a li-lil-little weak. I-”

But Kaelen did not wait for his reasoning. In an instant Kaelen got up, and kicked Silas in the chest. Silas flew a few inches and fell to the floor. Knocking a table in the way of his trajectory. The mercenaries sounded like they were happy to see someone hurt. With a grin cracking across each of their faces.

Among some other people, the village’s blacksmith and his daughter were in the tavern. The daughter was named Elara. So Kaelen looked at Elara, and grabbed her by the arm. Kaelen leaned in, his voice deeper and threatening. “We’re looking for a shadow, girl. A man who thinks he can bury a thousand bodies and call it a peaceful life. Tell me where the Ghost is, or I’ll start making some ghosts of my own.

Elara was silent. Not a word leaving her mouth.

“Can’t speak? Don’t wanna? Well then lets start. With your father perhaps?”

The room was silent. Barnaby cowarded behind a table where he couldn’t even be seen. All the other villagers looked away too scared to even do or say anything.

Silas then stood up from the ground.

This time he did not stumble. He did not say sorry. He stood tall. His shoulders were straight. His voice was firm and clear.

“Let the girl go " Silas said.

Kaelen looked up. For the first time he really saw Silas. He did not see the puny pathetic shell of a man. He saw a man with eyes filled with pain and suffering. Kaelen started having second thoughts.

“Kill him " Kaelen said.

Two of the mercenaries then tried to attack Silas. But he was too fast. He moved quickly. Grabbed the spoon, and bashed one of them on the head. Causing a giant crack sound to be heard by everyone in the Tavern. The man instantly fell down. Then Silas took a knife from a plate and threw it across, hitting the other mercenary. The exact pin point of it hitting his heart, didn’t even allow him to make any more movements. He instantly fell to his knees, and succumbed to his injuries.

For Silas did not fight like no average soldier. He fought like a naturally born assassin. Every move he made was always precise with no mistakes. Within one minute the tavern was a mess. Two mercenaries were dead. The last one, being Kaelen, who was standing in horror. Silas then slammed him to the wall, with his arm on his throat.

Kaelen was terrified. He shakenly said “you are the Ghost”.

Silas leaned in, his voice like grinding stones. He whispered a single name. A commander Kaelen had left for dead ten years ago. Kaelen’s face drained of color. He didn’t just run; he fled from a dead man’s ghost. Ran away outside to the darkness of the night. He was never seen again.

The tavern was silent again. Silas looked at Elara. She was safe but she was looking at him with scared eyes. The villagers moved away from him like he was a monster.

Barnaby said “Silas . . . you cannot stay here. Not after what you did”.

Silas said “I know”. He looked at his hands. For the first time in a while they were not shaking. The act was over. The mask was broken.

He went and got a bundle wrapped in cloth. He took the sword left on the table and took a map from one of the dead mercenaries.

He walked out the door into the cold night. He did not look back at the tavern. He looked at the mountains in the distance.

He was not Silas the cook anymore. He was not the Ghost of Aethelgard. He was a man. A man who knew who he was and didn’t have to pretend to be someone else. The road ahead seemed long and dangerous. For the first time in years, he walked with his head held high.

A new path was in front of him. He was finally ready to walk it.