13 A Promise Made

The blood-stained sword remained in his hand as he entered the inn. Will, a constant fixture in the common room looked at Jacob's crimson stained clothes with wide-eyed shock. Jacob didn't speak, his mind stuck on the deed he had just committed. He had always been taught that killing was wrong, and now he had done it thrice in a single evening.

Once he reached his room, Jacob wiped the blade down with his shirt, rendering it as clean as Jacob could make it. He paced his room, not knowing the first thing about ridding his clothing of its iron scent. Eventually, after much deliberation, he made his way to the washroom, nearly bumping into Rod. It was the first time Jacob had seen the man in days, and his appearance couldn't be less ghastly.

"What the hell happened to you, boy?" Rod asked, his eyes sharpening. There was a clarity to them that Jacob had never seen, not even when he had first met the man.

"A fight with some loan shark's men," Jacob explained, meeting the tall innkeeper's gaze.

"What in the world did you go to them for?" Rod exclaimed, anger rising over his visage.

"I didn't. I saw a man get nearly stabbed to death and decided to step in. Speaking of, I told them to stop here soon so that we can give them rations for their flight from Leafburrow," Jacob told Rod, seeing the previously frightening expression soften.

"A risk I'd rather not take, but I won't go back on promises. We'll help them when they come." Rod paused. "Are you handling it?"

"What do you mean?"

"The killing. The first time you see the life leave someone's eyes at your own hands, something inside you shifts. It's important that you come out of this whole. A shattered Jacob can't do all that much cooking, now can he?" Rod smiled, bringing Jacob in for an uncharacteristic hug. Oh, that was exactly what he needed. Tears, forcefully repressed, flowed freely now.

"I can't do that again," he whispered.

"Then don't."

And so they stood in the hallway silently until Jacob's tears stopped falling and the younger man composed himself again. "Thank you, Rod. I needed that."

"Any time, Jacob. Now let's get those clothes cleaned; this won't be my first time getting rid of stains like that. With any luck, it'll be my last," Rod winked at Jacob, the latter happier for the jovial action.

When he returned downstairs, Will ambushed him. Jacob answered his questions, though it felt more like an interrogation than a conversation. Eventually, Will was satisfied with the answers and resumed his vigil near the fireplace. It's like the mercenary had picked up a perpetual chill from crossing over to Leafburrow in the winter. Not that Jacob blamed him.

Angelica was thankfully absent from all this, she had left earlier to go visit some of her friends. Jacob didn't want her to see him as a murderer, even though that's what he technically was now.

Jacob launched into cooking, the activity taking his mind off of things. He experimented with one of the soups that Rod had taught him. Though the inn lacked a lot of the finer spices one might have commonly found on Earth, pepper was enough to make a difference.

The resultant dish, the product of all of his concentration and prior practice, was easily the best thing he had ever made. Back in his old world, he would've never stepped foot in a kitchen. Now, he found solace among the various ingredients and apparatuses. Even the magical ones no longer fazed him all that much – Rod had rid him of that bad habit very early on.

Night came and went, Jacob not catching a wink of sleep. Nightmares danced in the back of his mind, threatening to burst forth if his eyes closed for even a second. At the break of dawn, Jacob took his new sword out to the backyard. Though he'd never kill again, he needed to do something. The Golden Gizzard would be out of ingredients by the time Spring came if Jacob kept whiling away the hours there.

He fell into the sword forms Will had taught him, the weight of the blade rendering the process difficult in comparison to his stick. Appreciative of the difficulty, Jacob shed much sweat by the time his instructor made his presence known.

"You've earned the right to wield that thing, based off of last night. Before you call yourself a murderer again, I'd like to remind you that you saved a man and his family for no other reason than because it was just. You were a protector last night, not a murderer," Will said softly, though the weight of the words were felt. Protector or not, Jacob had brought to a premature end the lives of three men, and he helped with a fourth. He was no longer innocent.

"If it's all the same, I'd like to avoid doing that ever again," Jacob growled in return. Will was unaffected.

"Then why do you train?"

"To get my mind off of it."

"For now, that's your reason. But the real reason why you practice is because the only person is always there for you is yourself. You train so that you will not fall prey to people like those loan sharks," Will said sagely, though it all sounded like a load of bull to Jacob. It had a real fortune cookie type feel to it.

Will understood that there would be no further conversation, and instead chose to show Jacob some new forms that he had never seen before. These were no less devastating than the heavy-handed blows Will had initially shown him, but the footwork was far more active. It was a strenuous exercise, and Jacob threw himself into it entirely. As he moved, a single mantra resonated in his head. "I will not kill again. I will not kill again."