He rose. He and the lovely tree stood on a high hill that overlooked the path he had expected to see. It was narrow and gold, a gold so pure that it hardly looked gold anymore, but almost like crystal. On either side of the Glorious Path grew endless fields of crystal grass. The soil beneath it all was white like snow. Hills rolled away in every direction, and between some of them there lapped little ponds or bigger lakes of water purer than any he'd ever seen. There was no hill without the crowning glory of one or more beautiful trees, and their leaves came in every color imaginable.
Axebourne strode down the hill and onto the golden path. He followed it in the direction of the bright white sun. It was different than the one he was used to, for it had no tendrils, but was like the light of a billion gems put together, and yet without heat. It was moving across the sky, but the day felt timeless. Axebourne thought that it would never set.
As he moved down the path, he felt a growing sense of peace. He had already been at peace, but this was like something that was already hot, beginning to burn. It was the jollity of three steins of mead flowing into the happy abandon of a seventh. More than these. It was calm upon calm, a universe of contentedness.
A stranger crested a hill nearby, walking slowly to converge with Axebourne on the path. He was dressed in loose white clothing, and he had a golden belt about his waist. The man's skin was dark, as if tempered by an endless fire. His hair was white, and his eyes were like twin suns beneath his strong brow. He was not smiling, but his face looked joyous all the same. The man's hands were all that was not clean, for they were stained with soot, as if he had been working.
The Blacksmith, but as Axebourne had never seen him depicted.
"Hello, son," the man greeted. "I see you have found the path to your liking."
"Hello," Axebourne replied dumbly. In life he might have been shocked at this meeting. Now he was simply in awe. He fell to his knees. "I never thought..." he stammered. "I mean I knew. You know I knew... believed... but I never could have imagined..."
"Shh," said the man, and put a strong hand on Axebourne's wild red mane, father touching son. "Your awe is enough, for now. Words are not needed. Later, you will know the songs of rightful praise. Hear their melodies? They fly to me from the City yonder." He pointed beyond the hills, in the direction of the sun. Axebourne did indeed hear the sound of song, though he could not understand the words.
"Blacksmith," Axebourne started. "It doesn't seem right. It doesn't seem like enough."
"It is the best you have learned, is it not?" the man smiled. "Someday, I will teach you a better name. Come, stand and walk with me."
Axebourne obeyed, and they continued down the golden path. He knew now that they were moving toward the unseen City. What awaited him there?
"I will show it to you," said the Blacksmith, "but you will not tarry there long. You will not want to leave once you have known the joys of the Glorious People."
"Am I to leave, then?" Axebourne asked. He wasn't worried or disappointed, merely curious. Up until now, he had never been unwilling to follow the Glorious Path. Whatever came next, he was also willing to do.
"Yes, son," said the Blacksmith. "There is more for you to do. You will miss the peace of this place, and yet you will take much of it with you. A new time is coming upon your world, and I desire to send one back who is able to stand through it all. Yes, one, and more."
"What must I do, father?"
"Do as you have done, my son. You were given the gift of Surety. You were able to stand beneath the weight of giants and not lose your feet. You were able to lead men and women and yet serve them in every battle. There is but one thing you must do differently, for now."
"What is it?"
"Offer retreat," said the Blacksmith, looking directly into Axebourne's eyes. It was an imperative without hardness, an admonition without blame. "If your enemy listens and turns away from you, let him flee, so long as he keeps his back to you. If he turns toward you again, or off to either side, you may do whatever is necessary to send him back to me."
"So I really will enter battle again," said Axebourne. He'd never known for sure if that teaching about the Glorious Paths was true.
"You will," said the Blacksmith, "but not as you have seen it depicted." He laughed, a hearty sound that shook the ground and rippled the air. An immensely powerful expression of real humor.
"I do not sweat when I work," he said, voice low and amused. "Nor do I wield my hammer so directly as the artists like to imagine. Of course I understand that it may feel that way sometimes. My ways cannot be so easily understood. Someday, you will know all, as I do. Until then, know that I do not tire, nor do I seek the harm of anyone, whether for my own ends or any other."
"Yes, father," Axebourne said. "Am I to be a priest, then?"
"Oh you all are, son," said the Blacksmith with a smirk. "You all tend to one idol or another, and those that believe in the Glorious Paths proclaim them as they live their lives. You, though, shall remain a great warrior."
If Axebourne had been capable of worry, he would have felt a great relief at this statement. As it was, he felt only the memory. There was no room for relief, for he felt more than complete already.
"When I go back," he said, "will I feel pain, worry, sorrow
