Forged Destiny: The Forge Series, #2

By Roy Troyer

Adventure. Exploration of the human condition. All woven into a grand tapestry…

 

In this allegory, join Talon Forge on his youthful quest for a brighter destiny. Brutal work at the forges and a dogmatic culture are behind him. The world is at his disposal. Unfortunately, he finds rejection, suffering and darkness awaiting him. The Xandrian estate is the first place he finds that offers hope and light. But also a cross. He detests this and is easily persuaded by Lumen, who is crossing the Xandrian estate, to travel with him to an island called Prospect.

 

To get to it, they must go to a harbor called Wide Gate, sail the Sea of Delusion and dock at the Port of Inflamed Imagination. There is light and happiness in abundance as the voyage begins. All is luxury and decadence. But Talon can't fit in. And he discovers an undercurrent of hostility despite all the accommodations. After serving time in the oar room and eventually being evicted from the ship on a raft, will he get to Prospect somehow? If so, will he finally find his utopia, or just more putrid darkness beneath a shiny surface?

 

Forged Destiny is a thought provoking and captivating allegory containing timeless truths and timely insights. Readers of John Bunyan's allegories would enjoy this tale!

 

Buy Forged Destiny to join Talon on his quest, today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roy Troyer
• Release date: May 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201860288

Book preview

Chapter 1

The morning did not dawn. Darkness only lessened by small degrees until a gray fog remained.

This is as good as it will get, I whispered. It’s been this way for too long.

I paused and considered. Twenty is not very old though. And I had light and joy plentifully right after leaving Forgeria. Sometime soon I will find a road that contains light and happiness forevermore. Or at least until my dying day. I resumed walking with my eyes on the dusty trail under my feet. Wisps of dust choked me now and then, but it was a welcome diversion from the stale air.  

But what about after you die?

My head swung up. The vestiges of someone in a white robe flashed before me and disappeared into the woods on my right.

Not you again, I muttered, then raised my voice. "What about after I die? Isn’t each day’s trouble enough to keep me busy? How am I going to concern myself with matters of eternity? Anyway, I have many years before that happens. Hopefully."

What about your young friend who died in the mines you were supposed to be in while you watched sheep in his stead?

I tensed at the memory I’d almost blotted out. His case was one in thousands—and besides, I’m not in the mines anymore.

I could hear the beginnings of a whispered response, drowned a second later by the bellowing of many voices behind me. I turned as the outlines of a group marched around the bend of a hill. Their arms swung loosely, their feet danced, and their laughter echoed throughout the valley. The surrounding grayness lightened a bit. The air assumed a fresher strain as a slight breeze blew in woodsy smells from the forest. I smiled, relieved at the interruption.

I slowed my pace, and soon the group marched beside me. Their clip was fast. Their faces were set before them. No one glanced my way.

What’s the occasion? I yelled. Got room for one more?

They paused.

Silence.

The grayness settled in again. The air became stale. After staring at me for a moment, the whole group shuffled their feet again; their heads drooped.

It’s easy to bring an end to it and hard to get it started again, said a member of the group—a man who looked about ten years older than me.

At least it is much easier to start it and keep it going with a group than it is by yourself, said another.

I think this young bopper could stand a thrashing for interrupting our momentum anyway, said the first.

Well, said the second, I see your point. The skies were getting lighter, the grass was a little greener, and I may have even heard a few birds singing. However, if we thrash the young man, it will take longer to get back into it again.

True, the first speaker said, stroking his beard.

I glanced from one face to the next. My apologies. I should have joined your group and made no fuss about it. I guess I am rather inexperienced in the methods of chasing away this grayness.

Ah, no mistake about it, he really is a youngin’, said a third voice from the crowd. We’ve all been there, haven’t we?

Many nodded in agreement. A few slapped me on the back and offered words of encouragement, but soon they ignored me as some sang a low song and shuffled their feet a little faster, apparently to start the flow of happiness again. Nothing seemed to change, despite all our best efforts. Some grumbled, and some glanced at me from the corners of their eyes. I hung back a bit, hoping to let them continue without me. I wanted to crawl under a boulder.

Hey, I see some blueberries over yonder, I said, pointing. Glum eyes followed my finger. Murmurs erupted as they apparently spotted the berries. Everyone scrambled, elbowing his neighbor or outright pushing to gain an advantage. I hung back, thinking I could redeem myself by letting them all get their fill first. When I made it to the patch of berries, none were left.

Ah, said the one who had wanted to thrash me earlier, the grayness lessens.

The rest murmured similar sentiments. One spread his frame on the ground and dozed off. The others followed his example, and soon there was a patchwork of serene faces pointed heavenward, and only I was standing.

I shrugged, glad to have appeased them, and took a seat on a rock and leaned back. Since we were on a hill, I could rest my head on the dry earth behind me without leaning back too far. As I glanced skyward, I noticed clouds parting and smatterings of sunshine peeping through. I hadn’t seen a sight like this in many days. I drifted off.

A short while later, I awakened to a terrible fuss. The sound of retching and shouting reached my ears.

Poison, yelled one, they were poison!

Sure enough, it seemed so. They were all bent over, emptying their stomachs. Birds flew away with frenzied chirping. Clouds scudded like faithful shields to cover the sun. Threads of mist seeped into the valley below and rose steadily. I knew it would reach us before long, and then there would be real confusion.

Hey friends, I shouted above the din, we need to get to higher ground or that mist will cover us and there will be real trouble if it lasts a while. Most finished disgorging the berries and squatted with their face in their hands.

One of them cocked his head and peeked in my direction. Swearing, he declared he would have thrashed me if he’d have felt half an ounce better. This, once more, is your fault, he said shaking his fist.

I had no idea—

Others interrupted my defense and murmured obscenities, shaking their fists and making lewd gestures.

"I think I am feeling well enough to begin the job if you all join as you are able," said the one with the beard. He was the one who had wanted to thrash me when we first met. He rose and headed toward me. I detected no malice in his face. Rather, he looked as if he were about to perform a chore. He rolled up his sleeve, and I backed up a few paces.

Now listen here, I meant no harm. I neither meant to quell your merriment earlier nor did I mean to poison you!

That is why I’m not angry. I only see you are an unlucky fellow to be around, and the sooner we rid ourselves of you, the sooner we will return to our normal state of happiness.

Which is an insipid, halfhearted happiness anyway. But if you feel that way, I will leave on my own accord. I do not wish to be where I am not welcome. I whirled and ran. My intent was to run upward, away from the mist and away from my surly companions. However, while talking, I had failed to notice others forming a barrier behind me. Five of them. Though they were sick, they were angry. A few had sticks, and others had rocks.

I felt the sting of the first pebble on my crown. A few sparks floated across the horizon, but I forged ahead, meeting the carnal roadblock with all the courage a man could hope to. A few more pebbles stung as I approached—one in the face, a few in the torso. As I turned my face from the blow I had received there, I saw a stout stick on the ground that would do nicely for a cudgel. Picking it up, I reached my adversaries swinging. My energy and alertness were my only advantage. I knocked out two within seconds before feeling a terrible ache in my knees from a cudgel blow, sending me to the dirt.

I glanced up. My enemies were gasping for air and seemed to work hard to remain erect.  I jumped up, swinging my stick with renewed confidence. The remaining three dropped to the ground. I coiled to jump over them. Before I made it that far, I was hit from behind with rocks at first, but as the men came close enough, they also used sticks and their fists. I returned their wrath, connecting a few blows here and there, but more blows than I could count were raining on me. How was I still standing? And why were they reacting this way?  

I spun around and leaped over the fallen ones, then stumbled and fell on my face on the far side. I dragged myself up, and limping in both legs, made an escape as fast as I could—spitting blood and dirt as I moved. I could hear the mutters, growls, and stomps of my enemies on my heels, but I did not turn. Finally, I detected a distancing in the sound of the wrath behind me. Glancing back, they were sprawled about, panting like wolves—defeated, even in their numbers. The mist had already seeped over the ones I had felled farther down the slope and was rapidly approaching the others. I would be next if I did not keep moving.

No real harm will come of them, I muttered. They will stumble about without food for the duration of the mist. Maybe it will disappear within hours. More likely, it’ll be days though.

I glanced at my battered self briefly. Satisfied I had no wounds that would not heal on their own, I set off up the hill again. I ran my hands over my face and head as I walked. My normally round nose seemed a little flatter than normal. My right temple felt tender but I didn’t feel the warm trickle of blood like I expected. As I felt along my scalp though, I came across tangles of hair, crusted over with blood. I pulled through the tangles and shook the black strands from my hand. I could discover no fresh bleeding, so I relaxed my search.

How had I gone from my quiet, albeit gray, jaunt, to being the wretched pariah of a group I had had no prior affection for or connection to, within a matter of two hours? I remembered similar misunderstandings I’d had with others, but they had not been this dramatic. I thought of a whole trail of rejections I had endured throughout my life. These ranged from being an outcast in school, to not fitting the mold of my religious upbringing, to the trouble I ran into on the job for misunderstandings and not obeying orders. I did not dwell on these often, but in a time like this, I dredged them up easily. I hung my head as a tear slid down my cheek and splashed on the trail.  

I couldn’t decide if I should allow the tears to flow or to dam them up. A real man would not cry over trifles such as petty rejections, would he? I forced the tears back inside. Another layer of callouses crept over my heart as I stumbled up the hill. I held my head up and gritted my teeth, focusing on the horizon.

I attained the horizon after another hour of scrambling over rocks, through brush, and up the face of small clefts. Once there, I sat on a boulder, glancing at the valley behind me. The fog had stopped about two-thirds of the way up. I couldn’t see my previous companions anymore. I looked down the other side. There was no mist there. It seemed like I could safely venture down that side and make a camp somewhere. I scanned the breadth of the valley.

After a bit, I saw a brightly lit house off to the west about three miles. In the grayness, I could make out the shell of another building beside it. It had no lights, so I assumed it was a barn. I scratched that place as an option. Why would I put myself in a position to be a burden again? Rejected again?

A second later, lightning flashed on the hilltop, only a couple of hundred feet away. The thunder that followed shook my bones and chattered my teeth. I scooted down the hill. Without making a conscious decision to do so, I set my face toward the house—vaguely thinking I would resort to its barn if I found no shelter between here and there. 

Rain began to fall when I reached the base of the hill. There was no shelter in sight, so I took the rain like a man with water streaming down my face and my clothes clinging to my body. I held my head high, disdaining the intimidation of the elements. I couldn’t see far, and I soon despaired of finding any natural shelter. I made for the barn as fast as I could.

Since I could not see that far, I relied on my sense of direction and began a slow trot. My heart was weary as I slowed my pace to a labored walk after about a mile from the bottom of the hill. What did I do to deserve this? I yelled to the heavens. In what appeared to be a response, another bolt of lightning struck. This time it was mere feet away, on the path in front of me. The hair on my arms stood on end. The air smelled scorched. Sorry, I yelled, I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.

Another bolt. Closer. I stumbled forward and fell into the mud. My ears rang. I lay gasping for air, hoping no more wrath of Providence would come on me. I thought of father and mother who I’d left miles behind in a fairer land. A fairer land? I hadn’t viewed it as such when I was there. It had been a wearisome and boring land when I left, but now it looked safe and appealing. At least the wrath of Providence was not there. After a few moments, I gathered myself, shaking off my miserable thoughts and as much water as I could.

I trudged on for what seemed an hour or more, finally entering a small wooded area that stood between the barn and me. A twig snapped, followed by the shuffle of leaves, but I could see nothing. The darkness of the storm increased in the dense forest, and I could hardly see twenty feet in front of me. I picked up my pace to a trot, indifferent to the weight of my sopped clothes. Something fluttered about in the branches above me. I glanced over my shoulder frequently, then finally broke through the far side of the forest into the open. Were those outlines of dark figures along the fringes of the forest? I shuddered, looking around, trying to determine which way my destination lay.

From the hilltop, I hadn’t noticed it, but from my vantage point, I could see that the buildings in question were on an elevated plateau. Access to them would require a climb up the face of a tremendous rock. It was not vertical and definitely scalable, but I hesitated. I could plainly see the buildings were situated on the rock for ease of defense. And though I’d thought I’d spotted a house and a barn, they were actually a fortified home of sandstone and a large outbuilding of the same kind.

I thought of calling to the house. I reasoned that if I got caught scaling the rock, they would probably shoot me with a crossbow. But I finally decided to risk it to avoid human interaction. I strode in the rock’s direction, in a hurry to get out of the wind that had developed in addition to the driving rain. They could never hear me over this din anyway, I said to myself.

I moved around to the side where the outbuilding was located, picking up my pace as I advanced toward the rock, wading through tall weeds. As I drew to within twenty feet, the earth suddenly gave way. I flew headlong into a body of water—a moat.

I splashed in confusion, then made my way back toward the shore I had fallen from. I soon saw it was already a ways off. With all my splashing, I had swum the other direction. I swam toward the rock now instead of away from it. I was certain I heard splashes close behind me and that I would soon be a meal to whatever swamp dweller the residents guarded the place with. I found this was not merely imagined as I heard a definite splash at my feet. I glanced behind me as I quickened my pace. The slim mouth of a crocodile broke the surface for another try at my leg. I kicked its snout as hard as I could. The croc seemed angry and plunged after me with renewed energy. I was no match for him and he soon came up beside me, gazing at me with fire in his eyes.

I swore, then repented and called on Providence to come to my help. An arrow swished past my face, lodging itself in the croc’s head. It slumped in the water and I pushed on, soon clambering onto the rock ledge on the far side. I lay sprawled for a moment, gasping and spitting rotten water from my mouth.

You okay, sir?

I did not respond. The voice spoke to someone else, presumably also inside, but it softened and then it disappeared altogether. I heard a door opening nearby and the sound of the man’s voice resumed. Eyes peered at me as I looked up.

Ah, you’re okay, just as I supposed. He slapped my back and pulled me up by my arm. The master of darkness has appointed creatures to dwell in that swamp, to hinder those who would find shelter here. It is not a moat of our making as you seem to have supposed.

Mind if I spend the night? I asked.

Sure enough, you’re mighty welcome. He pointed toward the door he had just come out of.

Who were you talking to? I looked around.

Oh, I was petitioning Providence for your deliverance and safety, sir—that is all. Come.

I followed him through the door and up a stone stairway. At the top, we passed through another door and into the house.

Chapter 2

Crossing the threshold , a roaring fire met me in a hearth along with the flame of torches hung on the walls. Many voices came from a room beyond, mixed with laughter and an occasional shout. The scent of roast beef and freshly baked bread drifted in, apparently from the other room as well. My companion instructed me to disrobe and to hang my clothes on a rack near the fire. He said he would return shortly with dry ones. I peeled off my tattered breeches, a threadbare shirt, and shoes in equally dilapidated condition.

The man returned, and I put on the clothes he offered. He replaced the three items I had hung by the fire and added a waistcoat with an insignia featuring a lion and a lamb along with comfortable stockings, since my new breeches only came to my knees. All were in considerably better condition than what I had been wearing. After I was comfortable, he smiled and offered his hand.

My name is Leonard, he said. Who is it I have the privilege of plucking from the swamp today?

My name is Talon, I said, Talon Forge.

Ah, perhaps one of your grandfathers worked in the forges?

I nodded, fearing he would guess my father still worked there, day in and day out. And that even I had put in my share of time doing the same.

Would you like a shave? He peered at my face.

I snapped out of my thoughts and grazed my fingers over my face. That’s okay, I prefer a bit of scruff.

As you wish. Leonard led the way to a door, and we crossed to the adjoining room where all the noise came from. It was a shock to walk into this melee after my lonely wanderings over the countryside. I hadn’t seen the inside of a home for three months. Leonard led me to a window and pointed. We had a good view of the swamp.

You are fortunate and blessed, sir, he said. I was catching a break from all the goings-on in the main part of the room and had come over here by the window, intending only to stay for a moment or two. I had only been here a few breaths when I noticed a commotion in the water. You know the rest of the story, sir. He clapped me on the shoulder.

Yours is not an unusual story though, he said, indicating the others in the room. Most of these came from the outer darkness, but usually not in such a dramatic fashion as you did. Normally the guards would have been the ones saving you, but you must have landed in the swamp when one of them was absent. The master of darkness calculates even minor details such as that, to ensnare people more effectively, but Providence made a way through me, though I did not know it beforehand.

I glanced at the vast array of people in the room, trying to imagine their stories and how they got there. So you make a practice of housing imbeciles such as me? I asked.

Not I personally, Leonard said. I am but an overseer of this portion of my master’s estate.

Why does he do it?

He has a deep love for the Master he and I both serve—the One from Zion—Providence Himself. The Master from Zion knows my master’s deep love and commitment, and also since my master is in a strategic location, He has asked my master to have a home such as this. A safe place amidst darkness where we lead those who have gone astray to the true Light.

I lifted my chin as he talked. Was there really hope for those such as I who had strayed so far from the path of Light? The path my parents had shown me from youth? It had been years since I’d had any thoughts of real hope or real Light. I glanced across the room.

A voice whispered to me, It may be for them, but it will never be for you. Wretch! What gives you the audacity to think there is hope for someone as wicked as you?

My chin touched my chest. I did not even look for the source of the voice, nor did I think to do so.

Cheer up, Leonard said. Providence makes no mistakes, and I would venture to say in faith that you are here by appointment.

But, sir, I said, you do not understand where these feet have been, what these lips have uttered, what this mind has thought, and what these hands have done!

Then tell me and I’ll know—but it won’t change my mind, he said.

I shook my head. I do nothing with haste, sir. I beg your pardon.

But how often have your feet turned hastily to sin, my son? How often have your hands sped to wickedness? Your eyes to lust? And your tongue to blasphemy?

Each word that came from his mouth carried weight beyond anything I had known before. The hope he had spoken before was more real than any I had ever heard. And the conviction that rent my heart with these last words was painful beyond description. I felt I could fall to the ground in repentance and remorse in front of everyone in the room. My burden was great, and I groaned under the weight of it. But I could not find it in myself to repent.

Repentance is a gift, my son, given sovereignly by the Spirit of Providence. I cannot hasten it and you cannot either, except by asking for it. Come, I will show you your quarters. You may stay until you can find it in yourself to make the journey to Calvary and thus to Zion.

Thank you, I whispered. I followed as he waded through the crowd to the far side of the room. I received what seemed to be sympathetic and curious glances from those in the crowd. I tried not to look anyone in the eye. When we finally reached the far side of the room, I was happy to set foot on the stairs. We climbed the spiraling staircase for quite some time until we reached the top floor of the building. He motioned me into my quarters.

Would you prefer I send someone with a meal or would you rather come down for a late lunch? he asked.

Just send it up if you don’t mind. I think I’ll eat up here and relax for a few hours, then just call it a day and go to sleep early if that’s okay.

"That is fine. I’ll