by Demetri Grim
“Really, you’re allowed to say that about him?” Beka glowered, her hands landing on her hips with a huff. “You’re not even the one who was getting all the weird looks.”
“Aye I am allowed.” He paused, giving her a concerned look. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he passed.” I know, the looks he gave ya Beka, they bothered me as well, thats why im going out.” He donned the heavy cloak and walked to the door. “I doubt the good Lord Creepystar will return today.” He chuckled at his own joke before pausing to look at her with a cautious and uncertain smile. ”Lock the doors when I leave and, move your work back to your workstation. We're closing down the shop for the day. Doubt we are going to get anyone else.” He hesitated and watched the rain streak the window a moment before bundling his oil skin tighter around himself, not looking back to her. “I may take a stop by the tavern on my way back. I, ahh, have some questions to ask about our dear patron.” Pulling the door open he looked back to her raising his voice over the sound of the rain. “ Don't go digging for that ingot ya hear me! Etherium is dangerous, even when its refined! I’ll show ya how to work with it when I get back!” With that he ducked his head and set off into the rain.
Chapter 3: Designing Distractions
Beka paused in her work. It had been nearly two weeks to the day that the elven lord had visited the smithy. She groaned, her mind kept wandering back to the night her uncle had returned late from gathering the True Silver needed for the commissioned spear. When he had claimed he was heading to the tavern for information, she had assumed he would come back stinking of ale, laughing and making an ass of himself as he always did. That was normal for him when he spent the night drinking with his buddies and Marcus, the old dwarf who ran the import and exchange shop on the far side of town. He was her uncle’s oldest friend and like most dwarves, a professional drinker.
That night however he had come back stone cold sober, a bundle under one arm and a haunted expression on his face. She had been awake of course. Too anxious to sleep given the events of the day. So when the creak of the floor downstairs signaled her uncle’s return and she came out from her room to meet him, expecting to help the old drunk to his cot in the forge room, she was terribly mistaken. She shivered as the memory of her uncle’s face returned to her. His expression cold, distant, almost haunted eyes gazed through her. His tanned leather complexion was a deathly pale. He walked as if possessed. She shifted on her stool, the image of her uncle that night replaying over in her mind. Her uncle had never looked so afraid, never sounded so afraid when he bid her a goodnight.
Planting her elbow on the desk she blew at a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. The rain had stopped a few days after the elf’s visit, and her uncle devoted himself to forging the weapon. Even forsaking old and loyal customers who had begun to turn up at the shop to ask about their orders and place new ones for the coming tournament. Several even pulled her aside to ask if he was alright. She had made up an excuse about the rains putting them behind schedule, making her uncle unable to get a good night's sleep and causing his temper to get short in his old age. It was not a lie really but it was certainly not the reason for his behavior. She still needed to find out what he learned to put him in such a state. Nodding to herself, her mind settled and her current task came back into focus. She had work to do. “I’ll just ask him again what is wrong, or at least I'll ask what he found out at the tavern. Tonight, if I get the chance.” Beka said, mumbling to herself.
The entire first week she had hounded her uncle with questions as they forged the ingots together and worked them into her uncle’s spear design. At that time her only task was to turn the glowing hot ingots of true silver over between hammer strikes, or return the weapon to the heat again once it began to cool. She had lots of time to pepper him with questions. All she got was grunts and a change of topics every time. It was uncharacteristically non-committal responses from her usually friendly and chatty uncle. He had gotten better once the spear was out of his hands, taking up working on other projects. Thought he did not or would not talk about his obsessed focus on the order. His eyes going distant almost vacant when ever she brought it up. She had to once again let it rest and ask about it later.
Once they had finished forging the weapon, her uncle had presented it to her with the fanfare of a knight bestowing a gift to a damsel. At the time she just wanted to rolled her eyes trying not to laugh at the ridiculous gesture but took it with an over dramatic bow of her own. She then trotted off to her work station.
She loved her small workspace. She had spent days decorating and organizing it from what it was before, a small storage room for broken or failed orders. Now it was her private office. At least that is what she had come to think of it, better than thinking she was just working in a shed. This little room was her own private sanctuary. Her uncle treated is if it was hers to do as she pleased and let her clutter the walls and shelving with all manner of design sketches and the broken pieces of weapons and armor that the shop had picked up over the years. Most of them had some sort of design or emblem that had caught her eye and she wanted to keep a few around for inspiration as she worked.
With the spear more or less finished it was in her hands now for filigree. Beka smiled, as a loud crash came from the wall behind her followed by the shout and curse of her uncle dropping something. She was glad to see her uncle returning to normal.
Scrunching her nose as the loose strand of hair tickled it. Tugging her hand from a thick wool lined leather glove and tucked the offending stray behind her ear. Biting the hem of the mit she shoved her hand back in. Flexing her hand in the oversized glove her eyes came to rest on a glinting coil of red gold wire. It looked very much like a spool of her own hair. The etherium, her uncle had melted and shaped into filigree wire a few days ago. Her heart skipped a beat as she reached out for the spool.
Taking in a breath she pulled the fine strand of red gold free, careful to not let it touch any part of her. She cut it with a pair of enchanted cutters her uncle had made for this project the day he gave her the spear. Her excitement for the legendary ore was starting to wain after her first attempt to work with the mystical metal. Etherium in its raw state is naturally infused with so much magic that it bleeds out into its surroundings as a thick poisonous arcane aura. Touching the ore unrefined or lingering for even a few moments to long in the surrounding aura poisons the person with an incurable arcane sickness. A debilitating condition that caused the infected to burn up from the inside as raw magic slowly devours their body. Once refined however the ore becomes a magical conduit unlike any other, amplifying and empowering any and all magic used in conjunction with it. It was considerably difficult to get into a refined state and was sought after by mages and priests alike for its potential to change even the simplest spell into something far greater.
Beka glanced back to the table where she worked. A chunk of polished steel roughly the same shape as the spear head leaned against the wall directly under a flickering oil lamp. She had first used a length of thin iron wire on the scrap of steel to create her design. Her uncle claimed she was quickly becoming one of the best at filagree in the city. She smiled to herself and straightened the red gold wire, her mind drifting to the last project she worked on. A gilded pair of silver and gold bracers with contrasting filigree, one of her best works she had to admit. It sold very well, after it was enchanted. It was so well received in fact she was given a job offer at the local jeweler. One of the richest nobles in the market district. He insisted his jewellers worked with the art form that was filigree more than a smith ever will. She wrinkled her nose remembering how mad the man was when she turned him down. Lifting the wire over the top of the lantern, she heated it slightly.
Flexing the wire Beka held her breath, slowly lowering the coil. She would have only one shot at getting the pattern right seeing as her uncle had nearly destroyed the smelter in the backyard of the smithy melting down the ingot. The magical ore needed intense heat to work with and
once it was set it would be impossible to alter again. She had to lay the pattern perfectly the first time. So of course the pattern she picked to use on the final project was extremely complex. Biting her bottom lip in concentration, she planned her next placement. She loved making filigree, watching the patterns come together and create something fantastic. To twist metal into art despite its hard, cold, and often unyielding state.
Turning to the spear on her work table, she gauged it with a critical eye. Lining up the wire to match the pattern on the spear. To her the spear looked like an exceptionally long and extremely thin spade. The idea that it was a glorified farming tool made her wrinkle her nose and bite her tongue as she tried to avoid offending her dear uncle with her laughter. He would no doubt think it was directed at him for the outburst moments before. So she resigned herself to snickering instead. Lowering the red gold strand onto the weapon she set it into place and leaned back with a sigh, taking in the spear in its entirety.
It was a hewing spear, or so her uncle had told her, good for slashing and thrusting but not the most ideal for throwing unlike most spear designs. The entire thing was unwieldy to her, with over two feet of gleaming sharp blade above her head on a weapon that felt almost twice her size, maneuvering around it on her work bench made her nervous. The blade itself ended in a razor thin point, that as far as she could tell had not even been sharpened yet. Its widest section where she was placing most of her filigree was only a palm’s width and about a foot long, before it curved gracefully back into a six foot pole of solid true silver. The entire thing was forged as a single piece. The shaft was about two inches thick and looked as if it had been twisted into a silver braid, ending in a coiled metal ring. She tapped her fingers against her lips feeling the chapped skin there and she wet her lips with her tongue, coming to a decision. She wanted to run a line of etherium down the shaft but the spool was starting to look a little bare.
“I’ll just have to finish my pattern and see if I have any leftover,” she mumbled to herself.
It had been three days already from when her Uncle gave her the weapon. “Almost done, just a few more lines and then I can take a break.” She took a slow breath and calmed herself, her heart racing once more as she reached for the spool. Her hand hesitating inches away from it. “Come on Beka that's what the gloves are for.” She withdrew her hand and slapped her palms together before wringing them out and reaching for the spool again. She had finished one side of the spear in record time because of etherium the first day. In her enthusiasm she had chosen to use her bare hands with the rare metal despite her uncle’s warning that it was not to be handled without caution. She figured it was just a figure of speech seeing as they only had a limited supply and one chance to get it right. That had not been the case and now she knew it. Simply holding the metal made her heart race as if she had just received a shock. Not quite like touching metal on a stormy day, more like the rushing heartbeat you get after someone jumps out at you in the dark, or someone you like holds your hand for the first time. Except the rushing blood and pounding heart never fades. Remaining as long as she touched the strange red gold metal.
At first she thought it was exhilarating, empowering, allowing her to focus and work better than she ever had before. After she had gone the first full day without eating, or sleeping, or tending to any of her basic needs. Her uncle had forced her to put the red gold coil of wire down. Literally having to pry her hands free of the spool and drag her way from the table. She blanched and felt sick to her stomach at the memory, coiling another length of wire around a hooked tool and snipping it free. When she was pulled free of the metal that first day, all of the exhaustion, hunger, and bodily functions that she should have felt over the day came flooding back in a wave that nearly knocked her out, among other more, unfortunate things. She chose to use gloves from then on and rely on her tools instead. “I liked those pants, damnit.” She grumbled, her mind wandering once more as she held the wire over the lantern, before carefully placing it onto the blade.
She took a deep breath and shot a glance to her iron pattern. It had been three days of constant work, nearly from sun up to well past sundown. Now she had only one placement left. Once finished with each side she had been instructed to cover the blade in a soft grey clay her uncle had mixed for her and prepare it for the final casting. It was not how she was accustomed to doing filigree, that was for sure. The metal was usually melted and placed directly onto the piece as tiny droplets and small coils. They would cool and harden in place, leaving a pattern. Often times a groove would be carved with a pick or chizzle to help keep the filigree in place and map out the pattern. The true silver however had a bit of magic to it already making it very hard to dent or mar, making carving a pattern impossible. On top of that to work with etherium Montgomery had said that the two metals would need to be heated together one last time in a fire hotter than they had ever used before. Doing so would bond the etherium into the true silver of the blade forever. She had never seen two metals merge together without simply melting the entire weapon down but etherium was definitely unique, and a lot more trouble than she had originally imagined. She just hoped nothing got shifted around on the side she already had covered in clay as she worked.
Beka blew out a sigh and adjusted the flickering light of the oil lamp, pushing up her homemade goggles and blinking a few times as her eyes adjusted. Tucking the strand of hair that persisted to come loose behind her ear once more. She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hands. Slipping her goggles from her head she fumbled around her workspace feeling for the tiny screwdriver she had made for them. “I know you're around here somewhere.” she said and tossed a sheaf of parchment to the floor, finding the tool underneath. “Got ya!” She needed to make an adjustment to the magnifying lense she had mounted on the goggles. In truth her "goggles" were just a single old jeweler’s glass stuffed through a strip of leather with a hole for her other eye cut into it. She had covered over the opening of her other eye with a clear disk of glass. She had painstakingly sanded the disk of mostly clear glass smooth from the bottom of a broken bottle her uncle and brought home with him on one of his benders. The unsightly goggles were then held tight to the back of her head by a boot strap.
Twisting the jeweler’s lens, she smiled at her handywork. Her uncle had nearly keeled over in a fit of laughter the first time she paraded into the forge proudly wearing the ridiculous headpiece. But after she showed him the fine details she could achieve using the goggles he conceded their use with a barely contained snort and red faced nod of approval. That was a year ago and he still snickered under his breath about them, always trying to rib her horribly when she forgot to take them off. Especially when she wandered to the front to help customers.
Leaning back forward she picked up her smallest set of tweezers, carefully cutting a tiny half-inch strand of the mystical metal and with a held breath set the final placement of the etherium wire. “Thank the gods!” She leaned back with a satisfied sigh. The blade was complete! Rubbing the back of her neck she looked at the remaining mystical metal wire, not much of it was left, six to eight inches at most. “Should I find some place else to use it? Or Just give it back to Uncle?” Picking up the coil she chewed at her bottom lip again and slowly started to wind the thin cord around her finger, it sent a tingle into her palm and down her arm even through the glove. “I wonder if any one would even notice if I used it all.”
“Beka, I'm going to turn in for the night.” Her uncle’s voice called to her from the doorway. She squeaked and jumped with a start, her face reddening in her surprise before turning to answer back.
“Uncle! you startled me!” She pouted with her nose scrunched in mock irritation, hiding the momentary embarrassment at getting startled, and quickly stamping down where her train of thoughts had taken her. She had no doubt even the tiny scrap of etherium she had wrapped around her finger was worth more than they would make for half the year. The fact her mind had considered simply pocketing the rare metal
made her feel uneasy and she wondered if it was somehow affecting her despite the gloves and her lack of innate magic. Mages in particular were known to covet the metal, even kill for it. She shivered considering the implications of the elven lord bringing them an ingot of the metal as if it was simply another day at market.
“Sorry about that.” Montgomery said earnestly before letting out a wide yawn, his eyes drooping sleepily. He had been working non-stop, letting himself rest for only a few hours at a time since he passed the spear onto her. “I've been trying to catch up on those hell-forsaken orders we put on hold. I think I'm getting too old for burning the midnight oil. Unlike some reckless pipsqueeks I know.” His tone tired but teasing, he smiled and yawned again, eyes twinkling in her flickering lantern light as he peered over to her workstation. “How's the blade coming along? Yer not going bare knuckle the damned stuff again just to make the deadline are ya?”
“No uncle I’m not.” She said flatly. She had already spent the entire first day zoned out, working on the weapon like a possessed woman, along with the early end of the rain they were well ahead of schedule. They would be done right when the elf had demanded the delivery. It seriously irked her. It made her wonder if the creepy elf lord had known something they both did not about the storm. A storm sorcerer perhaps? They are one of the most powerful arcanists found on the twin worlds if not the most powerful. It might explain why he had so much etherium to spare. He didn't need the power boost from the ore. The idea of it sent shivers down her spine and she once again wondered what her uncle had learned of the man.
She turned to stand, about to inquire once more about their creepy patron when her uncle yawned and dipped against the doorframe. Beka sighed, her words dying in her throat. Not wanting to press her questions on that subject with her uncle dozing in her doorway. She answered his question instead. “I'm almost done, in fact I just finished the last coil for the design I came up with.” She looked down to her hand and the red gold metal twined around her finger. The tingling in her arm slowly crept towards her chest, her heart was starting to beat ever so slightly faster, the onset of the reaction she had that first day. She shook her head and quickly unwound the coil, spinning it back onto the spool. “There is still a little bit of the etherium wire left. I was thinking of finding a place on the handle or perhaps the end to use it but...” She trailed off looking up to her uncle as he came into the room.