by James Somers
“This looks interesting,” I commented to Sophia. She smiled but said nothing. I could tell she was trying hard not to think of her father. I gripped her hand a little tighter, hoping to offer what comfort I could as we started down below the Great Hall.
With the surprisingly ample light available in the cavernous chamber opening below, I observed the spiral stair itself. The steps were broad alabaster platforms where two people could stand easily side by side. However, the steps had no construction supporting them. They appeared to float in their stations, precisely spaced, without the slightest hesitation when we trod upon them.
There were no handrails present, and for a moment I felt slightly off balance.
“Don’t worry about falling,” Donatus said from ahead. “The stair and the invisible barrier that surrounds its descent into the Forge were magically constructed long ago by our forefathers.”
I reached out to the edge of the step and brushed against an invisible surface. It pushed back against my touch with force equal to my own.
“Like two magnets repelling each other,” I mused.
Sophia brushed her fingertips along the other side, smiling as she experienced the phenomena for herself. “Amazing,” she said.
Uriah did the same. “I wonder if such a thing might be effectively employed as a barrier against one’s enemies,” he said.
“A good thought,” I whispered.
The Forge happened to be a cave that expanded outward in every direction as we went deeper beneath the ground. To my surprise, there was a great deal of activity.
“I thought you spent your time contemplating peace,” I said.
Donatus paused as we reached the end of the steps below. “We are not blind to what is happening around us,” he said. “The elves prepare for war, while we hope for peace.”
The cavern had been extensively renovated from its natural state. I noticed that, despite its irregular shape, the walls of the Forge had been smoothed and inscribed with many symbols of the elf language. Massive columns stood between the floor and ceiling, supporting the city above. Alcoves and rooms were lightened by magical means while elves in dark tunics manipulated flame and steel, molding weapons of warfare that were exquisitely fashioned.
Donatus stopped as a large door opened on its own before us.
“To each of you I would bestow a gift that is suited to you,” he said. “This is one of our armory holds. You may browse through our selections and claim the weapon that calls to you.”
“Calls to us?” Charlotte asked. “What do you mean?”
“The weapons are enchanted,” Tom explained. “It is said that a warrior will be drawn to the weapon that was fashioned for him.”
“But the elves did not know we were coming,” I said. “How could they have made weapons for us?”
“The blacksmiths forged the weapons you’ll see,” Donatus explained. “Our master spell casters then drew from the spiritual plane the attributes that present themselves for each item.”
“How does that work?” Sophia asked.
“It’s complicated,” Donatus said. “To tell the truth, I was always more adept at fighting than spell casting.”
We walked inside, following Donatus again. Immediately, I was struck by a set of silver armor on a mannequin. A sword was in the mannequin’s hands. Light seemed to emanate from its blade.
Donatus smiled when he looked upon the set. “Years ago, these weapons of war called to me,” he said. “It was no audible voice, but I knew they were meant for me just the same. Take your time. Be at peace and listen with your whole heart.”
I watched as our group wandered away into the armory with its alabaster walls and glinting lights emanating from every polished surface. Uriah paused in a section that seemed unusual to me. I had not realized that elves might become gunsmiths.
My troll friend’s eyes lit up as he picked up a custom made rifle. Its wood was not stained and the weapon possessed polished hardware and a telescopic sight mounted on the top. The rifle seemed to have been molded to Uriah’s large nimble hands.
He raised the stock to his shoulder, looking through the scope at an object across the room. When he lowered it again, I thought I had never seen him so pleased.
Donatus came up behind him. “This weapon, like all of these, has special properties that are particular to its nature.”
“What do you mean?” Uriah asked.
“If you desire the weapon to become a pistol, you only need to will it into form,” Donatus explained. “And this gun will never run out of ammunition.”
“You’re kidding,” Uriah joked.
“You don’t know my father,” Tom said from across the room. “He never jokes.”
“And some people never stop joking,” Donatus said, grinning in Tom’s direction.
“Is the rifle calling to you, Uriah?” Sophia asked.
“It’s hard to put my finger on it,” he admitted. “But it does seem like it was made just for me.”
“As I said, follow your heart,” Donatus said. “This is how they were forged by our smiths.”
Sophia smiled at me, letting go of my hand. “Might as well give it a try,” she said.
I followed at a distance, leaving Uriah to the weapon of his choosing, curious to know what Sophia would find to suit her particular interests. Across from the row of weapons where we walked, I noticed Charlotte with a pair of long fighting knives, similar to the ones I had seen her use during the fire at Oliver’s London home. Tom was explaining to her how the blades would never dull and that they could be rendered invisible.
Sophia walked on ahead of me, looking back and forth at various swords and knives. War hammers and axes were also in abundance, but none of these seemed to capture her fancy. Then she paused at one item sitting atop of a small marble pedestal.
I caught up with her. “What is it?” I asked.
The item was a black rod that appeared to be nothing more than a leather bound grip.
“I’m not sure,” Sophia said. “But it does draw me to look and wonder at it.”
Donatus appeared behind me. His ability to sneak up on someone was uncanny. I wondered then about his admission at having been a skilled warrior.
“Pick it up,” Donatus said to Sophia.
She did so. Though we were expectant, nothing else happened. Sophia looked incredulously at Donatus.
“Is that it?” she asked.
Donatus smiled kindly at her. “Will the weapon to reveal its true nature to you.”
Sophia looked at me then back to the rod in her hand. A second later the rod had extended itself in both directions. A black cord joined both ends, forming a bow. Over the past year, I had learned much about the Lycan princess—in particular that she was highly skilled with the bow.
Sophia smiled, but she still looked puzzled. “Arrows?”
“Draw the bow,” Donatus instructed.
She began to drag her index and middle fingers across the bowstring. A black arrow shaft appeared between her fingers. She removed her hand and the arrow disappeared again.
“Brilliant,” she said. “I love it.”
“I suppose it possesses unlimited ammunition also?” I guessed.
Donatus nodded. “We make the finest weapons in Xandrea’s Forge. You should look for yourself now.”
“I’m still waiting to see what Tom picks,” I said, deferring everyone’s attention to him instead.
“Don’t bother, Brody,” he said. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Charlotte immediately elbowed him in the ribs.
“Tom is a spell caster,” Donatus said. “And he is very adept.”
“Not as powerful as Brody, Father. He could end up more skilled than Oliver James was.”
“Really?” Donatus mused. “Then I’m even more interested to see what might call to you in this room.”
With all eyes upon me, I went ahead, searching through the cache of weapons the elves had left in the armory. However, after nearly a
half hour of wandering down every isle and perusing every display, I still had not experienced the drawing sensation the others had described. It seemed nothing at all would happen.
Then I sensed something unusual. Donatus picked up on the sudden change in my expression.
“You feel the call?” Donatus asked.
I turned around and around again. Then I followed the pull I was experiencing. This sensation took me out of the armory and down another stone stair leading toward a group of elves who were operating one of the many furnaces located in the Forge. They looked up from the foundry as I approached. Donatus and the rest of our group followed me.
Hanging from hooks on the walls were several unfinished swords. Some had been in the fired already and beaten upon the anvil nearby. Others were in their raw state—little more than long bars of metal waiting to be crafted.
One piece, in particular, drew my attention. The metal was oddly colored and possessed a swirling, marble-like pattern. “What is this?” I asked.
“Malak-esh,” one of the elf smiths said.
I turned to Donatus. “What does it mean?”
“Angel fire,” he said. “Because that is the only kind of fire that can produce the necessary heat to forge this unknown metal.”
“I don’t understand,” I admitted.
Donatus removed the bar of strange metal from its hook, turning it over in his hands.
“This bar is the remaining half of a bar that was used in the forging of a very unique weapon. There is only one in existence. It was forged with the help of an angel called—”
“Southresh,” I said.
Donatus looked surprised, as did the smiths standing by. “You know of Southresh?” he asked.
“He’s my father,” I said. “Oliver is my brother.”
Donatus did not immediately reply. He looked a bit shaken by the revelation.
When he got his voice again, he said, “That explains why this has called to you. The other called to your brother long ago—a sword of singular quality.”
“I’ve never seen Oliver carry a sword,” I said.
“It may not have been in the form of a sword at the time, but I’m sure Oliver would not have parted with it,” Donatus said.
“The wolf’s head cane,” I said. “That must be it.”
“That would be appropriate,” Donatus said, “but the sword would only reveal itself to Oliver. Perhaps, as a son of Southresh, it might also transform for you.”
“I don’t know its location,” I said. “Oliver probably has it with him in Tartarus.”
Donatus frowned at this news. “I was not aware,” he said.
“We hope to restore him to this world, soon,” Uriah added, casting a glance my way.
“What are the unique properties of the sword?” Sophia asked. She was still holding onto the diminished black grip of her new bow.
“The sword that I saw could cut through anything we had,” Donatus said. “And it had the ability to focus and magnify Oliver’s power.”
“That would be substantial in Oliver’s case,” Charlotte said.
Tom grinned at me. “I wonder what would happen if Brody wielded it.”
“We’ll soon find out,” Donatus said, handing me the metal bar.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“As a son of Southresh, you might be able to produce the necessary heat to forge this twin of Malak-esh.” He smiled. “I remember when Oliver took possession of the sword nearly a century ago. The blade became a flaming torch in his hand.”
“A flaming sword?” I asked.
“Yes,” Donatus said. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
I glanced at Sophia and the others. “More than interesting, if memory serves.”
I held the bar of metal in my hands, but willed my copy of the scriptures to appear from the spiritual plane where it remained with me always, waiting to be called onto the physical plane—sort of a dimensional closet where I had learned to store things I could not always conveniently carry with me. On the spiritual plane, I had a gaggle of necessary items hovering about me at any given time.
The blessed book appeared, hovering in the air between Donatus and myself. “Genesis chapter three,” I said.
The cover opened, pages flipping to the right until the book and chapter I had requested lay before me.
“You possess the Word?” Donatus asked.
I looked up from the Bible to his confused expression. “Yes, is that a problem?” I asked.
“But you said you were born of Southresh. How is it that you keep the Word of God close to you?”
“I was born because of Southresh,” I explained. “However, the man I consider to be my real father was a pastor. He taught me to place my full confidence in God’s son, Jesus, in order to have my sins cleansed away.”
Donatus looked at the others and finally to his own son. “Tom, is that even possible?”
“So I’ve been told,” he replied a little sarcastically. “I’m not sure I believe it.”
Sophia stepped toward Donatus, placing her hand on his arm. “My father and I were also perplexed when Brody explained his faith in the Creator,” she explained. “But we were convinced that he speaks the truth, and that the Creator’s Word also teaches that we can be forgiven.”
“But we are not mortals,” Donatus said. “Can we be accepted by God?”
“Ah, but you are partly mortal,” I answered. “Descendants are the product of angels and mortals. We are all partly human, and we can all be saved by what Jesus did on the cross for us. No mortal is acceptable to God apart from that sacrifice, Donatus. All have sinned and come short of the glory of God. And we can all be forgiven through faith in his son.”
“Descendants have always learned that we are abominations from our births—that we have no path to eternal life,” Donatus explained. He and Tom seemed to be glaring at each other while he was speaking with me.
“Having lies taught to you doesn’t make them true,” I offered. “You know now. The question is what will you do with that knowledge? Trust God as your savior, or go on denying him?”
“Must I have an answer now?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “After all, it is the most important decision anyone ever makes. But I wouldn’t procrastinate about it either. We never know what day will be our last.”
Donatus nodded, grinning at Tom again, and then turned to the blacksmiths standing by. “Let us see if Oliver’s brother can draw Malak-esh from this bar of cold metal.”
Tempering
Grayson walked down the darkened empty street. Sparse clouds drifted by a waning moon. Gas lamps stood like tiny islands of light on a sea of fog. The moisture cooled his skin and would have made his clothing damp if not for his spell preventing it.
He did not enjoy discomfort. Passing beggars here and there along his way, Grayson felt no pity for their situation. They were mortals, after all, and beneath contempt as far as he was concerned. In his estimation, to be born a Descendant was greater than the birthright of human royalty. For a man to be descended from another man was worth very little. But to be born of angels was a heritage worth having.
Grayson followed the call of his father, wondering when Tiberius and his vampires would move out into the rest of London. As of today, they were still confined to central London. Tiberius had reportedly seized the palace at Westminster already, and was busy bringing his vampires from their underground city to the portal that joined the castle of the giants and London.
As far as Grayson was concerned, they were welcome to it. England’s power was diminishing. Her empire had been in decline for years, as colonies seized their independence and separated. There was little to be done for it. The world was changing. Why take power here when a greater prize waited across the sea, ripe for the picking?
A human form stumbled out of the fog, nearly colliding with Grayson as he passed under a street light. The man was dressed in the clothes of a commoner and smelled of sweat, though not of alc
ohol. More noticeable than anything else, he was clutching his throat. Hot blood gushed between his fingers onto the ground. Terror was in his eyes.
The man attempted to grab hold of Grayson, but he disappeared and reappeared several feet away. Instead, the man took hold of the streetlight, gasping for breath.
“Help me,” he croaked. He was barely able to stand.
Grayson stood apart as another much larger form emerged from the fog. Coils of mist parted and released Alexander from their clutches as he came into the light behind the dying commoner. There was blood upon his lips, which parted as he smiled down at Grayson Stone.
“I see you’re still inhabiting that horrid creature,” Grayson said, seeing no reason to hide his distaste.
“Only making the most of an opportunity,” Alexander said, though it was Lucifer in control. “The vampires have voracious appetites. They’re really very simplistic in nature. Makes them easy to control.”
The commoner lost his trembling grip on the lamp post and on his wound. A pool of blood had gathered around his feet already. He stumbled, breathed a final labored breath and then fell face first onto the cobbled road. Neither Grayson or the big vampire paid the man’s expiration any attention.
“You summoned me?” Grayson asked.
“One moment,” he replied.
Lucifer removed himself from Alexander in that moment, appearing behind the vampire in a human physical manifestation. Alexander teetered momentarily before coming back to his own mind. He immediately took up the scent of blood nearby, looking at the dead commoner in the street. He also spotted Grayson standing a few feet from him.
Alexander licked the blood from his lips. Spotting a victim, he then lunged toward Grayson. Lucifer’s son did not flinch from the attack, but countered it with a lightning quick dodge. He grabbed one of Alexander’s outstretched hands in the process and wrenched the big vampire to the ground with uncommon strength and skill.
Alexander started to cry out as Grayson’s touch sapped him of his life, but his strength gave out almost instantly. He collapsed, and Grayson threw down his large hand in disgust.