The Sword Cuts Deep: A Dark Tale of Fantasy

by Wayne C. Hannis

  Chapter Three: Tempering

  Fiona was worried about her husband. For a week now Niall had locked himself away in the shop, forging that sword. She knew he hadn't eaten or slept the whole time. The consistant ringing of the hammer on anvil had ceased the previous evening and it had been quiet all night. There was just an eery silence that left the ding-ding-ding echoing inside her memory. She stood looking out the kitchen window, it seemed she had been standing there for days. The grey morning light was just starting to brighten, but the shadows still lingered. Black soot still emerged from the shop's chimney, although it wasn't as heavy as it had been the last few days and the snow continued to fall unrelentingly. Keava had another bad night, waking up screaming. Fiona had taken her into her bed with her and she still slept there now. Laoch was playing quietly in his room and Nighean was off reading by herself. She needed to go to Niall but for the first time in her marriage she was hesitant to see her husand. She wasn't sure how he would react after the last time. Something was wrong- she felt it deep inside.

  Fiona slipped on her boots, wrapped herself in her cloak and left the warm safety of the house. The snow was deep and Fiona stumbled a few times but saved herself from falling over. The cold wind bit at her face, freezing her cheeks. As she approached Niall's blacksmith shop she noticed obscured tracks around the door. Niall had left during the night- she realized. Her nervousness increased as she reached for the door. Discovering it was unlocked, Fiona turned the knob and pushed it open.

  Thick, black smoke rippled out around the top of the entrance, rising into the air. The smell of rotten eggs hit Fiona in the face and made her gag. The winter light only penetrated a little way in the building, so she couldn't see anything beyond. Stepping inside, the door quickly slammed shut behind her and maded her jump. She could see only black. The heat was stifling compared to the cold outside. She could feel the torridity of the furnace- it felt like needles were pricking her frozen cheeks.

  "Niall?" Fiona asked as she entered.

  Her eyes started to sting as they adjusted to the darkness. Crimson light, radiating out from glowing embers in the forge, was the only illumination. Wisps of black smoke danced their way to the vent, only to escape its pull, curl around, and rise into the rafters accumulating there. It seemed to Fiona that Niall must have turned the flue down. Sweat started to bead on her forehead that made her ichy. Shadows began to reveal themselves in the radiant glow, as she made her way to the workbench.

  "Niall?" She asked again with a little more confidence.

  Her husband became a shadowed figure camouflaged by smoke and darkness. Niall stood at his sharping wheel, his right leg was pumping the foot peddle, spinning the stone. He delicately held a finished sword. Gently, he brought the three foot blade down along the stone, honing the edge. Bright sparks, like tiny stars racing towards their deaths, began to appear. The implement he was hired to create reflected the light from the forge in crimson silver. Swirls of dark designs twisted their way up the centre of the blade. Niall would have brought the metal to a high heat and quickly cooled it to assure the hardness of the steel. Then quenched it at lower temperatures repeatedly to create the intricate patterns. The guard flared out at the ends and plainly showed the ancient calligraphy of magic. She caught flashes of smooth white bone through Niall's fingers as he gently worked with the weapon and the plain grey granite stone of the pommel sparkled, as the crystals within captured the light.

  Niall turned from the sharpening wheel and started pumping the bellows. The increased air under the burning coal intensified the light and raised the heat. Fiona coughed at the increased smoke that rose into the rafters, hanging on the beams like a storm cloud on the horizon. Niall was covered in soot and his bald head glistened in sweat.

  "Fiona." Niall said unenthusiastically, as if he just noticed her.

  "Isn't it beautiful." Niall proudly held up the bastard sword he had just created. The blade reflected blood-red light in its mirror like quality.

  Fiona began to see a figure within the smoke behind Niall. For a second she thought it was just her imagination, until she quickly realized it was seperate from the smoke. Although, she could barely distinguish between the two. It became an amorphous shape rising above Niall. Fiona found it hard to focus on, but she couldn't avert her eyes. The body was twisted and guant and looked liked it should have been wracked in pain. She couldn't look away from the burning embers that were encased within its skeletal head. They penetrated deep into her mind.

  Pain suddenly ignited within her head, it felt like something cut into her brain. She tried to move but her muscles wouldn't respond to her commands. Something held her tight and it hurt to fight against it. Another strike of anguish, buckled her knees and drove her to the floor. Fiona's head hit hard as her arms flailed to the sides. Dazed, she tried to focus on Niall instead.

  "Niall," she struggle to talk through the pain. "What is that? What's happening?"

  His blank gaze was into the back of the shop, where the light didn't penetrate.

  "That's a Shechath."

  After a slight pause Niall continued. "It's the reason I'm making the sword, Fiona."

  Once again her nerves were raked in fire and a sharp vision flashed before her. It was a quick image that was too terrifying to comprehend. Fiona arched her back as she released a scream of torment. It left her panting through a river of tears. Her head was thrust back to the floor by the etheral puppet master and her mind realed at the hopelessness of the situation. Blood began to run down her face as the dirt cut into her flesh and her nose started to bleed.

  "Niall, please- don't let this happen." Every nerve felt like it was fire.

  "It's the only way, Fiona." Niall still stared into the far back of his shop. "I need to finish it."

  Fiona struggled to follow his gaze, she needed to see what he was looking at. Her eyes still stung from the smoke as she concentrated on the shadows. She saw someone- they had been watching the whole time.

  He was sitting at the table, just out of the dim light. Leaning forward, he came into the permeating glow of the furnace. His face was concealed behind a leather mask and goggles covered his eyes. The clear glass revealed almond shaped irises, which seems too large for his visage. Long black hair was tucked behind pointed ears. Lifting his right hand, he removed his mask. The malignancy of the minacious grin made Fiona cringe. He than replaced his mask and sat back to be hidden again.

  "Yes, OK." Niall agreed densely with the creature that dominated above him. "It's time."

  Fiona's throat was dry and hoarse. "Niall, please. Don't do this," she pleaded.

  Niall inspected the blade, and softly ran his thumb down the edge. The sword was as sharp as a razor. Taking a few steps forward, Niall gently lifted Fiona- she had no strength to fight him. Guiding her to the water trough that he used for assuaging the hot metals from the forge, he impelled her back to her knees. Her head and shoulders rested over the edge of the trough. Fiona saw it was empty, although it should have contained water, only dry remnants of what had been used before. This was the vision.

  Fiona paniced but still couldn't move. She was helpless to stop what was happening.

  "Niall, please. Don't do this, Niall. I love you."