Prelude (The Songs of Aarda Book 1)
Page 24
Once again, the flames danced and celebrated his newfound wisdom.
“Where am I? Selvyn said this was the Maker’s forge. So why am I here? Why do I put metal in the forge? To heat it so I can fashion something from it. If that is true, the Creator has brought me to His forge to reshape me. Well then, come, flame, heat me until the Maker shapes me as he desires.”
The flames inside him blossomed again, although this time, they caused no pain. Laakea stooped and gathered handfuls of fire as if picking wildflowers for his mother. He scooped them into his arms, and his father’s forge materialized in the middle of the fiery plain. It was not there a moment ago. It had become a glowing altar to the Maker.
Laakea walked over to inspect the forge and anvil where a pile of knives, a polluted offering to the Dark Ones, lay. They were twisted, ugly parodies of offerings to the Maker. Those blades reeked of evil, and the flames swarmed over them as if trying to devour them or at least prevent them from wreaking havoc.
Two misshapen masses of ehlbringa he had strained to forge without success lay near the anvil where he had left them. The lumps were unfinished tools. He had tried to create the swords from his vision and failed repeatedly.
“What shall I make for you, my Lord Maker?”
“Make Truth for me.” The words drifted into his mind.
Laakea held flame-flowers in his left hand, grasped the first two lumps of metal with his right, and set them on the anvil. He caressed the metal with his fingers while he whispered truth and repeated the word until the repetition became a melody. He continued stroking the ehlbringa with his fingers, and flame-flowers left his hand, crept across his body to the metal, and joined his fingers in the caress. The ehlbringa of his failed attempts melted together and formed. A single piece.
His perception altered, and he saw into the ehlbringa’s heart. Crystals, like tiny jewels, smaller than dust motes, resonated with Laakea’s chant and realigned into new patterns within the metal. The minerals aligned, and he continued until Truth took shape. He held Truth in his hand. It was perfect. It had two edges a single crystal wide; it was so sharp it could split a floating hair lengthwise. It was perfect in its beauty, but it was alone. He must make a companion for Truth.
“What else shall I make, Lord Creator?” he whispered in reverential awe.
“Fashion Justice for me,” the Golden Voice spoke again.
Laakea recognized the voice now when the melodic words entered his mind, and he set Truth aside.
He picked up two more knives and placed them on the anvil. “You shall be called Justice.” Laakea repeated the process. He caressed, stroked, and chanted to the metal on the anvil. The words were different, as was the melody, but once again, he could envision the changes inside the metal. He saw how the previous smith had twisted the pure metal to serve evil, but as Laakea sang, his song grew in power and intensity. He burned darkness from the metal with the flames on his fingers and created Justice with his song.
The crystals aligned into a different pattern from the first sword, a form called Justice. Soon Justice lay before him. It was both beautiful and terrible. It had two sharp edges like Truth, and he knew Justice could not exist without Truth. Truth demanded Justice.
“Are any things more divine than Truth and Justice?” Laakea asked.
“Righteousness,” the voice whispered to him. “For without Righteousness, Truth and Justice can still be twisted and perverted.”
Laakea grasped the other pieces of metal from the pile and sang a bold new melody to them as he ran his hands across their surfaces. The assassins’ knives flowed together like quicksilver while Laakea worked the evil from them. Wickedness became righteousness on the anvil of the Creator, beaten into shape by the hammer of the song the Creator placed in his heart. Then, before he realized he had begun, Righteousness lay complete in front of him. He held it to his chest; it fit him well and protected his heart and formed a potent defense against evil.
Spent from his efforts and the fire that burned inside him, he asked, “Is there something else I can make for you, my Lord Maker?”
“It is enough for now. Rest, lest your labors overcome you. Depart in peace, my champion.”
Laakea bowed before his Maker’s altar on one knee. The flames, cascading over his body, subsided. He was at peace, exhausted, unable to rise, but he knew he must leave before the fire consumed him. Laakea had insufficient strength even to lift his head. He struggled to stand but fell instead. Velvet darkness enfolded him into its quiet heart.
The Golden Voice spoke again, and the darkness was no longer silent. “Family is more than blood and heredity.”
It was time to leave, but Laakea had little strength to make the journey. Voices pierced the gloom and called him homeward. From far away, a rough-edged voice filled with compassion sang out. There was still much to be accomplished, much to understand, like the wolves, his father, his oath to the world, and the identity of the person who controlled the assassins. But instead of fear, these thoughts brought determination and purpose to Laakea.
The distant song, sung by the gravelly voice, became a beacon of light in the darkness, glowed brighter than before, and reminded him of the people who loved him and the place he belonged.
Please let everyone know what you thought about this book by submitting a review on Amazon.
The Saga Continues
If you liked this story and want to receive updates and exclusive offers on Overture, the next book in the series, sign up at https://www.krschultzauthor.com/.
Look for the rest of the series: Overture, Nocturne, Rondo, and Crescendo available soon at amazon.com, Kobo, Barnes and Noble, etc.
Don't miss out!
Click the button below and you can sign up to receive emails whenever K. R. Schultz publishes a new book. There's no charge and no obligation.
https://books2read.com/r/B-A-POBI-OTDCB
Connecting independent readers to independent writers.
About the Author
K. R. Schultz has been writing since his youth and has written many award wining short stories and poems. He moved to the Comox Valley on Vancouver Island to pursue his writing career. The Songs of Aarda series, ten years in the making, heralds his arrival as a fantasy novelist. Ken says writers and readers engage in a complex interaction with infinite potential for discovery.
Read more at K. R. Schultz’s site.