Chapter 51

  Smithing!

  Clink, clink, Clang! Clink, Clink, Clang! Clink, clink, Clang!

  Elijah’s hammer clinked once off the anvil as he looked at the lump of iron. It clinked a second time on the hardened metal surface as the sweaty teen lined up his next hit. Clang; the hefty tool landed squarely on the hot iron, drawing out what would become one of six tongues of flame.

  At some point, Rubeus requested he be left alone. Elijah asked if there was anything he should be doing, and the rhino man told him to learn the general Skill, Blacksmithing. When the sixteen-year-old asked how, Rubeus threw him a palm-sized metal model of flames and told him to make a hundred before pointing to a pile of scraps in the corner of the open-air workshop.

  That was all the instruction Rubeus could muster before he slumped into a chair behind the main workbench. Since then, Rubeus had become catatonic. The massive monster man hadn’t moved, his eyes fixed on the lake of lava.

  Elijah was left to his own devices. The teen didn’t know much about blacksmithing, aside from what he had seen in YouTube videos and read in books. With that little bit of knowledge to work with, Elijah decided the first thing he needed to do was study the example he had been given – measure twice, cut once was always a good mantra.

  The three-dimensional representation of fire, although rough at first glance, was surprisingly intricate. As best as the raven-haired young man could tell, it was constructed of three parts. Three tongues of flame, braided at the base and forge-welded to create a convincing facsimile of fire.

  Not knowing where to start, Elijah fell back on his grandfather's mantra: focus on what’s in front of you. At that moment, the thing in front of him was a pile of offcuts and discarded works of metal. After the emotional turmoil of the last couple of hours, Elijah was eager to grab whatever was near and get to hitting.

  In the centre of the artificial pool of lava, this workshop used as a forge, stood a pillar of stone. It poked barely an inch out of the molten, slowly circulating mass. Elijah, with the use of a pair of tongs he had scavenged, placed the heart-shaped piece of iron-looking scrap on the surface.

  Less than thirty seconds later, the metal changed from a dull silver to a glowing yellow, touching on white. Worried the material would melt, Elijah hastily retrieved the radiant mass. It had more solidity than anticipated. The teen had half expected the near-molten metal to drip from his tongs before it could reach the anvil he had claimed.

  It did not. In fact, the metal seemed as hard as when it was cold. Until Elijah hit it with a hammer. Not knowing how much force to use, and believing the material to be stiff, Elijah decided to whack it with all of his Strength. In hindsight, that wasn’t a smart idea.

  Although his slender arms didn’t look like much, they packed power equal to two point eight times the strongest man on earth. Shards of molten shrapnel were sent flying in all directions, burning holes in what remained of Elijah’s clothes, imbedding themselves in workbenches, and causing a hundred tiny fires to spark to life.

  The teen’s cry of surprise turned to a hiss of pain. He swiped desperately at his arms and legs, trying to sweep away the burning fragments of metal. The smell of burnt pork filled the air, and Elijah found he was salivating despite himself. Before the disparate flames could evolve into a conflagration, Rubeus tossed a blue orb in Elijah’s direction, his eyes never leaving the lake of lava.

  Too busy putting himself out, the teen didn’t realise what was happening until it was too late. The sphere exploded into a tidal wave of water that rushed over the workshop and everything in it, including Elijah.

  Before the muscle-for-brains teen could let out a gurgled scream, the torrent passed him by and began to evaporate. Despite the pressure of the blast, Elijah hadn’t been moved an inch. Neither had the tools nor benches. The only things affected by the sudden explosion of water were the now extinguished fires and the ash that had, until a moment ago, covered everything.

  “Thanks,” Elijah said, rather sheepishly.

  “Use less force,” Rubeus replied without looking at him. His words were hollow and without inflection, but Elijah took it for the rebuke that it was and ducked his head slightly in shame.

  Once the embarrassment passed, Elijah swept his greasy, sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes and began searching the pile of scraps for another bit of metal.

  The second attempt wasn’t much better. The brass-coloured fragment took a full two minutes to reach the same glowing, near-white colour as the first piece. When it did, the sixteen-year-old went to whip it off the platform and begin working on it. The second his tongs touched the material, it lost its shape, collapsing into a molten fluid that drained into the lava.

  Elijah was left staring at his empty tongs for five seconds before he realised what had happened.

  Note to self: Different materials behave differently.

  The teen felt stupid for assuming the two totally dissimilar metals would act the same. What was a workable temperature for one wasn’t necessarily so for another. The failure hurt, but at least he consoled himself with the knowledge that he had learnt something.

  Finding a new piece of metal with a similar appearance to the first, a piece that looked to have once been a small bowl – cracked in half – Elijah tried again.

  Thankfully, the teen’s guesstimating skills appeared to be up to snuff. This third piece behaved more or less the same as the first and reached temperature in thirty-five seconds, without melting.

  Elijah gingerly lifted the scrap from the forge and began tapping it lightly, not wanting a repeat of the previous incident. The material barely reacted to his wrist strikes. Small uneven divots were all he was able to achieve before the metal cooled to a cherry red and ceased to be malleable.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Not one to give up easily, the youth returned the metal to the forge and wiped the sweat off his brow, further ruining his rags.

  Twice more the teen tried to draw the curved metal into a tongue shape with little success. Fear stopped the lad from hitting harder. Some teaching instinct finally overtook Rubeus, and he called out:

  “Swing from your shoulder, keep your elbow tight to your side, and let the tool do the work; don’t try and force it.” The words sounded rehearsed, as if they had been said a thousand times before.

  “Thank you,” Elijah replied reflexively, turning to the other man. Rubeus still wasn’t looking at the teen, but Elijah nodded his head anyway, showing his appreciation.

  The next strike was far more effective. The curved metal dish flattened slightly. Elijah was still too wary to put any muscle behind his blows; he just let the hammer fall and gravity do the work. Even so, the change in technique made a marked difference.

  Elijah grimaced as he worked away, slowly bashing the piece into shape. For some reason, the material never moved as he wanted it to, slipping out from under his hammer. Again, Rubeus called out the answer to his problem without even looking.

  “Make sure the head of the hammer lands flat,” the rhino man said, with the barest hint of colour returning to his words.

  Slightly frustrated with himself but unwilling to let it show, the sweaty teen grunted in appreciation. His swings came slower as he ensured his grip was firm; with this change in approach, the metal actually started to move as he wanted it to.

  In and out of the forge the metal went, heating and cooling as Elijah continued to work towards the shape he wanted.

  The scrap had almost morphed into the long and tapering figure of flame when a sudden shooting pain overcame Elijah’s hand, and he was forced to drop his hammer.

  “Ahh,” he cried out, more in surprise than in pain.

  “Loosen your wrist before impact,” Rubeus instructed with what might have been the barest edge of humour in his voice, though it was almost impossible to detect.

  “Thanks,” Elijah hissed, shaking out his hand as he waited for the pins and needles to disappear.

  Once his arm felt able to work again, Elijah finished up the first tongue of flame. Its surface was rough and covered in scale; the shape best described as avant-garde, but still, he’d done it!

  Before the blue-eyed boy could feel too pleased with himself, he was reminded of his grandfather’s motto. There was still more work to be done, and he needed to focus on what was in front of him if he wanted to finish any time this century.

  Choosing another bit of similarly hued scrap, this time a hand span of pipe, Elijah set to work forging a second, smaller tongue.

  He continued hammering away, placing his strikes precisely to manipulate the metal more and more efficiently. As his blows ramped up in power, the skinny-armed lad’s pace slowed, and he found he was holding his hammer in the air for long periods of time, lining up his strikes.

  Even with his superhuman Endurance, holding aloft a heavy lump of metal soon became fatiguing, so once again he modified his technique. The hardened hammer bounced rather nicely off the anvil, so, to save energy between strikes, Elijah began hitting the anvil. Before long, he found his rhythm.

  The second and third flames were sculpted in what felt like the blink of an eye. Elijah then placed the base of each tongue over the edge of the lava pool and waited for them to heat up.

  When the metal was ready, he positioned the base of one over the base of another and hammered down until they stuck fast before adding the third on top.

  After everything had been welded in place, Elijah began bending the still-hot metal over the edge of the anvil such that the base would sit on a flat surface and the flames would stand up straight.

  Panting, the tired teen set the finished piece down on the anvil. For a long moment, he looked at it, proud of what he had wrought. Sure, it looked more like some kind of jerry-rigged melon holder than the model of fire he had been given, but even so, Elijah felt happy. That was until Rubeus’ words broke his trance of admiration.

  “One down, ninety-nine left to go.”

  Elijah groaned.

  ??

  Clink, clink, Clang! Clink, Clink, Clang! Clink, clink, Clang!

  Hours passed as Elijah maintained his steady rhythm, though the exact amount of time that had gone by was impossible to know; the grey sky never changed brightness, there was no sign of any sun, and the weather remained constant.

  Not that Elijah noticed; he had entered a flow state. His hammer moved with repetitive grace and without conscious thought; his mind focused on the ideal statue of fire he was striving towards.

  With each new model made, Elijah came closer to realising the image in his mind. With each clink he delved deeper into the almost meditative state that held him in rapture. With each heavy clang of the hammer, he distanced himself further and further away from the ache in his arms, the tightness in his tendons, and the soreness of his shoulders. There was only one image that filled his mind, that of fire.

  The workbench was covered in tens of flaming figurines of varying quality, made from a range of different unknown metals. The next wasn’t always an improvement on the last, but at least the last several were identifiable. Elijah was definitely improving.

  Before he knew it, he reached some critical milestone. The entranced teen placed the hundredth sculpture on the workbench, this one almost exactly identical to the one Rubeus had given him, and turned back to the scrap, ready to start work on the hundred and first when a notification interrupted him.

  New General Skill Unlocked!

  New general Skill unlocked:

  Blacksmithing: C

  Gain an innate knowledge of blacksmithing. This Skill can tell you the tolerances and temperatures of most mundane metals upon use, as well as the templates for most everyday items. New templates, such as weapon and armour templates, can be added to this Skill when discovered. This Skill can be used once per hour.

  Elijah was broken from his trance. His hammer clanged as it dropped out of his hand and bounced on the anvil. The teen’s face lit up as the contents of the message sunk in. It had taken plenty of hard work, but he had finally earned a new Skill – one he could truly call his own.

  Opening his mouth, he prepared to let loose a cry of jubilation. Instead, what jumped forth was a cry of dread-filled pain.

  Elijah clutched at his core as once more the cold feeling began spreading out, suffusing him with the finality of death. He collapsed to the floor, his scream cutting off as he ceased being able to breathe. Sweat poured from his clammy white skin. Despite the heat of the forge, he felt a cold hand grasp his heart.

  Ringing ears heard nought but the rushing of blood. The smells of the forge retracted, unwilling to follow him into his state of shock. Bleary, bloodshot eyes looked up at the world, desperately searching for some kind of reprieve; all they saw was a shadow looming over them before darkness swept across the sky, engulfing them entirely.

  Suffocation, hypothermia, and desolation were the words that flickered across Elijah’s flickering mind before unconsciousness finally claimed him.