To the Stars End- Original Soul

by Demetri Grim

  Gathering her courage, Beka tipped the spear flat onto the anvil. As her hand came to rest on the handle her heart began its racing once more, her focus narrowed to a single act, one overwhelming desire to finish the spear. She gritted her teeth and held on. She would need all the power and energy she could muster if she was to finishing this demented weapon. Lifting the hammer high she struck at the spear blade with all her might. Before the strike reached even halfway to the anvil her arm froze into place, the hammer vibrating and lurching away refusing to finish the motion.

  “What the hell is wrong with you! Stupid Gods be damned paperweight! We have to finish this!” She tried to take another swing, her heart pounding from a mix of anger, fear, and the strange effect the etherium-enchanted blade had on her. But once more the hammer froze midair and nearly shook itself from her grip. “What am I doing wrong!” She glared between the hammer and spear. The silver mirror shine of the enchantment starting to slowly shrink back in on itself. “ No No NO!” she cried, tears streaming from her eyes in a frustrated defiance of her will. Her will, she suddenly realised as she wiped the damp streaks from her cheek. "The will of the forge."

  “I need to pay the price!” She wanted to scream. How could she have been so stupid? She had assumed the price was already paid, her uncle had given enough for the enchantment, more than enough. Yet she was a different smith, the hammer would never let such a loophole slide. Beka set her jaw, pulling the hammer in front of her and taking in a slow breath despite her racing heart, copying the same steps as her uncle. Two deep breaths in and out before releasing the spear and raising her free hand up to the hammer. Quickly reciting the words.

  “ Awaken, take your toll, one day to be paid in full.”

  Beka gasped in shock, all the air rushing from her lungs as the hammer suddenly heated up in her hand, the rune flaring to life. Her fingers clenched tightly around the handle. A flickering red orange aura erupted around her body, tiny sparks seeping out from her chest and floating in the air like ash. Unlike the moats of silver light that her uncle’s aura produced hers flickered and sparked like the embers of the forge before each glittering red light burst into flame and vanished.

  She gasped again as power surged out of her almost making her drop the hammer, if not for the death grip she now had on the tool. That's when she saw them. Circling the hammer was a set of runes. As her eyes locked onto them the runes flared and shifted, lifting into her vision an arm’s length away as if held by an unseen force. When she moved her head the runes followed, always right infront of her. She knew somehow she could touch them, had seen her uncle reach out for them even though they had always faded when she tried to look at them. Not this time however. Beka read each of the runes aloud in turn. "Weapon, armor, tool, construct, and augment." The hammer could do so much more than she thought, but she had only seen weapons and armor made, what was construct or augment? Beka shook her head, she was starting to feel lightheaded again, unsure if it was the heat or the pulse of strange energy that was flowing out from her chest and manifesting into the fiery runes before her.

  Shaking her head once more to clear it, she focused back onto her task. "I have to finish the enchantment." Reaching out she hesitated before the rune for weapon. Her uncle said to make a weapon, is this what he meant?. Her eyes drifted to the augment rune. Or did she need to augment the enchantment that was already placed? “ Damnit uncle you could have explained this better!” she glowered at him but his slow labored breathing took the fire out of her words. “ Im sorry uncle... I won't let you down.” Beka pressed the rune for weapon and nearly collapsed. Her already racing heart from the etherium wanted to pound out of her chest as she caught herself with the spear’s handle. Her head throbbed as a rush of etherium-tinted aura flooded out the spear along her numb arm, coiling around the energy already flowing into the hammer. All but the sigil for weapon remaining in her sight which now glinted the color of etherium rather than her own flickering ember-tinted aura. The hammer was being empowered by the mystical metal, to aid in its own creation. With a slight pulling sensation in her chest the weapon rune shifted from its place directly in front of her to hovering over the flat of the hammer. It was now or never. She had to make her strike before the last of the silverlight faded from the weapon.

  With only a few inches of mirrored silver light left glowing along the blade, Beka struck at the center of it with all her might. The hammer did not resist this time, instead it felt as though it was trying to leap forward from her hand eager to strike the metal. It took everything she had to not let go as the hammer came crashing down. With a burst of red light the rune transferred to the weapon, the mirrored spot doubling in size. She felt an intense tug upon her heart. A cascade of fiery embers streaming down her arm condensing into a set of runes that danced along the blade. Alighting in places that somehow she knew needed to be struck to finish the work. The existing but incomplete enchantment flaring back to life at the hammer’s touch. There were only a half dozen small runes, each the rune symbol for Strike. She shook her head as more of her aura slipped down her arm. This all seems strange to her but familiar. Her mother spoke of magic, how mages saw the world differently. How they formed an array in their minds to cast their spells. Was this what she meant? A spike of pain ran through her arm, it put an end to her wandering thoughts. The runes around the blade shifted, the silver light growing smaller as a seventh fiery rune appeared, her aura draining away to create the new one. It felt as if the blade itself was drinking her energy. She wanted to scream, to cry, to hurl the thing away but the sensation faded as she managed to lift the hammer.

  Again she struck the weapon, landing the blow atop a rune. The rune sparked, it felt like she had hit the spear directly but she was still at least an inch above it. The mirror-like shine of enchantment spread out along the blade. The runes shifted again and she aimed for another, and then another and another. The runes shifting slightly with each strike following the spread of the mirror light. The shine had taken on a metallic crimson edge that matched the red of the metal, more akin to her own aura than her uncle’s. The crimson light coming from the blade pulsed in time to her rapid heartbeat as she struck another rune. Beka fell to her knees, leaning hard against the anvil, her hands gripping the spear and hammer so tightly her knuckles turned white. She felt exhausted. The ember-like flames of her aura flickering along her arms like a dying fire and did not seem nearly as bright as they once did. The mirror shine of the blade nearly reached the very tip of the spear. There hoving over the point was one final rune, flickering defiantly at her. Her eyes drooped as another wave of exhaustion darkened her vision, she could not catch her breath.

  “Just, one, more.” She gasped and with an effort and stood, her legs shaking worse than ever. Feeling weaker than she had ever known, the arm with the hammer felt as if it weighed more than her entire body. The white knuckle grip around both spear and hammer shot pain through her arms as they cramped despite the numbing of the etherium. “One more, you bloody, life drinking, son of a bitch!” With a last cry, almost a challenge she struck the blade’s final rune. The pulsing, crimson shine of the blade reaching the tip and the enchantment locked into place. As quickly as the rush of power and light came on it vanished. The flamelike shimmer of her aura winked out in an instant. Beka felt her hand slip free of both the hammer and spear. For a moment she drifted weightless, floating in a dark pond that grew ever deeper. She noticed the roof above the anvil was charred black. Her uncle would need to clean that... “I bet he’s going to have me cleaning that, as soon as he wakes up.” She felt her head hit something, the floor? “Why am I on the floor? My head hurts...” Darkness took her as she passed out.

  Chapter 7: Heartseeker

  Light pierced the haze of Beka’s sleep. She groaned and rolled over. Her head started pounding the moment she did. Her entire body felt as if she had been beaten by a stick and tossed in a river before being buried in mud. A low rhythmic rumbling came from nearby and she groaned again
. Cracking an eye open she glared at the beam of morning sunlight creeping through her window right across her face. Turning towards the rumbling sound coming from her side, she spotted her uncle snoring in a chair. His complexion had returned to its leathery wrinkled shades, his eyes no longer sunken. His mustache, however, seemed to have a lot more grey in it, as did the sides of his hair. At least it was no longer the stark white of the day before.

  “Uncle? what are you doing in my room?” She croaked out, her voice was hoarse. She swallowed hard, cringing with how dry her throat was. With a start at her voice, Montgomery jolted awake with a snort and nearly fell from his chair.

  “Beka, yer awake girl!” He leaned forward and placed his thickly-calloused hand against her forehead, “Good, yer temperature is back to normal. Ya were cold as ice all through the night.” He smiled softly at her.

  “All night? Was I really out all night, it was midday when we...” She hesitated a moment, before sitting up clutching her blankets close to her chest, glaring wide-eyed at her uncle as her face turned crimson. She was in her night clothes! “Uncle!” she croaked out at him in shock.

  “OH NO!” He turned a matching red, seeing the horror in her eyes. “ Don't give me that look girl. I did nothing, I came to in the forge just a moment after ya collapsed, and brought ya to your room. Then I ran down the way to yer friend Lizzy’s work, and fetched her. Gave her the short version about ya fainting in the forge and I got her help to get ya cleaned up and put to bed! I swear it! Ya can ask her before ya hang me, she will tell ya the same!” He shook his hands defensively trying to ward away her accusing glare.

  “Ugg! That's almost worse!” She slunk into her covers and buried her face in her pillow before turning to glower at her uncle. “Great, now my oldest and only friend had to dress me and tuck me into bed like I was a kid.” She blushed and sank her burning cheeks into her pillow mumbling to herself, “Now I can never show my face around Lizzy again.”

  “Naw, not like that at all.” His voice wavered a bit in his attempt at consoling. He patted the lump that was her back through the covers. “More like tucking in yer lush of a friend after a heavy drinking bender. All sweaty and flopsy, needing a bath, and someone to wash yer hair.” The slight grin on his face was clear in his voice and only faded a little as she threw back her covers with a screech and tried to punch a tooth from his smug face with her eyes.

  “Uncle! You. Are. Not. Helping!” She shouted before throwing her head back under the covers. Her face burning with shame as she tried to quell her instinct to simply curl up into a ball and die right there in her bed. Deep down she knew it was such a waste to have survived the forging of a legendary powerful weapon only to die of humiliation at the hands of an uncle whose, albeit traumatizing intentions, were well-meaning.

  “Now, I know ya done the same for me many times after I had myself a rough night at the tavern. I thought it was the least I could do to make ya comfortable.” He grinned at her still, all but immune to the indignant glare.

  “That is not the same Uncle! All I ever did was pull off your stinky boots and push you into the cot in the forge! I did not go fetch your friends to come over and give you a bath and change your clothes while you were passed out drunk!” She fumed at him but he only waved off her remark.

  “Bah! I didn't have a clue when ya might wake up. And ya were a damned mess from the dragonfire and forging. I figured ya didn't want to go stinking up yer bedding.” His voice took on a serious tone, his half smile falling off as he looked her in the eye. “The hammer took a lot out of ya girl. Ya flooded its rune array with yer aura. It's still charged. Can't say I ever seen the hammer stay active for so long. Ya got a lot of yer mother’s strength even if ya can't use it I think.” He looked mournfully down at the floor. “It's why I never let ya use the damned thing before. You have to know how to control it, how to let yer energy draw out slowly. It may claim only a day of yer life for every weapon or armor forged to receive its gift, but if ya let it drain yer aura all away, it starts to feed off yer very life itself.” He looked back up to her and patted her arm before leaning back in the chair with a sigh.

  “Why? Why do we keep using it? Why does our family keep throwing our lives away a day at a time just for a stupid chunk of metal!” Her voice wavered as the memory of her father came back to her. The uncontrolled rush of memories was pounding in her head in time with her headache as she remembered the last days her family was whole.

  Her father was once a broad and muscled man like her uncle, yet near the end because of the hammer’s toll, her only memory of him was him sitting reclining in his bed, his body thin and frail, his skin hanging loose from boney limbs where once there had been strength. His kind eyes distant and glassy as he breathed ever so slowly. His very being drained awaywasorigianly. One day for every weapon or armor forged seemed a small price when you’re young, but her father had created hundreds, if not thousands of pieces over his short 55 years of life.

  She was only fourteen when the hammer’s curse took her father from her. She hated the forge then, hated her family's evil tool. She had desperately begged her mother to find a way to fix him, to remove the tool’s curse. Her mother had promised to do all she could. Beka had held onto that hope like a lifeline. It was not until she was taken into his room early one morning that the hope faded. She remembered how he laid his hand on her head and smiled his bright loving smile at her. It was then that she knew her father had long ago accepted the price of the hammer. He would take no treatment even if there was a cure. He had spoken softly to her that morning, his voice little more than a whisper but with a strength he had not held for many months before the end. "What does my daughter wish, what may I create for you my lovely girl?" The memory of his words brining a sheen of tears to her eyes. She had no answer for him them, she had only wanted him to live.

  Beka knew now what he had wanted. She knew it was a tradition in the Galten family to make one final blade or armor to pass on to the chosen heir. Forging one last enchantment to take the smith’s final day. It was that morning as he held her close that he told her she was to be the heir. Softly letting her know she would one day be the one to take up the Silverlight Hammer. He had presented her then with a key, identical to the one that now hung around her uncle’s neck, the key to the hammer’s enchanted box. The forge would be hers once his brother had forged his own final blade. He made his request only once more after that declaration. His weak voice pleading for her to answer even as she cried against his chest. It was a request that to this day she wished she had never heard him make. But more than that she wished she had answered him differently. When he asked her if there was anything she wanted, anything he could make for her. He begged her to let him forge his final gift. She had refused him, and ran crying from the room. Locking herself in her room the rest of the day, only the sound of the forge and her uncle hard at work on the daily orders kept the sounds of her sobbing at bay.

  The day her father died she felt her heart harden slightly. She was so foolish. Her time with her uncle and even Lizzy was going to be short. Even that very night, as the fires of her father's funeral pyre burned she had vowed herself to her uncle. Vowed to serve as his apprentice and accept her role as heir to the family. She would claim every day she could with the people she loved.

  After a moment lingering in darkening thoughts her uncle spoke again. “Because it is our legacy.” His words bringing her back into the present. His voice was soft. He must have seen the brooding emotions playing havoc inside her. He smiled fondly and thumped her on the head playfully with a meaty fist. “Because Elves, and Dwarfs, and all manner of ya marvelous folk of Duo may count their friendships in decades, and their achievements in centuries. We simple, humble, handsome humans have to work hard to leave our mark.” He winked, trying to lighten the mood before pressing on. “We Galtens may not live as long as even the average adventurer, but our weapons, our armor, our legacy will live on for a thousand years. When the last of our line has pass
ed, even after yer elf blood has burned away as so much forge ash, our works will remain. It's a bit pricey, yea. But to have such a legacy, the arms and armor we forge. We insured our family will be remembered long after the last of us.” He smiled at her and stood.

  “Is it really worth it? A legacy you will never get to see?” She asked, her melancholy seeping into her voice as she mulled over his words.

  “Aye that it is girl. Because if yer remembered, yer never truly gone. A little bit of yerself remains in every blade and that's an immortality even a dragon would be envious to have.” He gave her a wide and goofy grin as he pulled the door to her room open. “Now quit yer moping and come see what marvelous legacy ya created.” His eyes glinting mischievously in the morning sun. “Oh, and there’s breakfast.” Without another word he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him so she could start her day.

  It only took her another few minutes shuffling around her room stiffly to realize that her clothes were gone. All of her clothes. Pulling open her laundry chest, she found it empty save for two items. Withdrawing an oversized tan tunic lined around the collar with a lace frill, she grimaced. It was a hand-me-down from Lizzy. She had gotten it years ago, but always felt weird wearing it. The soft material fit well around her chest now. Unlike when she first received the item from her well-proportioned human friend. The long arms and length of the tunic, however, made it hang like a drape past her hips and bunch around her wrists. Even when she used a belt, it felt like she was wearing a cloth sack with a useless frill on it. "Today is already starting out wonderfully..." she grumbled, and with a defeated sigh she withdrew the last thing in her laundry chest, a floor length pleated skirt, also one of Lizzy’s. Her lanky friend was several inches taller than her, leaving the hand-me-down skirt quite a bit too long. Beka did not mind wearing a dress or skirt if the mood struck her but the thick cloth and weighted hem of this particular skirt tried its best to trip her with every step and snag on every corner she passed by. “Did he really steal all my clothes and leave me with this?” With an irritable huff she snagged her work belt from the hanger on the back of the door and strapped it tightly around herself, hoping to keep the nightmare of clothing in place.