Tranquil Fury

by P. G. Thomas

  Lauren, mesmerized by the story, was startled by his last sentence, “Aaro what do you mean by sky rock? And weapons three?”

  “Bor, story told of eastern clans, Ironhouse arrive at they did. Mention he does, weapons three: axe, hammer, and spear. Forged in the east, trollmares slay they did.”

  “Yes, I remember the story. Those are the weapons?”

  “The same they be. Years of thirty before, from sky, something did fall, Pappy did see. Months he looked, crater huge found he did, and bottom buried, sky rock found. Many he showed, but let touch, none would he. The ores and metal, now molten, these four added he did. Dwarves in horror screamed, mad called him they did. When vented enough they had, back to work ordered them. They were dwarf, did as commanded.” Aaro remembered the angry screams, of seeing the odd items floating on the liquid pool of metal, his father sounding to the bellows for more air, more heat. The forge so hot, that if you leaned too close, the heat trimmed your beard. He remembered seeing the four items begin to melt, disappear into the glowing liquid metal, and then seeing the impurities float to the top. How he reached for the skimmer to remove them, as they would weaken the metal, but his father knocked it from his hand, ‘Leave them. If pure born it is, fail it shall.’

  Aaro paused long enough to give Lauren a chance to absorb everything, then continued with the story, “The forging cup, filled with metal molten, remove we did. To the cast we took it, in we poured. Wait we did, days of two, and when opened, all dwarf furious they were. As neither great battle axe, nor battle hammer greeted them. Instead, sword they saw. More than sword, longer than dwarf be tall. Crazy, mad, insane. At my Pappy, the hurt levied echoed throughout the mine, drowned out only by sounds of dwarf leaving. Infected by some disorder they thought we were, left in numbers great. To his sons Pappy called, ‘Ironhouse, this weapon, finish we will.’ And to forge, follow we did.”

  Aaro then went on to explain how they tempered and stretched the metal, making it stronger by quenching it. He explained if you heated the metal too long, or worked on it after it had cooled too much, that you would damage the metal, make it brittle. Aaro looked at Lauren, “The story here strange becomes.” The memories seemed more like a dream to him, rather than something he had witnessed. The sword they had poured was thick and long, the mold designed to let the metal cool equally, but its shape was wrong. He remembered seeing Fen go down to the lower level alone, to work the bellows, as he and his brothers tended the sword in the forge, following their father’s instructions, and of hammering the hard metal to make it longer. And then their father telling them to quench it in the virgin snow melt,’ so purity, know it will.’ Aaro went on to explain how they kept taking it back to the forge, working the metal, making it longer, stronger. And how they quenched it in ceremonial wine, ‘so heritage, know it will.’ Then quenched it in dwarf ale, ‘so pleasure, know it will.’ And the fourth time there was no quenching liquid, their father telling them to leave it on the table, a dry quench. ‘So pain, know it will.’ Aaro went on to explain how he slept beside the sword that night, afraid it may become so brittle, that it would fracture, and of the sounds it made as the metal contracted, sounding like screams.

  Aaro continued the story, “Days of seven, before we could touch. And to forge again, take it we did. Ashamed I am, but brothers all, thought Pappy mad. Metal so hard, before never have I seen. So hard, forge heat, embrace it would not, and two battles fought that day. Sword, forge heat fought it did, and Fen, the bellows he fought. So hot, many beards forge trimmed that day. She, my forge, too much we asked, the battle no longer fight she could, and the crack deafened all. As well, broken my heart, not heard by any but me. Now alone she sits, dark shrouded, dwarf creations no longer able to birth. Ironwood sap, hot metal did greet, hissed in anger it did. ‘So strength, know it will,’ Pappy did say. Fen from below, stumbled out, half his size he was, sweated so much, beard and hair, gone as well. Weak, dehydrated, sweat soaked he was. Hydrate him we had to, ale a poor choice. Stopped sooner we should have, but another story that is. Two feet longer than I be tall, the sword was now. We all asked, ‘Why build a weapon such,’ all thought Pappy had forge brain, cooked by heat.”

  Aaro remembered seeing Bor return to the mine, with the keg of trollmare blood, the look on his face when he saw the sword, understanding the questions he would not ask. Aaro then explained how they thought their father’s sanity had returned, because he seemed to have forgotten about the sword. And then that fateful night, he called to them, and they took the sword and the keg of strange blood to the top of the Ironhouse Mountain. Of watching his father pound the sword into the mountain, as a terrifying storm headed their way. How they watched as thunder exploded overhead and lightning bolt after lightning bolt struck the sword. The punishment, so intense, it cracked the mountain, how it was so hot, you could not look at the glowing metal. And of how he and his brothers cowered from the storm, some even saying they heard dwarves crying in fear, but none would admit to it. He remembered how when the fury of the storm, finally calmed down, how they raced to the top, pulled it out of the cracked mountain with the tongs, quenched it in the trollmare blood. “Hissed and howled it did. A steam prayer to storm high, send it did. What it wanted? None knew. ‘The taste of evil, know it will,’ came from my Pappy. The day next, that cursed sword into his personal shop Pappy took. Days of thirty, alone worked on it he did. When saw it next, incredible it was, polished bright, runes both sides carved. Into that hard metal, how Pappy did it, none he would tell.”

  “Runes,” asked Lauren?

  Aaro explained about the ancient runes, symbols of power, strength, protection, and more. Of how they had seen them in paintings, or heard them in stories, but not a living dwarf had seen actual runes in, well he did not know how long. He described how their father brought the sword to him, to make it sharp. Of how he used three stones to make the edges, and of how his father rejected his work, demanded better. He then told Lauren about how they sharpened steel, the special metal gloves to protect their hands, both from the stone and the edge, showing her his hands, the old scars, many of which looked deep. He told her of how he used three more stones, the edge so sharp, the metal gloves no longer able to protect his hands.

  “If late you are, shave time that edge can. Smile my Pappy finally did. Again to his shop he did head, first instructing me, scabbard to build. Odd this part be, plain, not worthy of the sword, demand he did. Though I should not have, question him I did. ‘So humility, know it will,’ his response to me was. As requested, scabbard I built, and plain, no ugly it was. My stamp on it, place I would not. Days of thirty, Pappy worked he did. When out he brought it, amazed all were. Guard of hardest metal. Guilds in gold, platinum, and silver. A crown of gems. Such beauty incredible, wept from me tears did. To a hall we took it, on a rack we did place it, and to this day, dust it does battle.”

  Aaro paused, wished he had brought a keg with him, “Earth Daughter, weapons that be great, named they should be. Strength and fortunes good, bestowed to those misfortuned named champion. Great passion crafts great weapons, this sword, beyond great it is. Thus, a name to match required is. For in name, destiny you do forge. Now, to it, take you I will. Once seen, seek Earth Mother, guidance ask her for.”

  Lauren stood up, overwhelmed, “Purity, heritage, pleasure, strength, pain, evil, and humility. It almost sounds like your father was trying to teach a child lessons. Is that common with forging weapons, or is it ceremony?”

  “Ceremony not, Earth Daughter. Such words, never before said. A sword we thought when we began, now none be sure, and correct you may be. Of this, long have I thought, what we did, what Pappy said. Never able to sum it so truthfully, was I.”

  Lauren was stunned, never having heard a story like this. She followed Aaro in silence, completely dumbfounded, as he led the way down to the main level through the maze of tunnels and stairs. He stopped in front of a blank wall, placed his hand on a non-descript spot, and the wall opened. Inside was a small room
that could accommodate no more than forty people, with a huge fireplace, truly too big for the room against the far wall. Lauren stopped to look at the sword above the mantel, which was magnificent, but as she went to approach it, Aaro stopped her.

  Lauren looked back to Aaro, “That sword is six feet long. How is a dwarf going to use it?”

  “A grand weapon, dwarf built, but for dwarf too large. That which you see, pride and curse of Ironhouse it does be. This be why eastern clans leave they do,” he replied.

  Lauren turned to look at the sword, and in the cold room, she saw what look like steam rising from it, “How long ago was it made?”

  “Fifteen years gone.”

  “But steam still rises from it. Is it not hot?”

  “Touch it. Cold, find it you will.”

  “Then why does it look like it is still cooling down?”

  “Anger we think.” Aaro’s response was genuinely serious, “Upset with us, still it is.”

  Lauren was confused, “What do you mean?”

  “For this, prepare you want I did. Plans to ask you, name the sword he does. This burden on you, wish it I would not. More stubborn than metal he works Pappy is. In heat metal is born, shaped in cold. Welcomes forge it does, born there is design. Mere metal this is not, tortured it was. Six times forge taken, seven with mountain, never done before, has this been. Taught pain by dry quench, metal screams, still haunt my dreams. Punished mountain high, taste of evil taught that night. Then once done, here we lock it, forgotten it remains. Fifteen years gone, wrapped in dark. Why, none know. Many times, checked on it I have. Each time, as you see it, greeted me it did. Steaming mad.”

  Lauren looked at him, “I don’t think I understand.”

  “Imagine should child you have. Raise, feed, nurture, and teach it you do. When greeted by the world it should be, instead locked away it is. Years fifteen later, to it you go. Fifteen years, destiny denied, once again, acknowledge it you do. Fifteen years ignored, shed light on it. Metal we melted, beat, tortured. The finest weapon crafted we did make. Then our backs we did turn. Made to kill, not kill time. Earth Daughter, years of fifty, with my Pappy weapons have I built. Scares me, this one does. Urge you I do, council seek Earth Mother, and explain all I have. Except if you should, know this. Ceremonies are two, naming ceremony first it be. Pappy or brothers, the sword present to you we will. Witnessed one, I have not. Heard I have, long they can last, or short they be. Ironhouse, never a named weapon known we have. Name origins, I know not either. Earth Mother, here guide you she can. Once named, in days of seven, ceremony second take place it will. Master Weapon Smith, weapon champion reveal he shall. Earth Daughter, spoken much I have, concerns made, I do apologize for. Council seek Earth Mother, for guide you she will. Fear not, if naming brings no desire, then name it not, as no shame will befall you. To your room, take you now I will.”

  Chapter 13

  Lauren went back to her room, and thought about everything that Aaro had told her, the image of the smoldering sword etched into her memory. She sat on the edge of the bed for about an hour, just watching the storm vent its frustration—which paled in comparison to her own. Earth Daughter? Naming weapons? What’s next? She decided to heed Aaro’s advice, and went off in search of the Earth Mother, finding her in her personal quarters. “Aaro suggested I seek your council. Do you have a few free minutes?”

  The Earth Mother looked at her, “Earth Daughter, for thou I shalt always make time. How canst I help thou?”

  “Aaro told me, that tonight after dinner the Master Weapon Smith is going to ask a favor of me. He is going to ask me to name a sword, a great sword.”

  The Earth Mother was aware of no such weapon, especially one that required a naming ceremony. She had seen a few of these named weapons over the years, but really did not understand them, or the significance, as it was more of a dwarf ritual than an elf ceremony.

  “Aaro told me about the sword. It was an amazing tale, but I am uncertain what to make of it. He told me of the great honor that it is to name such a weapon, but there is much he said that. Well, it scares me. I don’t know what I should do.”

  She looked at Lauren, “He does be a good man, years I hath known Aaro. From his heart he does speak, but trust him thou canst. I does imagine that thou does expect me to say, Aaro does be right to send thou to me for council, but council I canst naught give thou. Young in the order thou does be. Naught once before hath one so young, such a great honor received. But this shocks me naught longer, as much as it does distress thou. If I tell thou too little, wrongly thou may act. If I tell thou too much, the same result may happen. But in truth, it does hath no purpose. It does be but a naming ceremony, naught more, naught less. And in truth, dwarf does believe that it does bestow power or courage to that which does be forge born, but it does naught. It does be like a child to dwarf, they does hope name does make it great, but forge decided that does be. It does naught be any different, then when mother does name child. Does naught fret over it Earth Daughter, purpose it does lack. Does name shiny sword, as Master Weapon Smith, it shalt make him smile. Now go, fret naught.”

  When Lauren had left, the elfin Earth Mother thought about going to talk to Aaro about the sword, seeing it, then pushed the thought away, knowing if a little sword worried Mother, she would have said something. Dwarf, each year they does be shorter, each year their stories does grow taller. So small, stories so big, I does naught understand them. She just shook her head, poured a fresh cup of tea, and looked out the window at the odd intense storm.

  Lauren spent the day alone, as a million thoughts raced through her mind, none of them with a happy conclusion. She formed an image in her mind, and on one side was the sword in the dark room, steam rising from it. On the other side, the Earth Mother sitting there calm, telling her that it did not mean anything. She wasn’t sure if she should go back, take Aaro, and have him tell the story, or maybe have Aaro show her the sword. The contrast between the two images was disturbing to her, and add in the words of Aaro, ‘Scares me, this one does.’ He was so persistent that she should seek out the Earth Mother, as if she could provide information that was crucial to the event. But the two conflicting stories, they just did not make sense. It was like the time the teacher handed out the incorrect textbooks, something was wrong, but she was uncertain if she had the wrong book, or was in the wrong class. Then, before Lauren realized it, she heard the call for the evening meal, and slowly she went down the stairs and joined the others.

  And just as Aaro had predicted, after the meal, the Master Weapon Smith stood and approached her. “Earth Daughter, favor I would ask of you. History tells of weapons great, dwarf forge born. Named be best, tradition it be. Crafted such Ironhouse did, named to this day not. Forge shaped they be, but destiny be name born. To the world, name that which Ironhouse did make. Earth Daughter, please honor metal forged with name great.”

  Lauren smiled, “Let us see the weapon first,” she replied. The Master Weapon Smith nodded, and headed out into the hall, as everybody followed him, Gor and Gingaar leaving last, bringing with them various wines and ales.

  Only the Ironhouse dwarves knew of the weapon, and the secret room that housed it, and as the door opened, everybody stood in awe of the magnificent sword. The size alone immediately drew one’s eyes to it, even from twenty feet away, the huge deeply carved runes, now reflecting the light from the freshly lit lamps. Aaro and Lauren both noticed the change in its mood, for no steam was rising from it. Everybody took a chair, blowing off the thick dust, and sat down.

  The Earth Mother and Gingaar were the last to arrive, but when the Earth Mother looked at the mantle she did not see a little sword, she saw history. The dwarf runes, given by Father, erased from history by Mother so long ago, stared at her, mocked her. She was expecting a sword, two, maybe three feet long. What she looked at was not a dwarven sword; it was a harbinger of death. Why does they build this? Her mind raced, wondered how she could interrupt the ceremony, stop the Earth Daughter, b
ut as she stood, no sounds could she make, her voice silenced by Mother.

  The Master Weapon Smith turned to Aaro, “Present the sword of Ironhouse to Earth Daughter.” Aaro went up to the mantle, picked up the rack while Bor quickly pushed a small table into the middle of the room. Aaro walked around Lauren so that his back was to the crowd, the look on his face, asking if she knew what she was about to do?

  Lauren did not want to name the sword, but something inside of her, told her she had to hold it. She picked it up, and it was lighter than expected, the balance incredible. Even though she knew nothing of weapons, or how to make them, she realized it was an extraordinary feat. She ran her hand down one side, examining each deep rune in detail, and turned it over to examine the opposite side. For Lauren time seemed to stop. Those that looked upon her were surprised at how she was acting, caressing each side of the sword, looking at her reflection in the deep polished runes, tracing her fingers over each one. Lauren examined every inch of the sword, becoming visually intoxicated on the fine craftsmanship, and without realizing it, she had been studying it for over an hour. The crowd with her friends, elves, and dwarves watched in amazement, while the Master Weapon Smith just smiled, and the Earth Mother, struggled to get her voice back. Lauren ran her hand along the edge, and as she did, Aaro sucked in his breath, “Do not worry, it will not harm me. It knows that I am Earth Daughter.” True to her word, the edge that nearly ate Aaro’s hand, the edge that could cut time itself, did not slice her hand, even when she ran it over the razor sharp edge itself. Lauren did not expect what happened next. She began to understand the deceitful power inside the sword, “Master Weapon Smith, name who has been selected to champion this weapon.”