Designed by Death

by Melody Rose

  The one thing that glowed colorfully was the little pieces of Eternal Flame that lived in the streetlamps scattered along the paths and nestled in between trees. Each of them glowed in a subdued tone, but they still kept their reddish and orange hues.

  The Eternal Flame wasn’t an ordinary fire. Any pieces of the Eternal Flame originated from the first bit of fire Prometheus gave the humans. The titan defied Zeus and gave the humans more power and autonomy than the gods ever wanted. It was the first action that gave humans lives independent of the gods. While mortals were still manipulated by the gods, the gift of fire allowed us to grow and learn and advance beyond the clay dolls made by Prometheus, Zeus, and Athena.

  The Eternal Flame was a finicky and magical thing. It acted as though it had a mind of its own, and while I had the ability to control it, that didn’t mean it was easy. It was like training a stubborn dog who had his own ideas on what sit, stay, and roll over meant. It was a delicate relationship, the one between me and the Eternal Flame. It was a constant struggle to balance the temperament of the Flame. However, last year we made some real progress when we destroyed the apple orchard that accidentally caused students to become Love Struck.

  It was an ongoing development, needless to say.

  But then, something surprised me. When I passed under one of the street lamps, the bit of flame in the lamp at the top changed colors. It went from a dull red to a bright blue.

  This gave me pause. I stopped walking and looked up at the Flame with a confused expression.

  “Did you need me?” I asked. Technically, I didn’t need to speak aloud to the Flame like that. I could communicate with it in my mind, but I liked the idea of having a conversation with it. I liked stepping outside of my clouded mind and into reality, even if just for a moment.

  The Flame flickered up against the glass, as though it were knocking on the side of its cage. It was clear that the Flame wanted out.

  My gaze flitted from side to side to see if the coast was clear. It wasn’t always the best idea to release the Flame. Because of its sporadic and volatile nature, it was secured up and away from students. However, I’d been known to break the glass on occasion to ask for the Flame’s help. Like when I needed to burn the orchard, or when we were under attack by a flock of harpies.

  This time, though, was different because the Flame was asking me for my help and not the other way around.

  Intrigue played at the corners of my mind. What could the Flame want? Was I playing into some kind of trap? I quickly dismissed that thought. Even though it was temperamental, I trusted the Flame. It hadn’t led me astray in the times that we’d worked together.

  Making up my mind, I reached out my hand and directed it at the top of the streetlamp where the lantern containing the Eternal Flame was. As if it knew what I intended to do, the Flame twirled around once in the lantern and then pressed itself back on the furthest glass panel to get out of the way.

  I closed my eyes and reached out to the metal of the lantern. I recognized the type of steel right away. The metal responded by sending a wave of goosebumps up my arm and down my back. My eyebrow twitched as I concentrated on the small latch on the lantern way above my head.

  I pictured the latch flicking up, the door swinging open. I lifted my hand as though I moved the latch myself, even though it was several feet above me.

  I heard the click, signaling the release of the door. A small creak followed as the old hinges swung outward, opening the door. There was a rush of air as the little blue flame zoomed out of the lantern. I opened my eyes to watch it dance around the neck of the streetlamp, spinning in numerous circles.

  A giggle escaped my lips at the Flame’s clear enthusiasm. It was the first time I’d laughed in days, and it felt nice. Upon hearing my exclamation, the Flame stopped its dancing and paused a few feet from me, at eye level.

  The top of its flame waved as though it were swimming through water, while the rest of it stayed still. The Flame continued to burn blue as it examined me. Then, out of nowhere, the Eternal Flame charged for me. It began at my feet and then spiraled up my body, putting me in a tornado of blue light. A rush of wind picked up under me, blowing my hair back and my arms up and out to the sides.

  The Flame was warm and pressed into me, not unlike a hug.

  The gesture floored me. Could the Flame sense my sadness? Was it trying to comfort me? I didn’t know the right response since I could exactly hug the Flame back. I did the only thing I could think of. I closed my eyes and calmed my face. I thought about gratitude and grace, extending it out towards the Flame. I could only hope it got the message, how much I appreciated it as a source of comfort in these difficult times.

  It seemed to understand because the Eternal Flame soon stopped the tornado of light and stood still, again at eye level, though this time, it was only inches from my face. It zoomed around my head and flew a few feet down the path, in the same direction that I was originally walking before it stopped me.

  I cocked my head to one side, looking at the Flame curiously. “Do you want to come with me?”

  In response to my question, the Flame jerked itself forward a couple of steps as if to say, “Yes, you moron, I wanted to come with you. Can we go now?”

  I shrugged and walked forward, following the Flame. Who was I to tell the Eternal Flame no? Plus, it seemed to want to help, to be in a good mood, and I wasn’t going to do anything to change that because frankly, I wasn’t in the right headspace to deal with a temperamental piece of magical fire. But this sympathetic, comforting fire, I could hang with.

  Together, we trotted along the path towards the forge. It stood out of the way of campus and was attached to the armory. After Ruby accidentally burnt it down during my first year, the whole thing had gotten a much-needed facelift. There was updated equipment, such as power hammers and three different types of grinders. There were enough stations for the blacksmithing classes so that there could be more students in one class, instead of all having to share one forge like before.

  As I thought about this, however, I stopped in my tracks. What would happen to Ruby’s classes? Who would teach them? There wasn’t another teacher on campus who was as skilled as her. While everyone had to take a blacksmithing class when they were students, I would bet that none of them actually knew enough to teach a class. And what about the horses? Who would take care of their shoes? There was no way that Mac could handle that by himself.

  The Eternal Flame noticed that I stopped. It paused at the door of the forge before swirling around the handle, clearly indicating that I should open it. I didn’t know if I could go forward. I didn’t know if I could go in there without Ruby. I’d done it thousands of times before, but there was something about knowing that she would never check up on me, or never work alongside me anymore that prevented me from stepping inside.

  That was, until there was a nudge at the back of my knees, making them buckle. I looked behind me at the sudden movement, seeing where it had come from.

  Standing behind me were Khryseos and Argyreos, their pointed black ear perked up straight. They had lopsided smiles on their faces, sympathetic and goofy at the same time.

  They hadn’t been allowed at the funeral, and I realized at that moment how much I missed them.

  “Oh, boys,” I cried.

  My knees fell to the ground, and I wrapped my arms around each of their necks. The weight of their bodies pressed into me and gave me the same comfort as the Eternal Flame had, though it was more effective because I could touch them back.

  Khryseos pressed his cold nose into my neck while Argyreos nipped at my chin with little licks of his tongue. I leaned back and wiped their drool off with the back of my hand. Then I swiped at my eyes, filled with a new sense of courage.

  “Love you dogs,” I said with a tight voice.

  Argyreos barked first with a quick response, followed by Khryseos as if they were saying it back to me. I gave each of them a quick hug before I got back to my feet and faced the Fla
me at the door of the forge.

  It was as though I could feel the Flame’s impatience, as if it said, “I didn’t escape my prison for all this mushy stuff.”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry, we can go in now,” I apologized. True to my word, I pushed open the door of the smithy.

  The lights crackled on, a surge of electricity pushing through the room. I inhaled the scent of ash, metal, and burnt wood. That combination of smells surged into my lung, and I closed my eyes, enjoying it for a moment. As if that was all I needed, my body took over.

  All of my motions were automatic. I went through each step, first firing up the forge which the Eternal Flame quickly nestled in, like a bird returning to its nest. The Flame turned to the necessary color of green to forge the metal without any prompting. I smiled at the sight and continued with picking out my metal.

  It was business as usual in the forge. I didn’t know if it was pure distraction or if I was processing my feelings, but either way, I didn’t care. It was familiar. It was something in this messed up and chaotic world that I could control. I could manipulate the metal into something beautiful and useful. These were skills I’d honed over years of training and practice.

  My hands fell into a rhythm. It was a system of heating up the metal in the forge, pounding away on it with my trusty hammer, and then sticking it back in. The zing up my arm with each swing felt good. The ting in my ears when metal struck metal felt like a familiar lullaby.

  For the first time since hearing of Ruby’s death, I felt like myself. The Flame and I worked well together while the dogs curled up in their favorite spot under the workbench. It felt as though the world was righting itself right before my eyes.

  Until my weapon broke.

  One of the most delicate parts of the forging process is quenching. This is when the blacksmith dips the blade into a vat of oil in order to harden the steel. This makes the metal stronger and more durable. However, if the metal is too hot during the quenching process, the metal is too thin, or numerous other factors, the blade can be ruined.

  I felt the crack form the minute I quenched the blade. I heard the metal pop beneath the surface of the oil and felt the crack vibrate up my arm. A surge of flame burst upward from the contact of the hot metal and the oil. Once I pulled the blade out, and the flames settled, I could see the crack plain as day. It ran along the spine of the blade, down towards the center.

  It was such an unusual error that I was surprised it was there. It’d been a while since I’d had a solid crack like that. The blade was completely unsafe and couldn’t be used.

  “Damn it,” I cursed under my breath. The Eternal Flame flashed red, matching my own anger before it settled back to the neutral green. I abandoned that project and began again because there was nothing else I could do.

  Unfortunately, the second time I went to quench the second blade, the whole thing warped horribly. The blade was no longer straight, which would throw off a fighter’s balance and attack. I took to the forceps and tried to bend the blade back to something usable. However, when I tried that, I applied too much pressure, and the whole thing snapped in two.

  I leaned back my head and released a groan into the forge, loud enough for Khryseos and Argyreos to perk up and come out of their sleepy stupor.

  These were rookie mistakes, and I couldn’t figure out why I was making them. Was I too much in my head? More so than I thought? Was I too distracted and making basic steps? I turned around, intent on asking Ruby what she thought when I realized that the blacksmith wasn’t there. And she would never be there again.

  “What is wrong with me?” I asked the room at large, but neither the Eternal Flame nor my dogs answered me. Despite their comfort earlier, I felt alone at that moment, lost out at sea while I should know the way to get to safety.

  I was an excellent blacksmith. Not only because I was my father’s daughter, but also because I had trained and learned and grown over years of practice. Even these past two years tested and taught me how to make weapons that I never even considered making before.

  So why couldn’t I get this right?

  I swallowed audibly and stomped over to the various metal, intent on making a third blade. I ended up having to make a fourth and a fifth, and more than I could count. I cycled through style after style, using different metals, capitalizing on the different techniques I knew just to see if I could get something right. I even dared to try a marshmallow poker, items that were the bane of my existence before I came to the Academy. But even that, one of the simplest items I knew how to make, warped in the quenching process.

  I threw the poker on the concrete ground with a warrior’s grunt. It skittered across the floor, sparks flying off the end as the metal scraped along the ground. It banged and rattled about, the echo bouncing off the walls. It ran into another one of my creations, which I had also thrown to the floor in a rage.

  After being knocked to the side, the poke made an unexpected turn towards the front door of the forge. It stopped at the feet of a visitor who stood in the doorway of the smithy, watching me.

  My eye shifted up from the abandoned creation to the soldier who stared at me with raised eyebrows and a flat mouth. Even then, with such a bland expression on his face, Ansel looked handsome. As much as I wanted to appreciate his beauty at that moment, my anger came back to me in full force. It compelled me to ignore my boyfriend and march back over to the selection of metals, searching for my next victim.

  I felt Ansel’s eyes burn into the back of my neck. He didn’t say a word, but even just his presence threw me for a loop. It was already hard enough to concentrate, and I didn’t need him distracting me any more.

  “What are you doing here?” I growled through clenched teeth.

  “Well, when you didn’t come to the cafeteria, we all figured you needed some time alone,” Ansel started as he stepped further into the room.

  “Good choice,” I said back, not bothering to temper my irritation.

  “But then Khryseos and Argyreos came to find me,” Ansel said as he approached me by the metal rack. He stood right next to me, casting a shadow over my selection. “They seemed urgent, like you needed help. So I followed them to come and check on you.”

  I leaned back to look over by the door where my dogs cowered in the doorway as if they knew I wouldn’t be happy with their decision. They whimpered and hung their heads, a dog’s version of an apology.

  “Traitors,” I grumbled.

  “Don’t be mad at them,” Ansel said. He put a hand on my arm, but I pulled out of his grip. “You clearly need some help.” The soldier gestured out to the assorted blades and pieces of blades cast aside on the floor.

  “I’m fine,” I snapped, even though my tone and very demeanor said otherwise. I didn’t even see what metal I picked, I just grabbed one in my hand and made my way back to the forge where the Eternal Flame glowed. I had to get out of Ansel’s presence.

  I worked all day to focus on other things, put my mind in a place it was familiar with. But Ansel represented reality, and I didn’t want to face that right now. I wasn’t ready.

  “Cheyenne,” Ansel said, his voice so soft and his tone so tender I almost broke down right there.

  Instead, I cleared my throat and reached into the side opening in the rectangular forge. I stuck my hand into the green flames and placed the steel ball bearing in the dead center of the forge. I blinked as I looked at the solid ball bearing, wondering what the hell I was thinking when I picked that up. Ball bearings were one of the hardest steels to manipulate.

  Well, it would at least be a challenge, I conceded to myself, as I waited for the Eternal Flame to heat the metal up to a reasonable temperature.

  “Well, the dogs were wrong,” I said, keeping my gaze firmly trained on the flames. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” Ansel said, taking a tentative step forward.

  “That’s what you want to hear from your boyfriend,” I tried to joke, but my voice was ho
arse, and the words didn’t come out right.

  “Cheyenne,” Ansel said my name in that same soft tone as before. “It’s okay not to be okay. You suffered a great loss--”

  “Spare me the lectures.” I held up a hand to physically stop his words. “I don’t need them, alright? I’m just trying to go back to normal.”

  “This is not your normal,” Ansel pointed out. He stepped among the broken blades as though he were walking through a minefield. “You’re a better blacksmith than this.”

  “I know,” I said firmly. “But I’ve been a little distracted, and I’m just trying to get back on track.”

  “So, you admit that you’re not fine?” Ansel said, catching me with my own words.

  I leaned my head back and sighed, finally looking away from the Eternal Flame. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” I admitted. “Every time I go to quench something, it breaks or cracks or warps. I’ve been at it for hours, and I can’t get anything to turn out right.”

  “Maybe it’s time to call it a day, then,” Ansel suggested. He reached up towards the pipes that normally shut off the forge, but I quickly caught his hand to stop him.

  “No,” I said sharply, “the Flame doesn’t like it when you turn it off before it chooses to leave. It’ll get mad.”

  Ansel’s eyebrows rose at my answer, but he slowly took his hands off. He stepped back from the forge, consequently coming closer to me as he did so. My boyfriend took my hand in his, and when I tried to pull away, he held onto me tighter.

  “Cheyenne, don’t,” he warned, as though he knew what I needed more than I did. “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” I snapped.

  “Run away from your feelings like this,” Ansel said urgently. “You can’t just dive right back into everything. You’ve got to give yourself time to heal. Maybe you should take a break from the forge. Not come back until you’re really ready.”

  “I can’t just stop making things, Ansel,” I protested, my voice creeping into a whine. “That’s a different type of torture.”