by Simon Archer
This was all he was ever going to give me though. I knew that I was luckier than most demigods in that I got to meet my godly parent twice now, two times more than some of them ever did in a lifetime. I should be grateful, but after all this time, I just couldn’t muster the positive feelings
I chose not to say anything as he left. And, as I expected, he didn’t turn around and offer me a goodbye, a wave, absolutely nothing.
I looked down at the laurel leaves in my hand. I twirled them around using the branch as a base. The green flashed before my eyes as the leaves twitched. I tucked the plant in my pocket and sent one last glance over my shoulder at where the god of justice disappeared.
Then, I left the past behind me and trudged forward, just hoping that I could find my way back to base.
15
“And then you just left?” the cyclops checked as he lounged in his custom made chair. When Arges first came to the Academy, there wasn’t a lot of furniture, or buildings for that matter, that could accommodate his size. So he spent some time crafting metal chairs and tables to fit his seven-foot frame.
I whipped my head over my shoulder, temporarily stopping my hammering to shoot my mentor a glare. “Because I don’t need that shit. It’s not worth it to be paired up with that creepy girl and being taught how to lie like that. I don’t want to be subject to the whims of that bitch of a teacher.”
“The so-called bitch being Sasha, daughter of Dionysus?” Arges translated as he used a small hunting knife to pick out the grim beneath his fingernails.
“Precisely,” I confirmed before I turned back to the work before me.
After the incident in the drama class, I immediately ran to the forge. It was the safest place I could think of to recover my senses and my emotions. I knew that I could hide in here for a while and smash out my feelings. I barely gave the cyclops a hello when I barged in and took up the nearest piece of metal I could find. I didn’t really focus on what I was making but rather lost myself in the familiarity of the movements. The vibrations that ran up my arm as I pounded on the hot metal. The sizzle of the hammerhead on the metal, while sparks burst up and floated down to the concrete floor.
There was nothing more relaxing than forging. I got to craft something from nothing with my own two hands. It had been too long since I allowed myself to just craft without purpose. I followed my own whims, listening to the metal to see what it could be crafted into. Eventually, my body relaxed into the motions to where I felt my breathing return to normal and my heart rate slow to an acceptable pace. Arges seemed to notice it too because, after I slipped into a state of peace, only then did he ask me what happened to get me so riled up.
Arges was one of the original three cyclops who helped the gods break away from the titans and defeat them. He and his two brothers made Zeus’s lightning bolt, Posidon’s trident, and Hades’s Helm of Invisibility. I did a study abroad trip last semester to his villa in Italy where I learned to make armor, which hadn’t been my specialty. I got to craft a new Helm for the god of the Underworld, and while my time in Italy had been a huge learning opportunity, it was preemptively cut short.
Eris, disguised as Kari, had attacked the villa, burning it to the ground. We had to escape the destruction and eventually brought Arges back to the Academy, where he agreed to be the new blacksmith instructor for a while. At least until he could find a new place to rebuild and live.
It was a serendipitous situation because the Academy had lost their previous blacksmithing teacher earlier in the semester. Sarah had been my first instructor here, and a true mentor in my life. A daughter of Poseidon, she worked with the horses mainly as a ferrier. She was sassy and full of direct life advice, which always struck home. Unfortunately, however, she had Parkinson’s and was struggling to complete her work. The two of us made a deal early on that I would complete the assignments the Military gave and she would take credit. That worked until Eris murdered her.
While I tried to rescue my mentor from her unfair and untimely death, she wouldn’t let me. Sarah had ended up in the Elysian Fields with her long lost love Marsella and was finally illness free. As hard as that had been for me, I relished in the fact that my mentor was happy. Even though there were days where I walked into the forge and expected to see her working away, I knew she was in a better place.
Arges had been a great teacher too, even though his style varied from Sarah’s. From what I’d heard, most of the students liked him as well, once they got over the fact that he was a massive cyclops. While the size and one eye was intimidating as hell, Arges had a kind heart. I hoped that other students would see that side of him as well.
Which is why the cyclops wasn’t going to let me walk out of here without spilling the whole story. As much as I hated him for it, I was also grateful to have someone to talk to about it.
So I told him the whole story, from making the bargain with the Fates, to finding Sasha and agreeing to take her drama class. My disastrous attempts at making the tools were also woven in there too along with the uncomfortable scene with Holly.
“I get the sense, though, from your tone that you’ve made up your mind and you’re not going back to that class,” Arges said as he leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. Even bent over like that, he still was taller than me, looking like a statue in a museum.
“I don’t think I can,” I said as I looked at the ground and shook my head. “I refuse to be treated like that, like I’m some thing that Sasha can play with. And while I know I need the nymphs’ help, I wasn’t doing well with them. I was making progress sure but I still kept lighting shit on fire and… I don’t know, something tells me that this isn’t right.”
“If it isn’t right, then,” Arges shrugged with both big shoulders. “It isn’t right.”
“Am I just making excuses for something I don’t want to do?” I asked, speaking out loud one of my fears about this decision.
“Cameron,” the cyclops said in a scolding tone. “You have to listen to yourself and if something wasn’t right about that situation, then trust that. Trust yourself, just like you do when you are forging.”
Arges held out his hand and gestured towards the length of iron I just pulled out of the forge. As I examined the blade, I realized that I hadn’t been paying attention to what I was making. When I recognized the length and the inevitable rainbow-like curve to it, I sighed heavily, leaning my head back to growl up at the sky.
“What is it now?” the cyclops asked. “Did you manage to crack it before dipping it in the oil? It is too thin?”
“No,” I moaned as I held up the blade so he could recognize what I was making. “It’s a freakin scythe. Again.”
I rolled my eyes and went to set down the iron on a nearby anvil, intending to abandon the project and actually make something useful. For some reason, ever since I had been given the prophecy about the Ultimate Weapon, I’d been subconsciously making scythes.
The weapon, made famous by the Grim Reaper but originally wielded by Cronos, ticked off all the boxes when it came to what the Ultimate Weapon’s base would be. Now, I could and had made other weapons when I was concentrating but for some reason when I was shooting the shit, just making weapons for the sake of it, I always churned out a scythe of some sort. It was like I was cursed to subconsciously make these for the rest of my life.
“Don’t tell me you’re abandoning that weapon,” Arges said as he stood to his feet and pointed to the soon to be scythe.
I glared at the cyclops, eye to eye. “It doesn’t matter, it wasn’t for anything or anyone. I was just fooling around.”
“Still,” Arges insisted as he crossed to the blade. He slipped on one of the heavy gloves meant to protect blacksmiths from the white-hot heat of the metal. I didn’t have to use those thanks to my heat resistant powers, so I never kept a pair nearby. “I think you need to finish what you started.”
“Are you saying that about just this project or the other things I’ve decided to abandon
as of late, like the drama class?” I asked, suspicion coming through in my single raised eyebrow.
“There is a difference,” Agres said as he raised a single finger with his ungloved hand. With the other, he guided the scythe blade back to my perdaughteral anvil, setting it down gingerly. “This project presents no harm to you or anyone else. The drama class is another story.”
I inhaled deeply, raising my shoulders up to my ears. I gathered my resolve and took up my hammer once more. I held the tang of the scythe and balanced it around the horn so I would accentuate the curve that made the scythe different from a sickle.
“So if I don’t go back to the drama class then Sasha and the nymphs won’t help me with the Moirai’s tools,” I said, looking at the anvil and the weapon the whole time. I timed my words between my pounding so the cyclops could hear my dilemma.
“What were you having trouble with when it came to the weaving and woodcarving?” Arges pondered as he ran a hand over his bald head.
“Don’t tell me you’ve known how to do those all along?” I said, my tools swinging at my side as I stopped my forging.
“Unfortunately, no, I don’t,” the cyclops said as he stepped back to his large metal chair that could have been mistaken for a throne just considering the sheer size of it. “But tell me, what did you struggle with in regards to those trades?”
“The woodcarving was difficult because I didn’t realize how much I rely on my innate connection with the metal to make weapons,” I confessed, a feeling of shame snaking up my back. I hunched over the scythe to closer inspect the straightness of the blade, ensuring it wasn’t warped. “And the weaving, Holy Hermes, the materials were all so flammable. I swear, some days I felt like if I looked at the wool the wrong way it would burst into flames.”
“So it was the unfamiliar materials,” Agres pondered. He sat back in his throne, crossing one leg over the other in a stoic pose. “Not the techniques themselves?”
“Not really,” I said, thinking through my answer. “I mean, if I could use metal somehow in the projects, I bet I could figure it out.”
My mentor and I sat in silence for a moment as the scythe went into the fire once more time before I would put the finishing touches on it. Then the blade would dunk in the oil, which hardened the blade, making it ready to use. Of course, there were the added steps of sharpening and grinding out the uneven spots, but taking the plunge into the oil was definitely the defining step for a weapon.
I watched the flames dance in the middle of the rectangular contraption that heated thousands of degrees. I could manipulate the pressure and the heat with the knobs coming out of the top of the cinderblock like encasement. The metal sizzled as it turned from a burnt red to a summertime yellow and finally to a white the color of angel wings.
I always loved the reliability of metal. It was sturdy and could withstand so much wear and tear. If a blade was made correctly, it could last a long time. It would hold its purpose for years. Unfortunately, elements like wool and wood were fragile and frail. They could be weathered from time and decay. They were also easily consumed by something like fire, so quickly destroyed.
As I considered this, something echoed far away in my mind. It was as though lightning struck in the distance and I was only now hearing the thunder. The Moirai had always used the same types of materials when it came to their tools. They had asked me for an upgrade. So who was to say that I couldn’t also upgrade the materials themselves?
“I wonder…” I said as I turned to Arges, ignoring the scythe in the forge for a minute. The thoughts were trickling in like water from a broken faucet, and I wanted to make sure I collected all of them. “Do you know how to make pipes?”
“Pipes?” The cyclops asked with a tilt of his head. “Why would you need to know how to make pipes, bladesmith?”
“It doesn’t have to be a pipe per se,” I started as I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling at the ends as if that would help me think faster. “But something in that cylindrical shape. That’s really what I’m going for.”
Arges uncrossed his legs and tapped the tips of his fingers against the arm of his chair. “Where are you going with this, Cameron?”
“The Fates asked for me to remake their tools so that they would last,” I said as my legs subconsciously took me over to the wall of various metals. My fingers twitched as I searched for something, though what exactly I was looking for I wasn’t sure yet. I only was half aware of the words coming out of my mouth. “But I’ve been going about this the wrong way. Just because they asked me to remake their tools doesn’t mean they asked me to make them the same way they’ve always been for the last several centuries.”
“Cameron,” Arges said, a warning tone in his voice. I ignored it as I pulled some blocks of iron out of the respective cubbies.
I gathered them up in my arms and brought them to the workbench, dumping them out with a clang. I spread them out with my fingers, until not one was touching the other, so I could examine them all at once. My mentor came up behind me, casting a large shadow over my materials.
“Do you think it’s wise to upset the Fates?” the cyclops wondered innocently, though I could sense the hesitation in his tone. A being of his age and knowledge would have lived as long as the goddesses. It would be natural for him to fear the sisters.
“I’m not going to upset them,” I said, trying to convince myself almost as much as I was trying to convince my mentor. “I’m going to delight them with this change.”
“I don’t know, Cam,” Arges said, watching me as I bounced back over to the wall of metals. “This seems like quite an unnecessary risk.”
I spun on my heel and gathered my resolve. “Look, they asked me to make these tools. Cameron Alpin. Son of Hephaestus. I’m not a wood carver. I’m not a weaver. I’m a blacksmith. So I’m going to do what I do best and forge them the best tools they’ve seen in the last two thousand years.”
I put my hands on my hips, my hands forming fists around the smaller blocks of iron. “Now are you going to help me or not?”
The cyclops glared at me with his solitary eye before he crossed to the forge I was working at a minute ago. Once again, he put on his glove and yanked out the scythe I abandoned. Again.
“I’ll get back to that one, I promise,” I assured him.
“I know you will,” Arges said with a surprising amount of confidence. Gingerly, he moved the still fragile piece to a forge that wasn’t turned on so the blade could cool. Then he pulled out his own hammer that was hanging off the horn of a nearby anvil. “Where do we start?” he asked with a smile that played at the corner of his lips.
“Okay,” I said as I quickly darted to the workbench and pulled out some sketch paper. With the short, nubby pencil, I scratched out my plan. “Instead of using wood, I’m going to make Lachesis’s rod out of metal.”
“Hence the pipe question,” Arges translated.
“Exactly,” I said, pointing the pencil in his direction. I went on to sketch out the scissors. “Atropos’ tool will be just like I had been planning originally, only sharper because they’ll need to be able to cut through the steel wool.”
“Steel wool?” Arges said with surprise. “Getting clever I see.”
“Yeah well,” I said with a shrug. “I think I’ll be able to manipulate it better.”
“Do you even know how to make steel wool?” the cyclops asked. I didn’t miss the doubt underlying in his voice. But I ignored it and answered confidently, “Nope. But I’m going to learn.”
16
I spent the next several weeks learning how to make various sized pipes and steel wool. While there was still a significant learning curve, it was ridiculously easier than working with the wool or the wood.
With the steel wool and the metal, I always had a sense of what I was making. I could feel the fibers beneath and manipulate them in ways that I always had with my weapons. Sure, the shapes and structures were going to be different, but the base was the same. The techniqu
es were the same.
Well, not exactly.
Making a pipe, or in this case, a rod, was a delicate process. The metal had to be strong but thin around the edge. It also had to be even all the way around. It surprised me that I didn’t seem to know how to make anything into a perfect circle. Arges walked me through the steps, time and time again. But it took me a long time to mold the metal into the ideal shape.
I made several different types of rods once I got the hang of it. While the Moirai’s directions hadn’t been all that specific, save for the length of the rod itself, I wanted to present my best work. I did as Arges instructed and listened to my instincts. That’s where the metal spoke to me.
I would trap myself into the zone, working for hours at a time, long into the night. It was like working on the commissions with Sarah during my first year. Even though I knew there were other responsibilities looming over my head, there wasn’t anything more important than finishing these tools.
At the end of the day, I realized I would still be an Elemental Official when this was over. That wasn’t a title that was so easily taken away from me. As for my classes, I just had to pass. I didn’t have to get perfect grades or be the best. For now, all I had to do was the bare minimum so I could put myself back into the forge and finish these tools.
I never went back to the drama class. Sasha never came up and said anything which was fine by me. But Holly eventually found me outside of the forge one day, despite all of my efforts to avoid her.
“Hey Cam,” Holly said, trying to be charming as she tipped an invisible hat in my direction. “Haven’t seen you in class for a while. I’m missing my partner.”
“Take a hint, Holly,” I said slowly, making sure she heard every word. “I’m not coming back.”
