Henrik Saetre
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Riftside - chapter 9
🕑 Added 2025-02-16 20:55:54 +0000 UTCPa always said that a weapon told its story to whoever bothered listening close enough. As I stood in the smithy's doorway, watching him arrange steel with great care, I wondered what story the soul weapon would tell.
The sun lit the room through the skylight. I'd planned to be up first, but he'd beaten me to it. As usual. Except this morning the shop doors were closed and the windows barred. For the first time in months, we would not open at sunrise.
The night's dreams still clung to me like cobwebs — roads branching into the future. The soul gem floating ahead of me, Eryn's smile, a branch walker's claw stabbing through my neck. I'd barely slept, too excited about being part of making the first soul weapon in this new frontier.
Pa lifted his oldest hammer, turning it in the light before setting it aside with a grunt of disapproval. He hadn't noticed me yet.
“That one's banged quite some steel, Pa,” I said with a smile.
He startled, then broke into a grin.
“Sneaking up on your old man now?”
“Not my fault you're going deaf.” I crossed to the bench, running a finger along a polished sword blade. “How long have you been down here?”
“Oh, for a while now. Couldn't sleep.” He shrugged, but excitement filled his eyes. “Wanted everything perfect. Not every day your son gets a soul weapon.”
“You and me both, Pa. Nightmares all night, but now everything's just fine. We get to forge this together.”
His grin widened.
“True enough. Though 'forge' might not be the right word. Truth is—” He stroked his beard. “I'm not even sure what we're supposed to be doing.”
“The great blacksmith Thomas Fletcher, admitting he doesn't know something?” I gasped in mock horror. “Should I check if the rift's closed?”
He cuffed my ear, but gently.
“Watch it, you welp. I've forgotten more about metalwork than you'll ever know.”
“That's just because you're getting old and forgetful.”
We shared a laugh, but then Pa's expression turned serious.
“From what Harold let slip last night, the gem chooses its form.” Pa rapped his knuckles on the workbench. “So I pulled our best stock. Anything to catch the soul gem's fancy.”
I nodded, studying the weapons laid out on the bench. First was a beautiful longsword we'd finished last week, then a mace with a spiked head, and the two-headed battle axe I'd been drooling over, the one that felt like it was made for my hand. Good weapons, ready for any adventurer with the coin.
“What if none of these are right?”
“Then we forge a new weapon that will be.” He patted the forge fondly. “But first, we need to learn what the gem wants. No point guessing when we can know for certain.” He grinned. “Those mind gems you all use, they sort of know where they need to go, right?”
I nodded and shrugged.
“Yeah. They just kind of dissolve.”
Last night's conversation with Harold had given us a starting point, but there was still so much we didn't know. One wrong move and I could lose this chance forever.
“Describe it to me in detail,” Pa said. “Maybe there is something to be learned.”
“I've got two mind gems. Why don't you take one?” I said.
Pa shook his head.
“No. They are not for me. One day maybe, once you reach the highest level. But until then, we invest it all in you.”
“I'll hold you to that,” I said and smiled, pulling out the pearly orb Harold had given me last night. The swirling patterns inside caught the morning light, making it look like captured moonbeams.
Just three more after this and I’ll be at level four.
I popped the small gem into my mouth and felt it dissolve on my tongue. My skin tingled as a rush of energy washed through me, spreading through every inch of my body, and chasing away any exhaustion. The mind fog cleared, replaced by sharp awareness as if I'd slept eight full hours.
“The pearl kind of melts on my tongue and sends energy rushing through me, and it feels like—” I searched for words Pa would understand. “Like the moment when you strike perfect steel. When everything aligns just right and you know exactly where the next blow needs to land.”
“So the gem knows what to do?”
“Yeah, you can say that,” I said, nodding.
“Right!” He gestured at the weapons. “Then let's see if the soul gem knows what it wants to be, too.”
“I'll go get it.” I looked to the darkened shop, and turned back. “Ma up?”
Pa shook his head. “Thought I'd let her sleep after she stayed up half the night helping me get Harold talking,” he said and shook his head. “Though knowing her, she's probably—”
“Already awake?” Ma's voice came from the doorway. “And wondering why neither of you thought to bring up breakfast before you started working on such an extensive project?”
She carried a tray laden with bread, cheese, and two steaming mugs. The rich smell of her special morning brew filled the workshop and my stomach rumbled.
Pa's belly rumbled, too, and we shared a glance before chuckling.
“Shouldn't forge on an empty stomach, dear,” Ma said, putting the tray on a free table. “Now you munch on this and I'll leave you alone to focus.” She squeezed Pa's thick arm and kissed his cheek.
“Thanks, Ma,” I said, jogging out and up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
The hidden compartment clicked open under my touch, and there it sat – deep purple swirling with green and brown, exactly as we'd left it. I carefully lifted it out, cradling it like a newborn.
When I returned to the workshop, the gem in my hands, Pa had already finished his drink and chomped down half the food.
“What was that about patient smiths?”
“You want to wait?” he said, his tone threatening.
“Hell no.”
“Exactly,” he said, grinning, showing me the half-eaten bread and cheese.
“I think that's my cue,” Ma said, and closed the door. “Good luck!”
“Ready?” Pa asked softly as I ignored the food and let my gaze drift across the weapons.
Which one would it choose? What would it turn into? I might be fighting with the weapon for the rest of my life and didn't want it to turn into a dagger or a short sword. Preferably a good piece of steel with some heft.
If it's a sword, please be like the one that Edwin uses. Or an axe, like Madrigal.
“Never more ready,” I answered.
“Right then.” Pa waved his empty cup at the spread of weapons. “Let's be systematic about this. Start at one end and work your way across.”
My heart thundered in my chest as I held the soul gem out over the sword and waited.
“Anything?” Pa asked and I shrugged.
“Nothing? I think. Not sure what to look for.”
I moved to the next weapon.
The daggers drew no response. When I reached the battle axe, the gem continued sitting lifeless in my hand, as still as ordinary crystal.
“Nothing,” I muttered, thinking back to my fight with the spider. The desperation, knowing if I didn't slay it, it'd kill me and my friends. The axe biting into its neck.
“Maybe this isn't how it's done?”
“Keep going.” Pa's voice held that familiar stubborn tone. “Never stop an experiment halfway through. If I was the type to quit partway—”
“You'd never have found the courage to marry Ma. I know,” I finished for him and rolled my eyes. “I'm doing it, see?”
I continued to the next weapon in line – the spear, then the bow, and finally the crossbow. Each weapon sat silently beneath the hovering gem.
Only the Warhammer remained at the edge of the bench, and then we could try something else. I started to move the gem over it—and froze.
My eyes went wide as a faint sensation tickled my palms.
“What is it?” Pa asked, stepping closer and peering at my hands.
“The gem, it's vibrating.”
I moved it back and forth across the warhammer. There was the tiniest tremor, like a whispered suggestion that told me to pick the weapon. Quickly, I swept the gem back over the other weapons. Nothing. As soon as I brought it near the warhammer again, that subtle vibration returned.
“Ha!” The whoop burst from my throat. “Did you see that?”
Pa grinned from ear to ear.
“I sure did! Hey, once we're done here, I will need to write a book on how to forge soul weapons. Under a pen name, of course,” Pa said jokingly. “But who would know a gem could have a preference!”
“I don't know, Pa, but it could have been a worse weapon, that’s for sure.”
“Try swinging the warhammer,” Pa suggested. “See how it feels.”
I turned to place the soul gem down on the anvil to free my hands when suddenly it trembled so strongly in my grip I stumbled backward with a yelp.
“What happened?”
Pa stepped closer, peering at my hands.
“The gem, it—” I stared at the blacksmith's hammer resting on the anvil. “Pa, could you clear the weapons and put the hammer on the table?”
He raised an eyebrow but did as I asked. I tested the gem near the anvil first – nothing. Then I brought it close to the hammer.
The crystal practically jumped in my hands, humming with energy.
My jaw dropped.
“Hammer!” Pa shouted, fists raised to the sky.
Then he rushed around the workshop, gathering every hammer we owned, laying them out one by one. The cross pein for detail work. The massive sledge for heavy strikes. The delicate chasing hammer for precious metals. The straight pein for spreading steel. Each one drew that same resonant hum from the gem.
In the end, Pa set down his experimental piece – the massive two-headed steelhusk hammer with an extra-long haft, closer to a maul, specially designed for working stubborn monster materials.
The crystal's vibration intensified, pulling toward the weapon like it recognized something in that purple-grey steel.
“By the Smith—” Pa muttered, his voice filled with awe. “I think we found our winner.” He broke into a wide grin. “This is the best day ever!”
I stared at the steelhusk hammer, my hands numbing from the vibrations. There was definitely something about the weapon's brutal simplicity and its raw power. I could learn to fight with a weapon like that.
“This is the one,” I said, stepping back and licking my lips. “But Pa, this hammer. Could you make another one? If we needed to?”
Pa was quiet for a long moment, studying the hammer.
“No. Not like this one. A good friend helped me forge it. Special circumstances.” He shrugged. “Truth is, even if I could make another... I doubt it'd be any better.”
The gem hummed steadily in my palm, gently pulling toward the hammer.
“A smith's hammer,” Pa mused, “Is going to become a soul weapon.” His voice grew thick. “My father would have loved to see this. He always said our craft was as much about destruction as creation - breaking down the old to forge the new.”
“You're okay with giving it up?” I asked softly.
Pa's laugh filled the workshop.
“Give it up? Son, I made this hammer to do great things. Just didn't know at the time how great it would turn out to be.” He clasped my shoulder. “A soul weapon and a hammer at that? Couldn't be more perfect.”
“Thank you,” I said with a grin. “Then let's make a soul weapon, Pa.”
“Don't thank me yet.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Still got to forge the binding. You ready?”
I nodded.
“Any ideas on what to do?”
Pa stroked his beard.
“Let's start by simply touching the gem and the hammer—the weapon, together, and see what happens.”
“Maybe the gem knows what to do?”
I moved it to and fro the hammer, feeling the vibrations change.
“Aye.” Pa limped across the workshop and picked up a piece of leather. “It chose a hammer. Our hammer.” There was pride in his voice as he carried the heavy vice, setting it carefully on the workbench. Then he wrapped the leather around the steelhusk hammer and secured it upright, making tiny adjustments until finally he stepped back with a satisfied nod. “Remember what I taught you about forging?”
“The setup matters more than the strike.”
“Exactly.” He moved to the doors, checking the bars. “No interruptions. No distractions. No mistakes.”
I watched him work, the man who'd taken me in and taught me everything I knew about metal and fire. Who'd shaped not just steel but me as well.
“Pa? What if we do something wrong?”
He turned back, eyes serious.
“Then we do it wrong together.” A smile crept through his beard. “But we won't. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because that gem chose a hammer. And who knows hammers better than us?”
Warmth spread through my chest. Of course. This wasn't just magic - this was just as much about craft. Our craft.
Pa's hands settled on my shoulders.
“Ready?”
I nodded, squaring up to the hammer. The gem thrummed against my palm, feeling eager to find a new home. Or at least that’s how it felt like.
“Wait.” Pa's voice stopped me. He raised his thick fingers in the traditional smith's blessing. “By the First Forge and Final Flame.”
“Let our work echo through the ages,” I spoke, my fluttering stomach settling with the familiar words and a slow and deep breath.
How hard can this be? Touch the gem to the hammer, and then...
The gem's vibration grew stronger as I stepped forward, pulling toward the hammer like a lodestone finding iron. But once it got within a handbreadth, the gem stopped.
“Huh,” I said, moving the gem up, and it felt like moving it along a groove, the gem trapped in a field pushing and pulling it to this exact equilibrium.
“What are you waiting for?” Pa asked.
“The gem's being pushed back.” I tried stepping away, but it resisted. “It's also pulling?”
“Put your back into it, son.”
“There's resistance, Pa,” I said, my boots scraping against the floor as I pushed.
He circled us slowly, his eyelids never even blinking.
“Maybe it's testing you.”
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I fought forward another inch. Then I grabbed the hammer with one hand and pulled, pushing the gem with the other. The vibration intensified until my entire arm trembled, but I pushed them together, my muscles screaming with the effort.
“Come on, son! You've got this!”
Finally, the gem hovered a finger's width from the hammer's surface. The space between them seemed to bend, like heat waves rising from the forge. Then something shifted and the resistance vanished. My hand pushed the gem against the hammer with ease.
Power exploded in a wave, knocking me backward as purple light filled the workshop, leaving afterimages dancing in my vision. The air crackled and my hair stood on end as every hammer in the room hummed and shifted, but my eyes were glued to the gem, and how it melted like wax on the hammer.
Instead of flowing down, it ran in all directions at once, defying gravity. Purple liquid wrapped around the weapon, leaving green and brown spiraling patterns, sinking into the metal wherever it touched. The steelhusk drank it like parched earth swallowing rain.
Then the vice groaned.
“Get down!” Pa shouted, but I couldn't tear my eyes away.
Metal shattered with a sound like thunder, and I felt a tug on my cheek. The hammer didn't fall, however, and just hung suspended in the air, rotating slowly, trailing ribbons of purple energy.
Then everything imploded.
The light and even the very air - all of it rushed toward the hammer with such force that my ears popped and darkness filled the smithy with an absolute silence.
Until the hammer dropped to the floor.
It hit the workshop floor with an echoing ring, leaving me breathless.
“By the Smith,” Pa whispered, climbing to his feet.
I stood, wiping away at the wetness on my cheek, and stepped forward, reaching for the hammer.
It called to me.
“Wait!” Pa warned, but I barely heard him.
My weapon was right there. No, not just my weapon, but my destiny. The haft felt crafted to fit my hand as my fingers closed around it.
“Pa, it is—”
Power surged up my arm like lightning, locking my muscles and arching my back. I opened my mouth in a silent scream, echoing that of the Woodweaver, as foreign thoughts and feelings crashed through my mind, fighting to overwhelm my consciousness with alien memories and instincts.
The monster's final moments played out in brutal clarity. The loathing for the bipeds. Hatred and hunger and endless rage, filled with the need to kill and destroy, to tear apart anything living. The monster's consciousness screamed for blood.
I fell to my knees, gripping the hammer with both hands.
Never before had my calling been clearer than in that moment, connected to the soul gem and seeing into its mind. This was no animal attacking out of fear, hunger, or protection.
This was something else, and it felt wrong. A twisted thing that should never have existed. Every memory was bathed in blood-red fury: rending flesh, crushing bones, and the ecstasy of killing. It threw itself against my thoughts like it had thrown itself at Edwin, Benedict, and then my axe, with a mindless, savage desperation to destroy.
“KILL! CONQUER! SLAY!”
“No!” I fought back, trying to impose order on the chaos in my head, separating its memories from my own.
The hammer burned in my grip, so hot it felt like my hands were melting. But I couldn't let go. I would never let go!
“TEAR! BREAK! DESTROY!”
The monster's soul raged harder, flooding my mind with visions of slaughter. I saw myself turning the hammer on Pa, felt the sick anticipation of how his skull would crack, how his blood would taste.
“NEVER!”
The word tore from my throat as I threw my will against the invading darkness, and I fought my way up. The hammer's surface crackled with purple energy, searing my palms. My heart thundered in my chest, too fast, too hard.
“You are my weapon! My strength! Nothing else!”
I raised the hammer, my hands clenched around the shaft, and slammed it hard against the anvil.
Pa screamed, his hands going to his ears.
“You belong to ME!”
I hammered the anvil again, the reverberations traveling up my arms and something shifted. The darkness began to fracture under my constant swings. The essence attacking my mind weakened, breaking apart.
I raised the hammer again, but pain exploded through my chest. My vision blurred, doubled. Each breath felt like swallowing glass. Too much. It was too much.
I stared up at the hammer's swirling patterns, reflecting the war in my mind, but I couldn’t anymore. My body was failing. Spots danced before my eyes, and my muscles spasmed uncontrollably.
“Ash!” Pa's voice seemed to come from very far away where he kneeled on the floor. “Your nose!”
Something warm and wet ran down my lips and chin. I looked down and noticed blood dripping onto the workshop floor. My heart skipped beats, lurched, hammered, over and over again. I couldn't feel my fingers anymore.
Before the last of my strength fled, I swiped the hammer into my spatial storage and collapsed to my knees, gasping for air.
The pressure in my head vanished and my heart steadied. Blood still trickled from my nose, but the killing pain was gone.
“What happened?” Pa crawled over and pushed me up, his face tight with worry.
“I almost—” My voice was barely a rasp. “Almost had it.”
I wiped blood from my face with trembling hands before toppling backwards, my head hitting the floor.
