Winterfire

Chapter Sixteen

Lif

Brandr was sweltering at the forge pounding out a spear when we entered the shop, but he handed everything over to an assistant, removed his big gloves, and went into his back room. He seemed to be gone for a long time, but when he returned, he held an object wrapped in a colorful scarf. A woman, smiling broadly, followed close behind him.

“Sorry it took me so long to fetch it,” he said, “but my wife insisted I had to wrap it, and she objected to the old burlap sack I was using, so she loaned me her scarf!”

“Hello, Astrid. Let me introduce Lif,” said Thor. He stepped back and gave me a gentle push. I nodded and smiled at Astrid.

 “Here it is,” said Brandr as he solemnly laid the bundle on a worktable. “Open it,” he said smiling. “It’s yours.”

I stepped forward and slowly, unwrapped the hammer, and stared at it. It was a lovely, muted gray, like the color of a storm cloud. I ran my fingers along the sharp edge lightly and though I’d felt nothing, a drop of blood dripped onto the table. I cried out softly in shock and put my finger in my mouth. Astrid handed me a clean rag, but no one said anything.

I lifted the hammer; it felt substantial, yet light. When I closed my right hand around the smooth handle, I had an almost uncontrollable urge to stretch my arm back and throw the hammer. I looked at Thor and he nodded.

“It wants you to throw it, doesn’t it?” he asked. I nodded, startled that he had known what I was thinking. “That means it knows it belongs to you. The iron has bonded with your hand.”

“I’ve held it a thousand times and thrown it a hundred more while working on it, and I have never felt anything. I’ve made hundreds of weapons - hammers, spears, knives, and axes—but you are the first person who has had that feeling. The others were pleased with their weapons, but they just picked them up and left. It is the rare person who feels an immediate kinship with his weapon,” said Brandr.

“Or her weapon,” said Astrid.

“I felt it with Mjölnir from the first,” said Thor. “My hammer knows me, and I know her.”

“I have named your hammer,” said Brandr. “I name all the weapons I make, although I’m sure many men change the name to something they feel suits them better. My names, though, are not made to suit the owner of the weapon; the names I give suit the weapon itself; they are true names. I have named your hammer ‘Breyta,’ which means ‘take action.’ I didn’t think of the name so much as it leapt from my tongue one evening as I worked.”

 “It’s true,” Astrid said. “I was here helping Brandr that night. He had just called me over to work the bellows for him—he needed a hot fire and couldn’t both work the bellows and do the delicate work that needed doing—and I asked him what he was working on, though if I’d thought for even a moment I’d have known; this weapon is all he’s worked on for the past month. He didn’t stop working or turn his head toward me for even a second, but he said ‘Breyta. I am making Breyta.’”

I hugged the hammer to my chest and whispered its name. I had my own weapon. I didn’t need anyone to fight for me. I could take care of myself. “I don’t know what to say to you, sir. This is the best, most beautiful thing I have ever owned. Thank you, Brandr. Thank you, Thor.” I was almost giddy with the thought of what I could now do.  At that time, though, I had no idea what using a weapon like Breyta really meant, how it would make me feel. Having the power to defend myself was not the same thing as having the power to hurt others. Thor knew. He tried to warn me, but I didn’t understand. I just felt my own power.

Thor gave me a sad smile.  “Well, Missy, I’m glad you like Breyta, but don’t forget that she is a weapon, a deadly weapon. You need to learn how to throw it, but just as important as “how” is “when”. Are you ready?”

“Yes! I’m ready,” I said. My legs were strong enough to run forever, and my arms could nearly lift Mjölnir; well, not very nearly. In fact, not at all, but I could almost wiggle it. I pictured myself throwing Breyta with the speed and power of a lightning bolt.

Thor had already set up a practice range next to the forest’s edge behind the hemlock. “We’ll start with the target close, at first, Missy, exactly ten paces away. When you’ve mastered that distance, we’ll move the target back another five feet, and so on.”

“Ten paces? Is that all?” I complained. “I’ve seen you throw Mjölnir over a mile!”

“Mjölnir is special, and, if you don’t know it already, I am special. I can throw Mjölnir straight, true, and deadly for at least…well…well, there are not limitations to how far I can throw Mjölnir. But you are not me, and as fine a hammer as Breyta is, she is not Mjölnir. We will start where I say,” said Thor, and that was that.

“The most important part of throwing the hammer is consistency. You must train your body to do the same thing every time. Once you have learned to hit the target from ten paces, you must develop consistency before we move the target. And for now, we will concentrate on just hitting the target. We can work on actually hitting a mark within the target later. Now, stand here and face the target straight on.”

I did exactly as Thor directed. He said it was good I had not ever shot a bow, because with a bow, the shooter turns her body to the side to aim and shoot. I didn’t have any habits to unlearn.

“Take a firm stance with your feet spread a bit…there you go. The weight of your body should rest on your right foot since you will throw with your right hand. Now, fix your eyes on the target and choose your spot. Raise your arm and sight along it…keep your eyes on the target and raise your arm to meet the line of sight…good, Missy. Are you comfortable?” Thor asked.

“I am. Should I just bend my elbow back until the hammer is behind me?”

“Yes, that’s it; don’t turn your wrist. Now, when you throw the hammer, nothing will move except your elbow, and when the hammer has reached your sight line, release it. Keep your wrist rigid; don’t try to guide the hammer with your wrist. Just sweep your arm forward and let go.”

Again, I did exactly as Thor said. I stood firmly and squarely faced the target. I looked at the target and picked my spot. I lifted my right arm straight out and sighted along it to the spot. I bent my elbow back, holding my forearm and wrist tight. Breyta felt warm and jumpy in my hand, as if it were about to leap away from me. I swept my arm forward as hard as I could and let go of the hammer.

Later, I heard Thor telling his friend, Tyr, that he’d never seen anyone - man or god—throw the hammer perfectly true on the first try, and that even he had had to practice long and hard with Mjölnir. “I thought Mjölnir was enchanted, and would always find her mark,” said Tyr, smiling.

“So she is,” answered Thor. “But I still had to learn to trust her. I had to learn not to be dumbfounded every time she hit her mark. But I tell you, Tyr, I was astonished when Lif threw Breyta. I have never seen anything like it.”

My first throw sliced through the air and hit the target dead center -Thwack! Thor praised my throw, but called it beginner’s luck, and had me throw it again. Thwack! Same result as the first throw. Thor picked up the target and moved it back five feet, and I hit the exact same spot again. The wood chipped and the hammer cut a deep groove into the target. Thor suggested, jokingly, that I pick a new spot so as not to split the target.

“I’m aiming for the spot about the length of my thumb above the old mark,” I said, and Thor laughed. I did everything in exactly the same way. I hit the new mark. Thor was no longer laughing, but he could not hide his delight. Each time he moved the target back, I hit it hard.

“Hard enough to take down a man!” Thor exclaimed excitedly. “Though Breyta doesn’t have the heft of Mjölnir, you throw it true and fast. I’d like to think your training has paid off, but you don’t seem to have learned to throw, so much as to have known all along; all I’ve done is to uncover your talent. ”

I believed Thor was right. There were a lot of steps to remember, but I felt as if I’d been throwing Breyta all my life; it felt as natural to me as breathing.