Child of War (Tales of Autcrem)

Chapter eight, Resolve

The hammer felt so natural in his hands. Like an old friend, he had long forgotten but still missed. He never realized how much he had missed it. How important this was to his life. His past he kept trying to forget but he never realized how much he missed it.

Its hard insides seemed so familiar to him. He never knew how much he missed forging. He had made many things when he was younger. Daggers and swords, maces and hammers. He even learned how to make clothes and made two beautiful dresses for his mother before he left. She said she could never wear them again because it would remind her of the child she lost. He said she had to so she would never forget him. That was a sad day.

"Your swords over there." He said, nodding to a corner where it sat in its sheath. "Fine piece of work. Made for a Gesh user. To repel, expel, deflect, reject, and resistant magic."

"That's all kind of the same thing." He said, slowly limping over to his sword.

"But it's fun to say," the elf said with an old smile.

"Yeah, it is," Hensei said, pulling out his sword. He looked at its sharp blade. As if just touching it could cut you. For a moment, it was dripped with the blood of his enemies. That was its natural state, covered in crimson. Then it was stainless steel again like it had never been tainted by the warm tang of blood. "I don't know what more I can add to it," Hensei says, looking at the forge hot enough to melt metal.

"Maybe just start pounding. Let your emotions do the work."

"My emotions," Hensei muttered as he looked at his blade. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How did you make this," Hensei pointed at the little crystal device on his shirt that translated their words to English. He knew if he didn't ask now, he'd forget.

"Oh, that little old thing. Just some Elvin engineering. It takes a little spell weaving and forging. Nothing very complicated."

"Uh," Hensei nodded his head.

Hensei stared at his blade for a long time then placed it into the forge. He watched the metal slowly heat. It beamed red as it softened. Giving an off a peeling heat that he had long to feel for. The memories flowed through his head like a formerly breeze. Memories of hammers hitting anvils. Of hot forges, heated metal. An image of a large man hitting a massive anvil with a mystic hammer. He had white hair that wasn't because of his age but his lineage. His shirtless chest lay bare to the sparks as they sputtered and hissed into worn skin. He felt nothing as they showered on him. Thick like leather and hard like stone. He had watched his father for hours when he was little. Amazed how he felt no pain from the sharp pain of the sparks. Amazed at the weapons he had created, the armors he had forged. His father was a master like no other, yet his hypocrisy was painful. He would make powerful weapons for war yet forbidden any of their family to go to war. How could he be so hypocritical? How could he not see Hensei was right? Why could he not understand?

Hensei blinked as the memories fled as quickly as they came. He had the sword on the anvil, and the hammer raised to strike it. He didn't remember moving. He stared at its red-hot metal like it was some foreign creature.

"You going to strike it or just stare at it all day?" Egrof said, still smoking his pipe.

Hensei filled his body with Gesh. It numbered the wounds and awoke an old hunger. He brought the hammer down at it rang with a beautiful ringing Hensei had missed so very much. Again, and again he brought it down. The Gesh slowly flood into the sword. It was bonding with his blade, just like when he fought. He had never done this before.