Chapter 84: FORGED IN FIRE

He’d never seen Fendri so angry. His animus for the irritating man produced little sympathy from his young mind. Why had the King’s Stewart dragged him from the comforts of his bed in the dead of night? The day’s training session had had exceedingly rough, his body, tended to by the surprisingly gentle ministrations of the fire-haired healer had taken the bite from the agony, though his body still ached. 

Why was Fendri rushing him now?

Even so young, his training kicked in, his body on high alert for any signs of traps or duplicity. The actions of the man were already a clue enough that something different this night. That this was a path he’d never before taken was another. He had not even been afforded the time to dress in the appropriate attire, nor collect his gear. His bed cloths, all black like the uniform of his station would be fine. Of course, he had secreted away a pair of small dagger on his person. The annoying errand boy to the King was far too ignorant to know.

The scent of smoke was the first sense alerted to the fact that something was amiss. The aroma was not an unfamiliar one in the castle, though there was a distinct undertone that made the normal pleasant smell this night, increasingly foul. A few steps ahead, Fendri plowed through the swinging panel of the hidden door without slowing, Risens darted forward before the painful wrath of the door’s inswing caught him off-guard.

The sight before his eyes, ground his feet to a halt.

Sprawled on a stretcher in the center of the innocuous vault they’d entered was a body, charred nearly beyond recognition. Much of the black clothing was gone, the exposed skin was scorched, bubbled and torn, stained a deep crimson from the blood and black from the soot. The leather armor looked brittle and flaky as it too had born the brunt of the flames. The remains of a cloak, one which he knew intimately, though signed and torn were wrapped over the dead man’s chest.

He knew before his eyes confirmed from the facial feature that remained, who had been returned to the keep.

Vagon, his tutor.

His mentor.

His abuser, was dead.

Risens pulled from Fendri’s surprisingly stout grasp, rushing to the man’s side. For much of his life he had hated the man. There was never a gentle moment beyond the harsh treatment that only begot more violence. He had been molded into the deadly image of the man laying still and burned before him.

In the moment, he only felt a strange detachment. He was neither angry nor sad. Death, he had come to know was inevitable. Attachment a weakness to be exploited.

He was a wicked man, it was true. Still, he was nearly all he knew.

Biting back the mistiness that formed over his eyes, he placed his hands on the man’s armored chest. He cried out in pain as the armor was still scalding to the touch.

Risens chanced a glance at Mother Raven as her command echoed in his ear. The expectation was clear, etched into the aged features of her face. Her skin, normally shrouded in the darkness under her feathered cowl, glowed with the flickering orange light of the fire. The warning was ominous but was no stranger to pain. Questioning the order was useless. The Brands that graced his chest were proof of the validity of her words.

Pain was a temporary price to pay for whatever power was to be bestowed.

“Fool. Do not make us suffer longer.”

Forcing the fluidity of his action, fighting against the natural hesitation and resistance that surged through him, he stabbed the blades into the fire. The talons shifted his approach as the tip of their steel enter the fire, angling downward into the glowing coals of the burning wood until they bit into the floor below.

Risens had the misfortune of being burned before on several occasions. The sting alway lingered far beyond whatever salves the healers could apply. It seemed their skills at tending would, treating poisons and mending broken bones were relatively useless against the dreadful pain of the burned. Perhaps, as he has always thought, they chose not to alleviate the pain, leaving it as a potent reminder and a lesson to be learned.

The heat of the flames on his exposed skin was immediate. He gritted his teeth as the warmth swelled quickly beyond uncomfortable. He squeezed his hands tighter around the feathered designs desperately forcing his mind to concentrate on something beyond the mounting pain. It was a battle he was rapidly loosing even in the first few moments that the blades remained in the fire.

Through squinted eyes he peered down at the Raven Talons, pleading with the steel to heat. His knowledge of the art og blacksmithing was limited though he doubted the metal would react quickly. Every breath that stretched onward pushed his body and mind closer to the point of breaking. He dared not look at his hands, knowing that he’d find his skin cracked and flaking. He could feel the blood running up his arm heating, spreading the pain around his body. He wavered as he stood as his brain threatened to shut down his body to protect the vital organs. Of all the desperate tasks he’d been assigned, this one he knew was hopeless.

He would fail.

Risens hardly noticed the sudden flare of the fire as his mind was focused on survival and forcing the muscles of his hands to maintain their grip. The normal, expected red and orange of the blaze shifted to a deep blue.

“Do not give in. We will assist.”

Through the agony that clouded rational thought, the cries of the talons was little more than a whisper.

The initial reaction to the change in the burning sensation was nearly overlooked as a desperate trick of his mind. He understood that there was a mental aspect to pain. He could overlook the annoyance of most superficially wounds though his limits were finite. This was far beyond his comprehension and ability.

The dueling sensations caused shifted the panic and focus of his struggling mind. His hands twitched from the intentional force that clamped them on the handles of the blades struggling against every natural instinct to release their grip, to find succor from the scorching heat of the fire. Where he forced his hold on the superheater blade, the feeling of icy chill overwhelmed the flame. Like he was squeezing an icicle, his muscles, frantic and spasming froze in position.

Had he not heard the call of the blades, he’d have assumed it nothing more than the last of his nerves dying under the abuse. The cooling spread rapidly over his hand, the icy cold of the blade melting the overbearing searing heat. What was left in its wake was still heated beyond comfortable, but manageable. As the cooled blood reached his heart, the relief was rapid. With every desperate beat it rushed through his veins spreading cooling in the place of the molten liquid.

With clearing senses, he risked a glance at his ruined hands. The flames had ravaged his skin. Black and cracking, it smoldered as the blood oozed from within. The nauseating odor of burning flesh hung heavy in the air. It was steam now that wafted from his hands as the chill as it fought the blaze. Beyond the feathered handles, the sight of the blade, glowing orange brought a palpable feeling of excitement over the weighted discomfort.

“Bring the blade to the pedestal. Quickly, fledgling,” Mother Raven’s voice sounded foreign to his struggling mind, yet the urgency was palpable. He needed no further impetus to pull the Raven Talons and by extension his hands from the fire. The steel glowed bright orange, the air around the edges of the metal wavered and distorted from the heat that radiated outward. As the blades pulled from the fire, the deep blue flames reverted back to the expected orange of the blaze.

The act of merely crossing the several steps from the hearth to the pedestal set in the middle of the chamber was monumental. On stumbling legs, he fumbled his way across the room to where the vessel remained. Mother Raven appeared on the opposite him, though in his present state, he was had no concern over how she’d made the crossing.

“The heated Raven Talons are the only item currently in existence that will melt the frozen Tears,” she explained the haste still powering her words. “Bury them as far as you can in the ice. Now.”

His hopes that the melting water would provide a measure of relief for his devastated hands drove the force of his actions. He needed no further incentive beyond the prospects of lessening the pain. Balancing precariously on faltering legs he stabbed the blades into the ice.

The super-heated metal slipped through the solid water without a hint of resistance. His action had been fueled primarily by the force of his body tipping forward. With little mental fortitude to correct the overbalance, he pushed forward as the blades slid into the shallow vessel.

The hiss of the ice melting as the glowing blades entered swelled in volume as its quality shifted from the natural sound to an unholy scream that filled the room. The tones ricocheted through his skull, like echoes in an enclosed space. The force of the sound rocked him on his feet as his hands followed the blades, sinking completely into the icy holes the talons had seared through the ice. The shock of the chilled water jolted his addled mind, like a spark that ignited tinder, images, fragmented yet startlingly clear flashed through his addled mind.

***

The floor was no longer covered by the thick layer of fog from the vessel, but a veritable sea of carrion. The gnarled forms of the beetles, snapped a staccato rhythm that echoed though his head. The wall of the small house were splattered with a dripping ooze of black blood as he hacked through the masses that sought his death.

***

His vision spun as it rebounding from a blow to the temple. He focused on the vessel he had returned from the Under, desperately grasping for some sense of stability. The stone bowl was wide but narrow, no more than a few hands width deep. The peculiarity of the situation perplexed him, giving relief to his disjointed thoughts. The Raven Talons had punched through the ice, descending deep enough that his hand firmly affixed to the handles were entirely submerged in the frigid water. The incongruity was peculiar, though not one worth devoting much more attention to as the pain that radiated through his was still exuding its frightening hold.

Risens could see little through the steam that poured from the melting ice. It plumed into the air, concealing his view of the room. Through the veil registered only the broken silhouette of Mother Raven watching through the mists. Beyond the vapors that clouded the air, a thick fog poured over the edges of the bowl spilling down the sides, like a waterfall of smoke. It covered the floor in a haze thick enough that he lost sight of his legs below the shins.

The image in his mind flashed back to the black, gore splattered wall. This time he was running. It was preservation that fueled his steps. Under the hammering of his feet on the ground, he could feel the vibrations of something thundering behind. The audible rhythmic crashing sounds echoed behind him. The snapping of timbers and the shattering of stone overwhelmed the terrified screams.

Something inside him snapped. The popping sound rattled like thunder through his insides. He had been trained to fight. His body and mind hardened in the fires of death. Fleeing was no linger an option. Was not acceptable. Experience, skills, items would do nothing if the strength that resided waiting in him remained dormant.

It would wait no more.. He could feel burning with every fiber in his being.

Sweat poured from his brow, dripping into the icy pool as his focus again shifter to the present. The melting around where the blades had carved their path through the ice spread rapidly as his hands plunged into the water. Like a fire burns parchment, once the process started it was only a matter of moments before the process was completed. The ice, unbreakable a few breaths earlier was now completely gone, leaving a pool of frigid water and steam in its place. As the last of the frozen water reverted to its liquid form the steam billowing from the pool ebbed as did the screaming in his ears. Through the haze, Mother Raven mouthed something unintelligible as she swung her arms rapidly to the side.

The unnatural gust of wind that snapped his cloak out to the side originated at his side, though it caught the haze on both the floor and in the air as it passed. Like fanning away a cloud of smoke, it pulled up through the numerous holes in the ceiling, disappearing into the blackness above.

Risens felt the piercing focus of Mother Raven’s gaze boring into him at the opposite side of the pedestal. The excitement and expectation that had colored her expression had yet to fade as she watched him closely. A small, unexpected grin pilled up on the corner of her lips.

“It is done. Remove the Raven Talons from the vessel.”