Chapter 23
Rhunön walked her over the forge and Keres felt the searing heat that seeped from it. It was, if possible, every bit as hot as the dragon-fire that Vikonyx could spew on command. For a moment, she wondered if the elf-smith had ever used dragon-fire for her craft. Then she shook the thought away. She had learned that smiths preferred to have control of every aspect of their work under their own control. By using regular fire, Rhunön could control the temperature and the length of the burn. It was, no doubt, much easier to work that way, Keres decided as Rhunön used her hands to stoke the flame and pump the bellows.
"I've heard it said that conversing with yourself is a sign of madness. But I've found that it goes a long way toward not asking stupid questions." The elf almost sounded approving as she moved Keres over to her workbench, having the girl pick up each of the instruments and testing the degree to which she could manipulate them with the Dragon Rider's hands. "To answer the question you didn't ask, I experimented with using dragon-fire back during the heyday of the Riders. It takes an old, experienced dragon to help in a forge. They must be well-versed in the art of breathing fire and they must have an exceptional amount of control over the temperature and stream. The blades were solid, but there is not yet a dragon experienced enough, save maybe Saphira, who possesses the skills I require."
Keres felt her fingers curl around a particularly heavy hammer and the elf had her lift it. It was weighty, but she was able to swing it effortlessly. "Interesting." The elf's tone was almost musing. "Not quite elf, but not quite human either. And somehow different, even from your master."
"What's that supposed to mean?" The words had touched a nerve. Keres was always leery of having her differences pointed out to her.
"Peace, child. When I helped Eragon forge Brisingr, he was still newly changed. In his mind, he still clung to his humanness. As such, I had to take great care in manipulating his body, as it had not yet learned its own strength. His mind and body were not quite in tune. With you, you have always been like this. Your mind grew up in a body that possessed speed and strength far greater than that of any normal human. You are aware of your abilities, thus I can more accurately control your limbs."
Setting down the last of the tools, Rhunön had Keres pick up a large hammer and a pair of tongs. "We will begin now. Think what you will, but do not address me directly. The making of such a sword is complicated and I must be able to focus." Without hesitating, she reached into the forge, with the tongs, and withdrew several, metal rods. They glowed cherry red with the heat from the forge and, as she laid the upper part of the rods on the anvil, she felt the heat rolling off them in waves. Then her arm moved, lifting the hammer and bringing it down on the rods. A flurry of sparks flew into the air and the ring of metal on metal filled the workspace. Keres barely managed to suppress a shiver. The forging of her sword had begun.
Almost immediately, the elf-woman began to chant. At first, it was mostly tuneless, though the tone of the words rose and fell with the rhythmic pounding of the hammer. Keres turned the metal rods, hammering them together into one, solid whole. It was a surreal experience, to see her hands moving so swiftly and deftly, to feel the deliberate strokes of the hammer, but to have no idea why her limbs were moving so. It was strange, to simultaneously be an onlooker and part of the action. After what could have been 15 minutes or an hour, they had forged welded the rods together into a single piece of metal.
The first hammer was laid aside as Keres thrust the metal back into the flames. Her right arm reached out and plucked a second hammer from the table, this one slightly smaller and lighter. When the metal once again glowed brightly, she pulled it from the forge and laid it back against the anvil. Rhunön's chant suddenly shifted, the words coming slightly faster as Keres felt a portion of her magic flow into the hammer in her right hand while another sliver of energy vanished into the depths of the heated metal. Despite being fairly fluent in the Ancient Language, Keres did not understand all of the spells that Rhunön cast. She suspected that many of the words were more archaic and specific than what she used. There were a few fragments that she was able to puzzle out, enough to know that the elf-smith was weaving a spell of strength and endurance and balance. Still, she at least recognized the tune. It was popular in many of the old ballads. Without really meaning to, she began to hum a countermelody. A series of runs and trills now decorated the space in between each stroke of the hammer. Her softer, higher voice provided a harmony for the smith's rougher, lower pitched tone.
"Don't hum child." Rhunön snapped, using Keres' arm to strike another blow against the hot metal. "Sing if you must, or be silent. But do not hum. It's a waste of good music."
For a moment, Keres was taken aback, but she quickly recovered herself. It would not do to sing a nonsense song during the forging of her blade. What she sang needed to have meaning. It would affect the magic that she was lending to the sword. What did she want from this blade? Those should be the emotions the song should feature. She wanted elegance and grace and beauty. She wanted strength and speed. Above all else, however, she wanted her sword to be regal. It should be everything she aspired to be herself.
Casting her mind about for a suitable ballad which used the melody, Keres came upon one of her favorites and she began to sing. It was the story of Krisi, the goddess of storms and chaos who was worshiped by the first humans to set foot in Alagaësia. It began with her birth during a furious battle between Urano, the god of the sky, and Thallis, god of the sea. Where they had fought, a maelstrom had opened up and from it had risen Krisi, garbed in a dress of shimmering sea-foam. She rebuked them for fighting so and, in penance, each offered up a portion of his power to her. So strong were the powers she was given, that the maelstrom remained, and took the name of her sacred animal, becoming the Boar's Eye. Krisi, with her night-black hair, silver eyes, and glistening dress, had quickly established herself amongst the pantheon of the gods.
Many years after her birth, a long and bloody battle broke out between the two gods of war. Atmor, the god of bloodshed and death, fought against his brother, Agnosi, the god of battle strategy and heroes. The battle raged for years before the other gods finally intervened. They sent Krisi to the field, where she walked amongst the warring armies. Immediately, chaos fell over the battlefield. Amidst the wind and rain, war dogs turned on their masters and blades buried themselves in friend rather than foe. Her glance sent men fleeing in terror and the touch of her hand set them spiraling into madness, for no mortal could endure the touch of a god. She danced amongst the warriors, sowing terror and discord wherever she went. In minutes, the battle ceased, with both sides suffering heavy losses.
Enthralled by her powers, both brothers approached Krisi, each beseeching her to marry him. Realizing that such an alliance might forestall further bloodshed, she agreed to a contest. In three years, each would come to her palace at Nia and present her with a gift. The one whose gift she favored most would become her husband. Atmor journeyed to the far north in search of his gift, to the realm of Choni, goddess of ice, snow, and visions. For his gift, Agnosi journeyed to the burning land of Lomeno, the god of smiths, fire, and stoneworking. For the years that the brothers were away on their quest, war was absent from the face of the earth. The other gods used this time to heal the wounds of the world. The barren fields where so much blood had been shed now bore emerald cloaks of grass dotted with bright flowers. Men prospered in the era of peace and their numbers grew.
When the day of the contest finally came, the two brothers arrived at Nia to present their gifts. Krisi had entreated the other gods to bear witness to the contest, that all might hear her decision and ensure the fairness of her choice. Atmor went first, presenting Krisi with a beautiful necklace made of ice crystals. Her heart was moved by the gift, for she was a woman who loved beautiful things. She named the necklace Hail, and allowed Atmor to fasten it around her neck. Then Agnosi stepped forward. With gloved hands, he presented Krisi with a bow unlike any other in existence. Its frame was made of a white light so brilliant, it dazzled all who dared to look upon it. When she tested the string, it loosed a sound like the rumbling of an avalanche. And Krisi named it Lightening, for with every shot, it brightened the land for miles around.
Lifting both her hands, Krisi declared Agnosi the winner. For, she told his brother, no rose should be without its thorns, lest it be abused and taken for granted. Agnosi had offered her a bow that not even he could wield with his bare hands. He had offered a thorn to the rose, knowing that it could prick him as easily as any man. For that decision, she would accept Agnosi as her husband. Atmor was furious and sought another battle in which to exact his revenge against his brother. But Krisi intervened. Armed with Hail and Lightning, she summoned a storm unlike any that had come before it. The shards of Hail pummeled the armies of Atmor and Lightening struck fear into their hearts, sending them cowering into the night. When the war ended, Krisi and Agnosi were wed and from their union had come Gia, the goddess of peace, order, and justice.
It was an ancient legend, a nothing more than a myth, but Keres thought the idea of order and peace coming out of chaos was a powerful one. That something good could come from something bad was a comforting thought, especially for Keres. Galbatorix, twisted and wicked though he had been, had unwitting set up the foundation of the current empire. The roads he had built, the cities he had fortified, even some of the laws he had passed, had allowed the current government to provide for and protect the people of Alagaësia. He had been necessary, she decided. Many of those laws could never have been passed with the current form of government. It would be impossible to get each of the cities to agree. Only Galbatorix and his tyranny could have forced those laws into reality. So yes, evil, but a necessary evil.
"Keres"
The young girl blinked. She was still standing inside the forge. However, it was currently lit with a sullen, red glow that did not come from the flames.
The answer to her unasked question came from without as Rhunön spoke. "It is morning?"
"Morning?!" Suddenly aware that she was back in control of her own body, Keres looked around. A cloth lay over the anvil, a single bulge in the center marking where the sword now lay. Outside, the sun was beginning to peak over the mountains. The first, ruddy rays of dawn revealing Vikonyx sleeping peacefully at the edge of the cleaning. Rhunön stood a few paces behind her. The smith was calmly cleaning the tools that they had used, carefully examining each before returning it to its proper place. It was only after she had registered all of this that Keres realized how tired she was. Her arms felt as though they were filled with lead and her shoulders ached from the repeated hammering. Her knees trembled beneath her. Looking to the elf-woman, Keres asked, "Did I fall asleep?"
"Sleep? Do you honestly think I would have let you sleep while we forged?" The woman snorted. "No, what you were was closer to hypnotized than anything else. A trance would be the most apt description. Do you remember the process?"
Keres thought for a moment. She had vague memories of the hours, though she recalled them as seconds. It felt like a daydream, though she was well aware that it was not. Finally, she answered. "I do . . . not very clearly, but I remember."
The woman nodded. "I don't know where you went, child, but would that all of our singers could go there. Perhaps then I might attend more of our celebrations." She frowned, squinting at the young rider. Then waved her hand, "Go home child. Return here tomorrow morning to receive your blade." Without another word, she turned and strode back into the forge.
Keres watched her go, confusion and exhaustion clouding her usually sharp mind.
"Are you alright?" Vikonyx had awoken and was now staring intently at her rider. "What happened? I called and called for you and you did not answer. Where did you go?"
I wish I knew. I mean, I was here, I know I was here. I remember being here and forging the sword. But I was somewhere else too. It's . . . it's difficult to explain. She walked over to the dragon, leaning heavily against the armored muzzle.
"But you are well?"
Yes, just tired.
"That is good. I will carry you back to Cieráed. You must rest. You've done a lot tonight."
It felt as though it took her hours to reach the saddle and climb into it. With each passing second, exhaustion weighed down on her more heavily. Even the act of strapping herself in felt like a battle. She was asleep almost before they left the ground. And she dreamed. She dreamed of a woman who stood atop a mountain and summoned a storm with a wave of her hand.
