Now they were in a stifling smithy, where Jack's host was standing in wait for them.. He was now wearing a blacksmith's leather apron, and his face was covered with sweat. He turned to look at them and smiled. "Everything's ready here," he informed them.
The pale man pulled the bright orb from his sleeve. We have more than enough for the task, I think, he said. He handed the orb to the red-haired man, who weighed it in his hand.
"Yep, that'll do all right," he concluded. Jack wondered what it was that they were talking about, what it was that they had been collecting, but he felt that he would know soon enough.
The red-haired man walked over to a the forge, where a great stone bowl with a spout in it hung over a rough cylinder of clay. The cylinder was about a foot in circumference and four feet tall. Jack went over to inspect it and noticed that there was a small hole in the top; it was a clay mold.
"I've already melted the rest of the blade," the red-haired man said. "Brother, will you do the honors?"
The pale man nodded and walked up to the bowl. He held the orb over it, palm downward, and began to squeeze. It collapsed like a sponge, the liquid light dribbling out of it like water, into the hole in the top of the clay mold. Jack could smell the stuff – it reminded him, for some reason, of spring flowers, and a dewy field of grass at dawn.
When the last of the light was squeezed out, the pale man withdrew his hand. There was no sign of the orb now. He nodded to the red-haired man, who looked at the contents of the bowl, frowned thoughtfully, and went to pump the bellows a few times. He looked into the bowl once more and nodded. Then, with a hooked metal pole, he carefully tipped the stone bowl so that the liquid within would run into the mold. The stuff was now the very color of sunset, just as melted steel ought to be.
Once the mold was full, the red-haired man righted the bucket again. Then he went to get a hammer and a pair of tongs from the rack on the wall. He returned to the mold, held the hammer above it for a moment and bought it down hard, smashing the clay. He used the tongs to catch the red-hot steel bar within before it could fall to the ground. Then he carefully held the bar in the flames of the forge, removed it, and went to the anvil. He lifted his hammer high, and when he brought it down it rung true against the steel.
With rhythmic blows he beat the bar flat, then folded it in half, then beat it flat again, then folded it again. Jack watched in fascination as the red-haired man repeated the process over and over again. He lost count of how many times the steel was folded over, but he did notice that the worked metal was starting to take on a familiar shape.
Finally the red-haired man ceased his hammering and with the pair of tongs held the fine, curved blade in the air with an expression of triumph. He bought it to a bucket of water and dipped it in, causing a great cloud of steam to rise into the air with a hiss. When he removed it, it was once again a gleaming ribbon of steel. Jack felt his heart lift at the sight.
"Now to finish the job," the red-haired man announced. He bought the blade over to a workbench, upon which the pieces of the katana's hilt rested. He picked them up and began working on fitting them onto the end of the blade. When he was finished, he picked up a narrow black strip of cloth and wound it carefully around the handle.
At last, he looked up with a broad grin. "There. It's done, good as new or maybe even better. Try it out." He handed it to Jack, who took it from him slowly, his eyes wide. He bowed to the red-haired man, stepped back and tried a few experimental parries, thrusts and slashes with it. Indeed, it was as good as it had ever been. Jack found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was wearing his katana scabbard at his hip, though he had not put it on before embarking on this strange journey. He slid the blade into its scabbard and prostrated himself on the floor of the smithy before the two men who had done him such a great service.
"I am eternally grateful to you for what you have done. Thank you." He looked up again. "What can I do in return?"
Wake up, said the pale man, extending one graceful hand before him. He opened it and golden sand swirled forth, becoming a sparkling cloud that surrounded Jack and blocked out the rest of the world.
He realized, only then, that he had never learned the name of the man who had saved him and repaired his sword.
~***~
When he opened his eyes, it was to gold-dappled green.
Birds were singing in the trees, and the air was warm. Jack sat up and stretched, wondering about the strange dream he had had last night.
Or…had it been? It had seemed so very real…
Feeling a sudden panic, he drew his katana from its scabbard. It was whole and sharp as ever. With a smile and a nod, he sheathed it again.
He looked around. He was in a small copse of trees, on a bed of fallen leaves where he had spent the night. He was sure he had. But he didn't remember going to sleep here. He must have, though.
He stood up and got his sandals from where they were sitting nearby, his mind trying to untangle exactly what had happened. Yes, he had gone to sleep in this little wooded valley, but in a bed in a house. And there had been a man. Two men. And a girl in black. No, that was the dream.
He found a small spring nearby. He took a drink from it, washed his face and hands, and fixed his hair into its usual topknot. It had only been a dream anyway. It had started as a nightmare, he remembered. Yes. And the house and the strange people were part of the dream. But he still couldn't remember going to sleep last night.
Never mind. It had only been a dream, if a strange one. Nothing more.
He looked up at the blue sky, listened to the birds, and took a deep breath of the clean air. It was a beautiful day, and this was a nice place, but he had to move on. He had his quest, after all.
He found a small path, which led to a split in a great rock wall. He squeezed through it, then stopped on the other side to get his bearings, and decided to travel eastward. He began walking that way, jumping over the occasional large rock, feeling content in his heart and whistling a merry tune.
~The End~