Memories
Forged in Fire
Disclaimer: What do you think?
If you want to use Tora, or any of my other characters, PM me.
The girl sat on the ground, idly throwing rocks at the small pile she had set up before. The stone fell short and she curse quietly.
"Shalom."
She leapt up and twisted round, her silver eyes widening. And then she stopped, as she took in the figure standing in front of her.
This time, the body Tora wore was almost identical to Fledgling, only without the frailties of the body. An almost perfect Shi'ar, with one exception –the face was scarred, the structure that of a Caucasian woman who was not yet born. The relief on Etana's face was obvious. Tora bowed her head.
"May I sit?"
"Who… Who are you?"
"I have gone by many names, child. I am the Dragon. I am the Tigress. Yet to you… I was the one who found you as an infant and carried you to your home. I was Fledgling, who nursed you. I will be your friend many years from now. And if you do not object, I would rather like to change out of this rather irritating form."
"I… Pardon?"
Tora smiled and then surrendered herself. Her DNA rewrote itself and then she stood there looking as she once had, when she was alive and free and oh, so much more than this.
"You may call me Tora, Etana Bat Aleka."
The girl gulped.
"You… You have the wrong person… I am Etana Bat Sarah… No one knows my mother…"
Tora laughed softly and touched Etana's face.
"You really think there could exist another such as you? You are a miracle child, Etana. You are proof that love can triumph. You were born of warring nations and both your parents died to save you."
"My… My mother… Who was she…?"
"She was a princess of a people whose ruler was twisted and cruel. Your father was Prince of his people –the two were deadly enemies. Yet still they met and fell in love. Your father fled with Aleka but they could not flee far enough. Her father, you see, had the power to move from one place to another without walking between them. He would think of a place and he would appear there. Your mother had that gift too. Time will tell if you too have gained the Neyaphim power. Or maybe you will gain something even greater."
"My father… Uncle never talks about him but…"
"Your father was a scholar and a warrior of the Cheyarfim people. The Cheyarfim choose their leader from their greatest warriors and he was their Prince. As your mother was the greatest assassin and spy of your grandfather, until she met Eitan, Prince of her mortal enemies. If you have inherited their raw talent… maybe you too could be as great as they."
The look of awe on Etana's face was painful for Tora to see.
"How… How do you know this…?"
Tora sighed softly.
"I come from a time that is not yet upon us. I was born –will be born- many years hence –when you have as many names as I do and are known as the Defender of Mankind."
The look on Etana's face was sheer amazement. Tora smiled slightly.
"Would you like to learn how to be the Defender of Mankind?"
The eager nod made Tora feel incredibly guilty. What was she doing? But she pointed at the sling wound through Etana's belt.
"Can you use that?"
Etana shook her head.
"Not really…"
"Then we shall begin there."
"Wait… So everything Etana learnt, Tora taught her?"
"Not at all. Etana was very good at learning stuff herself."
The three stones were shattered in quick succession before each hit the ground. Etana slowed the sling down and grinned.
"I did good, right?"
Tora nodded.
"Very good, child. I shall meet you here tomorrow, same as I always do."
Etana bit her lip.
"Master… That may not be possible… I… I have my Bat Mitzvah…"
Tora stopped.
"Oh… I must remember to bring you a gift, then."
Etana shook her head.
"You promised to teach me. That is all the gift I desire."
Tora smiled and knelt so she could look eye-to-eye at Etana.
"This is a gift more dangerous and more powerful than anything I could teach you."
The look on Etana's face was half terror, half excitement.
"What?"
"I will bring you a sword. And we shall start your lessons."
The glee on Etana's face was evident. Tora pressed one hand to her shoulder.
"But remember. A stone can hurt more than a sword blow if dealt properly. And this blade –why, it will be unique. It will be forged of a metal stronger than bronze, stronger than iron."
Wide silver eyes stared up at her. Tora grinned.
"Meet me here after your Bat Mitzvah. I will wait."
Etana impulsively hugged Tora then turned and ran. Tora smiled softly and slowly faded away.
"No… She wouldn't…"
Death shrugged.
"She held the blade when she became my servant. At the time she was 13."
Jean placed her head in her hands.
"Really?"
Masamune looked up at the woman standing in front of him in something approaching disbelief.
"You wish…for a sword…?"
The woman nodded.
"I wish for more than that. I wish for the greatest sword that will ever be made, a blade to be carried by a messenger of the gods."
Masamune froze. He remembered the Black Warrior, the woman wielding a pure white blade that sliced through anything. All his life he had striven to create a sword as pure as that. And now someone had come requesting he forged one –a skill he had not yet reached.
"I… I cannot…"
She smiled softly.
"Oh, but you can. I will give you four things to create the perfect blade."
He frowned.
"What?"
"Firstly, I shall give you metals ores to mix with steel. Secondly, I shall give you fire to heat the blade. Thirdly, I shall give you water to temper it."
She paused. He leant forward.
"And what is the fourth thing?"
Her dark eyes suddenly flashed to orbs of pure silver, in which a gleaming dragon lay coiled, glistening wave and she smiled softly.
"And lastly, I shall give you a fraction of my power, my very soul. The blade will be able to cut through anything, but leave the innocent unharmed; as I carve paths through my enemies but leave the guiltless with no injury."
She rolled her eyes.
"You can get up now. I am no god."
He rose slowly. She bowed her head.
"Will you make my blade?"
He nodded. She smiled.
"Then take me to your forge, Master Smith. And I shall guide you in the creation of the most perfect blade to ever grace the world."
He entered in a daze. The goddess stepped forward and pulled out a clay jar.
"Where is your fire?"
He pointed, half in a daze. She stepped forward and opened the jar, pouring out liquid fire that leapt up, forming black and silver flames. She looked over.
"And your water?"
He pointed numbly. She walked over and held her hand over the empty barrel and water swirled from her palm, filling the barrel with pure, sparkling water. Then she turned.
"The metal."
Suddenly she was holding a lump of metal in her hands, dull grey. She smiled.
"This is an ore so rare it only exists in one country. Many years ago, a huge rock fell to Earth from the heavens. In the rock was metal so rare and dangerous, men will kill to possess it."
She handed it to him. He weighed it in his hands and frowned.
"This is too much for one blade, even if I did not use steel."
She smiled and bowed her head.
"Consider it your payment. The alloy must be one part of this metal –known as vibranium in other tongues– and nine parts steel. Begin."
In a daze, he took the ore and began heating the metals over the black and silver flames, marvelling at the speed with which they melted. The woman sat watching him, her eyes inscrutable. And then, just as he began to mix the metals together, to her specification of one part of her mystery metal to nine parts of his common steel, she stepped forward and held her hand up. She opened a bag on her hip and sprinkled something through the molten metal then raised her hand to her mouth and gagged. Something tiny, a soft warm red shot with tiny silver flecks stained the air and she lowered her arm, the colours coiling around her fingers like tiny serpents. She stretched forward and placed her fingers in the molten metal, pulling them out unharmed but without the red.
And now the metal was turning white, pearly and opalescent, gleaming and reflecting the light. The goddess stepped back and bowed her head.
"Work your art, Masamune. Work the blade in the way I shall guide you in."
And he felt something collect his thoughts and show him a shape, a blade that was long and slender and beautiful. He worked faster than he ever had before, inspired by the image of the perfect blade, the goddess taking his weariness and showing him the finished worked in his mind as he folded the metal and tempered it; heated, folded, tempered; over and over.
Then the hilt and scabbard, all his attention in the detail. And finally he stopped and suddenly realised that he must have worked non-stop for days. The woman bowed then held out her hands for the finished sword.
"I shall repay you your time."
And as soon as the sword was placed in her hands, he was sitting outside his workshop, just as he had been before the mysterious woman had walked towards him and bowed.
No. Not exactly. For in his lap lay an orb of metal ore.
"No. Way! Did she just given Masamune the secret of proto-adamantium?!"
The masked woman shook her head.
"No. She never told him the catalyst. His blades were often imbued with the tiniest quantity of vibranium –one part in one hundred– which is the reasons his work is so well thought of."
A.N. Sorry. I'll been in Switzerland without Internet access for a while. Gorgeous country. Also, just got back from 26 hour journey home, don't expect this author's note to make much sense.