He rushed up the stairs towards his house. He gathered a broken shovel that someone had left on a flat stone halfway up the hill. The townspeople would leave the things they needed fixed, or a request for something to be made along with an offering for payment, on flat stones climbing the hill towards the house. Part of his duties at the smithy involved collecting the jobs and offerings. He would leave the finished item on the same stone he found it, and the owner would collect it from there. He also grabbed the basket of some kind of meat that was with it, and went inside.
Miata was standing at his work bench. The air was thick and hot, Murphy felt sweat line his brow as soon as he opened the door. The old man seemed to be carving something. The sharp and quiet sound of a small hammer tapping away at a chisel was unmistakable.
He approached the bench to see him finishing an elaborate design on a blade. The carving ran down the centre of the blade, and branched out in a vein like pattern across the surface, stopping before the edges. Murphy thought it looked like a spooky dead tree. The roots of the tree met an equally elaborate cross guard at the base of the blade. It curved upwards either side of the blade, a design used to deflect weapons. It also curved down to protect the hand.
“That’s amazing” he said, prodding the lines on the blade. “Since when do you make swords like this?” he asked.
Miata grunted, and walked to his ink cabinet. He pulled out a small box from the back, then carefully selected vials from the shelf, and filled the box with them.
“Are you going to enchant it?” Murphy asked with excitement.
“Patience lad” he said, placing the box on the workbench. He grabbed a vial out and held it in the lantern light to get a better look. Murphy had seen the colour before, but he wasn’t sure what it was.
“I figured ye’ could do with a blade”, the old man said, picking up the sword.
He lifted a shaped patch of leather on the side of the hilt, revealing a metal guarded compartment inside. He unstopped the vial and placed it inside with a satisfying click. Once he closed the compartment, Murphy saw the ink creeping into the pattern on the blade. Miata swung the sword around a few times to pull the ink into the rest of the tree. He looked at Murphy, and smiled. The smile caught the boy off guard, it was gleeful and genuine. The old man actually looked excited. Murphy remained silent and gestured for his grandfather to proceed.
He gripped the hilt tightly, and Murphy felt a strange pressure in the room as the old man empowered the ink. The sword flared with bright aspectral light, and glowed bright enough with natural light to cast a soft shadow. He swung the sword around again, this time it whistled loudly. The lanterns on the other side of the room flickered, and the forge glowed brightly as he swung. To finish his show, he turned and swung downwards at an anvil nearby. With only the sound of metal dragging on metal, the anvil was sliced cleanly in two. Once he was done, he calmed the blade and disempowered the ink.
“That was amazing!” Murphy shouted, dropping his backpack and rushing to hold the sword.
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Careful boy” Miata snapped as the sword was snatched from his hands.
“How did you turn the ink off?” he asked dumbly.
“Its a trick of the metal” The old man said, taking the blade back. “Ye’ have to power the metal, not the ink. If ye’ do that ye’ might just blow yer’ head off”. He took the vial out of the hilt and put it back in the box. “Grab that there” he said, pointing at a rag and water skin.
The water skin was heavier than expected, and he saw why when Miata poured some oil from it over the blade.
“Here, give it a clean” he said, pushing everything back to the boy.
He did as he was told and started to rub the ink out of the blade.
“Not like that!” Miata scolded. “Ye’ have to follow the lines” he said, gesturing the action with his hands.
Murphy followed his instruction, and they sat in a familiar silence while he cleaned the ink from both sides of the blade. When he was done, Miata looked it over. He grunted, and was satisfied with Murphy’s effort. He tucked the blade away, into a rigid leather sheath. The sheath was bound and riveted with gold bands, and the leather was black. It was attached to a belt. Opposite the sheath was a pouch with a clasp, he thought he might be able to fit a fair bit in that pouch.
Still silent, Miata grabbed the box of inks, then fit it into the pouch. That caught Murphy by surprise. He had to turn the box on its end to fit in the opening of the pouch, but the pouch wasn’t deep enough to fit the whole box. Still, it slid in with ease, and seemed to have room to spare. He made sure to make a mental note of the aspect colours.
Murphy put the belt on over the one he was already wearing. He looked in the pouch and saw that there had to be a travel chest worth of space inside. He watched the ink box inside while he adjusted the belt, and noticed that it stayed in place perfectly.
“Where did you get this?” he asked.
“I can’t remember” his grandfather replied “had it since before Malnir” he decided.
“I’ve never seen anything like it” he replied, twisting his hips to watch the box stay in place.
“Yer’ gonna see a whole manner of things out there” Miata said, picking up the boy's backpack.
“Where am I going?” He asked, his excitement overshadowed his nerves for the moment. He had for the most part, made peace with his circumstances.
“Bein’ ye’ like yer’ magic so much, I thought it best to put ye’ with someone that might be able to keep ye’ from blowing yer’ self up”, The old man answered.
“I’m going to learn magic then?” he asked, bouncing on his heels.
“Might be” Miata chuckled. “We best get to the ferry though” he said. “He don’t like it much to come near Malnir, won’t keep him waiting”.
Murphy had more questions, and was about to ask them when Miata stood. The old man turned his back and walked outside without another word. Again, the conversation was over.
He followed his grandfather outside and around the house. He pulled a cover off of an old boat that had been there longer than Murphy.
“Do we get to fly in the boat?” the boy asked, looking up at his grandfather with wonder.
The old man grunted again, and dragged the boat away from the wall. He put his hand on a metal box at the back of the craft, and empowered something inside. The boat shuttered, then slowly rose a few inches from the ground. It floated in a laboured way, and still sat half on its side. The old man pounded the top of the metal box with the side of his fist. There was a popping and sputtering sound, then the craft righted itself and floated firmly in place.
“Do ye’ have yer’ things?” Miata asked.
Murphy searched his mind, and decided there were a few things from home he wanted with him. “Just a moment” he said, running back into the house.
He grabbed his pillow and blanket, and shoved them through the small opening in the pouch. He realised that he hadn’t bought a blanket that day, and his cloak might not be enough to keep him warm wherever he was going. He also grabbed the leather wrap he had been using for so many years as an ink pouch. It was a good way to carry his pens and ink, and he felt strange without it on his hip. With his pouch stuffed with those things, and some food he got from the pantry, he was packed.
He stood at the door of the house and looked inside, trying his best to burn the image into his mind. He took a deep breath, and closed the door.