Luminous: The Forge (Chap 2.2)

Rewriting my old fantasy story, Luminous, with a new plot and characters. Please feel free to tear this apart, I'd appreciate any feedback, comments, suggestions, or even predictions for the story that you have!

I've also decided to post in 2,000 word chunks instead of whole chapters, as I feel that it would be easier for reviewers.

Brief recap of previous chapters for new readers: Ryn and her younger sister Kaisa live in the wartorn kingdom of Elyssia. Seven years ago, they were separated from their parents when an enemy army passed through their village. They now live in the Forge, a smithy in the port city of Lorandyr owned by a man named Thord. Ryn, now seventeen, works as a smith. Kaisa, now fifteen, works as a scullery maid.

LUMINOUS

Chapter 2.2 - The Forge

After leaving the bright courtyard, it took a few moments for Ryn’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. The glare of the sun had burned a red afterimage into her eyelids. It flickered in and out of view as she blinked and squinted at her surroundings.

The furnace room was large, constructed of the same dull grey stone as the outer Forge wall and lined with multiple brick furnaces- each one tall and wide enough for a grown man to stand inside. Despite the size of the room, however, the dirt floor and low ceiling had always made Ryn feel like she was in a cave.

A few smiths were hammering sheets of metal, while others poured molten iron into molds, sharpened the edges of swords on grindstones, and dunked their glowing red creations into vats of oil with tongs. Apprentices were kept busy pumping bellows, wheeling around carts of scrap metal, and doing other menial tasks under Dyran’s watchful gaze.

Together, their combined efforts produced hundreds of swords, daggers, arrowheads, and other weapons for Lord Sylas’ armies each year. Elyssia’s constant wars and skirmishes with itself had made Master Thord, the owner of the Forge, a very wealthy man.

As Ryn walked along the middle of the room, a few of the smiths glanced at her, but most either ignored or didn’t notice her presence. Occasionally, the new apprentices would gawk, but the novelty of a female smith wore off before too long. With a dirty face, baggy clothes that concealed her body, and ragged, short-cropped hair, she blended in well with the Forge and had soon become as unremarkable and invisible as furniture in their eyes.

She made her way to her work space. A side room set aside from the rest of the furnace room with its own furnace, tools, and even a ragged curtain for privacy. As it was hidden behind a row of shelves, Dyran and Thord were the only ones who visited her there. Why the space had been given to her was a mystery, but she hadn’t complained.

The small room was dimly lit and untidy. Tongs, chisels, and hammers of various shapes and sizes were strewn across the surface of the worktable, along with a bundle wrapped in a grimy cloth. The bellows and anvil stood before the furnace, while a covered vat of oil occupied the corner of the room.

The fire still burned in the furnace from Ryn’s work earlier than day, though it had diminished in her absence. She pulled the curtain shut behind her as she stepped into the room and fell into the familiar action of stoking the fire. She then pumped the bellows until the base of the flames was a blue-white and heat prickled on her skin.

Perspiration made it feel as if she’d just climbed out of the Myredi River; her smock was soaked already, and she found herself longing for Autumn’s chill.

After the fire had reached the right temperature, Ryn unwrapped the bundle on the worktable- an unfinished blade, or rather, a lumpy metal stick. She would spend hours upon hours heating it in the furnace and pounding it into shape, the carburizing process that would give the metal both strength and flexibility.

She had likely made hundreds of weapons that way over the years since she and Kaisa had come to Lorandyr, though she’d stopped counting after creating her first ten. Ryn hated the Forge, the foreman, and especially Thord, but there was solace to be found in forging blades.

As miserable as the work was, there was something satisfying about a job well done. The steps were familiar, as easy and natural as breathing. Ryn didn’t have to think, to worry about her future or the memories of the past that lurked in the corners of her mind like shadows fleeing torchlight.

With a hammer in hand, Ryn could simply work. Pound away at the metal’s imperfections, polish and sharpen it until it was clear as glass and shone in the firelight. The monotonous work allowed her to become numb to everything but the blade.

The hours passed and a sword was gradually coaxed from the iron lump by Ryn’s sweat and the hammer’s repeated strikes. The ache of her tired arms, the sting of each cut and bruise and blister, the unbearable heat, all melted into the steel…

At some point, she lifted the glowing red blade with a set of tongs and quenched it in the vat of oil. Steam hissed and bubbles rose from the blade, which darkened as it cooled.

As she lifted it from the vat, a flash of light illuminated the tools, cast dancing shadows along the walls of the small room, and played along the rippling surface of the oil. Darkness crept into the sides of Ryn’s vision, and she slowly set the sword down.

Letting out a deep exhale, she brought a trembling hand to her clammy forehead and screwed her eyes shut, feeling a headache beginning to come on.

Her arms felt like water. How long had she been working?

“Ryn,” a gruff voice said.

She opened her eyes and whirled around, feeling unsteady on her feet.

Dyran stood in the room’s doorway, holding the ragged curtain aside with one hand as he peered in. His dark eyes scrutinized the blade, running along its length before taking in Ryn. She must’ve looked a mess; he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“That’s enough for today. The furnace room is closing up. The other smiths have already left for the dining hall.”

Ryn nodded, hiding her confusion. For all her exhaustion, she hadn’t worked any longer than usual.

The foreman disappeared back into the furnace room. Ryn doused the fire and put away her tools, once again wrapping the blade in a cloth to be completed the next day.

-

The dining hall smelled like sweat and smoke from the great fireplace, which had been left unlit that night as a result of the summer heat.

Smiths’ tired bodies lay sprawled across their chairs at each of the three long, dining tables. The men were still dressed in their grimy work clothes, though most had gone to the trouble of removing their gloves and aprons. A few of them loudly groused about the heat and how “Bely, that witch” sure was taking her time serving up the food.

Ryn spotted Dyran at the head of the middle table, but Thord was nowhere to be seen. As the Forge had grown, he’d begun to spend less and less time among his workers. Now, he stayed in his office for days on end, meeting with customers in expensive silk jackets and only appearing in the furnace room for the occasional inspection.

His absence seemed to make the hall brighter somehow.

Ryn kept to the sides of the room as she walked, careful to keep her head down. She pulled out a chair at the end of one table and sat down next to Hensyn, a grizzled senior smith. He’d been working for Thord since before she had shown up at the Forge seven years ago, but she didn’t know much about him aside from his name.

Hensyn didn’t talk much. This didn’t bother Ryn; she didn’t talk much either.

“Bely, there you are! Hurry up, woman, we’re starving!” a smith shouted.

The cook, Belyna, had arrived with her three scullery maids in tow, Kaisa among them. Outfitted in shapeless grey dresses, the maids wore their dark Elyssian hair braided and pinned up. Each carrying two platters of steaming pottage and flatbread, the girls moved through the dining hall like a procession of sages with the old cook at their head.

Each smith clamored to be served first.

“Wait your turn!” Belyna snapped.

She wielded her ladle like a sword, smacking the hands of smiths who got too close to the food before their turn had arrived. A short, shrewish woman with grey hair and beady black eyes, the cook hovered over her maids- supervising rather than serving the food herself.

Ryn remained in her seat and was one of the last to be served. She immediately dug into her food, spearing soggy vegetables with her fork and stowing the flatbread into the pocket of her trousers to eat later. The food was bland, but not terrible.

She ate quickly, barely tasting the meal, and had finished half of her pottage by the time Hensyn started on his. Eating was just another chore. A necessary inconvenience. The sooner she could finish and leave, the better.

“Move! Hurry up!”

Ryn paused and looked up. Belyna, having sent the other scullery maids back to the scullery for drinks, was looming over Kaisa at the other end of the hall. The girl was white-faced, her arms trembling under the weight of the two platters laden with flatbread and soup bowls. She moved painstakingly slow as she served the food, eliciting grumbles and complaints from the waiting smiths.

Belyna’s voice rose in volume and her face flushed with irritation, but she made no move to help. “Spirits! At this rate, they won’t be fed until tomorrow!”

Even from across the hall, Ryn could see her sister mouthing the words, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Kaisa finally reached the middle table and, somehow balancing the platters on one arm, extended a bowl to Dyran.

Ryn didn’t know what it was that told her what was about to happen. The last violent tremor in Kaisa’s arms, the rattle of the platters, or maybe it was the panic on her face that Ryn spotted first.

Belyna noticed it too.

“You’d better not drop any more of my dishes or it’s coming from your wages, you-“

The platters crashed to the floorboards.

Soup bowls hit the ground and shattered, splattering their contents across the floor of the dining hall and sending ceramic shards flying in every direction. The hall fell silent except for the drip, drip of pottage running off the table.

Soup soaked the front of Kaisa’s dress. She looked horrified.

Oh, Kaisa.

The scullery door swung open again, breaking the silence. The other maids entered the room carrying tankards of ale and time started again.

In one swift motion, Belyna moved towards Kaisa and slapped her.

Ryn flinched as if she herself had been hit.

“Get this mess cleaned up.”

Jolyn, the younger of the two maids, moved forward as if to help but stopped in her tracks at a look from Belyna.

“She’ll do it herself. Both of you- stop standing around and serve the ale!”

Kaisa knelt down and began to pick up the shards, tucking both platters under her arms, and the buzz of conversation soon resumed as the smiths turned back to their meals.

Ryn found that her hands were balled into fists, one still clutched tightly around the fork. She let out a deep breath and forced herself to relax.

Someday. Not now.

That reminder did little to banish the anger that was bubbling up inside her.

-

Ryn had been waiting in the attic of the Apprentice Quarters for over two hours before Kaisa showed up. She sat on the edge of her narrow cot, struggling not to nod off as she watched the candle stub burn itself lower and lower atop the stool.

Other than the two cots, the three-legged stool, a large trunk, and Ryn herself, the attic she shared with her younger sister was empty. Cobwebs draped the rafters, which were so low Ryn was able to brush them with her fingertips even when sitting down. The single tiny window was shuttered against the night, and she could hear nothing but her own breathing.

That was when the door opened.

Ryn turned, blinking the sleep from her eyes. Her sister stood in the doorway, pale and silent as a wraith in her stained grey dress. Her black eyes were disturbingly blank.

“Kaisa!”

Ryn immediately got up and rushed to the door. Gently taking her arm, she led the girl into the room and sat her down on her cot. A new bruise had blossomed across her cheek, mottled an angry violet.

Voice taut with rage, Ryn asked, “What did she do to you?”

Kaisa blinked and her eyes seemed to regain some life.

“It’s alright. I just need some sleep, she kept me in the scullery late.”

Ryn only shook her head.

“No, it’s not alright. But for now, let’s just get you out of these wet clothes.”

Ryn helped her out of the damp dress. Kaisa swayed, her eyes half-closed. As Ryn helped her pull on her nightgown, she noticed more bruises. Each one settled into the back of her mind, fuel for her resolve.

After doing up the ties on the gown, Ryn pulled her sister into an embrace and was reminded again of how small the girl really was. Her spindly arms, slight build. How much more of this could she take?

“Kaisa, I promise… I promise we’ll leave soon. We just need a little more money, so we can pay to get out of Lorandyr and go somewhere else. To Idenrya. It’ll get better.”

A lump grew in Ryn’s throat, making it difficult to speak.

“I’ll take care of you. I promise.”