The Sword Sharpener - Chapter 1 (first draft)

Two mud smothered children and a rather droopy looking bloodhound puppy, cocooned in grime and muck, squelched through the icky dun ooze. Once, this place had been a haven for wild flowers and lush green grasses, now it was a wasteland. The remnants of battles passed surrounded them, discarded swords, broken arrows that never hit their target, and grumose sights that should most likely not be described for the sake of the sensitive ears and minds of children. It appeared the two youngsters paid no heed to this gore, yet the green sickly tint to the girls face spoke another story. In an outstretched hand, the small boy, scuffed and bruised with the marks of his toil, held soaking met and dirt stained note out.

Perhaps this story requires some explanation, maybe we should return to the start, before skipping so untimely to the end of our tale. I do warn you though, in the beginning, our hero is much more ordinary and average than at the point we set about. So passable and pedestrian in fact, that this very thirst for more nearly lead to a great and terrible ending. Yet I shan’t dwell here anymore, come, observe, the story is just beginning.

Warm amber light pulsated gently from a quaint brick building, and through the open window of the building those outside would just about be able to make out a figure. A young boy with dark hair and a raggedly cut apron worked around the fire in the far corner of the forge, weaving his way between racks of pots and pans with large bundles of coal. Kicking a squat, battered stool out from under a cart, he had to step right up onto his tiptoes to reach both handles of the bellows. With a hop and a jump, he practically lay over the bellows to push them down, sending a giant puff of air into the fire. Flames burst up like a vibrant, galloping horse, the auburn hints lighting up the whole forge. Kismi was forced to leap back as the sparks jumped through the air towards him, almost singeing his hair. Smiling as he watched the flames steadily burn, he twisted around and shoved the stool away with his foot, yet in a giant cacophony of noise, a whole rack of door handles, cutlery, pots and all the other bricka brack recently made by his aunt, and mentor Alex.

Scrabbling down on his hands and knees, Kismi tightened the most recent bandage of his which circled with wrist, and began to heap the vast number of items into his arms. Smut from the sooty, well trodden floor coated his pale skin and he tried to wipe it off on his face, leaving even large smears across his lightly freckled cheeks. Sleek, cool metal soothed his hard-worked hands, and just as he had piled everything into his arms, the loud slam of a door behind him made Kismi nearly jump out of his skin, and once again, with an ear splitting clatter, the beautifully crafted pieces crashed to the ground. Kismi grimaced, he could practically hear them all denting.

“Kismi !”

A cheery voice yelled, and as the boy was wrapped up in a strong, warm embrace, any pans that he’d somehow managed to catch before they fell smashed down alongside their fellows. Struggling out of the smothering clasp, Kismi let out a laugh and playfully pushed the older man.

“Pa ! You can’t barge in on me like that ! I bet ya all of those pots are going to be dented now, Tante Alex’ll kill me.”

“Alexandra ain’t able to hurt a damn fly even if yer gave her a sword. Don’t you worry kiddo, now why don’t we see about getting this ol’ pad locked up for the night. It’s late ya know.”

“Come on, Tante said I might be able to work on something more interesting soon if I work proper hard.”

All of a sudden, Kismi felt the ground go from under his feet and before he knew it, his dad had slung him over one shoulder, and was walking with over exaggerated stomping steps towards the door. Kicking his legs wildly, the short boy let out a sigh of relief as his father plonked him down just before the door, and giving his skirt a tug down, he stormed off to grab the large silver keys. They were a little over the top, giant and grand yet only made to fit in a rather average looking lock, and rust now clung to the one sheeny surface of the metal, dying it dusty brown where bright shining metal once glimmered.

With a satisfying bang and click, the door to the forge was shut, so Kismi followed after his Pa, who was already walking through the lantern lit streets, not even waiting for his son. He had to run to catch up, fumbling with his blacksmith's apron to make sure he did not for the sixth time this month put the keys in the pocket which had a gaping hole. He had been so young when he first begged Tante Alex to let him be her apprentice, and they had to cut one of the huge blacksmiths aprons down to size. It had barely fitted him them, but now it was becoming too short.

Racing up to his father, Kismi was nearly out of breath by the time he caught up with him, Pa was tall and broad, and he could cover the same distance in a single stride that Kismi has to take in three.

“You know I’m too old for that now, you can’t just throw me over your shoulder to make me go places.”

Everytime he caught up with Papa, Kismi let out a frustrated sigh as he kept walking at the exact same pace, not even seeming to care that his son was practically jogging to keep up with him.

“Just because ya now count as a teenager does not mean yer an adult, they’re different things ya know. T-e-e-n-a-g-e-r, not a-d-u-l-t”

“But Tante Alex says that I’m even more mature than you.”

“Oh does she now ?”

Papa quirked up an eyebrow and gave Kismi a look, and almost immediately he realised that it was probably something that Tante hadn’t wanted him to say, she was always moaning Pa was too silly, and he often complained that she was too serious. It seemed that sibling rivalries never changed

“Well maybe if I work harder she’ll let me make something actually interesting. Like a sword !”

“The day your Tante lets you anywhere near a sword, I’ll eat my hat.”

A gentle glow came through the windows of the families small cottage, and Kismi could already smell the aromatic odor of vegetables and herbs cooking. Pa swore under his breath as the stiff lock on the door refused to budge, but eventually, with Ma pulling it from the other side as well, they were able to get into the warmth. Erma was already at the table, and rolling back and forth in her wheelchair.

“Who’s this Ma, I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

Kismi stuck his tongue out at Erma, slipping past his father, who was struggling to hang his large fur coat over the wonky coat hanging, which barely kept even a single coat up. The young boy barrelled into his sister, wrapping his arms tightly around her, and a muffled complaint came from underneath the snug grasp of his skinny arms. Suddenly Kismi yelped out, as a wheel of Erma’s chair caught his toe, and he leapt away from her, scowling as she smirked.

“What ? You started it.”

“I thought you were getting crutches. Or did you just decide that it was too much fun rolling over my toe.”

Kismi murmured, sliding along the benches around the old and worn dinner table. Warm aromas filled the air as Ma continued to stir the vegetable stew.

“Kismi ! Be nice to your sister !”

His mother had turned around, brandishing a parsnip as if it was a sword, and he lifted his hands up in surrender, trying to reach under the table to kick his sister’s wheelchair.

“Well it was a factor in it”

She shot him a grin, sliding backwards so when he struck out with his foot, Kismi overbalanced and very nearly smashed his face into the table, as Erma slickly pushed herself back into place. It wasn’t long before Pa joined then at the table as well, running his hands through his coarse, thick beard, and scratching at the grit and dry skin on his hands. The clanking of pots filled the room as Kismi and Erma engaged in silent warfare, pulling ridiculous faces whilst Pa simply raised his eyebrows and huffed, occasionally covering his mouth with his hand to let out a cough that sounds suspiciously similar to laughter.

Baby Illy cried out from her cot, and Ma left the dinner for a second to scoop her up in her arms, and let the chubby little child fiddle with her long black hair, and after exchanging a few loving words, Ma gently lay Illy in Pa’s arms, and he continued to coo to her as Ma laydelled the broth into bowl after bowl.

Soon it was sat before them, and Kismi began to tuck into the warm stew, his Ma didn’t always have the best cooking, she was only allowed to when Pa couldn’t, but this meal was definitely one of her best.

“So, Kismi, any reason for our dramatic disappearance from our lives ? You get up even before Erma is awake !”

Ma piped up, after having practically inhaled her dinner, she had already began serving herself a second portion, and was ready to start talking to everyone else.

“Yeah ! Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend yet ? Henra has a girlfriend now, I didn’t think he’d date anyone again after his boyfriend broke up with him last year ! Or friends in general, friends are nice, I don’t think you’ve got many”

Henra was Kismi and Erma’s older brother, who they rarely saw, and Kismi was very fond of. Just a little more than a year ago he had run off with his boyfriend, only to crawl back to the family in the pouring rain after the love of his life had broken up with him. He still travelled and the family rarely heard more from him than a messily written letter every few months, but it was comforting to know he was getting along well. It was because of Henra that Kismi had learnt to read and write, Ma had wanted to make sure that he would be able to write his own letters to his brother once he was older and Ma wasn’t there to do it for him.

“Very funny, I don’t see you with a massive group of friends either !”

“Well at least I have some.”

“I have a friend !”

“Yeah, a friend you dingus. That’s singular. Meaning one friend, when I have multiple.”

“Doesn’t make you any better than me !”

Slamming her hands on the table with a loud bang, Ma rose to her feet, her piercing blue eyes looking threateningly down at the two children, as she again lifted up the parsnip she had decided was an incredibly effective tool for intimidating her children.

“Stop bickering ! Some of us actually want to eat dinner.”

The rest of the meal continued in silence, with Kismi kicking out at Erma’s wheelchair now and again, the two receiving piercing stares from Ma whenever they seemed to draw close to fighting again.

After dinner, Kismi offered to wash the dishes, much to the delight of Ma, who let out a huge sigh and smile as she collapsed back into the families old sagging armchair, closing her eyes blissfully. Pa continued to hum in the background as he rocked Illy on his knee, an unfocused but comfortable expression, as he relaxed back. Everytime Erma pushed herself anywhere near him, Kismi made sure to begin splashing the water a bit more, and she cursed as it hit her right in the face.

It was all so cozy, and when he had finished washing the dishes Kismi found himself stretching out in a great yawn, and rubbing his eyes with exhaustion. A whole day working in the forge had taken its toll on him. So one by one he went around his family, giving them all a hug, and kissing a fast asleep baby Illy of the forehead before creeping upstairs with a torch in his hand.

Once he quietly closed the door to his room, Kismi began to hum a tune to himself, and searched through draw after draw, trying to recall where on earth he had left the book he was reading. Eventually, his hands grasped around the huge book and he hauled it out.

It was a thick tome, with worn and yellowing pages, traditionally swirling and fancy writing, lavishly illustrated. In its prime age, the cover would have been vibrant blood red, yet now it had faded to a murky rotten brown with age. The golden trim still stayed bright around the edges, and the few torn pages were neatly placed back into the correct positions. Well, mostly anyway, Kismi thought to himself as he replaced page two hundred and two back between two hundred and one and two hundred and three, after finding it caught somewhere around the thirties.

The title read as followed :

An Advanced and Expert Manual to the Construction, Maintenance and Overall Care for Swords and Similar War Time Weapons. (second edition)

Kismi had always found the title rather too grand, yet as he lifted his skirt up a little, tightening his belt to keep it in place, the boy leant over the book with extreme fascination, absorbing the information on the pages with vigour and interest.

In a small notebook besides him, Kismi began to sketch and doodle any ideas that passed through his mind. Powerful blades with intricate designs, made for war and made for display. He drew until his hands were black with charcoal and the candle began to burn low, wax dripping onto the table.

In a half asleep daze, Kismi pulled himself over to his bed and curled up beneath the thin and rough sheets, dreaming of days spent in the forge, and all the amazing things he could create if Tante Alex would just give him a chance.