Chapter Eight / Forge of Memories

In the dark a voice called out: “Arn.”

“Arn.” Again, it called, “The feast awaits.”

Arn woke to the comfort of the chair sitting in front of his fireplace. After his meeting with Ezbalath, Arn returned to his room to rest.

“More tired than I thought.” Arn said, his eyes still heavy.

The logs of the fireplace moved slightly as the weight of the burning timber shifted, sparks cascading into the hollowed-out brick above. Arn removed his mask and moved slowly down his face with a gloved hand. The heat from the fireplace warmed his face, then Arn placed his mask back on.

“Back to work.”

Arn stood and made his way back down the hallway. The voice from earlier, an echo of his dreams – sounded a lot like himself. Was he nearing a goal? Arn wondered. A loud noise filling the hallways interrupted his thoughts. Arn was familiar with the sound, but unsure if his assumption was correct. He walked down the hallway to the left and headed towards the Smithy.

The pangs that echoed from the Smithy vindicated Arn’s assumption. Walking inside, an intense heat washed over Arn. The far side of the room was lined with smelters, ignited, and burning, and at the center a large Forge. A man hammered away at metal upon an anvil, and then cooled it with a nearby tub of water. The man turned away from the forge and smiled.

“My Lord.” Ezbalath bowed, sweat pouring over his exposed chest. “I apologize. I would normally await your summons, but my hands haven’t touched a forge in so long. I was afraid I’d forgotten how to bend metal into art.”

“It’s alright, Ezbalath. I’d rather meet with you somewhere more naturally. This is where you’re needed.” Arn replied. “Please, continue.”

Ezbalath nodded while smiling and continued his work on the piece he was creating.

“Thank you, my Lord.” Ezbalath said while hammering on the metal. “I hope you don’t mind me saying, my Lord-”

“Ezbalath, we are alone.” Arn said.

Ezbalath stopped his pounding and looked around, as if trying to understand what he meant.

“You don’t need to address me by my title. Arn will do.” Arn said.

Ezbalath stared through Arn with shock filling the counters of his features.

“I-” Ezbalath started, hesitated while still watching Arn, but continued: “I understand.”

Ezbalath smiled and turned back to his work: “I hope you don’t mind me saying, Arn, that you’re not what I expected of the Dark Lord.”

“What were you expecting?” Arn asked.

“Well, someone a bit more demanding, I think.” Ezbalath said.

“Arrogant.” Arn replied.

Ezbalath laughed: “I guess you could say that, yes. I’ve served many lords and ladies, and few were not. That is their right.”

“The nice thing about being a myth, Ezbalath – is that nothing is for certain.” Arn said.

Ezbalath again laughed: “You certainly embody that, my Lo-” Pausing: “Arn.”

Ezbalath pounded the metal in front of him, its shape turning into a blade, the metal glowing bright orange in his golden eyes.

“Where I’m from your myth was used to frighten children from wandering outside at night.” Ezbalath chuckled at the thought, then his smile faded: “Then it was used to frighten politicians into action. How long ago that was used now, I’m not sure.”

“You’ve yet to tell me what the myth was, Ezbalath.” Arn said.

“That you would eventually come for us all and shroud the world in darkness. Many believed that you were the personification of an end that ultimately would be of our own making. Others believed you were real, the dungeons being proof of this.”

“Dungeons? There are others?” Arn asked.

“Yes, but none as large as this one. They span the globe, and much of the civilization I was from were settled near them – either by coincidence or purposefully.”

“Purposefully?” Arn asked.

“The dungeons were home to many riches and artifacts. There were dangers as well, but the risk was always worth it. Our first understanding of magic came from an artifact. We studied it and learned from it. Then we made Sigils – the catalysts for magic.”

“I’m not familiar with them.” Arn said.

“As you may know magic is the wellspring of all life and even flows through the inanimate.”

Arn nodded, not knowing this.

“Sigils were created to interact with magic, something we previously were unable to touch. It’s our way of manipulating, or commanding magic. There are of course certain categories of sigils as there are certain elements of magic. Sigils are infused with an element and that element is stored for later use.”

Like wands. Arn thought. Without them, however, you’re unable to use magic.

“There are classifications of Sigils as well that are determined by the infusion’s effectiveness, which is defined by Sigil Tiers.”

“How many tiers are there?” Arn asked.

“Five from last I remember.”

Arn let Ezbalath work on the blade for a while, letting his own thoughts dwell on what he had said. Ezbalath then started on another piece.

“You said earlier that some believed in the myth and others didn’t, which were you?” Arn asked.

“I was unsure. Desperation, however, made a believer of me whether I truly believed or not.” Ezbalath said solemnly.

“What do you mean?”

“When I last saw my home, my people were under attack. From something not of this world. The threat then was small but very real. I was a counselor for the Sigilius Emperor, the leader of our people, and I was instructed to observe our civilization’s leading magic researchers. Their job was to innovate our sigils and how they interacted with magic.”

“That’s quite the privilege.” Arn said.

“At the time I was extremely pleased to be of use to my people, especially in service to the Sigilius Emperor. The researchers were good people, and I grew close to them. Through them I gained a better understanding of Sigils and was able to hone my craft more confidently.” Ezbalath paused, his hammer high above his head, then continued his craft: “As their research progressed, their attention was drawn towards the stars. If magic flowed through all animate and inanimate, then perhaps it too flowed through space and time. They were correct. In their efforts, however, to contain such a force in a sigil, they drew attention. Something else was lurking behind the magic.”

Ezbalath finished the blade and then placed his hammer down. He pulled over a small wooden stool and sat; sweat dripping from his hair.

“It’s not a memory I can forget even if I wanted to. Because of this discovery, I implored the Sigilius Emperor to cease their research. It was, however, too late. We had already left the door open. The monsters from beyond magic. Your myth became a desperate cry for salvation. That you would come for us and shroud the monsters in darkness. The Sigilius Emperor believed in the myth, and I was instructed to go look for you. I searched for a year before I came upon this dungeon.” Ezbalath looked at his hands, the protective gauntlets stained in soot, then at Arn. “Then met my end.”

Ezbalath removed the protective gauntlets, his gaze settling on the cobble floor. “Sorry, Arn. I didn’t mean to ramble.” Ezbalath said, rubbing his left eyebrow with his left hand’s thumb. He rubbed for some time, then stopped.

“It’s alright. There’s much on your mind, and admittedly I don’t know very much about this world.” Arn said.

Ezbalath looked up from his staring: “I suppose then it would be foley to ask you if you are aware of what befell my people?” Ezbalath smiled after asking the question.

Arn fell silent for a moment – remembering the creature he fought and retrieving Ezbalath’s soul.

“Do you recall the creature that took your life?” Arn asked.

“Vividly. I see it still.” Ezbalath solemnly said.

“Your soul was the first to come to me.” Arn replied.

A grave look swept over Ezbalath’s features as he tried to comprehend what Arn had said to him.

“Soul…? How many, may I ask?” Ezbalath said with a frenzied look.

“Too many.” Arn replied.

Ezbalath slouched and again rubbed his left eyebrow.

“Then I may have been the first of many.” Ezbalath said under his breath. Just as the despair set in, the frenzy from before returned to Ezbalath: “You defeated the creature?!”

“Yes.”

“Incredible.” Ezbalath smiled in awe. “I’m not a warrior, but I’m a proud smith. The weapon I used was one of my most precious creations. When I faced the creature, however, it broke upon its skin. Even the strongest of my people would have had difficulty- no, would have lost against it.”

Ezbalath’s eyes wandered to the blade resting on Arn’s hip.

“May I see your blade?”

“Certainly.” Arn said unsheathing the sword on his hip. He took the blade in both hands, resting the flat side of the blade in his left hand. Arn then handed the sword to Ezbalath who knelt when receiving it.

Ezbalath looked upon the sword, his eyes reflecting off the blade, and his hands running over the coarse hilt.

“This is a fine sword, unremarkable, but fine in craftsmanship. It doesn’t seem to resonate with the magic I’m currently giving to it, and it appears to have been used many times. Perhaps, too many.” Ezbalath said remarking upon the hilt’s disarrayed look.

“I thought you required sigils to manipulate magic?” Arn asked.

“Anyone can manipulate a fraction of the moving magic around us, within their own body. Its only use is for perception. It can be used to sense distant objects imbued in magic, and people. It’s a very useful skill, one most people have, but hard to master.” Ezbalath said, then gave the sword back to Arn. “Your sword is a fine one, as I said. I can, however, craft you one that would better resonate with the magic you may wield. One imbued with a sigil.”

Arn looked over his sword, the embers of the forge gleaming off its surface. Is this the pathway to unlocking my Power? Arn thought to himself. Then he sheathed the blade.

“I don’t see why not.” Arn replied.

“Excellent! Before I begin, I will need to see your magical coil so to speak. It’s the core to a person’s resonance with magic.” Ezbalath said gesturing out his hands. “I only need a hand to do so.”

Arn placed his right hand in Ezbalath’s, their warmth felt through the glove. Ezbalath closed his eyes.

“Normally someone such as yourself with great strength, would be gushing with magical power. I haven’t felt anything from you, however, your coil may just be masking itself unconscio-” Ezbalath went silent.

Arn felt a tug on his mind, as if he had wandered subconsciously somewhere else, then nothing.

Ezbalath’s breaths drew themselves out, then quickened. Sweat poured down his face, yet the embers of the forge were behind him.

“Ezbalath?”

Ezbalath didn’t answer, his breaths becoming quicker and quicker. Tears streamed down his face, and his teeth began to grind against one another. Then a gurgle formed in Ezbalath’s throat as it threatened to scream.

Arn yanked away his hand from Ezbalath’s grip and knelt. Resting his hands on Ezbalath’s shoulders, Arn shook. “Ezbalath, Ezbalath! Come back!” When Arn’s shaking didn’t shake Ezbalath’s torture - he took Ezbalath’s hands in his own. The warmth had completely faded from Ezbalath’s hands, becoming frigid to the touch.

“Ezbalath!” Arn shouted.

Ezbalath’s golden eyes flew open, the tears and sweat pouring over his face. Ezbalath gazed at Arn as a deep terror aged his face’s contours. Arn had felt this before, a deep-seated fear, but it lingered in Ezbalath’s eyes. Yet, even though Ezbalath’s gaze rested on Arn, it was as if it was on something else. The something else lingered through Ezbalath. Then Ezbalath breathed and lowered his head.

“I apologize, my Lord. After looking at your coil, I believe the blade resting on your hip is most suitable for you. I’m sure after having used it – you’ve come to this conclusion as well.” Ezbalath said, his words dipped and concealed in terror.

Arn released Ezbalath’s hands, their warmth beginning to return, and stood.

“It has served its purpose well. If that is what you believe, then I believe in you.” Arn said.

Ezbalath remained kneeling, bowing his head.

“Thank you, my Lord. I will continue forging you the best weapons I can possibly give you for your armies. They will serve you well, just as I will until the day comes you no longer require me.” Ezbalath said.

Arn was silent for a moment. Then nodded, saying: “May this begin a long and fruitful friendship, Ezbalath. I will not thrust expectations upon you, but I will hope for them. I will leave you to your work.”

Arn turned, not waiting for Ezbalath to respond, and walked to the entrance of the Forge. What did Ezbalath see? Arn wondered. The question lingered until his footsteps, drowned out by the furnaces, became quiet in the entryway. With the roaring of the furnaces, words barely audible were spoken by Ezbalath:

“There was nothing.”