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diligence, workmanship, dedicated practice makes for mastery
The following day was the day Master Pew promised to take Justin and Follin up into the mountains to locate the minerals and ore for Follin’s blade. They set out before dawn, just the three plus the smithy’s donkey who was loaded with equipment and a fortnight’s supply of food.
Captain Bleecher was satisfied with their route which took them along secret ways known only to a few in the Pentacles Kingdom. These were their own Mountaineer Commando scouts raised in the mountains and by forest men and women to collect herbs and other materials for their craft.
“Anymore’n what we ‘ave now will just be bothersome, Captain. I’ve not had a mishap a’fore and I don’t plan to have one now,” was Master Pew’s response when the captain asked if he needed an armed escort.
“Well, I guess you do have young Follin, and Sir Dale has spoken highly of his earth magic. I think you’ll be safe enough but watch for Wildlanders, some may have crossed the Hindamar Mountains and be wandering about up there.” The captain-of-the-guards insisted the band allow a squad of soldiers to escort them, at least for the next few miles.
Although there had been raids and the odd Wildlander had been seen within the vicinity of the castle itself, regular patrolling had restored order and the Wildlanders seemed to have left the area - for now.
Once under the cover of the forest trees they began the arduous task of climbing the narrow mountain tracks. Justin had not stopped smiling since they’d left the main road. He now began to hum and slowly a melodic tune made the forest gloom brighten. His tune was taken up by Master Pew and together the two led a round-robin song of travelling free under the warmth of the sun. When Follin eventually caught on to the words and their rhythm, he tried to meet its complex metre and beat. Between chuckles and roars of laughter from Justin and Master Pew, they had a three-part song rolling right along with their footsteps. Each step kept the beat. When they slowed their pace to work around a felled tree, a rock or ledge, the song slowed with their movement.
At mid-morning they stopped and made a fire to boil their billy. They sat quietly to enjoy a cup of tea and a snack of honeyed biscuits that Pew’s wife had prepared for them the night before. When they settled for lunch they fried up a special traveller’s meal of dried meat and grapes ground together with lard, salt and spices. As horrific as it appeared, Follin loved it and had to be reminded that it had to last two weeks.
“The young sir wants to eat everything on the first morn’, Master Pew. I think even donkey knows better than to try that.” Justin winked at Follin, together they laughed for the joy of living. The feel of sweat on their brow, the bird calls among the forest giants and the smell of fresh mountain air, combined to make their hunger brighter, the sky bluer and the forest greener.
“Master Pew, is this what you had to do when you were an apprentice? You know, go up into the mountains to find your own ore for your first blade?” asked Follin resting with his back against a thick tree trunk after their midday meal.
“Aye, I did. My master was a gentle man but he made me find every scrap of mineral by myself. He not once helped nor pointed out any clues. It was the same for young Justin ‘ere, and ‘twill be the same for thee. When we get to the bladesmith’s plateau, ye’ll cut thee a witching stick and dowse the direction ye must go to find your ore. Once ye have a bag of ore ye’ll dowse for your kiln site.”
“I took three trips into the mountains before I found everything,” said Justin easing the pot of boiling water back on to the grass after pouring his third cup of tea. “I’m a terrible dowser but I did it none-the-less. Master Pew did it in one trip only. He’s a Master Dowser too you know.”
“I didn’t know that smithys were dowsers?” mused Follin.
“Aye, there be dowsers in every craft and guild, lad. Some use it to divine water, some to find ‘erbs, some to find minerals and others to find the largest herd of deer for their cooking pot,” replied Pew.
After two days of hard climbing they finally stopped to rest on the bladesmith’s forested plateau. Follin was then sent into the pine forest to find his witching stick. Pew had deliberately sent him in the opposite direction to the one he knew he must go, ‘no sense in making things easy for the lad,’ he thought.
Follin found himself completely lost, he couldn’t get his senses to work or focus. So he sat down, closed his eyes and leaned his back against a tree trunk - it was a rare, high-mountain beech tree, almost hidden by the thick pines of the forest. As he settled into his meditation he could ‘feel’ the tree. His chest hummed with its lively, youthful power. Instinctively he asked the beech to show him the way to a suitable witching-stick tree, one that would serve him well, to find his ore and his kiln.
In answer he saw a single witch-hazel tree, also youthful but quite alone. It felt proud, solid and had a youthful zeal, it was only ten yards away from where he sat. He could feel that the beech and hazel trees were friends. The two trees shared their time in conversation, swaying in harmony to create an atmosphere of serenity that extended well beyond their leafy canopy.
Smiling to himself he thanked the beech and sought to connect to the hazel tree. Immediately an invitation came for him to take the branch he would see when he stood in a certain position.
Follin stood exactly where he was directed in his vision and spied the hazel tree’s gift, a beautifully formed ‘Y’ branch. He knew that it would suit his purpose to perfection.
“Thank you, you and your beech-tree friend have given me just what I need to fulfill my task. I promise I shall use your gift wisely.” Speaking softly he reached up with his knife and made a single, firm cut. Released, the forked branch felt alive in his hands as he trimmed and shaped it to his own fit and comfort.
“Why, back so soon? What is it thee has in thy hands, young lad? Is that what I think it be?” asked Pew in somewhat of a shocked voice as he watched his apprentice return. It had only been a short time since he was sent into the forest and yet here he was with a fine witching stick in his outstretched hand.
“A young beech tree showed me where to find it. The hazel tree then showed me the best fork to cut,” replied Follin, smiling proudly.
“Wow, Follin, you’ve only been gone for fifteen minutes. You’ve not even been gone long enough for the billy to boil for our pot of tea.” Justin was excited and waited patiently for Pew to hand him the stick to feel for himself. When he felt it in his hands he sighed, “Oh my, Master Pew, this is a beauty isn’t it? It has a life of its own. I bet Follin will find everything he needs on this trip.”
“Aye, ‘tis a bit of a miracle. I sent yon lad off on a mission in the wrong direction, yet he comes back with a stick worth ten times what I sensed myself in the other direction.” Pew pointed to where he knew was a stand of hazel trees not too far from their campsite. As he handed the witching-stick back to Follin he slapped him on the back warmly. “Nicely found lad, we’ll be following thy lead from now on.”
That day was particularly hard going and donkey didn’t take too kindly at the pace they set. He was tired and became sullen and stubborn with each step. Neither Justin, Pew nor Follin could force him to walk faster. The more they pushed the more donkey would press his ears further back. Old Pew knew a few tricks though, one being that donkey loved to listen to their songs. So once again the three struck up a tune and within a few bars donkey had his ears up and was walking with a spring in his step beside the three men.
“If donkeys could smile, I’d say old ‘donkey’ here would be smiling all over his face,” said Justin as he tickled their animal friend around the ears.
By evening Follin had led them to a cave far along the smithy plateau which climbed up higher still towards the mountain peaks. It had been a long, hard slog from the moment they had left the site of the witching-stick to the time they made the cave mouth. The three sat on a rock ledge just outside the cave mouth, below they could see the kingdom spread before them like a map.
“There be the castle, hard to see ain’t it? And that be the river and lake, ye can see that well enough. And in that direction, somewhere in the haze be the Emperor’s home.” Pew chewed on a straw that he’d kept for himself after feeding donkey his meal.
“This ‘ere cave be one of the ‘old one’s’ caves. We don’t come up here often, in fact, lads, this be only the third time it’s had a visit since I was an apprentice. Even the mountain hunters leave it be. They say it’s haunted by spirits of the mountain, earth spirits. But we smithy’s are people of the earth, we create beauty out of earth and the earth spirits be our friends.” He turned to his two apprentices. “Tonight we’ll be doing earth magic. I’ve not shown thee, Justin, not this magic. It should only be used under certain circumstances and in certain places, this be one of them. In fact, lads, this cave be the perfect place to show thee. ‘Tis here I was initiated by my master’s master many years ago.”
Just as the sun was setting it turned bitterly cold, so the three men spread out their sleeping blankets beside the fire. They then threw more branches on the flames to keep warm and to invite the earth spirits to do their magic. Donkey was contented to graze on the succulent grasses around the cave mouth and sometimes he looked around as though he expected company too.
Before he began the ceremony Master Pew solemnly washed his face and hands then dried them with his rag. He then went to each of his apprentice’s and proceeded to wash their hands and to wipe their faces clean, just as he’d performed for himself.
“Tis Godly to be clean, lads. We’ll no doubt meet the King and Queen of the earth tonight. The least we can do is show respect by having clean faces and hands.” He hummed to himself as he threw another log onto the fire then began a slow chant. This led to a smithing song the boys had heard the old master sing while working at his forge. It was a song of pleasure, the joy of being in the flesh and working with the gifts of the earth and fire. The song turned to new words of flesh and bone, rock and soil, ash and smoke. As he sang more new words appeared, words of the minerals found in the earth, of gemstones, ores, sweet limestone, clays and coloured ochres.
The song went on to combine with the warmth of the fire and the flickering of the flames as slowly the three entered a light trance. As they did so they saw a small humanoid creature, no larger than a small dog, leap to stand before them at the fire. The creature joined the old man and his apprentices in song. After a few minutes he turned to invite others of his kind to join them. Eventually, there were a dozen small creatures, clothed in animal’s skins, dancing and singing in the firelight.
The song shifted in tempo as the earth beings began to dance with swirling, twisting leaps, just like the flickering of the flames. As they danced Follin felt himself being drawn deeper into their earthen cavern. He felt his back eventually touch the far end of the cave - his back pressed firmly against solid rock. But it didn’t stop there, he then felt himself drawn into the rock itself.
This was similar to some of the experiences Follin had in his meditations with the High Priestess. Not that she had ever pushed him into a rock before. This sensation of timelessness was very much akin to what he sometimes experienced in her Sanctuary. He relaxed, he knew not to fight it, he was wise to these sensations and moods of the spirit, so he just let go.
Justin was confused. He knew he had to go with the experience but he became fearful and struggled. His master had prepared him beforehand but even so, the sensation of melding with the earth itself was almost too much for him.
It was then that Justin saw his king, the King of Pentacles, sitting on his throne beside his queen, the Queen of Pentacles. They looked at Justin, smiled and nodded. It was in that smile that he knew this was another initiation, the initiation to become one with the Pentacles Kingdom, of the solid earth. This was his birthright, he was born to experience the gifts of the earth as a bladesmith. He could now let go.
The three woke early the following morning wrapped in their blankets, the fire was still aglow with red embers. Donkey nudged old Pew with his nose for his breakfast. Finally, the blademaster sat up and looked around. He first collected a pot of wild mushrooms to break their fast then woke his two apprentices.
“Look lads, footprints, little ones like a child’s. It looks like the earth spirits had a grand ball last night,” he pointed to the many tiny footprints in the dirt around them. “I don’t know about you lads but I feel like a young man again. My, my, I’m starved too. Come on, get up, lads, and let’s get back to what we came here for.” Pew’s voice was strong, youthful, and as he toed Justin awake he started singing again. The song was a wake-up song, a ‘get out of bed and get into life’ song that he often sang at the start of the day in his smithy. The boys joined in singing lustily as they rolled their blankets and prepared their breakfast.
Over their morning meal the three discussed their experiences of the night before. Each had their own version of their entry into the underworld of the earth spirits and the insights they had gained.
“I saw exactly where my ores are to be found, Master Pew. I can see in my mind’s eye just where we need to go. I spent all night dreaming about how to best fire the ore, to mix the clay and where to find the dry timber to make our charcoal. I’ve watched myself create my own blade, it’s just marvellous!” exclaimed Follin as he flipped the unleavened barley and buckwheat pancakes onto each plate to sit beside the pile of wild mushrooms. “The earth spirits showed me. They took me to each location and said they would guide my witching-stick. They said I was sure to forget when I woke up. Maybe they know something about humans then,” he said with a laugh.
“What did you get up to, young Justin?” asked Pew, leaning across the young man to pour another cup of tea. “I saw you enter the rock, it looked like it took four or five of those earth spirits to help you though.”
“I was afraid. I had to remember to let go, when I did it was easy.” He smiled as he remembered. “It’s coming back to me now. I saw our own King and Queen, they helped me enter the earth. When I was inside the rock itself I felt so calm, then I went on a journey.” His voice quickened as he remembered, it was like he couldn’t tell his story fast enough. “The earth spirits took me through all kinds of rocks, shales and granites. I went down into the middle of the earth and swam in molten metal. Then I was flung high into the air in a volcanic explosion, that was great!”
“You what?!” exclaimed Follin, feeling his friend’s excitement, “you exploded in a vol...?” his voice faded as he tried to say the new word.
“Yes, it’s called v-o-l-c-a-n-o, volcano. It’s made of melted rocks. They’re white hot, and when the earth can’t hold it in, it bubbles up like boiling water and runs everywhere. I was shown that each metal has specific properties, and then I was shown the types of soil that hold the best minerals for smithing.” He went on, “like, on the other side of the Hindamar Mountains there’s a lot of coal seams. Coal comes from ancient plants that died and was then squashed. I saw it happen. This area was once a flat plain that grew enormous forests. Then it all went under the water and the plants were covered with silt from the rains. Now it’s pushed upwards into mountains of dirt, rocks and coal seams. Amazing isn’t it.”
“I thought I had a big adventure but you’ve had a much bigger one. Justin, what you experienced was amazing. But swimming in Vulcan’s pool and coal seams...” Follin put his hand warmly on his friend’s shoulder. “I am so amazed you did all that. Now I know what it means to be a bladesmith, even the apprentices are special. The earth spirits must love you.”
“Aye, me lad, it augers well for an apprentice bladesmith to have an initiation as powerful as that. Justin, you will be a Master Bladesmith soon enough and when you do, people will travel the world over to buy your blades. Mark my word, lad, mark my word.” Pew shook his head in wonderment and settled back with his plate heaped with food.
They sat, chatting softly in the still morning air savouring their meal of wild mushrooms, pancakes and herb tea.
“Master Pew, if you don’t mind, what did you experience?” asked Follin balancing his cup of hot tea on his knee, curious to know what the master learned in his earth-spirit encounter.
Through a mouthful of food, Pew told his tale. “Me, well, let’s just say I spent a long time with the King and Queen discussing earth magic and how we need to nurture and use it for our Kingdom’s safety. Each of us crafters, guildsmen and women in the Pentacles Kingdom, have access to this earth magic. Perhaps not all are as powerful as our craft though. The smithy’s, potters and gardeners have their hands in the earth and we all work and weave earth magic, every day. When I was done with the King and Queen I was shown new magic castings and weavings, ones I’d never seen nor heard of before. I’d say my own master, and his master before him, never knew of these magics. I got the feeling that they didn’t need them, aye, those were more peaceful times. I was told to teach Justin, but only some of them am I allowed to teach ye, Follin. Justin, ye will one day go on your own private quest to this cave and come back with special magical weavings and castings. But for now, ye have both had some wonderful experiences to make your trek all the more memorable.”
They cleaned their breakfast gear and stepped out of the cave and onto the track. Their singing was strong and donkey swung his head in time with their rhythm.
A few days later Follin had located his iron ore. Just a small patch, but one that was particularly rich and would only need a little work to prepare for its firing in his kiln. Adjacent was a stand of dead trees, of perfect size for their charcoal making and kiln firing. A little further was a creek and a bank of clean clay for making the kiln.
“My, this is strange,” announced Master Pew, “these don’t normally habitat together. My waters tell me this is magic indeed and one that taps into more than earth magic - part earth and part fire magic. I’d hazard a guess that you, young Follin, have both earth and fire magic in you. Mystic Islanders can do that you know, and you’re part Islander and Wildlander I believe. Tis whispered this combination of blood is pure, it holds the magic of all the elements combined.”
He waved his hand towards the ore. “This patch of ore will produce enough to make many ingots to take back to our forge where ye’ll make yer blade, lad. You have strong magic of your own, I can see. The earth spirits told me ye were special. Aye, this trip has been a magical one from the start.”
Master Pew continued, “We’ve a few days for the wood to burn down. When we’ve fired the wood we’ll start making light clay to build your kiln. But let’s have some lunch first.”
While enjoying their ‘traveller’s meal’, Pew explained the tasks ahead of them.
“Firstly, we’ll cut down these trees and build the charcoal fire together, it’s a big job. Then, Follin, ye’ll mine the iron ore and light a separate fire to burn off as much of the organic impurities as ye can. Then ye’ll hammer the ore stones into a crumbly powder ready to fire in the kiln. While ye do that, Justin and I will dig a hole and shift that dry clay into it. We’ll then wet it, and let it soak, every last grain of clay needs to be wet down. And no stones, we don’t want any little stones neither. Justin, I need several armfuls of thin, dry grass to mix into the clay as well.” Master Pew now relaxed, his explanation complete. “I expect that by tomorrow afternoon we’ll be ready to start building the ‘dragon’. That be your kiln, Follin.”
“I remember doing this on my last journey, Follin. Your dragon kiln is going to be marvellous, this is the best time of all.” Justin was so excited that he spilt his hot tea on his leg and he jumped up with a start. When he saw the concern on Follin's face he exclaimed, “It’s a good sign, Follin. We smithy’s have a saying, ‘hot burns, hot transforms’. Spilling hot tea means that our smithing will be a success.”
Follin joined Master Pew and Justin to cut and cart the dry timber to the clearing they had prepared. There they would burn the pile of dry timber to make the charcoal for his kiln. They built an enormous bonfire and lit it right at the base. Once it was well lit and burning fiercely they began to slowly cover the entire pile of timber with soil. As smoke seeped from the pile, Follin wandered over to watch, standing alongside the two older men.
“Won’t that just put the fire out?” asked Follin as he watched the smoke pouring through cracks in the soil which now covered the smoldering fire.
“Aye lad, that it will. But the coals will turn the wood into charcoal. We don’t want to burn it now, we need it for the kiln. Charcoal burns longer and brighter than just plain wood. It’s exactly what we’ve been using in our own fire-pit at the smithy at home. We buy it from the colliers, the local charcoal makers back home. If we had to make charcoal every time we fired the kiln we’d have no time for smithing. All smithy’s use it, we’d never make a living if we had to rely on burning wood alone. Wood doesn’t heat the metal to the temperature we need.”
The old blademaster pointed to the spiral of smoke rising from the pile of dirt and wood. “By covering the coals we allow the fire and the wood to do their magic. Everything we do on this trip is founded in magic.” He stopped and wiped at his brow with the back of his hand. “Before I forget, we’ll need a blood ceremony to bless the kiln before we start. Follin, I’ll be openin’ you up for that,” he said winking at Justin.
Follin gaped, “What? Are you going to cut me open? Like, with a knife? Open my stomach? No, that’s not right... is it?” he asked, his face turning pale.
Justin laughed. “Follin, Master Pew will just nick your hand. The blood will drip onto the kiln and your blood seals the pact between the apprentice and his craft. No bladesmith or crafter worth their salt would dream of failing to wed their craft’s magic to themselves. Wait till you do it, you’ll feel something special.” Justin smiled knowingly.
Follin went back to his task of roasting the iron ore stones on his own fire. Then he crushed them with a hammer after they had cooled. As he worked steadily through the afternoon with his firing and crushing, Justin and Pew dug a deep, rounded hole and began filling it with dry clay. It was a slow process carting water from the creek and adding it to the clay. Justin took the role of ‘foot-stomper’, squishing the mess of slippery clay with his feet.
“I say, lad, you’re bettern’ it than me. You can stay stompering while I gather the dry grasses, and don’t go fallin’ over neither.” Master Pew was past the age where he’d prefer to stomp clay than do something else. Besides, his arthritis was playing up after cutting down the trees and building the charcoal fire.
“Follin!” he yelled from across the stream, “make sure you’ve burned all that ore, there’s enough for ten pounds of wolf ingot there, a quantity ye’ll need for your helmet and armour as well.”
Follin looked up and whispered to himself, “Helmet and armour?” A smile slowly formed on his tired, grime-smeared face.
The following day the ore was roasted and crushed. The large fire-mound was still smoking and the clay was well wet and ready to build the kiln.
Pew stood up from washing his breakfast plate and cup in the stream and called the boys over.
“Right, lads, today is the day. Follin, grab your witching stick and locate your kiln site. I’ll then show you how to build your ‘dragon’. An apprentice’s dragon is wild, it only exists in the open air unlike our forge which sits tamely in our smithy. Justin, you can start pulling the clay out and mixing it with the straw.” Master Pew straightened and looked around. “We’ll first clean up the camp-site then we’ll each have a wash in the stream and change into our ceremonial clothing I had you bring.”
Turning to Follin the old blademaster said, “Today, Follin, is the day of your initiation into the craft of bladesmithing. Follow my instructions to the letter and the next few days will be the most memorable of your life.”
Locating the kiln site was easier than he expected. As Follin reached for his witching stick lying on the ground beside his sleeping blanket, it spun and pointed to a clearing not twenty yards away. Follin thanked the invisible earth spirits and, picking up his dowsing stick, he walked in the direction it pointed. Sure enough it led him to the exact place it had indicated before he’d even touched it.
“Right, lad, now we clear it free of twigs and leaves,” said Pew drawing a circle on the ground with a stick, “dig a shallow pit and clean it up. I’ll send Justin up in a minute then I’ll show ye how to build thy dragon.”
Follin walked into the bush and collected a bundle of thin sticks. He expertly twisted them into the shape and form of a simple hand-broom. With brisk sweeps of his hand-broom he swept the area clean of twigs, stones and leaves. Then he dug a small hole with his spade, just as Master Pew had shown him.
By the time Justin arrived with his first batch of straw-mixed clay, Follin had his kiln space ready. Pew squatted tenderly on his haunches and began building the first layer of clay, then another on top of it. The clay wall coiled upwards like a snake that would eventually create Follin’s kiln, the traditional initiate’s fire-breathing dragon.
“See, lad, ye put the clay down and pat it firm. Keep it tight, a kiln that makes the dragon’s breath shouldn’t be too big nor too small. The next layer goes on top and so on till you get to waist height. Slow is better than fast. Think of your kiln as if she were your wife. She needs a tender hand, not too firm but not too soft neither. Keep your hand wet and slide it across like so.” Pew demonstrated as he spoke. He made Follin feel confident that he too could build a kiln just as well as any other bladesmith.
The kiln grew before his eyes as he packed each layer of clay to rise one on top of the other. The straw helped hold its form and by late afternoon it was finished. Pew instructed him to cut an opening down at the bottom and a hole for the earth spirits to watch, near the top. He then brought out a leather bellows with a clay-fired pipe and showed Follin where to cut its hole at the base of the kiln. Together they sealed the edges around the clay pipe and then prepared the large opening section to go back in, as the kiln’s door. This was their access point to remove the iron ‘wolf’ once the firing was complete.
⇔
The following morning, Follin was instructed to build a tinder stack inside the kiln ready to be lighted. Master Pew walked around carefully inspecting the kiln’s integrity and the tinder within.
“Perfect, me lad, that’s much like mine and Justin’s when we were apprentices. In fact, I’d say yours has a finer touch to it.” When he’d finished his inspection Master Bladesmith Pew drew a series of images on the ground. “See these symbols, these are magic symbols of our craft. You’re not to show them to anyone who is not a bladesmith. Not even to a blacksmith, they don’t know bladesmithing magic neither.” He then instructed Follin, “Take your knife, it has to be your own knife and your own hand what carves these symbols into yer ‘dragon’.”
Pew explained further. “We like to call our mountain kilns ‘dragons’ because they fire our metal in the untamed wildlands. We’ve no walls nor roof to control our firing environment. We can’t control the wind, the air temperature, clouds, rain or even the amount of sunshine. A wild dragon is just as hard to control. We have to continuously watch it otherwise it could destroy our work, or even cause a wild fire forcing us to flee the mountains. A wild dragon is hard to tame, but today, Follin, you will learn how to tame your dragon and his fiery breath.”
Pew called for Justin to join them. He stepped back as Follin began carving the magical symbols into the kiln surface, then said, “Follin, with thy knife I bind thee to the craft of bladesmithing of the Pentacles Kingdom.” He nodded as Follin completed the carvings, they were exact copies of the ones in the dust at Pew’s feet.
Next, Pew held out his hand and Follin reached up to grasp it. Pew pulled his apprentice to stand before he and Justin. But he didn’t let go of Follin’s hand. Pew held out his other hand, palm up, for Follin’s knife.
“With thy knife and blood, I join thee to thy dragon. Thus be the melding of blood, earth and fire.” With a flash he cut deeply into Follin’s wrist and held it as the young Mystic Islander’s blood splashed onto the kiln surface. The three watched as the blood ran down to puddle at the base of the kiln. Pew then released his apprentice’s hand and began to sing. Justin joined him with a soft, gentle harmony. It wasn’t a song they’d sung before, yet Follin felt he could recognise the tune from the songs the earth spirits sang at the cave.
“Lad, light the fire, this be the dragon’s breath needed to create the wolf-iron.”
Justin, as ceremony dictated, now handed Follin a hot-coal wrapped in bark. Leaning down on the ground Follin gently placed the red coal under the dry tinder, and blew. His breath caught the glowing coal and it came to life, its blazing-white heat set the dry tinder alight.
At that moment Follin felt his heart leap inside his chest, a sensation he’d not experienced before. He felt a burst of joyfulness in friendship, success and of fulfillment. The young apprentice felt so happy that he hugged his master and his friend Justin.
Once the fire was well alight, Pew handed the witching stick to Follin. He nodded to Follin who then threw his stick into the fire. Together they witnessed its union with the flames it helped create. With the final step of his initiation complete, both Pew and Justin whistled loudly in delight slapping Follin on the back in congratulations. Justin was then sent to the camp-site to bring back a rag to bandage Follin’s wrist, and a bottle of mead from Master Pew’s pack.
“Lads, may this be the first of many celebrations.” They then each sprinkled mead onto the kiln and the ground surrounding it in libation to the earth spirits. What mead was left in their cups they quickly finished. Pew filled the cups again. “When we finally beat the wolf into ingots to transport home to our forge we’ll finish the bottle. So enjoy this last cup because we have plenty of work to do before we start feeding the dragon.”
For the rest of the day all Follin needed do was feed the fire to dry and harden the clay kiln. This was not the fire they wanted for the ore, that would begin at break of day on the morrow.
They woke well before dawn to fire-up the dragon. Today was the day Follin would exercise his bladesmith magic - turning raw ore into wolf-iron. Once they were inside their smithy in the Pentacles castle they would turn this same wolf-iron into steel.
“Load up the kiln in layers, charcoal followed by about one-tenth iron ore. Justin, ye’ll stay on the bellows till Follin relieves you. We’ve got to get this to temperature and keep it there all day and well into the night.” Master Pew was so excited that, like his apprentices, he hadn’t yet finished his breakfast. He was still chewing his bacon, mushrooms and the last of the eggs. He balanced his cup of tea in the hand he held a hunk of stale bread - all the while directing his apprentices to their tasks.
“Ye’ll get thy breakfast in a while, or two, but first things first. We’ve got to get the dragon up to temperature to bleed the ore of the last traces of impurities which can weaken a blade. This fire-breathing dragon you’ve created, Follin, is a hungry beast. Ye’ll learn what hard work is today, lad.”
Putting down his tin cup Pew finished his breakfast, stood and stretched then walked around the kiln. As he approached he began a slow chant. It was the same chant he used to bless the kiln. Justin and Follin caught the rhythm and joined him. The beat of the bellows made the chant echo through the still, morning air. The frost that had settled on their blankets began to steam in the first rays of sunlight just as the warmth of the dragon warmed the boy’s hands and their bodies.
“Master Pew, what’s that?” asked Follin as the blademaster brought out a small box that seemed to become the focus of his chanting.
“That, me lad, is magic, pure Pentacles magic. This be the core of our bladesmithing, the magical mineral ingredients needed to turn the iron-wolf into steel. Weapons need to take an edge and to keep their edge through battle. In fact, through many a battle. This little box contains a powder that has come from t’other side of the mountains, beyond the Wildlanders. It’s a special mix of minerals from the Outsider’s lands. Perhaps one day you or Justin here, will need to visit or trade for a box of powder just like this. It’s a blend of minerals that are our craft’s secret. When Justin’s ready I’ll teach him how to mix it and use it. Perhaps, if you stay in our Kingdom and pass through your apprenticeship to the end and become a blademaster, ye’ll learn its secret too, Follin. But today, my gift to you is to sprinkle this blend and mix it with your ore. It will produce the most sought-after weapon in the four kingdoms, aye, and beyond.”
With gentle care, Master Pew pinched some of the powder between his fingers and mixed it lovingly in with the crushed ore beside the kiln. His chant now changed and he moved up an octave and increased the beat. Justin pushed his bellows to pump the air into the kiln to meet his master’s rhythm.
The kiln roared like a ravenous, fire-breathing dragon. Throughout the day Follin took care to feed the right amount of charcoal and ore into the dragon’s mouth to keep it satisfied.
⇔
It was hot, hard work keeping the dragon fed, but by late that afternoon Master Pew told the boys to slow their bellows pumping, to ‘ease the dragon’s breath’. Carefully he opened the front door to the kiln. Its lower belly was exposed and they all looked inside to see the liquid slag dripping onto the ash-base of the kiln.
“Lads, step back a little. Justin, get back to the bellows and start yer pumping, but slow and steady. Follin, fetch me yon leather gloves and the long tongs. In the dragon’s belly be the wolf, the iron-wolf from which ye’ll make thy blade.”
Pew poked into the white-hot ashes to reveal a lump of solid iron and instructed Follin in how to retrieve it. Throwing the ‘wolf’ onto the steel anvil, Pew began to hammer it while Follin twisted and turned it, just as he’d learned in Pew’s smithy over the past months.
“Right, now lad, you take over. I’ll hold and turn while you beat the wolf into submission. Then we’ll continue into the night feeding the dragon and making wolf ingots. By morning ye’ll have enough wolf to make thy sword, and perhaps a helm and some armour, as I promised,” said Master Pew. Follin’s face was red and the sweat poured down his cheeks to drip onto the ground as he steadily beat the wolf into ingots.
All that night they fed the dragon and periodically removed lumps of wolf to be beaten into blocks for transport back to their smithy. By first light of the following day, Follin solemnly broke down his kiln piece by piece. They would now remove the final lump of wolf-iron, hidden in the very depths of the dragon’s broken belly of slag and ash.
“Lads, that’s it. Well done and I must say this has been the most successful firing I’ve ever had the honour to be part of. This wolf is the best quality I’ve worked with too. I can only guess that the sword it produces will be the most precious I’ve had the honour of preparing.” With that, he pulled his shirt off and threw it into the stream. He then called for the boys to strip off and join him in the cold mountain water. “This be the cleansing, lads. Once the last wolf is drawn and beaten, the dragon’s body broken down, ‘tis the time to wash the grime from our skins and to leave this place of magic in peace.”
By full sunrise they were seated beside their campfire waiting for the billy to boil water for their tea. They’d already fried the last of their traveller’s meal and eaten it like wolves themselves. Even though they’d lived on their ‘traveller’s meal’ for most of their time in the mountains it tasted simply divine after twenty-four hours of ‘round-the-clock smithing. Their stomach’s now satisfied they curled up in their blankets and slept through the morning.
A flock of little birds hopped about their campsite competing for the scraps and crumbs of their meal - but no-one was awake to enjoy their antics.
⇔
Follin’s meditation – Eight of Pentacles:
The parchment in Follin’s pocket had slowly become careworn and he had decided to leave it at his bedside rather than carry it around in his pockets. He remembered that the picture for this meditation was of a master craftsmen, carefully carving pentacles outside his workshop.
In his meditation he pulled up a wooden stool and sat down to watch the master woodcrafter. The taps of the man’s hammer were sharp, deft and true. He was so focused that he didn’t even notice Follin watching him.
“Master, may I ask you a question or two?” asked Follin softly so as not to disturb the man.
The craftsman looked up, his mind was still on his task so he wasn’t fully focused. “Sure, you can ask me a question, but not now, wait until I’m finished. Now be quiet until I am ready for you, thank you.”
The man’s command was firm as it was polite. Follin recognised the meditative state the man was in and knew better than disturb him further. He had seen both Master Pew and Justin in the same state many a time as they worked in the smithy.
He recalled how Master Pew would carve swirlings on his sword blades which were both art as well as his signature. The old blademaster could barely read or write but his inscriptions were a sought after treasure.
Follin sat and looked around the man’s workshop. It was smallish, well protected from the weather and he had many pieces of timber in various stages of dress and season. It looked like he was also making bows and arrows at the present time.
Finally the man finished his pentacle, he blew the shavings from his work and stood to stretch his back and shoulders. Turning to Follin he asked, “and what is it thee wishes to ask?”
“I was wondering what craft you practice, what be your guild and how long you have been a master,” replied Follin.
“An interesting question from someone who is dressed as a smithy and obviously apprenticed as one too by your look.” The man then sat back on his work stool and pulled his pipe and tobacco pouch from his breast pocket.
“Here, do thee smoke?” he offered.
Follin declined not having smoked before, he wasn’t interested to even try. It fascinated him, though, to watch the smoke pouring from a smokers mouth and nose.
“I’ll answer thee if thee knows thy own station,” said the master.
“I’m currently apprenticed to Master Pew, a bladesmith in the Pentacles Kingdom, sir,” replied Follin politely.
“Tis an honourable craft, bladesmiths are always in need during times of warfare and Master Pew be the finest in the Empire.” He puffed several times to get his pipe lighted and then leaned back against the wooden wall of his shed. “I’m a carpenter by trade but wood carving be my love. I was just working on a set of pentacles for one of my customers in the Pentacles Kingdom, you may know her, she’s the Queen.” The wood carver shook his head in a silent chuckle. He knew that he was making a joke because everyone in the Pentacles Kingdom knew the Queen.
“I studied wood carving and carpentry for nine solid years in the Pentacles Kingdom. Then I became a journeyman, I’ve only just settled with my family, here, in the Swords Kingdom. I have plenty of work and they appreciate my skills. Perhaps when you’ve completed your apprenticeship you could visit me. I might be able to teach you a few things about running a business as a master craftsman.”
Follin stared for a moment, then realised that he was in both the inner and outer worlds at the same time. “Sir, this is real isn’t it,” he stated.
“Certainly it is young man. Follin, I gather that be thy name?”
“Yes, it is, but how did you know?”
“You bladesmiths think you know everything about everything,” chuckled the master carpenter, “us wood workers know a few tricks too. Look, behind thee, high up in the corner, see the little bird nest?”
Follin turned to look. Sure enough, right in the top corner of the workshop was a tiny nest, almost invisible.
“I see it, is that your elemental?”
“It be my elemental indeed. He teaches me skills, talks to me, he even takes me places I need to visit for my learning. He also helps me see truth and honour in a man.” The wood carver looked intently at Follin then spoke once more.
“Follin, I am told you have much to do and much to learn in the Kingdoms. I also hear that your journey will go beyond the Tarot Empire, but that is another journey for another time.” Follin was now fast becoming fatigued and the image began to fade. The last he heard before he fell asleep was the man’s voice saying, “Follin, look me up when you get to the Swords Kingdom. I’ll have a pot of tea and warm honeyed cakes ready for thee.”