Eddie Harmon's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The forge burned white the next morning. Alvin had the raw steel hot and ready. Eddie stood by the bellows, waiting to see his new chisels take shape. Then a broad shadow filled the door. Davis Ironforge walked in, the smith himself, and Alvin's shoulders went stiff. Davis was tall and thick through the chest, arms built by years of hammering. He crossed straight to the anvil. He rested one hand on it like a man reclaiming something. "I need this," Davis said. "Paying job. Started this morning." Alvin lowered his tongs. "I'm partway through Eddie's tools." "Then you'll finish later." Davis did not raise his voice. He lifted the anvil off its stone base and carried it out the door. Eddie watched the doorway. His steel sat glowing in the fire with no anvil to shape it against. The heat would not last. He had a window, and it was closing. "We need a hard surface," Eddie said. "Now. Before that steel cools." Alvin looked around the forgehouse. "There's nothing here that'll take a hammer like an anvil." Eddie thought of the yard. He thought of the gray blocks he cut for practice. Then he thought of the stone base the anvil had stood on. It was still there, squat and solid. "That base," Eddie said. "Stone won't dent like iron. But it won't crack under a hammer either, not that block. I know rock. That one's sound." Alvin frowned. "Steel shaped on stone comes out rough." "Rough beats cold," Eddie said. "We get an edge started. We true it up when the anvil comes back." Alvin pulled the steel from the fire. It glowed orange in the tongs. He set it on the stone base. Eddie swung the iron hammer down. The blow landed flat and hard. The steel spread, but the stone soaked up half the force. Each strike jarred up Eddie's arms. They worked fast. Alvin turned the metal and listened between blows. Eddie kept the rhythm steady. The stone chipped at one corner but held. Slowly the steel took a rough chisel shape. Then the color faded to dull red, and the metal stopped moving. Alvin plunged it into the quenching water. Steam hissed up. He drew out the chisel and turned it in the light. The shape was there. The edge was crude and uneven, marked by the stone. "It's a chisel," Alvin said. "Barely." Eddie took it. He ran a thumb near the edge and felt bite for the first time in months. "It cuts. That's a start." Then Davis filled the doorway again. He looked at the chipped stone base, then at the rough chisel in Eddie's hand. His jaw tightened. "You beat steel on my base," Davis said. "We did," Eddie said. Davis stepped closer. He studied the crude edge a long moment. "It held," he said. "But that's no way to true a bridge stone. You want a real edge, you wait for the anvil. And I decide who touches it now."