Sterling Forge's Arc

Chapter 22 of 31

Sterling laid the steel bar across the ring of blue fire. The heat rose clean up the whole length. No cold end. No hot spot. He watched the color climb the bar the way it was supposed to, orange to yellow to a pale straw. His hands knew this part. His hands had never had a fire that would let them do it right. He pulled the bar and set it on the anvil. He struck. The metal moved like it wanted to. He struck again. The scale flaked off clean. "That sound is different," Linny said behind him. She had set her brush down. "It's the heat," he said. He did not look up. "It's holding." Sage sat cross-legged in the grass on the far side of the anvil. The chipmunk had crept down Linny's arm and was watching from her wrist. Sage watched Sterling's hands, not the steel. "Feed it before it thins," Sage said. He glanced at the ring. The blue threads had gone paler. He pinched another from the tree without looking and dropped it in. The flame stood up again. He worked the bar back into the fire. Drew it out. Struck. The blade began to show under the hammer, longer than any he had finished, straight down its spine. Then the flame guttered. One thread had burned through faster than the others. The ring pulled uneven. He felt the heat tilt in the steel before he saw it. The tip cooled two shades faster than the middle. If he quenched it now the blade would crack the way every other had cracked. He reached for another thread. His fingers closed too hard. The light broke in his hand and went out. "Slow," Sage said. She did not move. Sterling's jaw locked. He held his hand still over the ring. He pinched again, softer this time, the way she had shown him. The thread came away whole. He laid it beside the one that had burned. Then he pulled a third, and set it opposite. He balanced the ring the way he would have balanced coals, if his coals had ever obeyed him. The fire evened. The bar's color evened with it. He drew it out and struck along the spine. The steel sang once, clean, all the way down. He quenched. The trough hissed. He waited for the crack he knew. It did not come. He lifted the blade. Dark, straight, whole. He ran his thumb along the edge. No grain. No chip waiting to open. Linny came up beside him. She did not speak. She put her hand on his wrist. Sage was already standing. Her face had changed. The warmth was still there, but something under it had gone quiet. "You made it," she said. "Now you owe the tree." Sterling looked at the trunk. A pale patch showed where he had pulled the light. It was not filling back in.