20 Frost 120
It was morning. The morning after.
The thought made the apprentice laugh at himself inwardly and flush slightly outwardly as he hastened his way through the frost-slick streets of Kalzasi.
Technically, all Aurin had done was teach him, at his own request even. He needed to remind himself that the relationship he'd begun with the fox-like man was one of exchange. He provided whatever he could and Aurin helped him learn the things in upbringing hadn't taught him.
It didn't feel that way though.
His face grew redder, as his mind brought vividly forth the events of the evening; earning a few looks from good-wives out early to fetch water or empty the night-soil. He gave them friendly smiles that didn't even approach flirtation.
Stamping the snow from his boots as he entered the area of the forge set aside for him, he pulled off his mittens, hung them carefully on a peg, and then covered them with his coat. He would need neither with the heat of several forges warming him. It was still early, and the other apprentices, there to learn various trades, were also just starting to arrive. The fact that he hadn't slept in his own bed that night wasn't something likely to be noticed. If it were, all he was likely to get was a good ribbing from the others about whose bed he'd spent it in and how much of his coin he'd had to part with for the honor. He had paid some for the company he kept, but not in the way they would tease him for if they knew.
He sat down at his Runesmithing bench; pieces of schematic paper and notes scattered about its surface gave evidence of the fact that he'd been trying to come up with a project good enough, and original enough, to serve as the first entirely his own. His master had looked over his last finished commission, grunted (a good thing, he'd learned), and said he was too good to keep doing small-time jobs for spoiled lesser-nobles sons and piece work. He'd been ordered to come up with something new, or, at least, new to him. It was an important right of passage in the life of a runesmith, a chance to prove you were ready and able to do good work on your own, to improvise when changes had to be made, to strike out on your own (cognitively speaking). Apprentices carefully followed schematics so as not to waste any of the precious materials used in runesmithing, and only worked on what their masters gave them. Journeymen were allowed some leeway in both what they chose to make and in taking on jobs of their choosing.
The large blond had spent the better part of a week fretting through his work hours, not allowed any other work until his master approved his schematic and then only to work on the project he came up with. Starting and stopping schematics for half a dozen disjointed ideas, he'd become too muddled to think clearly. Eventually, his master had told him to take a day off, get away from the work and come back with a fresh perspective.
His night out with his new friend had certainly given him that.
Taking his lead pencil in hand he brushed away the previous notes of half-formed ideas and spread a clean sheet out over the bench. The front of his mind concentrated on the work, tracing out the pieces required from every angle, stopping to make detailed notes about the viscerite needed or the runes to activate the magic once it was properly inlaid. In the back of his mind ran living images of the red-head who had turned his life so quickly from something he did only from lack of willingness to stop, into one worth living. His sharp smile, his eyes that saw and judged everything around them, yet, somehow, looked on Torin without judgment.
There was magic to him too. Real magic, not the kind adolescent girls claimed when they spoke of their first crush. Aurin had runes, at least two, made part of his flesh in initiation.
If only they could see each other more than the once or twice a month Torin would be able to spend the day walking down to the little cottage behind the Velvet Cabaret. But that was just it, wasn't it? The heart of his idea had come when he'd woken that morning wrapped in the warmth of another person and not wanted to let go of that connection. The idea was as simple as it would be useful; if he could get it to work.
He bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated, drawing the center-back of what would be an amulet of sorts enlarged on a separate piece of paper, tracing the runes out as carefully as he'd ever etched them into metal.
He spent the whole morning, and past lunch into the afternoon sketching, making notes, starting sketches over when they stopped making sense or weren't precise enough. As the sun sank close to the tops of the houses and buildings, he began to grow frustrated; as he had with his previous attempts to create something new. Fear welled up; fear that he'd never be able to complete his apprenticeship, that he'd be told to leave, that he'd been turned out and alone.
As he began to spiral with these thoughts, squeezing his eyes shut tight, Aurin's voice came into his head, sounding as though from behind him, as it had when his fear of heights had swum up to take him,
I won't let you fall. In his mind's eye strong arms wrapped around him, making it safe to look down, safe to let go.
He opened the parts of himself that were required to work with viscerite, to weave magic into solid metal, to make of two things something other, something new. Breathing in slow through his nose; the inhalation shaking at first but growing steady by its end, he opened his eyes, looked down at the jumble of unfinished schematics, and started again. He could do this.
As his eyes opened wisps of something silvery drifted from their outside edges, like fantom tears not held by gravity. The boy did not see them, his eyes were on his creation.
He wove with lead and paper, laid down the details in intentional lines, as though he were merely tracing something he already knew well. It felt like that, like looking into himself and finding things he had already done. In those parts of himself, he had already done them, he just needed to do the work to bring them forward into reality.
It was late by the time he sat up, back protesting his long, uninterrupted hunch, the sun was down and the other apprentices had gone inside to find their suppers.
The runesmith himself was hanging up his leather apron on its hook when the movement of the boy caught his eye. He had been so still the man had not realized he was still in the forge. Walking over the man said,
"Is it done then?"
Torin swallowed around a throat sore from lack of water or movement for the day. Too far dazed to speak he merely nodded.
"At last, I thought you'd be at it all season." The man took up the large sheet covered in several drawings and delicately detailed notes. He looked it over for some time, his brows rose and fell occasionally as he put together what the thing meant, what it would do. At last, he set the paper down, carefully, and gave a single bob of his head down.
"Aye, that'll do. Now let's see you make it." Though it sounded like a command the man pulled Torin up by his arm, shook his head a bit, as he tended to do when standing close enough to the boy to realize that Torin had several inches on him in height, and led him back towards the dining area.
"Tomorrow. You can start tomorrow. If you actually sleep tonight."
The boy nodded, letting himself be led. His master wasn't ignorant of the way that runeforging could pull you in, pull you out of yourself, make you a part of it, not want to let go. Being pulled away now and then, to eat, to sleep, was important. Torin had long ago taught himself not to grow sullen or snappish about it when his master, the old or the new, came to perform that service.
Soon he found himself seated at table, surrounded by the sights and smells of young adults doing their best to destroy bowls of mutton stew and fresh bread. The owner of the shop did not eat with the apprentices, which made sense to Torin. They wouldn't have been able to fully relax while worrying what their master might think.
As the boisterous chaos of boasting, griping, and eating flowed around him he smiled, quietly to himself. Soon he would have something else to look forward to at the end of a busy workday. Something to inspire him.
It was morning. The morning after.
The thought made the apprentice laugh at himself inwardly and flush slightly outwardly as he hastened his way through the frost-slick streets of Kalzasi.
Technically, all Aurin had done was teach him, at his own request even. He needed to remind himself that the relationship he'd begun with the fox-like man was one of exchange. He provided whatever he could and Aurin helped him learn the things in upbringing hadn't taught him.
It didn't feel that way though.
His face grew redder, as his mind brought vividly forth the events of the evening; earning a few looks from good-wives out early to fetch water or empty the night-soil. He gave them friendly smiles that didn't even approach flirtation.
Stamping the snow from his boots as he entered the area of the forge set aside for him, he pulled off his mittens, hung them carefully on a peg, and then covered them with his coat. He would need neither with the heat of several forges warming him. It was still early, and the other apprentices, there to learn various trades, were also just starting to arrive. The fact that he hadn't slept in his own bed that night wasn't something likely to be noticed. If it were, all he was likely to get was a good ribbing from the others about whose bed he'd spent it in and how much of his coin he'd had to part with for the honor. He had paid some for the company he kept, but not in the way they would tease him for if they knew.
He sat down at his Runesmithing bench; pieces of schematic paper and notes scattered about its surface gave evidence of the fact that he'd been trying to come up with a project good enough, and original enough, to serve as the first entirely his own. His master had looked over his last finished commission, grunted (a good thing, he'd learned), and said he was too good to keep doing small-time jobs for spoiled lesser-nobles sons and piece work. He'd been ordered to come up with something new, or, at least, new to him. It was an important right of passage in the life of a runesmith, a chance to prove you were ready and able to do good work on your own, to improvise when changes had to be made, to strike out on your own (cognitively speaking). Apprentices carefully followed schematics so as not to waste any of the precious materials used in runesmithing, and only worked on what their masters gave them. Journeymen were allowed some leeway in both what they chose to make and in taking on jobs of their choosing.
The large blond had spent the better part of a week fretting through his work hours, not allowed any other work until his master approved his schematic and then only to work on the project he came up with. Starting and stopping schematics for half a dozen disjointed ideas, he'd become too muddled to think clearly. Eventually, his master had told him to take a day off, get away from the work and come back with a fresh perspective.
His night out with his new friend had certainly given him that.
Taking his lead pencil in hand he brushed away the previous notes of half-formed ideas and spread a clean sheet out over the bench. The front of his mind concentrated on the work, tracing out the pieces required from every angle, stopping to make detailed notes about the viscerite needed or the runes to activate the magic once it was properly inlaid. In the back of his mind ran living images of the red-head who had turned his life so quickly from something he did only from lack of willingness to stop, into one worth living. His sharp smile, his eyes that saw and judged everything around them, yet, somehow, looked on Torin without judgment.
There was magic to him too. Real magic, not the kind adolescent girls claimed when they spoke of their first crush. Aurin had runes, at least two, made part of his flesh in initiation.
If only they could see each other more than the once or twice a month Torin would be able to spend the day walking down to the little cottage behind the Velvet Cabaret. But that was just it, wasn't it? The heart of his idea had come when he'd woken that morning wrapped in the warmth of another person and not wanted to let go of that connection. The idea was as simple as it would be useful; if he could get it to work.
He bit the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he concentrated, drawing the center-back of what would be an amulet of sorts enlarged on a separate piece of paper, tracing the runes out as carefully as he'd ever etched them into metal.
He spent the whole morning, and past lunch into the afternoon sketching, making notes, starting sketches over when they stopped making sense or weren't precise enough. As the sun sank close to the tops of the houses and buildings, he began to grow frustrated; as he had with his previous attempts to create something new. Fear welled up; fear that he'd never be able to complete his apprenticeship, that he'd be told to leave, that he'd been turned out and alone.
As he began to spiral with these thoughts, squeezing his eyes shut tight, Aurin's voice came into his head, sounding as though from behind him, as it had when his fear of heights had swum up to take him,
I won't let you fall. In his mind's eye strong arms wrapped around him, making it safe to look down, safe to let go.
He opened the parts of himself that were required to work with viscerite, to weave magic into solid metal, to make of two things something other, something new. Breathing in slow through his nose; the inhalation shaking at first but growing steady by its end, he opened his eyes, looked down at the jumble of unfinished schematics, and started again. He could do this.
As his eyes opened wisps of something silvery drifted from their outside edges, like fantom tears not held by gravity. The boy did not see them, his eyes were on his creation.
He wove with lead and paper, laid down the details in intentional lines, as though he were merely tracing something he already knew well. It felt like that, like looking into himself and finding things he had already done. In those parts of himself, he had already done them, he just needed to do the work to bring them forward into reality.
It was late by the time he sat up, back protesting his long, uninterrupted hunch, the sun was down and the other apprentices had gone inside to find their suppers.
The runesmith himself was hanging up his leather apron on its hook when the movement of the boy caught his eye. He had been so still the man had not realized he was still in the forge. Walking over the man said,
"Is it done then?"
Torin swallowed around a throat sore from lack of water or movement for the day. Too far dazed to speak he merely nodded.
"At last, I thought you'd be at it all season." The man took up the large sheet covered in several drawings and delicately detailed notes. He looked it over for some time, his brows rose and fell occasionally as he put together what the thing meant, what it would do. At last, he set the paper down, carefully, and gave a single bob of his head down.
"Aye, that'll do. Now let's see you make it." Though it sounded like a command the man pulled Torin up by his arm, shook his head a bit, as he tended to do when standing close enough to the boy to realize that Torin had several inches on him in height, and led him back towards the dining area.
"Tomorrow. You can start tomorrow. If you actually sleep tonight."
The boy nodded, letting himself be led. His master wasn't ignorant of the way that runeforging could pull you in, pull you out of yourself, make you a part of it, not want to let go. Being pulled away now and then, to eat, to sleep, was important. Torin had long ago taught himself not to grow sullen or snappish about it when his master, the old or the new, came to perform that service.
Soon he found himself seated at table, surrounded by the sights and smells of young adults doing their best to destroy bowls of mutton stew and fresh bread. The owner of the shop did not eat with the apprentices, which made sense to Torin. They wouldn't have been able to fully relax while worrying what their master might think.
As the boisterous chaos of boasting, griping, and eating flowed around him he smiled, quietly to himself. Soon he would have something else to look forward to at the end of a busy workday. Something to inspire him.
