The…thewomantipped her head, returning his confused look. “I think that’s the smithy.”
They had come to a building set off from the others and down a short path, completely swathed in the shadows of early night. It was brick, unlike most of the other structures, and had a large opening set into its front. Nestled into the wooded outskirts of the village, a lifeless chimney rose from the building’s center, a wide shadow against the trees.
Taking a deep breath, she began toward the blacksmith’s old shop. Reeve contemplated her as she went, taking tentative steps. Then, as if only remembering he was the one with the sword and all she carried was a jar, he hurried to her side and held his arm out, barring her from entering the place.
Silvery eyes found his in the dark, shimmering again so like starlight he wondered how they had ever startled him.Starlight. He heard the word in his mind in the Denonfy Oracle’s voice then shook his head.
Celeste—that was her name, of course, as it was fitting—fell still just before the threshold. “Be careful,” she said in that soft voice. Nope, definitely not a witch.
Reeve drew his sword and stepped inside. She explained on their journey into town that, according to the villagers, the blacksmith’s forge had once been enchanted in the same way the lampposts were. The magic in both was older and at least a little chaotic, maintained with help from a local mage. Bendcrest too had some older magics, ones replaced only when they fizzled out. Apparently Briarwyke’s lights, however, were not going out quietly.
But if the entity they pursued was seeking out old fire arcana, there was none to be found inside the smithy. Reeve reached into himself, finding the warmth and light of Valcord that was always waiting in his chest, and drew it downward to pulse into Sid. The obsidian blade flashed, and like a torch, he held it out to illuminate the darkened space.
Celeste’s quiet gasp at his back told him she was still there, but of course divine magic would cause her shock. With a quick look to see she was not poised to attack him, he began his search of the smithy. The forge took up the shop’s center, a stone flue piled to the ceiling around a lifted base that would have been blazing with heat and light had the place been in use. The chamber still smelt of use though, coal and hot metal, the walls blackened with soot. Empty crates and barrels dotted the dirt floor, but little else had been left save for an anvil too heavy to take when the blacksmith had gone and a few rusted tools hanging from the rafter overhead. Notably, there was no whetstone.
Valcord, forgive us both our deception.
“It’s empty.” Reeve gestured with his head for her to follow as he lit the way. Circling the forge, there was nothing much of interest behind but a pile of warped wood and a hammer that had seen better days. A door led into a smaller chamber, but there was only a straw mattress left inside. “Not even the blacksmith stuck around.”
“Well, it’s hard to find a good one,” said Sid in a voice that was far too jovial for the situation, “they’re always forging their stuff!”
Reeve groaned, but Celeste let out a spark of laughter before swallowing it back.
“Is that the curse of the obsidian steel on your weapon?” she asked, carefully approaching the hearth and touching the stone of the flue. “It tells bad jokes?”
At that, the corner of Reeve’s mouth raised. “It is now, yes.”
“My wit is as sharp as it is a blessing, and you know it,” said Sid, the glow about him pulsing with his words.
“Ah, yes, a gift from Valcord to us all.” Reeve’s eyes flicked to Celeste as she circled the forge and peeked out from its other side. “You’ve seen obsidian steel before?”
She nodded, the turn to her lips going down again as she approached him. “In the infernal mountains, yes, but I’ve never seen it shine like this.” The glow of his arcana fell over her pale features, warmed with every careful step she took. Celeste raised a hand, fingers tentative but not surrounded by dark magic.
Reeve gripped his hilt tighter as she reached out for the blade. The golden shimmer reflected in her eyes, no fear there despite how close she was to what could easily be her doom, just a quiet sort of wonder. The luxerna surrounding the blade did not bend, but she stopped short an inch away from touching it, head slightly tipped, just staring.
“Sid’s not really supposed to glow,” said Reeve, suddenly too conscious of a woman reaching out for his sword. He gave in to the urge to spin the blade artfully through the air, and she pulled back at that. “He actually gave off shadows when we met.”
“Sid?”
“Formally known as the Obsidian Widow Maker,” said the sword, and Reeve made an effort to hold him as reverentially as possible even though he still hadn’t really figured out which way was up.
Celeste’s eyes widened. “Ukara called you a widow maker? I’m sorry she intended for you to take people from their families.” Few spoke to Sid directly with such ease, but she looked on the sword as if he had a face, her brow bent sympathetically.
The sword made a few nondescript noises, and without features they were hard to place. “It was indeed a harsh enchantment. She crafted me to manipulate the depths of someone’s darkest desires to suck out souls, stuff like that, but Reeve broke the curse.”
Her eyes flicked up to Reeve’s, and he was suddenly very warm despite that the hearth had not been lit in some time. “Well, Father Theodore and the others broke the curse, I just overcame it long enough to bring Sid home when I found him in the Charred Caverns of Malifort.” Despite his humble words, she was still looking at him with a little too much interest for his liking, and he squinted, running his light back over the shop. “Now, where is this evil maybe-man, maybe-not thing we’re meant to cut down?”
“I assume he’ll be attracted to the arcana in the forge since he’s eaten up all the arcana in the village’s lights.”
Reeve gestured to the unlit hearth with Sid’s tip. “What arcana?”
“It’s still here,” she said, going back to the stone chimney and pressing a hand to it. “It’s just dormant. Perhaps if we wake it up, we can lure him out?”
Reeve admired how her fingers tapped against the stone, impressed she could feel the dormant magic that he could not, then realized she was actually asking his advice, not something terribly common in his experience. “Ah, yes?”
Celeste made a thoughtful sound, a gentle hum as she walked along to the front of the forge. It was like an oven, though its opening was much bigger, an artful arch built into the stones raised on a slab of a platform. Celeste bent at the waist and put a hand on either side of the opening to peer inward. Reeve watched her upper half disappear into the darkened forge, his light still falling over the back of her and the way her dress’s hem climbed up past the bend of her knees. His arcana flared unconsciously through the sword, brightening the interior.
“Thanks,” she called back.
