And also unlike other Blacksmiths, who were limited to hammering metal and using their medallions to form metallic objects, Malak could use his power on living things.
When a medallion was pressed to his left hand, he could send his power into living things and transform them at will.
Only hours ago, Erik told me the story of how Malak demonstrated his power to Erik by turning an apple into a dripping piece of meat.
Malak was very clever about concealing the fact that he was left-handed. Always making a show of using his right hand while secretly using his left. I never knew his secret. Only Erik discovered it.
As for me, it took me ten years to figure out that if I wrapped a medallion around my left palm—my powered hand—I could alter the nature of living things with a single touch and a single thought. I did it by accident.
But I also did it with Malak’s dark medallions.
Now, I need my own medallions.
“To make a medallion, I need the right metal. It can’t be touched by anyone’s power but my own.” I shake my head in frustration. “My hammer is only half of the equation. I can use it to command and shape metal and even, somehow, to sharethe light you poured into it. But to face Thaden Kane, I need a medallion. And I don’t have the right metal to create one. Or the time to create it.”
I feel like I’ve come full circle with my problems and achieved nothing more than to repeat myself in the process, but Erik is listening attentively, the little changes in his facial expression conveying to me the speed of his thoughts.
“Do you remember the story of how Malak changed the tree outside his childhood home?”
I nod, uncertain where Erik is going with this. “My parents told me the story. The tree’s branches scraped his window at night. He didn’t like it, so he turned that tree into an apple tree. He made its trunk glow so it would sparkle and no longer frighten him.”
“How old was he, supposedly, when he did that?”
My brow furrows. “Eight or nine. So I was told.”
Erik’s lips settle into a grim line. “According to the story you were told, did he have medallions at the time?”
“Uh…” My brow furrows as I try to recall. “He must have. Maybe he forged them early…?”
Erik’s gaze softens. “May I tell you the story as Malak told it to me?”
“Please do.”
“He pointed to the tree and told me that he was only eight years old when he stumbled out into the darkness. He described his face as bruised. There was blood in his eyes. He held his hammer in his hand and he struck that tree with all his might, wishing only to break it down. Instead, he made it glow.”
I’m quiet, somehow more stuck on the bruising and blood that Erik mentioned than I am on the message I believe Erik wants to convey to me: that Malak transformed that tree with his hammer alone.
“You know… Genova said something similar to me that morning she met me in the apple orchard.”
Genova is—or perhaps nowwas—the head of the farmers’ guild in the human city. I don’t know what might have happened with her after a faction of humans led by the metalworkers and carpenters took control of the city.
I remember her grim words as I continue, “She said she never wanted to forget that the seeds of the city’s downfall were planted because a boy was forced to deal with his fears on his own. And then she asked me a question I don’t think anyone could answer.”
Erik gives a quiet nod, as if he knows exactly what that question was, and it seems he does when he murmurs, “What happened in that house that made Malak so afraid of the dark?”
I close my eyes as the question lingers in the air.
Darkness is created. It ismade.
I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the future. “Is it possible that I can do much more with my hammer than I thought I could?”
“I think you’ve already demonstrated that you can.”
True.
“But I also believe,” Erik continues, “that a medallion can be used much more easily and effectively. Consider the way that Tamra used her medallion to heal you. If her power were like yours and all she had was a hammer… well… she couldn’t very well heal you by hitting you with her hammer.”
Ouch. I can’t help my snort. “Right now, she might like it if she could. Hit me with her hammer, I mean.”
