Page 51 of The Source of Storms

I huffed a laugh and stood straighter.

“You talking shit about us now?” Crow called.

“Go back to your slap and tickles, idiots!” El chirped before turning to me, speaking softly so they wouldn’t hear. “Shake it off. Chin up, shoulders relaxed. And pull them back more. That’s better. Chest high, like you mean it. Now, deep breath, and take aim before you even call the power. You know how hard it’s going to hit, but you can handle it. Don’t let it scare you. But don’t hang onto it any tighter than you have to, either. Let it flow. Release it when it feels right.”

I took a deep, steadying breath and exhaled through my mouth. I braced my feet a little wider, raised a hand, and repeated the incantation. The power answered in an instant, slamming into me with the force of a crashing waterfall. It was so much more intense here than I had felt before, so much quicker, larger, stronger. The energy hummed through my veins, danced along my muscles, rattled in my head.

I let it go, aiming for the same dummy again. Heavy ice shards with sharp, deadly points tore through the dummy with a disturbing brutality, shredding the burlap in an explosion of straw. Stillness fell over the training yard again. No word from the audience behind me.

“Gods above, there it is! You’ll be a master of this in no time. Let’s try flame next,” El bubbled, flitting back to my side to instruct me.

She taught me a similar spell, but this time calling and dispatching fireballs. We worked through ice, fire, water, and even stone in rounds until there was nothing left of the dummies. Then Byrgir and Crow joined us, and the two of them showed me a simple repelling incantation that they often used to push combatants off balance.

We drilled for hours. The excitement and energy of the three of them kept me going, though I was shaking with the effort. Even stone-faced Crow seemed impressed and energized by it, in his own reserved mien.

Finally, when my legs were trembling and my shoulders aching, El put a stop to our training and led us home. I limped up the stairs for a hot bath, leaning hard on the railing. I had never felt power like that, had never tried to control anything that felt so much bigger than my own mortal body. The resulting ache now was bone deep.

∞∞∞

Warm, clean, and exhausted, Byrgir took me to a weapons smith to help me choose some blades. We were greeted by the swordsmith, an older man with a soot-stained, gruff smile. He greeted Byrgir with a slap on the back.

“Byrgir Ulfarsson! One of my most lucrative customers.” He tossed me a wink. “Been a while since you graced this humble shop with yer talent.”

“My talent for spending money you mean, Gundrad?” Byrgir shook the swordsmith’s hand and clapped his shoulder. “Good to see you.”

Gundrad laughed, a deep belly laugh that rolled through the shop. “Likewise, likewise. That big ol’ bastard of a two-hander still treatin’ ya well?”

“She’s mighty bloodthirsty! Still the best sword I’ve ever swung. As well-balanced and sharp as the day you forged her for me, never lost an edge. And you know me, I’m hard on weapons.”

“Aye, that you are, kid, that you are!” The swordsmith laughed and clapped Byrgir on the shoulder again. “Now, what can I help ya with?”

“We’re looking for something for Halja here.” Byrgir gestured to me. “But I’ll gladly test your wares while she shops.”

“Aye, for Halja! Pleasure to meet you, young miss. Tell me, what’re ya after?”

Byrgir answered for me. Not rudely, just smoothly saving me from a question I didn’t have an answer for. “Set of daggers, maybe some hand axes, but I’m really looking for a sword suiting her size. And I don’t want standard Keeper’s effects either, Gundrad. Show us something special.”

“Something special! Aye, I have plenty-a that.” He turned a skillful eye on me and muttered, “About five foot six, one hundred and thirty pounds. Hold out your arm. Straight, like this, good. What I thought then. Hand-and-a-half should do.”

Two days in this city and I had already had more strangers blatantly assess my body than I had ever experienced before, at least to my knowing. But it did not feel rude or predatory in any case, only practical, helpful even. I was learning to appreciate my body beyond just how it looked, but for what it was capable of. To view my body as something with purpose, with skill, like a tool that could protect me and others. Something deserving of specified equipment, fine clothing, and good food. Not something that’s most important function was to be viewed or consumed by a man.

Byrgir turned to me. “Gundrad is a master of his craft. No better weaponsmith anywhere in Elvik.”

“Ah, yer bound to make an old man blush talkin’ like that, ya will!” Gundrad laughed again. “Weapons been forged ’ere since this city was all elves, or fae folk, and we’ve done our best to keep their old ways alive.”

“It looks like there’s hundreds of years’ worth of weapons here.” I looked around at the endless racks of daggers, spears, pikes, swords, and axes. It seemed like anything with a blade was made here.

“Aye, been makin’ weapons a long time. Have a look at anything ya please! But if yer gonna swing it, take it outside.”Gundrad bustled off into the shop, and Byrgir led me through to the back courtyard, to the side of the outdoor forges.

Byrgir picked up weapon after weapon from the racks of finished products in the courtyard. He skillfully twirled battle axes, hand axes, daggers, and swung two-handers through the air so fast they sang. He handed me some daggers to try, and showed me the proper way to grip them.

Gundrad returned with two assistants carrying armloads of steel. They arranged them on a long wooden table, and Byrgir walked the length of it as he absentmindedly twirled a vicious hand ax at his side. He paid most attention to the array of swords.

He pulled one from the table and handed it to me.

“See how she feels,” he said.

I took it with one hand and immediately felt ineffectual and awkward. I adjusted my grip on the leather-wrapped hilt and gave it a light cross swing, then another.

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