The demonic blacksmith glared at the pair consisting of a demoness and a human with a deep grump etched onto his craggy face. Behind him, his forge blazed with heat. Soot stained his hands.
Nethlia whispered to Autumn. “Don’t mind him, he’s like that with everyone.” She ignored the masterful stink-eye the blacksmith threw at her. “If he gives you any grief, I’ll knock some sense into him.”
“I’m right here!” Orzon complained. “Look, just tell me whatcha need. I might have some scraps to spare if you get this idiot to leave.”
After giving the demoness beside her an anxious look, Autumn cleared her throat to speak. “Uh, I’m just looking for about two fingers worth of horn, some strips of leather, a couple of thin nails or screws, and a few lengths of wire. If that’s okay. I can pay.”
Orzon grunted. “That's all? Fine. Sure. Take whatcha want from the crates,” he said, gesturing to the crates upon crates of collected cast-offs littering his yard. “Metal’s a bit expensive around these parts, but there should be enough for whatcha asking for. Don’t worry about paying me, I’ll just put whatcha take on my ale tab.”
“Hey!” Nethlia grumbled, but didn’t gainsay him.
Just before Autumn turned to rummage through the bins, she remembered the iron horseshoe that’d saved her life. The one she’d had to unfortunately had to leave behind. “Uh, also, do you happen to have any cold-iron?”
“Cold-iron?” Orzon gave her a curious look with his pure red eyes. A hairy eyebrow raised.
“Oh, um, it’s iron forged without the use of a flame.” Cold-iron was said to be the bane of fey. Far more so than regular iron. Finding another protection from them would be a safe bet.
“I know what it is, ya daft bint!” Growled the demon with genuine offense. “I don’t need some whip of a girl telling me how to do my craft! I dinnae go round telling ye how to cast spells ‘n’ hexes, do I? I was just wondering whatcha needed it for.”
Autumn blushed. “Sorry! I just wanted it for some protection. You see, there’s this type of monster that I’ve fought that was weak to iron. Cold-iron specifically. I lost the one I had before, and wanted another. If it’s in the shape of a horseshoe, that’d be better. Just one palm-sized would do, I think. I don’t know how much metal costs, but I can pay.”
“You speak of feykind?” Orzon grumbled, rubbing his craggy, hairless chin in thought. “Bloody nuisance, those flighty bastards,” he spat. “Sure, I can work some metal for ya. Now leave me to do ma work.” With a wave of annoyance, the ancient demon turned back to his blazing forge to seek out some unworked iron for her.
“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Nethlia spoke. “Ussually it takes longer for him to agree to do anything around here.”
“I heard that!”
The demoness snorted. She looked to Autumn, picking up their washing. “If you’re all set, I’ll head back to get prepared for the lunch rush. Swing by after you’re done and I’ll have some meat buns ready for you. Don’t let the old coot bully you.” She left with a parting wave.
Autumn watched her go, eyes transfixed on her muscular back. When the demoness disappeared around the corner, she turned her attention to the bins around her. They were filled with scraps, although few were actually metal. It looked like the village used this place as a storage facility.
Thankfully, it didn’t take her all that long to discover her desired materials.
From the piles of junk, she retrieved a few cut-off sections of bone white horn that she measured against the fingers on her left hand to match those missing on her right. With her iron knife, she slowly and carefully scrimshawed them down to size. This took some time, almost an hour judging by the sun’s path through the sky.
Afterwards, she marked out the joints, and separated the pieces with a fine-toothed hacksaw she borrowed from the blacksmith.
Borrowing a pair of tongs, Autumn joined a curious Orzon at the blazing forge and heated up a pair of thin nails made of bronze that he’d gifted her. When they were glowing, she pressed them into the base of her pieces to bore a clean hole through them, tapping the ends carefully with a hammer.
The heat of the forge caused her to sweat mightily, and she was forced to strip off her coat and hat. Her spine and back ended up drenched by the time she staggered out of the forge’s heated embrace.
Orzon’s demonic eyes twinkled with interest and annoyed fondness as he instructed her how to use the things she grabbed.
According to him, iron was a rare metal within the Echea Empire, although he wouldn’t elaborate why, only spitting out a grumbled ‘bloody dwarves’ when asked. Copper and its alloys were more abundant, but most people used Angoroth horn when they could. It was strong, sturdy, and could be replaced far easier than expensive metals.
“You're putting too much force into it,” Orzon grumbled as Autumn bent another nail she was attempting to twist into a screw. She glanced in his direction, frustrated. He snorted. “Here, let me show you.” Plucking a nail from his apron, he held it to the flames with his bare fingers. The heat didn’t harm him.
When the nail was bright, he twisted it gently with a pair of tongs slowly to demonstrate. He then dunked it into a small barrel of oil which spat and hissed.
Autumn followed his example. Before too long, she had a pair of small screws in hand. Placing the carved fingertips, or distal phalanges, into a wooden clamp, she gingerly twisted the screws into the pilot holes she’d marked in their ends.
Next, she took a section of thin wire, cut it into two, and took it to the wire extruder. Under Orzon’s eyes, she pulled the wires through its shrinking gauges until she had the wire thinned to the right width to thread through the holes she’d bored through the horn pieces.
It wasn’t a complicated design. She was just going to work the wire around the screwheads then thread it through the individual medial and proximal bones before wielding the ends to a thumb ring. That way, when she pulled on her thumb to close her hand into a fist, the fingers would follow.
When she was done, the finger bones clicked together satisfyingly.
The thumb ring had been provided by Orzon. Truthfully, it was a normal ring for him, but his fingers dwarfed hers enough that it fit comfortably on her thumb. On the inside of the iron ring had been a name that’d been scratched away.
“Are you sure,” Autumn had asked when he gave it to her with a melancholic gaze.
“It’s wasted just sitting in ma pocket,” he grumbled. “Just take it. You need it more than me.”
The last step of her design was to make a harness, a sort of wrapped glove, to mount the fingers on so that it could be secured to her hand. She’d originally expected this to take awhile with her missing her fingers, but with the blacksmith’s help, she was able to expedite the process.
They created a leather strap that had a cap that would sit over her stumps while the back would rest over her hand secured through a hole for her thumb. A leather cord wound around her palm to tie the two sides together.
Both Orzon and Autumn herself admired their work as Autumn flexed her thumb. The pulled wire caused the fingers to clench into a fist. After a bit of adjustment, she was able to make a workable fist. She wouldn’t try punching anything with it anytime soon, but she could at least hold things properly again.
“Thank you so much for your help,” Autumn said when they were done.
The demon huffed, turning away slightly with embarrassment. “Ah, it was just painful to see you floundering about in ma forge, was all. Someone had to teach you how not to burn yourself. Humans aren’t as fireproof as us Inferni.”
That was the first time Autumn had heard the demon’s species name. The word Inferni was derived from the word Infernus which was the latin name for hell. So they were named as inhabitants-slash-shades of hell-slash-the underworld.
Autumn clutched her head as the gifted knowledge burned into her mind.
“You okay?” Orzon asked gruffly with concern.
“I’m fine, just a bit dizzy,” Autumn reassured him. She glanced up at the noontime sun. Her throat was parched. “I guess I’ve just been working a little too much. Nethlia was saying something about lunch?”
Orzon grunted. “Sure, I’m hungry myself. But first, here,” he said, fetching a rough palm-sized iron horseshoe from his workshop. He pressed it into Autumn’s hands. There was a thin cord of red leather wrapped around its loop. “It didn’t take me all that long.”
Admiring the cold weight of the horseshoe, she noticed an odd mark on the side of the horseshoe. A smith’s mark. It simply read as the smith’s name – Orzon. “Just my marker’s mark. Can’t have you saying some other smith made it for ya.”
“It’s perfect, thanks,” Autumn said as she looped the feybane charm around her neck, tucking in under her shirt to rest in the valley of her breastbone. Hopefully it’d keep the nightmares at bay, or at the very least give them pause. “How much do I owe you?”
“Bah! Nothing,” Orzon waved her off. “You’ve paid me enough by keeping an old demon company.”
Autumn stared, unsure. The silence was suddenly broken by the rumble of her ravenous stomach. She blushed as the demon guffawed. “Come on, let’s get some food in ya before you eat my forge!”
Her nose led them across the road to the inn where a wonderful smell wafted. Other demons had gathered outside at the wooden benches and tables to enjoy a midday meal. They eyed Autumn trepidatiously as she approached the inn, although they cast every warier, if respectful, eyes toward the gruff blacksmith. He was the oldest demon around.
Hungry, she hustled past them into the inn itself, fleeing past the farmers as they chattered. Orzon was stalled by one who needed to speak to him about farm matters. Apparently, his plough broke and he needed it fixed urgently.
A warm joviality blasted Autumn in the face as she entered the inn once more, this time a sight more put together. She didn’t look like a swamp thing anymore.
Autumn’s stomach led her to the bartop and she quickly gained Nethlia’s attention. After a brief exchange of coins, she bought herself a plate of meat buns as well as another night’s stay. The rest of the copper coins went into her robes with a clinking trickle.
Like a hungry puppy, she tucked into her lunch with gusto when she’d found a table for herself. Fragrant, spiced meat filled her mouth with glistening hot juices as she bit into her first bun. A sinful moan escaped her as she chewed. It ought to be a crime how good Nethlia’s cooking was. And paired with a tankard of light ale, it was made even more perfect.
On the side, there were a few diced purple fruits swimming in a rich gravy. Popping one into her mouth, she was beset by a sour bitterness that quickly transitioned into a tart sweetness. Camisofruit, they were called. The inn had a tree out back that was heavy with fruit.
She didn’t mind it.
After she’d finished her meal and handed in her cleaned plate back to Nethlia, Autumn grabbed the Tome of Witchcraft and left the inn, seeking out a secluded place beneath the midday sun to read. A pleasant wind caressed her as she walked, teasing her hair.
She passed by a line of clothing hanging outside the inn, drying in the sunlight. Hers was amongst them.
Autumn felt grateful to the innkeeper and the blacksmith of this little community for rendering her aid despite her strangeness. She wanted to give back. Not just in coin, but in deeds too. Within the spellbook in her lap, there were a great deal of recipes and spells that might help. She could also use them to earn herself some coins.
On its own, the healing balm would sell well. If she could acquire the ingredients she needed. She was keeping it to herself for now as she didn’t have much left and she needed some healing still.
Excitement welled up in her chest as she sat down on a grassy hill outside the inn and cracked open the book. The wonderment of magic had yet to fade.
Flicking gently through the yellowed pages, she eventually settled on three entries near the front to read. One was a fundamental lesson, another a crafting lesson, while the last was a spell.
Page 12: On Collecting Emotions.
Page 23: How to Imbue Items.
Page 34: The Repair Charm.
Each page promised to enhance her abilities and provide for her a greater understanding of witchcraft. There were many more pages within the spellbook she felt drawn to, but these were the ones that called to her immediately, and would provide solutions to her problems.
Autumn settled down in the soft grass and read page 12 –
On Collecting Emotions.
Now that you’ve, hopefully, established a hold over your magic, and have decided on which emotion you wish to draw upon, we must turn our lesson toward how to collect emotions more efficiently. And while it might grieve you, this means talking to other people.
Yes, yes, I know. Dealing with other people, especially superstitious villagers and religious zealots, can be a pain, but there is only so much emotion you can collect from yourself. Look at it this way – their desires can become your fuel. If you don’t, you’ll forever limit yourself.
Now, unlike harvesting your own emotions, which hardly requires much effort I find, taking from others is far more difficult. For one, it requires consent to get anything meaningful.
However, before we get ahead of ourselves, let me inform you of the two main ways to collect emotions from others – passively and actively.
Passive acquisition of emotions can be done without anyone being the wiser. People, and some monsters, radiate a small amount of emotions passively when they are feeling strong emotions. Oftentimes this is anger or fear. You can draw this cloud into yourself freely.
Active acquisition is all about drawing emotions directly from a subject. As most people don’t care for their emotions being stripped from them, their psyche and souls defend themselves from such intrusive magics. As such, witches have long since fallen into the trade of bargains and pacts for the acquisition of the power they seek.
Now, in order to do either, you must first learn how to sense emotions before you can harness them. Find yourself a nice secluded spot away from people and close your eyes, (after reading the rest of this, of course.) Once there, focus internally for your emotions then draw your magic to your eyes. Your magic should take care of the rest.
Next you’ll want to spread your senses out to detect the emotions of others, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Now try to sense your emotions before you continue.
Autumn closed her eyes and focused. The breeze caressed her skin. The sun warmed her bones. She turned her sight inwards as the swooping birds chattered and chirped through the air. Relaxing, she focused on her fear, her happiness, her hate and love. Her sadness.
Her mind opened haltingly.
With attentive care, Autumn trawled through her feelings, pushing aside her anxiety and doubt. Loneliness clawed at her heart with sharp fingernails of guilt. Her eyes felt heavy with grief. She pushed past it all and drew her magic to her eyes.
Black crept into the whites behind her eyelids.
She’d never been great at parsing the emotions of others. Back home, she’d often misread people or overdo things. Take jokes too far or read into words for meanings that were never intended. Her mother had reassured her that it was a normal part of making friends and growing up, but the other girls at school never seemed to have that problem.
Autumn only ever had a single friend from middle school to all the way through highschool. Even then, she didn’t really understand her.
However, surprisingly, she’s been at ease around both Nethlia and Orzon. Perhaps it was her gift of language that was subconsciously aiding her? Her words were spoken in their native languages after all, and she understood it perfectly.
Focus! Colors bloomed before Autumn’s eyes as she cracked them open. At first, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her for keeping them closed for too long, but the faint lights were clustered around the people at the inn. Splashes of purest color radiated off them into the either. Reds for anger. Blues for sadness. Fear was a familiar harrowing violet while happiness bore a powerful yellow and gold.
Color theory, huh? She supposed that made some amount of sense. But was it the natural expression of the weave, or had her magic been influenced by her artistic mind? Did it matter either way?
A bright canvas crested the small hill upon which she sat, drawing closer and closer. A core of fiery red so aflame that it threatened to set the world on fire nestled within a thin shell of gold and suffused melancholy. Deep within the molten core lay a gem of darkest violet, so dark that it was almost indistinguishable from black. Terror – a nightmare deeply embedded.
For a dazzling moment, the soul before her was laid bare. No clothing could shield it nor any masquerade could mask its intimacy. Truly, no painting, no matter how grandly painted, could match the sight.
One day she hoped to paint something as beautiful.
Autumn let go of the magic and opened her eyes.
Nethlia stood before her, eyeing Autumn and her book curiously. Golden orbs gleamed as they swayed over her resting form, taking in her athletic physique with no small amount of appreciation. “Care for some company?”
Stuck for words, Autumn simply nodded and patted the grass beside her.
Sitting down, the demoness let out a sigh. “How’d it go with Orzon? He give you any grief?”
“No, he was nice.”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” Nethlia said. The sun sparkled across her sweaty ruby skin.
Autumn tore her gaze away from the demoness’ bared muscles, letting out a quiet laugh. “He was grumpy, but he helped me out. Check it out,” she said, holding her prosthetic up for Nethlia to see. She flexed her fingers before the demoness’ impressed eyes. “We made it together. Orzon helped me with the metalwork.”
“Impressive. And I don’t just mean the hand. Getting that old coot to do anything is like trying to herd Direpumas,” Nethlia shuddered. “Word of advice – don’t.” She gestured to a large clawed scar on her thick bicep. “Mean buggers, the lot of them.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Whatcha reading?” Nethlia asked, nodding to the leather book in Autumn’s lap.
Stroking the metal spine, Autumn held the book up slightly for the demoness to see. “It’s my spellbook. I, uh, inherited it, so I’ve been reading through it to learn some spells. I thought I’d help out at the inn to earn some coin.”
“Oh, I knew some spellcasters once. I could never understand the appeal, or perhaps I just don’t get it,” the former adventurer shrugged. “I just hit things with my hammer. You saw it above the bar.”
“Mine’s a little spooky.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of spookiness every now and again. Just, uh, don’t go around scaring the farmers. We don’t need them fetching their pitchforks,” Nethlia joked.
A smile crested Autumn’s face, although she shuddered at the thought. “I’ll bear that in mind.”