Blood of the Sea, Chapter Eighteen

Chapter 18: Conjure

Sulien

Midnight hangs over the temple at Falun like a secret holding its breath. The dark night sky embedded with jewel-like stars is reflected in the glossy surface of the ocean until there is nearly no difference between sky and sea; only the temple is left, shrouded in shadow, to point which way is up.

The chill night air pebbles along Sulien’s skin as droplets of water cling to him like a wet sheet before - one by one - slipping from his arms to splatter near silently upon the time worn stone beneath his feet.

Eulla’s Voice approaches as Sulien scans over the facade of the temple. He is no architect, no great builder of homes, but his time in the forge allows him to appreciate the contours of such an unwieldy material as stone. He nods in greeting to Eulla’s Voice, remarking, “Time and attention was put into Her temple.” Sulien nearly regrets speaking, his voice vibrating in the quiet like a gong suddenly struck.

Eulla’s Voice’s words come to him from nowhere and everywhere all at once, even as her mouth remains closed. “Smith, forge wielder, breaker of swords, shield of Valskog. You seek answers.”

“If magic is an answer, yes, I seek it.”

“She gives, and She takes away. Are you willing to bear the burden?”

Sulien allows himself to frown, the uncertainty chewing at him like a curious fish nibbling errantly. “Magic is a gift.” Bewilderment rolls though him, stealing his words even as he reaches for them. “If She sees fit to curse me…”

“No, not a curse.” Eulla’s Voice smiles. “You are a crafter. A conjurer, no?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Indeed.” She gazes up at the facade of the temple which he had earlier been admiring. “What goes into building something like this?”

Sulien takes in the angle of the columns, the carving in their sides, the western pedicle and the imitation of the Goddess which resides there, before casting his gaze back to the ground. “Blood, sweat, and tears, I would imagine.”

“Are you willing?”

“Willing?”

Eulla’s Voice steps closer, bringing with her a cold that bites at Sulien like a bruise. “To shed blood, sweat, and tears in service of your gift? To conjure the future our Lady demands?”

Sulien shivers under the weight of her gaze; the stars around them seem to swallow him up, casting him into an abyss with no up or down. No entry, no exit. He steels himself, knowing the strength to be found in his spine. The way out is through. A sword must be tested to be sure it cuts true. “I am willing.”

Eulla’s Voice reaches out to touch his forehead. From there, warmth suffuses through his neck, shoulders, arms, torso, and legs. He feels strong. Sure.

Lifting his hands, he examines his palms, almost expecting something to be different. There’s nothing decipherable.

Eulla’s Voice’s eyes fill with mirth. “The changes are in how you shape the world, dear smith. The story is one which you will forge alongside your friends.”

Sulien reaches, as if grasping, and when Eulla’s Voice nods, he wraps his fingers into a fist, only to find a sword in his hand.

Shock flashes through him like the instinct to pull away from touching something fresh from the fire, and when he drops the sword, it disappears.

His voice is awed, but disappointed, when he says, “It was beautiful.”

“It is beautiful, Sulien. Your magic will be a sight to behold. Your sword, a complement to your ability.”

Sulien touches his chest, feeling his heartbeat hammer under his sternum. “One of the Hilts.”

“One of the Five,” Eula’s Voice whispers to him.

When he searches for her again, she is gone, leaving him in the dark with nothing but the stars as his audience.