Forge
Author: Guede Mazaka | ||||||
*** James remembers that he didn't have a sword in the dreams. Jack had had one, but when he had questioned the pirate on that, Jack had simply shrugged and patted Jacques' shoulder. "All him, mate." And the matter should've rested there, but James kept dreaming. And he never had a sword. Will's eyes refract blacks and greens in the dark wood-walled cave, and he listens carefully as James haltingly spells out what he wants. And then he passes his hand across the space of the world and things ripple like water- --or steel trapped 'twixt and 'tween. Sparks fly off the iron, their brilliance only rivaled by the gleam of gold from beneath the pile of horseshoes already made. Leave an offering, traveler, for the smith's time. L'île d'Avalon et ses trois dames Hand sheathed in water, blade from water, to water. Three times before the sword returns. España, él vuelve! El Cid! Le fer te protégerai contre les mals. Les fees le détestent. But that's not what I hate. Fear. Hate. They feared the ravening wolf, and so they bound him with the iron of nine. But they could only delay, after all. Nothing stops. Nine to three to one. Who are you watching? Where are you going? What are you? I… Male and female, but they're only words. Arbitrary. Defining opposites birthed beneath the same stars, made under the same hands, kept in the same sheath. Spirit of one incomplete without the other. One in the hand of the enemy will not stop the other in the hand of a friend. My duty is to protect. I want to help… Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? Qui? Quem? Who? soldats de Dieu, ils combattirent et ils moururent dans les étranges pays soldati dei rei-- Non. No. Damascus steel is best for fighting the infidels. No. That's not- ensuite tu déjàs sais usted lo sabe ni jr dàu ecce signum You have-- "-one, then. You don't need me," Will tells him in a quiet voice. As he speaks, a strand of gold seems to twist between his fingers, lying flat and calm on the iron. In James' own hand is the shadow of a heavy weight. fons et origo whisper the sea breezes lapping at his ears. Unfair counterweights, sword to gold and the barbarians jeer Scales weigh heart to feather, soul to deed And the sword and the heart are the same "I see," James replies. And he will, when the night comes. *** |