The Bladesmith

Mastery comes only from understanding; to understand one must accept they know nothing. Mastery is the road that begins in ignorance and has no end.

This was the tenet that guided Ekethel each day at work, at rest and in meditation. It was not his tenet. He did not consider himself any great thinking and certainly not as a master of the craft. However, it was the first and most important lesson of his apprenticeship.

Each of the students here had demonstrated an advanced aptitude with the blade and hammer. Master Manokoh wouldn’t have taken them on if they weren’t already superlative. But there was more to the bladesmith’s craft than simple shaping or the honing of technique.

Form and function were at the heart of their training. To master the form one must know the function wholly and explicitly, to the finest detail. To strike without aim was the strike oneself.

Ekethel slowed his breathing and began moving to Mountain in Spring as slowly as he could, feeling every turn and shift. He had just finished this weapon yesterday but moving now through the forms, he could already feel the imperfections. He needed to shed more weight, perhaps by making the blade narrower.

As it was the weapons was a decent enough tool for the average swordsman, a city guard maybe, with no more connection to their sidearm than to their pauldrons. But it was not the work of a journeyman studying with the legendary Manokoh.

Ekethel continued with his forms, moving now to Wind in the Reeds. The balance with the tang was slightly off. And he should find a more supple leather for the grip. It was the height of summer in the grove and the sun was high. His peers would be taking coffee under the elms about now. Ekethel, however, had more to learn from this failure.

He shut his eyes against the rivulets of sweat. In his mind’s eye, he forged the blade again, rehearsing every strike of the hammer. There were mistakes in there to improve; there were opportunities.

He flowed next into The Fallen Oak though his muscles burned. His skin began to ache from the searing sun. Yet it quickly faded from his mind as he came to know this sword piece by piece. His flesh was merely an appendage; what were meat and bone when measured against the rigid steel within?

“You should rest,” a voice cut through the still of the glade. Ekethel rubbed away the crust of dried sweat and opened his eyes. It was Avai, another of the apprentices. As he once again became aware of his body the ache in his muscles and the emptiness in his stomach washed over him.

“You’re right, of course, Avai,” Ekethel said. “I forget myself sometimes.”

Avai took a seat on the grass and placed a small bundle wrapped in grey cloth beside her. “You’ve missed the meal again,” she said. “Self-sacrifice won’t earn you any special appreciation from Master Manokoh, you know.”

“I know,” Ekethel responded. He sat across from her, though his muscles threatened to cramp as he did so. “I only hoped to gain a little perspective. My latest piece…” he trailed off, unsure where to begin describing its many shortcomings.

“Every step takes us farther down the path, even when we stumble,” Avai recited. “Anyway, I brought you something.” She pushed the grey bundle toward him.

Ekethel opened it to find some bread, fruit and a small cinnamon cake.

“Ollo finished off the hot food, but I saved what I could,” Avai said.

He tried not to appear too eager, but it was clear how hungry he was. He paused to drink from his waterskin. Otherwise, as parched as he was he would have been likely to choke. “You’re too kind, Avai,” He said.

“It’s just pragmatism,” she replied. If you Master Manokoh expels you, your replacement might prove actual competition.”

A playful jibe, he knew.

In truth, Avai had been apprenticing longest of the three of them. There were no formal ranks, but Ekethel had learned near as much from Avai as from Manokoh herself.

“Once you’ve rested we are needed back at the lodge,” Avai said. “Master Manokoh has called a meeting.

“A lesson so late in the day?” Ekethel asked.

“Not a lesson,” she replied. “A delivery has come from the Emperor, along with a request.”

Ekethel choked slightly on the dry cake, taken aback. “She’s going to assign us pieces for the Emperor?” He asked. “Already? Are we ready for that?”

Avai raised her hand in a gesture for him to stop. “I really don’t know,” she said. “But something does seem odd. Master Manokoh seemed surprised by the shipment, as much as by the request itself.”

Ekethel hurriedly finished the last few bites of cake. “Let’s not waste any more time,” he said. “This could be our chance to make our own names. Imagine the Emperor holding an Ekethel blade in their hand!”

Avai watched Ekethel rush off ahead. It was good he was eager for these challenges. Avai was less certain. She has seen the unsettled look in their Master’s eyes, after all. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but Avai sensed a change coming. It was there just beyond the horizon, like the coming dawn or the marching beat of war drums.