Chapter 1

  Ryn wanted some kind of epic account she could present to her colleagues. A fairy tale of fate, purpose and great achievements. This will not be that kind of story but let me start with the day this madness began almost six months ago.

  I was traveling through the woods surrounding Valenbridge, when I felt a strange kind of wetness in the air. It almost felt like the spray of a wild stream. In a truly brilliant instance of stupidity, I made my way even deeper into the forest, trying to find the source of the feeling. Only when the darkness of the forest matched that of an old cellar did I come across the reason for the feeling of spray. A small basin filled with endlessly churning water. That should have been my first warning. That it was flanked by two moss-covered statues and surrounded by cracked stone columns, should have been the second. The third and most obvious warning should have been the faint blue glow coming from the water.

  I should have turned around right then and there. But I didn’t. I moved closer to the basin, carefully, obviously. Up close I could see the light properly. A pulse from the bottom of the water, like a drum without sound. I was watching it for a while. Looking for a pattern in the light as the air around me grew damper and my breath turned to fog. After crouching there for a few minutes I noticed that the sounds of the forest had started to follow the pulsing of the light. It was faint at first, just a few birds stopping to sing when the light dimmed. Then the rustling of the leaves followed as well. Only then, when I was ready to bolt, did I hear her voice. It wasn’t sound, but words appearing in my head that weren’t mine.

  “Child of the forge, why do you come to a place forgotten by its maker?”

  My fingers tightened around the hammer at my belt without me meaning to. When I spoke, my voice came out steadier than I felt. “I don’t know.”

  Her answer came with the feeling of soft laughter. “You speak the truth, child of the forge. So few do. The waters remember what the world has chosen to forget.”

  It made my skin crawl. Not only the laughter but the familiarity of it.

  And before I could stop it, my mouth had answered. “What has the world chosen to forget?”

  The feeling of amusement changed to that of sorrow when her answer came.

  “The world has chosen to forget the melody. The All-Father’s first song, child of the forge. When the sky broke even we gods grew afraid. We sealed away our memories, in stone, in dreams, in the hand of mortals who never knew what they held.”

  “And Narfas wept, where her tears fell, springs were born. Wells of memories” I finished in a whisper, too stunned to fully comprehend.

  “Your grandmother is wise, child of the forge. But can you remember what was forgotten?” The sorrow ebbed into something almost warm. And for just a second, a face appeared in the churning water. With streams of hair and eyes blue as water. My breath hitched and I took a step back. “Lady of the Springs!”

  Then the pressure in the air eased, just enough for my own thoughts to come back. With a bit of effort, I slowed my breathing back to normal before spotting a glint beneath the water. An edge that shouldn’t be there. Water doesn’t hold an edge. Slowly I leaned closer to the basin, careful to keep my movements small. My eyes fixed on the glint, shifting slightly from side to side. “How can I remember something that is forgotten?”

  The hint of amusement returned as the pressure eased further. “How do you sharpen a blade, child of the forge?”

  “Slowly,” I said, still watching the edge in the water. “With the right angle.”

  Her amusement was palpable as her presence faded. “Don’t lose a finger.”

  I reached out, then stopped. The words had weight.

  Then inch by inch I reached into the water. It was cold but not unbearable. Before actually reaching the thing with the edge I hesitated, not sure if the don’t lose a finger part was literally. As if anything with gods is ever straightforward. But just to be safe I pulled my hand from the water and went for the blade I carried on the small of my back.

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  Slowly I reached with my knife, careful to not damage whatever was in the water. When the tip of the blade made contact with the edge in the water, I realized that it was a small disc, half buried in pebbles lying on the bottom of the basin. I pushed some of the pebbles with the tip. Thin lines and symbols were visible even with the disc still submerged and half buried. Trying to lift the disc free, I was able to upright it despite my blade slipping. When it reached the upright position, the churning stopped and a sound like a gong rang out.

  I quickly pulled my hand from the basin and stumbled a few steps back. Cursing my own stupidity, I went back to the basin. The churning had begun again, the disc no longer buried. I looked around, unsure how to get the disc out of the water without simply grabbing it. My gaze settled on a forked stick, about the length of my forearm. I quickly took it in one hand and my knife in the other. With my knife I lifted the disc up again, not fully, just enough to get the branched part of the stick underneath it. Pressing the disc onto the stick with my knife I lifted it. The churning of the water stopped again as soon as the disc left the bottom, but thankfully it didn’t make a sound this time.

  After lifting the disc from the water and setting it on the ground carefully, I inspected it. A gold disc, maybe three inches across, old but still shining. Fine lines forming a crooked, uneven star with runes, I couldn’t read, in the points and a circle inscribed with the same kind of runes surrounding it. Looking at it from different angles, my fingers were itching to mess with it, the way they itch when something is loose that shouldn’t be. The part of my mind that enjoyed having all ten fingers kept screaming that you don’t touch magic you don’t understand. Narfas’ warning was still there, heavy in the back of my head. And yet the fascinated part of me wouldn’t shut up: you won’t know what it does if you never try.

  I nudged it with my knife. Once. Nothing happened. I nudged it again. With a bit more force and immediately took a step back. Like it might suddenly wake up and bite me. But nothing happened again. I exhaled and edged closer to the disc again. Muttering to myself that I must be insane. I gently touched the rim of the disc with my finger. The moment I made contact, my vision went blank.

  A distant banging, like a smith working steel. Heat on my face. And then I could see again, hazy like a dream.

  A man with burning eyes, hammering on an anvil. A woman with blue hair, watching, drawing shapes in the air and talking in a language I didn’t understand. Her eyes fixed on the anvil. When the man stopped, her gaze went up to me. Smiling she said: “Did you keep your fingers?”

  The image frayed, like cloth in a hard gust and pressure built in my ears.

  I tasted iron, the voices of birds returning with a soft rhythm before I could see again. I was kneeling before the disc, my finger no longer touching it. I felt like a horse had kicked me in the head.

  I lay on my back and watched the trees, counting my breaths until the pain stopped trying to split my skull and the taste of iron thinned out. It wasn’t anger I felt, just the dull certainty that I’d done this to myself. When I could trust my voice again, I asked the air, “Why?”

  Narfas’ voice returned. “Why do you think, child of the forge?”

  I suppressed a groan. Why can’t anything be easy with gods.

  “Because you want something?” I offered, trying my best to not sound frustrated.

  Narfas’ voice took on an almost proud tone.

  “Smart as always, child of the forge. The sundering tore away more than land and life. It cut the threads of what should have been. Even the gods fear what they once wrought.”

  “And what do you want?” I asked, keeping my eyes straight up and my voice level.

  Narfas didn’t answer. All I got was the feeling of a friendly laugh as her presence faded.

  I didn’t suppress the groan this time. Lying there, I counted breaths.

  Once the pounding headache stopped, I got up. Back on my feet, I kept my eyes on the disc, not sure how to best handle it. Letting it just sit there didn’t seem like something the Lady of the Springs wanted. Touching it and getting my brain melted wasn’t something I wanted. A good compromise was my coin pouch. It might ruin the few schillings in there, not that Velmorian coin needed much help with that. Just to be safe I wrapped the coins in an old scrap of cloth before pulling my knife. Carefully I lifted the disc, balancing it on the flat of the blade. When I slid it in the pouch, it gave off a soft ringing. Like a small bell being struck.

  The forest exhaled and the pouch pulsed softly in my palm, like a little metronome. With that kind of magic in my pocket, I needed something simple. When my gaze landed on Narfas’ statues, it felt only natural to remove some of the grime.

  I scraped the worst of the moss off the stone head and smeared the damp earth away with my thumb. Blue-stained stone came back into view. At least you could tell who it was again. It wasn’t a great job, but that wasn’t really the point.

  The forest found its rhythm again, birds singing, leaves rustling, the usual noise. I turned to leave and head for the road.

  A branch snapped behind me. My hand found my hammer before I thought about it.

  Between the trunks, something shifted against the light. Too tall. Too still. Like it had been waiting for me to turn around.