Dream Forge

Fyretober 2021


What you hadn’t noticed there was a bonus prompt for the month? How could I pass up. Enjoy my last flash fiction from Fyrecon’s Fyretober!

Dazzling light filled the chamber, not that any would ever call it the brilliance of a midday sun. No, this was quite the opposite. The light of a hundred full moons which matched the rhythmic and chiming strikes of a smiths’ hammers falling on anvils. Not hammers of steal or anvils of iron. No, both were made of silver polished to a high shine engraved with spells which channeled the moonlight through each. And with each stroke of the hammer, the smiths of this forge honed the dreams of the mortals below in solemnity.

“Stop him!”

Most of the time.

The stir rippled through the smiths in a wave from the southern end of the chamber out, disrupting the flow of the hammers into a discordant symphony most resemblant of breaking glass. At least until the wave reach smith Helne, when a young boy darts between herself and her anvil.

“Evening Anthom,” she said without breaking her rhythm.

Anthom, barely more than a sprouting of a demigod glanced up from where he sheltered. “Evening, mistress Helne.” He shifted shoving something deeper into his tunic.

“Causing the guard havoc again?” She tsked. Pausing her work only long enough to raise the dream she’d shaped from her anvil and plunge into the bucket of living waters next to her. The metal star glitters as it slipped below the surface, falling ever deeper until is vanished from sight plunging from this world and to the mind waiting among the mortals below.

Anthom sat forward from his hole slightly, glancing hungrily at the waters. “No trouble that should not be caused ma’am.”

Pulling the next dream from her forge, Helne chuckled. “Somehow I doubt that greatly.” Picking back the rhythm, she rejoined the refrain about her, her rhythm pulling greater stability back to her section. “At least I seem to recall a bit of trouble every night for the last year.”

Anthom shrugged. “My vision is just misunderstood.”

“Ah yes,” Helne said, her hammer emphasizing her words. “It was a mistake…” Chime. “When they stopped you…” Chime. “From sending blanked metal…” Chime. “Through the living waters.”

Anthom coughed, the slightest blush tinging his cheeks. “Well, someone could have warned me that blackened metal was the stuff of nightmares.” He sniffed pointedly. “I just found the effect lovely.”

“You what about the time…” Chime. “You tried to forge full moons…” Chime. “Instead of crescent moons.” Anthom waved his hand dismissively. “Impassioning that nation so…” Chime. “Nearly led to a war…” Chime. “That the fates…” Chime. “Did not dictate…” Chime. “For a century yet.” Chime. “One that would…” destroy them all.”

“Again, that was a failure on my teacher’s part. Not mine.” His quick dismissal brought a smile to Helne’s face. The guards still rushing about the chamber nearly paused to ask her what amused her so, but another dream forged she turned away before they approached and sent the dream on its way.

“And what failure have your teachers overlooked good sense keeping you from this time?”

The boy withdrew the object cradled in his hands and held it up to Helne. It glowed brilliantly in the silver light a counterpart of soft gold. Helne drew back, the golden light catching into her hammer, winding through the anvil and running tendril toward the dream she fashioned.

Hissing, Helne struck at the dream with her hammer, sending it skitters down many rows into the deep void at the center of the forge. Turning, she thrust the hammer into the depth of her furnace and glowered at Anthom over her shoulder. “A dire oversight indeed. Put that away before you infect all the dreams.”

“Infect the dreams? But this is warmth and passion and–”

“And the stuff which kindles leaders of greatest charisma, artists of great passion, and writers of intense fervor are born of. Do you want to create another Piersym who caught a dream so vivid it drove him to madness that drug his countrymen with him?”

Anthom’s eyes widened as she summoned up the name. He shoved the bit of firelight back into his tunic. “This kindled Piersym?” His voice was barely more than a whisper as he stared at her intently. “No one will speak of that.”

“With good cause,” she shot back quickly.

“You!” a guard’s voice cut over them before Anthom could answer. Grimacing the boy scurried from his hiding position and away. The ripple of disruption followed his across the remaining distance to the northern end of the chamber and out the door there.

Helne watched, holding her rhythm and ignoring the guards thundering at her for the foolishness of sheltering the whelp, and had she realized he’d smuggled in firelight?

Helne said nothing and the eventually wandered away. Her eyes trailed to the door where Anthom had disappeared. “By brightest moonlight,” she whispered for inspiration’s ears alone, “let him learn more easily than I had.” Yes, let him learn before he forged his own mistake as she had once forged Piersym.

Be sure to check out all the #fyretober creations.

#fyretober #fyretoberflashfiction #fyretoberdaybonus

“Fyretober isn’t for just writers or just artists. It’s for everyone who loves to create, and this month we’re looking to see your flash fiction, poetry, and illustrations every day. We’ll be providing daily prompts for the month and want to see what new concepts and wonders you can make with them.

Join the creation fun and share your work with us.

This isn’t a contest. But that doesn’t mean we won’t be giving out random prizes for amazing work.”

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