Zork
Peony D Beckside
Illustrations for this chapter courtesy of Arizona Wanderer
Chapter Four: The Forge
The village is deserted. Some of the habitations show signs of recently being on fire. There are bodies lying on the ground.
FOOD! Food I don’t
need to hunt! Some of it has even been
cooked. The smell is
mouth-watering. Cadmus stretches his
mouth wide. I take this to be some kind
of indication of displeasure.
“I’m going to
look around, see if there’s anyone left alive, see if there’s anything useful
to us for our journey. I can’t stop you
eating these people, but I don’t want to see you do it.”
“But they are
dead! It’s not as if I have killed
them.”
“I’m sorry
Zork, but even if they are already dead, we humans still will not eat
them. It is perhaps the strongest taboo,
a thing not done, that we have. Watching
the eating of other humans revolts us. I understand that you do not have these
feelings, and why for you it is not wrong, but I don’t have to like it.”
Cadmus wanders off. There are none
of the metal-collared females among the dead.
I think that they have been taken away by those that attacked this
place. One of the charred bodies is
smaller and lighter than most of the males.
I think that it was a female, perhaps one not considered worth being
taken away. I bite into it! Yes,
definitely female! No collar, so
presumably one of the multi-wrapped ones.
Her clothes consumed in the conflagration. She is delicious! I eat a couple of others too. Really stuff my belly. I can barely move. At least I won’t need to
hunt for a few days.
“Zork, Come
here!”
What does Cadmus want? I amble over
to the side of a building that’s mostly escaped the flames. Cadmus is helping to raise another puny-one,
a male, that though injured is surprisingly not dead. He’s wiping the head of the male with a wet
cloth. The man groans but opens his
eyes. He croaks.
“Thank you, stranger[1].”
“What happened here, friend? Who attacked you?”
“Tuchuks…”
“I didn’t think they came as far north and west as
this. We shall be on our guard.”
I come around from behind the recumbent man and stand beside Cadmus. The injured man is clearly terrified. I know that I am feared by puny-ones, but
this seems excessive.
“He won’t harm you friend! Please don’t, Zork… He may be useful.”
The puny-one relaxes a little, but clearly is still wary. When Cadmus has washed the blood off the face
of the puny-one, it’s clear that it is not badly injured. There is a scar across the forehead of this
specimen. I hear him moan.
“Oh, my head!”
“Who are you, friend?
Your name, and caste?”
“Grunthon is my name.
I am a metalworker…”
He looks to the side.
“This is my forge…”
The forge doesn’t look badly damaged.
It is probably functional. This
Grunthon rises slowly. I speak.
“Your forge, it works?”
I think he is a bit surprised that I can speak to him through the
translator. I suspect that he thought me
a mere beast, as the villagers where I’d met Cadmus had.
“I think so. I’ll
need to check.”
“I need weapon.
You make me a weapon.”
It’s a statement, not a request.
The puny-one, this Grunthon is clearly not happy at the prospect of
arming me. I make it clear to him.
“You make me weapon, I allow you to live.”
He nods his head rapidly. I’ve come
to realise that this signifies assent.
“I’ll make you a weapon…”
“You make it
strong, sharp. It not break, it not
bend. I not pleased if weapon
breaks. I come back if weapon breaks…”
“Yes, I’ll make
it strong and sharp.”
“Zork, Grunthon
is not fit enough to make your weapon today.
We will stay here tonight. He can
start work tomorrow.”
“Yes, stay here
tonight.”
Having killed almost everyone here, these ‘Tuchuks’ are unlikely to
return. There’s nothing for them to
gain. Besides there’s plenty of food
here for me. Since Cadmus, and
presumably this Grunthon, won’t eat their own kind, they’ll have to see what
food they can find in what’s left of the habitations.
“You not run away, Ger-un-ton. You run, I hunt you. You get…”
The puny-one shakes
“I’ll stay! I
won’t run!”
He seems frightened enough to remain.
Cadmus helps Grunthon to his feet and supporting him, leads him to one
of the least damaged dwellings.
The following morning I hear Grunthon moving about in the semi-functional
forge. I can tell it’s not Cadmus. I
know by now the sound of Cadmus’ gait. I
rise from where I’ve been sleeping.
Grunthon is trying to light his forge.
The little orange flame catches kindling sticks that will catch the
charcoal. He notices me watching
him. He’s still frightened but not
terrified.
“What kind of
weapon do you want, great lord?”
My translator doesn’t have a reference word for that. I point to the ground and draw in the dust.
“An axe, Lord?”
The translator has rudimentary learning capabilities. Having now heard what the metal-worker called
it, and cross referencing to the word, I gave it, it will remember it.
“Yes, an
axe. A big one. Double headed with curved blades .”
“How big,
Lord?”
I mime the height of a small man, Cadmus size handle, and the width of a
man’s shoulders, Grunthon’s shoulders.
Going to the image in the dust, I indicate a point at the top of the
handle and the base of the head. I rock my paw in front of his eyes. He understands.
“You want the
weight to balance at this point? Yes,
that’s logical and possible. Do you want
a wooden handle, or a metal one?”
“Metal, etched
at the bottom for better grip.”
A wooden handle could be broken in battle by another axe or something
similar.
This puny one thinks for a moment.
“Loose handle,
so the head can be removed, or cast in one piece? With a loose head we shape the top of the
handle, so every swing tightens the head on the handle. Easier to carry. The handle can be used for other purposes if
necessary. Also quicker to make as two
separate pieces.”
“Understand. Yes can see advantages. Begin.
How long to make?”
“A week,
perhaps more.”
“No less?”
“Not if you
want it to be strong. Any sooner and
metal is brittle.”
“Brittle?”
“Will shatter
if the force of an opponent’s weapon striking it is too powerful.”
“Take week
then. Get it right. We stay here until finished. I help.
You tell I what needs to be done.”
“I’ll let you
know when the fire is lit.
I watch as Grunthon adds small quantities of iron into a large pot on the
fire. I pump the bellows increasing the
temperature of the fire. As each piece
of iron melts and mixes with the last the quantity increases. The smith adds a black powder to the mix, and
another metal that I’m not sure of.
“Why black
powder? Why other metal?”
“The black
powder hardens the steel. The chromium
provides malleability. Stops the steel being brittle.”
“Understand.”
When the mix is hot enough, Grunthon calls for me.
“I’ll need your
help here. Lifting this much metal is
beyond my strength. Take these
handles. Press them together and lift
the pot. You then need to twist them, so
the metal tips through…”
He points
“...this
hole. Pour it all in. It might overflow a little, but that’s to be
expected.”
I grasp the wooden handles of the metal arms holding the pot of hot
liquid. This puny one might find this task difficult, but to my superior
strength it’s not difficult. I do
however take care to pour the melted metal evenly into the shaping mould.
“We must let
the metal cool until I can break the mould and start hammering the axe into
it’s final shape. It’ll need to be
repeatedly put back into the fire and reworked many times. I need a drink. Has your companion Cadmus got something
suitable?”
I think he means something with alcohol in it.
“Not know. You ask
him.”
This Grunthon stomps off. Such is
typically his gait.
For five days, there is hammering from the shed. After two days, I ask.
“Tomorrow, I bash?”
“No Zork. If you don’t get it just right you will ruin
the weapon. It is a skill that one must
learn. One learns on unimportant things.
Teaching you will take many weeks.”
“Understood. You bash, I hunt.”
I’m starting to get hungry, and Cadmus tells me that supplies of food for
him and Grunthon are getting low. I find a tabuk that’s not fast enough to
outrun me. I carry it back. Cadmus skins it and cuts it into pieces. He
puts a large chunk over the fire. I have
to admit that cooked tabuk tastes better than raw, even though there is none of
the blood flavour one gets from biting into the carcase.
It’s the eighth day and Grunthon staggers out of his shed
stumbling under the weight of the Axe. Even at a distance it looks
beautiful. It looks right. It has the air of perfection about it. I lift it easily from his tiny hands. The weight is pleasing. The balance feels spot-on. It is a joy to hold the axe in my hand. I test the sharpness crosswise with the pad
below one claw. Yes, pleasingly sharp.
“You know how
to keep it sharp, Zork?”
“Yes, skilled
puny one. Rub with stone?”
“Better with
proper sharpening stone. Ask Cadmus to
get you one from the first city you get near.”
“Will do. Must test axe now.”
I smell his fear. Though he’s been
putting up a mask of unconcern, he’s still just a bit terrified of me. Good!
“You come with me.”
He walks as if he senses he’s already dead. I think he fears I will break my word to him.
I find a nearby tree; not a large one, but more than a
sapling. For five ehn I swing the axe
around, cutting the air at many angles, testing, assessing, the heft and feel
of this weapon. It feels good, right,
the perfect size and weight. A warriors
weapon.
I swing at the tree.
I put the full strength of my back into it, as wood is known to soak up
strength. The axe does its work. It
cleaves the tree, the top half tumbling.
I again test the sharpness of the blades. The side that cut the tree has
only lost a fraction of its sharpness. I
am pleased.
“Is good Grunthon!
I keep word. I not eat you.”
His relief is palpable.
“You sharpen again before we go?”
“Gladly, yes, Zork.”
I notice marks on the central part of the head. They look like the marks Cadmus puts on his
paper and parchment.
“What is this Grunthon?”
“It is your name.
It marks this axe as yours. See,
Z-O-R-K, Zork.”
“You good man, Grunthon.
I talk with Cadmus. You come with
us? We go North, towards
Torvaldsland. Take two years maybe. You leave whenever you wish?”
I sense him fighting his residual fear.
“Yes, if Cadmus agrees.
I will come with you. I just have
to collect a few tools. There’s nothing
left for me here.”
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