They left, Tove looking depressed for a lack of anything to do. As the two men walked across the yard, Völundr looked Erik over.
“Never swung a hammer, have you?”
Erik shrugged. “At nails, maybe. Not much call for blacksmithing anymore.” A firm hand clapped him on the shoulder.
“Then you’ll be useless to me?” Völundr laughed. “A true apprentice.”
The door to the stone building was made of steel, engraved with the picture of a long-haired valkyrie with large, feathered wings. She held a runed broadsword. Völundr swung the door open without commenting on it and Erik was concerned enough about being terrible at the work that he didn’t bother to ask.
Inside the stone-walled shop were tongs and hammers and bars of steel of every size. In the center of the room was a large stone, polished flat on the top with a thick plate of steel laid on top of it, the edges rounded down to hold it in place. There was a brickwork forge at the far corner, the stack rising out of the roof. Völundr pointed to a wooden crate of rough balls of dark rock, at least they looked like it to Erik.
“Place those by the anvil. And an empty one next to them.”
He lifted the box up, looking at the balls. They were knobby and full of tiny holes. The shifting of the chunks as he walked gave off the distinctive clank of metal.
“Got to start with the basics for a man like you or I’ll lose the whole day explaining things.” Völundr was at the forge, lighting a bit of kindling on a lip near the mouth of it. The kindling lit and he squatted to see to the charcoal beneath. “Well, you’ve missed the dirty work, though.” He chuckled. “I’m disappointed. Wanted to see you waste a day panning in a river. You’ll be dirty enough by the end.”
Erik placed the crate onto the floor and ran back over to grab an empty one. Völundr had managed to get the fire established. He stood up and walked to the far wall, pulling down a hammer, some tongs, and a soft bunch of leather. He laid the hammer on the anvil along with the leather and held up the tongs.
“You’ll be doing the work today, Erik.” He handed over the tongs. “Do what I say and I won’t have to beat you.” Völundr laughed and grabbed the leather, tossing it at Erik and then moving to the far side of the anvil. He picked up the hammer and leaned against the steel. “And I won’t have you being surprised at my change in mood. This is my meaning. If you work my forge, you’ll take it as serious as I do.”
“I intend to.”
“You say that before you’ve even let a bead of sweat drop.” Völundr pointed at a sizable bellows attached to the forge. “Let’s start. Stoke that fire.”
Erik leaned the tongs against the anvil rock and put the leather over his shoulder before moving to the bellows. It was operated by a chain coming from the ceiling. He pulled on it, nerves turning his stomach to knots. He let the chain go and the air forced its way into the forge. A deep roar answered from the guts of the brick furnace and flame licked out from the mouth.
“Again! Until I tell you to stop!”
Erik worked the bellows a few dozen times, his arms already burning from the effort when Völundr shouted his next order.
“Have those tongs and stick one of those blooms in!”
The blooms must have been the bits of rough metal in the boxes. Erik ran to the tongs, pushing them awkwardly into the box. He missed a few times before finally grabbing one.
“About time!” Völundr laughed at him derisively. “If it was a country girl, you’d have picked it up without being asked, wouldn’t you?”
Erik shoved the metal into the fire. Calling the heat uncomfortable would have been a gross understatement. He held it in the fire until it was glowing hot and, without being able to see it, Völundr called for him to pull it.
“On the anvil! Now!”
Erik ran over, placing it on the anvil and pulling the tongs.
“Hold it! Don’t be stupid!” Völundr swung the hammer at Erik’s head but he was much too far away for it to have struck him.
Erik put the tongs back around the bloom and Völundr started hammering the metal. His strikes were thunderous, sending chunks of dark debris off of the metal and onto the wide surface of the anvil.
“Flip!”
Erik did, and Völundr hammered the other side flat.
“Wipe it.” Erik hesitated for a half second and Völundr lost his patience again. “The anvil!”
Remembering the leather on his shoulder, Erik pulled it down, moving the tongs to the side with his other hand. He wiped debris off the anvil and put the metal back.
“Too cold! Back on the fire. And work the bellows.”
Erik put the bloom back in the fire and went to the bellows, doing as he was told until Völundr told him to move. The bloom was reheated, brought back for hammering, and the process repeated until the rough, dirty ball was turned into something resembling a steel bar.
Völundr didn’t slow. He barked for Erik to drop the bar and pull a new bloom. With the process in his mind now, Erik had more confidence. His speed wasn’t to Völundr’s standards on most things, but he worked through two-thirds of the box with no more than a few screams and swipes at his head. Most of those were from new steps being added without Erik expecting them. More charcoal, sweeping the floor while steel heated, that sort of thing. It was the heat that began to slow Erik down with the last few boxes. He could see that Völundr had barely broken a sweat and didn’t want to complain.
“Don’t like the heat, do you boy?” Völundr’s tone had softened as the day went on, surprisingly. He mocked Erik now
