The Blacksmith’s Wagon Ride

A Possible Continuation of Ben Duuude’s Story

Ben’s story of ‘The Blacksmith of Ordon’, left off on a cliffhanger, with Steve, our extraordinarily talented blacksmith, seeing his face on a poster:

WANTED ALIVE

STEVE EST MORTUS

2000 DOLLARS FOR RETURN TO

ORDON VILLAGE

I’ve followed on from there:

Tessa, the Forge Urchin

Steve stared at his likeness on the paper. The sketch was familiar. No, it wasn’t the drawing itself; but the confident unbroken lines, the crosshatching artfully mixed with solid blocks of shadow. He had seen other drawings made by this hand.

And the hand was not mortal.

Steve couldn't move, he stood frozen staring at the picture. The crosshatching lines morphed before his face. Moving about on the poster and forming into an… egg.

He wanted to giggle. Absently he registered that it must have finally happened: He was losing his mind. It was a relief really, he thought to himself as he felt his knees buckle. ‘Aww chisel-it!’ he heard as he slumped. He felt strong arms scoop him up as he blacked out.

Steve woke to cold water splashing at his face. ‘Careful, you’ll drown him’, growled Ted’s voice. Steve opened his eyes to see a girl’s face peering at him. In a blink, it was replaced by Ted’s burly form. No longer a teenager, but a giant of a man. ‘Wha — ?’, Steve tried.

‘No, don’t talk yet’, said Ted. ‘Tessa says you’ve been in god-space. Just listen ok?’

Steve just nodded. Ted waved something at him; it was the poster. ‘I’ve had our kids running about the city all night. We’ve found seven of these and taken them down. But I reckon we don’t have much time before someone sees one and recognizes you, Mr celebrity- youngest-Master-ever.’

Steve nodded again, ignoring the jibe. He realized he was back at his forge. The forge he had set up with Ted after winning his contest. Tessa was just one of many street urchins that came to the forge on cold nights to be near the fires.

But what would she know about god-space? As far as Steve knew, it was where he sometimes saw the dreams of the gods, in drawings— and he stole them for his best designs. (It was how he won the contest.)

A sharp jab in the shoulder got his attention back. ‘We’ve got to get you out of the city’, Ted continued. ‘But Tessa says you won’t be able to walk, let alone ride for another two days. We can use the coal wagon to get you out of here. Tessa will just have to hide you like the useless lump of coal that you are,’ he finished with a grin.

Steve looked over at Tessa. The girl was holding open a large dirty coal sack. Without warning, Ted picked him up, as if he weighed nothing, and carried him towards her. Steve tried to protest but instead, he sagged further into the bag as Ted pulled it over his head. ‘Sorry shrimp; we’re going to have to cover your head to get you out of here. Tessa will take you somewhere safe for a few days until we find out who’s after you and pay them off. I’ll come and bring you back when it’s all over.’

Steve slumped into the bag and drifted off, not really caring that he was being roughly thrown onto the wagon. He fell asleep to the sound of a bird hoot — No, it was a girl’s voice maybe.

Steve dreamt a long time. He dreamt in contours, shades, and crosshatched lines, and somewhere in there, an understanding, a knowing settled in his sleeping mind like a newly-laid egg.

Keapora Geabora

‘Oh, good you’re awake; ‘bout time, sunshine’, said a voice from the front of the wagon. Steve sat up and only saw the back of a large molten hooded cloak. ‘Tessa?’, he asked.

‘Yup, but I can’t keep this form for much longer,’ said Tessa’s oddly croaky voice, ‘so you’ll have to take over.’ Steve focused on what he was seeing. The cloak was not a molten woolen pattern as he first thought, it was actually made of…, of — feathers.

Before he could think anything of it, a feathery hand threw the reins at him. ‘Quick, get upfront; I’m changing!’

Steve clambered over the front to take control of the horse, just as the girl fully transformed, into a large brown owl that lifted into the air.

Keapora Geabora did a swooping circle in the sky, before settling down on the wagon beside Steve. ‘So you’re a girl-god?’, asked Steve, looking straight ahead, because he wasn't sure if he was ready to look directly at the giant bird sitting beside him.

‘No, I’m not a Goddess’, winced the owl. ‘I just take Tessa’s form when I want to be human. But I can’t hold it for long — ’

‘Which is why you need me; isn't it?’, interrupted Steve, still staring straight ahead.

The wagon rolled on in the space of silence that stretched out between Steve and Keapora Geabora. No comment was made as they passed a sign. ‘Welcome to Ordon’, it read.

Steve wasn't afraid anymore, but he was acutely aware that the owl hadn't answered, and eerily, it hadn't moved a single feather since he had asked his question. Steve wondered if this is how he would die; casually driving a wagon into the afterlife, accompanied by a silent owl.

A low rumbling of thunder that Steve felt through his bones, brought him back from his musings. He looked at the Keapora Geabora. The gigantic owl was shaking. It wasn't thunder, but laugher rising up through the great bird’s body. ‘Whoot! Whooot! Whoooo!’, he hooted into the sky. ‘Well, I guess, somebody’s in the know —Quick, pull over into that turnoff, there's a cave we can settle in, and you can tell me what you know.’

No’, replied Steve, who pulled at the reins and stopped the wagon short. ‘I know that you have people waiting to capture me in that cave. I’m guessing; my old Master from Ordon. But you didn’t have to go through all that trouble — I will help you,’ he said and held an open hand out to the owl.

Tessa, Steve’s Friend

Keapora Geabora, shook his great body to recover from his shock and to regain some dignity. And as he fluffed and ruffled, a feather fluttered loose and settled into Steve’s open hand.

Steve cupped his hand over it and closed his eyes. He saw the drawing of the egg again; the crosshatching and shading shifting as if light moved over the egg. This time, Steve didn't feel faint. Because now, he knew the true nature of god-space.

With his eyes still closed, he held the image of the egg in his mind and imagined dropping the feather into the drawing.

The feather fluttered over the drawing of the egg and it shifted again. The form it morphed into was the likeness of Tessa, the scruffy forge urchin. ‘No, we can do better than that’, muttered Steve. The drawing shifted subtly, and this time the likeness of Tessa, was no longer of an impoverished street urchin, but of a well-dressed young girl (in possession of a large purse of gold).

‘Are you a young god?’ asked Steve conversationally, with his eyes still closed. ‘No,’ replied Tessa, ‘but I have only just accumulated thirteen years of being-human-time. It has taken me centuries — You can open your eyes now.’

Steve opened his eyes. Tessa was wrapped in the old coal bag for extra warmth but otherwise looked exactly as he had pictured her — well dressed and wealthy. And smiling uncertainly.

‘I knew you might be able to help me, that with my own feather-magic…’ Tessa had started to babble, suddenly an insecure child, wanting to explain, to apologize. But Steve stopped her. ‘Let's go home’, he said, as he turned the wagon around.

This was a follow-up to 12 yr old Ben’s excellent story, which his dad, ScienceDuuude, shared with us earlier this month (Feb) in WotWU:

Thank you for reading : ). And if you liked that longish story; you might like this tiny short read, with similar themes: