The Blood Anvil

A magical retelling of the Christmas story

Benjamin Sledge

Published in

HeartSupport

9 min readDec 17, 2016

I’d slept in again. The shouts were only getting louder.

“Régnier!!”

Pulling on my leather apron and trousers, I stumbled down the wooden steps to our tiny kitchen where Mum busied herself with breakfast. Eggs and jam typically. Sometimes small bits of hog.

“You best get a move on Régnier SteelBorne!” My mum said using my full name to show her irritation. “Your father will be bloody well pissed if you’re late on the iron again.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed some stale bread and blackberry jam. As I bit down, blinding white light seared my vision and pain shot through my jaw.

“Don’t you be rollin’ them eyes at me, boy! You’re in luck it was only a spoon this time. Ask your father. I’ve used a pot before!”

Mum continued to hold the large wooden utensil as she waited for a response while I massaged my jaw.

“Sorry Mum..” I offered passively.

Once the sting subsided, I shoveled a few bits of egg into my mouth, pocketed more bread, then grabbed my gloves and made for the door.

“Saints-be-damned!” My mum exclaimed as I was walking out. I paused and noticed her peeking inside the stove. “Régnier? Come use that blood-borne witchcraft of yours and light the stove, eh?”

Inside my home, Dad and I were the only ones who had magic in the veins. Mum wasn’t religious anymore than the neighbor, but she was keenly superstitious. Somewhere in our ancestry, we made a “deal with the Dark Lord.” At least, that’s what she liked to say since only Lucius and his mages were able to conjure magic and spells. Since magic was outlawed, and only those within the realm of the Dead Throne used it, most people assumed it was evil. Funny that all our stories told during harvest are about heroes who use magic to conquer evil.

From the door, I snapped my fingers and coaxed the glowing embers to a blaze.

“None of that nonsense in the smithery!” my mum barked as she backed away from the stove. “I’ll not have this family hung in the town square!”

“On my honour mum…” and then I closed the door with no intention of keeping my word.

Dad had already begun work when I arrived. Sweat was beading from his bald head and dribbling into his beard.

“Hand me the tongs, m’boy,” he said without looking up. I reached into the quench bucket and gave the wet tongs to his outstretched hand. Using the tongs, he pulled out a piece of red-hot steel, moved it over to the anvil, and began hammering. I took this as my cue to begin the day’s work and started stoking my own fire.

Most days went like this. Dad on the anvil. Me at the fire. Then we’d switch. We never talked much till lunch time. Dad was particularly warm-hearted that day, slapping his knee in delight when the girl I liked came in to get her family’s plow mended. Her brothers eyed me suspiciously, while my father kept winking and jerking his head towards me trying to tip her off. If my face weren’t already red from the fires, it would have given me away, so instead I looked at the floor and shuffled from foot-to-foot nervously. That probably gave me away more than my face would have.

“Damn the Saints m’boy!” My father laughed heartily after she left. “You’re going to leave your poor Mum and me with no heirs to the smithery, ain’tcha?”

I pushed passed him in a huff, but he caught my shoulder. The topic was a sore spot for us. On many occasion, I had stormed out of our smithery in arguments over inheriting the family business.

“Son…” he paused and turned me gently to look at him. “I know you don’t want to be SteelBorne…” Then his voice dropped to just under a whisper. “Especially with the old magic running in your veins. Believe me, I know how you feel too. I felt the same your age.” He glanced around the room quickly to ensure no one was watching, then stole flame from the kiln and had it dance in his hand.

“You and me? We’re the same,” he said as the flame’s dance reflected in his eyes. “I dreamed of being a mage just like you do. I believed the old tales of King Iesu the Pure and the SpellSwords, thinkin’ I might just try and go find ’em. Hell, I remember when you was just a boy and wanted to show them Thaumaturgists you could make the fire appear in your hands too. One of them wanted you as an apprentice, and when your Mum and I refused, you tried your dumb luck running into the Dark Forest only to come home crying when you heard a wolf howl. You remember what happen, though? All them wizards they found dead on the road the next day bearing the mark of the Necromancer? That would have been you. That could have been me had I not met and married your Mum. I know that soul of yours burns for something more, but our magic ain’t strong enough, m’boy. You know what the townsfolk say, ‘A shilling buys a wizard’s cap and keeps you from the hangman’s nap.’ And if we ain’t careful, the Necro and his Dukes might torch this whole damn town if they get word old magic still being used.”

Dad may have been right, but it didn’t make it easier. I finally looked him in the eyes and sympathetically said, “I know Dad. I know,” then shuffled back over to the kiln and used the old magic in my veins to get the fire roaring once more.

We didn’t speak any more that day. Each of us stayed put at our kilns stoking the fire, sweating, and hammering away. We had just about finished up for the day when a runner came barging in.

“It’s one of Dukes and his men! The Hellion or the Conquerer! Can’t be sure! Best to hide any valuables quick-like and be about yer business!”

Dad and I hastily buried some of the more expensive tools under a stack of hay we used for kindling. Then we nervously went back to hammering, knowing they’d be stopping in. They always did. Stealing a sword or three and roughing one of us up for looking a soldier in the eye. I tried not to think about it, but as the shouts and laughter got louder, it became hard to ignore. The sword I was making soon split in half, and when I walked back to the kiln to re-fire it, the front door swung wide with an icy blast making steam form over the kiln. I stared at the first soldier who strolled in. He, too, locked eyes with me and drew his sword.

“Best drop that hammer boy.”

I hadn’t noticed that I’d been gripping the hammer in a defensive posture and looked down dumbly at the tool.

“It’s alright, Régnier,” my father said walking over and grabbing the hammer. “These gentlemen are welcome here. M’Lords? How might I be of service?”

Their leader stepped forward and smiled impishly. “Now that! That is more like it! Service and respect! Townsfolk around here keep seeming to forget who rules these lands. Tell me Steelborne, what tribute do you have for your Duke today?” Then he leaned forward to my father’s ear and whispered, “And it had better be good… I’d hate to have my men in that lovely home of yours have a personal chat with your wife.”

Dad’s face drained of all color. Without a word he pulled out the swords, plows, and daggers we’d made along with the tools we’d been hiding.

“This is all we have…” he softly stated.

The man with the impish grin sauntered over and whistled. “Oh..I do believe you. I do.” He watched as my father relaxed then grinned again. “It’s just that my men don’t.” Dad’s expression was frantic and wide-eyed. “My good men, do go pay that wife of his a visit, hm?”

My father lurched forward letting out a “No!” but at the last moment it almost became a question. He looked down and saw where a dagger had been buried in his gut. The man with the grin stepped back and frowned as if disappointed. “Now why’d you have to go and make me do that? Why you try and ruin a man’s fun? We own this town and everyone in it. Everyone pays a tax. Even a man’s wife. You ought know that.”

I wish I could tell you I’m a level-headed fellow who plans his revenge, but after seeing my father gutted, the dam in my soul broke loose. Before I knew what was happening, I had drawn fire from the kiln and pushed it across the room. The man with the impish grin turned around just in time to grasp the fact he was going to become a human blaze. His chest lit first, while flame erupted around him. Like any man set on fire, he tried to run towards the nearest quench bucket, but I gritted my teeth hard and bore down drawing more flame around him and increasing heat. He made it just the edge of the water bucket before dropping to his knees and giving up the ghost.

The rest of the soldiers stood dumbfounded for a moment. I was just as confounded as they were and stared at my hands in disbelief. It didn’t take long before swords and crossbows were drawn followed by a chorus of voices screaming “Old Magic!”

I stumbled back, the gravity of the situation sinking in. There was no way out of this. I had just marked my family for death. Maybe even the town. I stared at my hands. There was no way out. But then a devilish thought occurred. I could take a few with me. And with that, I called fire from the kiln to form in my hands and stood defiantly in front of the soldiers.

“Well now…isn’t that impressive?”

The voice came from the behind the group of soldiers and belonged to a man wrapped in a black cloak. He stepped forward and the guards quickly moved out of his way to clear a path. Step. Pause. Step. Pause. It was almost rhythmic the way he moved.

“I swear,” he stated with an air of exasperation. “You would think the old magic’s been eradicated by now, but like sewer rats you hide until we flush you out.”

The man in the black cloak stepped forward again and removed his hood. A blue dragon marked the side of his face with its jaw about to devour his eye. The eye it was to consume was a reddish orange, while his other was a hazel gray. He stood stoically, letting me take it all in.

“Do you know who I am, boy?”

I nodded very hesitantly then spoke just above a cricket’s whisper, “You’re the Hellion. One of the Four Dukes. And the Necro’s mages.”

“Indeed.” He drew the word out longer than necessary. “Then you should know what happens to those with the old blood magic of Iesu.”

“Iesu?” I shook my head not understanding. This elicited a high-pitched giggle to which he covered his mouth almost embarrassed.

“Oh, my…this is rich. Fact fading to legend and legend fading from memory. Lucius will be pleased. No matter..” he waved his hand dismissively, “More important things at hand…I need to figure out what to do with our little wizard here.”

I began slowly retreating step-by-step as the Hellion and his men beamed with delight knowing what horrors lay ahead. But that’s when a wall of flame erupted in front of me.

“Seize him!” I heard the Hellion scream. Not sure of what was happening I looked around the room frantically. Lying near the haystack was Dad, hand outstretched and drawing fire from the kiln. I was about to run to him, but he held up his other hand before I could move, and produced a wet cough.

“…but we can make it…” I managed through tears. Dad just shook his head, smiled weakly, then jerked his head towards the alley door before setting the haystack next to him and the rest of the building into a fiery blaze.

I ran through the allies, tears blurring my vision and icy wind stinging my face. Soldiers were everywhere. Fires were burning. People were screaming. Where would I go? I made my way through other back-alleys, subconsciously headed towards home, but when I arrived, it was too late. An advance search party was already inside. I hid near a wagon and then watched helplessly as they dragged my mum into the middle of the street…