Irwin's Journey - The Cardsmith

"Keep your bloody arms raised!"

Irwin clenched his teeth as he held the hammer before his body. He looked out of the corners of his eyes and saw the two other hammers shiver and shake but remain aloft. Focusing on the one in his hands, he squeezed the handle and willed his arms to remain up.

Why does it feel like this thing is getting heavier every second? he thought.

The hammer was only a one-handed one, and at the start, it had seemed lighter than he had imagined. Now, a minute later, it felt as heavy as a mountain.

Laughter and shouting came from the side.

"Never thought that scrawny lad could keep it up this long," a guttural voice roared, followed by another bout of laughter.

"Pipe it down, yah bunch of ingrates," a dull voice boomed from the man standing before Irwin and the other two.

The room quieted noticeably, but the man didn't show any reaction. He looked like he'd been molded from metal, his face rigid, and tendons and muscles running from his jaw to his neck. Eyes as black as night were focused on Irwin and the other two.

"One more peep, and you get to join them," the man said when there was a slight snigger from the back, and instantly the only sounds left were the strained grunts of Irwin and the others.

Feeling his back begin to twitch, the wound throbbing painfully, Irwin wanted nothing more than to drop the hammer. But he couldn't. If he did, Trimdir wouldn't let him work at the forge, not even without pay. No. He had to keep the hammer raised before him longer than the other two.

A slight motion from the left made him look up, and he saw the hammer on that side gradually descend.

"Up or leave," Trimdir said calmly.

The hammer shivered, seemed to rise, then dropped with a thud. A cry came from the side.

"Out. Come back when you've grown some muscle," Trimdir said.

Irwin felt his mouth go dry as he saw the two intense eyes had focused fully on him. He stared back, gritting his teeth and deciding he was not going to let the hammer drop.

It's a wonder you can even raise it, a small voice said in the back of his mind. Irwin agreed but ignored it anyway.

As he glared back at the muscular, bald smith keeping the hammer up, though shivering and shaking, the corners of the smith's lips rose slightly.

Irwin felt like it took another ten minutes before there was a roar of denial to his side, followed by a curse and a thud. He dropped it, he thought. He was bout to drop his own hammer when he saw Trimdir hadn't lost any focus, his eyes full on him. He also didn't tell the second one to leave yet.

He can't mean I have to leave even if I win? Irwin thought.

By now, his hands were shaking, his shoulder vibrating like a pitchfork, and sweat was running down his face staining his new clothes. Parts of his back and neck were hurting, almost cramping up.

"Alright. Lower it slowly," Trimdir said, still staring right at him.

Irwin swallowed, close to vomiting, as he tried to control the descent of the hammer. It went both faster and slower than he wanted, but when it finally reached a hanging position, Trimdir nodded.

"Two minutes and twelve seconds for you," the smith said as he pointed at the tall, lanky boy next to Irwin. "And an impressive two minutes and twenty-nine seconds to you."

It took Irwin a moment to do the numbers, then his mouth fell open in between his ragged breathing. Had he only kept it up seventeen seconds longer? It had felt like… forever!

"Alright, follow me," Trimdir said as he turned and walked deeper into the low-ceilinged building. "And the rest of you, back to work! I expect you to finish what you were doing, or I'll dock your pay!"

A round of muttered curses and groans came as Irwin saw a dozen men and two women grabbing hammers and rushing to anvils and other forging equipment. All of them were built like Charbulls, wide, heavily muscled, and all of them had cards.

He struggled after the smith, wondering how holding a hammer up for over two minutes was hurting his legs. Next to him, the other youth kept glancing at him with wide, incredulous eyes, taking peaks at his carded left hand.

At the back of the smithy was a door that led to a small office. A cluttered table with papers stood in the center, and odd diagrams hung from the walls. The left wall held a large bookcase with a great number of thick, leather-bound tomes.

"Alright. Name?" Trimdir said as he sat down opposite the boys and grabbed a book and an odd-looking quill. He was staring intently at Irwin.

"Orwin," Irwin said, deciding he'd best keep up the name from now on.

"No last name?"

"Coulwater," Irwin said, feeling like a fraud. He knew that sticking with the plan was the safest, but somehow it felt worse than changing his first name slightly.

The smith nodded, showing no reaction that he recognized the name.

"You?"

"Brent Heavyhand," the youth said, sounding proud.

This time Trimdir looked up with a raised eyebrow. "And born as?"

Irwin saw him hold the boy's gaze until the youth seemed to deflate.

"Loopdig, sir. But… but I got this card, and-"

"Don't care," the smith said, but Irwin saw a glitter of amusement in his eyes.

"Now then," he said as he began waving the ink dry and staring at the boys. "If you are to work here, there are some rules you must abide by. One, no fighting and no shouting. You can curse if you do it calmly, but I don't like chatter. Second, you will finish what I assign you, even if it means you have to work late. I know exactly what someone is able to do," he said, raising his left hand and showcasing the three combined cards on it. "And I know exactly when someone is not pulling their weight."

His cards let him read minds? Irwin thought, suddenly afraid.

"No, I don't read minds," Trimdir said with a weary sigh. "My card shows me how much someone is capable of," he added, staring at Irwin.

Irwin nodded quickly, hoping the smith wasn't lying. Why would he lie? he thought. Just because he'd never heard of cards like that didn't mean it wasn't a real card.

"Yes, master Trimdir," Brent added.

"No masters here, boys. Call me Trimidir or Smith. Either will do. Now, Brent, go find Olger. He should be at the largest anvil. Tell him his quota for today is alright and to show you how to begin. Do what he says when he says it. If he tells me you are fooling about…" the smith stared at Brent pointedly.

Irwin's worry rose. Why did he have to stay?

"I'll do my best, Mast- Trimdir," Brent almost shouted, then turned and ran out.

Trimdir's steely face split into a smile as he looked after the lanky youth before returning to its placid look.

"Right, and now you. You're one of the two noble kids that came in yesterday," he said as he stared at Irwin.

It wasn't a question, but Irwin still nodded.

"Quiet fellow? You aren't deaf, are you?"

"No, Trimdir," Irwin said quickly, wondering if he'd angered the smith.

"Good. I don't mind quiet, so don't worry. Now, you're a noble. Why, by the hallowed forge, a noble would want to learn smithing is beyond me, and I don't want to know. However… you just showed me an impressive feat of will. I expect the same diligence if you are to work here."

Irwin stared at Trimdir. The smith was way sharper than he'd expected and well-informed. He hadn't expected his and Daubutim's arrival to have gone the rounds yet. Not sure what to say, he quietly waited.

"You are small and scrawny, but you have three cards. With all that's going on, I can only imagine you aren't one of those rich nobles, but a lucky break," Trimdir said as he tapped a thick, scarred finger on the table, causing a hollow thudding.

After a second of silence, Irwin realized the smith expected a reply this time.

"I… yes," he stuttered, uncomfortable from the piercing stare.

"Good, that explains how someone with three cards didn't grow bigger. Now, you are what, fourteen?"

"Fifteen," Irwin said, instantly wishing he'd just nodded.

The smith raised an eyebrow, seeming skeptical, but nodded. "Well, then, here is what we will do. You will go find Olger and tell him you will be responsible for carrying the raw metals from the pile to the purification forge. You're going to do that for a while until you are strong enough."

Irwin bit his lips. He wanted to ask if he couldn't help purify the metal, but he was afraid he'd be told to leave if he did.

"What? Ask if you have questions!"

"I- would like to learn how to purify metal," Irwin said.

"That's what you said when you came here, yes," Trimdir said calmly. "It's an odd request. Most young ones want to forge blades and axes. Why?"

Irwin swallowed as he looked at the smith. He'd expected the question and prepared an answer.

"One of my cards," he said, staring at his own hand, "deals with metal. It is tied to my knowledge of metal purifying." The last part was a lie, but he knew there were cards like this, although they were incredibly uncommon.

Trimdir's eyes widened, then Irwin felt his gaze drill into his as the smith observed him. It lasted for almost a minute, and by the end, Irwin was afraid the smith had lied and could read minds. Or perhaps detect lies. He was relieved when the smith began talking again.

"Very well. I'll be candid. Most smiths here want nothing to do with purifying, and it's always a chore getting them to do it. This means I do most of it, and if you can take even a small bit of the work away, I'll be happy," Trimdir said. "It's the only reason I even let you attempt the hammer test."

Irwin almost sighed in relief as the intense stare left him. He had no idea how much Trimdir even believed him.

"Now, I don't believe in letting people work without explaining why, even if it's good for them. My old master did that, and it was a pain in the ass. So, here's what's going to happen."

Irwin swallowed as he stared at the smith.

"Before I let you anywhere near my hammers, anvils, or metals, let alone purifying anything, you are going to carry ore and metal for two weeks. Why? Because it will build your strength and give you a feel for the metals as you move them around and memorize their names and properties. After two weeks, I'll ask you to differentiate different metals based on weight and structure. If you succeed and can hold the hammer for three and a half minutes, I'll teach you how to purify the simplest of metals I have here, Degnin Iron. It's weak and soft but a great base for alloys, and I'm always short. In exchange, I'll provide food mid-day and water during the first two weeks. After that, we will have to see how well you do."

Irwin was staring at him slack-jawed, thinking about what Ambraz had said about just learning to purify and not the details.

"Do we have a deal?" Trimdir asked.

Irwin nodded instantly. "Yes, Trimdir!"

The smith grinned. "Well, I hope you've got a thick skin. Also, lose that jerkin. Hang it near the door and grab one of the aprons or you will scrape open your skin and faint from the heat."

Irwin couldn't help a grin from spreading on his face as he thought of his Coperion Skin.

"Alright!" he said, then turned and ran back into the main workroom.

He heard a snorted laugh from behind him but ignored it as he saw a few long leather aprons hanging on hooks beside the entrance.

It took him a few minutes to find the smallest apron, which still almost hung to his ankles. To his surprise, none of the men hammering or standing at the bellows commented or even looked at him. Everyone seemed fully focused on their job, be it working the bellows, holding large sheets of steel in the coals, or flattening metal. In the far left corner stood an anvil almost half as high as him, and Brent was next to it, listening to an older man with a short, well-trimmed beard and a scarred forehead.

As Irwin joined them, the man, Olger, he presumed, looked up.

"Ah, so both go to me this time? Trimdir must think me a teacher," the man grunted, sounding annoyed. 'Well. Stand over there, and listen then.

Irwin swallowed as he raised his hand. "Trimdir told me to tell you that I'll be responsible for carrying the raw ore and metal around," he said.

Olger blinked at him before frowning, while Brent had a look of heartfelt sympathy on his face.

"I see," Olger said before turning to Brent. "Stay here for a moment." Then he turned and headed towards the far end of the room, where an open door led to a massive storage room filled with crate upon crate. A few to the side were open, and Irwin saw clumps of dirt-stained rock inside one of them. Gleaming bits and edges showed this was probably the raw ore.

"Not sure what he is thinking," Olger muttered as he moved to the side and showed Irwin a basket with loops. "Put that on, the basket at the front."

Irwin did as asked, and a few moments later he stood before one of the crates with a label he couldn't read. Inside lay roughly made bars of gleaming dark metal.

"Alright, this is Degnin Iron which is what most of us need right now. As long as there is over half in this crate, keep bringing the-"

A dull, solid thud came, quickly followed by another, and Olger looked up, confusing Irwin.

"Never mind. Bring me ten of these, then-" Olger motioned to the crate with raw ore, "-start bringing those to Trimdir. Apparently, he is going to make you work hard today because that loving tap is him beating the raw ore into submission. Understand?"

Olger stared at him, and Irwin quickly nodded.

"Good luck," Olger said before turning away and heading out.

Irwin stared at the bars, as long as his lower arm and almost as thick. With a sigh, he grabbed one, and his eyes widened. It was heavy, heavier by far than the hammer he'd been lifting before. Staring at it, he put it in the sturdy basket feeling it instantly dig into his shoulders. Four bars later, he was struggling to stay upright.

"This will have to do," he muttered. He took one look at the raw iron and hoped it wouldn't be as heavy.

Hours later, he could barely feel his feet as he slogged towards a super hot forge with his basket filled with raw ore. He had a single heavy piece in his hand, squeezing it as the heat increased more and more. The dull pounding of Trimdir's massive hammer on the heated slab that had been raw ore before caused his throbbing headache to pulsate. Rivets of sweat poured from the bare-armed smith's strained face, but Irwin had no sympathy. The man was like a machine, pounding and pounding non-stop.

He mechanically placed the ore on the pile beside the anvil, then emptied his basket, no longer surprised by the few pieces that still lay there. Swaying on his feet, he was about to turn to get the next load.

"Orwin."

Irwin stopped and slowly looked at the smith, who threw a slab of iron into a basket to the side.

"This will be enough. Head home and get a good night's rest. I expect you back here tomorrow," Trimdir said.

"Alright," Irwin croaked, his throat parched and his lips cracked and dry. As he turned to leave, he saw that the other smiths were already exiting in a single organized file.

He barely remembered putting on his jerkin and stepping outside. Then the freezing wind slammed into him like a punch in the gut, and he gasped. Snow cracked below the boots of the others as they walked away across the square. Within moments he was shivering uncontrollably, and it felt like someone had put heavy weights around his arms. Not sure what to do, he took a step forward and almost collapsed.

The only effect the cold had was that it cleared the wooziness of his mind, though his thoughts remained sluggish.

I won't make it back like this, he thought, and he almost instinctively turned and headed back into the smithy. As soon as he closed the door, the warmth permeated him.

"Orwin?"

He looked up to see Trimdir stare at him in surprise.

"Did you forget something?"

Irwin shook his head, trying to come up with a reason he couldn't go outside. In the end, his mind couldn't come up with anything then the truth. Or part of it.

"I… I'm not good with the cold," he said as he stared at his hand. "One of my cards."

Trimdir stomped towards him, looking at him, then at the door.

"Are you telling me you can't go outside due to the cold? How did you even get here?"

There was no judgment in his voice, just curiosity, and emboldened, Irwin nodded. "There was no snow, and the wind wasn't this cold yet," Irwin said. "Also, it was nice and warm here…"

Trimdir's eyebrows rose. "Nice and warm?" he said incredulously. "It is insanely hot here!"

Irwin shrugged as he shuffled his feed. The pain and weariness made the prospect of going outside scary. He saw Trimdir ponder, and for a moment, he thought he would tell him to back outside. Then he sighed and shook his head in disbelief.

"Well. I don't have any warmer clothes," the smith said. "I don't get bothered by the cold. Whatever. Follow me."

Irwin followed him as he stomped off. A few minutes later, they were in a backroom. Though not as warm as the smithing area, it was still warm enough. Blankets and other things lay in piles in the corner.

"You can sleep here for tonight. We will need to get you some warmer clothes tomorrow," Trimdir said.

Irwin nodded, staring at the pile of blankets and wondering what they even did there. But, the prospect of simply lying down and sleeping was too good.

Trimdir sniffed as he looked at him, then glared. "I don't think you even have the strength for it, but a warning. If you are thinking of stealing metal and leaving in the night, I'd think again. You won't find a place here to sell it, and you won't survive to keep it."

Irwin swallowed, bobbing his head up and down. "I don't want to steal anything," he said honestly.

"Right, well, I believe you, or I wouldn't let you stay," Trimdir said before turning away.

"I'll make sure you get some breakfast tomorrow. Make sure you pay me back somehow."

"I will," Irwin said, not sure how he would. As the door closed, he lay down on the pile of blankets, looking around the room. Light from the forge peaked through the cracks between the door.

As he put his head down, the last thought through his mind was how Daubutim would react if he didn't return.