Forged In Ice

By Bridget A. B. Halfaker

A lone forge on a moor. A youth who belongs neither to the humans who have raised him, nor the elves who claim him. Sebsatian must leave the comforts of the forge, embarking on a dangerous mission. Along the way he will meet many magical creatures who become new friends. With their help he can develop the skills necessary to accomplish his quest. Follow Sebastian through treacherous treks over the mountains and perilous battles. Examine the meaning of it all as he continuously wonders: "Why me?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bridget A. B. Halfaker
• Release date: Mar 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463670026

Bridget A. B. Halfaker

Felt pen tattoos, unicorn cat costumes, fog hearts on the shower door, and a 'c' button on the keyboard that doesn't like to be pushed. These are a few things in Bridget Halfaker's life. Mother to an almost 8 year old boy, she spends much of her time throwing wiffle balls onto the roof and watching them roll back down. A special education teacher by day, she is kept constantly on her toes. As of today she has completed 5% of her goal to visit every country in the world. The one thing Halfaker would love to do before she dies is be a foley artist for an indie film.

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Forged In Ice

Copyright 2017 Bridget Halfaker

Published by Bridget Halfaker at Smashwords

Cover illustration by Tiffany Tolle-Liberty

Copyright 2017 Tiffany Tolle-Liberty

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Leaving the Moor

Chapter 2: Training

Chapter 3: His Mother’s Letter

Chapter 4: Mesut’s Journey

Chapter 5: The Dark Tome

Chapter 6: Comrades in Arms

Chapter 7: Youthful Recollection

Chapter 8: Changing Identity

Chapter 9: Becoming an Elf

Chapter 10: Inside the Mountain

Chapter 11: Gemstone

Chapter 12: Lost on the Mountain

Chapter 13: Razjasniti

Chapter 14: Back in the Fray

Chapter 15: In the Mountain

Chapter 16: Forging Alone

Chapter 17: The Darkest Night

Chapter 18: The Dark King’s Chambers

Chapter 19: The Sun Rises

Reference List

About Bridget Halfaker

Other books by Bridget Halfaker

Connect with Bridget Halfaker

Chapter 1: Leaving the Moor

It was dawn though you could not tell by looking at the skies. Dark grey clouds choked out the sun above, covering the land with an oppressive mist. An old, weathered structure stood alone on the moor. Judging by the smells coming from inside you could assume this was a forge. A youth sat astride a stool at the entrance, his face veiled by the dark grey hood of his cloak. The hammer in his hand made a rhythmic clanging as he pounded a metal object in front of him. Orange and yellow sparks gleamed briefly each time the youth struck with his hammer. This was the only bit of color in an otherwise dreary land.

A man donned in a brown cloak approached the forge, a clasp made from a golden leaf at his neck. The youth did not raise his eyes from his work, even as the man spoke.

Are you Sebastian the sword smith’s apprentice?

Don’t call me Sebastian. My mother called me that. I’m known as Prentiss now. The youth did not cease his rhythmic hammering.

Sebastian had spent most of his childhood alone.  He was not want to easy conversing with strangers.  As a young boy he and his mother lived together in a small hut on the moor.  Inside the dismal abode was a single room, a solitary chair resting near a undersized fireplace, a thin mattress rolled up and placed leaning against the wall, a rickety table large enough for two small plates. A single shelf rested warily above the fireplace, tin cups containing herbs and dried flowers balanced precariously upon it. A miniature hutch, really too little to be called as such, was tucked into the corner of the room. Atop the hutch sat a bowl of salt. The top drawer held the petite plates, just two, and a couple sets of eating utensils. The bottom drawer held a few towels used for scrubbing the dishes clean.

Outside there was never a day when the clouds weren’t covering their hut. A constant mist dampened Sebastian’s skin every time he went out of doors. The grass and peat moss covering the ground seemed to be grey in the sunless light. The shrubs and heather that grew unfettered over the land were difficult to discern from one another, their colors fading into a monochromatic hue. Sebastian’s mother refused to leave the shelter of their small hut, preferring to sit by the fire day in and day out. As she sat she prepared herbs and flowers for drying, she boiled teas and concocted tinctures, she bottled her magical liquids in thick glass carafes.

She even slept beside the warm glow, waking often to keep the embers hot, never letting the flames die out. Sebastian, in stark contrast, preferred the cold loft where a single mattress lay, bare of any blankets. Near the mattress he kept a minute flask of heartsease oil, prepared by his mother, in case of illness. At night his single set of clothes were bundled into a ball and used as a pillow.

The only other human being that Sebastian saw was his Uncle, a rare visitor who never smiled and never looked directly at Sebastian. A visit from Sebastian’s Uncle meant new clothes for the growing boy, spices, dried meat and grain for the stores, and a small basket of the season’s vegetables. His Uncle would spend no more than a few minutes telling his sister of the town’s news before heading out the door, a cursory nod in Sebastian’s direction.

 Sebastian had no feelings for his Uncle. He had no feelings for the town and its people. He spent his days on the moor, collecting herbs and flowers for his mother’s teas and tinctures. He spent his nights at his mother’s knee learning to read, write, and sew. He was an intelligent lad, with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. He learned to read from short descriptions of herbs and their usages that his mother kept in a leather satchel. Before long he had memorized all of the descriptions, able to aid his mother in herbal preparation without referring to the writings. He applied this knowledge to his days on the moor, searching for plants at the peak of potency. Even with the dreary light to contend with, Sebastian was able to determine which plants were ready for collection.

The one visit from his Uncle that Sebastian looked back on with some semblance of fondness was the day his Uncle brought him a book. He had never before seen a collection of so many pages bound together. The binding was a kettle stitch done with thick black cord. The cover was of oak, with brown leather laid over the top. Written on these pages were accounts of strange and fascinating people. People who donned shining armor and wielded heavy swords. People who wore leather garb and soared above the clouds on the backs of dragons. People who placed jeweled circlets upon their brows and directed other people in how to behave. Sebastian began to live his nights in this strange world presented to him by this book. These people were exciting. These people were enticing. These people meant something to him.

On his twelfth birthday Sebastian’s Uncle came, this time bearing no clothing or food. Sebastian’s mother sat in her chair near the fire and wept. Sebastian knelt upon the hearth and placed his head on her lap. Mother, why do you weep so? His mother’s soft hand went to his snowy locks. I have something for you, she replied, her hand now reaching for the leather satchel hung on the wall. From the satchel she drew a long grey cloak, lined with an intensely dark cloth. Keep this close, wear it always. She said before burying her head in her hands. Sebastian’s Uncle approached the boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. Come, he said. Don’t make this harder for her than it already is.

Sebastian did not do as his Uncle commanded. He remained at his mother’s knee, refusing to abandon the only person he cared for. His mother continued to sob as his Uncle pulled the boy forcibly from the weeping woman’s side. Mother! the boy screamed, to no avail. His mother’s cries became louder, as she turned away from her son, pushing him away with one hand. Sebastian‘s Uncle wrestled him through the door, half dragging, half carrying the boy. Sebastian was short in stature but he was as ferocious as a shrew when incensed.

But Sebastian’s Uncle proved to be the stronger of the two.  The last Sebastian saw of his dear Mother was a wretched glimpse as the door swung shut on the life he knew; her long black curls tumbled over her fair skin, now blotched with red from the persistent sobs that wracked her body. Mother! Sebastian screamed hysterically as he was thrown unceremoniously on the back of a horse, his Uncle jumping up behind him before Sebastian had a chance to break free and return to his hut on the moor. Lashing a rope around them both to prevent foolish attempts at dismounting, Sebastian’s Uncle goaded the horse into action, the small hut becoming smaller every minute as they rode out across the dismal moor.

During the ride Sebastian ceased his shouting and fighting. He instead funneled his energy into watching the moving landscape. He was focused on memorizing each rock, each bush, each dip in the earth. His thoughts lay only in remembering the path they were taking so that he could return to his hut and his Mother. Dusk fell and the pair continued to ride. Sebastian could see in the dark as well as, if not better than, he could in the light. His intent study of the landscape continued well into the night.

Near midnight a building appeared in the distance. The great chimney atop the roof loomed over the rest of the structure. Sebastian imagined that this house must belong to a tremendous family in order to require such a massive fireplace. He assumed that this building would be accompanied by other houses; that this was in fact the town of which he cared so little about. He was therefore slightly taken aback when he realized that this building stood alone on the moor, not unlike his own home.  From his Uncle’s brief descriptions of the town and its goings on Sebastian had envisioned a world consisting of the small hut on the moor and the town that lay across the moor. He did not think that there could be other structures hiding in solitude on the heathlands.

Who lives in this building? Sebastian enquired of his Uncle.

The sword smith, came the blunt reply.

How many children does he have? Sebastian was curious to see other youths, despite his lack of interest in the townsfolk.

None.

This response confused Sebastian. Then who required the enormous fireplace that was obviously inside the building; seeing as there was an enormous chimney attached to the building.

Does he house another family? Sebastian guessed at the answer since his Uncle was not about to be forthcoming.

He lives alone.

Again Sebastian was puzzled by the answer. How could one man need so much house? As his Uncle was not in a particularly garrulous mood on the topic of the sword smith, Sebastian switched his questions to another curiosity.

Where is the town? he enquired.

That is none of your concern, came the curt answer, which stopped all future questions that might have surfaced. No need to waste my breath on him, thought Sebastian. Not when there were escape plans to be made.

Sebastian assumed, and correctly so, that their final destination was the oversized house with the too big chimney. As his Uncle guided the horse towards the hitching post, Sebastian debated when to start his solitary journey back home. He knew he could not make his escape while his Uncle stood nearby; which begged the question, was his Uncle staying at the sword smith’s house or merely abandoning Sebastian there?

The pair were greeted at the door by a pock marked man with massive forearms and a shaved head. Resting on his chest was a pendant smudged black. He looked to be about the same age as Sebastian’s Uncle, though he was much larger and more daunting than his Uncle could ever imagine to be. For the first time in this ordeal Sebastian felt frightened. He was unused to this feeling. Danger, he knew. He knew the danger of certain poisonous flowers. He knew the danger of snakes and weasels. He knew the danger of catching one’s ankle in a hole in the ground. But fear was foreign to him. He was suddenly aware that he did not know the intentions of either his Uncle or this sword smith.

I’ve brought him, Sebastian’s Uncle said unceremoniously to the sword smith.

I can see that, replied the large man. How about you come inside and get warm.

As Sebastian preferred the cold he was ready to decline the offer, but his Uncle was already pushing him inside. The interior of the house was smaller than Sebastian had thought it would be. There was a decent sized oak table in the center of the room, four oak chairs placed around it, one at each side. Three cups waited for liquid in front of three of the chairs. A large cabinet stood next to a moderate fireplace, pots and pans hung above on brass hooks. A fire played merrily along the logs in the fireplace, a small steaming pot swinging just above. A shelf on the wall contained jars labeled with names that Sebastian recognized from his mother’s herb descriptions.

Sebastian looked around the room, trying to determine why it felt so strange. Then he noticed; the table, cabinet, and shelf all had little fires burning in jars. The light from the fireplace was enhanced by these little fires, creating a brightly lit room, more brightly lit than the moor in the daylight. The sword smith gestured towards the chairs, at which Sebastian’s Uncle sat heavily into one of them. The sword smith smiled at Sebastian who sat in another of the chairs. Hot tea was poured into all three cups before the sword smith joined the pair at the table.

A long ride? enquired the sword smith. Sebastian’s Uncle grunted.

I remember making that ride. Not one I’d want to attempt with a sullen young man in tow. How did you enjoy the journey, Sebastian? the sword smith turned his smiling face towards the boy. His eyes glinted in the light of the room.

I did not enjoy it, Sir, Sebastian looked directly into the sword smith’s eyes as he spoke.

Ha ha! An honest fellow! Glad to see that! And why did you not enjoy the ride, my young friend? Sebastian scowled at the sword smith’s use of the term ‘my friend’. Sebastian did not have friends, nor did he need them.

I did not enjoy the ride because it was not my desire to leave my Mother. I would prefer to remain by her side.

Ah, that I can understand, replied the sword smith. You are a brave boy to join your Uncle. But of course a smart lad like you would also be feeling excited, would you not?

With all respect, Sir, I am not excited to be here. I do not even know why I am here. All I know is that my poor Mother is sobbing over the fire and needs my comfort.

Oh, she is well on her way back to the town by now, piped in Sebastian’s Uncle.

The town?! What is she doing in the town? Sebastian glared at his Uncle after hearing this new information.

She’s gone back to her true home, now that she doesn’t have you underfoot, Sebastian’s Uncle glared as fiercely as Sebastian.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Am I to understand that Young Sebastian did not know why he was coming here? the sword smith broke in, placing a hand on Sebastian’s Uncle to steady him.

No. I did not. Nor do I know where ‘here’ is.

Didn’t you tell the boy anything, Sneijder? Sebastian started, he had never heard his Uncle’s name before. It gave a new flavor to this man that Sebastian now despised instead of feeling indifferent towards. Uncle Sneijder merely sneered in response to the sword smith’s question.

My name is Mesut. I am a sword smith. This building is my forge where I make the swords, and my home. I knew Mirjana, your Mother, before you were born. She and I were… good friends. We were very close. But we did not see each other much after your birth. A forge was no place for a baby, and the ride out to your house was much too far for me; I couldn’t leave my work for that long.

Sebastian had never thought about his Mother’s life before living together in their hut on the moor. He puzzled over this new information for moment before saying, You were close with my Mother. Does that mean that you are my Father?

Mesut smiled wanly, replying, No. I knew your Father, though. Sebastian’s heart skipped a beat. He had never before thought about who his Father was. He had never before had occasion to care about where he came from.

Who was he?

That is a story for another day, came the kind, but dismissive, reply. So, while I couldn’t be there for your childhood, I was more than willing, honored even, when your Mother asked me to be your guide during your years growing into manhood. My forge and home are secluded enough to be safe for you, and the work that I do is challenging enough to keep you learning for many years.

What do you mean by the forge being ‘safe enough’ for me? Am I in danger? Sebastian asked, purely out of intellectual curiosity. Now that he knew that Mesut and his Mother were former friends, and that Mesut was not in on the kidnapping of that afternoon, Sebastian’s fearful feelings had dissipated.

Of course not, not more than you have been your whole life, replied Mesut with a touch of incredulity.

What danger have I been in? asked Sebastian, thinking of the dangers of the moor- poisonous berries, vicious animals, uneven terrain. All the things that Sebastian had learned to tame at an early age. He hadn’t been scared of the moor one day in his whole life.

Mesut looked askew at Uncle Sneijder. He really doesn’t know? he asked in astonishment. Uncle Sneijder shrugged and looked down at his cup of tea. Mesut put down his own cup and sat up straighter. He looked into Sebastian’s eyes and said, You are not a normal boy, Sebastian.

Sebastian did not care if he was ‘normal’ or not. He did not care what other people thought of him. But he was intrigued by the intensity behind Mesut’s statement.

What is abnormal about me? he asked.

Well, your eyes, for one.

My eyes?

Yes, haven’t you noticed what color your eyes are? Sebastian had never seen his eyes before. The only eyes he had ever seen were those of his Mother, who had black eyes that glistened with a long suffering hurt. His Uncle’s eyes were also black, though his eyes were beady and mean and hard. Sebastian had assumed that everyone’s eyes were black, but now that he was thinking about color he saw that Mesut’s eyes were green.

What color are my eyes?

Why, they are violet, Mesut said, still looking directly into Sebastian’s brightly colored eyes.

And your eyes are green. How does the color of our eyes endanger us?

I am not in danger, my eyes are a perfectly normal color of eye. But your eyes are one of a kind. There is no one else with eyes like you. Sebastian felt a bit of pride hearing that. Yet he still felt confused.

How does being one of a kind endanger me, though?

Well, there’s also your hair, Mesut was struggling to answer Sebastian’s question.

My hair is white. My Mother’s hair is black. My Uncle’s hair is black. Is white hair one of a kind as well? Mesut nodded. But that still doesn’t explain why I’m in danger.

Well, there’s also the weather. Sebastian was most confused by this response. The weather affected everyone, how did that make him one of a kind? How did that endanger him? Haven’t you noticed that the sun never shines around you?

The sun shines every day, replied Sebastian, thoroughly puzzled now.

The sun is hidden behind clouds every day, stated Mesut. It never shines when you are around.

Sebastian felt angry. The reasons being stated were confusing and now they weren’t even based in reality. The sun shines every morning. That’s how the earth gets its light. At night the sun goes down and the world is darker. What you say makes no sense! Please tell me the danger that I am in so that I can combat this nonsensical threat!

Mesut shook his head slowly and looked down at his tea cup. He seemed to be thinking of how to convey whatever message it was that he wanted to convey.

No one likes you. You are strange. You frighten people. You make the world dark with clouds. People will kill you if you dare to show your face in town. That is why you are stuck out here in this dismal mess of a moor. That is why my poor sister has had to separate herself from decent people, to isolate herself in this forsaken heathland. Uncle Sneijder’s voice boomed over the awkward silence of Mesut’s pondering. Sebastian sat, dumbfounded, staring at his Uncle. Uncle Sneijder slammed his cup down on the table and stood, his chair falling backwards in his haste to be upright.

This is where I take my leave. Mesut, he’s all yours now. I want nothing more to do with him. With that Sebastian’s Uncle stormed out through the door, leaving the other two to stare after him, speechless in his abrupt departure.

So, I am in danger of being killed by the townspeople, Sebastian said finally, turning back to Mesut and the hot tea. Well, if, as you said, I have been in this danger my entire life, then I shouldn’t start worrying about it now. I have fared well so far, and it seems I can fare well living here also. With a small lift of his cup in Mesut’s direction Sebastian took a long draught of his tea.

With the dregs of the tea leaves surfacing it was time to retire to bed.

It had been a long day for Sebastian, who didn’t know what his next move was going to be. Should he return to his hut on the moor, even though his Uncle had said that Sebastian’s Mother had travelled to the town? Should he go to the town to look for her and risk being killed? Should he stay here and see what Mesut had in store for him? It bothered Sebastian that his Mother would abandon him to this man, regardless of their former friendship. Sebastian had felt perfectly content living alone with his Mother. He did not need to be guided into manhood by anyone.

Let me show you your room, came Mesut’s voice, breaking into Sebastian’s internal monologue. He led Sebastian through a door into a second room, this one containing a low bedframe with a modest mattress on top. A bright blue cloth lay atop the mattress, tucked in at the sides. A small table stood in the corner, a bowl and jug on top, a stack of dull colored cloths underneath. A box next to the table held more cloths, these of vibrant colors and textures.

This is my room, said Mesut, leading them through this room into yet another room. Sebastian was surprised at how many rooms there were in this house. He could see why it looked bigger from the outside, with all these extra rooms stacked onto the main room. Mesut stepped aside so that Sebastian could enter his bedroom. It was smaller than Mesut’s room, which didn’t matter much to Sebastian. It was also darker than Mesut’s room, which also didn’t matter much to Sebastian. There was no bedframe, but there was a modest mattress laying on the floor. A dark green cloth lay atop this mattress, also tucked in at the sides. A copy of the small table rested in the corner of Sebastian’s room, complete with the dull cloths underneath. A box stood beside the table, though this box had no cloths in it, colorful or otherwise.

Here you are, said Mesut with a small flourish of his hand.

Thank you, replied Sebastian politely.

You can put your clothes into this box to keep them neat, and the bathing table is all set up for your morning bath. Just come out to the kitchen to get some water. Sebastian must have looked perplexed because this statement was followed by, Have you ever used a bathing table before? Sebastian shook his head.

Don’t worry about it tonight, I’ll show you in the morning. Sebastian nodded and watched as the sword smith turned to go.

Thank you again, Sir, Sebastian called after him.

Mesut, please. If we are going to be friends I’d like you to call me Mesut. Good night Sebastian.

Good night…Mesut.

When he woke the next morning Sebastian felt stiff and sore. The long ride and struggle with his Uncle had taken its toll on Sebastian. He stretched his legs out, his feet becoming entangled in the dark green cloth that had covered him during the night. Sebastian kicked fiercely at the cloth, his anger and frustration at his current situation projected upon the inanimate object. He kicked out at his Uncle for taking him away from his home. He kicked out at his Mother for allowing this to happen. He kicked out at himself for being too weak to fight back. With every kick the anger subsided a little.

The only person Sebastian