The Magic Blacksmith

A little over a thousand years ago a blacksmith worked on a sword. The sword was not an ordinary sword, it was a sword specially crafted for Cermait a prince of Queen Mab's court. It, being a sword to be wielded by a Sidhe [One branch of the Irish Fae - pronounced She] was a magical sword so it was made up of three strands of iron carefully plaited together and then hot welded into single flat bar of iron which was then folded and refolded until the three strands were interwoven and inseparable from one another.

The blacksmith worked on the blade all day and far into the night working fast to complete the sword before midnight and Halloween ended.

He did not have a son so he had apprenticed his daughter Sally on her 18th birthday. She had worked with him for almost a year and was progressing better than he could have hoped for. In fact he was uncommonly proud of her growing skills and desperately afraid that some brash young man would come and sweep the raven haired beauty who looked so much like his late wife off her feet and into motherhood. It even pained him to look in her eyes which were the same violet as those of her late mother whom he missed so badly.

The last process for completing the sword was the most critical. He had to summon the soul of the sword and imbue it into the sword. He was the absolute master of the process and was renowned throughout the Fae for his precision. It was a mark of the Sidhe's admiration of his mastery that Prince Cermait had commissioned him to create a new sword to mark the Prince's rise to to the highest realms of Fae society.

The blacksmith thrust the blade into the fire murmuring incantations and making arcane motions with his hands fixing the magic soul into the blade. Suddenly he stepped back, leaving the blade in the fire and clutched at his throat, gasping as he did so. He collapsed before Sally could get to him.

"Pull the blade from the fire!" he whispered.

"But Father!"

"Don't argue child! Pull it out!" he said.

Years of discipline kicked in and Sally left, him grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled the sword from the fire.

"Finish the ritual." her father whispered and she heard him gasp and then grow still.

He is dead child! Finished the job for him. Whispered a voice in her head. That is what he said you must do.

"I don't know how!" Sally said.

I will guide you. said the voice and the sword tingled in her hands.

The next hour was a blur to Sally. Words spoken, gestures made and numerous quenchings done until the the voice in her head went silent and the sword felt right in her hands.

Then she went and knelt at her father's side and wept.

"I grieve with you Mistress Sally."

Sally jumped to her feet to find herself facing a Fae lord.

"Thank you my lord! My father died before completing the ritual and so I had to complete it but I am not sure of my abilities."

"I heard it calling to me clear as a maiden's voice so I don't think you have any need to fear. May I handle it?"

"It is yours my lord. It was made only for you. Another cannot handle. It will reject any but you. My father was very careful about that."

Sally picked up the which sang softly and sadly in her hands.

"Please take it my lord." she said holding the sword pommel toward him.

He took it in his hands and it seemed to float there like a feather. He made a few passes with it and it flowed like light through the air whispering as it did so.

"Magnificent!" he said softly. "Your touch is freely evident and adds much to the swords magic. You are truly gifted."

"Thank you my lord."

"You will keep the smithy as your own?"

"I do not know my lord."

"I think. No I believe that you must. The Fae need the magic you have. Many will come to you for work of this quality."

Before he left he touched her forehead gently with his forefinger.

"You and your first born will carry you father's magic down through the aeons." he said and was gone.

And so it was that Sally kept the smithy open serving the local people's needs for pots and pans and the shoeing of horses but also creating special swords for the Fae.

One day Charles the young baker arrived holding a badly worn baking tray and he stood next to her as she repaired the tray and he looked at her raven black hair and drowned in her violet eyes.

The next Sunday after church they went for a walk in the meadow by the stream. They sat in the early spring sunlight eating his bread and talking peacefully. When Sally looked at Charles she saw his manly features, his gentle smile and strong hands and wistfully she wondered what it would be like if he kissed her. And Charles looked at her and knew that he wanted her, he needed her and that she would make a fine wife.

Charles reached out and stroked her hair and when she didn't pull away, he pulled her closer. She did not resist, in fact she welcomed his hands on her.

He kissed her mouth which opened to his probing tongue and she sucked his tongue. He stroked her shoulder, slowly pulling her blouse down, exposing her breasts and when her breasts were exposed, he leant forward and kissed her pink nipples and she moaned softly.

And when he slid his hand up between her legs he felt her heat, her softness and her wetness.

"Yes," she murmured and spread her legs for him. He slid between her legs and thrust deep into her taking her virginity and making her gasp.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes! Please don't stop now."

And he thrust rhythmically into her making her moan and writhe as her arousal peaked.

"Yes!" she said "Pump you seed in me!"

And he pumped seed into her fertile womb. Two months later the priest married them and seven months later a baby girl was born.

Sally kept the smithy going and when her daughter Sarah turned 18 Sally apprenticed her as a blacksmith and they worked together in harmony and Sarah had her mother's touch with magical blades/. Sally lived to a ripe old age and when she retired Sarah took over the smithy. And Sarah carried the magic to created beautiful magical swords in her genes. She was just as good as her mother and the Fae did not desert her.

Years passed, decades passed and finally centuries passed and the smithy remained in the hands of Sally's female descendants each carrying the magic genes. They thrived until the potato famine came to Ireland and Sally's family told the Fae that they had to close the smithy and find a home where they could live without starving.

Prince Cermait himself arrived to hear their story and asked them to wait while he worked some magic for them which he said with a gentle smile.

Soon he returned.

"I have found you a home in a foreign land with people who hate the English almost as much as the Irish hate them. My friend Dirk will come and fetch you." he said "Your days as a blacksmith are over. We, the Fae will miss your magic."

And so it was that Suzette directly descended from Sally found herself living in a small Karoo town where the people still spat when the "Engelse" were mentioned and anyone of Irish blood was welcomed as a guest and an ally.

Suzette ran a small haberdashery in the town and the stories of blacksmithing for the Fae became the stuff of fairy tales and nonsense.

Another century passed and the country changed. Sandra the direct descendant of Sally the blacksmith was now a high flying executive for a travel agency and lived in Cape Town.

It was she would recall later a Halloween party in a club at the top of one of the CBD skyscrapers that sent her back to the smithy. The view of the city from far above was amazing and coupled with an illuminated Table Mountain as a backdrop it was breathtaking.

So was the tall, hunky guy who had been eyeing her all evening.

He was dressed up as a Fae prince. Lots of armour and silvery decorations, but the thing that bothered Sandra most was that should could hear faint whisperings and a singing sound whenever he was close.

"I wish he'd make a move." she said to her friend Mel. "He could really ring my bells. All of them. Loudly."

"That he could. Leave some of him over for me."

"Come on my Fae lord. Come and claim me." Sandra whispered.

And, as if he'd heard her he came across to her and held out a hand.

"Dance with me." he said with a faint Irish accent. "I am Cermait."

"Hello Cermait. I think I would enjoy that." she said

She followed him out to the dance floor and he danced superbly. Of course he did. He whispered silly risqué jokes in her ear and managed to let her feel his large semi hard penis as he pulled her close up against him.

As the party started to wind down after two in the morning she just knew that he was going to be magic in bed. Magic anywhere she, corrected herself. So it was no surprise that when he suggested that he should take her home, she said yes immediately.

As they entered her flat he swept her off her feet, carried her to her bed and laid her down there, spreading her kegs and applying a magical tongue to her hot, wet pussy.

He edged her for what seemed like hours until she was nearly crying with frustration and then he mounted her, his huge penis stretching her out, making her gasp and moan.

He rode her slowly and enticingly for an impossibly long while until She came her legs wrapped round his waist, her fingers gouging grooves in his back. In desperation she begged, "Hard and fast! Please!"

And then he fucked her, his body pounding down on her, the sound of skin against skin and her grunts as he slammed her down onto the mattress reverberating round the room. As she came she felt him start to pump what felt like boiling cum inside her causing her to shout "Oh! Fuck!" loudly.

When she had stopped shaking he turned toward her.

"I want you to find a lost sword for me."

Her initial reaction was What the fuck is he talking about? but some how she didn't say that. Instead she said.

"You can't just lose a sword. It is tied to you. It will talk to you. Sing to you. If you have lost a sword then it isn't one of ours."

When it came out it sounded like absolute nonsense, but she knew deep inside that what she had said was true.

"You still have your sword. I can hear it singing to you." she added.

More nonsense she thought to herself.

"What the fuck have you done to me?" she asked. then she thought That is the first sensible thing I have said in the last few minutes.

He had the temerity to laugh at the question.

"You think that the stories of magical blacksmiths from you family is nonsense don't you?" he asked smiling gently.

"Yes! No! I don't fucking know!"

"Well it's not. Sally your ancestor has passed special genes down through her descendants to you. If I were to put you into a blacksmith shop now you could make anything a blacksmith could. Plus of course you could make and destroy a magical sword."

"This is all nonsense!"

"What's the name of the sword that is singing to you right now?" he asked her.

And to her shock and horror she snarled out a meaningless line of syllables. She sat and stared at him mutely.

"Now." he said patiently "Will you help me find the sword? Please."

"What did you feed me in that last drink?"

He stared hard at her.

"Nothing! You knew it all along. Now. Answer my question. The missing sword. Where is it?"

Sandra decided to try to appease the madman. Find an answer that would get him out of her bed and her flat. She was going to say Langebaan Lagoon but something interrupted her.

"North of Parteen Weir, East side. She buried it in the mud under an old anchor."

"The iron of the anchor would do it. Get dressed. Lets go."

"Go where?" she asked irritably.

"Parteen Weir. That is where you said it was."

"Parteen Weir is in Ireland. This may come as a bit of a surprise to you but we are in South Africa and we do not have plane tickets or visas."

"Get dressed. I am not parading around County Clare with a naked woman. The Guarda would not be very understanding."

"This is crazy."

"Yes. Now get dressed!" he said and somehow without being conscious of it she found herself dressing.

"Hold my hand. Close your eyes."

"Fucking trying to be romantic are we?" she snarled but she held his hand and closed her eyes anyway.

The temperature suddenly dropped and she felt a scattering of what felt like rain drops.

"Fuck! It is cold! And it is raining."

"Open your eyes!" he said laughing.

She stared around bewildered.

"Where are we?"

"Parteen Weir. Like you said."

"In Ireland?"

"The very same. Now listen. We need to find that sword. And fast."

"Why fast?"

"Look around."

Sandra looked around and saw ghostly figures.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"People who have carried a tool created with your magic. They have come to pay their respects. Smile and wave, then lets get going."

She smiled and waved as he had suggested feeling awfully silly but the ghostly figure slowly faded away.

"I don't have magic." she said

He just shrugged.

"Now. Lets go look for that lost sword." she said.

Sandra walked off through the rain without thought, Cermait behind her.

"It's there." she said, pointing with her chin at a grey, choppy strip of watery mud.

"Go fetch it."

"It's in the water, under the anchor."

"Yes. You said, but I can't touch iron."

"And the sword isn't iron?"

"Magical steel. Now go get the sword."

And Sandra found herself impelled by something irresistible into icy water. She reached under the anchor and pulled out a magical sword. Just like bloody Arthur. Only he wasn't wet and covered in mud like I am now.

She glared at Cermait.

"It is fucking cold and I am now wet and muddy."

She stumbled out of the water and waved the sword in his general direction. The sword hummed and buzzed in her hand.

"No. Of course I am not going to stick him with it silly. I am going to give it him."

"You aren't going to give it to him. I am going to take it from you." a scrawny woman rushed at her waving a large, rusty sword.

The sword came crashing down towards Sandra but the magical singing sword parried the blow easily.

"Stop it!" Sandra shouted "Someone is going to get hurt."

The woman ignored the warning and dashed forward again, Sandra somehow sidestepped and the magical sword slapped the woman on the backside propelling her into the water.

The woman dropped the sword on the bank of the river so Sandra picked it up and tossed it deep into the river. She turned to Cermait.

"What the fuck was all that about?"

"She is the witch who killed the owner of the sword."

"And you let her get away with such a killing?"

"Yes." he said calmly as if murder was a common occurrence.

She stared at him as the woman walked passed her spitting and swearing in Gaelic.

"Oh, fuck off you bitch." she responded.

Cermait hid a smile.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Now you destroy that sword."

Sandra was about to disagree when the sword trembled in her hand.

"You want to be destroyed?" she asked the sword feeling foolish and protective all at the same time. Somehow the sword said yes.

She looked at Cermait.

"Blacksmith?"

He just nodded and she found herself standing inside a smithy.

"Warn me before you do that again please."

All she got was a wicked smile.

"Madam Sandra, descendant of Mother Sally. It is an honour to have you here."

"Thank you sir. And you are?"

He smiled at this.

"Tom Madam Sandra. Like Mother Sally's husband."

He gestured to an open door.

"Fire is ready for you Madam."

Without any thought she strode through to the workshop where a fan was blowing into a pile of smouldering charcoal turning it to yellow heat.

Sandra touched the sword to her forehead.

"You sure?" she asked the sword.

It hummed agreement.

She thrust the sword into the heat and murmured words she had never learnt nor ever said before. The sword heated up for a while, flared and then disintegrated with a bright flash of yellow light.

She turned to the blacksmith.

"Thank you sir!" she said.

"An honour to have been of assistance Madam." he said bowing.

Suddenly the temperature dropped and she found herself standing wet and muddy in her own bedroom.

Cermait sat in a chair watching her.

"How did you do that?" she asked.

"I didn't do anything except waken the magic you got from Mother Sally."

"You know that is not what I meant."

"Yes. And you are rude. I am after all a prince of the Fae. The accepted mode of address is My Lord." he said grinning like a school boy.

"I need a shower. Want to join me? My Lord!" she asked hoping for a reprise of their earlier romp. Cermait led her to the shower.

"After you Madam!" he said and they spent most of Sunday in bed.

A day later Sandra walked into her office and looked around dismayed by the feeling of trappedness.

Hell under neon lights. she thought to herself.

"Monday morning blues?" Mel asked.

"Yes. I had a magical weekend and to come back to this."

"He rang your bells did he?" Mel hoping for a blow by blow description.

"Yes. Far too efficiently I fear."

Ten minutes later Sandra walked out of the office with Mel's voice echoing in her ears.

"You resigned? What are you going to do?"

"Blacksmithing for fairies!" she said and meant it.