Flames burst out above the rust dust as soon as I sunk the mace head in. The dancing blue flames, flickered with an ethereal grace, casting pale light on the faces of my classmates. The constant buzzing of gossip vanished.

  Students who had been leaning against the walls straightened up, their breath hitching as they watched the ghostly blue fire. For a heartbeat, the only sound in the courtyard was the low hum of the cooling furnace.

  “Why’s the fire blue?”

  “Is this how the rust burns?”

  I ignored them, sweat trickling down my forehead, shining like glass marbles under the light of the flames. I needed to control the vibrations to obtain carbon diffusion. I needed as much of it to escape the metal, creating a structure that was less brittle, and to rip the oxygen from the rust, creating a secondary coating.

  While I guided the annealing process, Magnar was swarmed in a chatter storm. By the time thirty minutes had passed everyone had questions about the various tools laying around.

  “What’s this used for?” A boy pointed at one of the stone wheels.

  “To polish, it’s rather fast.” Magnar answered, his voice a gravelly, half-conscious mutter. His head bobbed, his eyelids drooping under the weight of a night without sleep.

  Immediately after a chatter storm ensued.

  “But in class we use flat stone blocks!”

  “Are wheels better?”

  “How much faster is it?”

  “Silence!” Professor Varen barked, putting an end to the avalanche of voices that threatened to swallow Magnar’s sanity whole.

  Peace returned to the courtyard. One by one everyone asked questions from Professor Varen and Magnar. Some still wore frowns after receiving their answer. A silent tension settled over the courtyard, as the air grew heavy. No one dared to oppose the professor’s command, instead they found other things to quietly whisper about.

  I hauled the mace head out of the rust dust. The orange glow was gone, a dull, matte grey that swallowed sunlight replaced it. It felt more compact compared to two hours ago. A five-layer composite shell of pure iron, carbon-steel and hard cast iron.

  I gave it a preliminary polish, an action needed to do the rest of the steps perfectly. My file bit the iron with a scream on each move of my hand. I could feel the strength of the metal as I adjusted the rims of the holes in the mace head, to obtain a perfect forge weld.

  As I moved on to work on the handle, the gate of the courtyard opened again. Professor Hartmut, the professor handling the artifact theory class, entered the courtyard. He frowned taking in all the builds around, but didn’t stop his steps.

  “When you said you wanted the students for a live demonstration, I wasn’t expecting… this.” His eyes scanned the industrial layout. “I see that big mouth has some capital to back his claims!” He spoke to Varen as soon as he got closer to him.

  “Entirely unexpected.” Varen agreed with a nod of his head. “And he is working on a mace, but I can’t say I ever heard of most of what he’s doing.”

  “Perfect!” His eyes flickered predatorily to my hands. “Then I’ll get to see an artifact he’s made firsthand!” Professor Hartmut rubbed his hands expectantly. “You really got me curious with your description of that dagger, Varen!”

  With the mace head finished, I used tongs to pull out one of the ingots from its cast. I carried it over to the forge. Magnar came over, his steps heavy, and started pumping air. The forge roared with bright flames like the maw of a dragon.

  I placed the ingot in the fire and waited until it glowed with an orange halo. I took it out and hammered it, to beat out the carbon. I threw on more ground sandstone, hammered with loud clangs, my heels rising before each strike and falling down with the hammer.

  As the ingot slowly turned longer, becoming a billet, I folded it. The cycle continued. Heating until the ingot shined with glare then beating it. Each strike sent a spray of incandescent slag across the floor, as if the metal was crying stars from pain. From time to time I added more rust dust, making the ingot glow with blue, ethereal flames.

  Countless beats later, after folding the metal twenty-five times, I had an ingot of steel. Once again, the cycle began, only this time the purpose was to flatten the piece. Orange turned to red and red started to lose its radiance, then another heating.

  Finally, I had obtained a sheet of steel, wide enough to roll into a handle. I adjusted it to the diameter of the mace head, then threw it back in the forge. This time I let Magnar rest. I pumped air with great vigor, reinforcing myself with aether.

  Each pump was accompanied by the whistling of the bellows, sucking and pushing air in the forge. As the iron started to gain a tint of white glow, I yanked it out of the flames. I used a bought billet and started hammering the seams. By the end I had a strong, forge welded outer shell for the handle.

  As the handle cooled for a bit, I started cutting the billet I used in small pieces. Each one was an eighth of my small finger’s nail, tiny but ready to serve a massive purpose. I took all the pieces and added them inside the mace head. They rattled with dry, sharp, metallic pings, filling the cavity with shifting weight.

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  These small pieces would turn the mace into a dead-blow weapon, ensuring every ounce of force put in the hit would sink into the target, and not recoil in the arm of the wielder. The balance of the mace might get a bit weird to someone unused, but it won’t be much discomfort

  I took the handle and made eight tiny holes in it; they would serve as air ways. Additionally, I cut the top of the handle cover in four parts. Two I bent outwards. I fixed the handle in the mace head and put the two over the forge.

  Flames rose, licking the steel and leaving behind their heat. The mace was hissing, like a snake fallen in fire. I kept spinning it, doing my best to maintain the small pieces inside the mace solid and separated. As soon as the metal borrowed the color of the flames, softened by their intense caress, I started hammering it.

  By the end I had a forge welded mace head with the steel handle cover. After another good session of blasting the bellows, the mace was back up to high temperature. I plunged the glowing assembly into the barrel of rancid oil. A thick, foul-smelling plume of steam erupted instantly, curling through the courtyard.

  The students scrambled back, coughing and shielding their faces from the stench of scorched fat. I laughed through the entire scene. as soon as the mace cooled enough, I hammered a wooden handle inside the handle cover, taking my time to make sure that it was a tight fit. I grabbed the end tail bone, a T like piece of bone with three spikes.

  I inserted it at the top as a lid and forced the two free quarters of the upper part of the handle cover and hammered it tight around the fragment.

  Then I took three of the thicker tail bones, ground the inner channel and two holes on the sides. I collected all the resulting dust and mixed with resin, then boiled the mix. I took the mace and drilled holes three holes through it.

  When the resin was almost done, I inserted the three tail bone segments and held the mace upside down, so the sharp, pointy tailbone would be simmered too. At the end I fitted everything together with pins. The last addition was a pommel.

  A pommel made of cast iron along with the mace head, that had a relatively long, nail like pin below it. I hammered it in, using the nail to fix it in the wood and make the wood grip better the metal. Each beat pushed the wood aside, making the handle groan. At the end, when the pommel’s lid settled over with a creak, the metal cover gripped on it under the pressure of the wood.

  The abrasive wheel bit into the rough forge welds, grinding away the scale and grit. Slowly, the chaotic 'bumpiness' of the construction vanished, revealing the heavy, predatory silhouette of the mace. Six sharp spikes now jutted from the head, shining sharply.

  The handle had a more refined silhouette now, its edges sinking in where the vertebrae bordered each other. It was tailored for a bigger hand, offering a sticky, persistent grip that would not allow slips.

  The surface was still not mirror-like, but it was enough for now. I handed the mace to the two professors to evaluate it, certain that they had never seen, or handled anything like it before. Varen took it and swung it twice, frowning and scrutinizing the mace head.

  “This feels… The center of gravity shifts. It moves behind the swing, but it’s harder to stop if a hit misses.” The students regained their liveliness too seeing the finished product. Chatter erupted again, a background buzz that blanketed the surroundings

  “Give that to me!” Hartmut snatched from him and poured aether in the handle. A dull, gray-brown thin layer of stone condensed over his fingers with low rustling cracks, dust rushing to layer over his hand from the ground and the atmosphere. His hand dropped dragged down as the mace plummeted.

  The mace hit the floor sinking in as one of its spikes pierced the cinder stone.

  “Bahh, my hand…” Hartmut cried out in pain. As he stopped pouring aether the thin stone layer cracked and fell on the ground, turning to dust, freeing his hand from the grip. He fell to the ground as soon as the tension vanished and held his wrist to his chest, looking fearfully at the mace.

  I face- palmed while the chatter died. How did this guy become a teacher if he just rushed to check without precautions to check an artifact? He taught us the safety protocol… I guess you have to do as the father says, not as the father does…

  “Are you alright?” I asked tentatively. The accident did happen in my courtyard, but I didn’t want the blame.

  Varen froze looking at the mace with big eyes. “It didn’t bounce.”

  “Varen, you cretin, I need help with my hand!” Cried out Hartmut with teary eyes.

  “You’re the cretin! Do you understand what that weapon just did?” Varen shouted at Hartmut annoyed by his whining. “Besides, why did you just pour aether in without asking what attribute the weapon had?” He shot back the question sitting on my tongue too.

  Once again, the voices of the students grew louder. This time not just whispers and talk, but almost shouts as everyone tried to make themself heard over the voices of the others.

  “Is professor Hartmut fine?”

  “I think he isn’t gravely injured…”

  “Damn Cato, couldn’t he have made something to prevent him from coming next week?”

  “What is so special about that mace?”

  “Did you hear that about bouncing? What does it matter if it bounces or not?”

  Questions and answers, concern and frustration, a bunch of emotion and need for information twirled in the loud disaster of voices they were making. Professor Varen stomped once, creating a loud boom.

  “Silence!” He roared. Then he commented in a quiet tone as the voices quieted down. “I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts for a moment…”

  Professor Varen picked up the mace. He reinforced his body, thin aetheric smoke twirling around his figure. He poured aether in the mace, the same stony sheath forming over his fingers.

  “Cato, do you have any sort of target I could hit with this?”

  “Nope… And I don’t think I’d allow you to use it with that if I had one either way… I wouldn’t want my things smashed to pieces…”

  Varen blinked, taken aback. Then he laughed, a low, rhythmic laugh. “I guess you wouldn’t. Well, if it’s as I think, this is a terrifying weapon that will break anyone’s bones. And bend or shatter swords.”

  “Indeed, it should…”

  “I admit I wasn’t expecting to see this sort of intricate process unfold today.”

  Professor Hartmut rose to his feet rubbing his wrist painfully. “And I wasn’t expecting to see a fully functional artifact be made in the course of a day.” He said with a slightly sour voice.

  “It took more than a day… Without preparations I wouldn’t have finished today…” I scratched the back of my head.

  “You pass my class, I don’t even know most of the techniques you used in making this, so I don’t think I have anything I could realistically teach you…” Varen continued.

  “And my class is useless too if you can already make your own artifacts… So don’t bother coming to my class either, unless it’s to show me another artifact…” He rubbed his wrist again. “Just tell me what it does before you hand it over. You can see how it ends otherwise…”

  “Class over, let’s go!” Varen shouted and started directing the students out of my courtyard. I had to let a few of them hold the mace, and swing it a little, their insistence to try it being too much for me. Luckily, they all learned from professors Hartmut’s mistakes, so no more injuries happened.

  I was left alone in the courtyard, holding onto the mace. There was one more thing I had to do before Hargrave came over, and I had to be fast about it. Time to find out what the wave of the aether to lightning conversion looked like!

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  ?? Author's Question:

  How would you use the mace?