Divine Gifts of Fragment: Divine Hands.
I've been hemming and hawing for a while now as to whether or not I should do something involving the "super powers" on my world of Fragment, and in an attempt to preserve some key plot points of my comic I said "Naw, I don't want to spoil the plot." so I kept putting it aside saying I'd do something later.
Recently though, I realized that as I worked on other things like lore and world building that I still wasn't getting any closer to sharing some of the cooler things I had planned to include in my comic. Like the eight superpowers I call The Divine Gifts.
So I finally said, "Fuck it. We ball." and wrote up a little short story involving one of my main characters and one of his experiences with his Divine Gift of Hands and did a little illustration to go with it.
Ok, "little" is a bit of an understatement, but I had fun and that's what matters.
Before I drop the short story I will say I have plans for the other seven Divine Gifts (I even have the art for Divine Strength done, I'm just still working on the writing), and while I'm happy with this piece I would definitely do some things differently in future pieces so some things may or may not be cannon yet. Like the depiction of the Vielstone of the Clan Hall: before I just had it as a sort of blackish-gray to white gradient, but here it has this sort of tessellated square texture that I'm not 100% onboard with. This short also jumps ahead in my timeline quite a fair bit and introduces things I may not have completely worked out yet but for the sake of showcasing the Divine Gift of Hands I needed to just throw some things in and prop them up temporarily. Again, some of this may or may not be exactly cannon yet.
Anyway, onto the show...
________
Rik flipped a page in the ancient journal of the previous Lord of Artifacts and back again as he paced in the same workshop the now dead artificer had worked in before him. Equal parts intrigue and frustration fueling him.
There were so many ideas the old artificer had and executed flawlessly, but even more still he imagined but didn't know how to implement. And others that he had believed should never see the light of day. A sentiment Rik could agree with, in most cases at least.
Rik’s duty as the new Lord of Artifacts to the Prince of Secrets was to fulfill the needs of his prince, while at the same time tempering ambition with foresight and caution. For himself and his prince. A concept the old artificer was constantly writing about.
Could the previous Lord of Artifacts not go one page without imploring caution to himself and just finish his reasoning on the problem at hand? It was maddening trying to find the old artificer's processes on any given matter.
Rik could wager that were he to cut out every line of script that did not pertain to the act of crafting an artifact he would be left with a journal a quarter the size of the one he now held.
“Thank fuck!” Rik grumbled as he finally found the passage he needed.
“How in Solar’s name did this man get anything done with all this self chastising?” He asked himself, scanning the passage before him.
…In regards to inscribing commands onto the faces of Smite, I have found that by shearing an arc of the crystal in two, and two and two again I can obtain key sized shards onto which I can inscribe four lines of commands.
But I must pace myself. The wording of the commands must be clear and without error, for if the meaning of the command is not clear then I fear that whatever artifact in which it is installed may be abused in ways I did not anticipate.
How could I forgive myself if one of my creations harmed an innocent? What villain would I become if…
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Rik swore, slamming the journal closed, throwing it onto the nearest workbench.
Rik stood glaring at the journal out of sheer spite, half wanting to burn the thing in retaliation for wasting his time.
He took a calming breath and turned away from the thing, willing his tail to cease its angry lashing.
“L- Lord Rodrik?” A quiet, almost timid voice asked, cutting through Rik's ire.
Rik opened his eyes to find Amin, a wolf in his late twenties, standing to one side of Rik's private workspace. Although not the oldest, he was the most learned of all his apprentices,
“Hmm? Yes?” Rik said, making sure to mentally compose himself. “What is it?”
Amin shifted a little uneasily.
“Some Bluff-callers have returned from the Miners Clan.” Amin replied. “They have some of the lead and gunpowder you requested, and say more will be here tomorrow along with brass and iron billets.”
“Ah. Good.” Rik said. “We can get more rounds made then. Can you please see to it that some of the other lads get started melting it down and casting it? We should have enough casings for now.”
“A-about that sir.” Amin said, almost flinching as he spoke. “The Smite in the fireless furnace has… burned out. I got Doran to start the coal fed furnace, but it will be almost an hour before it's hot enough.”
“Of. Fucking. Course.” Rik growled, closing his eyes again and squeezing his temples. He knew that this workshop hadn't been used for almost four hundred years, but did every other thing need to fail so often?
“Fine.” Rik finally said, opening his eyes to see Amin standing nervously at attention.
“Go have one of the others help you get an arc of Smite from storage and bring it to the main workshop.” He told the young man. “I will get the old arc out of the furnace and see about etching the new one.”
“Y-yes sir!” Amin said and quickly headed out the chamber to the main workspace.
Rik took one last calming breath, grabbed the old artificer's journal, and went out to the main workspace to address its Smite-powered furnace.
Rik walked into the much larger workshop in time to see Amin get Aspen, a large bear that towered over everyone in the shop- Rik included- though he was probably the third youngest builder assigned to Rik. The two headed out to the Smite storage room just across from the workshops.
Doran, another dragon but Rik's senior by nearly ten years, was indeed at the coal-fed furnace, adjusting the coals and manning the bellows, to get it up to temperature. He had two of the younger apprentices helping him by feeding coal into the mouth of the furnace.
That left Dima, a wolverine Rik's height but far more muscular than he, and she was adjusting and cleaning the overhead shafts that powered the belts to the lathe and drill.
Rik went and placed the old journal next to the etching station, then went over to Dima, noting the diligence of her work. She might not have been as knowledgeable as Amin, but she certainly had more practical experience than him, that was for sure.
She was scraping caked grease and dust from one of the shaft bearings that was mounted overhead, and re-applying it with new, albeit still black, grease. Her muzzle and bare arms smeared with old and new grease alike.
“Dima.” Rik said, standing under her.
“Yes sir?” She responded, not looking away from what she was doing, swapping her scraper for a wrench from her leather apron to adjust the clamp holding the shaft and occasionally turning the shaft by hand to check for rogue friction.
“I'm going to need the etching station to make a new arc for the fireless.” Rik said. “Could you check that shaft next? I need to pull out the old arc, but I'm going to see if the kitchen has any hot tea, so I won't need it right away but within the hour would be most appreciated.”
“I already did that shaft sir.” Dima replied, glancing briefly at Rik before she hopped down off her stool and began wiping her hands with a rag from her belt. “This was the last bearing I needed to check too. I was going to start up the steam engine next but I can swing by the kitchen after for your tea, I need something to drink myself and I'm sure the boys do too.”
Rik nodded, that might be part of why he was so irritable. It was only getting hotter and dryer in the workshop with the coal furnace running.
“That would be much appreciated, thank you.” Rik said. “You might find some cider they just brought in, if I remember correctly.”
Dima hummed to herself, and even Rik could see her expression become wistful under the grease smeared across her gray and brown features.
“That sounds perfect.” She admitted. “And what tea do you want?”
“Please.” Rik replied. “And anything strong that isn't coffee. Honestly, I don't know how Kel can constantly drink that stuff.”
“Some folk like the taste.” Dima said with a shrug. “It does smell nice, but I could never drink it without cream and sugar, it's too bitter otherwise.”
That suggestion actually surprised Rik.
“I never tried it that way.” Rik admitted. “Why was that never an option when I was offered a cup?”
Dima shrugged again though this time with a grin cutting through the grease on her face.
“It's always been an option from what I've seen.” She said, “Maybe you should look a little closer at the tea cart at breakfast sometime. The cream and sugar tend to be there next to the kettle.”
Dima’s implication that Rik was clearly not seeing the obvious took a moment for him to register, making him smirk at his own expense.
“Very funny.” Rik said, unable to stop his own grin. “Yes, yes, I'm a spoiled little lord that's never had to make his own cup of tea before.”
Dima put her hands up in a pleading gesture. “You said it, not me.” she retorted, still grinning.
“Just go and see if there's a kettle on for me.” Rik said, shooing Dima out like an ornery child. “And you can tell the larder patrol that I asked for cider for my crew, that a keg’s worth would be much appreciated.”
Dima nodded, tucking her rag back into her belt. “Yes sir.” She said with a chuckle, and gathered up her grease and ladder, and went to fire up the steam engine before she left.
Unable to put it off any longer, Rik sighed, and dragged himself over to the fireless furnace.
The furnace was utterly remarkable in its design, one of the most intelligent uses of Smite he had seen from the old artificer. The fact that it was out of commission was no fault of its creator, it was simply the nature of Smite. It was practically impossible to determine when and how an ark of the crystal would burn out and cease to work.
Externally the furnace was made from the same material as the clan hall itself: near-black yet ever shifting Veilstone, only shapeable by those with the gift of Divine Song and thus immutable by any force natural or mortal. And while it was most likely designed by the last artificer, it was also likely one of the last things in the entire hall to be fashioned by the previous Divine Singer. A relic for crafting more relics.
While fascinating from a material view, the furnace’s true ingenuity was its application of Smite. Housed in a chamber at the furnace's base, an entire ark of Smite etched with commands, once engaged by an external lever, channeled its power through an array of copper coils arranged around the inner chamber where hung the furnace's large crucible.
The coils, each with their snaking bands that were as large as Rik’s wrist, once energized would cause a magnetic field that resulted in an inducting effect that super-heated any metal in the crucible in a fraction of the time it would take the coal fired furnace. A feat of engineering that wouldn't be discovered by the Builders’ Clan for almost two hundred years, and wouldn't be practically implemented until only a few years ago.
Rik had his grievances with the old artificer, but the furnace was not one of them.
Getting on one knee, Rik took hold of the handle of the compartment at the base of the furnace and slid it to one side, exposing the furnace's ark of Smite in its copper cradle.
The typically arcing, radiantly blue crystal sat lifeless and dark, a black cloud emanating from its center.
“Fuck.” Rik muttered at the sight of the crystal cube. With another sigh he reached into the compartment and pried the ark free from the two horizontal copper posts that held it.
Hefting the now inert ark in one hand, Rik stood and carried the Smite to the etching station where he could copy the lines of text from the dead crystal and transfer them to an active ark.
He set the dead ark on the pedestal intended for it at one end of the workbench. Here was a fuel oil lantern with a mirror fastened to it for examining the inscriptions on a dead ark, and a small writing stand with paper and graphite sticks for copying the command texts.
The paper was another clever yet simple idea that the old artificer had: the sheets were taller than they were wide, and had six meticulously penned squares with fine lines to follow when copying over commands.
After the command text was copied onto the paper, the sheet could then be clamped onto the plate of the etching station where a series of arms and joints connected to a stylus at the paper side and cutting pen on the side where the new ark would rest. By tracing the command text on the paper with the stylus the motions would be imitated by the cutting pen thus etching the text onto the Smite without the one penning directly touching the crystal. A necessary step if the person etching the ark did not have Divine Hands.
It was a process Rik had actually come to enjoy, despite the inconvenience it currently posed.
Lighting the lantern, Rik began examining the ark’s commands line by line. The commands were rudimentary, no, downright simple in a way only a master could have planned, and, noting the density of the text on the ark, Rik began to marvel at the sheer efficiency of the commands. Thorough yet simple.
Rik took paper and graphite in hand and went to copy the first line of commands but stopped as soon as the graphite touched paper. Something felt off to him, and it took him a good moment to realize what it was that was bothering him.
Rik scrutinized the ark of Smite, then the lined paper, then the Smite again. Finally he counted the lines of command text on the ark and re-counted the lines on the paper, and he had his answer. As bizarre as it was.
The lines of text on the ark were half the size of any he had seen on any of the arks in the entire workshop, making them take up half the space on the given face of an ark! The commands weren't just simpler, they were less obtuse by sheer quantity! Resolving potential conflicts and issues within the commands by virtue of exhausting all options!
Nowhere, in any notes or journals in the entirety of the workshop had Rik encountered any mention of reducing the text size to accommodate more of it! Even as frustrating and self-flagellating as the old artificer was, surely he would have mentioned such a discovery somewhere!
That led Rik to his next thought. Moving the spent ark of Smite to the etching stand and adjusting the lantern to give him better light, Rik took hold of the etching stylus and compared its cutting point to the grooves in the Smite…
They didn't match, the stylus’ point was too broad to have made the cuts in this crystal. But how was it etched then? There were three other etching stations in this part of the workshop, but Rik was almost certain that they were identical to this one. At least, they must be because they all had the same ruled paper, and if one station could achieve such fine etchings then you would expect to have papers to reflect that. So, again, where was this arc etched? The only other option was the station in the master artificer's private workshop…
Having answered his own question, Rik snatched up the dead ark and all but ran to the master etching station. Rik had never liked the idea of using this station due to the fact that its etching stylus was powered by foot peddle, not belt-driven motor power like the rest in the next room. If he had, though, he would have seen there was a difference months ago.
Rik didn't bother placing the ark on the pedestal, instead holding the dead crystal directly under the etching pen. And there it was, the pen's cutting edge matched the grooves on the ark perfectly, this is where it had been etched.
Rik stepped back from the etching station in mild shock, wondering how or why he hadn't seen or heard of the old Lord of Artifacts learning to fit twice as many commands on a single ark! And yet here it all was, a revolution in command etching with the only record of it being the ark Rik now held.
How long ago the ark had been etched was near impossible to say. Was it days, months, or even years before the old artificer had passed? Either extreme seemed ridiculous. If it was years then why were there no records of this, and why was the furnace the only artifact that appeared to have an ark etched with the smaller text? If it was days then why was the ark implemented in one of the most major pieces of equipment in the entire workshop? Surely you would want to test such a technique before using it, wouldn't you?
As intrigued and befuddled as he was, Rik had to change his plan of action. The mystery of the small command lines would need to wait until after he had the fireless running again.
Setting the dead ark down at the etching station, Rik went to the main work area to retrieve the artificers journal and hopefully catch Amin and Aspen before they brought in the new ark.
Unfortunately the latter had already happened.
Amin and Aspen had returned and were standing opposite of each other at an empty workbench that was adjacent the etching stations, and they were carefully lowering the large, clamshell sphere onto a stone shaft mounted on the bench.
They had already released the latches of the Smite container and were in the process of opening it, each man carefully lifting their side of the sphere as they opened it. A single post, fitted into the stone shaft, now cradled the glowing cube of crystal while Amin and Aspen carefully maneuvered the sphere and its attached posts within, away from the ark of Smite.
“Damnit.” Rik growled in frustration. “I'm sorry lads, but I'm going to need that ark in the master station. I've run into a complication.”
Rik went straight to the old master's journal without checking for acknowledgement from his wards, a negligence he would quickly regret.
“Do you have it?” Aspen asked.
“I'm fine.” Amin replied, his voice slightly strained. “I just-”
“Wait!” Came Aspen's cry, but too late.
Rik looked back just in time to see Amin losing his grip on his side of the sphere and, instead of catching it, the young wolf accidentally slammed it down.
Right into the Smite.
No words could have left Rik’s mouth in time, and little good they would have done if they had, and as he watched the world seemed to slow around him like tar. The old master's journal fell from Rik's hands as he reached out for Amin, but he was too late.
The internal posts of the ark’s containment sphere, inert though they were, slammed into the ark and knocked it off its pedestal. The interior of the sphere flashed with the pure, bottled yet untamed rage of the crystal, and faster than one could blink the sphere was no more.
The metal walls of the sphere tore apart at seams both clear and unseen, turning each new piece into a comet hurled out with the power of the gods.
Amin was thrown back, further away from Rik's reach, and Aspen had the pieces of the sphere he held slammed into his chest and knocked him onto his back, but Rik couldn't help the young wolf or bear without jeopardizing the rest of the people in the workshop. The Smite and its shrapnel had to be stopped.
Only a moment had passed once the sphere erupted, its pieces speeding away from the Smite with trails of lightning behind each metal shard, but before the journal he had dropped could hit the floor Rik had his hands outstretched and poised to call on the gift that gave him his role in the Clan of Secrets: Divine Hands.
Rik imagined an invisible sphere surrounding the area of the shrapnel and Smite, closing in on the explosion to capture the raging crystal and its lethal projectiles.
Several shards of metal escaped, flying off into the Veilstone walls and surrounding equipment, but the majority were stopped, frozen in the air, but not subdued. The shrapnel pressed against their prison, their motion stopped but the energy behind it was not. The shrapnel began to glow with heat as their energy sought to escape somewhere, slowly turning the metal pieces molten, the white-hot metal starting to drip down their invisible container.
The Smite, however, was far less accommodating. Blue arcs of lightning pulsed faster and faster from the crystal, itself rebelling violently at Rik's attempt to contain it, and the ark of Smite shook until it was knocking back and forth against Rik's walls, hitting the shrapnel incarcerated with it and causing the metal to dance and heat up even more until the Smite was thrashing in molten soup. Rik needed to calm the Smite or it would break free and do more damage than it already had.
Doran and the two apprentices with him had taken cover behind one of the other workbenches and Doran was peeking out, getting ready to come out from his cover and go to Amin and Aspen.
“Don't move!” Rik shouted at the man, causing Doran to duck back behind the workbench. The Smite was only becoming more aggressive in its attempt to break free, which, if it did, could kill any one of them in an instant.
Doran nodded from around the side of the workbench, carefully waiting for Rik to give him the all clear.
Unable to release the Smite until it was calm again, Rik focused on getting the crystal to stop arcing and thrashing.
Every time Rik tried to constrict his invisible grasp tighter the ark of Smite it thrashed even harder and shot out even more lightning, only calming slightly when he'd relax his grip.
It might appear that the Smite was somehow alive, but as far as Rik understood it was merely reactive. If it was acting aggressive then it was aggression it was reacting to. To calm the crystal he needed to calm his own actions.
Rik began to slowly and steadily loosen the grasp he held on the Smite and the now liquid metal that accompanied it. Not releasing it but giving it more freedom to get its energy tempered.
It was clear that Rik's plan was indeed working when he noticed the pool of molten metal in the bottom of his containing sphere began to cool, and shortly after the arcing from the Smite was reduced to faint crackles and little flashes, and its motion subsided to a gentle tumble.
Once the arcing had stopped completely Rik released the residual metal and held the ark of Smite gently, letting it slowly rotate until it moved no more.
The shallow, metal dome made from the old containment sphere clattered to the stone top of the workbench, and Rik found himself breathing again. Everything was in shambles: the cradle was gone and there was nowhere safe to set the ark of Smite.
From the corner of his eye Rik saw that Dima had returned but stopped at the workshop’s threshold, a small keg under her arm and several tankards in her free hand which she held up to bar the young kitchen boy carrying a tea tray from stepping past her.
“Containment sphere, now!” Rik commanded weakly, he felt so cold and tired all of a sudden but he couldn't let the Smite go until he knew it was safe.
Dima strode into the workshop, quickly depositing her burdens on a workbench, then ran over to the wall where several empty containment spheres were shelved. She took one of the spheres, opening it as she steadily approached Rik's position. By the time she was near the ark Rik held in suspension she had the container opened and ready to receive the ark of Smite.
Rik guided the Smite into the container held open by Dima, and once it was in place she closed the two halves together, Rik snapping the latches into place and securing them with Divine Hand.
Once the ark of Smite was safely contained again, Rik let himself stumble forward and braced himself on the workbench in front of him. He felt spent, but he still needed to see to his charges.
Aspen was on his knees, silent tears running down the young bear's face as he held his arms away from himself, the bones in his forearms clearly broken.
Doran had gone over to Aspen and was now trying to help the bear release the handles from the previous container, Aspen trying to remain silent yet the effort was clearly agony for him.
Dima had set the containment sphere on the workbench and rushed over to Rik's side, taking him by the shoulder and turning him to face her.
A sharp pain burned in Rik's side, causing him to look down and see a shard of metal piercing his flank. It was maybe two fingers wide, and who knew how long, he wasn't about to pull at it to find out. He was sure, though, that his wounds were trivial compared to Aspen’s and Amin’s…
“Amin!” Rik shouted in realization, he took the rag Dima was trying to pack around Rik's wound and held it on his side as he stumbled around the workbench to find Amin.
The young wolf lay motionless on the cold floor, a piece of shrapnel in his shoulder and a pool of blood coming from Amin's nose, his eyes half-lidded.
Rik dropped to his knees at Amin's side, nervously feeling the wolf's neck for a pulse. Rik nearly moaned in relief.
“He's- he's alive.” Rik said shakily, gods, he was practically in tears. “We-we need to get him to the infirmary." Rik reached for Amin's arm but the shard of metal in his side stopped him and made him cry out in pain.
Dima grabbed Rik under his arms and hoisted him to his feet.
“I'll carry him.” She told him, and knelt down to carefully gather Amin in her arms.
Amin lay limply in her grasp, an arm hanging like a broken twig. Rik carefully lifted Amin's arm and laid it across the wolf's chest.
Dima led the way out of the workshop, Aspen and Doran not far behind her. Rik was about to follow but stopped to get the attention of the young apprentices, Korda, a badger, and Madrofas, a wolf.
“Are either of you hurt at all?” Rik asked, looking the young men over.
Korda shook his head but it was Madrofas who spoke.
“No, Lord Rodrik.” Madrofas replied. “Master Doran got us behind the bench just in time.”
“Good, good.” Rik said, genuine relief washing over him. “I need you to shut down the furnace. Once you are done with that you can spend your time however you like. I will send for you when I need you again. Alright?”
The two young men nodded, glancing nervously at Rik's bloodied side, but went to do as they were told.
Turning around Rik found the kitchen boy, a badger no older than fifteen, still standing by the workshop entrance with his tea tray shakily in hand and a terrified look in his eyes.
Rik got the boy's attention and motioned for him to enter and set the tea tray down on the bench beside Rik.
The boy quickly obliged, but Rik stopped him before he could bolt off.
“When you get back to the kitchen.” Rik told the boy. “Tell Miri I might need her at the infirmary. Understood?”
The boy nodded and Rik dismissed him with a wave.
As the kitchen boy left, Rik took a moment to pour himself a cup of tea. It was thankfully still warm, and Rik sat there on the workbench, tea in one hand and bloody side in the other.
Once Rik had finished his tea, he set his empty cup back on the tray, then got up and headed to the infirmary.
