4.2

Time: 9AM, some godforsaken year before modern comforts

Location: Tiny settlement, nameless. Vlatava.

Morning began with someone kicking me awake, gently.

A matronly looking woman ordered me to make myself decent, throwing heavy rags at me. No fussing over my state, it was obvious to everyone I had been robbed. I wasn't seriously injured, so they made me pull my weight.

Which meant hauling water into the kitchen from the river, some five kilometres away. With a pair of buckets and a yoke, barefoot on muddy ground. Ugh, back breaking work. The peasants laughed at my situation, since it was their day to day lifestyle. Sorry for being soft, mental powers don't ordinarily lead to physical prowess.

But I'm increasingly aware that it may be necessary.

The dogs, hounds and sheepdogs mainly follow me into the village giving me a sniff as a stranger. One growls, but a good kick shuts it up. Not mine, but rather one of the older villagers.

"That dog has always been trouble. Mind yourself around it." He explained, before walking away.

I would like to talk to this mysterious guy, but I've got water to deliver.

I pass large gardens, in front of my new benefactor's is a herb garden with a scarecrow, that is a failure, since a pair are sitting on the stick arms staring at me.

"Shoo!" I shout, which only makes them fly back a few metres onto a roof. Damn birds.

"Forget the crows! I need that water for the gruel!" The woman called out from inside the house.

I deliver my burden, to her disappointed 'tsks'. Apparently I spilled a lot. What do you expect? I'm not a labourer.

She dresses me down and tells me if I want to eat again I have to make myself useful. Before shoving a bowl of cold stew into my hands. I eat it like it is the finest of foods, I am so hungry. In truth it is bland and greasy, it really needs salt. No implements, just fingers.

Over the empty bowl I turn to thinking about what I can do to work.

She tells me to find someone to help as she confiscates the bowl. That there is no end of people in need of idle hands. I roll my eyes, but follow through… tramping around the village for someone or something interesting. My sense for metal and magnetism leading me to a black smith. The small man seems to be fixing a scythe blade.

Using a grind stone to hone the curved blade edge to razor sharpness.

He looks up and grunts out at me. "You there, boy! Come work the bellows. Or do ye plan to slack off all day?"

Not really having an option, I acquiesced. If I snub them, I have a suspicion I'll be run out of town. I have to think long term here.

So I work the bellows, which was made from an entire hide of a sheep tanned into leather. I didn't do it to the blacksmith's taste, because he turned my way in disgust and showed me the timing he required.

"Better." He agreed as I pushed to maintain that pace.

As I pushed, up down, up down he took a second scythe blade from the coals red-white and glowing and pounded into shape. It seems it broke and this was a reforging. As I panted and pushed and pulled, he made the tool into something serviceable.

Finally, as he moved to sharpen the tool he told me I could stop. I collapsed, arms numb.

"Yer terrible at this lad." The blacksmith commented. "But 'tis a craft not something a man can know from birth. I dare say in a few months I'll have ye whipped into shape."

Joy (sarcasm). Months in this hovel.

"For now, rest. Ye have earned yer keep for the day. Now, be along with ye. Youth needs to play and gambol like a lamb. See ye in the morrow." He said, which was a mercy. I collapsed on a grassy slope outside and lay there for what seemed hours. Time is hard to judge without watches. At least I'm benefiting from my age.

The matronly woman, who names herself Gertrude tells me I have done well and that the town is in need of tools for the coming harvest. It seems I have been designated as the Smith's unofficial apprentice.

Some time passes.

Days seem to blur together here.

A week passes and I have become somewhat accepted in town. Only the enigmatic older man is a mystery. He is the town's head man. He spends his time overseeing the crops and finances of the town, for the coming harvest and tax.

I have helped forge broken tools, even been taught how to make nails. The only point of interest is when I find the smith working with inferior iron. As he struggles to harden and shape it into an axe head, I can tell what is wrong. The balance of iron and carbon is wrong. Instead of steel it's pig iron.

He notices the look on my face and calls me out.

"What is that sour look for, lad?" He asked.

"The metal alloy is... all wrong." I hesitate to point out.

"Oh? Please tell me, what would ye do to fix this?" He questioned.

Thinking back to modern alloys of steel, I look at his scraps. Hmm. Some of this nickel should help… oh and this has traces of manganese!

Soon I have melted down the lump of pig iron and with some effort blended the ingredients as perfectly as I can with a hammer. The bluish steel that emerges from the forging process is a good match for modern stainless steel.

The smith nods in satisfaction at the finished product. "Seems, ye have some skill in the art." He examined the finished work closely and seemed appreciative. "Yes, I think we can move on to the next stage of your training. In light of this, I acknowledge you as my formal apprentice."

Following this, the village had accepted me and even embraced my presence. In my down time I tried to regain or with will force through the error in my powers.

I found one thing, my powers weren't gone. Simply rendered null. Briefly in a burst of outrage I managed to move a nail an inch. Before bleeding from the eyes and nose and passing out. Scared Gertrude when she found me in my newly earned straw bed late in the morning.

She spent all day fussing over me.

After this, I finally rated a visit from the head man.

He came to visit me, as I was 'forbidden to leave my bed' by Gertrude for the rest of the day.

"Hmm. You have made something of yourself of late, young man. This illness of yours is troubling. I have high hopes for you, don't die." The Head Man grumbled, before wandering away back to work.

The few following days, I slowly came to gain access to my powers. To a lesser degree than in prison because I had to really push myself to even have enough to move kilo. But I was back!

In a good mood, I attacked my new work forging simple items for the villagers with enthusiasm. With the ability to manipulate the metal at an atomic scale I was finally creating perfectly balanced alloys and removing the slag. To the adoration of the Smith.

The Smith treated me with genuine affection, I even felt some of it in return… it is just hard for me, with my father as my defining role model I am quite messed up. I finally understand that I have developed in a very different way from my original life. It seems nurture over nature is a very real thing.

I have begun to feel at home here, working myself to exhaustion and then falling into the grass to watch clouds. How peculiar.

Some weeks later, I can feel the difference in muscle tone and fitness. My powers even come easier.

I come to a decision, asking permission I borrow the forge and begin to shape weapons for myself. A solid hunting knife along with a warhammer and pick combination weapon. Since light leather armour is a common thing among bandits.

The Smith watches like a hawk as I make my gear. I repay him with work.

However now he looks at me differently. Wistful.

He knows, I'm leaving soon. To secure my escape. To find Zeus and demand answers. Or simply to make my new place in the world, forge it with my two hands.

Soon, I will either be free or break the world over my knee until it is as I like it.