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Sparks flew like a meteor shower in a clear night sky as Carta's hammer fell upon the white hot star-iron that lay held in place with a pair of tongs upon the anvil that would have made Jupiter seem like a snooker ball. The blind goddess of the Forge hammered away at the glowing piece of metal with a resounding clang that echoed throughout the Forge louder than an erupting volcano, forcing it into shape and sending sweat running down the goddess's bronze coloured skin. Behind Carta, the shadow of her hammer briefly covering them as she worked, lay a rather extensive array of tools and equipment that, for just one, any self-respecting smith would sell his soul and everything else he owned for, the light of the furnace casting their own shadows on the plain stone wall behind them. There was a large basin deep enough to contain all the world's supply of water and still look empty just nearby and to its left was a doorway. In this doorway a tall, beautiful yet still powerful looking being stood, resting against the wood of the door casually as he watched his sister work in the forges, wondering how despite being blind she was still able to work such wonders with metal.

"Because I am the Mistress of Craftsmen," Carta said, pausing just once to take a drink from a golden amphora before resuming. The god, whose name was Chronos, frowned ever so slightly. He forgot to shield his thoughts from his family again; it was always a pain when they accidentally picked up stray thoughts and feelings, especially if it was best that they were not made public.

Resuming its steady beat, the hammer once again descended heavily upon the celestial metal and Chronos fought the urge to peek into the future and find out how long it would take before Carta would be finished with the item he asked for. It would really spoil the surprise and he felt he should learn how to remain patient with his godly powers.

Ever since the Twelve began to become recognised by the Andari as major deities things have begun to get rather slow as more and more was expected of them and being a god began to seem more and more like work. Beforehand, when Chronos was little more than a minor deity responsible for the maintenance of Time, he was pretty much free to do what he liked provided he ensured that time kept passing as it should. He was planning to mess around with some mortal's head and make him think Andari were actually descended from horses, just for a laugh. But he was getting more prayers than he used to and the Twelve were expected to keep in close contact with the other larger gods and entities, not to mention that now whenever there were major developments with mad wizards, demons and rogue gods he was expected to help out in someway. Whilst Gods couldn't die exactly, that didn't mean they couldn't feel pain and Chronos knew already he didn't like it that much.

Right now, however, he felt it was probably necessary for him to send some sort of sign to his current faithful of his presence, and so went to his sister to have one forged. Chronos could easily have made this relic himself, however it would never be as good as a relic forged by the Lady of Smiths herself. And here he was now.

"Is it nearly ready yet, most beloved of sisters?" he asked, sighing. He was still relatively new with his latest powers in Time, so simply jumping into the future was still beyond his grasp. He wasn't used to actually being able to manipulate the thing, before all he was expected to do was to make sure it kept running, but now his new worshippers have suddenly got it into their heads that he could do what he liked with Time as well. So he woke up one morning and realised that it was for some strange reason the morning before, for he had travelled backwards into the past by accident in his sleep.

Chronos suppressed a moan of longing. That was another new gimmick; he no longer slept, which was something he was not grateful for.

"Almost. Wait a while longer, Chronos," replied the maker of makers, bringing her hammer down with a loud clang.

Chronos sighed and moved into the room, paying no heed to heat of the forge, which was fuelled with over forty burning suns. A vast collection of weaponry, armour, ornaments and tools were scattered around the place with the swords and spears glinting softly in the flickering light of the suns like icicles and the statuettes looking as though if Chronos looked at them they would begin to move with life. The weapons, like most of the weapons Carta makes, were pristine and beautiful and they would never break, never dull and many have magical properties. This would have been remarkable were it not for the fact that mortals have found ways to do this as well using magic, so it sort of dulled the wonder about these particular blades. Suddenly a great whoosh filled the room and a large cloud of steam soon followed, making the Time God turn around to see whether this meant the present was finished.

"Is it done?" he asked, failing to hide the excitement in his voice.

"Yes, brother, it is done."

Chronos ignored the fact that Carta had somehow managed to make an entire sword with a single strip of star-iron and a few beats with her hammer. She was a goddess, logic was for mortals.

"Capital! Now I can enchant this thing, give it to my faithful and then be done with this."

"I hope you know what you are doing, brother," said Carta, moving her hand slowly over the handle, where gemstones suddenly sprang up like mushrooms.

"Of course, what could go wrong? They're only mortals after all," Chronos said, moving over and taking the finished sword in his hands.

The god looked at it with admiration and Carta cleaned up her workplace with a glow of pride shining on her face.

"Are you going to name it?" the sister said placing her hammer back on the rack.

"Name a sword? Why ever should I do that?"

The divine smith shrugged her shoulders casually. "I don't know; it is often the done thing with weapons such as these. In any case, if you don't name it then the mortals will and you know the kind of names they come up with."

"True. All right…how about the Sword of Ages?"

Carta rolled her eyes, more for effect than anything else; it seems the mortals weren't the only ones with a terrible mind for names. "If that's the best you can think of, brother. Now if it would please you I would like a chance to prepare some more weapons and armour. They're all the rage with deceased warriors this century."

"As you wish and I thank you deeply sister. If you ever need aid, just give me a call."

"Just look after that Sword. If you loose it I'll crack your head open with my hammer, just like our cousin did with uncle. And it won't be daughters coming out of your head if I can help it."

Stars gleamed in the night sky, the Twelve's Mother's pearls glinting in the ebony black mass accompanied by the Mother Herself casting her milky white light upon Olorin as Chronos prepared to present his faithful with the Sword and watch with glee as they prostrate themselves before him. Gods like prostration in the same way dogs love seeing a large beef steak left unattended on the floor. The God of Time felt the drop off went rather well; he stuck with the traditional shower of golden light onto the altar in one of his major Churches and left the sword, glistening like a newborn babe, right in front of an awestruck congregation that had gathered for the weekly Evensong. They immediately started to fall on their knees and gave praise to the Master of the Then, the Now and the Will Be, which made the god grin like an idiot for years. Suddenly being the major god of time wasn't so bad anymore; he was positive the Sword will be of good use for his faithful for years to come. If not that, then at least it'll look nice on the temple altar.

***

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