The Magic Healing Sword

Once there was a poor blacksmith who was approached by an old woman with a broken sword.

“Mend the blade of this sword, blacksmith”, said the old woman, “And when I return to collect it, I will reward you with ten pieces of gold”.

Then the old woman, sweeping a dark cloak around her, disappeared and the blacksmith, eager to be paid his ten pieces of gold, set to work on the sword.

At first, however, the blacksmith could do nothing to mend the broken blade. It was made of a peculiar green metal and everything that he tried upon it failed.

No matter how hot he built the flames of his furnace, the blade would not heat up.

But then, as he was carrying the blade, he accidentally cut his thumb upon the edge and when his drops of blood fell upon the metal they glowed like hot iron and the two broken pieces of the blade, like two pieces of broken bone set in place, healed together

When the sword had mended itself, however, its golden hilt which was shaped like the head of a lion, spoke to him.

“Do not hand me over to that old woman”, it said, “Because she is a powerful witch and very evil and she will only use me to do great harm to others. That is why I was broken so that my power could never be used for evil”.

Now the blacksmith, because he was a good hearted person, did not want to do any harm to anyone but he was afraid of the witch.

“If she truly is a witch and as powerful and evil as you say then what would she do to me if I refused to hand you over?”, asked the man.

However the sword assured the blacksmith that it could protect him against the witch’s wrath.

“Take me away from here, as far away as you can so that I can be as far away from that witch as possible but do not worry if she pursues you for I will protect you”.

Now the blacksmith saddled up his grey mare and rode off carrying the sword and he rode for miles and miles, through villages and towns.

When the witch returned to collect her sword however and found the blacksmith gone she was so outraged that with only a single blow from the shaft of her magic broom she broke the blacksmiths anvil in two and vowed to grind up the blacksmiths bones as a grinding stone grinds up husks of grain.

Then, taking off her hat and balancing it easily upon its pointed tip, she summoned a flock of hunchbacked ravens out of it and ordered them to search every corner of the land and, flying off as fast as feathered lightning, two of the crows searched all the highest hills and mountains; two crows searched all the lakes and rivers, even diving down to the bottom of each lake; two crows searched behind every tree in every forest and wood and two crows searched all the valleys and fields, questioning the sheep and cows in every grazing flock as to whether they had seen the blacksmith pass by.

And then, after long hours of searching, the two crows who had searched all the lakes and rivers found the blacksmith trying to cross a lake and one of them shed a black feather upon the ground which, when it touched the ground with its tip, became the witch.

 “Thief”, said the witch, pointing one of her fingers, accusingly at the blacksmith, “You shall pay for stealing my sword with your life”.

Now the man, because he was afraid of what the Witch might do, rode to the edge of the lake hoping to cross it.

But the bridge that crossed over the lake was broken in the middle and the lake, too deep to wade through.

“Don’t worry”, said the sword, “Ride across the bridge and, when you come to the part which is broken, touch the bridge with my blade”.

And so the blacksmith did as the sword told him and, when he touched the bridge with the blade of the sword, the broken part in the middle of the bridge mended itself and the man rode easily over it.

But on the other side of the bridge was a large castle with broken gates.

“Go and hide in there”, said the sword.

“There”, replied the blacksmith, “But that castle is a ruin, the doors are broken. It could not keep the rain out, never mind a witch”.

“Don’t worry”, said the sword, “When you have entered, touch  the gates with my blade and the castle will repair itself”.

And so the blacksmith entered the old ruined castle and, doing as the sword had instructed, he touched the blade against the broken castle doors and, to his astonishment, the stones of the ruined castle heaved themselves up into the air placing themselves one on top of the other, rebuilding its walls and then shattered pieces of wood and iron flew together ; the huge castle doors repairing themselves and even barring themselves as well so that the witch could not enter.

But then the witch, summoning a sea lion from the lake, turned it into a stallion and galloped across the bridge and up to the castle.

“A hundred thousand castle doors and a hundred thousand walls could not keep me out”, said the Witch, bellowing like the roar of fire and then, first her toes turned to smoke, then her feet, then her legs and then the whole of her body and then, in the shape of smoke, she crept through an inch wide crack beneath the castle doors, reforming herself into a witch on the other side.

Now the blacksmith, seeing the Witch’s power, started to tremble until the blade of the magic sword rattled in his hand but the sword assured him,

“Stand firm. Be not afraid. My power will protect you”.

Then the sword told the blacksmith to go about and touch its blade to the bones of all the dead men who lay inside the castle and each time he did this, the bones leapt up and flesh grew back upon them and tattered clothes stitched themselves together, dead men turning back into the living soldiers that had once defended the castle and, their broken bows mending and restringing themselves, the once dead men fired a hail of arrows against the witch.

The first of their arrows knocked off the witches hat; the second parted her hair and the third pierced her long nose but, the fourth, she caught within her hand, making it burn like kindling and crumble to ash and then all the other arrows of the archers turned around in the air and flew back in the other direction, each one striking the heart of the man who had shot it dead in the centre and killing him.

“Paper walls and pin pricks”, said the witch to the blacksmith, cackling, “All these childish, futile efforts will not save you. Nothing can save you from me”.

Then, plucking a long, steel grey hair from her chin, the witch turned it into a broadsword and, holding the sword she leapt, with a loud shriek, through the air, landing again in front of the blacksmith.

There was nothing left now for the blacksmith to do but fight but the healing sword said to him,

“Do not be afraid, blacksmith. For whoever holds my hilt in their hand, their wounds shall heal so fast that they cannot die”.

And what the sword said was true, for, though the witch was a far better swordsman than the man and cut him and stabbed him a hundred times with the blade, each time, his wounds healed themselves up before a single drop of blood could fall from them and then, the witch growing tired of a battle she could not win, she let her guard down and the blacksmith plunged the blade of the healing sword deep into her heart and soul.

Rather than killing her however, the blade of the healing sword mended the broken heart and straightened the twisted soul that made the witch evil and, though the evil in her screamed as its grip was loosened over the good, she could not resist the blades healing powers.

Sobbing with grief, the witch, now transformed into a good person, fell to her knees.

“What have I done with my life?”, she said, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the puddle of her own tears and turning away in disgust, “A monster has lived inside of me”.

Hearing this now, the blacksmith felt sorry for the witch and put down the healing sword.

But he and the witch, whose robes of black she replaced with robes of white to match the changed colour of her heart, would go on to do great good with the sword; healing the sick; the disfigured and the injured with kindness and love and it is this kindness, more than any act of courage or power, that would make the legend of the blacksmith and the healing sword live forever.