Being pretty puny and insignificant, Braxus didn’t have a chapel. What it did have was a little shrine carved into an alcove on the Southern side of the smithy. That way it would be bathed in light whenever the sky wasn’t its usual hues of gruel and overboiled cabbage. Shrines to the Anvil incorporated into a blacksmith’s are actually fairly common. I guess that’s a bit obvious, really. What is the Anvil but a representation of industry and ingenuity?

Our shrine was a simple affair. It boasted a flat arch of plaster, forming a nook that was not exactly protected from the elements. Midway up the back wall of this humble grotto was a small lip for tapers and tokens. This sat beneath rough carvings that portrayed the marks of our faith: the Wheel, the Hammer, the Plough, the Scythe, the Bellows, the Tongs, and, of course, the Anvil. They were simple etchings, rudimentary even by my standards, but they were enough.

“Grant me the vigour to bend my back,

See that in sweat I never lack,

Grant me the tools to grow what I eat,

We turn the earth beneath our feet,

Grant me the wisdom your gifts to make,

Wells I will dig my thirst to slake,

By the Plough and the Hammer I live,

Unto the Glade I shall not give.”

I put a token on the small offerings shelf — a leather purse I had tanned and stitched myself; the anvil accepts all tokens made by man.

“Didn’t have you pegged for the religious sort.” Alicia had a basket of bread she was no doubt looking to trade at the grocers.

“Well, when all else fails, right? Isn’t that how religion is supposed to work?”

“Dear me, the Anvil cares not a jot for a cynic!”

I dusted my hands — they weren’t dusty, but it felt like a pretty good signal that I was done. “Guess I figured it was good for me to be seen here. My image could do with a little piety, I reckon. Thought it might remind people that I’m not that alien after all.”

“Nobody thinks that, Mel.”

I shot her a look.

“Nobody besides Gracie McGail thinks that,” she amended.

I snorted. “Believe it or not, that actually does make me feel better. Whatever I might be, at least I’m no Gracie.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” She grinned wickedly. “So what did you wish for?”

“Not sure that’s what the shrine is actually for.” I had an eyebrow raised, balanced on that knife’s edge between ‘I disapprove of this’, and ‘do tell me more’.

“What goods religion if not to ask for things you don’t already have?” she said, but followed it up with a judicious wink in case an anvil should happen to fall out of the sky. “So, go on, make a wish.”

“Well, then I guess I wish not to be chased out of the village like a criminal.”

She put a finger on her chin. “Perhaps a bit of a tall order that one.”

“Then, next best thing, I wish everyone would go to the damn Glade.”

This answer clearly did not surprise Alicia. “Drag everyone down with you? I approve.” She flourished the wrist of her free hand. “And would you look at that, wishes really do come true. Seems your misery will have some company after all.”

Far too cryptic for my tastes. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m going with you.” She smiled, but without her usual enthusiasm.

“You’re coming with me? Are you mad?” Then it clicked. “Ah. Dad is getting rid of all of the family disappointments in one fell swoop, isn’t he?”

“Maybe not how I would have put it.”

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“Sorry, that was… I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it. Truth be told I offered, but you’re right in saying that he was neither surprised nor disappointed to be seeing the back of his favourite sister-in-law.”

“He wouldn’t know awesome if it clobbered him over the head with a loaf of stale bread.”

“Or picked a fight with a chicken.”

I hugged her. “I’m glad you’re coming with me. Not for your sake, of course; that sucks. Selfishly though—”

“Hush, you daft so and so.” She squeezed me hard. I could have stayed in that hug forever. “I’m glad too.”

A thought occurred to me. “Are you gonna be okay going back? Won’t that be, you know, devastatingly, cripplingly hard?”

She mussed my hair. “That about sums it up. To be honest though, I had always planned to return. Just one more time, mind. I’m hoping it will finally feel like a proper goodbye.”

Well, that was a sucker punch to my emotional core. “We’ll both say goodbye.”

A soft, complicated smile closed the matter. “Well, seems we’ve some preparations to make. Stop by later. We’ll go over what needs to be done,” she said.

Another couple of days went by, and I confess I was starting to hope dad’s heart wasn’t entirely in the whole chase your daughter out of town thing. True to form, though, he finally approached me to confirm I was to depart on the first day of the new moon. So, yeah, tomorrow.

One advantage to having a father who’s the village reeve — and a proud, pompous arse to boot — is they get to spin whatever story they like, and people have to go along with it. To save face — his, not mine — the secondary objective of my little excursion was touted as the primary. In other words, the villagers were told that I was being sent to settle Iffan’s estate. What this meant was that I was warmly congratulated by everyone I bumped into, for having the honour of being told to get lost. They loved it. They saw the back of me, and they got to feel good about it to boot. It was kind of disgusting.

“What an honour it is to represent your family!”

“I wish my father had put such trust in me when I was your age.”

“A Braxus girl in Magalat! Why, you’ll be the talk of the town!”

And so it went.

“You are going to have the most wonderous adventures!” This last one was Carrie. She didn’t want to see me gone. She was just hopelessly naïve. “You must write down everything you see. Everything! I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“Carrie, I’m going to sell some real estate. I don’t think this is going to make for a very compelling novel.”

“It will probably be muddy. You’re going to smell after such a long time on the road.” — Tabatha.

“I… guess I will? Thanks?”

“I’m going to miss you, you wonderful, smelly vagrant,” she concluded. Who knew where they were with this girl?

“Oh! I have some things I need picked up. Let me get my purse.” — Carrie.

“Even by Braxus standards, I’m going to make for a slow courier, Carrie.”

And that was roughly how that went.

Preparations gradually got underway, but before long Alicia and I found ourselves running around like headless… We found ourselves running around a lot, trying to tie up a veritable myriad of loose ends. I’d never done anything like this before: uprooting my whole life. Sometimes it seemed like there was nothing to do but wait. Other times it felt like I was drowning in all the prep.

Finally, with a ton of bags packed and no notion of how I was meant to carry my entire existence on my wee little back, I got around to the last and arguably the most important task.

“Don’t you worry, Mel,” Gretz said, “your dad already sent through payment. He said you could pick whichsoever mule you fancy.”

Wow, what a generous man my father is. “Okay, let’s see them.”

Gretz took me through his stables — essentially just a hut, with so much light coming through the poorly bonded slats that there was no need to bother with windows. The stalls were occupied by four mules, all of whom seemed to be pointedly ignoring me.

“I’ll leave you to get acquainted,” Gretz said, and took off whistling.

Looking around, it was apparent even to my untrained eye that Braxus’ mules were not about to put us on the map.

“Alright, guys, here’s the deal. I’m heading into the city, and I need a good, strong, adventurous beast to keep me company. Who’s with me?”

Nothing. Total silence. Nil.

Perhaps a more direct approach was required. “How about you?” I said to the first. “You look like a fine animal.” And she did. She was a glorious grey, with a strong back, and poise that was clearly inherited from her mother, rather than her father.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said.

“Oookay.” Not a great start.

I moved to the next enclosure. Within was a male. He was of good size, if a little old. “How about you, sir?”

“Oh, the calamity! How I would love to rove across the lands like my forebears, but, alas, my hoof. Oh, oh, my hoof! Oh, how it pains me so!”

“Alright, alright!”

“What a travesty to befall a brave soul as I, who most assuredly would have made the perfect travel companion. Alas, alas, if it were not for that thrice-cursed hoof of mine.”

“I get it, okay. It’s fine. You rest that hoof, and — Anvil, please — rest that tongue.”

I moved to pen number three.

Here stood a hinny, who took her horse nature from her father’s side. I think it’s fair to say she definitely did not resemble her sire. Her legs were stunted, her body round. Her coat was the dark grey of disappointment, fading to black around the muzzle and calves. Her eyes were lost beneath a fringe that flowed like brackish water. She was the side of vegetables on a steak dinner.

“Have you more mettle than your peers?” I sighed.

Nothing.

“Ignoring me won’t do you any good,” I persisted. “Believe me, in a pack animal, I like the silent type.”

The hinny cocked her head, pricked up an ear, then bent down to take a mouthful of hay.

She missed. She missed entirely.

She carried on chewing anyway.

“Oh,” slipped from my mouth, as I watched the hinny’s teeth gnash together — a phantom feast in her vacant jaws. “Oh I see.”

“How are you getting on?” Gretz asked. “Ah, I see you’ve taken a liking to this one. Excellent choice. Excellent. Very reliable animal this one. The strong, silent type. Wants for nothing.”

The hinny yawned mutely, then lay down for a nap. She lay down for a nap. Face. First.

“Mr. Gretz, I think I’ve found my companion.”