The dewy ground felt cold to his bare feet; concentrating, Chazeka Wabli shifted his vision from day sight to night sight. Now able to see heat, he scanned the area around him. Something moved outside the coop!    The coop, containing living birds, showed up brighter than the surrounding cold ground; the movement he noticed soon revealed itself as a small canine shaped creature.  Quietly bending over, Chazeka Wabli, or Rage as everyone called him, searched the ground to find a stone.  Once he found his weapon, Rage stealthily stalked his target.  The canine still intent on invading the bird house, did not notice Rage’s advance.   Rage, focusing on the canine’s back end, lifted his palm sized stone, aimed and threw with all of the might of his scrawny arm.  A surprised yelp and howl rewarded the accurate throw.  The dog shape streaked away…not towards the woods, as would a fox or coyote, but across the field towards the neighbor’s hut.  This confirmed Rage’s suspicion that a dog and not a wild canine sought entry into the bird coop.  Rage slipped into the bird coop and collected half a dozen eggs from the sleeping fowls.   He quickly looked at the damage done by the dog and then returned to the house.

“A dog tried to get at the birds; but I chased it away.”

“Only six eggs??”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Which bird has stopped laying?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t pay attention.”

“Boy!  When are you ever going to start pulling your weight around here, we can’t afford to feed a bird that’s stopped laying.  Everyone has to produce!”

“But Mom!  I…”

“Don’t talk back to me!  Go get the wood and get the fire ready for cooking; you can at least do that can’t you?”

“Yes”

“Yes; what?”

“Yes, Ma’am”

Rage left the hut, smarting from the injustice that his defense of the valuable birds and their coop passed totally ignored.  He made several trips to gather sticks, then branches and finally a few pieces of wood his father had split from the wood pile.  Once Rage had enough fuel and tinder, he started the cook fire in the pit at the house center.   Finally warm, Rage noticed that apparently even the sun waited for him to warm the hut before showing itself on the horizon.

With the rising warmth in the hut, the rest of the occupants arose as well.  Rage’s sister, Rachael, emerged from her new room brushing her long dark hair.  Rage also thought about that additional injustice.  A new brush for her hair and the new room added to the hut; just because she had started something called ‘the lunar flow’.  In his mind, Rachael’s usefulness matched a non-laying bird.  His parents did not share his opinion of his sister, nor did the rest of the village.  Much to Rage’s dismay and disgust; the rest of the village thought Rachael quite pretty; especially all of the teenage boys that teased and tormented Rage.  Well, used to torment Rage.  Earlier in the year, Arn, a hulking 16 year old had pushed six year old Rage into the road filth, stepped on him and then laughed at the mud covered youth.  Rage, already on the ground, found a rock near his hand, jumped up and launched the missile then himself at the laughing teen.   When others pulled Rage off the boy the results startled everyone.  Two of the village humels sported black eyes, a third humel’s lip bled profusely and the rock burst Arn’s eye.  The village Elders decided Arn’s actions and laughter provoked Rage. Therefore, Rage’s family did not owe any compensation for Arn’s lost eye.  Rage never travelled to the village again.

Rage’s parents lacked the leniency of the Elders.  His father beat him with a switch, the wounds taking over a month to heal.  His mother berated him for days; cutting his food ration in half and making him sleep outside ‘like the rest of the animals’.  The only family member Rage could talk with remained his brother Tarq.  Tarq had been a year older than Rachael and died two years ago. Unfortunately for Rage, his conversations with Tarq became one sided, but, it did provide Rage with some solace.  One of the last things Tarq shared with Rage: an explanation of the family’s poverty.

“Little brother, we’re the poorest family living in the poorest village, in the poorest part of the Lakota Cloister.”

“What does that mean?” asked the four year old Rage.

“It means, little fledgling, that we live on the edge of the village; so we’re the last to eat but the first to be eaten.”

Tragically, Tarq’s observation proved all too precise.   A NightClaw, a large feline predator, killed Tarq and the family cow; dragging both away for consumption.

“Quit standing there day dreaming, get the table ready” barked Apo.

“Yes Ma’am” Rage climbed the wall by the west window; reached up untied the rope holding the table against the wall then lowered the table to the horizontal position.  He tied off the rope, hopped down, grabbed the two table legs stored above the window and used them to prop up the table ends opposite to the wall.  As he finished, his father walked in. 

“Morning Dear, Morning Rachael; only six eggs?  Damn.  Oh well, bird for dinner tonight.”

Rage had become accustomed to being ignored by his father.  Apparently by only acknowledging his daughter, Matomaza could imagine he had just one child and had not lost a son.

“Sir, a dog tried to get into the bird house.  I hit it with a rock and it took off across the north field.”

“Damage?”

“Just a couple of loose boards, sir, a few nails should fix it.”

“A few nails???  Why not ask for a few pounds of gold too??!” scoffed Matomaza, “You know we have no metal to spare for nails.”

“Honestly boy, sometimes I wonder where your brain lives!” added Rachael.

Once again, Rage saw an opportunity for praise turned into a discussion of his defects.  Rage finished his porridge, he did not get an egg; and asked to be allowed to begin his chores…the sooner he could get away from his family the better.  Rage fed the birds, milked the cow and began his morning hunt for kindling.  Little did he know this would be his last night sleeping in his family’s hut.

Rage carefully approached the woods to the west; where the wild creatures lived and where his brother died.  The edge of these woods remained the best place to get the sticks and branches he used to start the morning fire.  As Rage drew closer to the wood, he noticed an odd old humelle standing in the shade of the wood, looking at him and smiling, smiling benevolently.  She waved to him; he waved back and walked closer.  The smiling humelle looked old; her face creased with a thousand wrinkles, her long braided hair grey as a mourning dove.  Her eyes, the same ovoid blue cat’s eyes that Apo and Rage shared.  As Rage got closer, he noticed she seemed to have a shine about her.

“I am no threat to you, grandson.  I arrive to forewarn and foretell.”

“I named you, true to your spirit, and true to your heritage.  You have a strength unique.  Look to your past and look to your future.  You shall be carried on the winds of turmoil and strife.  Should you lose yourself, all will be lost.  Remain true to yourself and you shall prevail and save all that is dear to you.  I can only give you this additional gift, be strong my grandson.”

“Wha…”  The strange humelle seemed to implode upon herself in a bright ball of blue, gold, and red light. When Rage could see again, an eagle, a very large eagle with dark golden feathers edged in red and blue eyes to match his own flew straight at him.  Before Rage could move the eagle collided with Rage’s chest; knocking the boy to the ground.  With the breath knocked out of him, Rage struggled to get up; looking around, he saw no sign of the bird that attacked him.

Rage finished gathering his tinder and headed back home in time for his noon meal.   Arriving at his hut; he found his father standing outside the hut speaking with a village Elder.  As Rage approached, the Elder bade Matomaza farewell and departed.  Matomaza looked at Rage and smiled. 

“You may provide nails for the bird house yet,” he said; and then walked away towards the village.  Rage, confused, entered the hut to find his mother and his sister talking excitedly.

“What’s going on?”

“An Ironsmith is coming to the village, we haven’t seen one in forever” replied Apo.  “This may be your chance to travel to another village, Rachael. We’ll have to see what type of humel he is.  If he’s without a wife, you’ll not be able to go.  It wouldn’t be proper.”

Rage listened to more of the discussion between his mother and his sister for a bit longer, finished his lunch of cold porridge and went outside before his mother could find some new chore for him to do.  His bruised chest now began to itch.  Rage stood by the nearside of the bird house when his mother called. 

“Rage, bring one of the birds to the block.”

“I don’t know which one stopped laying, Ma’am.”

“It doesn’t matter, just bring the fattest one.”

What a very strange command, normally only a non-producer graced the dinner table.  His family acted very strangely all of a sudden.

Rage chose the fattest hen, and brought it to the block.  With a quick word skyward, Apo beheaded the fowl and hung it up to bleed out. 

“When it’s blood free I want you to clean and pluck it.  You’ll be switched for every feather I find on that bird.”

“One of these days,” Rage thought, “I’m going to ask her why she blames me for Tarq’s death.”  Then he remembered; she didn’t blame him for Tarq’s death.  His mother one night just complained that the NightClaw grabbed the wrong son.

Rage had just finished with the bird, when his father returned from the village.  Matomaza looked at his son again and smiled.  Rage brought the expertly plucked and cleaned bird into the hut.  Apo inspected the bird and placed it on the spit above fire.   Without instruction, Rage immediately began his new chore. He must slowly turn the bird till it cooked through, and woe betide him if he let one side burn.  The rest of his family sat huddled around the table whispering and shooting strange looks at Rage.  When the bird and the sun appeared almost done; Rage heard someone running towards the hut.  As he turned to alert his father, his father already headed for the door.   Matomaza opened the door to a shout of “He’s here---in the village square, see you in the morning.”  With that, the door closed.

Rage ate one of the best dinners he could ever remember; his mother allowed him to eat bird along with gravy and garden tubers.  Fresh greens provided a delicious dessert.  He could not remember the last time he washed up the dishes and put up the table without feeling hungry.

As he lay down in his corner to go to sleep Rage felt content, until he heard his mother say: “Tomorrow we will have enough coin for nails, an ax, and Rachael’s dowry price.”  Now Rage worried that his mother had lost her mind.  No way in the world would they ever come up with enough coin for an ax and metal nails.  He had no idea what a ‘dowry’ meant, but thought it must be expensive also.

His slept fitfully and troubled…maybe not troubled, but definitely not restful.  He kept seeing the old lady; then the eagle; then the eagle flying into him; then he became an eagle; then a warrior, then a NightClaw pounced on him; then he rode a NightClaw; then he saw the old lady; then the eagle;… He awakened before his mother; exhausted and his chest hurt. As Rage sat up he reached under his shirt to scratch his chest; it hurt to scratch and felt as if he pulled away a scab.  He brought his hand out from under his shirt expecting to feel blood on his fingers, but they remained dry.  His mother stepped out of his parent’s sleep chamber, went into his sister’s chamber and gently woke Rachael telling her to go get the eggs.   Rachael agreed without protest.

HUH????????????

If it hadn’t been for his aching chest, Rage would have sworn he still slept and dreamed.

“Rage, go wash yourself and your clothes.  I need you clean and dry by the time the sun rises.”

WHAT?????????

Without question, Rage knew better than to question his mother, he left the hut. A bewildered Rage went out to the well and began to strip down to wash himself.  He gaped at seeing his mother gathering kindling and wood to start the morning fire.   Quickly Rage poured a bucket full of the ice cold well water over his head…no he did not dream, his mother and sister went about doing his morning chores.   Rage used the small bit of lye soap to wash his clothes and himself.  His chest hurt and burned like fire when the soap hit it.   Rage even washed his hair, assuming that when his mother said to get clean, she meant every inch of him.  When he could stand the cold water no more, Rage put back on his now wet and frigid clothes and re-entered the hut.

Ago eyed him critically, almost as if she inspected a bird or cow she intended to buy.  Apparently satisfied with the job he had done:

“Sit by the fire and dry off…and here…use this to brush out your hair.  I don’t want to see a single knot in that rat’s nest”

“Yes ma’am”

Rage took Rachael’s prized hairbrush and began brushing his hair.  Rage began to think the bird they ate last night held an adult only poison. His family acted so bizarre, something must be wrong.  When he and his clothes finally dried, Rachael pulled him aside.

“Sit still brat, let me do this.”

She brushed his dark brown hair and then fastened the hair back in a long braid with a piece of leather and a wooden dowel.  She held the braid hair in place at the back of his skull and another bit of leather and a dowel held the tail end of the braid.  Not having his hair flowing around his face felt very strange.  Having Rachael brush his hair felt even stranger! Rage ate his porridge while the rest of the family enjoyed their eggs.  When breakfast finished, Rage began to clear up.

“Come with me.”

“Sir?”

“Come with me boy, we’re going to the village to see the Ironsmith.”

“Really?”

Rage could hardly believe it!  Going to the village, with his father, no more chores for the morning; Rage beamed with happiness.  What he couldn’t understand though; his mother’s and sister’s happiness.  They had to do his chores.  Rage didn’t ponder on that too long, for the excitement of going into the village AND seeing a stranger; overrode all thought.  The few times he’d been to the village, Rage thought the walk far too long.  Today, the walk took no time at all. 

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The village seemed a huge place with an enormous number of people living close together.  All of the buildings possessed finished wooden plank walls and wooden floors, with the Elder’s homes made with a stone base.  Wooden planking formed the roofs instead of thatch. Dogs and cats ran about the place in carefree abandon along with children.  Children, the same age as Rage, didn’t appear to have any chores to do.  Adolescents and teenagers also strolled about the village, usually on some errand, but with enough time to stop and talk with friends.  Rage did notice that as they passed the villagers, the villagers would stop and look at Rage and his father.  The square in the center of the village contained the public well. The square remained clear for festivals and travelers such as this Ironsmith.

The Ironsmith had two wagons; one for his wares, the other for his tools, small anvil and forge.  Four large animals, called drafters, stood penned next to the tool wagon.  As Rage and his father approached, the Ironsmith exited his wares wagon, which doubled as sleeping/living quarters.

Matomaza greeted the Ironsmith using a strange language.

The Ironsmith responded as he eyed Rage…much as Rage’s mother had done earlier in the day.  Rage started to feel uneasy.

Matomaza again addressed the Ironsmith in the strange language.  When the Ironsmith replied, he did so in Rage’s language.

“Very well, let’s see what the boy can do.”

“You, boy, go fill these buckets of water and fill the trough for my drafters.”

Rage looked at his father, who nodded; then replied “Yes Sir.”

Rage filled the buckets and took them to the draft animals’ trough; as he neared the great beasts they turned towards him and sniffed loudly.  Rage continued about his task.  It took him five trips with both buckets to fill the trough. 

“Okay boy, I need my forge hot.  There’re banked coals in there, so all you have to do is get the fire roaring hot, let the wood burn down to coals; then come get me.”

The Ironsmith and Matomaza headed towards the village inn.

Rage found the Ironsmith’s wood supply and fire pit rake.  He then raked out the ash, freeing the banked coals to get hotter; he placed the wood around the coals, leaving enough space for a good draw of air.  Rage fanned the wood to ignite it.  After watching the wood burn down to coals, Rage went into the inn to fetch the Ironsmith.

The Ironsmith walked out with Rage and evaluated his work.

“Hrrmmpff.”

“Okay boy, I am going to show you how to melt down this bit of lead, and then pour it into this mold.   When it cools, I’m going to open the mold, drop the weight into this water, then buff off any imperfections.  Once I’m done, I’m going to go back into the inn.  I want you to make three weights just like I’m about to do.  Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir”

In no time at all, the Ironsmith headed back into the inn.  Rage concentrated very carefully to get every step of the process correct.  He almost burned his fingers on the first weight as he pulled it out of the mold.  When the Ironsmith had said “cooled” Rage assumed he meant the metal weight would be cool, on the contrary it remained extremely hot, just not molten.  So using the tools as the Ironsmith had, Rage extracted the weight from the mold and dropped it into the water.  Once in the water for a short while, the weight did cool enough to be handled without burning his fingers.  He found, that the more he concentrated, the more his chest itched.  Rage completed his three weights, and stood surprised to find the sun at its zenith by the time he finished.  Inspecting his work one more time; satisfied with the results; Rage carried the three weights into the inn and placed them on the table in front of the Ironsmith.

“Come with me boy”

The Ironsmith led Rage back out to the wares wagon, from which he pulled out a balancing scale and a weight with a brass finish.  He placed the brass weight on one side of the scale, and then one by one each of Rage’s on the other.   Each time the scale showed matched weights.

“Hrrmmpff.”

“Can you read boy?”

“No, sir”

“And you do not speak Trade Tongue either….hmmm”

“What’s your name boy?”

“Rage, sir”

“No, that’s what you’re called, what is your name?”

“Chazeka Wabli, sir”

“How old are you?”

“Six winters, sir”

“Hmmmmm, damn young…hmmmm” The Ironsmith stood looking at Rage, just looking.  After long minutes, the Ironsmith grunted; reached into a cupboard and pulled out a heavy box.  He whispered a word, which Rage could not hear and to Rage’s surprise the box appeared to glow for just a moment.  The Ironsmith seemed to rummage around for a moment then pulled out a handful of riches.

Coins, silver, copper and Rage guessed some gold.  The Ironsmith then grabbed a small pouch out of the cupboard and dumped some coins into the pouch; the rest he put back in the box. He then grabbed a second pouch.

“Come with me, Rage”

Rage, not ‘boy’.  What had changed?  And why all of that coin?  Eaten alive by curiosity Rage followed the humel back into the inn.  The Ironsmith sat down across from Matomaza.

“He’ll do”

“How much?” asked Matomaza.

“What do you think is fair,” countered the Ironsmith.

“He’s my only surviving son, my legacy.”

“Yet, you are young, you may get another.”

Rage, started to get nervous, if he didn’t know any better it sounded as if his father bargained to sell Rage to the Ironsmith!

“True, she has missed two flows now, but it may be another girl.  So I think that 10 in gold coin would be a good price.”

“A good price?  A fantastic price you mean.  The boy is scrawny, can’t read and can’t even speak Trade Tongue.  I’ll have to spend years teaching him just so he can function in a civilized society.   No, I think 3 in gold would be a much more realistic price.”

By the Spirits!!! I am being sold realized a stunned Rage.  How could his father do this to him?  

“Um, sir”

“Shhh” from the Ironsmith.

“Quiet boy” from Matomaza.

“No, I’m afraid 3 is simply not enough; he’s worth much more than that to me.  But as times are hard, and I agree you will need to teach him a few things….8 in gold and 5 10’s of silver and you can have him.”

“I have a long way to go to get home, so let’s make this quick.  6 in gold, and I will pay you with 2 gold and the rest in 10’s of silver.  As given the state of this village, a gold coin would be difficult to spend.”

Matomaza beamed and stuck out his hand.  The Ironsmith grabbed it and they shook hands.  The Ironsmith counted out the coins, placed them in the second pouch, and handed the pouch to Matomaza.

Matomaza stood up and started walking out of the inn.

“Sir?”

“You’re not my concern anymore, boy.  You’re his problem now.”  Sneered Matomaza as he walked out of Rage’s life. 

Anger, sorrow, and panic all soared through the Rage’s mind.  He stood there, lip quivering for a few heart beats until the Ironsmith spoke.

“Come with me now, Rage.  As your father said, you’re my problem now and we will start making some corrections immediately.  But first, go run and get your things from your former home.”

“These are my things, sir.”

At that statement, the Ironsmith’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline and his mouth fell open.  He recovered quickly.

“Alright then, let’s get you properly bonded.”

“Branded????!!!!” squealed Rage.

“No, bonded.  You’re now my apprentice.  You will go with me, live with me and learn the trade of an Ironsmith.”

“I am leaving here?  Now?”

“This village will be our home for another fortnight, or until I conclude enough business to make this trip profitable.  We will stay in the square, in my wagons, then; yes we will leave this place.”

“Now come along, we have work to do.”  The Ironsmith arose from his chair, dropped a couple of silver 10’s on the table and walked out.  Not knowing what else to do, Rage followed.

Once back at the wagons, the Ironsmith rummaged around the tools wagon and finally emerged with an awl, pliers, two silver looking studs, a fine silver chain, a pouch and a stool.

“Come here and stand still.”

The Ironsmith dropped the stool to the ground and sat down.  He pulled Rage between his knees and turned the boy so his front and back were clamped between the Ironsmith’s knees. The Ironsmith placed the rest of his tools on the ground and opened the pouch.

“My name is Leuchte Eisen.  But for now, you will continue to call me Sir or Master, or Master Eisen.  Is that clear?”

Rage started to nod, but Eisen grabbed his earlobe and squeezed.  Surprisingly instead of pain Rage only felt a numbing.

“When I ask you a question I don’t want nods or shakes, I want Yes Sir or No Sir, understood?”

“Yes sir”

Ouch! Rage felt a pressure to the earlobe that Eisen had grabbed; frustrated, Rage could not see what transpired.  Rage just stood still, curiosity swarming through his brain.  Eisen turned him around and grabbed his other ear with the same numbing effect.  Again, Rage felt pressure to his earlobe.  Eisen then turned Rage to face him.  Eisen turned Rage slightly from one side to another looking at what he had done to Rage’s ears.

“Come along”

Stooping to pick up the items, less the two silver looking studs, Eisen stood and walked to the forge. The Ironsmith raked a few of the hotter coals into a corner and instructed Rage to heat them up.  Rage began to fan the coals.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving the coals more air, so they will get hotter…Master”

“Don’t fan them use the bellows.”

“Bellows?  What are bellows, sir?”

“These are bellows.”  The Ironsmith pointed to a strange handled device at the side of the forge.  He then demonstrated how the bellows worked, fascinating Rage.

“Wow!  That’s much easier and quicker than fanning!”

“I am glad you approve” laughed Eisen, “now get the coals as hot as you can.”

Rage quickly discovered that working a bellows required effort, strenuous effort.  When Eisen finally decided that the coals glowed hot enough, he set the very tip of the awl in the coals.  When the tip shone white hot, Eisen turned to Rage and said:

“Put your forehead on the stool and hold still.”

Puzzled the boy complied. 

“Yes, sir,”

Eisen lifted Rage’s long hair over his head so that the end of the braid fell in front of Rage’s nose.  Rage felt the silver chain draped across his neck, suddenly the sound and smell of sizzled flesh announced pain.  Rage screamed; his head on fire. Eisen had set his head on fire!  Before the terrified boy could move, water drenched his head, reducing the fire, but increasing the pain.

“What in the hell did you do to me you asshole!!!!” bellowed Rage.

Rage’s head exploded and he found himself on the ground.  The right side of his face now vied for his ears as the most painful part of his body.

“You will speak to your Master with respect and deference young one or that foul tongue of yours will be pulled from that midden heap of a mouth.”

Rage started to swear again, but laughter stopped him. Looking around he saw Arn pointing at him and laughing.  Pride quickly overcame anger and hurt; Rage stood, dusted himself off with as much dignity as he could.

“I am sorry, Master, the pain surprised me and I forgot myself.”

Impressed with the boy’s recovery; Eisen waved the youngster over to him.  Inspecting the damage to the boy’s face and ears; Eisen appeared satisfied both would recover. 

“Come along, we need to finish your bonding.”

Again to the tools wagon, Eisen led Rage. Glancing over his shoulder Rage noticed that Arn had been joined by a couple of his cronies.  Eisen, after a short search, emerged from the wagon with two leather bracelets, about four fingers wide; each with a small brass catch.  Each bracelet bore a stamped impression.  A bar crossed by a hammer, so they formed and ‘X’, the center of the X appeared pierced by a vertical lightning bolt.  The ‘X’ and lightning bolt sat inside a circle. 

“Put these on.”

“Yes, Master Eisen”

“Ho ho ho, the filthy little beastie has finally been taught manners.” 

Without a word, Master Eisen strode over to Arn and punched him so hard in the mouth that the teenager arose from the ground spitting teeth.

“You ridicule my apprentice, you ridicule me.  I don’t take kindly to ridicule.”

With that, Master Eisen walked back to the wagons. 

“Put on the cuffs, Rage”

“Yes, sir”

As Rage fastened the last catch, he saw a quick faint glow, and then the catches disappeared.  He had no way to remove the bracelets without cutting them off.

As if reading his mind, Eisen says: “They won’t cut off or come off until I give you permission to remove them.  You are bound to me as my apprentice.  As you have seen, you represent me; you are me to everyone else.  So your good deeds reflect well on me; your misdeeds will reflect poorly on me.  I will not tolerate a poor reputation, understood?”

With an aching jaw as a reminder; Rage replied:  “Yes, Master Eisen”

“You have been cuffed and chained; you will answer to me and only to me.  You will not cheat, steal or lie.  You will keep yourself clean.  You will speak to everyone, no matter their station with respect and civility.  You will work hard to learn all that I will teach you.  Towards the end of your apprenticeship, you will be given the opportunity to make some money of your own.  For now, all that you own is what I give you.  What I give you as your own is yours to do with as you will.  I strongly suggest frugality; I am not a frivolous humel.  Do you understand me and what I expect from you? “

“Yes, sir”

“Very well, you will sleep in the wares wagon and keep an eye on the wagons and animals while I am gone.  Should any wish to do business, you will POLITELY inform them that I am not available, but will return shortly.  Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to agree to any sales, trades or exchanges.  Understood?”

“Yes, Master Eisen.”

“Excuse me sir, but may I ask a question”

“Go ahead; I will answer as I please”

“Why me?”

“Because you showed a talent for the forge, you accomplished your task without burning yourself or my wagons.  You did excellent work considering your age and your first attempt. Also, quite frankly, the price was good.”

“Why does my face hurt but my ears no longer hurt?”

“The cuffs and chain carry a slight enchantment.  They will lessen and heal quickly any burns from metal.  A useful magic for an Ironsmith apprentice, wouldn’t you say?”

“Wow!  I’m wearing magic?”

“A very weak and mundane magic, but yes you wear magic.”

“Iniha!” whispered an awestruck Rage.

Later that evening, Eisen met with two hunters and exchanged a large number of hides and pelts for various iron implements.  When the deal completed, a very happy Eisen informed Rage:

“In the morning, we’re leaving.  I’ve made all the profit I can here and it’s time to start heading home.  Meet me in the inn.”

“Yes, sir”

To Rage’s surprise, the happy Ironsmith ordered dinner for both of them.  Rage had a rich barley soup, a wonderful bit of roasted goat, tubers and wonderful, wonderful bread.   For the first time since he could remember, Rage left a meal table with his belly bursting with food.

The last surprise in a day filled with surprises---Rage’s bed. When Eisen showed Rage he would sleep in the wagon on a cot with a pillow and blanket, Rage stared in disbelief. 

“Now; get into bed and go to sleep; I want to leave early in the morning.”

Rage thought for sure, he would not sleep after such an eventful day.  However, a full belly proved an effective sophomoric and Rage fell asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

Rage slept better than ever; however, his itching chest woke him.  After a moment of confusion in dark wagon, Rage recognized Eisen snoring softly across the wagon from him.  Quietly, Rage got up and left the wagon.   There she stood, the old humelle, the shine around her clearly visible in the pre-dawn.

Stunned, Rage just gawked at her. Then he asked:  “Who are you?”

“I am your mother’s mother; I named you in the old tongue. I don’t have much time so listen carefully. Your Master will only be your Master for a short time, he is fair, but does not tolerate fools or foolishness.  Learn all you can from him.  Your second Master will teach you for an even shorter time, but her lessons shall keep you alive and loving.  Your last Masters will prepare you to meet your destiny.  Learn to trust your animal spirits, for they guide you.”

“You’re a spirit!  A ghost!”

“A spirit, yes.  Ghost, no.  Go now and stop Arn from wounding the drafters.”

With that she disappeared.  Rage immediately crept to the animal’s pen.  Just as his grandmother’s spirit said, someone prowled in the pen with the animals.  Grabbing a rock, Rage maneuvered himself into a position where he had a clear shot at the stranger’s back.  As Rage, raised his arm to throw, the stranger did something to the leg of a drafter causing a flood of hot fluid to course down the animal’s leg.  Screaming at the top of his lungs, Rage let fly his missile, striking the stranger in the small of his back.  The stranger hollered as he fell over, all of the noise caused the massive draft animals to begin to bellow and stomp.  The drafters stepped on the stranger a number of times before light flared behind Rage and the imposing irate form of Master Eisen appeared. 

“What in the Hells below is going on?” shouted Eisen. 

As he asked, his light fell on the battered form of Arn, lying face down in the pen, a short bladed knife in his twitching blood covered hand.  Other lights began to appear, as villagers awoke to the noise and came to investigate its cause.  Rage merely stood by, more than willing to let Arn explain his presence amongst the drafters. Eisen lifted the dazed Arn up by the scruff of his neck and began to shake him to coherence.

“What’s the meaning of this?” bellowed Eisen.

“Yes, Arn do explain yourself,” demanded one of the village Elders.

Arn said nothing just looked at his toes.  A quick look around explained everything, from the bloody knife now on the ground, to Arn’s blood covered hands.  Eisen, found the wounded animal, examined it and heaved a large sigh of relief.

“Thank the Spirits, he only managed to cut through the hide, he had no time to do any serious damage.  I’m going to have to bandage and tend to the wound.  It can poison and I would hate to lose this animal so far from home.”

By now, several of the Elders murmured in a huddle.  Arn, standing off to the side by himself continued to look at his feet.  The innkeeper, youngest of the Elders; approached Eisen.

“Arn has committed a crime against you; he owes you for the damage he caused. It’s our custom that he pays his debt in coin or labor. “

“The worthless chesli can’t afford it.  I’m leaving today, you deal with it as you see fit.  If I had more time a few lashes across the back would make me feel better.  Rage, start packing up.  We’re leaving now!”

Rage began securing tools and equipment, while Eisen, attended to cooling and loading the forge.  Within a candlemark; they packed up and prepared the drafters to leave.  Two drafters attached to the wares wagon, the forge wagon attached behind the wares wagon and the two spare drafters attached to the very end.

The entire time Master and apprentice packed the village Elders attempted to persuade Eisen to stay longer. 

“No, we’re leaving now!”

“But Master Ironsmith, this village…”

“This village almost cost me a drafter! We’re leaving!”

“If you stay, we promise…”

“Look, you keep pestering me I promise that I’ll tell every trader I meet to avoid this pox plagued piss ant pest hole!!”

With that, the Elders left him alone.   Rage noticed that as they packed, they had a very sullen audience; Arn disappeared, much to Rage’s relief.  As Rage thought about Arn and the happy prospect of never seeing him again, Rage’s chest gave a bit of a twinge.

With everything back in the wagons, the animals in their places, Rage took a seat next to Eisen.  With a flick of the reins, the draft animals began to slowly move.

“Now then young one, tell me everything you know.”

Rage did not talk for long.