“Sure, I can make you an iron rod,” Darlene said. The town smith was a round woman with a personality like a hedgehog: only prickly on the outside. “But you know how pricy iron is. Can you afford it?”

“Probably not.” Gwen wiped sweat from her forehead. The smithy was sweltering, on account of the roaring forge at the far end. Darlene didn’t seem to mind, despite her girth and heavy gloves and apron.

“Can’t really help you, then. I’m losing enough daylight just having this conversation.”

Gwen had been afraid of that. With her leaving soon, not to mention having to pay Charles to treat Steffan’s arm, money was about to be scarce. But an idea sparked in the back of her mind. “Your apprentice just moved to the city, right?”

“Oaklyn,” Darlene said. “Leif’s fiery breath, was she a good smith. Only one who could stand as much heat as me.”

“Maybe you could use an extra pair of hands for a couple days? I could work for the staff.”

Darlene looked Gwen up and down. “You do seem to have filled out a bit more in the last few months. Sure you can handle the work?”

Gwen thought it almost certain, but if she started acting confident all of a sudden, people would take too much notice. “I’m willing to find out.”

“That’s the spirit. You keep up for a week, I’ll give you the staff core and some bands besides.” Darlene extended an expansive hand.

“Sounds great.” It wasn’t as if Steffan would be able to train with her anytime soon. This way she could at least strengthen her body.

Darlene wasted no time in putting Gwen to work. The smith found a spare apron and set of gloves, both of which were heavier and hotter than Gwen expected. Then she ordered Gwen about, making the young woman help stoke the forge or melt down scrap or quench metal to cool it. The combination of the heat and the weight of everything made Gwen tire twice as fast as she should have, and by the end of the day, her arms felt like molasses slowly being poured from her shoulders. At any moment, they could get heavy enough to fall off. Still, when Darlene asked if she’d be back the next day, Gwen forced a smile and said she would be there. If she slept for ten hours and let the ember do its thing, maybe she’d recover enough not to die tomorrow.

The Herald was waiting for Gwen by the old fir. She guessed he had chosen it because it stood far enough from the house to be out of earshot.

“Is this truly the best course of action?” he asked.

Gwen desperately wanted to lean against the tree, but if she let her legs rest right now, they’d stop working altogether. “What’s your point?” They both knew if she didn’t think this was best, she wouldn’t be doing it.

“Reaching Selador is urgent. Now that Steffan is injured, he cannot help train you, so there seems little point in staying. I understand you need a weapon, but perhaps it would be better to leave now and acquire one during your travels?”

“I have even more reason to stay now that he’s hurt. Now that I hurt him. He can’t defend himself or help shear the sheep, and Charles said he’d need almost a month to heal.” The Herald wasn’t wrong, but he also didn’t understand promises or sibling bonds very well. It seemed wisdom could make people too practical. One of the reasons Gwen was staying--not that she’d admit it to anyone--was to prove the ember wasn’t turning her apathetic.

“If you are certain,” the Herald said. “Though I will tell you that several Torchbearers have already left the Roots and begun their journey up Ascangen. The longer you stay here, the farther behind you are likely to fall.”

“I know!” Gwen snapped. “I know. I just...” She sighed in frustration. How was this too much nuance for the Herald of Wisdom?

“I can’t go back on my word,” she said, “and I can’t leave him like this. I want to start my journey.” She wanted to start up Ascangen more than anything else. She’d wanted it for years. “I just can’t. And that won’t change just because you don’t understand it.” With that, Gwen turned and shuffled toward the house. She probably hadn’t needed to snap at him, but it had been a painful day.

Steffan was tending the fire. He looked up when the door opened, and seeing Gwen, he put the kettle on.

“What did Darlene say?” he asked. “I hope you didn’t stay out the whole day for nothing?” Gwen heard a note of mostly concealed bitterness in his voice.

“If I work for her for a week, she’ll make the metal for my staff.” Gwen stripped off her sooty, sweaty clothes and began washing the caked sweat off with a rag.

“A week? Gwen, I don’t...”

“You’ll manage,” she said, cutting off his objection. She didn’t have the energy to argue. “It’s the only way to get a weapon that can hit hard enough and block swords. The only way without stealing. If you really need me, I’ll try to take a day off, but I believe in you. You can take half the flock out at a time if you need, like we used to.”

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

He frowned. “Gwen--”

“Steffan. I need this. I’m sorry I wounded you, but now we need to look forward, and this is the best way to do that. I agreed to stay for an entire month, even though some of the other Torchbearers have already started up the tree.” Gwen put a few strips of smoked meat on a hunk of bread and took a bite. It wasn’t much, but she was too tired to cook. And she was definitely too tired to repeat this argument. “I’m not staying any longer than I promised.”

“Fine,” Steffan said. “I’ll just be over here with one arm and one eye trying to take care of our entire flock.”

Gwen refused to take the bait. “I’m glad you understand.” She knew Steffan was just feeling sorry for himself. His shoulder would heal, and he was already mostly adjusted to having one eye. He reacted slower to attacks from that side and bumped into furniture a bit more often, but was otherwise doing fine.

The kettle started to whine, so Gwen poured their tea. They drank in silence and then went to bed. They had to sleep on opposite sides because of Steffan’s arm, and Gwen had worried she’d have trouble sleeping, but she needn’t have. With her back safely against her brother’s, she was asleep the moment she closed her eyes.

#

The next day was the most exhausting of Gwen’s life. She woke up stiff and sore, and only the former subsided as she went about her morning.

It didn’t help that Steffan wasn’t talking to her after last night. For a moment, she had felt like things between them might finally repair their way to a good place, but then she broke his shoulder and everything fell apart again.

Gwen felt plenty guilty about that, too. If she hadn’t become a Torchbearer and gotten more important priorities, she would have waited on him hand and foot until he was healed. But then again, if she hadn’t become a Torchbearer, she probably wouldn’t have had the strength to injure him in the first place.

Worrying about what might have happened was a waste of time. That was one thing the ember had given Gwen other than strength: perspective. She felt, but she wasn’t controlled by her feelings. Some things were more important. Things like saving the entire world by reaching Selador and replacing the dead king of the Beohur.

That was why, even though her muscles screamed and she sweat more than she thought possible, Gwen kept up with her work at the smithy. She knew the ember was supposed to make her stronger, but it seemed to be outpaced by the sheer amount and difficulty of the work. Gwen didn’t know how Darlene kept up with it. The woman did more than Gwen but barely made a sound, other than the occasional humming while she hammered something out.

The third day was as hard as the first. Between the work and the extra sleep, Gwen was definitely getting stronger, but her lingering soreness balanced things out. At home, Steffan kept his silence, but it was gradually becoming less sullen. He nodded at her when she got home, and he offered her food or drink more often. Gwen felt like they were starting, albeit slowly, to patch things up.

The fourth day saw Gwen’s soreness almost vanish and her strength increase even further. Lean muscle had started covering her arms, and if she had to guess, her shoulders and back were similar.

“I’ve got to confess,” Darlene said when Gwen arrived, “I thought you’d quit on your second day. Most people wake up, find they can barely move, and I never see them again. But you kept going, even though it hurt. Don’t think I didn’t see you grimacing. And now you’ve taken to the work better than anyone but Oaklyn. You’d make a pretty great smith.”

The implication hung in the air thicker than the forge’s breath...and Gwen let it. She’d been clear she was only interested in working for her staff. Darlene was too respectful to ignore that outright, but the smith clearly wanted Gwen to apprentice with her.

“Ah, well,” Darlene said, turning back to the work. “I’ll make the best use of you I can while you’re here.”

That she did. The stronger Gwen got, the harder Darlene worked her. By Gwen’s last day, she was doing half again as much as she had on her first, and the work had become routine and rhythmic enough that she could reach a form of meditation while doing it. Her mind was so clear, in fact, that it took her a few moments to realize Darlene was putting things away. They were done for the day, which meant Gwen’s week was over.

“Here.” The smith handed Gwen a staff of polished wood with bands of iron evenly spaced down its length. Looking at the end, Gwen could see an iron core in the center.

“I made the rod on your third day,” Darlene said. “Took Seamus a few days to hollow out the wood, and then I had to make and fit the bands. It’s pretty heavy, but from the way you bulk up, you should be fine in a week or two.” The smith winked.

“This is also yours.” She gave Gwen a small coin purse. “You helped more than I thought you would, so it’s only fair you get more than I offered. It’s not much, but...”

Relief washed over Gwen. Now she actually had something to give Steffan from this week. “Thank you!” She nearly tackled Darlene in her haste to hug the large woman.

Gwen practically floated on her trip home. She passed the staff from hand to hand, getting a feel for its weight. Even with her ember-given strength, the weapon felt heavier than its predecessor, but not by too much. If she kept getting stronger, she’d have no problem getting used to it. Maybe she’d test it on the old fir, see how hard she could hit without the staff bending.

That plan was dashed when she reached the tree. The Herald stood next to it, his unblinking eyes watching her approach. He’d mostly avoided her this past week, only breaking their silence twice to tell her that another Torchbearer started their climb up Ascangen. That annoyed Gwen. It made her feel like he was pressuring her to leave without directly saying so.

“Have you come to tell me I’m the last Torchbearer to leave?” she asked as she stepped under the tree’s parasol of leaves.

“I have not. There are currently three Torchbearers still among the Roots. Correction, four.”

Gwen frowned. She’d never heard the Herald correct himself before. He was so precise, she had assumed he didn’t speak until he was sure of what he was going to say. “Did someone fall or something?”

“No one fell from Ascangen.”

That was an oddly specific thing to say. “You’re being strange. What did you come to tell me?”

“New experience is always strange. When it ceases to be new, it ceases to be strange. I have had quite a new experience, one that I cannot reconcile with the guidelines Ryland gave me. Thus, I have decided to tell you, even if doing so might bend the rules of the contest.”

The strangeness continued. This had to be a big thing, to make the Herald go against Ryland in even a minor way. “Go ahead,” Gwen said. “I’m ready.”

“One of the other Torchbearers has been slain,” the Herald said, “under highly unusual circumstances.”

#