The world was enveloped in white as divine lightning struck the workshop. The blaze of retribution was aimed at Exill’s head; however it was diverted at the last moment through the anvil as it grounded itself. The accompanying shockwave threw him off his feet against the stacked tool shelf, crumpling it beyond repair.
He came to a moment later and was greeted by the smell of ozone mixed with blistering smoke. Staggering to his feet, he saw a small fire had spread around the anvil and a barrel of arrow shafts had been set ablaze. Dazed and confused, Exill limped out of the smoking workshop and was quickly followed by Ham and a few other apprentices. A crowd had formed outside as people gawked in fear at the spreading fire.
“Someone fetch water!”
“Isn’t that Ham’s workshop?”
“I swear I felt it on me mother’s grave! The divine anger! It was the World Spirit!”
The crowd’s volume rose at the mention of the Spirit, and many tapped above their hearts twice to fend off bad luck.
“That greedy dwarf had it coming! No doubt the Spirit be angry how he exploited them people.” A red-faced craftsman exclaimed.
Many nodded in agreement. Everyone had been swindled by Ham at one point or another during the past six months. They saw this as a comeuppance, a punishment imparted by the Will of the World. Coincidentally, many renewed their resolve to lead a more honest life.
Ham had collapsed on his knees, tendrils of acrid smoke still drifting from his singed beard. Blood trickled down his ears and he could only hear the muffled jabs of those around him. The Dwarf’s glistening eyes reflected the fire that now consumed his life’s work. There was no way he could ever recover from this.
Exill stood behind the Master Smith, similarly captivated by the blazing glory surrounding the workshop, but for different reasons. He felt guilt, anxiety, and a growing dread.
“It was you!” A haggard woman shoved her way through the crowd and clawed at his vest, the whites of her eyes clearly visible. “You brought divine retribution! You are the outcast! Burn for your sins, Heretic!”
The crowd around them were captivated by the brilliant blaze, but a few turned to glance at the commotion behind them. Their gazes turned dark as the words of the frantic woman registered in their minds, and their eyes flitted from the old woman, to Exill, to Ham.
There was a reason arsonists remained at the scene of their crime, and Exill belatedly realised that he needed to flee, somewhere far away. He pushed past the haggard woman and slipped between the buildings.
‘Is invoking tribulation heresy? How did she know it was me?’ Exill’s heart threatened to burst as he stopped to catch breath, still winded from inhaling smoke. There was one more reason to be afraid now. Initially his only concern was that Ham would enslave him for burning down the workshop. The Dwarf often joked to apprentices that any mistakes would be paid off with labour, and failing that, they would be sold off to slavery.
But this was the first time he had heard the topic of heresy, or for that matter, people who could sense he was the object of tribulation. It was one more reason not to ever increase his Rejection ever again, and he solemnly made a vow to that effect.
The only redeeming factor was that woman looked a little crazy, and he had never spotted her around Camp B before, meaning she was likely from Camp C where they prepared meals and preserved rations.
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Having caught his breath, he fearfully fled to the safety of his quarters, and curled up in bed. Every second of every moment was spent in terror, dreading the appearance of guards to drag him off.
After a few hours had passed there was a trumpet peal, signalling general announcement and roll call. With trepidation, he dragged his feet to the Mess hall where other displaced workers were gathered. They were milling around gossiping, now that they no longer had any work. The Smithy that had burned down earlier today was a critical part of the supply chain feeding a network of smaller workshops in Camp B. No arrowheads meant no more fletching. No spearheads meant there was nothing to attach to the end of staves.
“Did that Dwarf’s Smithy really burn down?”
“Yeah, it was a freak lightning strike, but many are saying it was punishment for swindling so many people.”
Exill was somewhat relieved to hear some of the gossip in the room. The consensus appeared to be that it wasn’t arson, but a freak incident.
Clerks and camp coordinators could be seen milling around in panic as they wondered how they would reach quotas now. A tired looking official entered the mess and motioned people to quieten down.
“Attention please! Most of you are aware of the accident that occurred at Ham’s smithy today. You will return to your barracks and assemble here midday tomorrow for your next assignments.”
Exill finished the watery gruel in his bowl and stood up. He was lost in thought as he joined the queue to exit the building, only now coming to terms over what had happened. ‘I nearly died today… I nearly died twice. If the crowd hadn’t been convinced that Ham was the subject of punishment… I would have been lynched.’
Emerging out the mess hall into the late afternoon sky, he felt a fraction of his earlier tension melt away. The guilt remained, yet the fear of persecution had been allayed by what many had described as nature’s justice.
‘What now?’ he sighed while looking around at the groups of workers milling about. The small courtyard outside the Mess hall was filled with many familiar faces, but none he could call a friend. Everyone who matched that description had been deployed from Camp A three months ago. In fact, it was an open secret that he had been reassigned from the militia training camp at the behest of Ham. Although they didn’t openly ridicule him, he had heard many mocking whispers of his cowardice while eating alone.
Rubbing the dry flakes of blood from his ears, he wandered morosely to the Healer’s light blue tent occupying a corner of the massive refugee complex. The ringing in his ears had subsided somewhat, but his experience in workplace safety engrained in him the dangers of permanent hearing damage.
It cost 40 Denars, approximately five days of wages to heal his ears. The blue robed Healer had tapped the side of his head to mend the damaged eardrums in an instant. Clarity had been restored and the ringing subsided. She had made it look too effortless and Exill found himself a little envious at the ease with which she earned money.
Out of curiosity, he summoned the Card to check his Vitality stat. The stat held no numerical value and was simply denoted by a red bar that had temporarily decreased by a miniscule amount. ‘So this is what is meant by consuming vitality to heal someone’ he thought, gaining a clearer understanding of [Heal’s] limitation while he made his way to the barracks.
***
The next day, all the apprentice blacksmiths were assembled in the courtyard in front of the Mess hall, totalling nine people. The Camp official raised his voice to address those gathered before him.
“You all know what happened yesterday… but the work must continue. You will be assigned new placements at smithies around Ark.” The official pointed to the two oldest apprentices, “Based on seniority, you two will be assigned placements in the Inner City, with temporary resident permits and sleeping quarters.” The other seven apprentices, Exill included, looked at their seniors with intense jealousy.
“The rest of you lot will be placed in the outskirts. You will be given a permit to exit the camp in the morning, but you must return here before nightfall.” The Official then worked down the line of apprentices, assigning them new masters and confirming they had memorized the address of the smithy.
“Exill of Lindtree, step forward.” The Official called out, and nodded as he saw a mousey haired adolescent with intelligent green eyes move forward.
“You will be working with Master Ham. Outskirts, Eastern Marketplace, look for an Anvil sign.” Exill looked at the official, his mouth open in disbelief. The other apprentices glanced at him, both pity and relief evident on their faces.
“Outskirts, Eastern Marketplace, look for an Anvil sign.” the Official repeated the address again to confirm Exill understood.