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THE CRAFTSMAN

"You know how to use one of these, right tracker?" Torsten handed Monte a pitchfork. The men who had come to pray to The Husband all smiled, some let out a small laugh. Monte hadn't met any of these men yet, but they already knew about him.

He was already a quarter of an hour late. When he and Dancia made it across the street the congregation had already split into seven groups.

Dancia and her mother were praying to The Maiden. Today that meant planting flowers at the church itself. Monte remembered praying to The Maiden as typically the most superfluous of the seven tasks. She is the god of beauty, purity, and as far as Monte was concerned, town gossips.

Dancia kissed him goodbye as he set out across town to meet those praying to The Husband at the stables. Thus he found himself holding a rusty pitchfork, already looking for ways to win back the respect of the men around him.

I have a lot of work to do.

"Yes sir. No stranger to moving feed around." Monte said. It wasn't a lie. He spied a goat pen and a pile of hay he assumed they would be moving closer to the pen. The men laughed again.

"Well that's all well and good, because we've only got a couple of pitchforks left. But we're not moving this feed today." Torsten said.

"We're tackling that." He pointed out toward a fenced enclosure. Near the edge of it he saw the largest pile of horse dung he'd seen in his entire life. Monte couldn't help but laugh himself.

Lucky me.

Once they got closer the smell became overwhelming. Monte's nose eventually adjusted, but the stifling odor never really went away.

He wondered if Torsten arranged this just to test his daughter's affection. Torsten apparently believed working Monte until he reeked of horse dung would ruin the romance. Monte wasn't sure Torsten was wrong.

"I'm with you." Monte said, shoveling a heaping load of dung into a wooden wheelbarrow. Monte judged coming home smelling worse than a horse would be worse not working.

"I wish we could have started an hour earlier." Monte scooped another. Monte was in good shape, but he was already huffing in the mid-afternoon heat. The sickly smell of sweat pooling on the back of his neck and under his arms was imperceptible next to the other odors in the air.

"Maybe it wouldn't have warmed up quite so much." Monte said as he heaped another load onto the wheelbarrow. One of the other men, judging it properly full now, rolled the wheelbarrow out into the field to dump it. Before another empty wheelbarrow was brought back, the two men were alone.

Torsten had so far simply grunted in response to Monte’s statements. Monte wiped his brow.

"I noticed the preacher staring at Thorna during his sermon. What do you think that was about?" Monte really wanted to know. He assumed this would be news to Torsten as he appeared to have been sound asleep at this point in the speech.

Torsten glowered at him as if he'd just asked for something precious. For a long moment it seemed like he wasn't going to respond.

"Let's just focus on the work, tracker." Torsten said. Monte detected no Malice. Apparently, Torsten wasn't in the mood to talk.

Lucky Me.

The next wheelbarrow rolled up and they took turns piling manure into it.

"Saw you at the preacher's this mornin' Tor. Thorna drag you there too?" The wheelbarrow man asked.

"Kickin' and screamin'. You?" Torsten replied without hesitating.

So just not in the mood to talk to me then.

"Yep. Seems like more and more folk are showin' up each week. It's a good thing you brought the lad here or we'd--" Torsten cut him off with a grunt and a look.

"He won't be back. You'll be forkin' dung next week like me I reckon." Torsten said. The man didn't say anything else. The wheelbarrow was full, and he rolled it away. The next one was still a few minutes away.

"You'd be what? If I wasn't here." Monte asked.

"Don't you worry about that." Torsten replied. Monte wasn't worried, in truth. Most likely it was that would be shorthanded. Likely that's why they were working on this enormous pile today while he was here. But why would Torsten not want Monte to hear that?

Monte was used to stoic older men. Most of the instructors and senior Guard at the academy were able to be in total silence for hours on end while they worked or stood on duty. His father was typically a man of few words too, especially when he was crafting something new.

It's not as though Monte wanted to be talking all the time, but he found it helped him pass the time. A long silent moment passed between the two of them.

Maybe I should have prayed to The Maiden.

"I don't know what that charlatan was looking at my wife for, but I don't like it." Torsten said. Monte sensed he'd been working on what to say in response. Monte didn't have an answer to give right away.

Even if he did, maybe he should consider learning from Torsten and being a little wiser with his words. Another long moment of silence passed. Finally, the other wheelbarrow, now empty, showed up again.

"What do you mean by charlatan?" Monte asked. Did Torsten also see right through the preacher as he had?

"He's nothing but a bag of wind! I don't know how he's got people so worked up." Torsten said.

"Right. For as much as he talked, I never heard him say a thing." Monte replied. He saw Torsten let a grin slip onto his face. The other man clearly had no idea who or what they were talking about, and he displayed no interest in joining the conversation.

"Still… I think Dancia heard something she liked." Monte admitted.

"That girl will chase anything she thinks will make her happy." Torsten said, suddenly stern again as he heaped a pile of manure onto the wheelbarrow. Monte would have assumed it was a direct attack on him if not for one thing. He sensed a little pain in Torsten's voice.

"I promise sir I only intend to make her happy." Monte said. Torsten kept shoveling and didn't look at him or reply until the wheelbarrow driver was out of earshot.

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"I can see it in her eyes, you're a good man. Even though I can't stand the thought of my daughter with a tracker." Torsten said. Monte had wished he could claim he was more. He wanted to confide in this man everything, though he'd done so little to earn his trust.

Something about shoveling manure with a guy.

"I trained as a Guard, at the academy." Monte started. The next wheelbarrow was a long way off still, and they had made a significant dent in the pile of manure already.

"Is that right?" Torsten said, leaning on his pitchfork.

"So why aren't you one?" He asked the obvious next question.

Monte debated telling him everything. He hadn't even told Dancia yet that he'd been to the Academy, much less that his situation kept him from joining up and having a steady job. Dancia had never even asked where his coin came from. He wanted Torsten's approval, but it wasn't the right time to reveal his life story. For one thing, Monte didn't like thinking about Dancia hearing about his life from her father instead of from him.

"I lost my father around the time I was supposed to join. He didn't want me joining the Guard. Thought I should take over the business he stared. I'm still figuring things out." He danced around the truth without telling any real lies. Torsten's face softened.

"Sorry to hear that lad. I only lost me dad a few years back. If not for that he would be where you stand now, I reckon. Can't imagine being your age without him." Torsten said in the way of condolence.

"I reckon you should take as much time as you need." He said.

I plan on it.

Maybe it was time to give up the hunt and join the Guard like he was supposed to. Maybe it was time to connect with his mother again and tell her he wasn't coming back. He could be in the Guard just about anywhere but where he wanted to.

If he picked some new city, he would get used to it, after a time. Especially if he had someone like Dancia in his life. The man standing across from him might even come to see him as something of a son.

"I appreciate that. Thank you." Monte replied after taking a moment to contemplate. Any hardness in Torsten's face had melted away.

Both wheelbarrows returned at the same time. Torsten shifted his weight against the pitchfork and the iron head snapped in two pieces under the pressure. Torsten managed not to fall over but it was close. He held the useless shaft of the pitchfork in front of him as though it was a snake about to bite.

“One more broken tool. Good work Torsten. Now we're down to just that pitchfork, a shovel, and one bloody broken rake." One of the wheelbarrow men said mockingly.

"Well… we made good progress this time. For once. I'll go get the others so we can head back." The other man said as he turned to go.

"It's simple to repair something like this. And I will come pray next week. I wasn't much of a fan of the preacher." Monte looked at Torsten as he spoke, expecting to share a knowing look. Instead, he found Torsten looking at him quizzically.

"That's a clean break, only The Craftsman himself could repair that lad." Torsten said it like it would get a laugh, but nobody took him up on it.

Monte tended to forget not everyone had the skills he'd inherited and honed his entire life. But every town had a blacksmith.

"Surely those praying to The Craftsman can, right? If they're still there we can fix this today." Monte said.

Torsten and the other man looked at each other skeptically.

"It would take me twenty minutes." Monte added. He wasn't lying. Plus, the smell of the forge might do something to mask the smell of horse dung currently clinging to him.

"It's a nice offer Monte, really it is. Problem is the Blacksmith has become quite a big fan of the new preacher." Torsten said.

"He used to fix all our tools free of charge, now he wants to charge us. Says it’s part of him seizing success for himself. The prick." The wheelbarrow man said. The other men were coming back now.

"Who's a prick then?" asked one of the other men, walking up just in time to join the conversation.

"Blacksmith, the twat." Said Torsten.

"He's one of my best friends, but he's been a real pile of dung lately that's true." One of the men who just returned spoke up, the other men laughed.

At least they’re not talking about me.

"If it comes to it, I'll pay." Monte said. If he was going to have extra coin, he might as well use it for something that Dancia's father would approve of.

"That's a mighty generous offer lad, but you don't have to do that." Torsten said.

"I insist. Let's fix these and go for a pint." Monte said. The men looked around at each other again.

Have I gone too far?

"Tor I dunno where you found this one but let's keep him around eh?" One of the wheelbarrow men said.

The blacksmith shop wasn't too far from the stables. There were so many broken tools the men loaded them into a wheelbarrow to bring to the shop. When they arrived, the blacksmith himself was standing outside with a few others. All were dressed in fine clothing and Monte guessed they'd all been at the preacher’s sermon. They offered only wary stares as welcome as Monte and the others approached.

"Aren't these people your friends?" Monte asked Torsten, making sure the blacksmith's group couldn't hear his question.

"Aye, for years we were close to them. The charlatan's words have managed to split us in half. I hope the blacksmith remembers his manners this morning." Torsten said, letting out a sigh. He was obviously worried about it.

What could the problem be?

"Ho Torsten, I can smell you lot from here! Is it already time to spread the fields?" The blacksmith wore a fine suit of dark cloth. Monte thought it looked brand new, and it was a little tight around the middle and not cut quite right for him. He looked ridiculous, and there was no way he would be forging anything in those clothes.

"It is. We are done with the work already.” Torsten lied. Monte couldn’t guess what the point of concealing how much they had done was.

“Say we were hoping you might allow us the use of your forge for a few hours. We have broken tools to repair." Torsten asked. He mentioned nothing about payment.

"Well, I would. But as I've told you, I can't just let the community use me and my property for nothing anymore. I have me and my family's future to think of. I know you understand." The blacksmith replied. Monte saw pain in his face. The group of people around him wore guilty looks.

He doesn't want to ask for money.

Monte looked at Torsten and saw his mouth draw into a scowl. Torsten was trying to bring the blacksmith back into the group. Torsten was trying to save his community. Monte could feel the pain he saw in the men's faces.

He thought then about his father and those who came to his shop to pray to The Craftsman. Until the end of this life, his father stayed in close contact with them. He never would have turned them away from his forge. Monte wondered what things would be like had his own father turned away from the community like this man had. He wondered if he would ever be welcomed back.

He knew in that moment he would have to return to his town to learn the answers. A rift just like the one he was seeing here had split him from his family, from his community.

Monte didn't blame Torsten or the blacksmith for what was happening to them. But Monte knew they would have to reconcile their issues, nobody else could do it for them. Just as he knew he would have to reconcile with his community on his own. Going back to his town would take more courage than he thought he had in him. It felt so obvious to him, he couldn't imagine not knowing it was true.

"If you're sure, then please allow me to offer you coin for access to the forge. An amount worthy of such a place for the afternoon." Monte spoke up. Even though he couldn't repair their relationship, he could repair the pitchforks.

"And who might you be lad?" The blacksmith asked.

"I'm…" Monte stopped. It didn't occur to him that even if he said his name, the blacksmith would have no reason to trust him.

"This is Monte. He's Dancia's betrothed. He comes from the Capitol, and he'll be swinging the hammer for us. Since it's clear you won't be." Torsten spoke up.

Betrothed?

Monte didn't have time to correct him.

"Well then. I suppose I accept." The blacksmith said. He then gave a look to the people he’d been talking with and they dispersed. Then the blacksmith went about opening up the forge.

The other prayers to the Husband gave Monte approving looks but said nothing. They walked toward the opening forge doors with the broken tools.

"Thanks Monte." Torsten said as soon as the others were out of earshot. His voice was pained but full of genuine gratitude. Monte knew he wouldn't be able to repair the broken bond between Torsten and the blacksmith. Fixing the tools would have to be enough.

The heat off the forge grew until Monte was sweating profusely. He'd forgotten entirely about the smell of the manure pile after repairing the third and final pitchfork. It was a simple task. To reinforce the fork so it wouldn't break again, he heated a rod of iron until it was glowing orange and hammed it across the joint until it was seamlessly part of the tool. Steam hissed from the pool of water as he plunged it in, making the room almost unbearably sweaty. He was drenched.

"I think you've earned that pint, lad." One of the wheelbarrow men said. The others murmured their assent.

They had all stood back and talked with each other while Monte toiled. The blacksmith and his old friends. Every few minutes Monte heard a round of laughter from the group, but no longer at his expense. The group was so enchanted with Monte's skills with the hammer, he could have asked for any of their daughter's hands in that moment and they would have agreed.

Betrothed.

The thought had escaped momentarily into the heat and noise of the forge. Just now it crept back into Monte's head. He needed to ask Torsten what he'd meant by his comment. It would have to wait, though. In that very moment two women came through the door to the smith. They looked harried and terrified, like they had just escaped some dangerously close call.

One of the women scanned the room and landed on a face. Then she spoke.

"Torsten! We've found you, thank goodness. You must come. They've taken Thorna."