Chapter 13: The Smith's Vision
Katalin knelt beside the forge, a simple hearth where a bed of hot coals was beginning to glow. Orso had graciously allowed her to use his modest tools--a small bellows, a handful of hammers and tongs, and a rudimentary anvil--to work on repairing the damaged wheel. Getting the cart to the village had been a slow process, and by the time they had it positioned in the yard and Katalin had dismounted the wheel, the three men who had gone to town for parts had arrived. The carpenter, a man named Anders, had agreed to stay to work on replacing the broken spokes and rim, leaving Katalin free to work on the dented iron tyre which circled the outside of the rim. Removing the tyre had been fairly simple; Katalin thought she would have to heat the metal to expand it before it could be removed, but with the broken section, she was able to loosen and remove it with a few well-placed taps of the hammer.
Now, with practiced ease, Katalin shoveled the glowing coals onto the ground inside and around the bent portion of the tyre. As the coals surrounded the dent, the heat began to rise, enveloping the metal in a blanket of radiant warmth. Katalin adjusted the position of the coals, ensuring that they covered the portion of the dent she intended to work on first.
With each passing moment, the tyre grew hotter, its metal surface starting to glow a faint red as it absorbed the heat from the surrounding coals. Katalin monitored the temperature closely, waiting for the metal to reach forging temperature.
As she focused on heating the metal to the right temperature, she felt a sense of anticipation building within her. Several times, she started to signal Orso to help her lift the tyre, but each time she hesitated, a subtle feeling of unease holding her back. It was an inexplicable sensation, as if the metal itself was communicating with her, urging patience. Trusting her instincts, she subtly shifted the hot coals and waited, watching intently. Finally, the moment arrived. She could feel it. The rightness of the temperature seemed to resonate within her, a silent assurance that the metal was ready.
She quickly gestured to Orso. "Lend me a hand?" she asked, her voice steady despite the excitement coursing through her veins.
Orso nodded eagerly, understanding what Katalin needed. Together, they lifted the heated tyre from the ground and positioned it above his crude anvil.
Picking up the nearest hammer, Katalin began to work out the dent, her grip steady and sure. As she struck the metal, she felt a faint stirring in her mind, ghostly images flickering at the edge of her consciousness. Visions of the metal forming into a perfect circle, of her hammer striking it with precision and grace, danced before her eyes, offering to guide her movements with an otherworldly certainty.
The familiarity of these visions struck her with a sudden realization. They reminded her of the intense moments in combat with Laszlo. But where those images had been disjointed and confusing, here, in the confines of the forest forge, with her lifelong experience as a smith, the visions were clearer and more coherent, guiding her with a precision that she had never experienced before.
With each strike of the hammer, the metal responded, bending and shaping under her skilled hands. With each repetition of heating and hammering, a shimmering blue haze began to envelop the metal, like a veil of mist rising from a tranquil lake. At first, Katalin thought it was a trick of the light, but as she continued to work, the haze grew more pronounced, taking on a distinct shape with lines and swirls of darker color weaving through it, pulsating with the rhythm of her work. It was as if the very essence of the metal was awakening, revealing secrets hidden within its core.
As Katalin continued to forge, her eyes widened in awe as she beheld the spectacle unfolding before her. It was an aura--she was witnessing the aura of the metal, much like she saw the auras of living beings. It was as if the metal itself was alive, its energy swirling and pulsating in response to her skillful manipulation.
For a moment, Katalin's heart skipped a beat. She paused in her work, her eyes widening with wonder and excitement as she beheld this extraordinary sight. It was as if a new world had opened up before her, revealing hidden depths and mysteries waiting to be explored.
A smile spread across Katalin's face, her heart swelling with exhilaration and anticipation. In that moment, she knew that her journey as a blacksmith had taken on a new dimension--one filled with wonder, and endless possibilities.
As Katalin continued to forge, her hands moved with a fluid grace, coaxing the metal into shape with each strike of the hammer. With each blow, the tyre began to take on a new form, its dented surface slowly but surely returning to its original, round, smoothness.
With the tyre nearing completion, Katalin paused to study the aura that surrounded it. Overall, she saw a steady steel-blue hue, but now she could discern that the lines and swirls of darker color weaving through it hinted at imperfections hidden within the metal. She recalled several passages in her father's journal that had not made sense at the time. About seeing faults and impurities and how to correct them. Hopefully, with practice her ability to understand the colors and patterns would improve. And she really needed to make more time to study the journal.
Katalin returned to her work and quickly finished shaping the tyre. As the last echoes of her hammer faded away, she noticed the aura surrounding the metal diminishing. The shimmering haze dissipated with the fading heat, leaving behind only the cool, metallic surface of the newly forged metal. Katalin gazed upon her handiwork with a sense of satisfaction, knowing that she had breathed new life into the old, battered tyre.
With a final glance, she turned to Orso, who watched with admiration. "Thank you for your help," she said, her voice filled with gratitude.
Orso smiled warmly. "It was my pleasure, Katalin. You truly are a master of your craft."
In that moment of quiet confidence, a pang of sadness washed over Katalin as she thought of her father. She remembered the stories he used to tell her, of the countless hours spent at the forge, honing his craft and mastering the art of blacksmithing. She wondered what it must have been like for him, wielding his extraordinary abilities day after day, year after year. And now, as she stood on the threshold of her own journey, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of longing for his guidance and wisdom. As these memories lingered in her mind, Katalin's gaze drifted to Anders, Stefan, and Arni, finishing the repairs to the wooden sections of the wheel. With a renewed sense of purpose, she joined them, working alongside them to ensure every detail was perfect. Satisfied that everything was ready, she and Orso heated the tyre to expanded it, then maneuvered it back into place, securing it with bolts and braces. They then carefully cooled the tyre with water to shrink it into place, completing the repair job. Stepping back, Katalin admired their handiwork, a smile playing on her lips.
After stretching out her tired muscles, Katalin scanned the yard and paused in surprise. Large fires had been built in several places around the yard while some of the village men were busy arranging tables and a few women set out platers of food. Lost in concentration while working, she had missed the activity building around her.
She spotted Wulfgar in the middle of it all, hefting a heavy oak barrel with Arni, no doubt filled with ale. Behind them, Drengur and his son Byron hauled bulging burlap sacks over to where Donna and Thora began unpacking loaves of bread and wheels of cheese onto a table.
Looking around, Katalin saw almost the whole village was present, most were standing about chatting, though a few were starting to make their way toward the tables as delicious aromas filled the air. She spotted Orso's wife, Bea, ushering him to have a seat, insisting she fix him a plate after his efforts helping repair the damaged cart. Nearby, Adrianne shepherded the four youngest villagers, the boys Forwin, and Berener, and Orso and Bea's two daughters Toki and Hildi, to a table to get food.
Garren, accompanied by Rollo, strode up to Katalin, no doubt noticing her confusion. "I sent Wulfgar to fetch supplies for a small celebration earlier. After the bridge and the work today, I thought some good food and cheer would lift everyone's spirits."
Katalin nodded, touched by his thoughtfulness. Together they watched as Barni, Lulu and Nadine gathered at a nearby table. Barni carefully unpacked an old fiddle and rosin from a small case. As he tuned the strings, Lulu adjusted the pegs on a worn lute she had carried over and Nadine had produced a small hand drum from somewhere and tapped out a bright rhythm. Soon, merry tunes filled the air accompanied by the sound of laughter and the crackling of the fires.
The mouthwatering smells finally registered to Katalin as her stomach let out an audible growl. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. Rollo laughed and asked if he should fetch Katalin her bag of torvgras. Katalin just shook her head and mumbled, "idiot", while Garren smiled and guided her to the nearest table where she began piling a plate high with slices of juicy meat, wedges of cheese, and a hearty hunk of bread.
As Katalin ate with Garren and Rollo, Dover strode over, his words slightly slurring. "Suppose I oughta thank you for the feast," he grunted at Garren before turning to Katalin. "And for fixin' that wrecked wheel well 'nough." He eyed her lecherously. "Maybe it's true that some women might be good for more than one thing..."
Rollo bristled at the crass remarks, "You know Katalin's father forged Duke Alaric's own revered sword!" He declared. "So, show some respect!"
Katalin froze at the sudden revelation, noticing uneasy glances from eavesdropping villagers. She aimed a swift kick under the table at Rollo's shin as Dover stroked his bearded chin with interest as he half walked, half stumbled away. Katalin just shook her head and continued to eat, as Garren sat silently staring at Rollo. After a few uncomfortable moments Rollo stood up and said he just remember he wanted to talk to Helga.
Soon Wulfgar strode up, bearing a bizarre multi-colored fruit the size of a small melon. It shaded from green on one end to vibrant yellow at the tip.
Katalin eyed it curiously. "What is that?"
"It's called a Wyvern's Egg," Wulfgar replied. "The wife of a merchant friend grows them in a glass house in town. "I've savored them before when we passed through the junction - finer than any royal desserts served at King Thaddeus's court in Celestria." He hefted it up proudly.
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Katalin raised an eyebrow in surprise. Such an exotic delicacy must have cost a small fortune. But she didn't want to dampen Wulfgar's generosity.
"Let me guess who this treasure is for..." she said knowingly.
Wulfgar just smiled with a shrug. He scanned the villagers enjoying the festivities when his brow suddenly furrowed.
"Where is Sally?" he asked.
Katalin and Garren both searched the fireside gatherings but neither caught any glimpse of the girl. However, Katalin did spot Dover parked next to the ale cask, filling an oversized tankard.
With growing unease, she, Garren and Wulfgar went over to Helga, who was in pleasant discussion with Rollo about the hearth goddess Embera.
"Excuse us, Helga," Katalin interjected gently. "But have you seen Sally recently?"
Helga stood and looked around saying she had not, explaining that after the cart was returned, the children were sent off to their chores while the men finished loading the kiln.
Katalin thanked Helga, then exchanging concerned glances between themselves, she, Garren and Wulfgar turned to leave. Wulfgar paused only a moment to hastily pass the prized wyvern's egg fruit into a surprised Rollo's hands for safekeeping. His gift now an afterthought in light of Sally's absence.
As they left, Katalin noticed Helga's aura suddenly take on subtle hints of dark purple and her face clouded with what seemed not just worry, but something else. Shame? ...or was it guilt?
The three of them made their way over to Dover's hut where the earlier village meeting had been held. Wulfgar quickly scanned for any onlookers before asking Katalin in a hushed tone: "Should we go in?"
Katalin focused her senses, seeking auras within the hut. "No... Sally isn't inside," she whispered back.
They circled to the back where a privy and a water pump stood. As they neared, Katalin halted abruptly and gripped Garren's arm, pointing towards the tree line. "There! I see an aura just within the woods."
She motioned for them to hang back as she crept slowly towards the trees, waving for silence. The aura flickered faintly between the shadowed trunks up ahead.
Katalin slowly approached the woods, circling cautiously until a view opened between the trees. There she spotted Sally - the girl had tucked herself among some bushes at the base of an old oak, half hidden and huddled in fear.
Though Katalin could barely make out Sally's physical form in the shadows, her aura shone with a swirling vortex of dark and pale violet hues. It reminded Katalin distinctly of a terrified rabbit before it bolted - frantic energy seeking an unseen threat while desperate to remain unseen itself.
Katalin waved Garren and Wulfgar over silently. She pointed out the huddled form of Sally amongst the bushes and laid a hand on Wulfgar's arm. "Go slowly. She's scared," she urged.
Wulfgar crept towards the trees until he stood only a few paces from Sally's tucked position. "Sally..." he whispered gently.
At the sound of her name, the girl jerked in fright, assuming a crouch as if ready to bolt deeper into the woods. But recognizing Wulfgar, she instead rushed into his outstretched arms. He lifted and embraced her comforting against his broad chest.
Carrying Sally back over to Katalin and Garren, Wulfgar murmured gently to the girl whose body remained tense in his arms. But as he spoke soothingly, Katalin noticed the deep shades of violet slowly smooth within Sally's swirling aura - hints that her racing heart had begun to steady, comforted by the refuge of Wulfgar's sturdy embrace.
Approaching Sally still cradled in the safety of Wulfgar's arms, Garren spoke gently, coaxing her pale face out from where it rested against the man's broad chest.
"Why were you hiding alone amongst the trees, child?" Garren asked in a hushed tone. Still shaken, Sally slowly raised a small hand to rub at her damp, red-rimmed eyes with delicate knuckles.
As her fingers shifted away in the fading sunset, light and shadows played across Sally's fair skin. And suddenly there could be no mistaking the dark contusion purpling a nasty streak across her left cheekbone against the soft roundness of face. The blotchy blue-black marring glowed angry, framed by strands of askance auburn hair.
At the sight of Sally's battered cheek, Garren drew back with a soft but audible gasp, his kindly eyes awash in disbelief and dismay.
Katalin stood rooted, her face first draining of color before crimson outrage bloomed furiously across her fair features. Jaw clenched, a storm brewed behind her emerald eyes.
Holding Sally tightly, Wulfgar's entire body went taut as he stared first at the girl's injury before locking eyes with Garren, his expression hard and lifeless like chiseled granite. When at last he spoke, his voice rumbled low and dangerous through gritted teeth. "I'll kill him..."
"Stay calm, my friend," Garren urged, before laying a weathered hand gently upon Sally's head. "No one is going to hurt you now," he whispered.
After a moment regaining some composure, Wulfgar gently asked if Sally would allow Garren to carry her. She gave a small nod. Wulfgar delicately transferred the girl into Garren's safe embrace.
With Sally secure, Wulfgar's hand went to the axe handle poking above his belt. But Garren repeated his urge for restraint.
Before Wulfgar could respond, Katalin stepped forward and met his hard stare with her own. She gave the slightest nod of unspoken accord. Jaws set, the two turned with singular purpose and stalked towards the village center, Garren bearing Sally in their wake. The time had come to find Dover.
As Katalin and Wulfgar strode sternly across the yard, villagers froze, their gazes drawn to the pair's grim purpose. Behind them, Garren hurried to keep up, still cradling Sally protectively. The music soon died, and the only sounds left were the crackling fires and Dover's voice calling out insults toward Rollo between drinks from his tankard.
Seated on the same bench beside the ale cask where they last saw him, Dover, oblivious to everything happing around him, continued heckling Rollo. Rollo had kept his back purposefully turned, continuing to converse with Helga, but as Helga hastily rose from her seat, Rollo also turned to see what had caught her attention.
Lost in his crude taunting of Rollo, Dover failed to notice Katalin and Wulfgar's approach until they stood but a few feet before him. Barely glancing at Wulfgar, Dover instead leered at Katalin, his gaze trailing over her. Katalin noted Dover's aura swirled with angry shades of crimson, black and violet - along with wisps of lurid pink.
With an exaggerated wink, Dover's bloodshot eyes trailed over Katalin as his tongue slid along cracked lips.
"How 'bout you 'n me have a more private meeting in my hut, girly?" His words ran together, an attempted roguish grin splitting his face. Looking around to make sure everyone was appreciating his cleverness he continued, "Or we could put on a show for the lads if that's yer fancy..."
As Dover mock-toasted his vile remarks by tilting his tankard for another long swallow, Katalin stepped forward and spun on her heel, muscles coiling then springing as her pent-up fury unleashed in a lighting crack across Dover’s sneering face. The force of the arching backhand sent Dover crashing sideways off the bench into a limp pile as his tankard and several teeth flew spinning off into the air.
As Dover lay unmoving in a crumpled heap, Katalin turned and cast an accusatory glare upon the silent circle of onlooking villagers. She then locked eyes with Helga, voice biting with disgust: "How long have you allowed this abuse to continue?"
Helga averted her gaze without response, staring solemnly at the table.
Revolted, Katalin turned to Garren. "We're leaving. Now."
But Garren lifted a staying hand. "No. We take care of this properly." He then instructed Wulfgar to fetch writing supplies from his pack and set down by one of the tables. Sitting Sally close beside him.
In the weighted interim, old Barni checked on Dover's condition while everyone else waited and watched. "He'll live, though that jaw's surely busted," Barni finally grunted. "And mayhaps the bones around the eye too..."
While they waited, Helga tentatively approached Katalin, but she flinched and turned her back in cold dismissal, sending the woman retreating in resigned silence.
Wulfgar brought Garren what he needed--a piece of paper, a quill and some ink. Garren wrote for just a couple of minutes, his expression serious and focused. Finally, he finished and said, "Wake him up."
Wulfgar nodded and left briefly. He returned with a bucket filled with water, which he promptly splashed on Dover's face.
Dover spluttered and coughed as the cold water hit him. Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear his vision as he struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain throbbing through his jaw and eye.
Katalin watched him intently, her expression unreadable, fists clenched at her sides.
Garren stepped forward, standing between Dover and Sally and holding the parchment he had just written. "Dover," he began, his voice steady and firm, "this is a contract. A contract for Sally's employment as our camp cook. You'll sign it, and we'll leave. With her."
Dover's eyes narrowed as he took in the paper, his face contorting with anger. He started to speak then winced and clamped one hand to his jaw. Slowly and painfully, he forced out the words, "Like hell I will!" His voice dripping with venom.
Ignoring Dover's outburst, Garren continued, "You have two choices, Dover. You can sign this contract and be compensated for Sally's services, or you can refuse, and we'll take her anyway."
Dover glared at Garren, the hand not holding his jaw making a fist in the air. "You can't just take her! She's mine!"
Garren's gaze remained steady, unwavering. "She's a child, Dover. And she deserves better than what you've given her."
Dover's face twisted with rage, but before he could respond, Wulfgar stepped forward, a dark and menacing expression on his face. "You'll do well to listen to Garren, Dover," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
Dover looked around at his fellow villagers seeking support, but finding none he gave a frustrated snarl and nodded. Garren laid the parchment on the bench Dover had been knocked from and held the quill out to him. With his hand trembling with fury Dover scrawled his mark on the bottom of the document.
Garren retrieved the paper and quill, nodding in satisfaction. "Thank you, Dover," he said. Looking around to all the villagers. "Now, will anyone bear witness to this contract?"
Silence enveloped them, tension hanging heavy in the air. Then, Adrianne, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Helga stepped forward. Her head held high, her chest out, and staring Dover squarely in the eye. "I will sign it," she said.
Garren hesitated, "You are young yet, Adrianne. Your willingness holds power in spirit, but for this, we need the hands of your elders."
Adrianne nodded. "Can I sign it anyway?" she asked.
Garren laid the parchment on the table where he had written it, next to the small pot of ink and quietly handed the quill to the girl. She took it, carefully dipped it in the ink and proudly wrote out her name. She then turned and looked from face to face at the other villagers.
When she made eye contact with Stefan, he shook himself then stepped forward taking the quill from her and made his mark on the document. Adrianne moved to sit beside Sally, sitting close and hugging her with one arm. Stefan, meanwhile, was quickly followed by Barni and then Helga, still keeping her eyes downcast but she did glance proudly at her daughter. One by one every adult villager stepped forward and signed their name or made their mark.
Garren nodded to each in turn, his expression grave.
Henry was the last to sign the parchment, but before Garren could fold it and put it away little Nadine stepped forward. "I can write my name too," she said. "Mama taught me."
"Thank you, child," Garren said, giving her a light squeeze on the shoulder. "But I think the paper is all full. We will get you to sign the next one."
Nadine nodded and went to sit with her mother who pulled her into her lap and sat holding and rocking her.
With that, Garren folded the contract neatly and tucked it into his pocket, his gaze sweeping over the assembled villagers. "We'll be leaving at first light. If anyone has any objections, speak now."
The villagers remain silent, their gazes averted, their faces tight with guilt and shame. But then Dover started to speak. Once again flinching at the pain and forcing out the words, "Camp cook my ass, you just want a cheap piece of..."
But before he could finish, he found himself once again flat on his back. This time with Wulfgar kneeling on his chest holding his axe across Dover's throat. "A what..." Wulfgar growled. "Finish what you were saying... They will be fishing you from the river again, but you won't be in one piece this time."
Pale faced and angry Dover held his tongue. Everyone else remained still and silent. Finally, Garren stepped closer and spoke quietly to Wulfgar, "Come on. No need to get filth on a perfectly good axe."
Wulfgar slowly stood up and backed away. He and Katalin stood together, not taking their eyes off of Dover.
Garren nodded once more, his expression solemn. "Very well. Until tomorrow, then."
With that, he joined Katalin and Wulfgar, once more picking up Sally, and together they headed for Helga's home to retrieve their gear. Rollo hurried to catch up, still clutching the wyvern's egg fruit tightly in his hands.
The villagers began to quietly put away the food and tables and to put out the fires. No one spoke to or even looked at Dover, leaving him sitting alone in the fading light, his face twisted with rage and defeat.