Petrik wipes his lips on the back of one hand. “I’m a storyteller.”
Also not a lie, but definitely not the whole truth. We’re probably safe in this small town that rarely receives news of what’s happening outside of it. But if anyone in the village does hear about the warlord’s bounty and knows that a scholar of magic and a gifted blacksmith have arrived, they just might put it all together.
“How wonderful,” Kahlia says. “You must tell us a story before the children go to bed.”
Groans sound around the table. Not in regard to the story, but the bedtime, I think.
“Kellyn,” Kyren, the eleven-year-old, says, “did you kill any bandits on the road this time?”
“Kyren, that is not appropriate dinner conversation,” Mr. Derinor says.
“Nor is it appropriate conversation at all,” Kahlia adds.
“Quite right.”
Kellyn winks at the boy, a promise to tell him all about it later.
Kyren turns to the three of us at the end of the table. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a mercenary like my brother.”
“You most certainly will not,” Mrs. Derinor says. “It’s bad enough that I have to spend my days worrying over Kellyn. Horrid profession.”
I think Kellyn senses a lecture coming on, because he changes the subject, asking his da about the crops and farming.
We mostly keep silent during dinner. There’s too much to observe to bother with talking. At one point, a fight between two boys breaks out, but Mrs. Derinor stops it with a single look.
There are three bedrooms in the house. One for Mr. and Mrs. Derinor and the babies, one for the girls, and one for the boys.
Kellyn assures his parents we will be fine sleeping outside. In fact, the family has a few hammocks set up in the trees. I’ve never slept in one before, but I find it much more comfortable than the ground.
It isn’t until I’m wrapped in homespun blankets and staring at the branches above that I realize I didn’t feel panicked once today.
I felt safe.
Children don’t seem to spark my anxieties the way adults do, and Mr. and Mrs. Derinor were too kind for me to worry about them.
So many people in that house, and yet, it felt like home. It felt like safety.
I can’t imagine why Kellyn ever left.
* * *
I rise early to visit the local smithy the next morning.
He seems confused at first by my appearance and even more perplexed when I ask if I can have any leftover scraps of metal he has no use for. Used nails. Shavings. Tools that didn’t turn out right.
“You an apprentice?” he asks me. The man is clean-shaven, perhaps in his early forties, and he seems kind.
“Something like that. Would it also be all right if I borrowed your kiln?”
“What exactly are you making?”
“I’m not quite sure. But hopefully, something to keep us safe.”
He thinks me odd—I can tell by the rise of his brow and how he turns his face away—but he humors me.
I help tidy his workspace in exchange for his help and materials. This smithy works in iron alone—he hasn’t the supplies to fashion steel, but I don’t think that will be a problem.
So long as the magic decides to cooperate.
I alternate between days at the forge and days at the farm in the coming weeks. The Derinors need all the helping hands they can get, and I’d feel like a monster if I ate their food without helping with the chores.
Farming is hard yet satisfying work. We wake before the sun is quite up and go to the fields, where we pull weeds from the dirt, fill in gopher holes, and make sure the water supply gets to the end of the field. We shovel manure from the horses into the soil that’s soon to be planted, pluck fruit from the already ripened trees, help tend to the livestock.
As someone who’s come from a life where I buy all the food and clothes I need, it’s absolutely fascinating to see how a family provides for everything entirely on their own.
Kahlia teaches Temra and me how to sheer sheep, spin the wool into yarn, dye it, and knit it—though for the most part it’s just us staring at her in fascination. Knitting is far too complicated to pick up right away.
We learn to make delicious meals with the barest of ingredients, how to stitch up holes in our clothing, how to feed the babies.
There are of course the less fun tasks, such as changing the cloth diapers or hauling water from the river, washing laundry, and such. But we do it all with a smile on our faces. So relieved to finally be safe. To finally feel like we can breathe.
Mrs. Derinor has to be the sweetest soul on the planet. As if it weren’t enough that she manages all her children, she also bakes sweets to take to the children of the village widows. She loans out her children to help with household chores for the elderly, even takes in little ones when their parents are out in the fields at times.
In the evenings, Temra and I sit off to the side while Petrik tells stories to the children. He’s so well read that he has an endless supply of tales to share with Kellyn’s eager siblings. Stories of valiant lady knights saving princes in dragon-guarded towers, stories of mermaids in the sea, or gryphon-riding armies.
Temra is just as transfixed as any of the children.
* * *
Getting my hands on bricks, clay, and more iron is tricky. I visit several houses in the village looking for the items. Temra accompanies me to dispel any awkwardness. People are so friendly, not questioning anything. One person hands over a broken hoe. Another finds a cracked clay pot to donate.
I wish I had grown up in a small town. Amanor is lovely. So few people, everyone kind and willing to help their neighbors. I wonder if it’s even possible to feel unsafe in such a place.
I borrow the Derinors’ shovel to dig a large hole into the ground just outside the forge. I line the interior with clay and brick, leaving no gaps. It’s a slow process, stacking the bricks, lining them with clay, visiting more villagers when I run out of materials.
But I love every moment of it.
It feels so good to be using my hands again.
I may not be hammering, but using the kiln, wielding the familiar tools, feeling safe again—I cherish all of it.
Farming. Forging. Farming. Forging. Laughing with the children, listening to Petrik’s stories, watching Kellyn interact with his family—I enjoy all of it.
On a farming day, I return from the river with a bucketful of water in each hand. I pass by the storage shed, where the Derinors keep their farming equipment overnight.
Deep voices stop me in my tracks.
“I’m so sorry, Da,” Kellyn says. “I had nearly three thousand ockles saved up for you and Ma, but we were robbed on the road, which is why we arrived with nothing but the clothes on our backs.”
“I’m only glad you’re safe,” Mr. Derinor, Garon, says.
“But you would have been able to expand the house, buy more seeds for the next planting season, and—”
“Kellyn, you know your ma and I don’t want you doing what you do. We would much rather have you safe than have you continue to send us money. We wish you would give up the sword and settle down. Speaking of which, don’t think it didn’t escape my notice that you arrived with two young women. Which one do you have your eye on?”
He doesn’t speak for a moment, and I hold my breath.
“The tall one,” Kellyn answers.
“The quiet one?” his father inquires.
“Yes, she’s really quite amazing when she does speak.”
“Well, there! Stop swinging that sword around, marry the girl, and settle down. That’s how things are meant to be done.”
I nearly drop my buckets.
“Da, I don’t want to give up the sword. Besides, Ziva thinks I’m a selfish crook who’s obsessed with money. She’ll never have me.”
“Have you made a gesture?” Garon asks.
“Oh, Da—”
“No, you listen here, young man. Your ma was the beauty of the village. Every lad and some of the ladies wanted her. But do you know what I did?”