Chapter Four
“Will you have enough time?” Yet again, Kissik had snuck up behind her.
“Just. Thankfully I have a two short sword moulds which I can use and then grind back the blades. It will save a lot of time. Plus, Jous kept the forge going for me, so she’s nice and hot,” Fern replied.
Kissik smiled. “The forge is a she?”
For as long as Fern had worked as a swordsmith, the forge had always been a ‘she’. Her father had said that men could never be that perfect mix of hostile and warming. She knew, judging from his actions before, she should have kept quiet, but she had her own fire growing inside of her.
“My father always referred to his forge as female, so I guess I picked it up from him.” She was poking the bear and she knew it.
He looked at her, his eyes focussed on hers. He didn’t look angry, but there was something in his face that Fern struggled to recognise. Being a prisoner for so many years, had dampened Fern’s ability to read people’s faces. His mouth was open slightly, as if he wanted to say something but his mind was obviously holding him back. Fern suddenly realised what the look was - willpower.
He swallowed, “You should get on with your work.”
Fern began to load up a crucible with some pig iron she gathered from a pile in the corner. While she could have pre-forged ingots supplied from the larger forge where Jous worked, Fern preferred to smelt her own ore. True, it made the process even longer, but the pay-off was an exquisite weapon. She picked up the crucible with a pair of long tongs and placed it into a raging hot furnace. Her face went red from being so close to the heat and once the crucible wa stable she backed away quickly. There was a bucket of water to the side and she threw a few handfuls over her face. Next to the furnace, which was situated close to the floor was another bucket, this one filled with crushed up animal bones and a small bellows. Fern pumped the bellows steadily with her foot, sending bursts of air over the crucible and intermittently added a handful of bones. Two hours went by and despite having sweat soaked clothes and her thigh muscle screaming for relief, she hadn’t stop pumping. She needed to make sure the iron wouldn’t split or crack while she was forging the blades and the best way to ensure that didn’t happen was by slow and steady heating and constant airflow. After she was happy with the melt, she grabbed the tongs, pulled the crucible from the furnace and poured the metal into the short sword moulds.
The moulds hissed and spluttered as Fern poured in the viscous melted metal. Red hot and glowing, she shielded her eyes as best as she could. Years of working in a forge had left her with several white spots burned into her eyes. Thankfully they were away from the centre and it didn’t effect her vision, not yet at least. When the metal had cooled sufficiently, she used a rag to tip the blade into a bath of oil. It hissed again as it cooled and after a few minutes she pulled the sword from the black oil with a huge pair of tongs. She wiped it clean and placed it on the ground. She then did the same with the other blade. It was a relief to have the blades cast. Even though there was still the lion’s share of work to do, it was a start. The princes’ swords, despite still for royalty, were never as ornate as Lestian’s. Once they were finished, she would wrap twisted, gold threads around the hilts and engrave their names on the blades.
The sun was just beginning to crest as she put the blades aside and stretched out her back. The constant, dull thud in her head had masked the pain in her back and now as she stretched, she became acutely aware of how stiff she was. It was going to be a long few days.
“I’ve finished for the night, am I allowed to leave?” She asked Kissik once she had finished wiping down.
He had been silent and still for the whole shift after their initial encounter. He nodded, not saying anything more.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t forget to change the bandage on your wound.”
Fern got to the doorway of the forge and stopped at his comment.
“Why do you care?” She asked over her shoulder
“What makes you think I care?” He gruffed
She walked back over and stared him down.
“Perhaps care is too strong a word. Why are you bothered?”
“I watch you for your shifts now, if I have no one to watch, I lose this easy job.” He tried to sound non-chalant, but it didn’t fool Fern.
“Liar.” She moved in closer to him, “You’re a liar.”
He stood. His height meant that he was now towering over her, but he was looking beyond her, to the forge door.
“After you’ve been to the mess tent, meet me where you buried that old lady.” He whispered
“You followed me?” she knew there had been someone watching.
“Don’t tell anyone… well anyone except your two friends, because I know you’ll tell them regardless.”
Fern was halfway to the mess hall when she doubled back towards her tent. Kissik had all but given her permission to tell Jous, but she knew he would want to come and Fern wanted to talk to Kissik alone. It was a risk not telling anyone, it was also potentially dangerous, but while surly, she didn’t feel she had any reason to fear Kissik. She had always trusted her gut, and this would be no exception.
She found herself back at the lake. It was an odd existence, living in a prison camp. Her life consisted of her tent, the forge, the mess hall and the lake. Occasionally there would be an additional place thrown in, the infirmary, the tailors, the guard’s barracks, but as a whole, life was completely consistent. It was true in the outside world routine was also how most people lived, but at least they had the freedom to travel somewhere new if they wanted. Or if they could afford it. Being poor was its own prison. Fern suspected a great many people outside under Lestian’s reign were still prisoners.
Power-hungry and bitter is how her father used to describe him. Despite living so far from Lestian’s capital, Demoth, Briad had gained a reputation as an exceptional swordsmith and was asked by Lestian himself to move to the capital and oversee weaponry. Briad agree, on the stipulation that he and Fern could live in a village on the outskirts of the capital. He had never liked crowds and enjoyed a quiet life, but he didn’t want to turn down such an opportunity to provide a future for Fern.
He worked as the head swordsmith for three years before everything fell apart. The memory was not as clear as Fern would have liked. She had heard people describe traumatic situations in such detail, and yet, her memory of that afternoon was full of smoke and fog. She had been helping Awly, who was behind on her chores, move buckets of potash to her parents’ tannery. Awly’s parents were 4th generation tanners and were so dedicated they had even named their children after the craft. Awly was the youngest and wasn’t originally interested in what her family did, but after meeting Fern and seeing how much she loved her father’s trade, she suddenly wanted to learn her own family’s business. Tan, who was a year older than Awly, didn’t seem to mind either way. He just liked the idea of earing money so he was happy to learn the trade. Brey, the oldest, who Fern never met, was adamant not to be a tanner. He had left Jashe a year before Fern and her father arrived and had spent the last three years studying herbalism.
While Awly’s parents were grateful for her and Fern’s help, they couldn’t help but notice an awful lot of the potash was being lost to the dirt as they dragged the buckets to the tannery. Sera, Awly’s mother had shooed them away from the potash and instead given them several hides to brey. Breying was one of Fern’s favourite things to help with, as it was basically just playing with leather until it became soft. Sera had made Fern a beautiful leather pouch for her birthday the year before and it was so soft she often filled it with cotton and used it as a tiny pillow. Since then she had put every copper she earned away so she could commission an actual pillow.
Awly and Fern were one of their several breaks for the afternoon when they spotted some Royal Guards riding in from Demoth. It wasn’t unusual, as Fern’s father was in charge of weaponry from Lestian’s capital and Awly’s parents provided the city’s leatherworks with materials. This was where the memory started to crumble. Years before she had been certain Awly had gone with her to her father’s workshop to let him know about the guards. But when he handed her the dagger he’d made for her mother and told her to run and hide, Awly had vanished. A stubborn teenager she at first refused, but he’d held her shoulders tight and told her it was important. She had never seen him look so afraid. She’d got to the border of the village and climbed a huge oak. She could just make out her father, Awly’s parents and a few of the other villagers. And then the memory breaks away. There was shouting and if she closed her eyes Fern could see blooms of red and orange. She remembered she was in the tree for hours, her body locked in place. She had rested the dagger in the fork of two branches and it had got stuck. When she tugged it, she lost her footing and then she was falling. When she woke up, she was in a small cell, Lestian standing over her. A week later she was brought to the prison camp.
Over the years she had tried to fill in the blanks of the memory, but it was as though she was in a room where all the handles of the windows and doors had been removed. She knew there was something beyond the walls but had forgotten how to access them. It used to frustrate her, but like so many things, she had learned to live with it. Learning to live with things you cannot control was how you survived in prison.
A Sweet bird flew in and landed next to her feet. It jumped around before fussing in the grass, pecking at the seedpods. Fern slowly lent down and pulled a handful of pods from the dirt. The Sweet bird bounced back slightly but did not fly away. She broke open several pods and tipped the seeds into her hand and crouching down, held them out to the Sweet. It chirped happily as it jumped up onto her hand and greedily ate the seeds. Its little blue spot under its breast indicating it was female was a surprise. Female Sweets were usually a lot more skittish than the males and much more difficult to tame. When it was finished it flew off across the lake, chirping as it went. Smarter and more polite than most people, Fern thought as she stood. It was starting to get light, and Fern wanted to be out of sight before people began to get up for their shifts. The last thing she wanted was gossip. Gossip in a place like this was extremely dangerous.
Kissik was nowhere to be seen when she arrived at Missy’s grave and Fern wondered if the whole thing was a joke. Or worse, a trap. Perhaps she should have told Jous after all. She stood with her back against a tree, at least this way he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on her, which he seemed to enjoy doing. To the east the sun was creeping up over the hills and Fern had to turn away to avoid the light streaming into her eyes. She warmed her hands with her breath. Another benefit to working in the forge during the night was that she avoided having to sleep during the coldest part of the day. It was a little inconvenient when Fern would get back from a shift to see Avanne snuggled under both her own and Fern’s blanket.
To Fern’s left was the Missy’s grave. Thankfully the soil hadn’t been too frozen and she and Todd were able to dig deep enough that wild animals would leave it alone. There was no tombstone and once the dirt had settled no one would ever know there was a body there at all. Fern didn’t know if that was sad or comforting. Briad had not been a particularly religious man, and while Fern knew a little about Cirat and Withein, she did not subscribe to either. Queen Vanali and King Celadon had been Withein but encouraged others to make the choice that was right for them. After they died and Lestian killed his twin, Princess Tressa, he outlawed Cirat. People still practiced of course, they just had to be careful and do it in secret.
Towards the hill Fern saw a figure emerge. From that distance it was impossible to tell if it was Kissik, but there was no reason for anyone else to come out this way. Prisoners were allowed to travel anywhere inside the prison walls, but few ever ventured out of their areas. The prison was on the outskirts of Demoth, just beyond the industrial district. The prison itself was like a small village, complete with a forest and lake. Lestian had originally left the forest open and just walled three sides, thinking the Slate Lions would deter prisoners from trying to escape. He greatly misjudged how desperate people could get. A wall was later constructed beyond the forest. Slate Lions terrorised the prison for several moons as their food source had been cut off, but they were eventually all killed. Fern had been to every corner of the prison when she was younger, determined to find a way to escape. As it turned out, it was fairly difficult to escape out of a, walled in square with one entrance that was always manned.
She could see now it was Kissik walking towards her, he had changed into less obvious guard clothes, which she thought was clever, if a bit alarming. Clearly he didn’t want anyone to think a guard was out walking. His face was stuck in its standard disapproving scowl and she wondered if he’d ever smiled in his life. At least guards got to go home on occasion, even if it was just twice a year. Guards in prison camps were paid well, but a huge amount was expected of them, including living at the camp themselves. Fern had realised over the years that the guards were split into three categories. The younger ones, who were mostly male and were clearly sending the money back to their families. The worn-out, older ones who had been moved to the camps as they could no longer prove useful elsewhere. Then there were the ones like Gyrun. Sadists, who enjoyed exerting their power over others. Those were the ones you needed to look out for. For the last 12 years, there had only be those three types of guards, and now there was Kissik.
“We should go further into the forest.” Kissik said as he approached her.
“You’re not scared of the Slate Lions?”
He hesitated, looking slightly concerned.
“I’m joking, there haven’t been any Slate Lion sightings for years. But I’m not sure why we would need to take cover in the forest, you’re a guard, you can do anything you want.”
“You’re so sure I am? I thought you would have me figured out by now.” He said as he started walking into the scrub, leaving Fern no choice by to follow.
Fern stayed a few feet behind Kissik, so she could keep an eye on him. A lifetime of making weapons meant she was fit and strong, but at what she guessed was around 6 and a half feet, Kissik would have little trouble over-powering her. After about 50 yards, he stopped by a fallen log. He sat in silence for a while, just staring at Fern.
“Why are we here?” Fern asked, getting agitated.
He again said nothing.
“What is wrong with you? You make me meet you out here and then just clam up? I’m leaving.” She kicked a pile of leaves in his direction and began to walk away.
“I didn’t think I would have to tell you.” He blurted out. “We all assumed you would be waiting for me.”
“What? What are you talking about? Why would I be waiting for you? And who is ‘we’?” Fern was totally confused, and by the sound of it, so was Kissik.
“I was sent to get you out of here. And originally, I thought you were just keeping up appearances for your friends and knew who I was, but you don’t do you?”
“I have absolutely no idea who you are and what you are talking about. All I can gather at this point, is that you certainly aren’t a guard.”
“I’m from Tressa’s Keepers, I was sent here to help you escape.”
Fern instinctively stepped back. “Why? Why would a resistance group want to help me escape?”
“We thought you would know. Wista, a girl in our group received a message that we needed to get you out.”
Fern had so many questions running through her mind.
“But what made you think I would know? Did the message say I would?”
“It wasn’t exactly a normal message.” He said clearing his throat. “Wista…she’s…” he gesticulated, trying to find the words. “She can…she can talk to people with her mind.”
Fern went cold. “What? What do you mean?”
“She’s an Empath…”
“They’re aren’t any Empaths left. They were all slaughtered by the Rivans, everyone knows that.”
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