Chapter 10

10

LECTURE NOTES FROM THE ART OF BLACKSMITHING III:

Tires, rims, or anything round require a block for molding. One end is fixed to your anvil while you strike the other with your hammer.

S ea water caressed the soles of her feet.

Thessa was seated beside Leora on the ledge overlooking Crescent Moon Bay. It was the same boulder she’d sat atop many times before. The warm stone beneath her seat and salt air whipping through her hair were just as calming as Leora’s presence.

Thessa looked toward her. “Thanks for coming. You really didn’t have to?—”

“But I like your spot.” Leora cut in. “Thank you for sharing it. You don’t have to do everything alone … You know that, right?”

Thessa shrugged. As the sun grew larger, and the tide higher, she wondered if her gift was somewhere past the horizon, perhaps too far to find her .

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of horseshoes clopping on cobblestones. One male hopped off a wagon as it rolled to a stop. He was tall and lean with ivory skin and wine-red hair, long enough to tuck behind his ears. He inspected the wagon, crouching down by the hind wheel before shouting, “It’s the rear; the spokes are broken.”

A loud curse cracked from the other side of the carriage.

A different male, bronzed from the sun, hopped off next. His ink-black hair was sheared shorter than his companion’s but still long enough to catch the light. The shining blue hues reminded her of starling feathers.

Thessa and Leora had already slipped their clogs back on and climbed over the iron barrier between the sea and land. They were approaching the wagon like two curious felines.

The first male continued, “Axel looks in good shape, but the rim is warped. Would need a proper forge.”

Thessa’s ears perked up while the other male kicked the wagon and grumbled something coarse about cobblestone streets.

What a shame, she thought. Not the broken wheel. It was a shame there was no forge at the townhouses. That’s what she needed right now. Thessa missed the workshop. She missed the soot on her brows and the hammering, all of it.

Her trade had been deemed useless in the townhouse. The house matron secured the town blacksmith for all repairs, and for things that weren’t even broken— things that needed tending to inside her private room, it seemed.

Thessa would huff while scrubbing when he’d waltz into the kitchen after one of his repairs, schmoozing the cooks for a free meal.

Thessa and Leora were a few feet away from the wagon when Leora asked, “Everything alright? ”

Thessa gestured at the bent iron and broken spokes. “Their wheel is mangled.”

Leora made an “O” shape with her mouth, before restarting, “Well, our townhouse is a short walk away, our matron can request the smith, if you’d like.”

Thessa grunted.

Leora elbowed her.

The red-haired male replied, “Thank you, but we’re expected at the festival before it begins. We’ll have to make the rest of the way by foot.”

“But what about your wheel?” Thessa asked, eager to fix it even though she had no tools.

“We’ll figure it out,” the dark-haired one answered before turning back to his companion. “The greens aren’t far, grab a barrel, we’re walking.”

“What’s in the barrels?” Leora asked. She’d never been one to mind her own, so why start now.

The red-haired one replied, “Sack mead, my dad brews it. I’m Emiel by the way.” He smiled briefly, but long enough to reveal two dimples and lively green eyes.

Leora and Thessa eyed each other in silent agreement—these males were delightful to look at.

“This is my friend Soren, please ignore him,” Emiel added before turning toward him. “I can run back for the last barrel while you set up and serve? I’m faster than you?—”

“And leave me to fend off the murder of witches?” Soren pointed toward her and Leora.

“Did you just refer to us as a flock of crows?” Thessa asked sharply.

“Vultures, better? These barrels will last this festival an hour, two tops.”

Thessa ignored him, her nose high .

Unloading the barrels, Emiel repeated his question, “So I’ll run back for the last barrel?”

Soren rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Thessa and Leora jostled their heads in silent conversation and then Leora spoke for the pair—one of Thessa’s favorite parts about their friendship. “We could help carry the last barrel.”

“No, you can’t—” Soren started.

Emiel objected, “Yes, they can. They’re quarter barrels, together they’ll be fine.”

Soren pursed his lips, shaking his head at Emiel. They were having a silent conversation of their own, it seemed.

Leora interrupted, “Listen to Emiel. You have little time before the festival begins, and we can help. I’m Leora by the way.” She tilted her head to the right before saying, “And this is my friend, Thessa.”

Emiel shouted at him, “Load ‘em up.”

Soren’s nostrils flared as a barrel rolled and landed perfectly beside Thessa, as if it were magicked to.

Thessa peered down at the oak cylinder, bulging slightly at its center. She may not be strong enough to carry this alone, but she could manage it with Leora.

Soren stepped closer, hoisting the barrel up for them. When his gaze locked on hers, she couldn’t help but see what was missing. His eyes were as dark as a moonless night, like any light that’d been there, was stolen away.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Those arms look quite small.”

Thessa furrowed her brows. “Hand it over,” she ordered, then looked over to Leora and said, “Keep it low for me.”

Leora nodded, each of them gripping their end of the barrel before Soren let go.Thessa’s knees buckled at the shift of weight.

“Commanding little witch you are,” Soren noted .

His arrogance was slithering under her skin. “Shall I drop it on your foot, or should we get on with it?”

“Thessa!” Leora objected, “She doesn’t mean it, it’s been a long day.”

Soren grinned. “For us as well.” He yelled back to Emiel, “Roll me the last one, tie my horses, and let’s get out of here.”

Thessa mumbled under her breath, “And I’m the commanding one?”

As the four witches lugged their barrels on the path toward town, Leora asked, “Where were you two coming from?”

“Wilcrest,” Emiel answered. “I take it you’re both from Mabelton?”

“We are now. We left Gravenport about a month ago.”

Soren muttered something unpleasant before Emiel shushed him and asked Leora, “How do you like it?”

“It’s been wonderful, I like it very much, but it’s nothing like Sanabria.” Leora’s smile was serene.

“You’re from Sanabria?”

She nodded. “Captiva, it’s in the south.”

“I hope to make it there one day.”

“I’d be happy to help with travel suggestions.” Leora paused before adding, “If you’d like.”

Emiel’s eyes lingered on Leora’s; her burgundy lips curled in response. His questions about the eastern continent flowed from there, occupying Leora, and filling Thessa’s head with mindless words.

“That’s it, right up there,” Soren shifted his barrel to one arm, pointing toward the expanse just beyond the library.

Between the bay, the males, and this strenuous walk, she’d been successfully distracted.She hadn’t thought about her gift, not until the library greens neared.

The festivities were in the midst of creation .

Mabelton Library was modest, made of brick like the path leading up to it. Stained-glass windows flanked the garland-decorated entryway. Its greens were vast, and full of marquee tents draped with gray linen canopies, braziers blazing, and witches scurrying around.

She hadn’t paid much mind to the Elemental soldiers on guard, not until they started lighting the lamps. As the sun drew closer, and the sky cast a golden hue, Thessa remembered it was called Summoning Day for a reason—it was supposed to happen during the day.

Leora may have come to the same realization; she eyed Thessa warily as they stepped onto the greens. They were quickly consumed by festival hosts, the Mabelton Society members, and were shuffled toward the food and beverage vendors.

Familiar smells of smoke and herbs filled her nose. Pigs and goats were roasting while cauldrons were boiling. One food tent was full of breads and cheese wheels, while another was packed with berry-topped cakes and chocolates.

Her mouth was watering.

She noted the next tent, stacked with elixirs and mood-benders, before getting distracted by the massive willow tree across the field, and the stage beside it. Musicians were tinkering with their flutes, fiddles, and enchanted amplifiers.

Slicing through her daze, Emiel wrapped his arms around their barrel, relieving her and Leora from duty. “Thank you. I’d like to offer you both some mead once everything is set up. On me, of course.”

Leora declined, “Thank you but we’ll be leaving.” She moved some of her chestnut curls out of her eyes; the longing in them was not lost on Thessa.

Thessa looked toward Emiel. “Mead sounds perfect, thank you. ”

He smiled but looked confused.

Leora met her stare with a brow raised high. “Are you sure?”

Thessa nodded. She needed this. She hadn’t known that before, but she knew it now. Maybe her gift would call for her soon, but probably not. Jerking her head toward the weeping willow tree, she asked Leora, “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Sounds settled then. I’ll see you both soon.” Emiel winked at Leora before taking his exit.

Thessa watched the rosy color bloom on Leora’s cheeks as she watched him go. She gave it all of a moment before clearing her throat. “Shall we?”

Leora snapped out of her love spell and grabbed Thessa’s hand. “I was hoping you’d ask, let’s go.”

As they walked toward the old tree, witches holding trays of tulip-shaped glassware and buckets of ice hurried past them. Ice in Andera was harvested from the mountains in Greenshire, kept cool magically by the Elementals who transported their supply across Andera. After release from the army, work for Elementals varied. There were artistic avenues like fire dancers, glassblowers, and ice carvers, then the more practical applications, like cooking, lamp lighting, sailing, and blacksmithing. Others were hired by the most fortunate, contracted for heating and cooling their homes.

Thessa rested her shoulder against the furrowed bark and began. “I think we both know my gift isn’t coming, there’s barely any daylight left.” She gestured to the dimming sky between the swaying branches. “I feel somewhat relieved, in a way. I’ve been orphaned my whole life. I’ve always suspected my birthday may have been some placeholder, and now I know. So, I want to stay. I want to drink Emiel’s mead, and those mood-benders we saw, then I want to forget about my gift.” She shook her head, before adding, “At least for tonight.”

Leora forwent words and embraced Thessa.

The long, wispy tree branches swept around them as cooler, night air blew past. Their breath synchronized on an exhale before releasing their grasp.

Leora’s round eyes met Thessa’s with sincerity. “Thank you for talking to me, I can’t imagine how you feel. But when your day does come, I’m going to be right here. And I think enjoying the festival is a good idea, but when you’re ready to leave, you’ll let me know, okay?”

Thessa nodded, but she was certain of her decision: to stay and forget.

Leora continued, “Let’s go see about that Emiel—I mean mead.” She grinned wickedly.