Chapter 1 #2
I led Nightmare towards the small lean-to that was built for housing horses.
Nightmare wasn’t too happy to share the space with the blacksmith’s bay gelding, who seemed unbothered by his unfriendly guest. I unsaddled my mare and fetched fresh hay while she drank from the trough, then took some time to brush her down, hoping it would put her in a better mood.
‘You need to mind your manners. You’re a guest here, and I want you to behave,’ I told her in a firm voice.
In return, she kicked the bucket I had foolishly left beside her. ‘Nightmare!’ I gathered up the few possessions I had with me and left her to sulk.
An outside staircase led me to the top of the forge where I found the blacksmith waiting for me. He opened the door, and I followed him inside.
An old square table and two bowed chairs were in the middle of the room. The blacksmith bent to inspect the worn chairs, finding one broken but the other sound. He straightened and scowled at the offending furniture.
I shrugged. ‘I don’t need two chairs.’
I patted the lumpy but adequate straw mattress and went to the corner where an old stove stood.
A pot rested on top that I could use to cook and heat water in.
Across the room, faded blue curtains adorned a small window that overlooked the street.
Under it was a large chest where I placed my things before inspecting the smaller room.
It also had a bed in one corner and another window, which looked at the fortress gates.
I could make out two figures standing guard at the entrance.
Under the window was a small table with a washbowl and a jug. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, which would easily wipe away with some elbow grease.
I rolled up my sleeves, ready to work on what would be my home for a time.
The blacksmith shook his head. ‘These rooms are a mess. Are you sure … ?’
I nodded.
‘I’ll fetch some water and rags,’ he muttered before leaving the room.
We got to work removing years of dust. The blacksmith fixed the broken chair with a few well-placed nails. He kindly brought me wood for a fire despite my assurance that I could make do with cold water for one night. He insisted and had a fire in the little stove going and water warming in no time.
While sweeping the floor, the sunset’s warm glow through the window made the rooms feel cosy.
The blacksmith returned with his arms filled with fresh linens and a down pillow.
‘I don’t need any of this,’ I told him, even though the pillow would be far more comfortable than my bed roll.
He ignored my protests and placed a generous share of his cold supper on the freshly scrubbed table.
I hadn’t eaten since early that morning, and my mouth watered at the simple offering: a cold chicken leg, a thick slice of bread lathered in butter and a large red apple.
‘I think that will do you for the night.’ He looked around the room.
‘Thank you for helping clean and for being so generous.’ I rested my hand next to the supper plate he had placed on the well-scrubbed table. ‘What’s your name?’ I couldn’t keep calling him the blacksmith.
He leaned against the doorframe, peering at me through his thick lashes. ‘Cillian Northwind. And what, may I ask, is your name?’
‘Caris Ironside.’
‘Goodnight, Caris,’ he said, the rolled r sending a shiver down my spine. He closed the door quietly, and I stared at it until my stomach growled, reminding me of the food he had left for me.
?
The next morning, I rose early and dressed for a day working in the forge.
I washed my face with the water above the cold fireplace and brushed my teeth with the paste I always kept in my satchel.
Before leaving the room, I put on my fingerless leather gloves that allowed me to work but protected my palms. They also covered the old scars that were an ugly reminder of the darkest night of my life.
I went to the stable to check on Nightmare and found Cillian feeding her an apple. The blacksmith quite literally had my horse eating out of his hand.
‘Good morning.’ He greeted me with a smile. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ I had slept very well. There had been no nightmares, no waking up and struggling to go back to sleep because of memories that always seemed to find me in the middle of the night.
‘Here, I made you a drink.’ He handed me a clay mug filled with a muddy-looking hot liquid.
I looked at him curiously, but he just smiled and gestured for me to try it. The smell was strong and unfamiliar. It wasn’t unpleasant, so I took a sip. It was bitter but not awful.
He chuckled at my expression and grabbed a small jug perched on the wall. ‘Here, you might prefer it with milk.’
I held out the mug to him, and he poured a generous amount of milk into it. He gestured for me to try again. I took a small sip and then another. It was only mildly bitter now, and the milk added a creaminess, which I enjoyed. I could feel its warmth moving through me already.
This might just be my new favourite drink. ‘What is this?’
He smiled, seeming pleased by my reaction.
‘Coffee. It’s made from a bean grown across the sea and is brought to Eritz in big sacks on large ships. It’s a popular morning drink in the big cities of Pedion, mostly because it gives you energy.’
Murus was the only city I had been to, and the idea that there were bigger cities with even more people further north was daunting.
‘How is this made from a bean?’ I asked as I continued to drink more of the coffee.
Cillian just chuckled. I watched him down his own, which he drank without milk. He handed me an apple and the wrapped oatcakes he had perched on the wall beside him. I munched on my oatcakes and sipped coffee while following him into his forge.
‘I will work four days in seven for you,’ I said.
Cillian shook his head at my offer. ‘That would be a crime for simple rooms I wasn’t even using.’ He moved to light the fire in the oversized hearth. ‘Two days for board and food is fair.’
‘That is far too generous, Cillian Northwind. I will work three days, but you can keep making me coffee in the morning.’ I handed him his blacksmith’s apron, and he grinned as he took it from me.
‘Fine, Caris Ironside. Three days and coffee.’ His eyes warmed with amusement, and I couldn’t help feeling pleased that I had put it there. ‘I warn you. I’m an old, cantankerous employer, and after three days you might want to renegotiate,’ he teased.
It wasn’t true, of course. I enjoyed working alongside the Murus blacksmith, and we quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm.
The morning was quiet and productive, but there were frequent interruptions as Murus came to life.
Cillian would leave me to work while he dealt with customers picking up items or placing orders at his shop next door.
At first, I didn’t notice as a crowd gathered to watch me hammer a simple kitchen knife blade. I was fully immersed in what I was doing, enjoying the feeling of my muscles working hard again. Days in the saddle had tired me, but not in the same way smithing did.
When Cillian returned with lunch, he gestured to the crowd I had drawn to the forge. ‘It seems a woman blacksmith is very good at attracting business,’ he said, grinning at me.
Children tugged at their parents’ arms, pointing at me as I looked up.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled, glancing away.
I took the food and cool water he handed me and sat on a stool out of sight of the gathering children. I rarely had an audience when I worked. Most of my customers knew me from childhood and had seen me learn my trade. They didn’t give much notice to my being a woman blacksmith.
‘You said yesterday that the man who raised you taught you the trade?’
I nodded and took a long drink of water.
‘What’s his name? I know all the blacksmiths in Pedion.’
I shook my head, sure that Cillian would not have met him.
He had never joined a guild and rarely ventured from our small Red River forge.
He said it was because he didn’t like being around too many people, but I knew the unfamiliar landmarks and winding streets confused him.
‘His name is Iain De Gellar. He wasn’t a blacksmith until later in life,’ I explained.
‘He had learned the trade from his father but became a soldier instead.’
‘So, how did a soldier become your guardian and teacher?’
‘He fished me out of the Red River when I was eleven.’ I suddenly lost my appetite and put down the slice of bread I had been nibbling on.
Cillian waited patiently for me to continue. I looked down at my hands, wondering how much I should tell him.
‘My father had died the previous month, and my mother and I were travelling when a patrol captain killed her.’
‘I’m so sorry, Caris.’ He shook his head.
‘I had jumped in the river to escape the same fate, and Iain found me miles downstream.’
‘So, he took you in and taught you to be a blacksmith,’ Cillian stated quietly.
‘Yes. He had a forge by the Red River, and I became his apprentice.’ He had also taught me how to fight with a sword and take down a man with my bare hands, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. A woman blacksmith was one thing – a woman who fought as well as a trained soldier was another.
‘It was Iain who knew the old blacksmith who was here before you, and he would come here every few years to buy supplies and trade goods. Like many others on the river, we led a simple life.’
‘So, you didn’t have an agreement with the old blacksmith to trade work for accommodation?’ Cillian raised a brow.
‘Not exactly,’ I admitted. Was he mad at my deception?
He chuckled. ‘I forgive you.’
‘How did you end up in this place?’ He looked nothing like the old blacksmith. If he were a relative, he would be a distant one.
Cillian was quiet for a while, making me even more curious about his story.
‘The old blacksmith died, and his family was looking to sell his shop and the forge, but no blacksmiths were willing to move to Murus. It’s a very isolated city.’
Murus hardly seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, but I grew up on the banks of the Red River, so what would I know? ‘Why did you buy it?’
He shifted on his stool and cleared his throat. ‘My wife was a midwife who had made some powerful people angry by helping someone. I felt it was dangerous to stay, and Murus was as far away from that danger as I could take her.’
He rubbed his palms over his knees and looked off into the distance.
‘She was expecting our first child, so I left her at home while I purchased supplies for our journey. I should never have left her alone.’ His voice broke at the end, and I braced for what came next.
‘By the time I got back to her, she was dead.’ His voice wavered.
‘She was killed?’
He nodded, looking down at his hands, now motionless on his knees. The air between us was heavy with his pain, and I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t know how.
‘After that, I came here alone.’ He stood abruptly and gathered up our lunch plates.
There was no more talk of the past, and we returned to our work. I couldn’t help but look over at Cillian now and then. He had a way about him that made me feel safe. I didn’t trust people easily, but I was starting to wonder if I could confide in Cillian.
I had never had someone to share my story with, and never had a person entrust something so painful and raw to me.
Was he lonely? For the last few years, loneliness had become a familiar friend.
I had worked and trained, and that was all.
Most women aged twenty were married or at least looking to marry.
They had friends with whom they shared secrets and dreams. I had never kissed a boy or spent time by the river with friends.
I had never been interested in pursuing friendship or romance.
I always felt like an outsider watching others live lives I could never have because I knew that everyday life wasn’t for someone like me: someone who only thought day and night of revenge.