Chapter Six: The Forge

“Few things warm the heart more than a lovely wife waiting for you at home. One of them’s a fire, and the other is a lovely daughter to boot.”

—Dagus Adem, The Adventurer’s Guide to the Continent

Ein and Merrill walked home under the midday clouds, taking turns dragging the sled behind them. Evaine skipped between the two, firing complaints and annoyed remarks at nobody in particular. She’d spent several hours scouring through the wreckage for things to take back, which seemed to have improved her mood—if only slightly.

“Felhaven’s traditions are stupid,” she spat. “Why do I have to get married? I want to go adventuring as well. Don’t you agree?”

Ein and Merrill nodded, though it was clear on their faces that they didn’t. It wasn’t the first time Evaine had complained about the matter, and he suspected it was more to take her mind off her mother and father than anything else.

“I can’t believe no one’s ever tried to leave before,” she continued. “Surely I can’t be the only one who’s sick of being a farmer. Every day is the same; there’s never any excitement. Where are the dragons? The knights and the sword-fighting tournaments? I don’t want to live my whole life having never seen a city before.”

“Those are all stories,” Ein said. “My father says real life doesn’t quite turn out like that. I can tell you for sure, sword-fights aren’t at all what I imagined them to be.” He rubbed his bruises absentmindedly. Alend held nothing back during their fencing bouts.

“Still,” Evaine said. “I want to at least experience something for myself. Remember when we used to run around playing pretend? Wasn’t that so much more fun than doing chores?”

“Evaine… we were kids back then.” Merrill said. “We have to work and do our part for the village now.”

Even though Evaine was the eldest of the three by a good half year, she didn’t act like it. Perhaps it was because of how she’d been raised, the only daughter of an overprotective couple. She’d never been away on a hunt for days on end, never had to kill an animal with her own hands and stain herself with blood. Merrill and Ein had spent many a night discussing the reasons behind her outlook on life and arrived at that conclusion. However, they didn’t dare say it to her face, and they refused her requests to stow away on trips outside the village no matter how hard she begged. Mistress Valeesha would have them flogged, and Master Nath would skin them alive even if nothing happened to her.

Once, Ein had thought it to be unfair. There was no reason to refuse her if she wanted to join them. In fact, it would be safer if she ventured outside the village with others rather than by herself. That way at least, if anything happened they would be able to protect her.

Then, Alend had suggested taking Cinnamin on one of their expeditions. After that, he’d changed his mind.

Evaine folded her arms and pursed her lips. “I don’t care,” she huffed. “If none of you will take me away, I’ll wait for some smooth-tongued traveller to whisk me off.”

“You can’t be serious,” Ein sighed. He knitted his brows. The lack of sleep was starting to affect him. “We’re in the middle of the Great Winter. Wyd help me, isn’t there something else to complain about?”

Evaine paused and gave him a hard look. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.

“Ein’s just worried about you,” Merrill cut in quickly. “And so am I. Evaine, your farm was just attacked a few nights ago. Surely it would be wiser to wait, at least until your parents are well again.”

Evaine sagged.

“I would,” she said quietly. “But it won’t be long before we’re married, and once that happens I may as well be chained to the village.”

Whatever Merrill had been about to say was cut short. It was no common knowledge that he was the most tame of the three, even when they’d all been children. Ein couldn’t see Merrill leaving the village, not even if Hellheim plunged into winter. And once the two were married, Evaine wouldn’t be able to leave either unless Merrill left or she was content with being exiled from the village. Husbands and wives who disgraced their vows without good reason forfeited any right to live in Felhaven.

“Are those the troupers?” Ein asked, pointing into the distance.

Merrill and Evaine looked towards the lake, the words on the tip of their tongues forgotten. Beside it was a small gathering of cloth tents flying the green and gold banners of the Children of the Wind. Tiny human figures moved about, unpacking their carts and tending to the horses.

“Let’s go,” Evaine said. “I want to meet them. The last time we had troupers come around was almost ten years ago. And these aren’t just any troupers, they’re the Children of the Wind!”

“Let’s go home first,” Merrill suggested. “The troupers won’t be going anywhere, and I’m not sure Ein would appreciate towing your luggage everywhere with him.”

Ein looked gratefully at Merrill. “Cinnamin will also want to come,” he added. “I’d feel guilty if we saw them without bringing her.”

That seemed to do the trick, and Evaine fell quiet between the two.

They split up at the village square, Merrill heading off to his house at the butchery. Ein and Evaine continued down the street to the Thoren family forge.

Word of the troupers’ arrival had already spread across the town, and Ein couldn’t help but begin to feel excited. They’d had visited once, long ago, when the fields were still green and marriage was not a topic at the forefront of their minds. He recalled bits and pieces of juggling acts, sword swallowers, men who pulled animals from the hats out of their head, and the songs—so many songs, each telling their own story in such a vivid and memorable manner that they stayed long after the Travelling Folk were gone. It wasn’t often that outsiders passed through Felhaven, and troupers were bound to bring with them the latest happenings around Faengard.

They weren’t just any ordinary troupers, though. These were the Children of the Wind, practically living legends themselves. Ein found his step quickening despite himself. He wondered what stories they’d have that ordinary troupers didn’t, what songs and performances they’d planned for Founder’s Eve, what tricks the sorcerer had to show.

The Thoren family forge soon popped into view, a low, stocky building chugging black smoke into the air. When his father wasn’t home, his mother was usually tending the shop or working her way through the never-ending list of chores. There was always something to be done, whether it was cleaning the furnace, dusting the windows or polishing the fine display of weapons hung up on his walls. Ein could barely remember a time he’d returned home to find Rhea idle, unless she was taking her afternoon nap. She either worked hard or rested hard.

Today, she was sitting by the grindstone sharpening a tool of some sort.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted, as Ein opened the door to a faceful of heat and iron. “What can I do for you today—” Her lips widened into a smile when she saw him. “Ein! Welcome back!”

Rhea Thoren had a small, round face with high cheekbones and lustrous, jet-black hair that hung down to her waist in a single braid. The beginnings of wrinkles lined the corners of her mouth and eyes, but she was still attractive enough for many of the widowers to drop by the store for no purpose other than to enjoy her company. She stepped out from behind the grindstone, placing the hoe she’d been sharpening to one side. She wiped her greasy hands on the leather apron around her waist.

“And Evaine too,” she continued. Her face creased into one of concern. “I heard about your parents. I’m so sorry.”

Rhea eyed the sled outside the door. Evaine spoke up while Ein was still racking his brain for a way to explain the situation.

“Mistress Rhea,” she curtseyed. “I spoke to Master Alend and he said it would be fine if I stayed here, at least until my parents recover.”

Ein held his breath.

“Yes, yes,” Rhea dismissed. “I know already. Leave your things over there, I’ll have the room set up for you in a bit. Come in, come out of the cold. Come sit by the fire. Is there anything I can get you to drink?” She ushered them to a table and chairs by the furnace. A cold draught blew through the room, whipping at a stack of receipts pinned under a paperweight.

“That won’t be necessary. We won’t be staying for long.” Evaine dipped her head.

Ein took a few steps to warm his hands by the fireplace. His father’s hammer and anvil lay to one side, along with a bucket of water and a pair of blackened tongs. It had been a while since he’d seen them made use of; there wasn’t so high a demand of forging new tools as mending old ones.

“I was wondering, would it be alright if I took Cinnamin with us down to see the troupers?” he asked.

“Of course,” Rhea said. “Gods know if she’s doing anything productive at the moment. Cinnamin!” She called out towards the room behind her. “Your brother’s home!”

There was a rumbling of footsteps from the hallway behind the forge. Rhea picked up the hoe and wiped it once with a dirty rag before bringing it back to the grindstone. Red sparks burst from the wheel, fizzling before they hit the ground. A low, keening sound filled the room. Ein sat back and closed his eyes.

He was home.

“How was the hunt?” his mother asked, turning the blade with practiced hands. “Your father told me most of what happened. Are you injured anywhere? Did you get enough to eat?”

“I’m fine,” Ein sighed. “It was tough, but we made it back in one piece. It could have gone worse, though.”

“Every time you two leave the village I stop sleeping,” she shook her head. “You know, I actually caught Cinnamin crying one night after a bad dream. She said she heard wolves howling, and a blade whistling in the night.” Rhea smiled. “Maybe the blade was your father’s. I heard about the haul you two brought back. With that much food, they’ll be calling you the Heroes of Felhaven in no time.”

A blade whistling in the night. Ein shivered, even as his sister’s voice reached his ears.

“Mother! I wasn’t crying...!”

Ein and Rhea shared a smile. Cinnamin emerged from the doorway in a flying mess of black hair and skirts, barrelling into Ein’s chest. She pressed her face against his shirt. Ein looked away from Evaine’s amused look.

“You’re back!” Cinnamin exclaimed. “You were gone for so long…”

Much like Ein, his sister seemed to have inherited more traits from their mother than father. Her hair was the same lustrous black, the shape of her face slightly round. She was the spitting image of Rhea except for her eyes. Her eyes were yet another shade of grey—the flickering of quicksilver, livid and formless as the wind.

Ein patted her head. “The woods are emptying,” he said. “It’s not as easy to bring back food anymore. We aren’t the only ones who need to eat out there.”

Cinnamin regarded him with a disapproving look. “You won’t be going away for a while yet, right? Mother told me how much food you brought back.”

“Hopefully not,” Ein said. “But growing people like you need to eat. If you helped some of the others on the farms, we might not need to hunt as much.”

Cinnamin scowled. “Working on a farm is boring.”

Evaine snorted in an unlady-like fashion.

“Everything seems to fall apart when you and Father aren’t here,” his sister continued. “I’m sure the monster that attacked Evaine’s home wouldn’t have dared come if you were here.”

“Now, now,” Rhea interjected. “Father and Ein are hardly the great warriors you make them out to be.”

“You told me you were the best, though,” Cinnamin said, tilting her head at Ein. “Or was that a lie?”

Ein swallowed. He did vaguely recall saying that, several years ago—back when his Father had gone easy on him in their duels, back when he’d been cockier than was warranted. Under the scrutinizing glares of Evaine and his mother, he now regretted it. Thankfully, his sister’s attention moved on and he was saved from having to provide an explanation.

“You stink,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Go and take a bath.”

“Are you sure?” Ein asked. “I only came back because I knew you’d want to see the troupers.”

Cinnamin’s eyes widened. “They’re here already?”

“Yep.”

Unlike he and Evaine, Cinnamin hadn’t been old enough to remember when the troupers had last visited Felhaven. For her, they were as much a myth as the dragons were. Cinnamin looked to her mother, bouncing up and down as if there were coals beneath her feet.

“Mother, is it alright if I go?”

“Yes, dear.” Rhea chuckled. She didn’t look up from her work. “Go and enjoy yourself. Take care of her, Ein. And you take care of him, Evaine.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Evaine curtseyed again.

They left the forge in high spirits, Cinnamin chattering away with enough energy for the three of them, Ein and Evaine nodding and offering brief responses to keep the conversation flowing. Ein couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

It was good to be back. He’d only been gone for a little under a week, but it had felt like much longer. He couldn’t picture a life outside the village, away from Merrill and Evaine, Cinnamin, his mother and father. Felhaven was his home. It was the only world he knew, the place where his heart lay, and he would struggle to the bitter end before he was forced to leave it.

“You’ve grown since I last saw you,” Evaine smiled, stroking Cinnamin’s hair. It hung down to her waist in a wavy mess, an all-too-similar fashion to her mother’s.

“Yep! Mother says I’ll be old enough to braid my hair in a few years. Then, I’ll be like you!”

Ein and Evaine exchanged a glance. Ein looked away.

“How old are you again, Cinnamin?” Evaine asked.

“I’ll be twelve in a few weeks,” she quipped.

“So soon,” Evaine murmured. She looked towards the younger girl. “You make sure you enjoy these two years, okay? They’ll be two years you’ll never get back again.”

Cinnamin frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry.” Evaine tugged at her braid. “Come, I’ll race you to the village square.” She sped off down the road.

“Hey, that’s not fair! You have longer legs!” Cinnamin burst into a sprint, hair streaming behind her. Ein was alone before he had time to blink.

“Hey, wait!” He reached out a hand, but it was too late. The two girls raced off into the distance, kicking up dirt and snow in their wake.