Benjamin J. Struck

the blacksmith of idyllwind

The wind blew in from the west through the village of Idyllwind. Streams of spring melt from the mountains ran cheerily around the small town as the trees, waking from their long winter sleep, rustled and swayed groggily in the breeze. The Crown Atlas towered high above the houses and buildings that nestled cozily in its shadow. The long winter had been harsh, and most of the wild game had sought shelter in the Northwoods below Idyllwind, away from the unforgiving terrain higher in the foothills of the White Mountains. But as the snow melted, and the tender spring buds of the saplings began to sprout from the tips of branches and twigs, the deer began to return to the surrounding forests, preceded by their much larger and elusive cousins, the great, red deer, that bugled triumphantly in the still chilled air, declaring their victory over the winter.

Smoke rose from the twin chimneys of the smithy next to the Skjór River. The river, its eym hidden somewhere within the deep clefts of the Crown Atlas, ran down through the Northwoods, past North Harbor, connecting eventually to the Morgan which, in turn, ran south, nearly to the Lumbars, before joining with springs from the Witch Wood and bending east into the vast, shimmering waters of the Arggen Flough. The flowing water of the Skjór turned a large wheel protruding from the wall of the smithy, which operated a simple system of gears connected to a leather bellows. With each turn of the wheel, the bellows slowly breathed life into the forge. The sound of metal chimed in rhythmic beats from within the stone workshop, a double tap, then a pause, double tap, pause. The sun had just peeked into the east-facing windows of the smithy, adding much needed light to the dim, forge-lit room.

Kastor gripped the iron rod firmly in his left hand, with his right, he beat out the rhythm of the hammer. Double tap, pause, double tap, pause. The rod was forge-welded to a hand-sized glowing piece of purified iron, which he had spent the better part of a week heating, hammering out the impurities, and then heating again to repeat the process. He inspected the chunk of iron by holding it up to his face; the heat from the metal made his cheeks and forehead bead with sweat. The soft glow reflected in his brown eyes. It was finally ready. Drawing the piece out into a long, thin strip would take hours of hard work, but it was necessary. Kastor mentally walked through the process as he placed the iron back into his forge, metal rod sticking out from the coals. He would draw the metal out, then while it was still malleable, he would cut it with a chisel into short, four inch strips and let them air cool. Following this, he would place them into a special crucible he had made, then loosely pack the container with finely ground charcoal and seal it shut. He would leave this in the forge for as long as he could stand waiting to give the charcoal enough time to bind to the iron strips. Kastor was an excessively patient man, and the ability to make his own steel was worth the long, arduous process. He was of average height, but a life as a blacksmith had given him a powerful build, capable of shaping metal through brute force. His pale, northlander skin glistened with a thin coat of sweat and metal shavings.

A rap sounded at the door to the smithy, calling Kastor out of his mental planning. He moved away from the forge and, wiping his metal-stained hands on his apron, answered the door. The face that met him on the other side was dark skinned and covered with a black beard speckled with gray. His eyes were dulled from a heavy weight, one that he would not speak of. His head was bald and the light of the rising sun behind him reflected off its surface. Slung over his back was a lumpy, burlap sack.

“Good morning, Kastor,” he said, “I went for a pleasant walk early this morning and found some nice looking limestone pieces. I thought I’d bring you some.” Kastor smiled widely at him and motioned for him to enter.

“Good morning to you as well, Oros!” He beamed. “And thank you, any excuse for me not to climb up to the quarry, I’m happy with.” He pulled a stool out from beneath a workbench and gestured for Oros to sit. He obliged, limping over to the seat. Kastor frowned slightly at the man’s pained walk. He had found him lying in a ditch in the forest to the northwest of the village. His legs were badly slashed and his grey, monkish robes were covered in foul smelling blood. From the looks of the ground behind him, Kastor had guessed he crawled a long way before collapsing. He had felt uneasy there, as though he were being watched from all sides by unseen eyes. Kastor carried the injured man back to Idyllwind and the healer nursed him slowly back to health. He had refused to speak of what had happened to him or where he was from. That had been five years ago.

“That limestone will give me something to do while I wait for this piece to heat up.” Said Kastor once Oros had sat down. He emptied the sack of stones into a basket near his anvil. The rocks would be crushed down into powder for use in welding pieces of metal together. “How can I help you, Oros?” He asked, straightening up. Oros smiled.

“I seemed to have messed up a hinge on my leg brace during my walk this morning.” He said, tapping the side of his leg. Kastor grunted and squatted down in front of the man. Oros wore two metal leg braces to relieve pressure from his knees; it was the only way he was still able to walk. Kastor had made them. He ran his fingers along the metal frame, until he found the offending joint.

“Ah, there it is.” He muttered. “Did you bend this before or after you decided to bring me a bag of rocks?” Oros grinned sheepishly.

“I admit I damaged it before… I felt bad coming here to ask you to fix it–”

“Again.” Interjected Kastor, raising a finger.

“Yes, fix it again,” Oros continued, “without bringing you something.”

“Well.” Said Kastor, untying the knot holding the brace to Oros’ leg. “As long as you didn’t damage it while trying to find me a present, I don’t mind.” He held up the brace and inspected it more closely. “I don’t think I’ll need to heat this to bend it back…” He said, half to himself. Removing the bent hinge from the rest of the brace, Kastor grabbed a blunt chisel and his hammer and, with several hefty strikes on the anvil, straightened out the bend in the metal. “There you go,” he said, “that should do it. Let me know if you have any other issues with it.” Oros beamed.

“Again you’ve saved me!” He laughed. “At least you’re not keeping count.”

“I was…” smirked Kastor, “but I lost count a couple years ago. You move about too quickly, you should slow down a bit and be more patient. You don’t have anywhere to be.” The smile on Oros’ face flickered momentarily.

“No.” He said. “Not anymore.”

~