Her cheeks were burning even more now, but she stood tall. She might have been raised in a small village, but she knew the ways people tried to take advantage of those in need. How often the desperate ended up taking their clothes off.
For the first time, the mirth left the glassblower’s face. “No. Not that. Never that.”
Nessa bit her cheek. “Right. Of course not. I apologise. I only wanted to be sure.”
“You were right to make that clear. Many ogres might ask that of a young, beautiful would-be-apprentice, yes? I would never. In fact, if anyone asks you for something like that, I’ll lend you my blowpipe for you to shove up their a… I mean, their kitchen entrance.”
The tension in her shoulders lessened. “Good. Thank you for clarifying.”
“No need to mention it.”
He sat down on a large crate and lit his pipe. The smoke smelled like hay and salt, unlike any pipe smoke Nessa had ever smelled. She shouldn’t have been surprised, Anja had said that folk put whatever they could find in their pipes if nothing pleasant had been shipped in from the warmer continents.
When the smoke came readily, Fabian sat back and surveyed Nessa again. He had a way of looking at a person like he was waiting for the next thing you were going to say, convinced it was going to be something funny.
“So, a test. A wholesome but tricky test. Yes?”
Nessa clasped her hands behind her back. “If you’d like.”
“I need to know your strength and your… what is the word… commitment. If I’m to spend my small amount of coin and time on you, I need to know that you’ll work your heart out for me. For this hot shop. I need you to love this place and the glass that is made here, yes?”
“That makes sense,” Nessa replied.
“Good. Now, what to make the test? I need to know three things, I think. That you’re strong, dedicated, and that you know at least something about glassblowing.”
Nessa nodded, despite suspecting that he was asking himself.
“So, the test should be split then, yes? One for the mind and one for the body. Together they will test your commitment.”
“Whatever you think best,” Nessa replied.
“How to test your knowledge of our trade is easy, I will ask you about our tools and what to do with them and expect you to answer correctly, yes?”
“Of course.”
He sucked on his pipe. “Strength and determination on the other hand. Hmm. I’ll find something to test this, yes? First, let’s see how much glassblowing is in your mind and heart. Come to the furnace.”
Thus, they began. With the workshop warming up, both Nessa and Fabian took their outerwear off. Still smoking his pipe, Fabian held up the tools of the trade and Nessa named them and their uses. His smile grew as she answered quickly, assertively, and correctly.
“Well done, Mrs Glass.”
“Please, do call me Nessa.”
“I tell you, I cannot. Not with such a fitting surname. If I’m to have an apprentice called Glass I shall call her that.”
Nessa couldn’t help but roll her eyes, something which didn’t seem to bother Fabian, who merely laughed.
“Now, let’s see if you are to become my apprentice. Determination of the mind and strength of the body… What do you call that last one in Arclidian?”
Nessa frowned. “Endurance? Or physical strength?”
“Let’s test that, Mrs Glass.”
Nessa took a deep, readying breath, flexing the muscles in her arms and shoulders. A childhood of farm work in rain, wind, and every temperature known to man should have prepared her for whatever was coming. She hoped.
Fabian ran his hand over his bristled, pointy chin again. “You spoke of our Storsund cold and of the heat by the furnace. I think the test should be about hot and cold.”
He looked around the workshop. “The crates I carried in and put over there. Move them over to that corner. Without removing any of your thick clothes, yes? Then, when you are done, go outside without your coat and unbridle my horse. Then pull the carriage into the shed next door.”
Nessa swallowed hard. “Pull the cart without the horse?”
“It is not impossibly heavy, but it will be a test to do it out in the cold, after moving all these crates in the heat in here, yes? Take as long as you want, don’t hurry and end up fainting. But I want to see the strength of your body and your… eh, what is the word…”
“Resolve?” Nessa croaked.
He nodded, his expression grave. “Stop if it is too much. Don’t die. I’m sure you can find another glassblower to apprentice you. But if you can do this, I’ll take you on and teach you right away. Even pay you nice amount of coin, yes? I live, sweat, and bleed for this hot shop and for the glass. Show me that you will do the same.”
Nessa stood tall again, not acknowledging the anxious tension thrumming through her body.
“I’ll try. No, I’ll do more than try. I’ll manage it. Even if it takes me all day.”
He looked suddenly paternal. “That’s the spirit, Mrs Glass.”
He sat down on a chair by the furnace and puffed at his pipe. The dancing light from the furnace made his angular, pale, and suddenly solemn face look almost sickly.
Nessa inspected the three layers of clothing on her torso, the two layers on her lower body, and the long, fur-lined leather boots which hid her woollen socks. Deciding to keep her Arclid leather coat and just wear more layers underneath to keep warm might be her downfall today.
If you’re not careful, exhausting yourself and sweating in the cold will make you the one who is sickly.
Still, she had been through worse. Harvesting the barley alone, because her father and mother were ill, on a rain-soaked day after her first boyfriend had left her. That had been a test. And she had come through it with flying colours. Long after nightfall, she had finally finished and dragged her soaked, aching body, and the accompanying aching heart, into her bed. She had slept like that, soaked and dirty, for nearly fourteen hours. Then she had gotten up the next day to do the chores and get back to work.
If she could do that, she could do this.
She rolled her shoulders and bent to test the weight of the first crate. Rather heavy, but manageable. As she bent at the knees and picked it up, she tried not to think about the weight of the carriage outside.
A while later, all the crates had been moved from where Fabian had plonked them to orderly lines in the corner of the workshop. Nessa took deep breaths to stop panting and wiped her eyes, which stung from the sweat that had poured from her hairline. Her clothes were growing heavy with sweat. Everything was heavy, including her arms. She locked them, willing them to stay strong for the test yet to come.
Fabian stood. His pipe had gone out a long time ago, but it still hung limply between his lips.
“Well done, Mrs Glass,” he said quietly as he left the room.
Nessa, bewildered at his departure, took the chance to stretch and grimace freely.
He returned with a large tin cup. “Here. Water with grains of salt in it. You need it after losing so much sweat. I added some coffee grounds for taste and energy. It will taste foul, yes? But help you with the rest of your test.”
“Thank you!”
She downed it, not tasting the disgusting mix until the liquid was gone, leaving salty, bitter sludge on her tongue. She tried not to make a face. She planned to give an impression of strength and control. She would show Fabian Smedstorp what Ground Hollow women were made of.
She looked him dead in the eye. “I’m ready to go outside.”
He tapped his lips with his index finger. “Mm. I suppose the test wouldn’t be real if you wait until you’ve recovered and dried.” He pointed his pipe at her. “As I said before, take your time moving the carriage. I’m in no hurry, yes? I don’t want to explain your death to that yellow-eyed, lovesick woman you came here with.”
“They’re golden. Possibly light amber.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Excuse me?�
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“Uh. Her eyes. They’re not exactly yellow. They’re—”
He smirked. “Golden or light member?”
“Amber,” she corrected, wondering if he was messing with her.
“Your wife, yes?”
“Luckily for me, yes,” Nessa said.
This time the lie slipped out without Nessa’s mind painting pictures of what her parents might think about her lying over something as sacred as marriage.
His smirk grew to a beaming smile. “You both did well there, I think. Now, let’s see if you do well with that carriage, yes?” The smile disappeared. “I’ll unbridle Annika, my horse, and lead her to the stable. You focus on trying to lift, push, or shove the carriage to the shed next to it.”
“Thank you,” Nessa said, keeping her voice confident.
In silence, they went outside. Fabian pulled his outerwear on. Nessa barely managed to walk away from her beloved leather coat. She shivered the second her hot, sweaty face hit the cold air.
As Fabian walked the horse to the small stable, Nessa looked into the open shed next to it. There was plenty of room for the cart; if she could only get it there. It was far from the biggest cart she had ever seen, certainly small enough to be lifted and rolled by someone strong and using the right lifting technique. The problem was that while she was strong enough to do it when she was rested, fed, and not boiling with sweat, she wasn’t sure she would be in this state. With a tired arm, she wiped sweat from her brow, wondering if the droplets might actually freeze soon.
Fabian was putting his fur hat on. “I’d suggest starting. Don’t stand there and get frozen, you will catch… um, you know, diseases of the chest.”
She was too anxious and uncomfortable to find words for him now. Instead she flexed her fingers to keep them from stiffening in the cold. She bent at the knees and took the grips of the cart. The wood was cold and they were set wide apart to fit a horse, but she could hold them if she widened her reach. She began lifting, achieving barely anything. The muscles in her arms, shoulders, and chest seemed to remember every single crate she had just moved.
Don’t think it impossible. If you do, your body shall believe it. Imagine yourself lifting it enough to push it along. No need to take care, there is no cargo. Just get it to the shed any old way you can.
She tried again, pushing up with her legs and back. She got the front of it to lift somewhat and the wheels to move in their tracks in the snow. Then it became too much for her weary muscles. With an enraged shout, she put it back down. She paced back and forth, staring at the cart, wondering if there was another way.
“May I use tools?”
Fabian sighed, more with sympathy than impatience, it seemed. “No, I think that would defeat the purpose, yes? I know that you’re smart and capable from our last test. This is about brute strength and the power of your… um… determination. I believe you can do this, I wouldn’t have given you the task otherwise.”
“Right,” Nessa said.
She gritted her teeth. Then she stopped in front of the grips and grabbed them again. Putting all her strength into it, she didn’t try to lift this time, but instead pushed it. It moved a little. She screamed and kept pushing, feeling throbbing in her temples. It moved a little farther. The snow, slush, and ice were stopping the wheels, though. She needed to lift it if she was to move it all the way. If she got it rolling, it would all be easier. She chuckled mirthlessly to herself. Easier? It would be easier if her arms, shoulders, and back weren’t exhausted by those cursed crates.
I can’t do this. I can’t do anything on my own.
But there was no one who could help her now. Not her parents, not Layden, not Elise, not Hunter. Not even Anja. She let out a shaky breath and wiped her brow again.
Stop complaining. One step at a time. You’ve moved it. You passed the knowledge test, you finished all the crate lifting. All that is left now is this damn cart and getting it into that cursed shed!
Nessa considered praying but didn’t know which of the gods might hear her prayers. Arclid had no gods of winter. Or cart-pushing. She shivered. She couldn’t keep standing still like this, she’d freeze. It was time to try lifting the grips again.
She stood before them, staring them down. Their cold wood glared back at her, unyielding. She grabbed them, bent at the knees again, and tensed her muscles. With a few deep breaths, Nessa tried to harness the rage she had for this gods-cursed cart and the snow underneath its wheels. She added thoughts of the Queen, who had wanted to own Elise and didn’t care who she hurt to do it. She relived the pain of missing her family and turned that into rage, too.
Then, with an almighty scream and eyes closed, she hoisted the cart. It only lifted a little, but it was a start. After that she had no concept of how she was doing. All she was aware of was her pained muscles and the iron determination to use every fibre of her being to push the cart. She could only hope she was still heading towards the shed.
Suddenly there was a jolt, and she felt cold against her face. She had lost her footing and fallen into the snow. Nessa lay there for a moment, cursing every god she could think of. As she stood and wiped away the snow, her arms shaking and her muscles burning, she saw that the cart was almost halfway to the shed! She could have wept with joy.
Sobering, she heard her father’s voice in her head. “No time for all of that, my girl. Wait with such things until the work is done. Everything waits until the work is done.”
Nessa grunted victoriously through gritted teeth and bent to take the grips again. She began lifting, but her hands slipped. She wasn’t sure if it was because they were frozen stiff, slippery with sweat and condensation on the grips, or because her muscles were so weak they had lost their gripping power. Probably all of the above. She tried again, this time locking her hands so tight around the grips she heard her knuckles cracking.
Sweat once more poured down her face and her nose began to run, but she lifted the cart again. A muscle in her thigh shot spasms of pain through her leg and up her back. She ignored it. That would have to be dealt with later. She had work to do.
She screamed again and pushed forward. Her vision went hazy, her mind was too busy focusing on the ache and determination to have time for sight. She squeezed her useless eyes shut, hearing her scream turn to pained whining. Her throat was sore now, too. Her feet moved and seemed to find purchase, she must be moving the cart. Yes, it was rolling. And now there was a tiny bit of slope to the ground. It wasn’t much, but it gave her the push she needed to keep the wheels rolling on the packed snow.
Don’t stop. Do it. Do it… for Elise. Make her proud. Push through the pain. You can do it. Do it for Elise!
Nessa repeated the mantra in her head. The pain in her muscles wasn’t as obvious now. It was still there, but somewhere deep inside her. At the front of her mind was just a haze where everything blurred except one thing: she had to keep going.
“No! Be careful!”
Fabian’s shout rang out too late. Nessa had hit something. The crashing noise was enough to wake her out of her internally focused state. She opened her eyes and saw the cart against the corner of the shed. She let go of the grips and dropped onto her rump in the snow.
The shed and the cart appeared undamaged. Nessa, however, knew that her strength was spent. Her body refused to move. If someone had told her she was on fire, she wasn’t even sure she’d have the power in her limbs to roll the flames away in the snow. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying so hard not to cry. She had failed. It was no surprise to her that she couldn’t do this alone, but the defeat still shamed her. Letting Fabian down was bad, but worse than that, was letting Elise down. Seeing the pity and worry in those beautiful golden eyes; Nessa couldn’t stand the idea. How would she even tell her?
She heard footsteps in the snow and opened her eyes. Through the mist of tears, she saw Fabian scrutinising her.
He cleared his throat. “You know, I should’ve mentioned that the snow has more ice under it. And is more den
sely packed by the shed. You couldn’t have known that, yes? Besides, Arclidians know nothing about snow. I should’ve thought about that. It was unfair of me.”
Nessa blinked away her tears and looked at him.
What does that matter? Is that meant to make me feel better? I failed, no matter what the reason. No apprenticeship for me. No good news to tell Elise.
He was waiting for her to answer, his mirthful features now showing only empathy.
“I should’ve had my eyes open. Then I would’ve seen when I started to veer to the right,” Nessa said, sniffing.
“Well, you’ll see where you’re going when you get up and do the last part,” he said with a big smile.
“I can’t. My body won’t even move to get me out of this cold, white oxen-shit,” she said listlessly.
His smile faded. “Hm. You need coffee. Wipe away your tears, sweat, and snow. Clear your mind. I’ll go get coffee, yes?”
Nessa gave a hollow laugh, even that taking more energy than she could spare. “Coffee won’t be enough.”
“Maybe not for you, but it will be for me. I’m cold, and if I’m going to help you get that thing in the shed, I need warmth in my belly.”
He turned and walked away.
“What do you mean by ‘help,’ Mr Smedstorp?” Nessa shouted hoarsely at his retreating form.
He looked over his shoulder, smiling. “As I said, it was my fault for not telling you about the packed snow and ice by the shed, yes? So, I’ll help you move the cart back a little and then into the shed.”
Nessa’s heart sank even further. “I see. Well, if you just want your cart put away, get the horse to do it. Or do it yourself. It would be quicker than getting my weak arms to help.”
“If I do that, you’ll fail your task. No, Mrs Glass. You will get that cart into the shed and earn your apprenticeship, yes? You’ll simply do it with a little help, to make up for me not warning you.” He adjusted his hat. “Now, let me get you the coffee so you can warm up. I don’t want you getting ill just as you’re starting to work for me,” he shouted back before walking inside.
Tinderbox Under Winter Stars Page 11