by Resa Nelson
Lenore's gaze wandered to the remaining bread on the table top. Her stomach gurgled.
Astrid handed the bread to Lenore. "Please," Astrid said. "Have some."
Lenore nodded her thanks, helping herself. "When I was very young, I was orphaned. Like you.” Lenore chewed and swallowed a mouthful of bread. "DiStephan told me."
Astrid wondered what else DiStephan had told Lenore about her.
"I lived in the Northlands. One year, my mother and father became very sick with something no one had ever seen before. It scared the neighbors. They thought my parents were dying, and everyone was afraid the illness would spread. So they burned the house down with my mother and father inside."
Astrid looked at Lenore with new understanding.
"My father was a cobbler when he wasn't tending crops.” Lenore stared at her own bare feet. "I escaped with the clothes on my back, the shoes on my feet, a handful of cobbler's needles, and a small knife. I found a cave to live in, and I learned how to find food and water. But I was too young to control my body, and I knew my feet would outgrow my shoes by winter.
"I found another village and knocked on every door. I repaired shoes in exchange for scraps of leather or cloth. For years, I made my own patchwork leather shoes and covered them with red cloth. I loved those shoes as much as I'd ever loved anything. I'd made them with my own hands, and they were beautiful. They made me happy.
"When I grew up, the master of the grandest farm asked me to marry him. I'd known him for years, fixing his shoes and making new ones for him. He'd fallen in love with me, and I'd never even noticed."
Lenore paused, eating more bread.
"Did you love him?” Astrid said.
"He was as handsome and fine as his home. He was as kind to me as anyone ever had been. I'd given up hope long ago that any man would ever want to marry me, and this lovely man offered me companionship, a real home, and a carefree life. So I married him.
"But, as I found out too late, there was a price to pay. As much as I liked the servants, I wasn't allowed to make friends with them—it was improper. My husband's friends weren't people I could understand. They seemed cold and distant. The worst part was I was forbidden to wear anything other than black shoes. I had to dress as my husband wished."
Astrid struggled to keep disbelief out of her voice. "So you were unhappy?"
Lenore stared with firm amusement at Astrid. "How would you feel if you had to give up blacksmithing? How long would you last without the heat of the flame or the singing of metal against metal or whatever it is you love so much?"
Astrid mulled it over. Sometimes she thought she loved her work because she'd loved Temple like a father. Sometimes she thought she loved her work because it made her feel strong and useful and competent.
And then, other times, Astrid swore blacksmithing was in her blood. Blacksmithing felt like her destiny, her fate.
She couldn't imagine what her life would be like without it.
"Oh," Astrid said. "I see."
"I didn't," Lenore said. "Not for a long time. I began to lie to get what I needed. I'd kept my last pair of red shoes, only to discover my husband had had them burned because he assumed I'd never need or want to wear them again. Without his knowledge, I bought a new pair of red shoes from a cobbler. It wasn't the same. They didn't fit as well as the ones I'd made for myself, and the red was darker, like spilt blood. But they were the only red shoes I could have, and I had to keep them secret in order to keep them at all.
"I loved to dance in them. At first, it was only with the servants when my husband wasn't home. I could out-dance them all, full of energy after they'd dropped from exhaustion. At last, I was bold enough to wear them to our proper dances, because my dresses were long enough to cover them up. But when we danced, my dress spun, revealing my red shoes. Afterwards, my husband took my shoes and locked them away, explaining it was my responsibility to wear black. He asked me what was wrong, saying I was no longer the happy woman he'd married.
"When I looked in the mirror that night, I understood what he meant. I didn't look like myself anymore—I looked like him."
"What?” Astrid said, startled. "Someone changed your face?"
"I did," Lenore said quietly. "It wasn't other people who saw me differently—it was me. I willingly had given up the life I'd created for myself in exchange for a bit of comfort. Comfort and love. I gave up what I loved because I wanted to be loved."
"Oh," Astrid whispered. Lenore's words made Astrid want to run to her smithery, to wrap her arms around her anvil and press her face against its cool surface. She thought of every sword she'd ever made for a dragonslayer, feeling humbled by each opportunity given to her and proud of every weapon she'd placed in the world.
"When I realized what I'd done," Lenore said, "I felt trapped. I loved my husband. I saw him as my salvation from a hard life. I'd thought if I embraced what he embraced, I'd be happy again. Instead, I became my husband.
"I couldn't sleep that night. All I wanted was to dance so I wouldn't have to face the reflection I'd seen of myself in the mirror. When my husband went riding the next day, I freed the red shoes from their prison, and I danced. I danced out of our home and into town.
"I couldn't stop."
Astrid had heard of people in other lands who believed in magic. Maybe Lenore was one of those people. "Were the shoes enchanted?"
Lenore's eyes sparkled as she smiled. "Of course not. There's no such thing as magic. I lost control of myself. I thought I'd lost the will to stop, and my thoughts kept spiraling around me until they trapped me in the dance.
"When I saw the blacksmith, I asked him to cut the shoes off, but I'd been dancing so long that my feet had bled and the shoes were stuck to my feet. They wouldn't come off."
Astrid wondered what she would have done if she'd been the blacksmith. "So you asked him to cut off your feet."
"No one understood, especially not my husband. Not until I told him how I felt and that I'd give anything to have my old life back."
Astrid felt startled to see Lenore struggle with her emotions. Of all the women Astrid had ever known, Lenore struck her as the most confident, the most independent. It seemed impossible that anything could make Lenore cry.
But her eyes welled with tears.
"He understood.” Lenore's voice quivered, but she kept her composure, smiling through tears that didn't spill. "He gave me his favorite horse, plenty of food, and told me to go find my old life. He said, with luck, I might become as strong as I was when I was a little girl. He said, perhaps I'd become strong enough to believe my feet are with me in a spirit so great that I could walk on them again.
"It was the greatest gift he ever gave me.
"So I traveled. I imagined my feet as they used to be, and gradually I began to have feelings beyond the stumps. One night I looked down and saw my feet had reappeared."
Astrid sat back, puzzled. "Aren't they just an illusion?"
"My feet," Lenore said, "are as real as my belief in them."
"And the silver shoes?"
Lenore smiled, her eyes sparkling and bright. "Even if my feet could bleed, the blood wouldn't stick to silver. It's impossible to get stuck inside a pair of silver shoes."
Astrid nodded, taking it all in. She had always made assumptions about what was and wasn't possible, based on how she'd seen the people in Guell shift their shapes. Astrid wondered if she'd been narrow in her thinking all these years. Maybe it took an outsider like Lenore to show Astrid what was truly possible.
Astrid stood up, signaling their business had finished. "Let me see what I can do."
Lenore pursed her full lips, watching Astrid. Lenore didn't look convinced. Finally, she stood and took a few steps toward the door. Looking back at Astrid, Lenore said, "I'm sorry about DiStephan. I miss him, too."
A knot tangled the back of Astrid's throat—she couldn't speak.
Lenore smiled briefly. She opened the cottage door and left.
When Astrid went to
close the door, she watched Lenore walk away.
She left no footprints on the dirt path.
Astrid remembered what Temple had told her long ago: once you decide who you are, you can stand up inside your own skin. Lenore was a woman who had decided who she was.
Astrid hadn't lied to Lenore. Not really. Astrid had said she'd see what she could do about making the silver shoes—she hadn't said when.
Maybe someday she'd return to Guell. If so, she'd make silver shoes for Lenore.
Lenore's suspicions had confirmed Astrid's fear: it was going to be difficult to leave Guell, maybe even at night.
Astrid realized she had another choice.
She could leave now.
* * *
As soon as Lenore disappeared from sight, Astrid dashed to the smithery behind her cottage.
"Don't dawdle," Astrid told herself, focusing on the task at hand. She knew she had to decide very quickly which tools she could take with her and which tools she'd have to leave behind.
First, the tools had to be small enough to hide underneath her clothes.
"I guess that means I'm leaving the anvil behind," Astrid muttered, resting one hand on top of it as she scanned the contents of the smithery.
Next, the tools had to be essential. Tools she used often and loved too much to leave behind.
"The hammers," Astrid said, walking up to her array of hammers and picking her favorites. It wasn't that hammer heads were difficult to make—it was a matter of balance. Making a balanced wooden handle that fit the hammer head like a married couple destined to be together. It had taken years to create her favorite hammers, mostly due to dozens of failed attempts.
Astrid chose a few other tools. She hid them all underneath her clothes, her muscles tensing at the sudden extra weight. She practiced walking back and forth across the smithery until she could walk without making clanging sounds.
She took one long, last look. Astrid thought about Lenore and the red shoes she'd made for herself, how she'd been happy even though she'd been poor. "It's going to be fine," Astrid reassured herself. "Everything's going to be fine."
With that, she turned and left the smithery, knowing she'd never see it again.
* * *
Food. Maybe I can hide a little food in my pouch.
She went back inside her cottage, took the last bits of bread that Mauri had given to her, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and slipped it inside her pouch. Astrid took a quick glance around the room before stepping toward the door.
Mauri stepped inside, closing the door. Her face was pale and drawn in fear. Her lower lip trembled when she spoke. "You can't leave. Not now."
Astrid laughed it off. "What?"
Mauri held each side of the doorway, blocking Astrid's path. Mauri stood rock solid, as if no force in nature could make her move. "Lenore warned me."
Lenore. Astrid had brushed off Lenore's suspicions, so Lenore had run to the one person with the power to convince Astrid to stay.
But Astrid stood her ground. There was nothing Mauri could say to change her mind.
"I saw DiStephan," Mauri said. "I talked to him a few days ago."
Astrid's heart beat so fast that she feared it would rattle the hammers she'd slipped inside her vest.
"When?” Astrid felt her entire body flush, like being overtaken by fever. "Where?"
Outside, someone screamed.
They stared at each other.
Another scream, closer this time.
"Dragon," Astrid said.
"Where's Taddeo?” Mauri backed away from the cottage door, looking around the room for a place to hide.
Astrid stood. "I don't know. He's been keeping guard. I suspect he's at his camp."
What if the dragon had killed Taddeo?
Astrid tried to think. She had a handful of hammers and other tools on her body right now, but they'd be useless against a dragon. And if the dragon had already attacked people, trying to reason with it would probably get her killed.
But the smithery. Astrid had a sword in the smithery.
Astrid and Mauri should stay together. Safety in numbers.
"Come with me," Astrid said, extending her hand to Mauri as she stepped toward the cottage door.
They both jumped, crying out in surprise when the door crashed into the cottage.
Three strangers burst into the room.
Instinctively, Astrid wrapped her arms around Mauri to protect her.
"Which one of you is the blacksmith?"
Astrid realized they were men, but they were like no men she'd ever seen before. Fur boots covered their legs to just above their knees. They wore leather armor and black capes.
The one who spoke wore a mask shaped like a dragon. "Which one is the blacksmith?"
Astrid felt a nauseating wave of recognition. There was something vaguely familiar about the man in the dragon mask. His voice, maybe. Or the way he stood. Whatever it was, it terrified her.
"Who are you?” Astrid said, feeling Mauri tremble in her grasp.
"Brigands," Mauri whispered. "We're being attacked."
Screams grew louder outside. Through the doorway, past the intruders, Astrid caught a glimpse of more men on horseback, chaos in the streets, and a house on fire. A sudden breeze carried the smell of smoke and burning flesh.
"What do you want with the blacksmith?” Astrid said, trying to make sense out of chaos.
One of the brigands pointed at Astrid's arms. "Look at her muscles. She's the one."
"Right," said the man with the dragon mask. "Take her.” He pointed at Mauri. "And kill the other one."
PART 3: TWISTING THE IRON
"Iron is like anyone you'll ever meet," Temple said as he continued the lesson of making a dragonslayer's sword. "Everybody is strong in certain ways and weak in other ways. When you hammer iron, you shape and mold its strength. The slag you hammer out of it—that's nothing magic. Slag is just the weakness in the iron coming out."
Temple had chosen two billets days ago and put them aside to make the sword's edges.
Now came the step Astrid liked best: twisting the iron. Using a flat piece of stone as long as her forefinger to measure the iron, she would keep one finger-length of a billet straight. She’d twist the next finger length tightly, like a ringlet of hair.
Astrid pulled a billet from the fire, and Temple poured water over every section other than the one to be twisted. He clamped a cool section of the billet into a vise. Tongs in hand, Astrid worked fast, gripping the dark iron just above the bright yellow section, twisting the iron hard and fast to make four complete revolutions. When they'd finished with each billet, it had nine straight sections alternating with nine twisted sections, like ripples across a lake.
Four billets twisted to the right, while four other billets twisted to the left.
"A sword must be hard enough to hold its edge," Temple said, "and tough enough so it doesn't bend or break, which means it needs to be kept soft. That's the blacksmith's problem: how do you make a sword that's both hard enough and soft enough?
"The answer's in the billets. Some billets are hard enough, some billets are soft enough. It's putting the billets together that solves the problem."
They paired off billets twisted in different directions into the fire. When the full length of both billets glowed bright yellow, Astrid pulled them out, hammering the fluxed surfaces together hard and fast. Fist-sized white sparks flew like shooting stars with every hammer blow.
Astrid examined the first pair of billets she'd welded. When she checked the twisted sections, she was happy with the way the twists slanted down, forming a "V" shape.
"A dragonslayer's sword has great character," Temple said. "It balances its strengths with its weaknesses by balancing strong spots in the iron with weak spots. Anyone who can do that is as valuable to the world as the sword is to the dragonslayer."
The initial welding gave them four paired billets. Next, it was time to join two of those paired billets, side by side, we
lding once more. Again, the twisted sections lined up across the four billets as two "V" shapes, side by side, and all the straight sections aligned.
The two sections of four billets welded together formed the core of what would become each side of the sword's blade.
Astrid brought the two sections of welded billets to a bright yellow. She welded them together, the twisted rows on one section back-to-back with the straight rows on the other.
"A sword made from a single piece of metal is likely to bend and break," Temple explained. "And once your sword's broken or bent, you're as good as dead."
Astrid heated the core of welded billets, and then hammered it flat. She finished shaping the core. The next step was to hammer the two billets she'd set aside to form the sword's edges.
"What we do is create a balance of hard and soft," Temple said. "It's that balance, that's what makes our swords great.
"That's why you must promise to keep what we do a secret."
"I promise," Astrid said.
"Do not promise lightly," Temple said. His face darkened and he became more serious than Astrid had ever seen. "If our secret falls into the wrong hands, everything we know can be destroyed by our enemies."
Astrid frowned. "What enemies do we have?"
Temple gazed into her eyes. "We will know them when we meet them."
CHAPTER 10
"No," Astrid said, stepping in front of Mauri to protect her.
The brigands pushed past her, and Mauri moaned while they gripped her arms.
The man in the dragon mask stared long and hard at Astrid. "It is you, isn't it?"
His eyes were lavender. The same lavender eyes from her childhood nightmares.
Despite the dragon mask, she recognized Drageen.
Astrid felt like a little girl again, back in the bad place.
Her eyes rolled back in her head when her knees buckled. Her body felt like an enormous lump of iron as she collapsed, a breath away from fainting.
The tools hidden inside her clothes weighed her down like anchors, dragging her down into a sea of unconsciousness. The tools clanged, singing against the flagstones when Astrid hit the floor.