The Mountain Wears a Ring of Gold – Interludes
Master of Forges Kisaan moved across the Central Forge with a slow, liquid grace that stood out amongst the barely-controlled chaos that drove everyone else. The quiet jangle of row after row of medals recognizing her talents and dedication across decades went unheard against the cacophony of hammer blows and shouts. Yet, for all the noise and the fact that she wore a dark leather apron which covered them, she wore a quiet smile as though she could hear them clanking again stone another quite clearly and found the sound pleasing to her ears.
Young men and women clad in the bare tan smocks of all apprentices would come to her, eyes wide and mouths clamped tight as they held their various works up to her with reverence. The older woman didn’t even pause in her stride, turning each piece in her hands with quick, practiced movements before nodding and returning each without a flicker of her inner feelings showing on her face.
She would give each apprentice a few quiet words of admonition or encouragement or praise, as the piece demanded, then they would each hurry back with pride or determination on their faces, desperate to prove they could repeat their achievements or live up to whatever goal she had turned their hands to.
Her head turned, a hunting hound catching the scent of its quarry. With the same grace she had been returning to her own station with, she turned instead towards this newest issue. The issue was apparent immediately. One of the apprentices, turned loose on her own, was failing to manage her forge temperatures appropriately. It wasn’t a large discrepancy, but Kisaan had sensed with her usual preternatural clarity that this ‘small’ issue was about to take one of her forges down for the rest of the day.
The young girl was not asleep at the forge, either. She had clearly noticed that something was amiss, and while source and solution both eluded her, she was making up for her lack with effort. Sweat poured off her face as she worked the bellows with all her might. Dismay replaced concern as the flames refused to respond to her commands. Before dismay could yield to panic, Kisaan arrived.
She did not rebuke nor replace the young apprentice. With an alacrity that defied her age, she moved one of the young girl’s hands towards the tray full of coal cut into hexagonal slates. With deft, practiced motions, she guided the girl’s hands around two of them and with a flick of both wrists flipped both slates exactly where they were needed on the opposite end of the fire.
Kisaan did not stop her instructional correction there. With the hand not occupied by coal flinging she grabbed the corner of one of the rags that was sticking out of her apron and looped it around the young girl’s eyes before securing it in place, despite the young girl’s yelp of surprise.
Kisaan leaned close, lifting the young woman’s foot with hers to stop her frenzied pumping before replacing it on the pump and placing hers atop it to show her how to apply the correct pressure.
“When the smithy is in full swing, smoke and noise is everywhere. In the heat and the din, your eyes can deceive you, Mistress Lysaine. Stop relying upon them. You are the guardian of this forge. Learn what it needs with more than just your eyes.
The rhythmic pounding that had stopped when the forge fire began banking renewed. The trio of smiths nodded gratefully as one to the older woman before resuming their song and their swings. The master of forges remained there, foot atop the young girl’s, hand atop hers as she flung coal with unerring precision. The startled and embarrassed breathing of the young apprentice had eased to a more measured pace as she adjusted to her circumstances. Master Kisaan smiled with pride, though the young girl could not see it.
She resumed her instructions.
“To tend a forge, you must know its needs as well as your own. Feel the heat of the fire upon your skin. How does it feel?”
The young girl turned her face fully towards the fire. There was enough distance that she could do so without sustaining anything more than mild discomfort.
“It’s hot Master, like midday in summer, yet not as uncomfortable for some reason.”
A small laugh, the tinkling of bells, before the master answered.
“That is because there is no moisture in it. The heat you feel now is as it should be. Tell me Mistress Lysaine, is the heat even across your skin?”
The young face crinkled with concentration. She nodded slowly before answering.
“Yes Master, the heat is even and smooth across my face. It is like the forge is breathing, deep and slow with each blow of the bellows.”
They worked in tandem for a few minutes more, before a frown stole over the young woman’s face.
“Master, something is wrong. The heat is no longer even at the end of the bellows stroke on my left forehead.”
The smooth, olive skin of the master’s hand closed over the delicate ivory of the apprentices, fetching a disk of coal before flinging it into the back left corner of the forge.
“Very good Mistress Lysaine. The heat was at the end because each breath the forge takes is pushed across the forge front to back. When it is cool at the beginning of the bellows breath, it is the front of the fire. When it is cool at the end, as now, it is the rear end.”
A gasp of delighted surprise and understanding made the apprentice cough fiercely for a moment with a suddenly dry throat. Again the tinkling laugh but it was a humor that mended the moment rather than chiding it.
“When you are flush with the forge as you are now, your face will guide the coal where it is needed. You have no need of your eyes to guard a forge, Mistress Lysaine.”
A firm finger lifted the chin of the young woman so that it was facing Master Kisaan’s. The finger traced kindly along the young woman’s face until it hooked up the blindfold enough for her to see.
Master Kisaan’s face was a study in tranquil good humor. Eyes half-lidded and webbed with crows feet from decades of smiling in the heat. With her other hand, Master Kisaan forced the eye closest to the apprentice fully open, revealing the milky white of pupils which could never have seen the light of day.
The apprentice made to gasp again, but this time thought better of it and covered her mouth instead. Master Kisaan’s smile then was radiant with pride and love as she let both eye and blindfold slip back into place. She closed her hand into a fist and gently bonked Mistress Lysaine’s head with it.
“So, from now until the end of this work period, I expect you to keep the blindfold on as you guard the labor of the smiths assigned to you.”
Nodding towards the three men, the Master of Forges stepped away from the young apprentice and the laughing smiths working at the forge she was now guarding blind, and resumed her slow and graceful pacing across the hundred meters of forge and fire which constituted her domain.
To be continued….
ForgeMasterfully,
The Unsheathed Quill
