What others think does matter.

There will come a time when you will be judged by others.

Your heart…or perhaps your safety, may depend on the outcome.

Know that what you do, not what you say, will be used to measure your character.

Sweat dripped from his brow with each blow. The heat of the forge always felt good. The resistance of the metal to his will, requiring his focus, his skill…sometimes his anger, to make it bend. He’d lost count how many times he’d shaped this particular piece of ore—the one his father had given him for his very first project.

A true master shapes metal with his heart, Dearborn had said. It had been a cold winters morning. Evan spent many weeks sitting by the forge, listening to the tales of the freemen. Men of the Highlands, who served the kingdom by choice, not by obligation or compulsion. Men who came to his father for armor…and weapons.

Again Evan let the hammer fall. Sparks flew and the metal folded. Turning it across the anvil, he dropped his body into each blow. Turn and strike. Turn and strike. Turn and strike.

“But how will I know that it is ready, father?” Evan asked aloud, as if the spirits of those long gone could hear him, “…and not some imagination of my own heart?”

He stopped his arm in mid-strike.

Because it will speak to you. The evening air pushed through the slats of wood, chilling the sweat on his neck. Evan could hear the deep rumble of his fathers voice around him. All things are alive my son…even the deepest wedged ores of this world. They have a purpose, to serve man.

He gripped the tongs with steel fingers and held it aloft. The eyes of a ghost stared back, swimming in the glow of metal. It was almost complete.

Trust your heart, my son.

“Ready to do a man’s work?” snapped a voice from behind.

Startled, the metal fell from the tongs and into the glowing coals of the forge. Sparks exploded into the air, singing Evan’s arms, hands, neck and face.

“Argh!” he jumped back, shaking his head, brushing the burning embers from his skin.

Darrick grinned, “I’m startin’ to think it unwise to leave my prized horses with a blacksmith who can’t handle metal.” He stood just inside the door of the barn, rope in his hand.

Evan shot the butcher a glare of irritation. He quickly fished out his creation from the flames and plunged it into the barrel of water. It hissed and spat steam back at him in frustration.

“What do you want, Darrick?”

The butcher scoffed and pushed the barn door wide open. “Only that you shoe my prized possessions in a timely manner.” Attached to the ends of the rope were two horses. The larger beast dropped its black head forward and nudged the butcher with its white speckled muzzle. He stroked the thick neck affectionately, “Alright, you.”

Evan found the animal utterly magnificent. The strong frame, thick white boots starting at the knees and forming a bell over the hooves. Darrick had named him King, which seemed appropriate—as the stallion attracted the attention of the mares in the village. The only two stallions that had challenged him in the open fields, had to be put down after the ensuing fights.

Behind King stood an almond colored mare. Her long blonde mane and tail shined like strands of gold in the waning light of the day.

Darrick pulled a small sack out of his vest and tossed it into the dirt at Evan’s feet. The sound of coins chinked in the cool air.

“Shoe them both.”

Evan stared at the sack. He rubbed the blisters on his hands.

“This is a first.” He slowly peered up at the butcher, “What do you really want?”

“Your absence,” Darrick sneered. He twisted the ropes between his hands, pulling and tugging, as if trying to wring an invisible neck. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Leave Jess alone. I don’t want you seeing here again.”

“I haven’t been improper. I haven’t even…”

“I don’t care to know what you have and have not been, blacksmith. You’re not good enough for my daughter. I don’t care what her feelings may be for you. She deserve’s a better life than soot and metal shavings.”

“Why don’t you let Jess decide what she wants?” Evan tried hard to keep his tone calm, but he was failing.

Darrick shook his head. “She doesn’t know what she wants. I provide well for her. Keep her sheltered. Plenty of comforts…and you’ll give her what? A warm bed? Dead fields? Starvation?” He took a step into the barn and looked around, “How much do you make for your family, Evan? Do they want? Do your coffers overflow with enough to care for a wife? Children of your own…on top of your brother, sister and that woman you call a mother?”

Evan squeezed the hot tongs in an iron grip, “Watch yourself, Darrick.”

The butcher smiled, “You have spirit. I’ll give ya that, boy. But spirits not enough…not for my daughter.” He slung the ropes over the handle of a broken plow sitting in the corner. Without looking back, he patted the necks of both animals in turn. “Consider this a peace offering. Shoe the horses, stay away from Jess…there’s enough there for a comfortable winter.”

With that, Darrick rubbed his hands together and walked out of the barn.

For several minutes Evan stared at the stallion and mare. The wind pushed against the doors, as if laughing at the butchers jest of civility.

With a swift kick, the coin pouch flew across the barn and smacked against the wall. Coins exploded from the leather mouth, falling softly into the straw strewn across the floor.

****

The moons were out, casting their pale light across the deep paths. Routes walked for nearly a hundred years. Eläm had remained a small community—but had been prosperous. The direct access to a branch of the Irdu River made the small valley perfect for farming and orchards. The dense forests of Tilliman Highlands provided an abundance of game, wood for homes and fires during winter. As a blacksmith, Mount Angol stood over them with gifts of ore and coal. At least that’s the way it was a hundred years ago. Even fifty.

Now most of the community had moved on. People sold their land during the lean years, hoping to make their way north, into Andilain to find their fortunes. No one ever came back. Except for the few who carved a living from trading with merchants or other nearby villages, families who remained had to scratch out their survival by their own skill. Each year required deeper trips into the forest to find food. The lands were barren of crops, orchards were dying and for a Master Blacksmith, there was little work.

There was proportionately less work if you just happened to be a Blacksmith apprentice.

Evan kept to the shadows under the trees along the main road as he walked carefully…quietly.

A door opened, the dim candlelight creating a shadow across the center road. Evan froze. A little old man hummed a soft, merry tune as he hobbled around back, to the outhouse.

Evan stepped off the main road and dashed through the widow Seebeck’s orchard. The two hay stacks sat motionless in the moonlight, giant beacons of hope. He smiled. Almost there. His hand went to his right front pocket, pushing two of his fingers through the slit. He fiddled with the small pebbles he’d collected.

Sneaking up between the piles of hay, he crouched low and took aim.

The first pebble felt short of the house. Better to have it land in the dirt than to hit the wrong window. The second shot was perfect, bouncing off the windowsill with a soft tap sound. He could see the soft glow of a candle through the cloth drapes and bubbled glass. Evan got ready to throw another pebble when the window slowly opened and Jess poked her head outside. The light from the duel-moons made her skin glow. Her long, hair fell across her shoulders like rivers of gold, the breeze gently brushing the bangs from her face.

Making sure the coast was clear, Evan crept to the windowsill.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

Evan frowned, “You mean you don’t want me to see you?”

“I never said that,” she corrected him with a smirk, “but I know father came to see you.”

“How did you know?”

She pointed to the field behind the haystacks. It was devoid of her father prized possessions.

“Ah,” he grinned, “horses.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble, Evan.” She reached for him and he leaned forward. Her fingers gently brushed back a brown lock from his forehead. “I care too much about you.” She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his brow and eyelid.

“Then run away with me,” he whispered. “There’s a brother in the next village…we can run to Angol Grove. He can seal us as husband and wife.”

“Evan…”

“I’ve got the skill to make a meager living right now, but I can find another apprenticeship and better my skills, Jess. There are dozens of Master Blacksmiths along the north ridge of the Highlands—we could even move to Sangil.”

Her smile turned to a frown. “I can’t.”

He pulled back. “You can’t…or won’t.”

Her tears shimmered like diamond dust in the moon light. “My father needs me, Evan.” She reached out to him, but he pulled further away. “I cannot dishonor him by running away like a thief in the night. How could you ask me to do such a thing?”

“He got to you, didn’t he?” His words were cold, emotionless. Evan bit his bottom lip and let the pebbles fall from his hand. Without another word, he slipped away into the shadows. Jess gasped, reaching after him, but dared not call out.

Head hung low and hand masking her sobs, she slowly pulled the window closed.

Evan choked back his own emotions, grinding his teeth as he sprinted away. He’d barely made it around the corner of the butchers large house, when his foot got caught on a small tree root and fell forward onto his chest.

“Oh,” said a shaky voice, “looks like that hurt.”

Evan rolled over to find Jess’s grandmother sitting on a small barrel, leaning against the house. She took a last puff of the thin pipe and tapped it on the side of the barrel. The moons cast a strip of light across her lap, though her upper torso stayed neatly tucked in shadow. Her white hair framed her weathered, tan face, so it looked to Evan that he was talking to a featureless specter. He sat upright and sighed.

“Ada.”

“Got those horses shoed already?” she asked. She flipped her cane up and took hold of the hooked end, giving the ground a firm tap. “No, I didn’t think so. Looks more like you’re on a love-sick stroll to me.”

“Look Ada, I have every right to…”

The cane snapped out and jabbed Evan sharply in the chest. He winced.

“You have no rights, boy…not when it comes to my granddaughter!” She leaned forward, into the light, putting pressure on the cane. “Oh don’t frown at me, child. You young men think you come of age and miraculously you’re granted free reign to do as you please…take what you please…” she jabbed him again, “sneak around in the dark to speak sweet nothings to a mans daughter as you please! Bah!! You’re a damnable fool, Evan MacKlam, if you think this is the way to win the heart of any girl.”

Evan stood up defiantly and brushed the dirt off his trousers, “Just because I’m poor, doesn’t mean…”

“I don’t give a fairy fart or cow knicker how much coin you have, child.”

Evan hesitated. “You…don’t?”

Even in the dim light, the ample excess of wrinkles in Ada’s frown made it look like her head was an old sac piled on her shoulders. “‘Course not, boy. Darrick’s forgotten why my beloved Jillian, bless her soul, fell in love with him in the first place. He was as poor as your dear family when he proposed.”

Evan shook his head—not sure he was hearing correctly. “What was so important…if it wasn’t money?”

The old woman smiled, which made her face look squat. “Of all people, young man, you should know. Your father, Dearborn, was the heart of this village. I watched him get his teeth, learn to walk, even fix his first plow…” she trailed off with a smile. “But have you ever wondered why this village, even our louse of a Mayor, listened when your father spoke?”

Evan floundered. He had wondered that, ever since his father had died, nearly five years ago. He nodded.

Ada raised her cane and poked it towards the sky. “Because he was a man of principle and honor! Willing to defend his family, friends, community in times of war…and support them in times of peace. We could count on Dearborn MacKlam not to sway or tumble with the wind. His life was dedicated to principle, not personalities—and that made him GREAT!”

She stood up slowly, her bones popping angrily at the unwelcome movement. Leaning heavily on the carved piece of wood, she walked up to Evan and placed a wrinkled, deformed hand on the center of his chest. Her eyes looked yellow and tired, even in the moonlight. “You have that blood and spirit in you, child, I feel it to my bones.” Her voice creaked and she choked back tears, “You come from good stock—both father AND mother.” Evan looked at her confused, to which Ada grinned wide, strumming her fingers against his chest. “Not everyone hates your dear mother, least of all me. She’s an asset not a curse, and one this village has failed to appreciate. But that’s another story.”

She made a fist and gave one pound on his tunic.

“Show us your heart, boy, and I’ll be the greatest advocate you could ever hope for.”

The old woman waved her index finger in the air as she turned to leave, “But until then, you have no rights.”

Evan reached into his tunic and retrieved a coin purse. He handed it to Ada.

“What’s this?” she asked, bewildered.

“The bribe your son-in-law paid me to stay away,” he replied. “Tell him I kept the wages for the horses—no more. I’ll have the shoes done and return the animals by sunset tomorrow.”