“The left one?” The traveller tilted his head, which made the big woolen hat he wore slide over his left ear. Its pointy shape made it look like a big sand colored hen had nested on his curls. Zaire couldn’t stop looking at it, waiting for it to flap it’s wings and jump of the indecisive man clucking with frustration. She yawned. It was early, not for the forge but definitely for talking to customers.
The light that hit the the wooden sword panel was that of dawn. As only can be seen when the rest of the world is still sleeping. “Hmm.” The traveler noised. “Right one then?” Zaire pointed at the sword hanging on the far right corner of the wall. The man shook his head and then tilted it to the right to steal one last glace. The weapon was sturdy, a big leather and metal heft and a gold colored blade. The fade of colors was achieved by tempering the metal at just the right time and Zaire was proud of that particular piece, but agreed that it didn’t seem the right fit for this customer. After observing him shortly she jumped over the counter.
“Good leafs of the westwind!” He muttered and rearranged his chickenlike hat. “This, is more like it I think.” Zaire said, banging an item on the counter that is covered with a dusty cloth. “Come.” She opened the fabric which sends up a dramatic cloud of dust. After it settled a simple sturdy dagger was revealed. The man stared at it with panic in his eyes.
“But.. what.. but I need something BIG to protect myself.”
Zaire sighs, she picked up the dagger and shoved it over the counter towards the nervous traveler. “This, is the best that you can have as an untrained fighter.” She said, one hand still on the weapon.
“It’s easier to hide than a sword, and just as easy to unsheathe.”
She quickly demonstrated, causing the wrap to release a creaking sound when the blade slid out. The man followed her movement closely.
“These are places that are easy to hit since there are no bones to obstruct the blade.”
She put up two fingers and slowly pressed them down on several parts of her body. “Don’t aim for the ribcage. You’ll most likely hurt yourself more than your opponent since there is a big chance you will hit bone.” The man looked puzzled before and white as a sheet now.
“What did you say followed you down the road?”
The man snapped out of his state of dread and answered quickly. “Bakroes seven, seven bakroes I mean.” “Are you sure?” Zaire asked.
“As surely as I know my ware is made of top notch brass. Bakroes.” The man spitted out the word bakroe as if keeping it in his mouth any longer would make him sick.“Ah.”
Zaire picked up a wetting stone to sharpen the dagger for the man and shave of the small specks of rust that had formed over the years.
“Don’t you believe me?”
“Well, I never heard of Bakroes around here, and definitely not seven of them. And the only magic we see here is the fact that we are still able to put food on our table every night. About that, this dagger will be 25 birk.”
The man put down the payment. Twentyfive shiny coins with a birch branch pressed on them. He continued to tell his story while his weapon is being prepared. Zaire doubted the dagger would help him much if he would get himself into danger. The nervous way he carried himself made her think he would freeze in a fight or get his own throat slit.
“I walked down the road from Ilk.” The man started. “You know those parts? Where the road bends down towards the valley and all the trees are dead and dry.” Zaire nodded. It’s a sad place some miles from the village she lives in. Three trees stood at the top of a hill, all hit by lightning once and dead for years. Stripped from their bark by insects and weather the only thing that is left are their wooden skeletons.
“Well I just past them to go down the road when I heard a screeching sound that ended in an evil cackle. I told myself it was a bird, but when I heard it again and looked back up I saw the first one. Bony and long legged, with a body shaped like a boulder. It stood there, eyeing me. Wild hair and half a wooden mask I saw. Thats when I realized it had to be a bakroe. It had a bulging eye in its grey face and wore parts of what must have been a fine costume once. No doubt the torn wardrobes of its former masters.”
The man shivered dramatically. “I heard it cackle again and like a spider it put its hands on the ground and started moving towards me. It kept asking me to strike a deal, asking me to do buisness with it? I looked back one more time and saw there where more. Big ones, small ones and the bony one that moved like a spider. All pleading for a deal and when I ran they mocked me and screamed at me. But all I did was run as fast as I could. I ran till I got to the next village.” The merchants eyes darted around the room. “ They adviced me to get a sword here, from you, Yaro. So I would be prepaired if I encountered them again.” Zaire finished sharpening the blade, oiled it and packed it.
“I’m Zaire, but Yari is my father. My blades are as sharp as his. I guarantee.”
The man looked hesitant. It seemed as if only now he started to question why there is a young woman helping him instead of the expected, famously skilled Yaro. Whom he expected to be around fifthy years of age and well, a man. He then picked up his new dagger and nodded his head. “Thank you Zaire, may the trees always shelter you.” “May the journey bring you home safe.” She responded. And as he left the smithy she prayed her blessing would guard the traveler if the dagger could not.
-
After the man had left it was still early. Zaire squinted so that the light coming in through the roof windows wouldn’t blind her. The wooden ornament placed on the wall threw a shadow that said 6 past 5 in the morning. The man must have been really frightened to have ran this far in the dark. She put on her gloves and started heating the coals in the ventilated room they used as the smithy.
The big forge looked like a monster made of stone. It’s maw opened to show his glowing red intrails. Zaire got a bucket of water from the well for the metal and another one for tea and a wash up. While sprinkling the tealeaves into the water of the kettle she thought back on the creatures the traveler claimed to have seen. She had heard of bakroe gangs. But they where the stuff of the big cities where al kinds of creatures lingered. The places where people could afford to keep gryphons and had enough spare time to be scared of goblins and such.
The villages in the country did not have that luxury. Their greatest fear was hunger or a failed harvest. All they had was work and since a few years that work was made heavier by crippling poverty. The city started to refuse to pay the farmers. They said it could be done cheaper. So the farmers found ways to make their ware more affordable but that could not go on forever.
Zaire fished the tealeaves out of the cup and sat down to drink. The drought caught on with her family quite late as her fathers weapons where skilfully made and very popular with the elite. They where able to help the rest of the village and stock up on good quality wood and fabrics before the dreaded day came that Yaro was send back home with the same swords he went to sell.
“They found a man who could do it cheaper.” He had said. And the big blacksmith had never looked more vunerable. His trade was his pride and he loved being able to care for Zaire and her grandmother by making his beautiful swords. Now the future was uncertain. Yaro still worked for lords and ladies, but never got the big commissions again. Patrols were to be armed with crudely fashioned weapons made with cheaper metals. Brittle ones that more likely caused blood poisoning with their rusty blades and toxic metals than cut a man. Zaire smirked. The blades her father tought her to craft they could draw blood. Perfect balanced and lightweights they where, and sang when they swept through the air. No bonebreaking claymores for her. With a proud smile on her face she finishes her tea and starts to work.
The smithy heated up as the forge got on temperature and pushed out the fresh morning air. The first thing that Zaire always noticed was her nose sweating. By the time her armpits soaked her tunic she would be too emerged in her work to notice or care. The heating, watching the metal tubes on the coals turn into a bright fiery red. Moulding them on the anvil carefully. At this point shaping the blade with a a hamer was her favorite step. Even though the proces required carefull and precisely timed hits she prefered this step because it required stamina and helped her to get rid of some of the frustration she had been feeling lately. The banging of de hamer on metal vibrated through her whole body.
Sweat dripped of her arms and head. When she took the time to stop and look at the blade she was creating her frustration grew. She hadn’t been paying close attention to her work and big dents show along the lines of the metal. Zaire snorted but kept going. The material was too precious to waste so she lifted her hamer again. While working she thought of her father and grandmother. Two weeks ago they left the village to go to the city of Kankan and pray in the temple of Our mothers eyes. Her father believed that Dore Dore could help them solve the economic issues they where having. Zaire snorted again when that though past. She was annoyed by the idea that the gods could help, when everybody knew mortals deny her and her family a living wage.
The Steward and the elite, people that asked toll for passage through the city. People that benefited of the strenght of their walls and the trade on their markets. People that, according to Zaires observations where driven by greed and selfishness and did not wish to share their succes. A thousand ideas and motivations cross Zaires mind while she forced the metal into shape.
The monotonous banging ringed in her ears and eventually drove out the thoughts that fuel her anger. She checked the blade by lifting it, following the structure of the metal with her eyes. “Not bad actually.” She mumbeled and pressed the metal into the water bin where it cooled with a satisfying hiss.
“Zaire?”
“Yes?”
Sauda, of the Copper head, sticked her head around the corner. Her curls where pressed under a turquoise scarf and her dark eyes look at Zaire expectantly. “You remember the kettle you promised to make us, right?” She looked at the blade. Then from the blade to the smithy and then settled her eyes on Zaires feverish figure. Her tunic soaked in sweat, and cheeks flushing red from her work. “Yes, I worked on it.” Zaire anwsered, putting the blade aside. This to Sauda’s surprise and relief, because Zaire wasn’t very present the last couple of weeks. The blacksmith came back with small copper kettle and presented it too Sauda. “Oh Zaire, its beautiful but...”
“What?”
“You promised Will there would be lion heads.” “Oh yes.” Zaire grinned painfully. Will, owner of the Copper Head tavern was an extravagant figure. He loved everything shiny, detailed and colorcoded. So needles to say an ordinary kettle without copper lionheads would be a small disaster.
“I’m so sorry Sauda, I’ll get right to it. Tonight I’ll drop a kettle with lion heads at the tavern, as promised.”
