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I can imagine no greater heroism than motherhood.
- Musings of the Historian
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WHEN ARIC CAME OUT to wake me for breakfast, he had lines creasing his face and dark bags under his eyes; it didn’t seem like he had slept much. His smile was as broad as ever as he greeted me, however.
“Obviously an early riser, Amar. Good for you. However, you still haven’t beat Lauria. Breakfast is ready and on the table, so you had better come in quickly.”
The breakfast was simple, a far cry from the great cooking that I had eaten the night before, mostly cheese and bread. Lauria was nowhere to be seen. Aric was clearly distracted by something.
On the one hand, I was glad that he wasn’t asking me more questions about my past. On the other hand, I wondered if his distraction had anything to do with Lauria.
When I asked about her, Aric shrugged his massive shoulders. “She had some errands to run; she said that she would see you later, though. Go ahead and eat up.”
After countless years of talking with people, it wasn’t hard to tell when someone wasn’t giving me the whole truth. Beyond that, Aric was a horrible liar. I wondered if Lauria was all right.
“Tell me, Aric, when is Lauria expected to have her baby?” I tested. It was a shot in the dark, but it hit dead center.
Aric smiled through his bloodshot eyes, “You are a sly one. She is going to have it very soon. In fact, she may be having it right now. I only tell you this because you are my guest, but it is considered bad luck in our culture to speak of such things as they are happening.” Aric paused and smiled again, “In fact, the men are basically forbidden to interfere at all, or even take notice.”
He paused, lowering his voice and leaning in closer as if sharing a secret.
“Between you and me, I think it is one of the dumbest superstitions we have. How am I supposed to not worry about my wife?”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he answered his own question before I could get anything out, slamming his hand down on the table with a thundering clap.
“I work! That’s how. Come with me. It's time to occupy my hands. You can help with the bellows." His chair almost fell over as he stood up quickly, knocking it backward. I hurried to keep up as he walked out to his workshop in quick strides.
A fire was roaring in no time and Aric was soon pounding, almost recklessly, on a helpless piece of metal. He would hammer for a while, then stick it back into the furnace as I worked the bellows, then pull it out and pound at it some more.
I was fascinated to watch as he worked the metal. His fluid movements demonstrated great experience, but the part that truly caught my eye was the Stone he wore around his neck. As he worked the metal, the Stone would glow with its own light from within as the glare from the furnace danced on its surface.
It grew brighter as Aric made more and more specific modifications, sharpening edges and adding decorations to what now appeared to be a trowel head of some sort. I blinked to clear my eyes as I saw the Stone glow even brighter when Aric worked in some intricate detail.
The decoration was obviously unnecessary, as it was only a simple farm tool, but Aric worked at it with a burning intensity. He apparently didn’t have a complex job to do that day, so he would make a complex job out of a simple one.
I wondered more and more about the Stone around Aric’s neck as it continued to throb and glow brighter as the metal was shaped under Aric’s expert hand.
This would explain the great workmanship that I had seen along the wall and in the town. If Aric could create this sort of workmanship with his Stone, certainly there were others equally as skilled in working wood, stone, or anything else. I yelled over the clanging and the furnace to Aric.
“Does the color of your Stone determine your expertise?”
Aric looked confused for a moment, then nodded, sweat dripping from his forehead, still focused on adding needless decoration to the trowel.
“The blues have always been metal workers. That is our gift from the Stones. Others have different gifts.” Aric spoke without breaking from his task, his steady strokes falling in rhythm. The hammer was like an extension of his forearm, the power flowing smoothly from his shoulders, down his arm, through the hammer, and into the metal.
"Greens, for instance, have always had a special gift with plants, trees, and other such living things. You may have noticed Lauria's stone.”
I nodded. “Light blue.”
“Light blues have always been the stone cutters and shapers. I make enough with my shop so that she does not have to work, but she carved most of the plates and other dishes in our home.”
The pride in his voice was obvious and for good reason. I had noticed the plates the night before and at breakfast. At first, I had thought that they had brought out special dishes in my honor. However, a quick glance around the house showed that every other dish displayed the same intricacy in its design.
“What about the red Stones?” I asked. “I noticed that the man who wanted me dead wore one.”
Aric nodded grimly and pounded a bit harder at the glowing metal. “Yes, Saddhan, he is a cruel man. As near as we can tell, the red Stones give their owners special skills with fire. Unfortunately, there is no great craft in fires, so they spend most of their time as merchants. Some, like Saddhan, set themselves up as leaders over the people. He owns a shop in town, but he doesn’t spend much time there.”
“How does he make money, then?” I asked.
“Well, there’s a tax that’s collected from all of the people. It was originally Saddhan’s idea. The wall kept the Destroyers away for a very long time. When they started finding ways to get over the wall, he insisted that we needed to post lookouts and guards.”
Aric spat. “Guards. A fat lot of good they do. They are supported by our money, but they are spread thin and lazy. You notice that we knew nothing of your coming until you were practically walking down our street.”
I nodded, for I had seen no guards, and I had walked for a long time.
“So,” Aric continued, “Saddhan has declared himself captain of the guards and guardian of our safety.”
Contempt dripped from every syllable as Aric spoke about the man.
“Near as I can tell, all that he does is take long walks; patrols, he calls them, and gets fat off of the money he takes from...”
Aric’s head suddenly shot up, his hands trembling. He dropped both his hammer and the piece he was working on and tore out of the workshop. I ran after him. In a few moments, I also heard what he had been listening for: cheering.