Esra Read online

  Of course there were always a few in town that would rather be entertained by spinning his situation into a more dramatic story. Last summer, Esra overheard a couple of girls her age discussing their thoughts on the matter. She had to cover her mouth to prevent a forceful burst of laughter from escaping when one girl quite seriously claimed that “Cane and Esra are secret lovers, to be married soon, I’m sure.” If Cane were to marry anything, it would be a book, Esra thought. He constantly fell asleep clutching a large volume to his chest, like a long time wife he had grown accustomed to shaping himself around at night.

  It was times like these that Esra was grateful she cared little for what others thought of her. It was also one of the reasons why many of the other young girls in town were not close friends. They seemed to always be searching for some way to impress someone else. Esra had always lived in a state of proud individuality and independence. If you liked her, that was wonderful. If you didn’t, that was your choice. She tried to be kind and helpful, but she was who she was and she was not going to waste her time pretending otherwise. She felt it was a strength of character, but one that resulted in a lonelier existence. Esra often thought it would be easier to gossip and prattle and talk for an hour about lace as if it mattered to her, but she could not bring herself to act as such. The truth was, there were not many things in life she could possibly care less about than lace or if Narvin Glasby meant to wink at Bruna the other day or if it was just the sharp glare of the Sun or if perhaps he meant to wink at Tempa, who was standing beside her. How exhausting.

  “Esra, yer going to be late,” Grandmother turned about suddenly, sweeping the bread beater in a wide arc. “And I need ye to stop by Baelin’s house to see if he can come reshoe the Horses.”

  A short moan escaped Esra’s lips as she dashed for her cloak and hurried out the door. She felt like this day was shaping up to be nothing but running from one place to another. But at least there was no mysterious, hooded man where she was headed.

  II

  Esra felt her wavy blonde hair falling in a disheveled mess around her head but she dared not stop to fix it. As if such a thing could be fixed, anyway. As usual, Cane would expect her to be late for her instruction and come stumbling up the steps murmuring apologies. Arriving at the blacksmith’s, she went immediately around the house to the back, as Baelin was rarely found anywhere but his workshop. A large stone Fire pit stood in the middle of an open area bordered only by four sturdy poles and a tall, heavily thatched roof. A square wooden table stood to one side with various tools strewn across it. Baelin was standing over the blue tipped flames, pounding a long glowing piece of metal on a block of stone with such force that she was amazed to see it was still whole.

  Baelin was by far the most reserved man in town, aside from Cane. He said little, went into town even less, and was known far and wide for his superior craftsmanship. Esra sometimes thought that if he didn’t need to interact for the sake of his shop he would probably never speak a word. No one knew where he came from, or who his family was. He just seemed to appear two years ago, adapting to his new space with such fluidity that only a few Moons after his arrival, not one person could recall who had lived at the house before him.

  Men would come from three towns away, sent by richer men to request an expensive sword or a glittering helm, all of which would become cherished family heirlooms. They would stroll up to Baelin, eyes wide as they took in the enormity of the man and the gentle nature with which he silently nodded to their appeals. To say that he was large would be quite the understatement. He towered more than a full head higher than the average man and his arms better resembled Tree trunks than Human limbs. Darkened skin and hair added to the threatening illusion, although his mild temperament usually dispelled any fear. Mischievous, gold flecked eyes were a childish contradiction to the age he really was, which Esra guessed to be in the late twenties.

  The people in town joked that he was “a magician of metal, the only man known to make something out of nothing.” He did not just shoe Horses or make adequate weapons. His intricately carved lockets adorned many a wealthy lady, and the impenetrable yet finely decorated shields seemed to come just as much from artistry as strength or skill. Why he chose to settle down in this boring town, Esra often wondered. Even though he was only a few years older than her, had he lived in a bigger city he could make ten times the amount of gold as a more experienced blacksmith. He could no doubt work for the King himself. But she had an idea that he did not work to make a grand living, but to make a small life in a quiet town. The serene pleasure he got from using his two large hands to create such beautiful things was very apparent.

  Although Esra was unaware he had seen her approach, Baelin had been watching her from the minute she trudged out from behind the house. It wasn’t hard to hear her crashing through the field. Others thought it a shame, a defect for such an otherwise lovely lady, but he had always found it appealing the way she stumbled after every twenty paces. It didn’t seem to bother her much at all. In fact, she barely even flinched anymore. He had decided long ago that she didn’t really walk, she twitched, like a spastic jig was raging in her bones, trying to find the beat to a song all her own.

  The other young women in town worked out or around the fields all day but took care to smooth every stray piece of hair and wrinkled skirt when in town, batting their eyelashes at each eligible man in sight. Baelin had had his share of young girls coming to see him, feigning a chipped Horseshoe or some other small task. He told himself it was only the fact that he was able to earn a good living and enjoyed a responsible lifestyle. The truth is that many of the young women found his silence to be mysterious, and they were intrigued by this man who did not forwardly tell them they looked beautiful in their new dress like the other men did. Some were insulted or took his disinterest as a challenge, trying everything to catch the eye of the man who seemed to not concern himself with matters of love.

  Baelin once had a girl come to his workshop, believing to be unseen, who turned around and pinched furious color into her cheeks before she faced him. It was strange behavior that he never quite grasped, and he liked the natural way Esra talked and the easy way she laughed. There was a comfort in such honesty to self, and he greatly respected her for it. Mingling with others was definitely not one of his strong points, especially with women. It seems as though they were always saying one thing to mean another, which may also turn out to be just the opposite. Metal was predictable, at least to a certain degree. Women, well, he’d rather be in the middle of three thousand wild Boars.

  Sensing that he was presently enthralled with the stubborn piece of metal before him, Esra leaned against the nearest post and waited patiently. She knew the concentration that such a feat required, as she had encountered this feeling many times in her studies. Not wanting to interrupt, she took the opportunity to watch as he transformed the odd lump into a perfect shape. Unlike most of the young village folk, Baelin was not the type of person who was ever in a hurry. Esra wished this was true for her and her constant struggle with tardiness, since it was already dangerous enough to try and walk a slow, deliberate pace.

  She liked Baelin, liked the way he never gossiped or prodded. He also didn’t give her the uncomfortable looks of desire the other young men in town quite often bestowed upon her. Romance was an uncertain topic for Esra, and for all her vast learning from books she still never seemed to understand the complicated webs of courtship.

  Either way, her grandparents thought very highly of Baelin, and although they generally liked most people, they seemed to hold a deeper respect than customary for this particular man. He also gave the impression that although he was quiet he held knowledge inside him that most do not have. Esra could understand this, as she was not entitled to share what knowledge she gained from Cane with those outside of her grandparents and very few others. It instilled in her a slight curiosity about Baelin and his mysterious, silent ways.

  “Good mornin’, Esra. Meshok,” he greet
ed them both in a deep, booming voice without turning around.

  “I could never sneak up on ye,” she laughed.

  “Unfortunately, ye could never sneak up on anyone, let alone someone who still has most of their hearing.” One of Baelin’s favorite things was to poke fun at her blundering gait. And she was never offended at the multiple ways he concocted to do so.

  Meshok murmured in agreement and leaned forward in an extensive stretch. The Wolf was a constant victim of Esra’s trips and falls, even though she came up to her waist. And she would never allow Esra to visit the blacksmith without her, as he was one of the few people allowed to be in her presence.

  “My grandparents would like to see if ye could come to reshoe the Horses,” she said, resting a hand on the head of her panting friend. Above the clamor he gave a terse nod to show he understood and picked up a new piece of metal from the Fire.

  “When?”

  “Whenever ye can, no hurry,” she offered. “Ye know my grandparents, they never actually have a problem with the Horses. It’s probably just a premonition of disaster that they will succeed in avoiding.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. He knew her grandparents to be the most prepared and level headed people he’d even known. They had already brought in the wash and hung it inside two hours before anyone else even suspected it would rain.

  Esra shifted on her feet nervously, debating if it was a good idea after all to discuss her close encounter with the hooded man in the forest. She did not want to worry her grandparents and she trusted her blacksmith friend more than almost anyone in this town. She quickly decided it was worth the risk of him thinking her unbalanced. Besides, she needed to solve this riddle once and for all, and she wasn’t getting any closer to the truth on her own.

  “Baelin?”

  “Aye?” He asked, noticing the slight edge in her voice but not slowing his steady pounding of the hot metal, which glowed fainter with each hit.

  “I think that someone is following me. Actually, I know that they are. I’m just not sure why. I don’t want to worry my grandparents and as Cane seems to pay no attention to most people in the town, I was wondering what yer opinion is. They’re only there when I’m alone in the forest. Today I saw footprints, and then caught a glimpse of his cloak behind a Tree. I chased him fer a while, but he got away.”

  Baelin paused and pulled a square of faded brown cloth from his back pocket, running it along his forehead. “If someone is following ye, it might not be the best idea te go chasing after them on yer own.”

  “I know,” Esra admitted. “I just need to know who they are. I can’t understand why someone would do such a thing.”

  Baelin just nodded as he tucked the sweaty cloth back into his pocket. “Well, do ye get the sense that they want te harm ye?”

  “Ye mean ye believe me?” Esra was somewhat taken aback that she did not have to further explain herself. It had sounded a little mad once it came out of her mouth after all.

  She recalled the atmosphere in the forest when the man was near, tried to remember her feelings. “No, I don’t think they mean me any harm. Besides, they could have done that by now if that’s what they meant. It’s just making me crazy that I don’t know who it is or what they want.”

  “Well, I’d say fer now, keep yer eyes open. And make sure Meshok’s always with ye. I can come with ye next time as well.”

  “Alright,” Esra agreed. “Not that Meshok’s much help, though.”

  The Great Wolf sighed heavily at her friend and inched closer to the Fire. Esra felt better just knowing that she had told someone else. And that he didn’t think she was unbalanced. Her stubborn independence still didn’t want to give up the search just yet.

  Baelin glanced up to see the Sun still early in the sky. “Tell yer grandparents that I’ll be by tonight fer the Horses.”

  With a quick flick of his hand that Esra interpreted to mean goodbye, he turned back to the blue flames as the first drops of rain spattered on the ground beside the shop. Esra picked up the folds of her skirt, even though running would not help the fact that she was late again.

  III

  Cane’s house was in the center of Sorley, tucked behind the apothecary shop. You had to take a long, narrow alleyway to find the entrance, and Esra liked that he was in the middle of town while still maintaining some privacy. For the past two seasons Cane had changed the course of her studies to include more “active” topics, as he called them. Growing up, she had studied history, writing, Herb lore, topography, and many other widespread topics in the dusty, thick volumes of books that lined the numerous shelves of his study. Most times she could tell you the name of a city in LeVara, where it was in relation to other towns, what Plants and Animals were native to the area, and who of note came from that place. She did not know if these facts would ever be of use, but at least she could hold onto the knowledge so that one day she may pass it onto someone who may need it. Perhaps a young girl like herself, eager to explore in knowledge and imagination what lay beyond the confines of a small town.

  Cane had studied with some of the best scholars in the Kingdom, and chuckled to say he retired because he “Sorley needed to rest his brain”. He was a tall, gangly man, whose entire face turned downwards as if gravity was just too much for him in his old age. His nose, chin, and even his eyelids had a droop to them, which gave him a permanent look of exhaustion mixed with melancholy. Greying hair surrounded a bald circle in the middle of his head, which Esra liked to tease him about.

  “Yer brain got so big it just blew the hair right off the top,” she had said to him once, causing the downwards force of his mouth to twitch into an amused smile.

  Cane was usually found in straight fitting clothing that extended almost to the floor. These elegant garments had sophisticated embroidery around the edges, reminding Esra of a dress tunic. It was not something customarily worn in Sorley, as the men here preferred the basic leggings and loose shirts or overcoats of field workers.

  His physical mannerisms were usually methodical and purposeful, like Esra’s grandmother. All this order surrounding her and yet she couldn’t even keep her boots tied. Esra could predict with startling accuracy when Cane was about to pack a pipe or turn the page of a book. He also had a habit of drumming his left hand on the table when deep in thought, his gnarled fingers creating a steady rhythm. Esra insisted that he needn’t make her study music, as the tap tap tap of his pipe and drum drum drum of his fingers would suffice.

  It was said that there was a student before her, a young man, but he had moved away very suddenly to Cane’s great displeasure. They had never discussed the issue. How he had gone on to adopt Esra as his pupil, she did not know. But her guess was that it had more than a little to do with her sly grandparents. As meticulous as his physical mannerisms were, he taught more like a Jackrabbit in an open field. It was a random way of learning, but Esra had gotten used to it. At first it had confused her, for just when she thought that she might be gaining an understanding of what they were studying, he’d have a book pulled down from the shelf and open to the “next adventure”.

  “First,” Cane explained, “ye need to know a little bit of everything. Then, only after it has all been exposed to ye, may ye find what ye are called to learn. Many scholars make the mistake of choosing a study that they feel is important to others without first learning what is important to them.”

  Esra began reciting back to him the correct pronunciation of Elvish cities when he put his hand up in a request of silence. She quickly scanned the last few phrases to see which one she had botched.

  “Esra.”

  “Yes?”

  “It is time we move on.”

  “Thank goodness,” she exclaimed. “I’ve secretly been peeking forward at the next chapter …”

  “No, Esra. I don’t mean the next chapter. I mean a different topic altogether.” He calmly leaned forward to tap his pipe out the open window. Although he spent a good deal of time carefully packing the leaf and lightin
g the basin, he rarely remembered to inhale. As good a teacher as he was, there seemed to be something quite distracted about him.

  “But I was quite enjoying Elvish history! And we almost never get to talk about the other races,” she said sulkily. If it was agriculture or something else equally as boring, she normally wouldn’t object.

  “I daresay I think ye’ll like our next topic even better.”

  “Really?” Esra asked suspiciously. “Alright then, what shall it be? Geography of the western Kingdom? Or perhaps the reign of Kaldor?” Excitement mounted as she thought of all the possibilities, as there were still many subjects they had not yet breached.

  “No. Today we shall begin yer study of the Keepers.”

  Esra had never heard Cane mention something so fantastical, even in reference. He had always stuck to the more refined and useful lessons, like mathematics and agriculture. He seemed to be studying her, awaiting her reaction to the introduction of this strange subject. “I’d like ye to tell me what ye know of them.”

  She looked towards Meshok, who was sprawled luxuriously on the thickly braided rug next to Esra’s chair, and absentmindedly reached down to stroke her grey fur. “I have seen the ones they call Keepers before, of course. Most everyone has. A group of four or five is bound to come by every year or two to stop in the inn fer a night before continuing on to some anonymous destination. The only reason ye even know they‘re sorcerers is the strange feeling ye get when walking by. It’s something that seems hard to describe, even harder to forget. Like a mixture of power and calmness, an aura of controlled command. Either way, it’s always been an unsaid feeling that these people are best left alone.

  Esra paused here but he nodded at her to continue.