These savage tribes have crawled in the dark since the beginning of time. Like the bugs you find under rocks, they will never reach for the light without the tender guidance of the Couple's Grace.
— Wabal de Rosin
By the time noon came around, Linsan felt like she had, once again, walked the entire length of the village in a single day. Despite having sweat soaking through her clothes and dripping down her face, she was in much higher spirits than earlier.
Replacing the snapped bow would have been out of the question; a replacement bow needed to be shaped from wood that had been tended into something strong and flexible. The trees around the village were not. Their wild growth was good for building the houses and being tossed in a fire, not shaped into an instrument.
She also didn't have the skill nor experiencing with making proper bows. She might succeed, but it would have been luck more than anything else.
But repairing was easier. It just needed basic skills that anyone could puzzle through and Linsan had seen Sian do a thousand times. He had shown her how to create a strong joint, how to make sure it wouldn't get stiff, and the knowledge needed to choose the right materials.
The last came helpful with her quest. The villagers were willing to help her gather her materials, but they didn't understand the choices she made and they didn't hesitate to let her know that they knew even less than her.
Young Corn had five horses, but Linsan had rejected the hairs from their tails because they felt too smooth against her fingertips. The rough ones that she needed were damaged or too short. Annoyed, he had sent her across the village to another farmer who had a younger gelding who was lame but had the perfect strands for a bow.
It only took her an hour of cleaning out stalls to get a chance to make her selection. She felt guilty for how many she had taken but the farmer has insisted that she took twice as much as she original thought she needed.
She had gotten the rest of her supplies by trading more chores. She gave blisters and bruises for glue and tools. In the end, she had a hefty bag of everything she needed including a pair of branches she stumbled across that had the perfect spring to it and would help to replace the gaps in the wood.
Spying the pub through the trees, Linsan smiled to herself and hurried along the trail. The sack smacked against her leg and she could feel the small hammer she borrowed digging into her side. It rattled against the finishing saw that just need a little polish to be usable.
Out in the clear, she strode across the hard-packed ground and marveled at how quickly the scene changed. Only hours earlier, there were the a hundred people nursing hangovers as they headed home after days of celebrations. Now, the village was empty like the first day.
Her gaze caught sight of the smithy. Smoke billowed out from the chimney and a steady banging echoed against the houses facing the center of the village. All the doors were wide open and did nothing to filter out the rhythmic banging from inside..
Curious, Linsan peeked inside.
All the panels from the buggy had been stripped off and set to the side against one of the wooden pillars that held up the roof. Its tires were piled up near the door. The body was nothing more than a snarl of metal shapes that defied comprehension. Compared to simplicity of a musical instrument, the innards of the buggy looked more like the organs of some beast.
Linsan crept in further, focusing past the vehicle to the woman at the forge.
Miska stood behind an anvil with her legs planted firmly on the ground in a wide stance. She wore a heavy apron of some sort. It had pockets but most of them were empty except for a bits of lengths of metal and handles to tools. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a horse's tail and the sides were matted with sweat and streaked with ashes.
She held a long metal pole against her anvil with one hand. It had a similar shape to the insides of the Glasscoaster, but Linsan had no clue its purpose or function. Her fingers dug into the side of her anvil to hold the metal in place while she appeared to be banging it with the side of her fist.
Linsan did a double take. Miska wasn't using a hammer, she was using her bare hand. Every time she struck, there was a loud bang followed by the air rushing past Linsan and a shaking of the ground. Sparks rose up from the cherry red spot but she showed no signs of being injured by striking the heated metal.
Miska pounded a few more times before she stopped. Without looking up at Linsan, she carried it over to the forge and jammed it into the bright red opening. “Where is the Princess?”
“W-What?”
“Dresses. I could have sworn you two were joined at the hip.” Miska turned the metal inside the forge, rotating it slowly as she held it with her bare hands.
Linsan gulped. “She's back in her room.”
Miska stopped. She turned her head slightly, her profile almost black with the flames behind her. There was a faint smile on her lips. “Her room? Rumor said it was both of your room last night.”
Blushing, Linsan glanced back at the pub. “Things changed.”
“So what is she to you now?”
Linsan held her gaze on the building. “She's still my friend.” She sighed. “If she'll have me.”
“Big fight? No one said anything about screaming.”
“I said the wrong things at the wrong time. Then I… panicked.”
There was a scraping noise, then a loud bang. Linsan looked over to see that Miska had pulled the metal out of the forge and tossed it onto the anvil. It was still cherry red as it smoked.
Miska strode over with a hard look. “That's easy to do with women like her. Pretty little things who only care about themselves. They crawl into your sheets, get their bells run, and then leave as soon as they could.”
She scoffed as she came up to the entrance of the smithy. With a gesture to the ruined buggy, she said, “If that hunk of garbage could still drive, she would have been down that road already before you woke up.”
Linsan shook her head, even as she pictured Brook rushing into the buggy and driving away in tears. “N-No, she wouldn't… do that.”
Miska didn't answer.
With her imagination running, Linsan pictured how Brook would leave. She may not have plays and roles to explain her lack of attraction, but betrayal was the foundation of almost every plot set to page.
Linsan sighed. She could easily imagine Brook leaving her.
Miska laughed. She clapped Linsan on her shoulder.
Linsan staggered from the impact. Miska was much stronger than she expected.
“Don't worry, I'll crush this pargoli and get you going. It isn't going to be tonight so you'll have plenty of time to kiss up for another round. I recommend you try it from your knees, it works faster.”
“It… it isn't like that.”
With a scoff, Miska stretched her arms over her head.
Up close, Linsan could see under her apron. She had stripped out of her corset from earlier and wore only a tattered and burned shirt and a pair of equally damaged shorts. Both were heavily stained and had seen better days. Scorch marks smeared along her bare skin but the darker colors blended with the dazzling tattoos that covered most of her body. The years of her life were marked out in colors and patterns, spiraling along her arms and legs as the vines spiraled out from her navel.
Unlike Calibo, there were relatively few images nestled between the vines. There were just withered leaves that faded to bare branches, snow, and then grow again into dull flowers and bright leaves. A few bright flowers punctuated the browns and greens. There were minute burns and scars dotting everything. Linsan guessed they were embers from the forge and fire.
Miska caught her look and shrugged. “Not much to do here and experience did little to water my life. The only thing to do around here is sleep, wander around, fuck bored twenty-somethings, and then bang whatever pieces of metal they put in front of you. Nothing worthy enough to put on my skin, nothing I'll be remembered for when my body rots.”
She sighed and used both hands to gesture to the rest of the village. “These assholes hate us. If they need something hauled or pounded, we're worth their attention. Beyond that? They would happily dance on the ground we're buried under and piss on the trees that grow in our stead.”
Linsan didn't know what to say. There were echoes of stories in her head that resonated with Miska, but she had experienced something like her own. The last few years had been her focused on just surviving and tending to the old valley. The Sterligs may have been famous but they were withering just like Miska.
Miska clapped her hand on Linsan's shoulder. “I need to get to get back before things cool down too much.”
Linsan watched her return. “Thank you.”
Miska looked her over. There was a faint expression of disapproval.
Turning away from the pub, Linsan faced her. “I mean it. Thank you for the help pulling out the Glasscoaster and repairing it.”
For a moment, Miska's tension faded. Then she waved her hand as she picked up the metal from the anvil to carry it back to the forge. She stomped on the bellows to heat it up before jamming the piece into the flames.
Dismissed, Linsan left the smithy and headed to the pub. In her head, Miska's words echoed in her head.