How to Build Your Dragon

This chapter is dedicated to MOM.

***

Ella knocked at Selva’s door. It had taken two and a half years to get her sleeping on her own, and then only because they’d put a window in her room, and one of the two of them read her a story every morning. Ella minded none of it.

Selva opened the door, rubbing her eyes. “Elmum?”

“Hey, Selv,” Ella said, kneeling down, “sorry to wake you so early.”

“‘t’s alright,” Selva said through a yawn. “What’s up?”

“Meline left early for Oak and Stone,” Ella said, “so once we’re done breakfast, I’d love for you to help me in the shop tonight.”

“The sh—” the speed with which Selva went from half-conscious to bouncing with excitement was incredible. “I can help!”

Ella grinned. “Yes, I want your help, dear. But,” she touched a finger to Selva’s ear, “you have to carefully follow my directions, or you won’t be allowed back for a long time, alright?”

“Yeah!”

Selva hadn’t eaten so fast since the day she arrived. The toast and raspberry jam vanished, as did the hot honeyed milk, and the currant with it. And her clothes…

In anticipation of Selva working in the shop, Meline had made her a loose sleeveless shirt and short pants from a scrap of cotton cloth. Selva point-blank refused to change, even though she squirted currant all over herself and needed Ella to clean her up before she got sticky and covered in dust.

Once teeth were brushed, they went down to the shop. “So I’ve been cleaning things up for today,” Ella said. “The iron is stowed where it won’t affect you or Havel, but there are lots of machines that can hurt you if you aren’t careful.” She turned to Selva, her hand on the door handle. “What’s the first rule of shop safety?”

“If I don’t know, ask Havel or Ella!” Selva all but shouted.

Ella nodded. “That’s right. And the second?”

“Don’t take off any safety clothes without asking Ella!”

“Good. What about Havel?”

“Ella knows way more than he does!”

Ella bit her cheek. “True, and he’d be the first to say so, but it’s rude to say it that way. Just say he’s your senior, not your teacher.”

“Right!”

“But if he says not to do something because it’s dangerous, you’d better listen.”

“Yes, Mum!” Ella half-expected her to snap off a salute.

“And the third rule?”

“Don’t touch any tool or machine unless Ella says I can!”

Ella ruffled her hair. “Perfect! Now, let’s suit you up.” She opened the door and flipped on the light. The smells of coal, wood, and burnt metal permeated the room. She pulled a small helmet from a hook on the wall. “This should be sized right. You shouldn’t feel it chafing anywhere at all.” Ella also grabbed an apron, gloves, and boots.

“The boots are heavy, and I can’t grab things so good with the gloves,” Selva said, more as observation than complaint.

“The gloves are so you don’t cut yourself on hot objects and sharp edges,” Ella said as she pulled her own gear on, “and the boots have hard toes so yours don’t get smushed. Just walk slow until you’re used to them.”

“Hey Elmum,” Selva said as she plodded forward, “what’s this?” She was pointing to a rectangular brick structure with a chimney running to the ceiling.

“That’s the smelter,” Ella said, lifting a lever that opened the door. “I melt metals in here, to either cast them, or combine them into alloys, like bronze, brass, and electrum.”

“What’s electrum?”

Ella was getting into the basics of alloying metals when there was a knock at the door. “It’s open!” Ella called.

Havel dipped inside. “Good evening, Master. What’s…” He stopped halfway through his bow when he saw Selva. “She said you’re ready to work, then?”

“Yeah!” Selva clomped over and slapped the two hands Havel held up for her.

“Get changed, Havel,” Ella said once they’d exchanged greetings. “We’ll introduce our newest apprentice to the shop, and then we’ll get started; tonight’s going to be a long one.”

Havel arched his eyebrows as he threw on his work-shirt and apron. “What’s the plan?”

Ella knew her eyes glittered when she spoke. “We’re making a torc today.”

Havel stopped midway through tying his apron-string. He flushed to his roots. “A t-a torc, Master?” She nodded. “As in a neck ring?” Another nod. “As in—”

“—That most gorgeous and ancient piece of jewellery by which one fey proposes to another, yes.” Ella felt her face, neck, and chest blush, even as an unabashed grin spread across her face.

“You’re getting married!” Selva hopped and almost fell over.

Havel twiddled his fingers. “Master, this isn’t my place to say…” he trailed off.

“Nineteen years is hardly any time at all, I know,” Ella said. “And the fact that we are in love and living together is almost scandalous.” The grin shrank to a happy smile. “But I know in my heart that I want this. And I think Meline wants it, too. I was told long ago, by the Great Sage, an axiom that rings in my mind when doubt and anxiety take hold: ‘it is in a mountain stream’s nature to cover a distance in one day that takes a lowland river five.’”

A thoughtful frown crossed Havel’s face. He scratched his head. “Meaning…” Ella waited, “…different rivers move at different speeds. So…” the grin was back on Ella’s face, “…different fairies? Move at different speeds.”

Ella nodded. “That’s one way of putting it. ‘We each live at our own pace’ would be more succinct. And it seems to me,” she spread her arms, “the pace Meline and I have moved at justifies this proposition.”

Havel rubbed his neck, chuckling. “Alright, Master.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but at least he was on board.

“Good. Then let’s begin.”

***

She knew it was due to the wide range of folks who lived here, but Meline still marvelled at how Oak and Stone bustled every hour of the day and night. Stormclouds were rolling in from the east, and Meline hoped the ships and boats were all docked.

She looked at the sign for Highground Street, the street marking the shoreward border of Glittering Deeps. She stepped onto the street for the first time in ten thousand years.

It was not a rich neighbourhood, almost as high up the slope as the town stretched, far from the market, but at least it never flooded. And it had cleaned itself up. The cobbles were cracked, but all there, and sitting flat. The houses were small, and old, but well-cared-for. The holes dug into the mountainside had small gardens out front, paved front walks, and the front doors were either painted or finished. Nothing elaborate, but nothing rickety, either. She hardly recognized the place.

She came up to a cycad that had to be two hundred years old. Bright windows poked out all up the trunk. The yard was dense with ferns and horsetails, their fronds and spindly leaves thick with lanterns.

Opposite the cycad was a hole with a red front door. Outside the hip-high stone wall posed a life-sized statue of a unicorn. The statue blinked at her as she regarded him.

“Is that you, Diva?” Meline extended a hand. The statue sniffed, then pressed the side of his head against her arm. “Alright, alright. How have you been?” She stroked him for a short while. “Is she home?” He snorted, scything his horn up and down. “I’ll go knock, then. Oh, and,” Meline took his horn and lifted, pulling up the top half of his muzzle with it. She took the letter sitting on his tongue and pulled Diva’s horn back into place.

The front garden was lovely in an understated way. Colourful lichens grew on the rocks, a few large mussel shells added a shining pop, and mosses and liverworts added splashes of bright green on the earth and boulders. Either side of the door, on small mounds of sandy soil grew two succulents, a pair of hens their chicks growing out from the narrow stalks at their bases.

A silver rock hammer hung on the door. The chain the hammer hung on linked to a silver plate with an enamelled red target.

There’s no possible way this can end well. She’ll take one look out the peephole and pretend she’s not home.

This is Sali we’re talking about. She’ll bellow from her bed and have the door open before she quite remembers where her feet are, and be too embarrassed to pretend.

And is her standing awkwardly in the doorway, not wanting to let you in but not wanting to look rude in front of her neighbours any better? It’ll be your fault for putting her in a bind like that.

She’s awkward as a one-legged duck; when has she ever even known what social norms are, let alone cared a whit for them?

All I’m saying is—

That this can only go catastrophically wrong, I know. You’ve said it all before. Now go away.

Meline smiled as she took the hammer and struck the target three times before she lost her nerve. A distant clap of thunder rumbled on the third strike.

Someone called something Meline didn’t catch. A scuffling just inside the door, the clunk of a bolt drawing back, and the door opened.

“Sorry I’m not dressed, it’s a bit early for…” Sali was of normal height as gnomes went, the top of her head barely reaching Meline’s hips. What she lacked in height she made up in girth. Few gnomes were fat, but dressed in green most looked like small hills. Her hair was tied back in a braid hanging to her knees. She wore blue chipmunk slippers and a grass-green nightgown. Her eyes snapped open when she realized who was knocking. She almost spilled her hot chocolate. “Cuffs!”

Meline’s kept the blue from her face and her ears from drooping. “Hey, Pins.”

They stood for a while, before Sali gave herself a little shake. “I… would you… would you come in?”

“I’d love to.” Meline ducked her head, and Sali led her down a round passage. There were a few new side-tunnels, but the kitchen was the same. Lined with white-glazed clay brick that caught the light of Sali’s crystal fixtures. A picture of Sali’s enormous family hung over the hearth. On the wall by the stove was a clock with the time marked by different gems, a bronze pendulum underneath. Meline sat in a sturdy chair altogether too small for her, remembering many an hour watching that pendulum swing, talking late, late into the night.

Sali set her hot chocolate beside an empty plate on the table, and served herself a helping of beetle rind, cheese, toast, and a cherry. Sali gestured to the stove. “Want any?”

“Oh,” Meline held up a hand, “no thanks, I’ve already eaten.”

Sali nodded. There was an awkward silence. Meline decided to break it. “You’ve… come up in the world.”

“Yes,” Sali said. “Shaping’s picked up, especially since we made our arrangement with the sea serpents. Since I get credit from the town for my contributions, I’ve renovated a few times.”

Meline ran a trembling hand through her hair. Sali chuckled. Meline looked at her. “Over ten thousand years,” Sali said as she buttered her toast, “and you still fix your hair with a shaking hand when something’s bothering you.” She set down the butter knife. “Anything besides the obvious?”

Meline took a breath. Here goes. “I’m here for you, Pins. Not your skills. Well, not only your skills.”

Sali nodded. “ We can discuss that later. It’s time, isn’t it?”

“High time,” Meline said. “And… Smiles will want to hear it, too.”

After a moment, Sali nodded. “Yeah.” She looked up at the clock. “Let me finish my breakfast and get changed?”

“Of course.” Meline considered a moment. “Maybe I will take a hot chocolate.”

Sali barked a laugh. “Some things don’t change.”

***

“Alright, so we have our two twenty-fifths of an ounce of gold,” Ella said, surveying their materials, “nine sunstones, and nine sunbeams.” She turned to her apprentices. Selva was bouncing with excitement, despite her boots. Havel quietly drummed his fingers against his thighs.

“We need to melt the gold, bring the smelter to the right temperature, and add each sunbeam before letting the gold solidify. Then we hammer and fold nine times, and repeat, until all nine sunbeams have been added.

“This is the most dangerous part of the operation. If the sunbeams are not added at the correct rate and temperature, they will boil the gold, which could burn even you, Selva.” She looked between the two of them. “With me so far?”

“Yes, Master!” Havel drove one fist into the other.

Selva’s hand shot into the air. Ella arched an eyebrow. “Yes, Selva?”

“What’s my job?”

Ella smiled; leaving a student time to think and ask questions lent confidence, and fed enthusiasm like coal fed a furnace.

“Your job is extremely important,” Ella said. Selva’s eyes were so wide they might fall out if she nodded. “You are going to heat the smelter and forge. We’ll go over it a bit before we put the gold in, but it’s similar to the exercises you’re doing for Valdr.” Selva nodded. Her eyes did not fall out.

“You’ll handle the crucible, Havel.” He nodded, a broad grin on his face. “And I will be overseeing. Once we’re hot enough, I’ll add the sunbeams.” Ella thought an accident unlikely, and their masks and gear would protect them from the worst if something went wrong, but she was still taking the most dangerous job for herself. “Any further questions?”

Havel shook his head. After a moment, Selva did too.

“Let’s get started.”

While Havel prepped the crucible and tools, Ella took Selva to the smelter. “So, Selva,” she said, taking her around to a treadmill, “this is where you’re going to be walking, to add heat to the fire. This here,” she pointed to one of two small black pipes with flared ends, “is where you’ll send your fire into the smelter to ignite the coal. As you do that, you’ll be walking on this,” she tapped the treadmill with her foot, “to work the bellows.”

“What’re bellows?”

Ella pointed to a pair of large paddles connected by a thick canvas. “Watch.” She turned a crank. There was a small chunk from the treadmill. She tapped the crank. “By turning this, I’ve connected the treadmill to the bellows. Otherwise you could run faster than Coarser after a filly, and they wouldn’t twitch. Now, though…” she stepped onto the thick belt of the treadmill, and started walking. The paddles spread until the canvas stretched almost as far as it could reach, then came back together with a great whoosh. Ella stopped walking, and the paddles stopped moving. She stepped off the treadmill. “Try it.”

Selva stepped onto the treadmill, and started walking. “I’ve almost gotta push,” she said.

“There’s a handle bar at the front if you need something to push against,” Ella said.

Selva shook her head. “I got it.” She walked forward, and the bellows filled and whooshed. Ella went to the smelter door and slid it open. When the bellows closed again, a puff of dust blew out.

“Good, good,” Ella said, “let’s get this lit.” She went back around to Selva. “Now,” she pointed to the left-hand pipe, “do just like Valdr taught you. Build up a flame in your hands, and then send it down this opening.”

Selva tried for a moment, then grinned, shaking her head. “It’s harder when I’m moving.”

“Take your time,” Ella said. “Match your concentration with each whoosh of the bellows.”

It took a few tries, but eventually Selva built a small fire in her hands. She tossed it down the pipe, and with the next whoosh of the bellows, the coal ignited.

“Good!” Ella called, watching the temperature rise on the gauge. “Keep the bellows working!”

“Yup!”

“Havel?” Ella called. She felt a hand on her shoulder. He was beside her, crucible full of gold granules. She nodded, and stepped aside as he set the crucible on the tungsten grate just above the coals. She slid the door to, and watched through the window. After a short while, she stood. “How’re you feeling, Selv?”

“Good!” Selva said.

“If you start getting tired, Havel can switch in for you!”

“Alright!”

Ella fought to keep a straight face. Selva couldn’t have been enjoying herself more.

The dial steadily inched up, until the arrow pointed to a small gold bar; below and above it were small bars for bismuth, lead, tin, silver, copper, iron, glass, and a dozen other substances Ella worked with. She looked back through the window. After a short time, a line of letters started glowing red on the side of the crucible.

“It’s time.”

As Havel grabbed his tongs, Ella grabbed two other, finer sets of tongs, and gingerly picked up a sunbeam. “You can stop walking now, Selva. Watch us add the sunbeam, but stay back a few steps.” She carefully walked back to the smelter. The gold was liquid, but not glowing. They waited. Ella took several deep, slow breaths. The lettering on the side dulled. Just as it faded beyond sight, she breathed out, touching the tip of the sunbeam to the gold.

The gold flared yellow hot, almost white, and the lettering blazed, two more lines of it showing. She held still. Neither she nor Havel breathed. The gold grew brighter and brighter… and then stabilized. It was not bubbling. She breathed the softest sigh of relief, and began to slowly lower the rest of the sunbeam into the gold. “Alright,” she murmured, “so long as we add this slow and steady, we should be fine.”

“Why’d you wait so long, Elmum?” Selva was also quiet. Behind the visor, her face was a mask of concentration.

“Raw sunbeams carry an enormous amount of heat,” Ella said. “It’s the main reason they’re so dangerous. These tongs are fine; they’re tungsten, and I made them specially for this. Most substances, once sunbeams are added to them, get much, much hotter. Drop a raw sunbeam into a glass of water and it’ll explode, killing everyone within six inches. Gold melts and boils at far higher temperatures, but there is still a danger of it boiling. So once we have the gold melted, I have to wait until it is just at the point of solidifying. The gold in this crucible, you saw, got very hot when I added the sunbeam, but it didn’t boil.”

Soon, despite Ella’s slow pace, the whole inch of sunbeam was added. “Alright.” She opened the smelter door, and Havel set the crucible back inside. “Now, with the smelter at low heat, we wait for the gold to cool so it’s solid, and then we start folding.”

“Why’re we folding it?” Selva said, looking around Ella. The letters had already cooled to yellow.

“Folding is how we make sure the sunbeam is mixed into the gold properly,” Ella said, setting a hand on Selva’s helmet. “It’s like when we help Meline bake bread, and we knead it, remember?”

“Yeah!” Selva said.

“Anyway,” Ella gestured to the door, “let’s go over the rest of the process while the gold cools. We’ve got eight more sunbeams to add.”

***

Sali led Meline along a path near the end of the street, into a glade between two ridges of the mountain. Ferns and horsetails covered the ground between the trees, yew and cypress occasionally interspersed with titanic ancient cousins to redwoods. A silver mist floated overhead, cast up by the tumbling brook along the vale bottom. At its source was a waterfall, the stream falling from the top of the escarpment—forty or fifty feet, by Meline’s estimate—into a wide, shallow pool that made the moonlight ripple on the trees.

A mound stood before the escarpment. Where Meline remembered its flat top, an elderly tree much like a sequoia now stood, covering the entire mound, its roots growing down the sides. It would have died long ago, but for the blessings sung beneath its roots. It would die when those songs ceased.

Meline had come here ten thousand times and more. This was the first time she hadn’t come alone. She and Sali each took a small clay cup, and filled it from the pool. Thunder rumbled close by.

Sali led the way, up the small path, up the stair to the granite archway leading into the mound. As she passed in, Sali spoke a word, tapping a toe against the rock. The apex of the arch glowed with an outward facing hand, warning others away. Meline quietly thanked her; it was best they not be disturbed.

The interior of the mound had been largely dirt when it was first raised. Now the sequoia’s roots permeated the structure, granting a strength far surpassing mere earth and stone. Any remaining dirt was locked in place.

There was one passage with many side-rooms. There were no doors. Meline passed chambers filled with silver and gold and truesilver and jewels, the wizened remains of food offerings, or, among the truly old gifts, piles of dust. At each door was a statue, an elven warrior clad in verdigris, a sword of moonbeam silver raised, forming an arch as she crossed blades with her partner on the opposite wall. The swords’ glow lit the way.

They came to the domed chamber at the end. Beside the entrance stood two of the statues. One’s sword was sunbeam gold, the other’s moonbeam silver. At the apex of the ceiling were two orbs. The silver orb was shining.

In the centre of the room was an altar. By the far wall…

A small door stood on the right side of the room. After bowing to the altar, Meline went to the door, fishing a key from her pocket. She knew very little about working and maintaining metal, but she knew how to keep this lock oiled. The knob silently turned. Inside was a table, a set of simple cutlery, and earthenware plates. Sali carried the table, Meline the rest. They set them behind the altar, beside the wall furthest from the entrance. Three plates, three cups. Sali and Meline each filled a plate with what they’d brought. Bread, a grape each, a piece of chocolate, a glass of wine, and a glass of faerye.

Then they knelt before the altar. Celia had been a light elf. Arnoldas the metalworker was a master smith, a genius, and loved Celia like a sister. Meline sadly marveled at how he had evoked both the natural gravitas of the elves and the playful way Celia’s eyes and lips curled in her effigy, as if she were still watching the antics of her two dearest friends. That he had made this statue of electrum, and worked both sunbeams and moonbeams into it, was a wonder Meline had never heard of. The statue glowed the rich, creamy white Celia’s skin had in life.

Her robe was lapis lazuli, her sandals alabaster. Her eyes were white gold, her pupils flecks of obsidian. Her irises were a variety of labradorite perfectly matching their original hue.

Arnoldas captured how she curled her left pinky finger, the small mole at the corner of her left eye, and the scar running from her right cheek almost to her hairline. The statue’s topaz earring was the same as she’d worn when alive.

Meline had cried when he showed it to them.

“Hey, Smiles,” Meline said, her voice somehow both muted and loud. She resisted the urge to wipe her eyes. “If you’d like to join us, we haven’t all eaten together in a long time.”

She and Sali stayed kneeling a moment longer, then rose, and took their seats. They raised and clinked their cups, and each clinked Celia’s cup. Sali looked at Meline, who shook her head and gestured to Sali. She took a deep breath.

“Good wine, good cheer,

Good food is set here!

“Good friends, good fare,

Good fingers beware!

“Good fruit, good sweets,

Good spirits, let’s eat!”

Meline chuckled as she took a bite of her grape. “How long has it been since I heard the Nine Fingers Grace?”

“About as long since I have,” Sali said around a mouthful of bread. “Never said it myself, though.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Meline pulled a napkin from her bag and handed it across the table.

“I’m not a toddler,” Sali said, accepting the napkin, “I won’t spew half my loaf across the table!”

“The view’s bad enough, thank you,” Meline said. “Look, I know you live in a port town, but that’s no reason to eat see-food all the time.”

“You just took a bite of your grape!”

“And swallowed!”

They hesitated. The laugh Meline had half-expected didn’t come. By the look on her face, Sali felt the same way.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Meline said, between bites, “do you know Ella of Oakhill?”

“Crazy lordling on the Gaea side?” Sali said, buttering her bread.

“More delightfully eccentric,” Meline said. “Anyway, we’re together.”

Sali stopped, about to take a bite. “Tall, blonde, and thick as an ox?”

“How’d—”

Sali snorted. “You have a type, Cuffs.” She sipped her wine, and then her faerye. “She good to you?”

Meline flushed, from more than the faerye. “Treats me like one of the two most precious things in the world.”

“One of two?”

“She’s taken in a little fire fairy, Selva,” Meline said, “who we’re quite certain ran away from a troubled home.”

Sali nodded. “Remind you of anyone?” That miasma floated on the air for a moment. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No, no. It’s… fair.”

Sali’s braids hit the back of her chair as she shook her head. “It’s not. With everything you told us, you couldn’t have done any—”

“Thanks, Sali, but I didn’t come see you tonight to rehash a very old hurt.”

“But—” Meline was about to tell her to drop it, when a chill ran down her spine from her shoulder. Sali felt it too, by the look on her face as they both glanced at the statue. She sighed. “As long as she treats you right, then, you have my blessing.” Another glance. “Our blessing.”

The tension drained away. Meline wondered at, as they caught up on each other’s lives, how easy it was. How ten thousand years felt like it’d only given them more to talk about. But she did catch herself and Sali stealing looks at Celia. Meline felt, in her heart, their old friend was with them, laughing as they snipped at and regaled each other. Meline knew with absolute certainty that Celia would’ve fallen out of her chair when Meline told them about blowing up her own house.

When only the wine remained, the conversation lulled. Sali looked down into her faerye. She mumbled something.

“What?” Meline said, leaning forward.

Sali didn’t look up. “I’m sorry.”

***

Ella opened the smelter and Havel fished out the crucible. Its contents were one cylindrical block. Ella held a hand over it, then touched the ingot’s surface with a fingertip; warm, but not hot. They took it to the workbench, and with a few solid taps of the hammer the block of sunbeam gold clattered out.

“It’s glowing!” Selva said, hopping so she could see over the edge of the bench. Havel picked her up. “Is that the sunbeams?”

“That’s right,” Ella said. “The two go well together. Sunbeams are volatile—they’re very dangerous—whereas gold is quite stable. Now we’ve got all nine sunbeams in, and this ingot is ready to be drawn out.” She turned to her apprentices. “First things first!” She clapped her hands. “Let’s light the forge.”

The forge, standing beside the smelter so Ella did not have to make more treadmills, operated on the same principles, save that it was much smaller. The bronze guardians she had stationed around Oakhill after Felix’s “break-in” had been made with it piece by piece. Beside the forge was the big anvil, a block of work-hardened bronze so heavy if Ella were anything but a metal fairy, she would never have gotten it down the stairs.

Ella turned the crank on the treadmill. There were two ka-chunks, as the treadmill disengaged from the smelter and engaged with the forge. She checked the forge was fueled up, then shut the door. She turned to Selva. “You know what to do.”

Selva jumped on the treadmill and started walking. The bellows whooshed, and after a couple false tries, she had a small ball of fire rolling down the other pipe. The forge caught.

Ella had considered for some time how she would do this: how she would make this torc; what she would say to the gold. “Once we’ve got the ingot to temperature,” she called over the bellows, “I’ll need both of you on hammer duty.” She held up a small smith’s hammer with a nephrite head. “This one’s yours, Selv.” Selva nodded, an unabashed grin on her face.

The forge was soon hot. Ella opened the door and thrust the ingot in. She watched. On other projects, she might have used a word of power to indicate exactly when the temperature was right. Not this time. She needed her strength.

“Now!” she called as she pulled out the ingot, turned, and set it on the anvil. Havel brought his hammer up as Selva scampered over, grabbing hers. And just as the first stroke began to fall, Ella began to sing.

It was not lovely. Her singing voice was gravelly at best, and tended to unexpectedly break. But her teacher had told her long ago how little surface beauty matters when working with deeper things. The intention in her heart, however…

This was not the unstructured power Meline had worked into her Frog Legs Soup as a catalyst. It was the layers of nacre laid over the grit in an oyster’s shell. It was the cyclic heat at the heart of Gaea. It was the rings of the sequoia, laid down season by season. Her song built the layers and

welded them together, as Havel and Selva hammered, drawing out the ingot blow by blow into a bar.

Ella briefly stopped singing to set the bar back in the forge. She motioned, and Selva returned to her post, the bellows pumping again. She turned to Havel. “You hold now, I hammer, Selva maintains the heat. Tell her so while this heats up.” Havel nodded, and Ella returned to her watch. The bar quickly returned to hammering temperature.

“Now!”

Before Havel had the bar on the anvil, Ella was already poised to swing, hammer in hand. Selva was already there and ready, wrapping a steady stream of flame about the bar. Her control, Ella thought, was improving rapidly.

Ella sang again as her hammer flew, nine strokes with her left hand, nine with her right without breaking tempo. Havel and Selva had done wonderfully, drawing out the bar, but every stroke of hers counted for two of theirs. The singing helped, flooding her arms as well as the metal. Each blow struck true, shaping with a speed and precision beyond her ordinary best.

And then they began the curve, Ella hammering almost solely on one side, spreading the metal, shaping it to Meline’s neck. She prided herself on figuring out that dimension without arousing Meline’s suspicions—measuring the tight-necked blue-and-green tartan bliaut that fit her so perfectly.

Finally the rough shaping was done, and she held up a hand for Selva to cease her flames. They extinguished the forge, and set the torc inside to slowly cool.

“Lunchtime!” Ella said, removing her helmet. The rag about her hair dripped with sweat. Havel and Selva were both covered in soot, grinning from ears to pointy ears. The real work would begin on their return.

***

Thunder rumbled; the storm was beginning. Meline heard the roar of trolls on the one moonless night of the Niddish year.

“I know,” she said. She met Celia’s labradorite eye. “She knows it, too.” She swished the wine in her glass, took a sip. “And I’m sorry I left, when we were both so—”

“Nah, I think we were only gonna drag each other down. You were strong enough to do what I couldn’t.”

I doubt that very much. “I was handling the Brothers Nightshade, on the other side of the docks. Can you… can you tell me, now?”

Sali took a draught of her faerye. She looked all about the chamber. The silver light was starting to dim, and there was the hint of a hint of glow in the gold orb. Dawn wasn’t far away.

“I thought I knew everything. How Filianne thought, what she knew, what she could do. What she would do.” She shook her head. “No one in their right mind would pull a troll from its caverns, nevermind two. Ten thousand years later and I still can’t fathom how she did it.” Now Sali was talking, she couldn’t stop. “We had the docks. Her hired muscle surrendered fast, like we thought they would.” Meline knew the self-loathing behind Sali’s grin. “‘Overwhelming force can end a fight before it begins’, right? Then one of them yanked on a chain going down into the water, the trolls blasted out of the water, and it was chaos.” She looked at her hands. “You remember those nights, those fights. All ship-decks, dark alleys, and darker tunnels, hardly room to swing a short sword. We didn’t have anything like the pikes or longbows we would’ve needed for a troll.

“We could’ve turned around right there. Filianne had gone too far—even if she’d kept the docks, everyone would know she’d turned two trolls loose in town. Not even her bought judges could’ve ignored it; we would’ve sunk them with iron shoes. All we had to do was quietly retreat and let the trolls wreck a ship or two. I’m not sure they even knew we were there… until one looked at me the wrong way.”

She laughed an ugly laugh. “I’ve thought back on that moment… so many times. To this day, I don’t know what went through my head. One moment that troll’s eyes met mine. The next my crossbow bolt was clean through its ear.

“And before it could do more than bellow like a foghorn, Celia charged it. Morninglight was in her hand.” Meline glanced at the altar; Celia’s sabre was sheathed atop it on a sword rack. She could count on one hand the number of times Celia had drawn it, knew how much she disliked drawing it. “The look on her face… Meline, I’ve never seen anything like it. The fury and the terror, like she couldn’t bear the thought of losing me…”

Meline stepped around the table and wrapped her arms around Sali. Eventually, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and pulled away, handing Sali a handkerchief.

“She was amazing, you know,” Sali said. “If there’d just been one troll, she might actually have killed it. It screamed with every cut. But she slipped, only once, and the other one hit her like an avalanche. Even with the din, I heard her hit the port office. I’ll… I’ll never get that sound out of my head.” She sniffed.

Meline hadn’t realized she was crying herself. “And just like that, the Light of Oak and Stone went out.”

“I got knocked out, trying to get to her,” Sali said. “I dunno how it happened.”

Meline trembled at the memory. “We’d tidied things up on the east docks, and heard the commotion. When we got there, one troll was down. The other… was sniffing over the two

of you. It swept everyone out of the way like a scythe through wheat. I… I thought I’d lost both of you.”

Sali chuckled. “Was that when you laid it out with one punch?”

“What!” Meline hadn’t heard that rumour. “It took three!”

They looked at each other for a moment before they both started chuckling. It quickly turned to a damp laughter. “Did you lose your touch, Cuffs?”

“It was a long night,” Meline said. She looked up at Celia. “Too long, maybe.” She started twirling her hair. “Can I—” This wasn’t part of the— “I have… a request.”

Sali managed to quirk an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Meline searched for words. “I’m proposing.” A little blunt, d’you think?

Sali sagged back, overbalanced, and rolled out of her seat onto the floor. “Oh, wow.” It started as a hiccupping giggle, and grew into howls of laughter. “To this Ella, right?”

“No one else comes to mind,” Meline said, offering Sali a hand.

She took it. “And she’ll have you?”

From anyone else, Meline might have walked away with a fistful of teeth. With Sali, with this one narrow bridge finally being rebuilt, she just chuckled. “That’s what I mean to find out. And, um…” she ran her hands through a lock of hair, “do you know Artur Bronzemonger?”

Sali started to pull herself together. “I know of him.”

“I’m commissioning him to handle the metalwork. Would you then be able to—”

“Do the gemshaping?” She smiled at Meline’s expression. “Ten thousand years, and you still read like a billboard.” A thought occurred to her. “How long have you two been together, by the way?”

Meline almost cringed. “Nineteen years.”

“Ninet—” Sali coughed. “You always did get things done fast, didn’t you?”

“It’s not the time, it’s how you use it!”

Sali laughed again. Meline had the impression she hadn’t laughed this much in a long, long time.

***

“Are you sure you don’t need our help?” Selva said, eyes glued to the forge. The torc sat ready, and the fire was lit.

Ella shook her head. “You’ve helped aplenty. This last part is mine. And Havel can work the bellows this time around.” She smiled, tousling Selva’s helmet-hair. “I want you to watch.” She looked to Havel. “One-and-a-half time!”

Havel slapped his hands against his chest, and set off at a slow jog. The bellows lurched into motion, their whoosh a rock-steady tempo. The drumbeat by which Ella would keep time.

She raised both hands toward the forge, eyes only for Meline’s torc. And she began to sing the shapeless song of shaping. Her master had taught her this long ago, this subtle world-music, so deep no word had power over it. It would give form to the love that had grown in Ella’s heart for nineteen years.

The world moved to her voice, a small, raspy, wonderful ripple, whose echoes filled the shop of Oakhill. Though her eyes rested on the torc, a bright glow against the light of the forge, Ella saw the mole between Meline’s right eye and her left. She smelled the burnished warmth of Meline’s hair, felt its smooth rub against her face. Ella saw the mischief that glittered in Meline’s eyes, the wrinkles and calluses on her hands and forearms from a life of making, of healing, of saving lives. She saw Meline’s anger, her impatience, and her worry from a past that, though Ella did not know it, had shaped the woman she wanted to share the rest of her life with. She accepted and loved them.

A second voice joined hers. Small, high, and quavering, fragile and nervous, like a hind on the edge of the grove, fearful of wolves, yet hopeful of the light and the pool and the sweet, fresh grass. Ella’s heart crinkled in her chest.

When they had sung together, a dance of hearts given voice, and it was time to end, as all things must and thenceforth live in soul and memory, Ella held up one hand for Havel to stop, laying the other on Selva’s shoulder. The shop hummed to the song as its echoes soaked into the white-washed bricks.

When the forge was cool, Ella took the torc in reverent hands. The back was shaped like two tiny frogs, with clasping arms and legs. From them spread oak leaves like feathers, and four acorn cupules. In front, where Meline’s collarbones would sit, the leaves became hands, clasping each other in a chain of kindness. At the ends were two pairs of hands. The fingers of the pair closer to the throat were curled into hooks. The other pair were cupped.

“The marvels of the deepest mind…” Ella murmured to herself.

“What, Elmum?” Selva tugged on her apron.

Ella knelt, torc in one hand, crushed her free arm about Selva’s shoulders, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you. This torc wouldn’t be this beautiful without your help, Selv.”

Selva’a ears were in danger of falling off, they flapped so hard. Ella laughed. “And thank you too, Havel,” she said as he disengaged the treadmill and came to have a look. “You’ve come a long way since you started with me… one thousand years ago?”

“One thousand three hundred and eighty-seven, Master,” he said, glowing with praise.

“And now,” Ella held up the torc, “we add the finishing touches.” She walked over to the workbench, and set the torc on a clean cloth. She took a small black case and unlatched it, revealing nine sunstones.

“What I mostly meant, Selva,” she said as she plucked a stone from the case, “was that the thought did not enter my waking mind to make the sockets of this torc fit the stones I’d selected.” She set one of two stones the size of the last joint of her thumb in the belly of one of the frogs. Selva started as its arms and legs curled up, tightly clasping the jewel. “But nevertheless…” The other little frog did likewise. The four cupules moved much less dramatically, but they did firmly close about the stones set in them.

“This is like the bells and the guardians!” Selva said.

“Precisely,” Ella said, as she set one sunstone each in the two cupped hands at the torc’s throat. “Because I’m a metal fairy, I can breathe a semblance of life into the metal I work.” She smiled as the sunstones caught and scattered the light of the sunbeam gold. Ella noticed the pinky finger of the left cupped hand curled out at an odd angle. Her right eyelid twitched. Maybe Meline wouldn’t notice…?

“‘It is less to give a mountain of gold and rubies, and an ocean of profound wisdom, than a single drop of your own heart’s blood.’” Ella took a green velvet case out of the cupboard above the workbench, unlatched it, and set the torc on the black silk lining inside.

“Master?”

Ella reached up and clasped Havel’s arm. She touched one finger to his chest. “Give from here.” A thought occurred to Ella. “Right! I had a plan! Selva!”

“Yup!” Selva bounced as her name was spoken.

“Meline will ask what you helped me with in the shop today.” Ella pulled another, smaller case from the cupboard. “So that we keep the torc a surprise, I want you to say that we made this.” She unlatched the case and pulled out a bracelet of three braided bands. One was copper, one was silver, and one was gold. They had little mouse heads at each end.

“Ooh, that’s pretty too,” Selva said as Ella held it up. Her eyes got very large as Ella held it out to her.

“I made it for you, Selv.”

Selva looked at her, then back to the bracelet. Her curious little hands reached out and took it with shy tenderness.

“You’re the only one who can take that bracelet from your wrist,” Ella said, “and you’re the only one who can put it on. Even I couldn’t take it away.” She leaned forward, a warm smile on her face. “Would you like to put it on?”

Selva looked at it for a moment. She pressed the two ends to her wrist. The bracelet seemed to melt around her skin. The mouse heads opened their mouths and closed them, interlocking their teeth. Selva made to hook one finger under the metal, and the bracelet came off just as easily. She put it back on, and held it tight to her chest. She stepped forward and kissed Ella on the cheek.

***

Meline made much of Selva’s new bracelet. As Selva waxed eloquent about the smelter and the forge and the treadmill and how she used her fire, Meline shared a look with Ella. There was nothing but kindness there… well, perhaps a glint of mischief.

She’d outlined her ideas with Sali and Artur, and they were already working on concepts for Ella’s torc. What discussion she’d heard sounded promising. And Ella had no idea…

“So how was Oak and Stone?” Ella said once Selva started eating. “You were meeting a friend?”

“Oh yeah,” Meline said. Just thinking about it made her tired, but relieved. “Sali, a friend of mine from the old days.”

Ella arched her eyebrows. “The friend Valdr mentioned?” She seemed relieved herself at Meline’s nod. “I hope it went well.”

“It did, actually.”

Ella hesitated, just a beat. “I’d like to meet her.”