Yrsa
Big gulp of water for the mouth, and a scoop for the head. Yrsa lay the ladle back down in the bucket and shook her head violently to send droplets away. She felt an animalistic energy in her body, as if she could leap onto the roof in a bound. She took one last look at the stacked wood in approval. The speed with which she had stacked the wood today was impressive by any standard. And it was good work; like a puzzle neatly made of mismatched pieces she had convinced to conform. Papa had split wood for a week and she feared this task would take her all day. She didn’t slack about it though, she had better places to be today. She ran down the street.
She passed others still toiling about their chores. They moved slower than her, as if they didn’t understand that the quicker a thing was done, the quicker life’s real joys could be had. The running loosened up her back, and her breathing increased as her legs warmed up. “Don’t show up cold and slow,” Gorm had told her. “I need your muscles warmed up and loose. Bodies are like iron, they mold better hot.” Gorm was always saying stupid things like that. But running helped her get ready for lessons, and she spent less time getting there and more time training, so she pushed herself toward the blacksmith’s property. She passed the tailor and the cobbler, whose sons shot her glances of envy. Stupid Rickard’s face scrunched as he thought of something stupid to yell after her.
“Ugly Yrsa, you run like a hog!” She stopped her run and turned around, stalking toward the cobbler’s son with clenched fists. He stammered and dropped the shoe in his hand. She saw fear in his eyes. Good enough, she thought. She turned and continued on her way. Rickard was a little chicken shit, and they both knew it. She didn’t feel like telling him today, she had places to be.
She heard the pounding of metal and knew Gorm was at the forge. He only picked his head up for a brief second to see her before returning his attention to his work. “Grab the hammer,” he said with a hasty tone. It was laying on the anvil. Gorm pulled a piece from the fire and, with precise movements, lay it on the anvil. “Get the bend out of it,” he said, holding the metal with his special tongs. Two-handed, Yrsa smashed down on the metal. After a few hits, she realized how tired she was from the run. “Come on, now. It’s iron! Hit it!” Gorm was covered in sweat. Yrsa smacked hard. She missed and hit the anvil. She flushed with embarrassment, but Gorm stayed quiet, holding the metal still. She smacked it this time. Then again. She lifted the hammer back and brought it down as hard as she could over and over. Suddenly Gorm called “good,” and moved the piece back to the fire. Yrsa took a deep breath, set down the hammer, and wiped her brow. “Quench, Yrsa, quench,” Gorm called. She looked frantically. There- she moved to get the bucket. “Careful!” Gorm said without looking at her. She needed to move with purpose around the forge, running around like a chicken was how things got broken. She grabbed the bucket and put it into position for the blacksmith, who withdrew the metal and dunked it. He set down his tongs and took off his big mitts, wiped some sweat from his face and regarded her. “Thanks for the help!”
“Of course. What is it?” Yrsa asked.
“Agio broke his plow, that’s a support piece I’m whipping up. Not sure we’ll have time to spar today.” Yrsa looked down in disappointment. “Got to try and fix this plow tonight so he can get it back in the field in the morning.”
“I understand,” Yrsa said with clear disappointment.
“Sorry, lad. You can take the practice blade out back and run through your moves, but,” Gorm raised his tone slightly. “Rumor has it a certain bard y’like blew into the tavern this morning.”
Yrsa’s heart leapt. “Arne’s back?”
Gorm nodded. “Should be ready for a song by now, I bet.” Yrsa bowed to the blacksmith and raced out of the forge, careful not to touch anything. “Come back tomorrow, now. We’ll get a double session in. Maybe we’ll do some dagger work!”
“Thanks, Gorm!” Yrsa was almost out of earshot when the sound of metal banging returned.
Yrsa burst through the doors of the tavern and scanned the room. Arne smiled wide to see her. “Yrsa!” He stood up from his table and threw his arms out. She ran to him and jumped into the hug. Harry had been sitting at the table with Arne and remained seated.
“Arne! It’s so good to see you!” Yrsa said. As they broke away from the hug she looked toward Harry. The boy was a few years older than her- the two of them were Arne’s biggest fans. “How are you, Harry?” She asked.
“I’m well, just hearing about Arne’s travels.” Harry was a savant with a lute, he had been from a very young age. Every time Arne left, Harry became grey and lifeless. The bard was the perfect mentor to Harry, who had hoped to join Arne on his last couple of tours. Maybe this time he was old enough.
“This is just a stop on the tour, I’m afraid. I’ll only spend a few days,” Arne said, sitting back down. Yrsa pulled out a free chair and sat with them. The tavern keeper, Margaret, yelled over.
“Will you be having tea now?”
“No thanks, Margaret.” Yrsa hadn’t brought any coins, and the tavern keeper hated being owed.
“Arne was just telling me about the sword again,” Harry said. Yrsa perked up.
“Aye,” Arne grunted and leaned over the table, whispering to them both, drawing them in. “If the gossip is to be believed, a knight dressed in black has been terrorizing the road to Triton’s Bay with a most curious blade.” His eyebrows lifted as he leaned back and took a swig from his mug.
“Surely it’s just a children’s tale,” Yrsa said. “There’s no such thing as an evil blade.”
“The best tales all contain a hint of truth,” Harry said quickly, looking at Arne.
“That’s right, m’boy,” Arne said. He looked at Yrsa now. “I’m afraid I’ve been out all night though, didn’t feel like camping. Let me rest for a few hours and I’ll be ready to play tonight. Harry here caught me as soon as I got in and I’m afraid I’ve stayed up far too long.” Arne pushed himself up from the table.
“Sorry, Arne.” Harry glanced downward.
“Nonsense, we had a lot to catch up on. Come back this evening, the both of you. And why don’t you join me for The Dragon’s Lair tonight?”
“I’ll practice this afternoon!” Harry smiled wide.
“And how’s your Foolish Tomcat coming along?” Arne asked him.
“Not so well, I’m afraid,” Harry deflated slightly.
“We’ll work on it while I’m here,” Arne started walking away from them. “After supper! See you kids then.”
Previous Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/01/27/resistance-chapter-2/
Next Chapter: https://therealzsmith.com/2023/02/02/resistance-chapter-4/
2 thoughts on “Resistance: Chapter 3”