The Forge and the Hearth, Part Two

Drata’s journey back was as eventful as the trip there, and could fill volumes on its own. Overall it went smoothly. However, she was surprised when she returned. Her house was not empty, as she had left it. Four cloaked strangers sat around her homely table. 
“Can I help you folks?” she asked. They turned towards her. The faces under their hoods were somehow not quite human. 
“Greetings, Forgemaster,” said the first, a bright-eyed woman with white-streaked hair. “We have heard much of your skill and metalwork.”
“Greetings, Hearthkeeper,” said the second, a ribbon in her long red hair. “We have also heard much of your kindness and warmth.”
“Excuse our sudden intrusion,” added the third, apologetic. They were wrapped in their cloak in such a way that their appearance was hidden. The fourth stranger, a tall man with dark hair and darker eyes, said nothing. Drata nodded, flattered but not deceived by flattery. 
“I apologize for my extended absence, and I hope you have not waited too long for this meeting. If I may be fully honest, what manner of beings are you? For you are not like the mortals I have encountered.” The white-haired one laughed, a raspy but pleasant sound. 
“We four are family, and some have called us gods,” said the third, shedding their cloak, unveiling a pair of red wings. They stretched out to their full length, nearly touching the walls of Drata’s small home. “I am called the Raven. The red-haired one is my sister, the Jay. The white-haired one is my other sister, the Magpie. And the quiet one is my brother, the Rook.” They each nodded in turn. 
“I am glad to have met you. Though if you are gods, you are not gods I have ever heard of. Whence do you hail?” 
“We hail from the Lowlands,” the Raven said, “a place of valleys and gentle mountains, to the south of here.” 
“It is a fertile place,” added the Jay, “and beautiful.” Drata nodded. It sounded very different from the deserts she would always call home, but it sounded like a place she would want to visit in her travels. 
“We would like something made,” said the Magpie, unable to contain her enthusiasm. The Rook stared at her for a moment, and she shrugged. “It’s true. Each one of us does. We need an icon, as the hammer is yours.” Drata smiled. 
“What kind of object?” she asked.
“For me, a spade,” said the Jay.
“For me, a flask,” said the Rook. 
“For me, a tiara,” said the Magpie.
“For me, a coin,” said the Raven. They paused, then continued, “I know we ask much of you. We are all prepared to repay you for your work and skill, in whatever manner you deem fit.” Drata smiled, and stood. 
“It will be good to have something to do with my hands,” she said. “I have been away from my fire too long.”
For a month, she worked, putting once again her every skill into the making of these objects, fit for the gods. However, this time she did not work during the cold nights of the desert. Instead, she returned to her home, to find the space filled with firelight and laughter and the smell of the Jay’s cooking. She smiled. 
Eventually, after sending for precious stones, for strong wood, after a month of hard work, the artifacts were complete. She laid them out gently on a black cloth. The spade, the flask, the tiara, and the coin shone in the flickering, warm light of the hearth. The four gods looked at them with wonder. 
“To each of these belongs a unique property,” Drata began. “The spade can never be dulled or stopped by any material, and will always carve a straight furrow. The flask will never run dry, and will always contain the drink that is appropriate. The tiara will never lose its shine and will always draw the eye. The coin can never be lost or stolen, and will always find its way back to its original owner.”
“These beautiful things must have a price,” said the Raven. “You need only name it, and it will be settled, my friend.”
“I have thought a long time on this matter. What I ask of each of you, is that the first prize won by each object be brought to me. That will be a fair measure of their worth.” The Raven nodded. 
“Friend, that is more than fair,” they said, “and I accept this exchange with deep gratitude.” 
“As do I,” said the other three. And so they took possession of the items that would be their icons, though not quite in the same manner as they were intended to. 
A day after they had all left Drata’s home, the Rook returned. She let him in, curious as to why he had come back. He motioned towards the table, and they sat around it. From under his cloak, he withdrew the flask and pair of wooden goblets. The flask was a beautiful thing of iron and silver, engraved with trees and roots, tall columns, delicate bones, and his name in runes. The goblets were plain things, unadorned, but comfortable in the hand. He poured from the flask into both goblets. He pushed one towards her. 
“My first prize,” he said, in a voice raspy from disuse, “is a hearty drink with a good friend.” Drata laughed.
“I’ll drink to that, my friend. It is fairly done.” 
A week after the Rook left, the Magpie arrived at Drata’s door. As she let her in, she noticed the Magpie was not alone. 
“Who’s this, Magpie?”
“This mortal man is my payment to you, friend,” said the Magpie with a laugh. The mortal just looked confused. 
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s the first prize taken in by my tiara.” She turned to face him. “Isn’t that right, thief?” The man winced, and Drata frowned. This wasn’t what she’d had in mind. 
“What are you called, son?”
“My name is Hoak,” he said, “and I am not a thief. I simply admire beautiful things.” The Magpie shrugged. 
“He admired my tiara so much that he wanted to run his hands over it. When he understood I had seen him there in the dark, he fled right into a sturdy beam. So now he is yours. Fair’s fair, yes?”
“Fair’s fair indeed, friend.”
A month after the Magpie had gone, the Raven arrived. Hoak saw them first, and was so startled by their sudden appearance that he nearly dropped the small anvil he was carrying. Drata stepped out when she heard his cries, and chuckled when she saw a bemused Raven standing there. 
“Come in, my friend. What brings you here?”
“Two things bring me. Firstly, it is always a pleasure to see you, Drata. Secondly, my debt to you weighed heavily on my heart, and I have come to set it right.” The Raven brought out from their cloak a large, jangling pouch. It spilled open across the table revealing a large number of shiny coins of gold, of iron, of silver. “I spent an interesting evening not long ago, in a town I had never been to. Apparently some kind of rumor had preceded me, that I was a terrific gambler. Well, having diligently sampled their excellent drink, I decided to oblige. The game was simple. A sum was wagered, and the winner of a coin toss took the lot. Well, it was an interesting and profitable evening. I had to take precautions to make sure none came behind me to take the sum back from me, in my sleep or on the road.” Drata whistled appreciatively.
“That’s a hefty sum, my friend. But you promised only the first prize. Anything from later coin tosses is yours to keep.” The Raven started to laugh in earnest. 
“That’s the funniest part. This was all wagered on one flip.” At that, Drata began to laugh too.
“That’s more than fair,” she said, “and it more than absolves your debt.” 
A year after the Raven went back to wandering, the Jay came calling to Drata’s home. Behind her came a procession of three wagons, each bearing sacks of grain and tubers. Drata looked at her questioningly, and she shrugged. 
“This is only part of what I truly owe you,” she began. “I could not bear to bring the whole harvest, you understand-”
“Jay, my friend, this is more than enough. Your debt is more than absolved, as are those of your siblings. Come, and call your charioteers. Tonight, we feast!” 
And so were many things forged by Drata, master artisan: chains, braziers, spades, flasks, tiaras and coins. There are other stories, of course. There is the story of how the Raven lost the coin and won it back again; or the story of how the Jay and the Rook came to trade their icons. But this story is important, too. It is the story of how Drata abandoned the other gods, and learned to love them again. It is the story of how she found solace in both the forge, and the hearth.
Category:Works
Category:Events