Chapter VIII - Born Anew

Untroubled by the deafening clangs of metal, Amixia purely gazed into nothingness, the work she had to undertake a distant thought. The only thing capturing her attention was the conversation she and Nakol shared, and it’s been doing it for the past few days. Her fellow smiths were beginning to eye her suspiciously, yet no one protested her inaction. Not even Wymmel noticed her distraction, or if he did, he kept silent about it. Palm dug into her jaw, the other scratching against the harsh metal below, Amixia was lost in time. Nothing could have predicted what a strong effect their debate had on her. In the blurry vision of her squinted eyes, she managed to occasionally catch sight of a few passing peasants absorbed by her blank stare. Eventually, she would have to resume molding the ingot. There was no interest in doing so though.

The lack of desire reverberated within her, a sense of confusion capturing her whole. Smithing was what she knew enticed her, she’d been attracted to this line of work for as long as she could remember. Why then was she feeling this way? This… conflicted? Nakol managed to make Amixia understand the wrong reasons that pushed her to pursue such a profession. Proof of strength. What was even the point of proving something like that? Only one quick glance at her body would give one enough answers as to who she was and wasn’t. Blacksmithing was a tough job, not meant for a girl as puny as herself. Hurling hammers all day, carrying large, heavy, dusty ingots, holding them up in the fiery forge took a toll on even the strongest of men. How could she have hoped things would be different for her?

Finally, with a deep sigh, her eyes shifted downcast. Foolish of her to have taken such a radical approach in her life, out of the necessity to prove something to someone long dead. It all led to her feeling stuck, enshrouded in a dark place that had no visible exits. Quitting seemed like an obvious, yet painful choice. If the ingot below her could speak, she knew it would confirm her thought. Stupid piece of metal! Why do you work against me?

Turning sluggishly, Amixia glanced around the shop. Fellow blacksmiths worked tirelessly, sweat dripping like cascades from their foreheads. Wymmel sat further back on a wooden makeshift chair. Given the roughness of the wood and the protruding splinters, Amixia assumed the chair had to be older than the man himself. Before him, a wide rectangular desk held a cluster of papers, unevenly spread. Rarely had she looked at Wymmel’s primary working space, but as her body moved narrowly to the right to catch a better glimpse, she guessed the papers were most likely contracts to deliver tools to the local businesses. Agriculture in Faye showed no sign of slackening anytime soon. Other smaller villages relied on Wymmel’s shop for instruments to carry out their duties. Simply put, business was thriving for the smithy. The recent salary increase she received stood as evidence of that.

A figure passed by Amixia, casting a small shadow over her, interrupting her sight without penitence. The blonde hair gave him away easily. Hurik. Carrying a batch of ingots, he made way for the main forge, stumbling left and right as the boy struggled to maintain a straight course towards it. Slim arms wrapped the metals, nudging the girl to once again compare herself to him unknowingly. The similarities were striking. The only stark difference was their age. Merely a teenage boy, Hurik had ways to go before reaching Amixia’s age. It gave the girl a curious comfort knowing that there was a man unable to carry out a blacksmith’s tasks with ease, even if the ‘man’ in question held that title more symbolically. Maybe not all hope was lost in the end. After all, Amixia acknowledged that even in the short amount of time she’d been working at the smithy, her set of skills improved and broadened.

In the beginning, the hammers felt impossible to lift, now they were hard to use for prolonged periods of time. When she started, the forges frightened her more than interested. Nowadays, sitting by them was all she hoped she got to do, even if the schedule protested in that regard. Growth was tangible, just not as much as she longed for. A dim smile forced her face to cast away the sorrow. Becoming a blacksmith was tougher than most jobs and yet, she relatively received that status. Through all the doubts of the past, the sorrow and grief endured, the lack of confidence and the constant abuse, Amixia was now a blacksmith. A portion of the dream was already achieved. The hard part was dominated by her inability to carry out the tasks properly. Why do I struggle so much? How come I find myself lacking in exactly what I desire to grow?

Palms covered her face. Arching her back forward, the girl dropped slightly, her posture perfectly mimicking the mood she was in. Should I quit? Find something else to do? Admitting the growth Amixia underwent felt challenging when there was so much yet to accomplish. What remained of the tool she was unable to finish? Will it ever see the crops? Will it be held by someone else other than herself? Unlikely. Not while it laid on the anvil, crumbled into pieces that yearned to be assembled. As she peeked to her left, Amixia’s sight landed on the sickle she found troublesome to finalize. It… called to her, as strangely as she knew that sounded. As they did their job, the other blacksmiths simply passed by it, daring not to touch it. Wymmel had something to do with that, she was sure of it. Smiths often aided one another, teamwork being a key element of their success. As frequently as they could they picked on each other’s work, bringing it to a much-deserved end, reaching the status of a finished tool. The amount of guidance she herself received from the blacksmiths countless times stood as testament to that. Once again, the girl eyed Wymmel, only to find no one sitting at the desk anymore. Bewildered, her head swirled around, trying to locate the man.

“I presume you are looking for me?”

A chuckle was released after the sentence was finished. The voice came from behind her and startled by it, Amixia turned rapidly to meet Wymmel.

“Why do you always do that?” she asked in annoyance

“Because you always get easily startled. Consider it our own little game.”

The man winked, placing a hand on her shoulder and crouching beside. The weight of his palm felt like a burden on her shoulder, forcing Amixia to scowl.

Wymmel frowned as he noticed the displeasure and lifted off his arm.

“I apologize, child, I didn’t mean to.”

Amixia nodded, giving it no further thought, the pressure vanishing in an instant. Plus, Nakol was as heavy if not heavier than Wymmel. She grew accustomed to that kind of strength.

“I see you took some time away from the ingots,” he gestured with a slow turn behind them “is something troubling you?”

A muttered affirmative emerged from her, accompanied by a slow, saddened nod. Again, she fell back in her own thoughts, fighting off the ever-expanding uncertainties. Staring at the dirty ground below, Amixia looked not in Wymmel’s direction, his presence visible only in the corner of her right eye. Blurred lines of concern danced across his face.

“Would you like to discuss it? You know I’m here, child.”

Wymmel’s tone switched, becoming more worried. It allowed Amixia to relax slightly.

“There’s… not a whole lot to talk about,” she answered in a sullen voice, still not shifting her head to meet him properly. “I feel a bit… lost. I don’t know if continuing to do this,” the girl gestured around her “is worth it anymore.”

Wymmel placed himself on the floor, crossing his legs. No immediate response came from him. Finally, she glanced to her right, meeting his thoughtful stare.

“I feel like the growth I’ve gone through is not enough. Look… the sickle is still not finished,” she pointed to her left, with a tangible grief in her voice.

The lack of hope emanated from within Amixia like a monstrous cloud, threatening to devour the entire smithy in the blink of an eye.

“I see. I’m sorry you feel that way, child. But… you are wrong.”

Turning back towards him, the man was smiling, eyes filled with warmth. Dumbfounded, her mouth opened slightly, unsure of how to reply. Why are you this… loving towards me?

“You’ve grown, child. Quite a lot. I distinctly remember your first time entering the shop, head bowed in uncertainty, aimlessly looking around like a lost sheep. Your back was so slouched, I worried you had a rare condition,” he said, chuckling without a care, compelling her to smile dimly “do you remember the first thing I told you back then?”

Memories washed over her like a troubled sea. Giggling, her mood seemed to brighten as she remembered that day.

“Stand straight, child. Walk with confidence,” she bubbled, the mimicking of his voice forcing them to laugh in unison.

“Precisely! Have you looked at yourself when you enter the shop nowadays, how much more confident you look? If not, I can arrange that a window be placed at the main entrance, maybe then you’ll see for yourself,” he said, winking fiercely and leaning closer to her.

He gestured towards the sickle, urging her head to twirl and notice it.

“That sickle is not the deciding factor in your progress, child. It’s only meant to display it.”

The girl snorted at the remark.

“I struggle to see how that is the case, Wymmel. It’s not finished yet, no one can ever use it.”

“That is true. But the question is – does that truly matter?”

“Of course it does!” Amixia stood up in protest, garnering attention from everyone present “it’s what proves my ability to perform this job well! If I can’t finish a tool, which is my main task in this shop, then how can I call myself a blacksmith?”

The once busy shop was brought to a halt. Drawn by the Amixia’s words, they stared at them curiously. As she darted her eyes around the shop, the looks she received made her breathing quicken. A trembling sensation took hold of her palms. Wymmel stood in an instant, clasping her twirling head.

“Relax. You are safe. Please, sit back down.”

The man gestured for the chair and she sat on it, her breathing still not fully under control. In comparison to similar scenes from the past, the girl felt much more… comfortable. The presence of Wymmel had a strangely soothing effect on her. Wymmel waved at them and the smiths resumed their work, metal clangs flooding the entire shop unexpectedly. Grabbing another chair, Wymmel placed himself in a more relaxed position, close to her.

“Why did you join the shop, Amixia? What made you choose this job?”

Clasping his palms together and squinting his eyes, he eagerly awaited her response. Realization dawned upon the girl that she never discussed her past with him or anyone else besides Nakol. Hugging herself, she gazed at him with uncertainty. Should she open up about the wounds of the past with someone else besides the man she loved? Would it be a wise choice? Perhaps it would help to do so, perhaps it would only deepen the scars. Hesitant for a little longer, she managed to receive a deep sigh from Wymmel, one out of resignation.

“I cannot help you if you won’t allow me to, Amixia.”

She reached forward in an instant. “Why are you so eager to help me in the first place? Why are you… like this towards me?”

The way he always acted towards her… felt unusual. They were not related and yet… he took on more of a father figure than her employer. Why was that the case? The man stood silent, opting to shift his eyes downcast in a sorrowful manner. Did I strike a chord? she thought, biting on her lower lip.

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“I apologize if that sounded too… harsh, Wymmel.”

The man waved dismissively towards her.

“It’s alright. I guess I deserved it,” he replied with a chuckle “I simply don’t like seeing you struggle… that’s all.” Wymmel turned sluggishly, meeting her face with a bright smile, full of compassion.

Always so hopeful. The girl found Wymmel’s behavior both intriguing and irritating. There seemed to be no amount of… evil coming from within him. No desire to lash out, to punish, to resent, he simply… lacked any bad traits. Right from the beginning, the very day she joined the shop, Wymmel had been incredibly kind to her. Providing support, encouraging her, keeping calm even when she fumbled terribly. If she were to be in his place, she knew her temper would be lost fairly quickly, especially if she had someone like herself to teach. And yet, Wymmel never did so. Complaints were common from blacksmiths, it was quite usual to find yourself burdened by the intense working conditions in the smithy. He never once protested. Maybe back at his hut things were different, but in the shop… he never did it.

“I… appreciate your support, I really do. It’s just… personal. I don’t wish to speak about it.”

Instantly, she regretted hiding the truth from him. The man was genuine in his desire to help her and what was she doing? Pushing him aside like he was a simple nobody. Then again, she couldn’t go around Faye promoting her personal matters. Nakol was the only one who needed to know besides her. Others were simply… there. Why would they need to know such things? To hurt her further? No. The pain was already awful enough.

Adjusting her voice, she stood up, turned to meet the iron ingot and began to eye it curiously. Working sounded better than entertaining the discussion further. Maybe desire would somehow return if she resumed her duties. In an instant, Amixia fell right back into the past, the conversation she and Nakol shared hitting her like a massive tree branch. It was foolish to think that it would work. The whole situation felt more burdensome than carrying an entire row of huts on her shoulders. No clear answer seemed to reach her, no matter how much she kept juggling back and forth with the idea of keeping the same trajectory she was currently on, or abandoning it completely. Sighing, her head bowed in defeat, shutting her eyes completely.

Wymmel stood up beside her. “Being silent about it won’t make it go away, Amixia. I hope you know that.”

Her eyes unfolded sluggishly, stopping midway. “I… know.”

Should I open up to him? Would that be helpful? There seemed no other way. Maybe he would have some good advice. If not, then there was nothing to lose. She already had a father figure that terrorized her for the greatest portion of her life, what could another do to her anymore?

“I… am conflicted.”

The man nodded. “I can see that. About work?”

Amixia murmured an affirmative. “I feel like… I’m doing it for the wrong reasons. Besides… look at me,” she peeked at her arms, frowning “how could I ever hope of being a blacksmith when… this is how I look?”

Wymmel snorted. “That’s what you think makes you a good blacksmith?”

“Then what does?” she snapped back, eyes narrowed

“You are foolish to believe that, child,” he answered, bowing his head, chuckling.

Wymmel seemed oddly amused. How could someone find her situation amusing? This was a serious matter, one that had been bugging her, giving her restless nights and yet, he was treating it like it meant nothing. Foolish of her to have said anything. Who could understand her better than Nakol? Vicious eyes were latched onto him, Amixia incapable of shifting them away. Unbothered by her, Wymmel simply stared at the ground, a stupid smile forming across his face.

“You are not helping me, Wymmel. What can be so funny about this whole thing?”

He stood up, turning narrowly to meet her. “I wasn’t making fun of you, child. However, you couldn't be more wrong from believing that physical strength is all that is needed of a great blacksmith. An acceptable one could perhaps rely solely on his power,” he said, scratching his chin “but nevertheless, I doubt you want to be an ‘acceptable’ blacksmith.”

Amixia paused for a moment, acknowledging his words. Peeking around the shop, she eyed the other blacksmiths as they carried out their tasks. Their muscles tensed as they mended the ingots, forming ball-like masses the moment they were labored harshly. Never before has she seen even a small hint of such ‘ball’ forming around her arms. What was so hard for Wymmel to understand? It was bitterly obvious to all that would just open their eyes and see – a blacksmith needed strength. Physical strength no less.

“Look at them, Wymmel! Look at their arms, how effortlessly they carry out their duties. I could never compare to them,” she whinged, frustration threatening to come out of her and rampage through the entire shop.

Amixia crossed her arms together, watching carefully as the blacksmiths outclassed her in every area. The scene unfolding stirred great annoyance in her. I hate this. I hate myself for being the way I am!

“Are you sure they are so good at carrying out their tasks?” he queried, a warm smile beaming on the old man’s face, revealing tons of creases spread like untamed veins.

Swiveling to face him, the girl grimaced.

“What are you talking about?” she puzzled, perplexed by his words

The man pointed forward. “Watch closely.”

The girl followed his command. Her eyes were darting left and right, focusing on the blacksmiths, examining the way they were doing their job. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A few more moments later, she sighed in defeat. Whatever Wymmel was trying to show her did not seem to appear. Or maybe he was just trying to tease her some more, to save her from her bleak mood.

“Don’t lose your patience, child,” he bellowed, interrupting her thoughts “simply watch.”

Again, Amixia followed his guidance. Then, she understood what he meant. All of a sudden, the blacksmiths stumbled in one way or another as they were executing their errands. To the right, two of them hurled hammers so inconsiderate, that they crushed their fingers, crying in agony. On the left, a fellow smith handling the forge leaned too close, burning bits of his shirt off, causing him to jump up and down in an attempt to put the fire out. She instinctively laughed, trying to suppress her amusement. A loud bang came from the stockpile. Someone fell, dropping several ingots to the ground. A young, scared voice cried out from the room, apologizing for the situation. It was none other than Hurik himself. It finally clicked with her what Wymmel was trying to show her. While the blacksmiths were considerably stronger than her on a physical scale, they also lacked in certain areas. Especially in being careful. None of them seemed to actually do the work effortlessly, as she first believed was the case.

Wymmel positioned himself in front of her, clasping his palms. “I presume you now understand, child,” he jested, the smile on his face intensifying.

Amixia smiled back. “I… do. I see now that I was wrong in believing I was the only one who struggled,” she acknowledged, her eyes changing, becoming less mournful.

Noticing the change in the girl, Wymmel grinned widely. The man’s face beamed with such happiness, one could mistake it for being the actual sun. Amixia saw how delighted he looked and felt a nudge to cast away her worries. To know that she was not alone in this, that there were others just like her, filled her with joy and confidence. More than Hurik’s resemblance to her ever could. Still, the men around her were strong, even if they were not paying as much attention as they should. Understanding that there were others like her was helpful, just not as much as she needed it to be. I still need strength. I still need to prove myself. No matter what Wymmel showed her, the desire would not purely vanish into inexistence. Not after so many years of struggle and grief. There had to be a way to prove herself, a better way than she knew.

“I am glad you showed me this and it’s been helpful. But it’s not enough,” she added, turning to depart from him in a sluggish manner.

Wymmel was left dumbfounded. His narrowed eyes landed onto her, trying to make sense of what she meant, no words able to come out.

“I need to prove myself, Wymmel, to prove that I am not what… others see me as. This tiny, meek person who constantly needs others to survive. This… powerless girl,” she said, grief pressing down on her words “it’s not enough for me to see that they also struggle. I need to have what they have.”

Stillness settled between them. Wymmel sighed, approaching slowly.

“You are incredibly stubborn, you know that?” he asked, reaching her side and scratching his head nervously

Amixia peeked to her side, rolling her eyes. “You’re not the first to tell me that.”

Being called stubborn was a regular occurrence. Nakol’s annoyance was a constant whenever they were together and she refused to do something he demanded. There had to be a way for her to get some gracious revenge on him for his ridiculous teasing. And she figured it was the perfect riposte. And to be frank, nobody besides her would support him. There was no escape. He simply had to deal with it.

Wymmel crept past her. The girl paid no attention to where he was headed, captured instead, once again, by the idea of strength. By her lack of it. By her hatred for the sole idea she was lacking in it. Emotions flamed inside her, a tug between frustration, anger and sorrow. They all won before, now she wondered which will do so.

“In that case,” Wymmel shouted, startling her “I suggest you follow me,” the man turned, mischievous eyes meeting her.

Resuming his stride, the man exited the shop into the inner garden. Seldom had she been in that spot. It was a place intended to unwind after a long, laborious day. Oftentimes, she heard metal clangs coming from there, different to the ones she grew familiar with. Amixia’s eyes sparkled, a sense of excitement taking hold of her. You really want me to do this?

With newfound vigor, she marched forward. As soon as she arrived in the garden, her vision was struck by a powerful light. The sun burned like the deadliest of wildfires, menacing to scorch her eyes completely. Crowds of people began to overshadow the metal rattles, her ears finding it odd to adapt to their chatter. Sweet scents invaded her nostrils, common for Faye and its backdrop. The transition was violent, yet beautiful. Growing so accustomed to the smithy, she often forgot how much different the world outside was. How serene and peaceful it all was. Eventually, her vision steadied itself, capturing the people which strode by. Colorful garments came into sight, shades of blue, red, yellow and even pink were worn by peasants with confidence. The garden was nothing special – enclosed by a wooden wall, almost her size, painted red. It wasn’t meant to be unique. She doubted her fellow blacksmiths cared much about taking care of it, planting some flowers or maintaining the fence which could have used some more work. They were more preoccupied by taking advantage of what the location was mainly built for. On the other hand, Wymmel seemed more interested in it.

From where she sat, there was a reasonable view of the entire garden. Close to the exit, next to her legs, there was a tiny blotch of bright blue plants, with circular leaves that stretched upward, in an almost perfect raised position. Blackened soil meant one thing only – he recently watered them. Who would have guessed he had such a thoughtful side in him? Then again, he was a native of Faye. Living alongside nature was what they knew best.

A sword flew through the air, landing close to her feet. It planted itself point first in the ground, jolting sideways. Amixia withdrew, her widened eyes taking notice of it then of Wymmel. In his palms, he held a long blade, with a fascinating hilt. Squinting, she made out a pair of puny fists that grasped small blades, which stretched outwards. The edges were rather sharp for a normal sword’s hilt. But one quick glance told anyone that Wymmel’s blade was far from common.

The man smiled deviously. Almost like he was longing for this moment to arrive. Stretching the blade forward, he nodded towards the other blade’s position.

“You wanted strength?” Wymmel challenged her, the smile from before ascending into a grin.

Amixia felt her breathing quicken. The only moments she was this close to a sword was when she had to walk back and forth in the shop and she eventually had to go by a little exhibit, close to the forge. Wymmel was strangely proud of that display. But to actually hold a blade, feeling the leathery hilt, engaging into a skirmish with someone else, especially someone more skilled was terrifying. The amount of doubts that came to her in an instant overwhelmed what remained of the puny excitement of before. What Wymmel was proposing is insanity. Did he even bother to listen to her laments in regards to her bony arms?

“Come and show me your lack of strength,” he insisted, placing both palms on the hilt of his blade, positioning himself for battle.

I can’t do this! I can’t! she thought to herself, desperately sighting a way out, unable to find one. But why flee? This was an opportunity to grow further than what she’s known before. A chance to become something more than she ever hoped she could. The blade before her meant something more than just a mere casual fight between acquaintances. What person carried around a sword? A warrior. And what did a warrior need to be effective? Strength. Power. Courage. All things she desperately wanted. What if this was her chance to become something far beyond what anyone thought she was capable of? What he thought she was capable of? No more running this time around. She had done that plenty of times already.

Amixia steadied herself, breathing deeply, reaching for the stillness she required to proceed. Shutting her eyes, she tried casting away the world around her. No longer would the fear keep her in place. That dark shadow which lived in her would eventually be thrown out. The frail girl of the past, beaten and stepped on would be born anew. Visions of him returned, accompanied by brutal words. Her nostrils flared, like frantic gales. Carefully opening her eyes, she rushed forward, grabbing the blade. With one foot behind and one in front, Amixia arched her back forward slightly, holding the armament with both hands. She pulled it closer to the face, not even bothering to test it first, to feel its weight and balance. Her furrowed eyes desired one thing only – for the battle to commence. Like the pounce of a snake, she launched forward, a thunderous cry emerging from her mouth.