The sun had now fully climbed over the rooftops of Vespera, but Zara's mind drifted elsewhere amidst the bustle of the market.
She moved through the crowded alleys, turning in a direction where the scent of burning coal and the resonance of hammers hitting iron grew stronger.
Zara stopped before a massive, soot-stained wooden door. She pushed it open and stepped into the blacksmith's shop.
The interior walls and wooden racks were lined with weapons of all shapes and sizes—long, sharp swords, hunting knives, sturdy bows, and various small and large tools whose edges glinted in the dim torchlight.
A young man sat at the counter, examining the edge of a small weapon on his desk. Seeing Zara enter, he paused his work and looked at her with curious eyes. Zara approached and asked calmly, "Where is the head blacksmith?
" The young man looked up at Zara's face and gestured toward a small door leading further inside. "He's in the back by the forge. Do you have business?" Zara shook her head with a faint smile. "No, nothing urgent. Just... I've just come to see him."
She moved further inside. As she drew closer to the inner room, the sound of the hammer—clink... clink... clink...—grew even louder.
As she pulled back the heavy curtain of the inner chamber, the orange flames of a roaring furnace danced, casting the blacksmith's massive shadows against the walls like shifting giants. The blacksmith had his back turned, shaping a glowing red sword.
The blacksmith delivered one final, thunderous blow—clank!—and plunged the glowing red iron into a vat of cold water. The resulting hiss of steam—ssshhh...—blurred the entire room.
He set his heavy hammer aside and turned toward Zara. His deep eyes remained fixed on her face.
"You... who are you?" his voice was heavy and coarse. Zara stepped into the low glow of the fire. "I am Zara," she said calmly.
"Zara... so you've returned," he said, taking a long breath. "Do you have business that brought you here today?" Zara's face clouded with seriousness. "Yes, I had some business.
I want to ask... can you prepare a drink for me?" The tongs in the blacksmith's hand froze. "You shouldn't be drinking, Zara. I am a blacksmith; I don't sell alcohol."
"But you often have a drink on hand," Zara replied. The blacksmith sighed deeply. "This isn't for little girls. Does Kelen know?" Zara cut him off, "No, and I'm not a little girl anymore. I can handle it. Can't you just give me a little?
" The blacksmith scowled but finally admitted, "I have some, but it's not for sale. Kelen will be furious." Zara said confidently, "I'll tell him later. He's sleeping right now. He won't even know."
The blacksmith didn't utter a single word. The thud of his heavy boots echoed as he disappeared into the dark chamber behind the forge. Moments later, he returned. Now, they both stood outside the massive iron gate of the shop.
He extended a packet toward Zara. From within the bundle came the faint clinking sound—clink... clink...—of ten cans. "Carry this carefully," he warned. "And don't come back for this again."
"Fine," Zara replied simply. She tucked the packet under her clothes and vanished into the market. She held the cans close to her chest like a dangerous secret. Finally, she reached her home. The alley was silent.
Zara pushed the heavy door open, stepped inside, and pulled it shut. The sound of the heavy iron latch falling—CLACK!—echoed through the house. She was safe with her 'forbidden gift.'