The sound of Fia’s hammer driving down hard upon the steel echoed in the smithery. Orange sparks flew in every direction like shooting stars on a moonless night. Fia leaned her body into the next strike, sweat dripping down the middle of her back, attempting to mold the bit of steel into the finery she visualized. The glowing sword blank bent to her will, the strike reverberating its way back into her body.

  Gods, this feeling. She gritted her teeth and welcomed more of that connection between her and the sword blank. The power she drove into it and the vibrating power she received back with every strike, was a warming feeling she felt deep within her.

  As she went for her next thrust to the blade, the flaming glow of the steel began to fade. Fia pleaded a prayer to Brigid. Please. Not now. I don't have time to relight the forge.

  The blade’s glow began to dwindle, along with the shred of promise of what it could become. The air blew its salty taste of the sea into the smithery, the flame of the forging pit sputtering its last couple of breaths.

  Fia stood straight, and with her head tilted back in defeat, let out a long sigh. She intended to finish shaping the blade tonight. At the very least.

  She had already come to terms with the sneaking and secrecy that was required to engage in her beloved craft. Most considered a woman’s mere presence near the anvil an ill omen, much less her forging anything.

  Laughable. That's what it was.

  Smithing. Forging. Creation. All anointed and blessed by the goddess Brigid. A woman. Where do life and creation even come from? These villagers and their narrow minds… she thought to herself while pulling away her dark auburn hair that was drenched in sweat.

  If was not for her younger brother, Silas, secretly teaching her the foundations of smithing, Fia would know nothing of the craft. After her repeated pleas to their father to pass down the family trade, it was Silas, who secretly vowed to share his knowledge with his sister. Her father’s views matched the villagers - no woman, let alone a girl of eighteen, should be near the anvil.

  After a moment of sulking, Fia gazed into the dying flames of the pit. The faint glow of the embers reflected in her eyes as she knelt closer, the sharp scent of soot and iron filled her lungs. She stretched her hands over the smoldering coals, closed her eyes, and focused, willing heat and life back into the dwindling fire. A flicker of flames began to dance hesitantly over the embers, but she hesitated. Her eyes darted to the smithery door. It remained latched, but her heart thundered in her chest, gripped by the familiar surge of anxiety she felt every time she used her gift.

  Magic.

  It had to remain a secret - always.

  Her fingers curled slightly as she inhaled sharply, trying to find that place within herself where that magical spark lived and breathed - a life of its own. More flames took shape and Fia exhaled in relief. She did not fully understand her power - how it worked and what it could do. She only knew that she was blessed with it - for what reason, she did not understand that either. Most of what she knew about magic, she’d learned by accident. Small sparks would be revealed in moments of heightened emotion and the rest had come in hushed lessons from Sybill, her best friend’s grandmother, who had once been a coven leader before the kingdom turned away from the old gods and magic itself.

  Even with Sybill's help, Fia knew little. Nowadays, magic is not only rare - but dangerous, and outlawed. Fia shuddered at the potential consequences if anyone knew what she could do.

  Smithing.

  Magic.

  Everything that made Fia who she was - forbidden. A secret. Something she had to lock inside deep of herself.

  She dragged herself from her racing thoughts, the ones that often fueled her anxiety, and made sure the door was latched. The embers began to flicker, new flames curling and licking their way around the coals.

  Then she felt it - before she saw it.

  A sudden sinking feeling came crashing down upon her as if the weight of the smithery settled into her chest, beams and all. She struggled to pull the air into her lungs when she saw the darkness, a shadow, creep into the forging pit. The shadow swirled around the embers that had just caught fire, licking their flames, and suffocating their heat.

  With brows furrowed and a clenched jaw, she willed herself to inch closer, to see if her imagination was running wild into the night.

  Breathing was still a struggle, the weight still ached in her chest. The shadow poured out of the forge pit, pooling onto the wooden floor just inches from where she knelt. Fia crept closer and with a trembling hand reached toward the swirling black abyss just to see if -

  Shit.

  The sound of crunching rocks near the smithery ripped her from her inquiry and set her into a sequence of motions she could do blindfolded. With her heart beating fast, she grabbed the sword blank and set it in a slit behind the forge pit; hung the hammer back onto the iron tool rack; and finally grabbed the loom she set on the table to continue weaving her textile, that had been in the same spot for well over two weeks now.

  She quickly glanced back at the wooden floor, where just moments before that shadow lingered to find nothing.

  Maybe these secret late-night forgings are starting to take their toll on me.

  While trying to control her breathing, she had just sat down at the table in the back and pulled the threads into the loom when the door burst open.

  A large man she knew to be her prying and bitter neighbor Conall, stepped into the smithery eyes darting around the room. His red face and bitter expression settled on Fia.

  “I heard hammering in here. I would expect to see your father, the actual smith, in this room, but I find you, girl.” He looked toward the anvil, expecting to find evidence of foul play, and turned that bitter expression back onto Fia.

  “I do not know what you are talking about, Conall” she retorted sheepishly. “I came here to clean up the room for my father so that he might have a pure place to forge tomorrow. And now you are interrupting my creative process of threading yarn.” It took everything in her power not to laugh at the absurdity she was spewing from her mouth.

  “Listen here, girl. Your father and myself should be the only ones allowed in here. I cannot have your hands soiling the art of forging by touching things you are not supposed to. I will not have a pretender shaming the craft.”

  She couldn’t hold it in any longer. That fiery rage and passion she had felt since a young girl rumbled, sparking anger like the sparks flying when she hits a blazing blade. She stood up, hands clenched so hard that her nails were digging into her palms, “Listen here, Sir, I will have you know -”

  The growing sounds of screams coming from outside interrupted Fia.

  Conall’s face flushed red, his expression twisted into a bitter scowl as he glared at Fia. With a sharp exhale, he snatched the hammer she had just placed on the rack. “Stay here,” he barked. Fia watched as he sauntered out of the smithery with the continued screams and wails from outside.

  “Like hell, I’ll stay put” she muttered under her breath, her freckled face scrunched in defiance. She grabbed another hammer from the rack and walked out of the door into the cool, night. The smell of the nightly ocean breeze filled her lungs.

  Fia walked along the village dirt road leading to the neighboring houses, where a crowd had gathered around a wooden wagon. At the center of the commotion, she spotted Daireen, the baker’s wife, slumped in the wagon’s seat. Fia’s body sank, almost dropping the hammer at the sight of Daireen draped over what appeared to be a lifeless figure, sprawled over the bench.

  Fia inched her way closer to the crowd.

  “I heard the wagon coming up, so I went out to meet him. It was getting late… I was worried,” Daireen choked out, her voice trembling. She drew a shaky breath before continuing, her words broke into sobs. “I came out, and he was… he was…”

  Daireen sat up and Fia was startled aback by the gasps and shocked eyes of the neighbors that looked down upon the body of the baker. His eyes were sunken and hollow, drained of all life. But it wasn't the void in his eyes that drew gasps from people's throats—it was the blackened, bruised veins that snaked their way up his neck and into his temple.

  Fia’s mouth gaped open in horror. She was startled when she felt a brush against her shoulder. Vayla, her most beloved and best friend stood beside her, eyes widened.

  "We heard the screams... what could have done this?" Vayla asked as she placed her golden-skinned arm around Fia's shoulders.

  “I don’t know,” Fia said into the night. She looked into the dark brown eyes of her friend and leaned closer into her hold. She stared toward the lifeless body of the baker, a sweet and caring man she knew quite well. “This feels wrong. I can’t explain it with my words, Vayla, but it's like my body knows something.”

  “I feel it too.” Vayla faced Fia, gently gripping her shoulders. “We are safe, Fia. Do you still wear that charm I made you?”

  Fia touched the pendant hanging around her neck - the mark of Brigid, but added with a spark of flame at its center. Vayla made the pendant for Fia after a frightful storm ran through the village, carrying heavy winds from the sea that tore out whole oak trees from the earth. Fia had trouble sleeping for weeks after. Vayla had secretly woven a protection spell into the pendant, using the small amount of magic she did have. Fia and Vayla’s family were the only ones who kept such secrets from the fellow villagers. If it was not for Vayla, Fia would have felt utterly -alone. “Yes, of course. It was made by my loving and dear friend.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Vayla returned the smile and glanced down at the hammer hanging from Fia’s hand. Her concern turned into a sharp inquisitive look with an arched brow. “Tell me, Fia,” she began with a touch of dry humor, “were you planning to face the village robber head-on? Just you and that hammer, swinging your way to victory?”

  “Vayla, this is not a time to make jests,” Sybill interjected from behind the two girls. Fia turned behind to see Vayla's grandmother, her penetrating gaze on the commotion ahead. Sybill illustrated a grounding presence - her voice always as steady as the earth beneath their feet. Sybill moved her long silver braid over her shoulder as she clarified, “There is a darkness here. Open your eyes.”

  Fia shivered. It was not the chill of the night that crept into her bones but the memory of that darkness she had witnessed pooling itself onto the floor of the smithery. Fia looked back to the crowd and saw the baker’s body being carried away by a group of men, her father among them. Daireen, weeping and clutching at her cloak, was being escorted by a pair of women into her house.

  “Grandma, I meant no harm. I am also concerned for my friend and her own safety,” Vayla clarified, meeting her grandmother’s gaze. “…especially my concern for what she was doing with the hammer prior to this event,” Valyla stated while nudging Fia in her side with a knowing look. “You were forging again, weren’t you?” Vayla whispered to Fia.

  Fia couldn’t help her smirk. “I am so close to being done with it. Then I can practice with an actual blade of steel rather than those pathetic practice swords Silas and I whittled… I get splinters”

  Vayla turned to her friend, squeezing her shoulder. “You are marvelous, my friend.”

  Fia’s attention was caught by the sound of her mother, Morna, calling her name. Fia pulled Vayla closer for a quick embrace before she joined her family

  After Daireen was ushered into her home, the crowd gathered around the village center's communal hearth—a large fire pit that served as the heart of their community. The silence that hung in the air was heavy. The eyes of the small crowd appeared lost within the fire, attempting to process what they had just witnessed. It was Conall who broke the silence.

  “That was not a normal death. I have no idea what could have done that, but I don’t want any part of it in this village,” he said tightly.

  “When I was in Gerstrand a few days ago, I heard the locals there talking about strange deaths that were occurring near the village… perhaps they are connected?” Interjected the villager’s tradesman.

  Gowan, Fia's father stood forward and suggested, “I can travel to the nearest Crown’s Watch post tomorrow. Ask the guards there if they have heard or know anything.”

  Conall, who appeared to take the lead on the situation turned to Gowan, “I will go. You have that shipment of arms due by the end of the week for the Watch.” Gowan nodded in agreement.

  “I don’t like the idea of waiting to hear from those guards at the Crown’s Watch. They are never helpful at any other time - why would they be now?” the tradesman snapped. “We need to know what is going on…” his gaze turned to the fire in the center, staring blankly at the swirling flames. “… that was not a normal death, indeed.”

  Silence again filled the air. Moments passed until Sybill stood from the wooden bench that she had been seated at.

  “There are strange deaths of darkness happening that no man nor creature could commit,” she said to the villagers who were now looking at her with bemused expressions. “Last year’s harvest was half of what it should have been. We are no longer able to celebrate Imbloom and other earth festivals. The last temple of the Old gods near Gerstrand was destroyed and taken down by the Crown’s Watch - order of the King. There is an imbalance, a darkness that - “

  “Listen, wielder, ****you and your family may still follow the old ways, but things have changed. The old gods started to forsake us years ago even before they were ostracized by King Dreadon. You talk of this darkness, yet you and your family are just scrambled talking heretics,” Conall said red-faced with disgust. He took a step closer toward Sybill and dropped his voice to a hissing whisper, “I would be careful if I were you - unless you want what happened fifty years ago to happen to your kind again.”

  Sybill's expression remained unmoved, only the slightest clench in her jaw showing any emotion

  Fia, who felt quite protective and close to Vayla and her family was shaking with anger and exclaimed, “She only speaks the truth. We are no longer able to celebrate Imbloom, to pray for Brigid’s blessing of our seeds - no wonder our crops now yield so little. The King and his new policies - “

  “"Fia! That is enough," her father shouted, yanking her back. Fia met her father's stare and caught her mother's worried glance.

  Of course, they wouldn't understand - no one can see or feel the wrongness happening here, Fia thought to herself.

  "Gowan, I respect you, but your daughter treads dangerously close to treason with that defiant tongue of hers," Conall warned.

  Fia turned to her parents, half expecting them to defend her- or at the very least side with her. After all, they had been blessed by the gods themselves; she was living proof of that. Her voice dropped to a weighted whisper, only her parents hearing her words. “Have you forgotten you were blessed by Brigid herself - the magic that I carry?”

  The mention of magic was often met with Gowan’s raised voice and tension, but there was an audience before them now. He inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw. Morna cupped Fia’s cheek with her slender hand and pressed her brow against Fia’s.“We have not forgotten, my Little Candle,” she whispered. “Things have just changed. Please. Do not speak of this right now.“

  Fia looked into her mother’s dark green eyes - much like her own, save for the golden streaks around her pupils, a faint trace of Brigid’s blessing. ****Fia saw mixed emotions swimming through them. Emotions that Fia seldom dared to ask about. “Things have changed, but the gods have not,” she whispered.

  Fia placed her hand on her mother’s, dropped it from her freckled cheek, and walked away. Her mother stared after her, and the villagers continued to talk amongst themselves into the night.

  Fia’s heart began to sink deeper into her chest as she returned to her home. She knew something was amiss. Sybill spoke of a darkness - was it that thing she saw earlier tonight?

  Gripping her arms around herself, she shuddered at the thought.

  She began to feel dizzy from the weight that was pulling her down. A weight that felt as if the earth itself was beginning to change its axis on which she stood. Spinning. Spiraling. Pulling her down toward something that felt - wrong.

  “Fia, wait!” She heard Vayla call out to her from behind. She stopped to turn and see her friend who headed her way.

  Fia noticed a heaviness that appeared to match her own in her friend’s stride. Different from her usual lightened walk - Fia often joked that Vayla appeared to be dancing through the world. “I’m sorry about what they said about your grandmother - about your family. Conall will go out of his way to throw insults and can simply catch Helva’s ferry to the Underworld, for all I care” she said.

  Vayla, with raised brows, nodded in agreement. Her gaze then turned to an intent expression settling on Fia. “I believe you, Fia. I have seen that raging fire inside of you. You need to continue to do things that you love and make you happy,” her expression lightened. “But, maybe we need to consider building your own forge pit somewhere else… where we can’t hear your hammering in the middle of the night.”

  Fia let out a laugh that didn’t meet her eyes, that heaviness still in her body. She brought her voice down to a whisper, “Vayla, I need to tell you - I saw something tonight. Moments before Daireen started to scream, I saw dark flames or smoke in the forge pit. It felt… wrong. I’m worried.”

  Vayla’s expression was that of concern and deep thought. “I will talk to my grandmother about it - or you should. Nothing is a coincidence, Fia.”

  “I know that,” Fia replied. The heaviness stayed within her body, twirling her stomach into knots.

  /////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

  After the commotion had quieted and all that could be heard outside the homes of the villagers was the Northern wind coming off the sea, Fia shut the front door behind her and made her way over to Vayla’s home. Just as she reached the door she exhaled a breath that felt like she had been holding onto it since the early morning.

  She could already feel the relief. Entering Vayla's home, and being with her family always offered comfort and sweet relief from any anguish that she may have had been holding onto.

  She knocked and the door swung open almost instantly. The warm scent of lavender and frankincense filled her lungs. Fia was immediately grabbed into an embrace by Vayla's younger sister, Orla. Fia held her close and could see Vayla and Sybill seated at their table over the mountain of dark curls that obstructed her view.

  “We have been expecting you, Fia. Come sit by me,” Orla said excitedly as she grabbed Fia’s hand and led her to the table.

  “I would love to, my little fox.” Fia had bestowed the nickname to Orla for her curious and cunning nature. Very similar to her older sister.

  As Fia sat down between Vayla and Orla, she was met with warm, familiar smiles and greetings.

  “I told my grandmother that you needed to speak with her,” Vayla said as she stood up to grab the kettle that was placed near the hearth fire. Vayla made Fia a cup of tea and sat down beside her friend. “Here - your favorite. Peppermint and Chamomile, a perfect remedy for that flaming restlessness you usually carry.”

  Fia took a sip and the cooling, crisp flavor of the Peppermint released a deep exhale of that restlessness Vayla had mentioned. “You know me so well,” she said with a smile.

  “Sweet Fia, Vayla has told me that you saw something tonight. Could you please tell me what exactly happened?”

  Fia recounted the experience with Sybill and noticed the bleak faces of the women she loved and cherished. A sudden feeling of anguish twisted in her stomach. “ What - What does it mean?”

  Sybill tucked a strand of unbound silver hair behind her ear as she took in a deep sigh. For the first time Fia realized how much older Sybill appeared. She noticed the darkened age spots on her slender golden-brown hands and the creases in her lips that were now pursed in deep thought.

  “I am not entirely certain of what it was - I do have an idea of what it could be.” Sybill stared at Fia, as if she was searching for something. “Dear child, the balance has been shifted. The balance that we wielders and druids have sworn to protect. Our world is made of contrasts: there are lands of shadow where creatures of dark still dwell and lands of light and peace where creation flourishes. This balance ensures survival for all of us. Without it, there is only chaos.”

  “I understand that something is amiss. I don't know how to explain it- I can only feel it,” Fia said, as she shook her head, her hands balled into fists on the table.

  “That is your magic speaking to you, Fia. It is hard to understand. I should have taught you more of what I know - even with my own magic weakened,” Sybill said with a disappointed expression.

  “But I don't know what my magic is telling me. I feel like I don't know anything,” Fia said as her pitch increased, and heart began to pound.

  Sybil reached across the table, grasping Fia’s tensed fists into her hands. “The gods created our world and left us the gift of magic to stay connected with them and this earth. Brigid was among those gods - you carry her flame, child. Learn to listen to it.”

  Sybill saw frustration flicker in Fia's eyes and softened. “You will do so not just by looking within but by looking out.” Sybill offered a smile as she said, “We are not born into this world, Fia - we are born out of it. The next time you place the soles of your feet in the sand or place your hand upon the bark of an oak tree, reach out and listen.”

  Fia felt an encouraging squeeze of her hands from Sybill. “I will try. But, I’m not sure why I have to. Will it help me learn more about magic?”

  “Yes, it will do that.” Sybill let go of Fia’s hands and stared into the hearth fire. “I think the imbalance of our realm has bred a shadow. It was in this village tonight. It showed itself to you for a reason.” Sybill’s gaze settled back onto Fia. “Right now, continue to learn your magic. Keep that fire within you burning. Be careful though, child. I have heard rumors of arrests of magic wielders near the capital.”

  Vayla noticed the apprehensive expression of her friend. “I will help you, Fia. I can show you more of what I know and how to conceal it when needed.” Vayla reached over and clinked Fia’s cup of tea with her own. “It will be fun. Dangerous, but fun,” she said with a wink.

  Sybill stood up and ushered the girls to bed. She walked Fia to the door and laid her hand on her shoulder. “I will reach out to my sisters in neighboring villages, to find out if they have seen or heard of such things happening. Fia, for now, don’t go seeking it. Focus on building your strength and connection. You are a bright child, with or without the flame.”