“This way,” Barrow said, leading Ember past the line of blacksmiths. The labor was carved into their bodies, reshaping their limbs into thick, sweat-covered muscles as they bent and curved metals to their will.
The workplace of the metalsmiths was large. At least a dozen men and women were bent over anvils or raining hammer blows down onto iron and steel. Red-hot metal sizzled and steam clouds filled the already smoky air as blades were bathed in icy water.
Barrow stopped midway through the smithy, bowing before a figure whose body was pure, hard sinew. Ember was startled when she realized the blacksmith, whose hair was clipped close to the skull, was a woman. Her leather apron was mottled with burn marks.
“Good morning, Barrow.” She returned his bow.
“Morag.” Barrow smiled. “I’ve brought you our young initiate. She is in need of a tool with which to do her work.”
Morag turned appraising eyes on Ember. “She passed her trial?”
Without pause, Morag began an inspection of Ember’s form, asking the girl to hold her arms over her, then out to her sides. She took time to grip Ember’s shoulders, her upper and lower arms.
“She did,” Barrow said while Ember stood as straight as she could. She let herself be stretched and prodded, determined to endure the assessment without complaint. The smoke was making her eyes burn, but she forced herself to meet Morag’s gaze without blinking. Her eyes began to water.
The burly artisan chortled. “Strong spirit. You’ll have your hands full with this one, Barrow. I wonder if you’re up to the task.”
Ember looked at Morag sharply, finding it difficult to believe that she’d call Barrow’s skill into question.
But Barrow simply smiled. “Time will tell.”
Morag grinned at him. “It will indeed.” She took Ember’s wrist and led her to a stool very close to the roaring flames of the forge.
“Sit here,” she instructed. “Be as still as you can.”
Morag moved to a nearby workbench. She emptied the contents of several pouches and glass jars into a mortar and then ground the mixture together with a pestle. She carried the mortar to Ember’s side.
“Do not take your eyes from the flames,” she whispered. “Let them speak to you.”
The fire was so close Ember felt her skin heating up and feared it would soon burn, but she didn’t dare move. Morag flung a handful of fine powder into the flames, causing it to flare up and spew lavender plumes of smoke. Ember coughed as she took in lungfuls of the bizarrely colored air. It smelled of moss and heather and tasted like licorice root.
“Keep breathing,” Barrow said from behind her.
She wanted to beat her chest and clear her lungs of the smoke, but she sucked in another deep breath even as her eyes watered. The flames kept up a furious dance before her, the colors of the sunset darkening to the violet of twilight. Her vision swam and she swayed on the stool, nearly sliding off it. She rubbed her eyes, struggling to see through her tears.
Morag caught Ember’s wrists in her hands, pulling them away from her face. “Nay, lass. Ye must see. Look into the flames.”
But there were no longer flames to see. Through still-watery eyes Ember gazed into a midnight sky, starless and eternal. Somewhere very far away she heard a crooning melody. The voice sounded strangely like Morag’s but was so distant Ember thought it couldn’t possibly be her singing. A subtle gleam cut the darkness. The moon, a bright globe, shimmered into substance, the solitary object in the heavens. As she watched, darkness slowly covered its gleaming surface. She could still see the lingering outline of the full moon, but the encroaching shadow left only a slender crescent to light the sky. Crimson drops slid along its curve before plummeting to the earth.
Ember reached into the sky and the bloodred tears splashed onto her hand, sizzling as they made contact with her skin.
“Ember!” Strong hands gripped her shoulders, jerking her back from the fire and wrenching her out of the vision.
Barrow kept her balanced against his body as she began to cough again. Morag handed him a damp cloth, soaked in some kind of astringent that stung Ember’s hand when he bound it around her scorched skin.
“You’re supposed to look into the flames, not touch them.” He shook his head, but he was smiling.
Ember opened her mouth to protest but only managed more coughing. She was still a bit dizzy. She put her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes, and hoped the smithy would soon stop spinning.
“Here, lass, drink this.” Morag crouched before her, holding a bucket and a ladle filled with springwater.
“Thank you.” Ember gulped the cool water, grateful that she was able to breathe steadily again.
Barrow watched as she took a few more ladlefuls of water. When Ember straightened, unnerved that she’d been leaning all her weight against Barrow for several minutes, he simply nodded at her. “Are you well again?”
“Yes,” she said, though her legs were a bit shaky. “I think so.” She didn’t object when Barrow pulled the stool away from the forge and eased her down onto it.
His gaze returned to Morag.
“What did ye see, Ember?” she asked the girl.
Ember’s mouth twisted as she wondered what she was supposed to see. Her vision didn’t make sense, and as she tried to describe it, she felt foolish.
“I saw the moon,” she said.
“What sort of moon?” Morag asked, seemingly unsurprised by Ember’s words.
“First it was a full moon,” Ember said. “Then the full moon was covered in shadow, leaving only its crescent form.”
“Was there anything else?” Morag’s eyes had grown thoughtful.
“It . . .” Ember glanced at Barrow, who, like Morag, appeared nonplussed by the strange vision. “It cried tears of blood.”
Barrow’s brow went up, which sent heat running up Ember’s cheeks. It was a silly thing to say.
Morag laughed. “Well, then. There was no mistake in your calling.”
Ember looked at her, startled.
Barrow shifted his stance, his speculative gaze giving way to a pensive one. “I had no doubts.”
“I never suggested you did,” Morag said. “But there was talk.”
“Too much,” Barrow said. “Foolish and dangerous.”
Ember knew he was defending her against the sort of gossip she’d always hated and wanted to thank him, but her mind was still fixed on the bleeding moon and what it could mean.