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Imprudent, Chapter 1, Nightfall

Prologue

~~~

Chapter 1: Nightfall

We have identified the system and the primary planet after our failed transit attempt, although there are anomalies that we are attempting to identify. While we attempt to diagnose the causes of the failure, we intend to approach Nephaas and see if we can establish communications with local authorities.

Archival Data: Gross Planetary Statistics

Planet: Nephaas

Year: 376 standard days; Data Match

Day: 23.53 standard hours (see notes); Data Match

Mean Radius: 0.98 standard: Data Match

Gravity: 0.94 standard: Data Match

Atmosphere: 1.26 standard; Data Match

Axial Tilt: 84°; Data Match

Natural Satellites: 1, 1.08 standard size, 29.54 standard day orbit, 3.83° inclination to planetary equator; Data Match

Artificial Satellites: 0. Data Mismatch, Anomaly.

Notes: Due to the high axial tilt, Nephaas has extreme seasonality; permanent and seasonal ice sheets dominate the equatorial regions, while the polar regions experience months-long days and nights. Persistent winds blow from the hot face to the cold face during regional summers and winters and dominate local weather conditions. Local populations and ecosystems feature significant adaptations to the climate as a result, with most animal species featuring migratory or hibernation behavior.

~oOo~

Town of Rhaanbach, Duchy of Hoochlicht, Kingdom of Westernfellsen

Raavi ava Laargan

It was so, so hard to keep myself from singing along to the chant. But I managed to keep myself under control with difficulty as my family and my neighbors—along with most of the town, some six or seven thousand people—joined their voices to the ancient song in between bites of the delicious food provided during the Feast. People were pounding the tables in time as they ate, and the flutists and pipers were giving it their all in a spectacle of sound. I kept catching myself tapping my foot in time to the beat, one felt deeper than my own heart’s.

I kept reminding myself that I couldn’t join in. I was an adult this year—finally!— and if I gave in, it would be so embarrassing!

So instead of celebrating, I focused on helping bring out the food, like I was supposed to. There was a steady stream of platters and pots coming out of the kitchens and an equally steady stream going right back in, empty and ready to be refilled. It all smelled delicious enough that my stomach, already stretched nearly to bursting, seemed to whine at the sight. Surely I could find a little room for some more food? Couldn’t I? I was a teenaged boy, and my father always joked about how boys my age normally ate every meal as if every day was the Sundown Feast.

And now it was at the Sundown Feast, and I was carrying a platter laden with a whole roast haunch on a bed of carrots and potatoes with gravy, trying to keep my mouth from watering too much as I set it down on one of the long tables full of celebrants.

“Hoy, Raavi!” one of my cousins, Nickaal, called out as I reached up to fix my braid; it had started to work loose of its tie, and I didn’t want it to fall into the food. “Can we get some more drink out here?” After asking, he pulled a slice of the roast onto his already overflowing plate.

I smiled and threw him a thumb’s up, and as I went back to the kitchens, he rejoined the singing between bites. It was a tricky thing—everyone participating in the Feast had to keep singing, but they also had to keep eating. At least the Feast was pretty forgiving in that regard, you wouldn’t have too many issues from pausing to do either as long as you got back into both quickly enough.

Crossing the threshold from outside into the kitchens was a bit of a shock to the senses—a shift between the chilly, late autumn near-darkness outside and the baking warmth and glowing lamp-light inside. Thankfully, I was getting used to it by this point, having been making trips in and out for the last few hours, and I’d been helping in the kitchens since last sunset with the prep besides. Shimmying my way through the countertops and stoves, I made my way over to where the big, wooden beer kegs and other drinks had been stacked against one wall and loaded up another platter I’d picked up along the way with several foaming pitchers that were lined up, waiting to go out.

Turning, I had to abruptly pause; two other servers, Beeno and Taabea, were carrying out a pair of laden trays and were taking up far too much space to get passed. Looking back over the beer filling station, the thought hit me again that there had to be a better way to do this. As it was currently, there was a long counter filled with pitchers, some of them empty, some of them full, and three members of the staff working the spigots and cleaning cloths. They’d fill a pitcher, place it on the counter, pick up an empty pitcher, clean it, then walk back to their spot at the beer kegs before refilling the newly clean pitcher.

Blinking back into focus, I saw that Beeno and Taabea were past me by that point, so with my platter in hand I went back out, musing on how they could do the whole process faster as I made my way to the doors. Maybe just have one person dedicated to moving emptied pitchers to a counter next to each barrel? Then one focus on cleaning and another on refilling? That could work, but things were crowded enough in there…

Putting the thought aside, I pushed open the doors and went out into the plaza with my beer-filled platter. For a moment, the scene made me catch my breath, even though I’d been seeing it for over an hour by this point—and had experienced it every year before this. But still, it hit me every time.

The plaza, normally the bustling center of the town, was packed with an array of tables crammed full of feasting townspeople. Surrounding the open area on one side was the long wedge of own Hall, and the kitchens made up a segment of the southern face. Next to them was the smooth, rippling shape of the mayor’s mansion, the facade of which always gleamed so prettily in the light of sundown. The mansion shared a wall with the Temple, where the town had prayed and offered to the spirits for a quiet winter earlier before coming out for the Sundown Feast itself. To the north was the market, which had already been packed up for the winter, those staying behind having already stocked the supplies to last the duration. Watching over all of it, us included was the reddish disk of the sun, now less than a finger-width above the long roof of the Temple, its fading light still shining through the stained glass and onto the gentle curves of the beautiful building of white stone and dark metal. We’d been blessed that today the skies had been clear, and the awnings and tents that would have normally been needed had been stowed around their poles, the bits of loose canvas fluttering hard in the winds.

It was a gorgeous sight, and I couldn’t help but pause just to drink it in, as well as enjoy the last bit of sunlight I’d be seeing for months.

“Hey, move it!” came a call from behind me, followed by a poke from a platter to my shoulders. Before I ended up drinking the beer I was supposed to be delivering, I hastened out of the way and into the feasting and singing crowd, glad I hadn’t made things jam up at the doors for too long. As I walked through the revelry, I glanced up, catching sight of the haze of the crowd’s Breath as it filled the air, mixing with the steam coming from the food, the blueish glow coming from the carved halite crystals that sat atop the poles that peppered the plaza grounds contrasting strongly against the red light of the low sun.

Finding Nickaal’s table again was easy, my cousin’s voice a deep baritone that rattled the chest. I plunked down a pitcher of beer for him without spilling a drop, I was pleased to note, dropping it right in front of my cousin. He immediately took it and topped off his tankard before I’d even placed a second one down.

“Thanks, Raavi!” He burped, and then refilled his plate with more roast potatoes.

“It’s my job!” I returned cheerfully, giving him a mock-salute with the platter. Seeing another person holding up an empty pitcher with a hopeful look in my direction, I quickly moved their way.

Dutifully, I brought them drinks and picked up the empties to be refilled. Returning once again to the kitchens, I paused at the doors to let another group of servers come out—these four bringing out a whole roast for the mayor’s table on a steel tray large enough that someone could’ve laid down on it—and while I waited for them to pass I took the chance to appreciate the art sitting on my own tray. Even in the reddish light of the setting sun, the beauty of the glass pitchers on my tray was clear, and I never grew tired of enjoying their craftsmanship. Each of them was unique, handmade by the artisans in town. The one nearest me was forest green, with a curve that suggested an uncurling branch, accentuated with the shape of leaves, while another was blue-and-green, with dragonflies and butterflies dancing over water lilies. A third was pure frosted white in the shape of a woman wearing a sheer robe, with the spout formed by her cupped hands. The details were so fine that I could count her individual fingers and see the sharp creases of her flowing robe that formed the bulk of the pitcher.

But my time to appreciate the art that was all around me was limited. As soon as the roast was clear of the doors, I hurried in, carrying my empties to be refilled.

As I came back out carrying another platter—this set of pitchers featuring one with abstract geometric patterns of white and brown on one, two decorated as a pair of green fish with the spouts formed by the mouths, and the last fashioned into an elaborate multicolored prism—I could almost see the sun inching towards the horizon. Soon, it would set and the Feast would end, and I’d have my first winter all to myself. And that was a thought that made me shiver a bit, and not just from the autumn chill.

Until then, however, I still had to get the food and drink served to those of my people enjoying the feast. The singing was of course still ongoing, and as a result the haze of conjoined Breath over the crowd filled the air between the carved halite crystal pole tops. It was almost time, and everyone knew it, could feel it. The singing was picking up in tempo, the ancient chant echoing and building as the volume of the feasting crowd’s voice reached its peak. Blue-white light streamed from every mouth and into the air, joining the cloud of Breath that had been gathering since the Feast had begun.

As the sun’s reddened disk at last touched the horizon, I turned and took up my spot by the kitchens; it was time. Across the plaza, the sounds of eating and drinking slowly died off, and our head priest climbed up the stairs to the pinnacle in the center of the plaza, staff in hand. The pinnacle, which doubled as a fountain in the summer, had been carved into a sinuous curve that suggested a flame; with our priest at its peak, the white stone almost seemed to glow.

Having reached his destination, the holy man turned to the crowd and began to sing the focal chant, his deep voice echoing across the the plaza as his elaborate braid—which was festooned with fine jewelry such as fine metal combs, elaborate jade hairpins and golden cuffs to the point of obscuring most of the hair—swayed back and forth. His white hair and the gems in his jewelry caught the reddened sunlight, he glistened and gleamed with every word. As he sang, thousands of voices joined in with the chorus. It was less words, and more a deep vocalization, but I knew, we all knew, what was being said.

To those who sleep, a blessed rest.

To the world in the night, a rejuvenating sleep.

The sun shall rise once more,

And we shall rise with it.

I tried clenching my jaw, but ultimately I had to hold my hand over my own mouth to keep from joining in. I didn’t want to sleep through the winter in the town’s caverns, I didn’t. And I especially didn’t because I hadn’t just spent the last few hours packing away as much food as I could physically eat—if the other overwinterers had to force me awake, I’d never hear the end of it.

As the sun slipped below the horizon for the last time of the year, the priest finished his lines in time with the crowd, slamming the end of his staff down on the metal plaque set into the fountain. As he did, the cloud of blue-white Breath that had gathered above the plaza seemed to burst, rippling across the plaza.

As the glow vanished from the halite crystals and from the air itself, silence and darkness descended.

I’d been waiting for this moment. Around me, I heard the familiar sounds of benches and chairs being pushed back, people joking and chattering, even more and more yawned. In the next twenty or so minutes, they’d all be asleep. And because the signs of sleep-addle were already making themselves known, it was the job of the overwinterers, like me, to see them bedded down safely.

As my fellow overwinterers started breaking out the candles and torches to guide the winter-sleepers down to the caverns, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small metal box I’d secreted there earlier when I’d first gotten ready for the feast. Approaching one of the other overwinterers, a well-built woman named Annette who was one of the glassworkers, I patiently waited for my chance to strike. She had a box of matches out, but even as I stepped up beside her she bit back a curse as she broke one while trying to light it, followed by a second. Casting a spark-light with her Breath would’ve solved the problem, but for completely understandable reasons she wouldn’t want to do that.

“Can I help?” I asked as she broke a third match.

“Sure, Raavi,” she said, holding out the box of matches.

I grinned and held out my hand. Flipping open the lid of my tiny metal box, I thumbed the wheel inside, sparking it and making a small flame catch on the wick. “Here!”

Several of the people around us gave curious looks. “Is that a spark-light? But I didn’t hear you whistle?”

“Nah, it’s called a lighter. See, it’s got a small flint and steel inside—”

Annette rolled her eyes and dropped her matches into her apron’s front pocket. Reaching down, she picked up and stuck a torch over the little piece of fire, the old-fashioned pitch-on-a-stick bursting into flames and light. The others quickly lit theirs off of the first. “And how much did that little toy cost you?”

“I made it myself!” Off of instructions that had cost me a week’s wages, but I wasn’t going to tell them that part. Besides, I’d made some refinements to the design, so I felt I could claim some credit there.

A few of the others gave the lighter a look. “And it doesn’t need you to use any Breath?” another asked, squinting. Around us, people were lining up at the Doors, ready for their long winter nap.

“Nope!”

“Nifty!”

“Talk later, torches now,” Annette said brusquely, shoving a lit torch into my hand. “Before people start falling asleep.”

“Right, right,” I said, awkwardly closing and stowing the lighter in my pocket and trying to keep from burning myself with the torch. Nearby, the mayor was ceremoniously opening the grand doors down into the caverns that lay underneath the town; ten feet tall, and carved to show the emblem of the town and the crafts we made, they were a masterwork of cast iron and bronze. Ten feet within, another set of plain metal doors stood, having been there as part of the original structure of the caverns. The town might’ve sat on top of them, but they’d been there before the town had. Really, they were the reason the town was here at all.

As he gave his ceremonial speech to the yawning crowd, wishing them all a good winter’s sleep, I and the other overwinterers went in through the much more utilitarian side doors and took our spots to light the way.

I already had my stairwell assigned, so I got there well ahead of the crowd, giving me a moment to think. The caverns went down deep, hundreds of feet below ground. The stairs themselves had long since been worn down, as evidenced by the divoted grooves from centuries of footsteps, and yet they were still mostly pretty functional, made of some hard-wearing stone. Next to the stairs were ramps that paralleled the stairs, all made from the same stone. The ancients who’d dug all of this out had known their business, that was for sure. I knew that I would love to have my work last for half as long with four times as much upkeep!

The crowd came down the stairs, and I stiffened, doing my best to hold the straight pose of someone Doing Their Duty—not that I think anyone noticed. They were all thinking of the chambers below, and it was only a short while later that the stream of sleepers ended.

Working quickly with the other overwinterers, we checked around. The pregnant women had successfully made it to their designated chamber, where any overwintering midwives would be able to check on them if any of them went into labor. The children had all gotten situated, either in their own chambers or with their parents, depending on preference. And everyone? Well for once it looked like they’d all made it to their assigned spaces without issue. A few thousand people all in one place might sound like a lot, but when they’re all laid out in padded niches, stacked bunks, or in sleeping bags packed together on the floor without concern for personal boundaries, they don’t take up that much space. Technically, the town could double in size and we’d still have room, although that would probably call for more bunk beds in the larger chambers, with their long deep wells along the walls, and of course, more food and drink for the Feast.

But for now, the winter-sleepers were settled in, and they’d sleep away the whole of the winter, not waking until spring when the sun came again in four months.

I found my parents and siblings right where they were supposed to be, and with a smile, I tucked in my mom, and fluffed my father’s pillow a bit. Neither of them responded, of course—it took a lot to wake a winter sleeper once they’d drifted off. Until this year, I would have been nestled in with them, but now that I was legally an adult, I’d volunteered to overwinter, as part of the tenth of the populace who didn’t hibernate in order to keep watch and protect everyone else.

Not that there was any real risk of problems. The kingdom had been at peace for a while now, which meant that instead of constant guard duty I’d be splitting my time between smithing and my own projects, plus helping with the routine checks on the sleepers.

I was looking forward to it!

~~~

Rubbing at my eyes, I yawned as I half-woke up in my bed. Stumbling out of it a bit, I made my way to the kitchen, still yawning. I could feel that my hair was a half-tamed mess dangling from the back of my head in its crude bun, but honestly, I couldn’t shake off enough sleep to care.

“You alright there?” Emuund asked from where he was sitting, eating from a bowl. To save on fuel and other resources, overwinterers traditionally packed into just a few rows of houses to share their burdens; Emuund and a bunch of the others had accepted my invitation to stay at my place. I also knew my parents and neighbors didn’t mind, specifically because it meant that our row would get first call on any repairs from the winter storms.

Still yawning, I waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Just—” I stifled the biggest yawn yet with the back of my hand, “—just getting used to this.”

“Yeah, you’ll be dealing with the shift for a while yet,” he said, lifting his bowl in a mock-toast. “You don’t get to sleep for the next few months straight and call it quits until midsummer! Not this year!”

I grumbled at his unappreciated humor and started rummaging in the cabinets. My mother kept some tea leaves around here somewhere, and she swore by them as a remedy for all manner of fatigues. At this point, I was now desperate enough to give it a try.

“Where’s everyone else?” I asked as I looked through the tins and jars.

“Out and about. What, did you think people’s sleeps would match up?”

“You know… I hadn’t thought if we’d synchronize our cycles or not?”

Emuund scoffed. “You just slept for… pft, thirteen hours, you’re yawning like your head’s going to fall off, and you’re using words like that?” He shook his head just as I pulled my own out of the cabinet, having found the tea. “This is going to be a loooong winter.”

I stuck my tongue out at him—he only laughed—and then, doing a terrific job of mimicking a stereotypical revenant, stumped over to the stove. Thankfully, someone had already lit the flame—I’d forgotten my lighter in my bedroom—and starting a small pot of water went quickly. Once it was boiling, though, I ran into another problem.

“Hey, Emuund, do you know how to brew tea?”

“What, do I look like I’m rolling in spare money?” He motioned to his worn vest over his lightly-stained shirt. He did look as if he didn’t have the resources to spend extra cash on anything not survival related. “You know I sink everything extra into astronomy.”

I frowned at the salient point, and reached back over to rummage in the tin again. “Ah ha! There we go.” The blessed aid to the inexperienced everywhere.

Instructions.

Following the points on the small printed card, I carefully measured the dried, black leaves and poured them into the mug I’d selected. Eyeing them, though… “That can’t be enough. Can it?”

“Try it,” Emuund said, finishing his bowl and taking it over to the sink. He gave it a rinse and set it aside on the drying rack before peering at the small pile of leaves in the mug with one eye. “Yeah, that doesn’t look like a lot, but then again, they are worth their weight in good coin, so…”

“Yeah, but they don’t weigh that much…” I countered with a frown. In the end I decided to add a little bit more. “You know, I’d rather have it strong like some good beer rather than barely different from water.”

“Your funeral then when your mother wakes up and finds you drank all her tea,” Emuund said, shrugging on his coat and starting to do up the buttons.

As he suited up for going outside, I peered into the mug again and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do this.” I poured hot water into the mug and let it ‘steep’. Why was there such a fancy word for waiting for leaves to soak in water of all things?

“Well, I need to get over to the hot shop,” Emuund said while pulling on his scarf, wrapping it in a way so that only his eyes peered out from behind the cloth. Even his braid was hidden behind heavy fabric.

“Is it that cold out already?”

“No, but the wind has picked up something fierce.” He pulled on his gloves and waved. “See you later, Raavi. Enjoy your tea!”

“Thanks!”

He left, and as I waited for my tea to brew, I heard first the inner door open and shut, followed by the outer set doing the same moments later. The instructions I’d found were kind of vague, saying only to wait ‘several minutes.’ But was it ‘several’ as in ‘four’ or ‘several’ as in ‘seven’?

After six—I figured that was a good enough middle ground—- I took a sip.

And regretted it. Too hot! And bitter, too. I took another sip, and grimaced. Hmm.

I put the mug back down and grimaced, turning to look at the icebox. I knew that my mother often jokingly complained about some people ‘ruining’ tea with milk, but at this point, I felt that I might as well give it a try. Taking a flask from the icebox, I added some milk to my still steaming mug watching as the white cloud the liquid caused turned to brown swirls. Once it had settled, cautiously, I took another sip.

Oh. Oh, that was much better. Still a bit bitter, but not more than a good beer or ale.

Putting the milk flask back into the icebox, I took another sip.

“I could get used to this,” I said out loud… to the empty kitchen. Another sip. “Mmm… now, what’s there to eat around here?”

Some quick rummaging was rewarded with half a loaf of bread and some berry preserves, along with a plate to put them on. By now feeling quite starving, I started toasting a slice of the bread over the stove’s open flame—

BANG!

“Ack!”

—only to drop it into the fire when the wind suddenly whipped up and smacked something into the side of the house.

I swore as I thoughtlessly reached out to fish the now blackening piece of bread out from the flames that were eagerly devouring it. “Ow!” I screamed as I flinched back from the stove.

Great. I’d managed to burn myself against a hot stove of all things. “Some smith I am…” I muttered as I tossed the blackened piece of charcoal that had originally been intended to be my breakfast onto the plate. “...Burning myself on a piece of hot metal…”

Sighing, I eyed the burn. It was a real beauty; I’d managed to put the full side of my right hand against the metal, and it was already starting to blister. Great.

“Good job, Raavi,” I muttered to myself. “Haven’t even been awake on your own for an hour and you’ve already given yourself an injury… But wait, it gets worse, because now you can’t even go crying to Mom about it.” I swallowed, trying to do the same to the mounting pain and ignore it. Burns were the worst, and if I didn’t want it to scar, I knew I had to work quickly. Thankfully, I at least knew what to do for injuries like this.

Keeping my burned hand close, I reached over and pulled the tuning fork off of the wall where it hung. Raising my hand right up to my eyes, I took a deep breath and analyzed the burn. Too much heat to the exterior cells of the epidermis, causing them to boil and burst. I tapped the tuning fork against the stovetop to make it ring, and started to hum along in the proper key. Unlike more skilled healers like my mother, I needed all the help I could get.

Focusing my Will along the vibration of the tuning fork and my own humming, I visualized as best I could what I wanted to my Breath to do. Once I thought I had a good enough grasp of the task at hand, I inhaled sharply through my nose… and Breathed.

A small cloud of blue-white mist issued forth from my mouth and streamed over the burn, settling into it like water being absorbed by a sponge. The rest of my body immediately began to ache, but I’d take that over the mind-throbbing pain of an unhealed burn any day. And while I wasn’t the most efficient of healers, I still watched as the burn began to shrink, the blisters vanishing before they’d even fully formed, and the throbbing sense of heat and pain ebbing away.

“Better. But now I really need to eat something.”

A short while later, with tea and berry preserve toast in my stomach, replenishing my body’s systems, I stepped outside of my family’s house for my first full Winter’s Night.

It…

I frowned, looking around, and then shook my head at my stupidity. “What, were you expecting something different than a slightly darker Autumn Night?” I muttered to myself, rolling my eyes a bit. Just because the sun had set for the next few months, didn’t mean it wasn’t as if I hadn’t experienced nights before. That was how things worked. During the summer, the sun didn’t set and there was no real night for months. Then there was Autumn, where the sun started setting, first for a few minutes and then longer and longer, until it was half day and half night. And then came Winter, where we slept through the sunless months until our guiding star rose again in Spring, which ran reverse of Autumn. But I knew that the night sky didn’t change from night to night… so why was I expecting the Winter Night to look different from the Autumn Nights we’d been experiencing for the last few months? Yeah, that was real mature of me.

Still…

It was beautiful.

The moon was a partial disk overhead, casting a pittance of light across the ground, even as thin clouds whipped across the sky, covering it in fits and starts. However, thankfully most of the light came from the Night-Light, which glowed in the sky, brighter than the moon, but much, much dimmer than the Sun.

So I wasn’t the most faithful of people—I’d always been more interested in metal and mechanisms than souls and spirits—but seeing the Night-Light keeping watch over the winter realm, I bowed to it. It was taught that the Night-Light was the younger sibling of the Sun, living in exile away from his elder sister. He could only give a little bit of light in the winter, but it was still enough to see by, enough to give thanks for. “Thank you, Younger Brother,” I intoned, “for your holy watch over us in the time of cold. Your Sister might not appreciate your work, but know that those of us who are awake to see it do.”

There was no answer, unless you count the wind, which was fast and chill, but I expected nothing else from the Silent Brother. I clutched my coat tightly around myself and started down the street, which felt… well, empty. There were no people around, not a one. No children were playing in the street, no carts, no horses… All of the windows, normally open to vent heat or let in fresh air, were now dark and shuttered against the wind and cold. The long rowhouses, whose curves and arcs appeared so warm and welcoming under the sun, now seemed to be as dead and stark as the bones of some large creature under the dimmer glow of the Night-Light. It was the wind that was a constant presence now, whipping down the long streets without cessation or impediment.

I shivered, and I told myself it was just from the cold and the aches from having just healed my hand.

Moving through the streets, my coat held tight by my arms folded against my chest, I tried to focus on where I was going, one foot in front of the other, anything instead of the sleeping—and it was just sleeping, not dead—town around me. Fortunately, the ironworks and the glassworks were just a few streets over. I made my way over the main bridge that spanned the canal and could help but glance down; the canal-water hadn’t iced over yet. On reflection as I crossed, I again didn’t know why I expected anything different. The sun had only just set. It would take most of a month for the water to cool enough, even in shallow canals, to freeze over. And even then, it was one of our duties as overwinterers to keep the canals in the town ice-free. We’d need the water source in case of fire, which, well…

I shifted my gaze from the canal to the glassworks, which had smoke rising into the sky from its chimneys to be caught by the wind and light issuing out from its shuttered windows to keep away the dark. And next to it, the ironworks where I worked also showed signs of life.

There were several reasons why the town planners had put the buildings where we worked with furnaces and crucibles hot enough to melt iron and sand to be isolated from the rest of the town by a circle of canals. Yes, it made deliveries and shipments easier… but it also worked as a firebreak.

Just in case.

Entering the ironworks, I heard one of my coworkers, Renaata, call out, “Hoy, Raavi! You finally awake?”

“Yeah!” I called back. “Just took a little bit. I feel like my body thinks that I’mdue a winter’s nap regardless!”

“Ha! That’s pretty normal for a first overwinter. Come on, we have some iron to pour and we can use your help. Time for us to really get to work!”

“Coming!” I hung my coat on the racks and grabbed my leather apron, hood, and gloves. Packing my braid under the hood took a moment, and I worked on tightening down the cinches as I scurried over. Even through the thick leather I could feel the heat, and it was welcome. During the Summer, we were limited in how much iron work we could do, especially at the summer’s peak, purely because it was so hot. But now, in winter, we could work as much as we wanted, and so could the glassworks. By the time Spring began, our products would be ready, en masse, to ship out along the canals and rivers as soon as the sun rose.

And the pay was good too, not to mention I could work on my own projects a bit.

But those could wait for later. Picking up an iron ladle from the rack, I scanned across the sandpit, where an intricate series of thin pits had been cut; a few of the other ironworkers were pouring the molten metal into the pits already, so I’d gotten here just in time for the best part. “Oooh. That’s a big window. Where is it for?” I asked, heading over to the crucible.

“We’ve got a few to work on this winter, for the Officer Academy in Hinterloossberg.” I turned and saw Renaata’s smirk through the thick glass of her hood. “Reading between the lines, either someone forgot to deploy the shutters before a storm hit, or there was an oopsie with some black power charges.”

I snorted. “I got you. Either way, they need new windows?”

“You got it.” We reached the crucible and started spooning up the molten iron. Then it was a quick walk across the sandpit, where we unloaded our ladles of liquid iron into the lines of the pits. I watched, grinning under my hood, as the molten iron flowed, outlining the future windows and their gentle and sinuous curves. Figures in uniforms, flower petals, dancing children, gems, wind, waves, ships… each of them revealed themselves to me across successive trips to and from the crucible and the sandpit.

And all too soon, we were done.

Putting my ladle down, I pulled off my hood, feeling the sweat sticking my hair to my skin. The air in the ironworks was just as hot, but so much dryer, and I immediately felt my skin start to cool and dry.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Renaata asked, likewise pulling off her hood.

I looked out over the small field of tamped sand and cooling iron. “It is. How many more pours do we need to do?”

“At least twelve, just for this order, depending on how we manage to get them packed in.”

I whistled. Yeah, whatever had happened in Hinterloossberg, they were either building a completely new building, or their old windows had been destroyed. Next, we’d have to wait for the iron to cool—that would take a little while—and then break the molds to extract the iron frames. The pour we’d done the previous week would hopefully be out of the polishing shop by then, and we’d transfer them there. Then the glassworks hot shop would get to fill them. And then, finally, they’d be packed in crates padded with cloth and straw, waiting in the warehouse until spring. By the start of summer, the Academy would have its new windows.

“So what’s next?”

“I think starting another batch in the next crucible. Want to help bring in some fuel?”

I shrugged. During the summer we had some people who worked as dedicated stokers for the furnaces, but for the winter we were on a skeleton crew. “I’m willing to help.”

~~~

So a few hours later, shivering and sweating at the same time, I was standing under the dark winter sky at the loading docks from the oilsap grove on the outside of town, helping roll a barrel up onto the cart.

“You okay there?” Renaata asked.

“Never… better…” I grunted. “On three?”

“On three. One… two… three!” We heaved, and together picked up the heavy wooden barrel and stacked it onto the cart. I then took a wooden mallet and some wedges and hammered them between the barrels so they wouldn’t shift, and then tied them down.

“How many more?” I asked.

“I think that’s just about the last of it.”

I sighed. “That’s good. Of course, now we’ve got to unload them at the ironworks.” I glanced at the four ponies at the end of the cart. “Can you? I don’t get on well with animals.”

“Because they don’t have springs or gears?” I gave her a flat look in response, and she chuckled. “Sure, sure.” She climbed up into the driver’s seat, and, after a moment’s thought, I joined her, sitting on the wooden bench. “Hyah!” She flicked the reins and the four ponies started moving obediently forward.

We’d reached the first main street when Renaata asked, “Do you think they’re lonely? Pretty much all of the other horses are in wintersleep.”

“I think they’re happy they don’t have to share hay or whatever it is that they eat,” I said, looking at the four animals. “Just… keep them calm, all right?”

She scoffed. “It’ll be fine. These four are so placid they might as well be in wintersleep.”

“Hmm. Wintersleepwalking. Sounds messy. Hence my earlier comment.” I motioned back to the forty barrels of oilsap in the cart. “Please?”

She cocked her head at me and pointedly raised one of her eyebrows, visible in the dim Night-Light. “You can just walk, you know.”

The wind, already biting, picked up at that moment, and I shivered. “No, I’ll be good.”

Rolling her eyes, she turned her attention back to the empty streets; someone at some point had arranged the bricks so that they’d make pleasing patterns in the pavement, and it was much more noticeable from this high up on a cart. I tried not to think about the amount of highly flammable fuel sitting just inches behind me, being hauled by two pairs of dumb animals with only a thin leather strap to control them.

Maybe I should have walked…

Fortunately, we reached the warehouse with no problems, and loading the barrels inside was a lot easier than getting them into the cart in the first place. A hoist and a net hung out from one of the loading windows, and it was a simple matter of lower net, wrap barrel, hoist up, pull in, unwrap, stack, repeat, and we had the help of several others of our coworkers and the glassworkers.

“So, how’s the oilsap running?” Emuund asked as he helped me stack one of the barrels.

“Pretty good, they said. Looks like it’ll be a good winter for it!” I said, my tongue stuck between my teeth as I hammered in the wedge between the barrels. The grove covered nearly as much space as the town did, and when winter came the sap ran under the bark; that let us tap it, and since the sap was extremely oily and flammable, it made for great lighting and heating fuel. A lot of trees had similar sap, but oilsap trees had the best and the most.

“Well, I think we’re done for now. Shift’s over. What are your plans for off-shift?”

I perked up, my earlier tiredness from the oilsap grove forgotten. “Oh, I’m going to head over to my workshop. I’ve got a project I’ve been working on!”

Emuund quirked an eyebrow. “A project? And you… you know what, nevermind. You can do what you want. I’m just your housemate, not your mother.”

I smiled and made for the door. “Thanks, Emuund!”

I was already mostly suited up for going outside, so it was just a few minutes later that I was back at my house, which, all my parents’ joking aside, hadn’t burned down after less than two shifts with me in charge!

Going down into my workshop, I lit a lamp with my lighter and looked at my project. It was almost finished, and over the next month, as the freeze set in, I’d be able to test it!

<<<<>>>>

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AN: And there we go, chapter 1! I'm hoping that there will be some interesting questions and speculation on where this is going.

My Patreon is here, if you want to support me and my writing, and, as always, a sincere thank you for reading!

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