***
When, after a day of travel through rugged forest lands, we reached the forge in the mountains, the Iron Smith stared right through us. The smell of oil and leather filled the cave, and shadows congealed beyond the torchlight. The Iron Smith was covered in oozing sores, his sickly gray flesh wrapped partially in dirty bandages. He was tall and bony, with a bald, misshapen head and eyes that seemed to hold a tint of yellow.
"We're poor folks," my father said. "We barely can pay our taxes or find enough to eat. We have nothing to offer you other than our thanks, but we need your help!"
The Iron Smith rubbed oil into leather. His workbench was covered in tools and unfinished yet impressively crafted items such as kettles, knives, and pieces of armor. The heat from a nearby fire pit was intense. Sweat dripped from my face.
I stepped forward. "My father is looking for pipes left by your people. Special ones. Do you know where they might exist?"
The Iron Smith went on with his task.
I picked up a device and examined it. It looked like a claw, and I couldn't imagine what it might be used for. "I haven't seen one of these in quite some time," I said, in an effort to catch his interest.
He looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Have you molded iron?"
I nodded. I was here to save my father's sanity, and I felt no shame for lying. We'd come a long way, and the least this fellow could do was speak to us. "So what about those pipes?"
My father started to open his mouth, but I seized his arm.
"There are pipes all over in the earth," said the Iron Smith. "Dig around and I'm sure you'll find some. My people created a vast system to refine and enhance water in this area. But when they moved from these lands, they left many of the pipes underground."
"Why didn't you go with them?" I asked.
"I am diseased," he said. "My people exclude those like me."
"We want to know about the special pipes!" my father blurted out. "The ones that legend speaks of. The ones that can give us knowledge and power."
"My people left only iron," he said, sneering disdainfully. "I suggest you adopt a different goal, old man."
"Then there's nothing but rusty pipes left in these lands?" I asked.
He hesitated, gazing into my eyes. I held his gaze.
"I know nothing of rust," he finally said. "Our iron does not succumb to the elements."
"But we've seen them," I said. "Rusty pipes in the earth."
He smiled, showing yellow, pointed teeth, and goose bumps erupted on my flesh. "Are you sure you can see, boy? You seem blind to me."
"I see just fine," I said. "What do you mean?"
"Look in the mirror," the Iron Smith said. "You might be surprised at what you glimpse staring back at you. Let the light be your guide. It will open your eyes."
"I don't understand," I said, sighing with frustration. "We didn't come here to learn about mirrors. We want to know about magic pipes."
"Do you think you deserve such knowledge?" he said. "What do you know of feeding the earth? All you can think of is feeding yourselves. I was like that too. That is the disease I bear, brought on by my own selfish yearnings. My people call it vanity. On humans, it doesn't show outwardly, but as you can see, that's not the case with my kind."
"So you can't help us?" I asked. "Is that what you're saying?"
My father knelt down. "I beg you! We're a couple of sorry peasants. I sell whiskey just to pay my taxes. Is there nothing you can do for us?"
"There is nothing you need from me," he said.
My face reddened with anger. "If you're so wise, why are you an outcast?"
"I was an outcast," he said. "Now I'm an example."
"You're useless!" I snarled at him. "Come on, Father. Let's go home."
The Iron Smith seemed oblivious to my insult and continued his work.
My father hung his head and wept.