sat up front. As they pulled away from the shore, the steersman who stood at the very back turned the boat against the current and began singing quietly. For a moment, it seemed like the boat would be carried backwards downstream, but then it lurched forward and started to move upstream.
Leen felt excited. Whenever he took a trip, it always started on the river. And even though he knew they were only going a short ways today, he still felt all the excitement of a long trip. He started to think that missing Milleander Maple’s birthday party might not be so bad after all. His aunt began to point out several birds. Like flowers and trees, she seemed to know all of their names. But Leen was not interested. He watched the steersman paddle on the left side of the boat, turning it to the right to avoid a tree that had fallen in the water. All the while the boat kept moving upstream.
“Illeanor?”
“Yes,” she answered turning around.
“Do water spirits push the boat? Some elfkins at the park said that.”
“Well, they do and they don’t. The steersman sings to the water spirits, and they….. well, they kind of squeeze the water just at the back of the boat.”
Leen turned to look back at the steersman. He had stopped paddling, but the boat continued to move upstream against the current. He leaned a little over the side of the boat. Instead of waves trailing behind like when he sailed a toy boat, the water seemed to rise up against the back of the boat. Leen turned back around.
“So the water spirits are really not pushing the boat? The water is, right?”
“Something like that,” Illeanor answered.
Leen thought about that for a moment.
“Illeanor?”
“Yes?”
“Could they do the same with wind spirits? I mean, could a steersman sing to the wind spirits and move a boat through the air?”
Illeanor moved back a seat to get closer.
“The song of the wind spirits is difficult to sing,” she said, “but it can be done. The High Elves of old used to travel that way.”
Lean nodded. “But you need pixie dust, right? To get the boat to float in the air.”
“Oh, Leen,” Illeanor said, “If I told you once, I’ve told you a million times, there is a lot of magic that doesn’t use pixie dust.”
“I know, Illeanor,” Leen said. But he thought how it always seemed the things that he wanted to do most were the things that needed pixie dust.
Around the next bend they saw the dock. Leen remembered passing it before, but never stopping. The dwarf village was not on the river, so it could not be seen from the boat. They would have to walk to it. He smiled wondering if he was going to laugh when he saw the dwarves. They were such funny-looking creatures with big ears and noses and short, little feet to waddle around on. He and the other elfkins always laughed when they saw a dwarf in Elf Town. He wondered what it was going to be like to see a whole village of them.
The boat docked and Leen and Illeanor stepped out onto the dock. There was nobody waiting, but his aunt seemed to know where to go. She walked down the dock and onto a road. Leen followed her. The road led them away from the river, through a field, up a hill, and down the other side. In the distance they heard the clang, clanging sound of metal striking metal.
“What ‘s that?” Leen asked.
“That’s where we are going,” Illeanor said, “There is a master swordsmith that lives on the other side of the dwarf village. We are going to watch him make swords.”
They came to the dwarf village. Two-story houses, built very close together with their walls pressing against each other, lined both sides of a long, narrow lane. There was little grass and no flowers. Workbenches and wheelbarrows cluttered the spaces in front of some houses. Tools and lumber lay where last used. Leen noticed the smaller doors, where he would no doubt bump his head if he did not duck. He saw a pile of dirt and a puddle of muddy water. The dwarf children playing there stopped when they saw him.
A strange feeling came over Leen. He felt the children’s eyes on him. He heard one of them say something about his ears, his pointed elf ears. He heard them laugh. Soon everyone along the narrow lane stopped what they were doing to look at Leen and his aunt as they passed. Everywhere he looked he saw eyes staring back at him. It was not what he had expected. Leen did not want to laugh at the sight of so many dwarves. He felt uncomfortable and quickened his pace to stay close behind his aunt.
Soon they left the little town behind them. Down a hill and across a wooden bridge, they came to a cluster of buildings. Several chimneys stacks stuck out of the roof of one of the buildings. Leen wrinkled his nose. The dwarves were burning stinky black coal, not sweet-smelling wood like elves do. He stopped at the far end of the bridge. Illeanor noticed and stopped too.
“What’s wrong?”
Leen did not say anything. He only shook his head. Illeanor walked back to where he stood.
“What’s wrong?” she asked again.
“I want to go home,” Leen said in a small voice.
“Ahh!” Illeanor cried.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him around to the other side of the buildings. There was an open door. The sounds of steel striking steel were coming from inside. Illeanor ducked her head and stepped in through the door, dragging Leen into the darkness after her. He shut his eyes. Inside the sound of steel hammers assaulted his ears. The smell of burning coal stung his nose. He wanted to run, but his aunt held him tightly.
“Look, Leen!” he heard her say.
He opened his eyes. There in front of him was a glowing red fire. He could feel its heat even from the distance. In the red glow he could see dark figures moving about. As his eyes adjusted he could make out the dwarves, some shoveling coal, others working the bellows that fanned the fires. Still others did things in the shadows that he could not tell. But slowly he turned his attention to the dwarf in the center of the workshop swinging a great hammer with a force that shook him each time it struck. Illeanor led Leen closer, but this time she didn’t have to pull his arm.
The dwarf was pounding on a long, thin piece of metal in the shape of a sword. Leen watched how he turned the metal between each blow. A blade was beginning to take shape between the unrelenting hammer and the black anvil beneath it. Leen cringed, blinking every time the hammer struck, but he could not take his eyes of it. He marveled at how the dwarf hit the same spot on the anvil with each blow, at how the sword danced around between each blow, so that the next blow hit it a little above or below the previous blow. Leen only looked up when the dwarf laid down the hammer and carried the long, thin piece of metal with a pair of tongs over to a barrel, where he plunged it into water. It hissed and steamed over the other noises in the workshop.
Leen turned to Illeanor.
“Watch!” she said.
The dwarf took the sword and slowly, very slowly pulled the length of the blade under his nose, sniffing it as he went.
“What is he doing?” Leen asked.
“He can smell where the steel is strongest. That tells him where the weaker parts are, where work still needs to be done.”
“He can tell by his nose?”
Illeanor nodded. After the dwarf ran the length of the sword under his nose, he placed it into the oven behind him. A younger dwarf worked the bellows that fed air into the fire. It did not look like much of a job, but Leen wished he could do it. He wished he could be up close. Before long the coals glowed red, and soon the long, thin piece of metal was also glowing red. The dwarf took it out, placed it on the anvil, and began hammering again.
Leen stared as the blade of the sword took shape. Over and over the hammer rose and fell. Over and over the long, thin piece of hot metal was pounded against the black anvil. Leen saw it as a single motion repeated and repeated, until it became two motions connected as one, then three motions, then four, then a series of motions all connected in a blur. He forgot about Mileander Maple’s birthday party. He forgot about the songs, the presents, and the honey cakes. Minutes pil
ed upon minutes. His heart quickened. Time stretched out and retracted with an elasticity that he had never experienced before. He forgot he had come with his aunt to the dwarf village. He forgot he was standing in a workshop.
Clang! The sword called out to the hammer. Hit me here! Clang! The hammer obeyed. Clang! The sword felt its steel tightening, its blade getting stronger. Clang! Make me! Fashion me into a weapon of your will! Clang! Leen jumped and let out a little shout. The dwarf looked up at him. He was drawing the blade under his nose.
“It’s finished,” Leen said.
Leen was suddenly embarrassed for speaking out. He thought the dwarf might say something. But he only smiled back and nodded, his dark eyes gleaming in the light of the ovens. Yes, the blade was finished.
From across the workshop there were shouts in dwarvish. Suddenly the other hammers fell silent. Shouts gave way to talking as workers began to lay down their tools. It was a dull, muffled sound on Leen’s ears after enduring the harsher sounds of the workshop. He watched everyone file out the door through which he had come. The light outside made him squint.
Leen noticed Illeanor standing near the door, a tall, thin figure next to so many short, stout dwarves. She was watching him. He didn’t remember her walking away, but he realized now his throat was dry. His face was warm from standing near the ovens. How long had he been there? He went over to his aunt.
“Are you alright?” she