Northern_Lights_2021

29 The goldsmith worked fervently and efficiently, plunging the ore back into the fire as soon as the fiery glow of the kiln started to fade. He kept the coals blisteringly hot, almost heating what had been the ring to a molten white star. For hours he repeated the process of rough heating and battery, not seeming to make any progress. The ring had long since lost its shape, and what the goldsmith wrestled with now was no more than a small, shapeless form, ripped from its symbolic inception. The setting sun soon dipped under the horizon, and the smith’s work was lit only by his own fire. An hour passed in darkness. The crowd had thinned greatly as many of the villagers left to sleep. Adisa stayed, his mind still wandering from the ridiculous project. His curiosity at the unorthodox procedure would not let him leave. Finally, when the night sky had become so dark that even the blue hints of the waning moon shifted to black, the smith let the fires of the forge die out. By this point, the only spectators left were Adisa and his imagination. Without pausing, the craftsman picked up the piece of metal with a large leather glove to protect his hand and walked back into his shop. After a minute or two, he came out of the front door and started to walk down the road out of the village. Confused, but still intently curious, Adisa followed him, his bare feet carefully testing the shadowed road in front of him with each step. The goldsmith walked straight down the road until he reached the edge of the village. Adisa made no effort to conceal his presence, but the man did not seem to care. Once he passed the last house, he quickly turned off the road toward a small hill in the landscape. Not wanting to lose him over the curve of the mound, Adisa jogged after him, only to stop as the man halted his journey next to a lone tree. Watching from a good distance, Adisa saw the goldsmith kneel behind the tree. He then stood up for only a second before quickly walking back toward the road. He passed Adisa without a word, his face shrouded by the night. Adisa walked slowly up to where the man had knelt. Behind the tree was a small pile of stones with a stick poking out, forming a tiny grave. The stones, though smooth and large, were haphazardly placed in the pile, with an irregularly large one jutting out at the top. On this stone lay the completed work which the goldsmith had worked the entire evening on. Instead of being a perfectly formed piece of jewelry, or a shining gold ornament, the ring had been beaten into a flat piece not even uniform in texture due to the constant heating and cooling. Its edges were rough and jagged, but its form was unmistakable. The ring had been hammered into the shape of a small heart and had been dipped in a blood-red wax. Adisa reached with his hand and picked up the small heart, as red as the sand. It was slightly concave, which made it fit perfectly in his hand. The metal still radiated a small amount of heat from the goldsmith’s fire.