The Humanarium.

A small world

Chapter 1

When I first discovered them, it was, ironically, in my own garden. Of all the lands I had travelled across to find new species, the creatures that brought me fame and fortune were under my feet the whole time.

The only light in the dusty workshop came from the red glow of the forge. Sweating, but focused, Harl beat the metal ingot into the rough shape of an axe head. Each hammer blow rang out in the hot, enclosed space. He paused mid-strike, his toned arm raised. How many times had he watched his father working the forge? The ringing hammer was like the heartbeat of his youth. So many instructions and words of wisdom were hammered into him during those precious days, but now he worked the forge alone. He let the hammer fall and cringed at the jarring tone.

'A rushed job is a hasty job,' his father would have said. 'A man should work at the speed his skill allows, not batter the metal into submission. Patience is a skill to be cherished.'

Harl raised the ingot to eye-level. It was supposed to be an axe head, but the balance was all wrong, and there were too many impurities in the metal to provide a lasting edge. He sighed and dropped it back onto the anvil.

The jingle of the shop bell came from the other room. He rubbed a hand across his damp face. As he stepped away, he slid the cooling ingot back into the forge and then headed into the shop.

The shop itself wasn't that big. A counter ran the width of it, and tools of all kinds lined the wooden shelves, from hoes and axes to spades and spears. One of the Pewter brothers was standing by the door brushing the dust off himself after coming in from the busy street outside.

'Bren, is it?' Harl asked the young lad.

'Yes, sir.'

'Sorry,' Harl said, 'you three look so alike.'

'So what? No one's different, mister,' Bren said. His eager eyes strayed to the case of pocket knives standing on the counter. 'Even you could pass as me brother.'

'You're right, but what can we do? Our world is too small, Bren, and there are too few of us in it. There's never any new blood, so our children end up looking the same. But I guess that means we're pretty much family.'

Bren looked a bit confused at Harl's words. Harl smiled.

'Don' worry about it. You'll understand when you grow up. So what can I do for you, Bren?'

'My Pa needs a new shovel,' Bren said, glancing around the shop.

'Okay. What has he given you to trade?'

'No trade,' the boy said, yanking out a loop of leather cord from his belt. Small metal discs were threaded along it, each one engraved with the rough outline of the god's stern face.

'Pa gave me twenty credits, but five are for food from the market.' He untied the knot in the cord and slipped five credits free before placing the rest on the counter in front of Harl.

'Looks like your Pa wants one of the better shovels this time around,' Harl said.

'He's digging a well,' Bren said. 'Been at it for cycles and the old one wore out.'

'Good luck to him,' Harl said, walking around the scratched counter and lifting a shovel down from a rack on the plaster wall. 'Just pray he doesn't hit the bottom.'

'It's not that deep,' Bren said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the tool.

'Tell him that if this one doesn't last at least ten Giftings then I'll replace it,' Harl said.