The Copper Sign (59 page)

“I don’t want to hear another word about it!” Ellen said, pushing her son into the house.

Just a few days after this incident, Will slipped away secretly to the hill where Isaac was sitting and brooding.

“What do you want here?” Isaac asked with annoyance.

“Nothing, I just want to sit here for a while with you,” Will answered and sat down alongside him.

“Don’t let your mother catch you doing that,” Isaac grumbled.

“She won’t notice, she’s in the smithy.”

They sat there quietly for a while as Will picked three blades of grass and braided them together.

“Are you still afraid of whittling with a knife?” Isaac asked casually.

Will nodded.

“You shouldn’t be. You know now how dangerous it can be. You have to be aware of the knife and how sharp it is, to respect it and hold it correctly. You never make the same mistake twice.”

“Uncle Isaac?” Will looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm.”

“What happened to your hand? Why did it have to be cut off?”

Isaac felt the blood rushing to his head and gasped for air. It was a while before he could say anything, but Will was willing to wait.

“Peter left a pair of tongs on the forge. They were hot, but you couldn’t see that. I picked them up and burned myself.”

“But why did you then get mad at God and my mother and not at Peter?” Will gave him a puzzled look.

“The tongs were right next to the forge, and I should have known they were hot. Then I kept on working instead of taking care of my hand. We had a lot of work and needed the money.” Isaac’s voice was still rough but didn’t sound quite so gruff.

“I am going to be like you someday, Uncle Isaac!” Will said softly. “I have both hands, but look at my foot—I am a cripple, too!” Will said it so matter-of-factly that a shiver ran down Isaac’s spine.

“I forbid you from saying such a thing!” he said angrily. “You are not a cripple, and the thing about your foot…” Isaac stopped and looked down at Will’s feet. “Hand me your shoe!”

Will took off the wooden shoe. “Which one?”

Isaac picked up the shoe that was on the crippled foot and looked at it closely. Then he picked up the boy’s foot and look at it also. “It has already gotten a little straighter, I think. Perhaps it really is doing some good!” Isaac seemed pleased.

“Jean says I’ll always have to wear the shoes, but they hurt so much! I take them off a lot and run around barefoot when he’s not looking,” Will confessed.

“Oh, that makes me very sad,” Isaac said, looking at the boy and shaking his head.

“Why?” asked Will curiously. He had been yearning for attention from his uncle for so long and suddenly he had it, completely!

“Maybe you don’t remember, but Jean and I worked together on your first shoe so that your foot would straighten out,” Isaac explained.

“But it doesn’t matter how it grows, that’s what Mother says, at least.”

“I think your mother is wrong.”

“It’s no surprise you say that. You can’t stand her!” Will lowered his eyes and stared sadly at the ground.

“That doesn’t change my opinion about your foot.” Isaac had been massaging it with his good hand until it was warm and pink. The wooden shoe had left blisters and calluses on Will’s foot, but the boy enjoyed the touch of Isaac’s hand.

“Uncle Isaac?”

“What is it, son?”

“I don’t like the smithy!” Will looked at his uncle as if he had confided something terribly wrong to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom says that someday I’ll be a smith, too, and smiths don’t need a healthy foot. Uncle Isaac, who is Wieland?”

The smith chuckled at how the child jumped from one idea to another. For the first time in a long while he experienced a warm, pleasant glow in his heart. He tousled Will’s hair and asked, “Would you like to hear the story of Wieland the Smith?”

Will nodded enthusiastically. He could hardly imagine anything nicer than having someone tell him a story.

“But it’s long,” Isaac cautioned him.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter!” Will said with a broad smile.

“Very well,” Isaac said, clearing his throat. “Long ago and far away there lived a friendly giant. He sent his son Wieland to Mimir, the most famous smith in the land of the Huns, to serve as an apprentice and learn the art of forging weapons. After three years, Wieland returned home. But as the giant wanted him to become the most famous of all smiths, he took him to live with two dwarfs who were masters not only in the art of forging weapons but in forging gold and silver. The boy learned quickly, and since the dwarfs did not want him to leave, they promised to give the giant’s money back to him if he let the youth stay with them for one more year. If he did not come to pick up his son on precisely the appointed day, however, they had the right to kill the boy. The giant hid a sword and directed his son to fetch it and kill the dwarfs if he was not back on time. Wieland stayed with the dwarfs. He was loyal and industrious, but they envied him for his skill and were happy that he had been put in their hands. The giant set out on his journey to reclaim his son, but he started too early and the mountain was still sealed when he arrived. He lay down to sleep in the grass, and an enormous boulder fell off the mountain and killed him.”

Will held his breath in shock.

“When on the appointed day Wieland found his dead father, he fetched the sword and slew the dwarfs. Then he left and went to King Nidung, who took him into his household. Wieland’s only job was to care for three knives on the king’s table, but one day while he was washing them, one fell into the sea and disappeared forever. Amilias, the only smith at the king’s court, was not in his shop, so Wieland went to the anvil and made a knife himself that was identical to the one that was lost.”

“He learned how to do that from Mimir and the dwarfs!” Will said, clapping his hands enthusiastically.

Isaac didn’t allow himself to become distracted, and continued with the story: “When the king was at dinner, he cut a loaf of bread with the knife, and it was so sharp that it cut right through the table. Nidung had never had such a knife and didn’t believe that Amilias had forged it. He pressured Wieland until he confessed he had made it himself. But Amilias was jealous and went to the king to suggest a contest. Wieland would forge a sword, whereas he, Amilias, would make a helmet and armor. Whoever should win in battle would cut off the head of the loser. The king agreed and had another smithy built in which Wieland would make the sword. After seven days Wieland had made a sharp sword, but he took a file, ground the sword into tiny pieces, mixed it with wheat flour, and gave the mixture to the geese to eat. Later, he heated the geese droppings, separating the iron from the waste, and forged a second smaller sword from it. He tested its sharpness and filed it down again. This third sword was the best, and Wieland named it Mimung. Then he secretly made another that looked just like Mimung. On the day the contest was to be held, Amilias appeared in the market square in his bright and shining armor, and was admired by everyone there. He sat down on a chair and waited. Wieland fetched the sword and placed the blade on Amilias’s head. It was so sharp that it cut right through the helmet as if it were made of wax. Amilias couldn’t feel it and encouraged Wieland to strike with all his might, but all Wieland had to do was to lean heavily on the sword until it cut right through Amilias’ helmet, his head, and the coat of mail right down to the buckle of his belt. When Amilias tried to stand up, he fell over in two pieces and was dead. Nidung now wanted to have this sword at once. Wieland pleaded for a bit of patience, saying he needed to go and fetch the scabbard. When he got to the smithy, he hid Mimung under the forge, took out the other sword, and brought it to the king. From this day forward Wieland forged weapons and jewelry for the king and was highly honored.”

Will jumped up. “I don’t like that story! I don’t understand it!” he cried. “She said that Wieland couldn’t walk, but that’s not so!”

“Wait, son.” Isaac laughed and motioned for the boy to sit down again. “There’s more to the story, but I’ll shorten it a bit for you. Because Wieland had deceived the king, he had to flee into the forest. King Nidung got word that Wieland was working alone in a smithy in the forest and had much gold, so he rode there with his men and stole the gold and Mimung from the smith. Nidung took Wieland prisoner and brought him to an island where he built a smithy for him. Wieland sought vengeance against the king for this disgrace and secretly prepared a love potion for the king’s daughter. But the king learned of Wieland’s ruse and had Wieland punished again.” Isaac’s voice had become hoarse from talking so long. He took out his waterskin, took a long drink, and then handed it to the boy.

Will shook his head. “What happened then?” he asked excitedly.

“The king had the tendons in Wieland’s feet and knees severed and returned him to his smithy.” Isaac’s voice sounded agitated as he continued. “For a long time, Wieland lay there in great pain, and it took months for his wounds to heal. But he was no longer able to walk.” Isaac sighed briefly. “One day King Nidung came to him, brought him two crutches, and promised him great wealth if he would work for him again as a smith. Wieland acted friendly, but after the king had left he promised vengeance.”

Will scarcely dared to breathe. “Do you think he took his revenge?” he asked softly.

Isaac blinked as he stared into the setting sun. “I know he did. If you want, I’ll tell you tomorrow how he did it. But now it would be better if we went home or your mother will holler at us.” He smiled at the boy and stroked his hair again.

“You are really lucky,” Will said suddenly.

“What do you mean?” Isaac frowned.

“You still have one good hand and almost your entire arm.”

“You call that lucky? I’d rather lose the tendons in my legs than my hand!” Isaac growled.

Will didn’t listen. “Wieland is a hero, and he didn’t give up. He started working again as a smith—that was what he did best. He had to do it or else he never would have been happy! I’m sure he would have kept on going even with one hand.” Will’s eyes sparkled. If he had only suspected how much his words would hurt Isaac, he never would have spoken them, because he loved the sad-looking man like a father and wanted nothing more than to see him happy again.

“Isaac told me about Wieland!” Will burst out excitedly at supper, then bit into his bread, chewing laboriously.

“What is the matter? Aren’t you hungry?” Rose frowned.

“Oh, I am, but my tooth is loose,” Will lisped.

Rose reached for his chin, tipped his head back, and smiled. “Let’s have a look!”

“See?” Will pushed one of his lower incisors forward with his tongue until it started to bleed around the tooth.

“Aha!” Rose said, laughing, “That will be falling out soon.”

“I have lots of new ones!” Marie spoke up, opening her mouth wide and sticking her finger far back into it. “Here, do you see?”

Isaac stroked his daughter’s cheek affectionately.

“The story about Wieland, that’s wonderful!” Ellen smiled. “Almost every child in England knows that story. That’s no doubt the reason so many people have respect for us smiths, because they believe there are dark forces involved when we are working at the forge at night. They assume that dwarfs and elves give us power over the iron. Some herb women even say that water from our hardening troughs has healing powers.” Ellen shrugged. “I loved it when Donovan told us that story on long, cold winter evenings, when we were all sitting around the fire. Donovan always embellished the story and told it with such dramatic flair! Back then in Tancarville, I wanted to forge iron just like Wieland, and more than once I dreamed that a dwarf took me as his apprentice. I told Donovan about it, and he pretended to be angry. ‘I’m small, but I’m not a dwarf,’ he said, and laughed at me. I was so ashamed I wished the ground would open and swallow me up.” Ellenweore’s cheeks turned red, and her unruly locks poked out from under her scarf and danced around her face when she laughed.

Isaac felt a tug at his heartstrings when he saw how her eyes lit up with the glow from the fire, and he had trouble breathing. As he stood up from the table, he knocked over his chair and then quickly picked it up and without saying a word retreated to his room.

Jean cast an inquisitive glance at Ellen. “I think these stories about Wieland have opened up some old wounds for him.” He was sorry for Isaac, even if he felt that his reaction was unnecessarily strong.

When Ellen lay down in the bed alongside Isaac that night, he seemed to already be sleeping. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was regular. For a moment she examined his face, which seemed relaxed. Suddenly he blinked, and Ellen quickly looked away. Her heart was pounding as if she had been caught doing something that was forbidden.

The next day Will lay in wait for his stepfather in the yard. Hardly had Isaac left the house when the boy ran up to him. “Uncle Isaac, will you please tell me the end of the story now?” The smith couldn’t resist the boy’s pleading gaze.

“Well, a promise is a promise, so come on and we’ll go for a little walk.”

Will looked up at Isaac and nodded, then reached out his sticky little hand to the smith. Isaac’s left arm quivered. As so often, he had the feeling that the missing hand and fingers were still there. He rubbed the stump on his shirt trying to drive away the itching and pulling. Once they got to the top of the hill, they sat down in the grass.

“So you want to know how Wieland avenged himself on Nidung?”

Will nodded emphatically.

“As you will remember, Wieland was working again as the king’s smith.”

Will looked intently at his uncle, his eyes flashing. “I would not have worked for him again; after all, the king had ordered his tendons to be cut off!” he said excitedly.