The Will of the War

Bathed in the hesitant, dancing glow of the forge, Alec held his current project in his tongs, studying it. He sat, pondering its shape, strength, balance and weight. All these things, he knew, were important when making an item of such gravity as this one; they were important when making anything.

The plain truth of it was, he was just too awake to be working. Sleep was not actually what motivated his work. He was simply so accustomed to the feel of the nights spent in the forge that being this alert unsettled him a little. Of course, this unusual wakefulness could be attributed to the troubling things that had happened that day.

Moonlight crept in from the small window near the ceiling, and invaded the room. It seemed to compete for a little more ground with the warm light of the fires that defined Alec's life. It was the moon (which had just emerged from behind cloud cover) that drew Alec's attention outdoors. He stood up, surprised at first by the lack of that heavy-footed feeling that so often accompanied his usual fatigue. Leaving the metalwork unfinished on the anvil, he stepped out into the moon's territory.

His feet paid no heed to the usual dirt path, which the light from the forge so conveniently lit all the way up to the back door of his house. Instead, they took a right, and lead him off through the sparsely growing birch trees which casually rested on the border of the woods beyond. The trunks of the birches glowed in the moonlight, and Alec was surprised to think that it was almost too bright, if it was possible for something lit by moonlight to be considered bright.

As his troubled mind continued to follow his feet on this minor adventure they were taking, he began to hear the sound of trickling water growing closer. At this point, his mind caught up with his feet, and he realized they had been leading him to the old creek bridge. Now that his head was fully in the present, he also noticed that the sound of the water splashing on the rocks in the creek had been the first he'd heard since he left the forge, save, of course, for his own footsteps. He reached the bridge and, unceremoniously, stopped there, already deep in thought again.


A voice spoke up in his memory, and he recognized it at once as Elder Darion's. They had spoken just after the morning meal, when Alec was delivering some horseshoes to the Elder's stable.

"Alec, I have troubling news," he had said. "It seems the first evidence of the war has reached even our quiet town."

In his head, Alec recoqnized his own voice, replying, "That is troubling, indeed, Elder."

"Yes," agreed Elder Darion. "I had hoped our peaceful village would go unnoticed by the machine of war, but apparently just the opposite has occured." As he said this, the Elder's face grew even darker. "Alec," he hesitated. Alec waited with unhappy anticipation for the Elder to continue.

"General Fortamon has informed me that our King requires our aid in the war effort. We must either gather all our able men and send them to join the ranks, or supply the platoon passing by here with more weaponry. Alec," the Elder continued, "I wouldn't have told you this if I didn't think our village was in danger of losing all its fathers and husbands."

Alec did not respond for quite some time. He found the nearest bale of hay and sat for a moment, thinking about the implications of the General's demand. Finally, noticing that the Elder was watching him and waiting for a response, he got up, grunted something unintelligible, and began a slow walk home.


A breeze picked up in the forest, and blew a few dry leaves over the toes of Alec's old leather boots. The moon had moved slightly, giving light to areas that had been in shadow, and awakening shapes that had been, before, clothed in darkness. So like the war, Alec thought, the moon changes our view of the land. The terrain remains the same, but our peaceful villages and lonely streams become tactical vantages and lines on battle maps.

At this, he began to cry. His whole life he had hated war. His older brother and his father had been taken by one. Of course, they had leapt at the opportunity for adventure, even though they were leaving a family behind. Alec's mother had been so sad the day they left. She had tried to be happy for them, and they had certainly given her enough regurgitated campaigning slogans and morale catch-phrases. What good was their morale against those poisoned arrows? Alec questioned, bitterly.

And now, with the air of inevitability that time often creates, the war had returned. It was, undoubtedly, a different war in some purportedly significant way; perhaps there was a new enemy this time, or maybe the battle was for land instead of riches. It couldn't have mattered less to Alec.

As soom is it had become clear to Alec that he wanted to become a blacksmith (he was barely thirteen at the time), he had promised himself never to make weapons of war. The townsfolk might need an occasional bolt of arrows for hunting, or a knife or two for their kitchens, but Alec swore he would not aid any wars with his skills. Now, as Alec was forced for the first time to test his resolve to this oath, the lives of the men in his village were at stake. What would they say if they found out? He saw the faces of Born, the carpenter; Harran, the town healer; even Elder Darion's. Yes, they would even take the Elder. Of course, they would take him, too.

As Alec stood on the bridge, thinking of his village with all the broken families, of all the homes without fathers and brothers, the tears continued. Then, with the reluctance of a man who loves his friends more than himself, he turned back toward his forge. The autumn night was still young, and there was much work to be done.


Little Tilly woke with a start to the sound of Mother banging on the fence of the sty to rouse the pigs for feeding. Mother always fed the pigs first. Tilly hopped out of bed, bare feet landing on her favorite sheepskin rug, which she had cleverly stolen from the entry hall. Forgetting about washing her face or combing her hair, as her Mother would no doubt nag her to do later, she ran excitedly into her parents' bedroom. In her excited, overly-loud child's voice, she began, "Father, Father! Wake up! It's finally here! Joshua's birthday is..." She stopped when she realized, having just come around the corner into the bedroom, that Father was not in bed. She ran back to her window, and leaned out as far as she dared. "Mother," she almost yelled, "where's Father?"

"Your father must have stayed up all night in his forge again," replied Mother, in an all-too-Motherly tone. "Why don't you go fetch him? I'll be readying breakfast as soon as I'm done feeding the chickens."

Tilly didn't need to be asked twice on such an exciting day. Quick as a cat from water, she was down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door, bounding down the little dirt path to the forge. "Father, Father!" she repeated, as she got closer to the old converted barn. "Father, wake up..." and she was once again cut off. Father was in the forge, like mother had said, but he should have woken up from her yelling. Why did he look so unnatural, slumped across the table like that? Then she saw the blood. She ran to him, screaming wordleslly.


"Definitely suicide," Harran told Elder Darion, once they had moved out of earshot of Tilly's devastated mother. "There was no one around here last night save for Alec, I can only see his footprints- his and poor Tilly's, that is." Harran paused, glancing at little Tilly and Joshua, curled into fetal balls on their mother's lap. "There was also this note," Harran pulled a small folded piece of paper out of his vest. Elder Darion opened it slowly, and read the simple note: 'For the families.'

"Thank you, Harran," said the Elder, on the verge of tears. The only thing left to do now was to sort all the blades and arrowheads and send them off to the General. Every rack on every wall of the forge was filled with swords, boxes of arrowheads, daggers, and the like. One dagger, of course, was not on a rack or in a box. The bloody blade portruding from Alec's lifeless chest would have to be cleaned thoroughly before packing it up with the rest.