Barak headed home after a typical exhausting day at work. He neared Crossroads Clearing, noticing extra tents placed near his. A wide smile spread across his face, seeing a smoldering campfire and the smell of roasting meat. His clansmen from Highcrag had returned.
“Garrick! Lira!” Barak shouted as he picked up the pace.
Warm smiles were exchanged as the couple moved to embrace him.
“It is good to find you well, Barak,” Lira looked him over.
“Chakam is scouting for more firewood,” Garrick grasped Barak’s shoulder.
“Just a few of you,” Barak observed. “Where is Chakam’s brother?”
Garrick stepped back, his head lowered. “There was a storm,” he explained. “Let’s speak by the fire.”
Chakam walked up, dumping an armful of firewood nearby before joining them at the campfire.
Barak stirred to situate himself, but his concern remained clear while anticipating the news.
“A month has passed, but Highcrag endured much loss. It was a storm like none,” Garrick detailed. “Much crop is gone, and houses. The river was fierce. It took a few of our clan. We only came to bring you supplies. That, and Chakam will help you make a forge. Rest of the clan stayed working – rebuilding Highcrag.”
Barak lost focus, staring into the flames. “Amon?” he looked up at Chakam.
“My brother is well. The grace of the Creator was with him,” Chakam tried to smile.
The Toolmakers sat watching the flames until Garrick reached in, cutting a chunk of roasted goat.
“Eat. You look thin. Why? Don’t you have food here?” Garrick held the meat out on the end of his knife toward Barak.
Barak reached, pulling the meat off. “I have food,” he said with a mouthful. “Just busy and I forget.”
Talk and laughter continued while the stars moved across the night sky. Flames died low, pushing Garrick and Lira to stand stretching before entering their tent. Soon, Barak and Chakam followed to their own.
Garrick was up early, making noise until the others climbed out of their tents. They all made their way to the market. Barak and Chakam took the loaded donkeys, intending to build the new forge; Garrick and Lira sought supplies.
Two full days were spent packing clay firmly around stone, just as Chakam defined. Another full day allowed it to cure. Chakam detailed its workings to Barak.
“Pay close attention,” Chakam looked intently at Barak with a serious tone.
He pointed at the clay lining, “Add coals here. Use the bellows for airflow. More air means more fire.”
Barak raised his hand to silence Chakam. “I hear. I can do this without issue.”
Still Chakam pressed, “Always know which part is heated. Be sure your quench trough has water. When you burn your hand, water will help. A bad burn will cost you much time healing.”
Barak stood, arms crossed and eyes glazed over, allowing Chakam to go on. Chakam remained intent on every detail despite Barak’s lack of interest.
That evening at the campfire, Barak had little to say.
Garrick looked directly at him. “How is the forge coming?”
Barak took a moment, then cleared his throat, “It is going well. I will use it soon.”
Garrick continued to pry. “Did our master craftsman teach you well?”
Barak shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, he has explained much. I am tired. Please excuse me,” Barak took his leave to his tent. Garrick opened his mouth, but let it go.
Barak woke, leaving camp before the others woke, making his way to the market. He spotted Mara on the path ahead of him, jogging to catch her. He grabbed the handle of her weighted cart out of her hand.
“I got that.” He smiled, half out of breath.
Mara shook out her tight shoulder after relinquishing control. “I see your clansmen are staying with you,” she remarked.
“Yes, it has been good to see them again.” Barak replied.
“Well?” Mara asked.
“Well… well, what?” Barak asked.
“What is the deal with the new forge by your stall? Will you be working iron? Tell me about it.” Mara pried, giving Barak a light slap on the arm.
“Oh… the forge is for iron. Chakam helped me and now instructs me. He is the Smart craftsman. No, the Master craftsman.” Barak’s voice thick with sarcasm.
“Fortunate having a – Master here to help you,” she prodded, sensing Barak’s annoyance.
Barak didn’t respond for a time, but finally veered off.
“Hey, loan me your cart later. The forge needs wood,” he explained.
“Sure, the cart needs maintenance anyway,” she said half-teasingly. “I’ll get it from you at Crossroads Clearing in a day or two.”
Barak handed the cart back to Mara as they neared his stall. He set up shop and began on several half finished repairs from the previous day. An hour went by, and he became consumed in his work, barely noticing Chakam arrive.
Chakam went directly to the forge, running his fingers across the smooth edges. “It cures well,” he turned with a pleasing smile.
Barak only glanced up then continued wrapping the handle of an obsidian blade.
“It will serve well. We need water and wood. I’ll get water later.” Barak said, briefly acknowledging Chakam’s presence.
Chakam moved behind Barak, looking over his displayed wares. He ran his finger over a few blades, inspecting them.
“These are finished?” Chakam questioned. “Your leather is soft. I use linseed oil. Mix it with some pine resin. Then tan and add more. Grips well when your hand sweats.”
Barak let out a sigh, “Yes, better – maybe, but I don’t use pine resin. Not much resin here. I get no complaints anyway.”
About that time, Mara approached, dragging her empty cart close.
“You are Barak’s clansman,” Mara said with a mischievous smile. “I remember you and your brother from my trial.”
Barak let out a restrained chuckle, barely looking up from his work. He kept his head down, trying to hide his face, yet his amusement still showed. Chakam, noticing his reaction, quickly gave Mara his attention.
His voice lowered, “Mara? Umm… that was – long ago… wasn’t it?”
“Not that long ago,” Mara shot back.
Chakam’s discomfort became apparent as he struggled with his words.
“We caused you trouble – I know – but… but I had to speak,” Chakam stuttered.
Mara noticed how amused Barak had become, causing her to smirk too. She studied Chakam for a moment, and her expression softened.
“Forget what’s behind and let the past stay in the past,” she said, waving her hand lightly.
“Anyway, what do you think of Barak?” she veered off. “He has come a long way since you all first left him here, hasn’t he?”
“Barak? Oh, sure.” Chakam searched for a compliment to give. “I see he has – uh… trust with your people.”
“Of course he has,” Mara’s voice pitched. “He has worked hard for the respect of these people.”
Chakam stood a little uneasy, trying to decide what to say next.
“Barak,” Mara spoke sharply. “Here’s the cart, and don’t forget to grease it before you load it down.” She handed him a small jar of rendered goose grease.
Barak stopped to take the grease and the cart handle. “I won’t forget,” he promised.
“Yeah, it needs grease. It squeaks from the far side of the market. And the pegs are loose. Whole cart wobbles like a drunk.” Chakam tried to seem smart, recovering dignity.
Barak gave him a side look and then back to Mara, “It will be like my cart.”
Barak did the quick maintenance and loaded several large, empty jars. He looked at Chakam. “Stay nearby. Tell customers I will be here after I get the water.”
“I’ll tend the stall while you are gone.” Chakam assured.
Barak opened his mouth to speak, but closed it turning away. A knot formed in his stomach as he headed toward the spring.
Chakam was still making minor adjustments to the forge when a villager greeted him, holding a mattock.
“Is Barak coming back today?” The man asked.
“Went for water. Won’t be long.” Chakam explained while glancing at the unraveled, worn tool in the man’s hand. “You need wrapping?”
Chakam took the tool, examining it through one opened eye.
“I can’t keep it from unraveling. It is getting worse,” he explained.
“It’s because you don’t maintain it correctly. See how the wood has swollen? You need oil on the wood, not just on the leather. Oil all of it,” Chakam scolded.
“I see. I’ll try to remember that,” he said meekly.
“It is very important,” Chakam went on. “And what are these chips from? It’s not a hammer.” Chakam’s voice sharpened.
He endured Chakam’s scoldings as long as he could bear. His face tightened, grabbing the mattock out of Chakam’s hand. “Never mind!” he growled, storming off without another word.
An hour went by before Barak returned, pulling the heavy water jars. Before he neared the stall, several angry villagers blocked him.
“Why is that man tending your stall?” one asked.
“I didn’t come for a lecture, but a simple repair,” another hissed.
Barak lowered the cart handle calmly and deliberate. “Don’t worry,” he motioned with one hand, “I’ll take care of these,” he said, reaching for the tools.
Tension eased as they handed him the tools, and he loaded them into the cart.
Chakam witnessed the angry villagers hand Barak the tools. He took a deep breath as Barak neared with the cart. “Why are they angry when I try to help?”
Barak handed Chakam the cart handle. “You do water; I’ll fix tools,” Barak spoke intently.
Chakam did as he was asked, and after, he left with the cart back to Crossroads Clearing. He did not speak to anyone; rather, stayed busy loading wood into the handcart.
The setting sun brought Chakam back to camp, finding a gathering forming. Selah and Zetetic were helping Lira prepare food. Raham and Garrick were parked on a bench, deep in discussing philosophy.
Selah called out to Raham with a playful grin, “Are you going to help, or are you only here to fill your belly?”
Zetetic laughed, quickly adding, “The men to sit idle waiting to be fed.”
Raham’s face turned red as he rose with a grunt. “I’m coming. What do you need, old woman? She’s always ordering me around,” he said with a smirk, turning to face Garrick.
Mara and Barak both arrived coming from opposite directions.
“Good, all are here now.” Lira had a gentle smile.
Mara was carrying a small basket of fish. “I know, I’m late. Where do you want these?”
Selah stepped to meet Mara, wrapping one arm around her while taking the basket with her other.
Everyone found a place at the campfire as conversations turned into laughter. Raham moved with a wine sack, ensuring everyone’s cup stayed full. Zetetic put her hand over her cup, shaking her head.
“Don’t worry, it’s well diluted,” assured Raham. Zetetic paused, “Go ahead,” holding her cup up.
Garrick poked at the sizzling fish placed on a flat rock in the fire. Lira broke off a chunk of bread before passing it to Garrick, and he did the same, keeping the loaf moving around the campfire.
Lira stared through the flames at Chakam, then at Barak. Neither was taking part in the group conversation.
“Say your words,” she demanded.
Socializing halted as eyes followed Lira’s tracing her gaze. Both the clansmen looked to her in shock, yet neither offered her an explanation.
“I know there is something between you. We gather before the Just One. He knows your hearts before you confess them, but you make it apparent – even I see you are with strife.” Lira continued to grill.
“I have offended Barak, yet I do not understand why,” Chakam reluctantly offered. “I try hard to help him; to show him a better way. He is soft, like the villagers. He has been with them too long. They do not appreciate my help either.”
Barak stood, shooting back, “It is not me. The villagers don’t want what they don’t ask for – neither do I. I was fine before you came to tell me how – how to do every little thing.”
Chakam stood in defense, “Then why do you not tell me? You only look to me sideways, and never say thank you.”
Barak lowered only shaking his head. Chakam lowered himself, looking to see what Lira would do next.
“Barak, why do you reject this help?” Lira asked, her head tilted.
Before Barak could respond, Selah stood. She looked around, meeting eyes with each in the circle. She said nothing at first, but gave pause to the confrontation.
Garrick looked up at Selah in anticipation. “Please, we value your wisdom,” he said.
Selah gave both young men a gentle smile, disarming their hostility.
“My friends, I hear the anger in your words,” the elder spoke. “Chakam, obviously you are a skilled craftsman, very capable, yet your skill does not make you superior in all wisdom. Perhaps you often know the best way, but it is hard to hear you when it sounds like pride. Knowledge with pride puffs one up, but knowledge with love builds another.”
“She is correct.” Barak said with justification.
She allowed her words to settle before looking at Barak.
“Barak, you have come a long way, knowing the skill yourself. You are also lacking. You walk a line between meekness and timidity, only allowing your voice when you are pushed to do so. The Giver did not want your spirit to be timid, but powerful, loving, and sound. Do not be afraid to speak; rather, be confident in your growth and the value of your voice.”
Selah settled back into her place at the campfire. Quiet remained; eyes refocused on the two conflicting clansmen. Raham cleared his throat, looking to Garrick. Garrick simply nodded. Raham gave each a warm smile that faded quickly to stern and unyielding.
“You are more than clansmen,” he stated. “Remember – you are grafted into this family. Fear and pride must not separate you. Rather, bear with each other with forgiveness, just as the Sent One does for you.”
A long moment of silence held. Finally, Chakam cleared his throat, still staring into the fire. “I know what you say is true. I feel it when I try to help. It is not wanted, and now I know why. My skill is with tools and metal, and fire – not with speech. Not with kind words to lift. Only with what needs done. I see Barak – he is strong in the craft. He is worthy of these people. They trust him for good reasons. Forgive me for this, Barak.”
Barak barely lifted his eyes, but began speaking almost too quietly to hear, then forced his voice to rise through the cracking. “I feel ashamed now. I pushed you away. It was because I did not want to hear. I wanted respect, but did not ask for it. I too lack speech. You forgive me and I will forgive you.”
The two stood facing each other. Chakam reached out and Barak grabbed his forearm, pulling him in. A quick slap on the back and they both returned to their seats.
Soon, singing and eating resumed. Wine cups were filled as laughter and love embraced Crossroads Clearing.