Soon Catrin wished she were wearing some sort of clothing just so she could take something off. The heat permeated her skin and soaked into her body. Sweat poured from her, and she wondered if she would shrivel into a dried husk, but she continued to shed water, beads of sweat sliding down her face and the length of her body. As the stones cooled, the women replaced them with hot ones. The purge was intense, and Catrin licked her parched lips.
After they removed the stones and returned them to the hot pool, the women brought basins of water that had been soaking in the hot pools. They dipped soft cloths in the water and cleansed the sweat from Catrin's body. As they helped her up, she grew dizzy, but the spell soon passed. She donned her soft robe again and gratefully accepted a large of mug of water. It was cool and sweet and tasted delicious.
One of the women guided her back to the hall then walked straight to the opposite door. It led to a small room that contained only a sleeping pallet and chamber pot. The other woman arrived a moment later with a pitcher of water and a mug. Then they left, closing the door behind themselves. Left alone with her thoughts, Catrin spent the rest of the day in quiet reflection, trying to ignore pangs of hunger.
In the oppressive heat of the forge building, the cold and snow seemed a distant dream. Sweat rolled into Strom's eyes as they waited for the molten blob within the crucible to reach what Gustad considered the optimal consistency.
'Do you really think we can do this?' Osbourne asked.
'Don't know,' Strom said. 'Milo said we just need steady hands, and I suppose we have that.'
'So much work has gone into making the glass; I don't want to ruin it.'
'No worries, my boy,' Milo said from across the room. 'You boys are just what we need to achieve the perfect pour. Practice it may take, but you will succeed, of that I am confident.'
'See,' Strom said. 'Milo believes in us.'
'Yeah,' Osbourne said, his voice barely above a whisper, 'but that's coming from someone who sets himself on fire at least once a day.'
'He hasn't gone up in flames today,' Strom countered.
'The day is young yet.'
Gustad bent down to peer into the small opening in the furnace, admiring the molten glass in the crucible. 'I believe we are ready to pour,' he said. 'Remember, the key is slow and steady, and you must increase the rate of your pour as you reach the bottom of the crucible. Understand?' Strom and Osbourne nodded, though Strom wondered if his confidence were misplaced. He certainly had no reason to believe he and Osbourne were capable of a task that required such precision, but he was determined to try. 'Steady now,' Gustad said as they slowly eased the crucible out of the furnace, their arms hidden within long, thick, leather gloves.
Despite their efforts, hot coals clung to the crucible and fell to the floor. 'Don't let any coals drop into the mold,' Milo said, his eyes wide with excitement.
'Hurry now,' Gustad said. 'We must not let the glass cool. Begin the pour. Slow and steady, boys. Slow and steady.'
Strom tried to keep his hands from trembling, but the pressure was on him. Osbourne's task was simply to balance the long pouring rod while Strom regulated the rate of the pour. Slowly he began to tip the crucible. Like heated tree sap, the molten glass oozed from the crucible, and Strom tried to ignore the sweat that was seeping into his eyes.
'Easy, now. Nice and slow,' Milo said, moving closer to inspect the pour, his long robes gliding across the floor.
'Increase the flow,' Gustad said after most of the glass had left the crucible; only a small amount remained. 'Steady now. Steady.'
Squinting, Strom tried his best, but his eyes burned, and the crucible wobbled slightly.
'Blast!' Gustad said. 'So very close. You nearly had it. Put the pouring rod and crucible on the rack.'
After replacing the rod, Strom turned and shook his head. 'Milo,' he said.
Milo ignored him as he examined the glass cooling in the mold. 'Not bad,' he said. 'Almost as good as what we've accomplished on our own-only a few bubbles. If only my hands did not shake with age, we could have had this done a dozen times.'
'Milo,' Strom said more forcefully while trying to catch up with the monk who now paced the floor.
'I wonder if we should change the shape of the crucible so we don't have to increase the rate of pour so dramatically-'
'Milo!'
'What is it, m'boy?' Milo asked, suddenly sniffing the air.
'You're on fire again.'
The next morning brought two more robed figures, and Catrin sensed these were not the same women from the day before, but women they were. Acquainting herself with the aura of each robed figure, Catrin became more adept at the process. Using only her senses, she examined the robed figures with no apparent reaction from her subjects, but she kept her investigations brief and cursory, not wanting her exploration to be discovered again.
They led her down the hall, past several doors, and picked a door seemingly at random. It led to a man-made chamber that housed another large stone slab, but this slab differed from the others in that it had a large cavity hollowed out of its base, which was filled with glowing red embers. The women helped Catrin from her robe and motioned for her to climb atop the table. Catrin ran her hand across the slab. It was quite warm. She seated herself on the end of the table and lay back slowly.
The stone seemed too hot on her skin at first, but as she eased herself down, the intensity seemed to lessen. Both women sorted through a tray of small vials; then they anointed her with hot oils. Each drop brought its own unique sensation, and a variety of pungent smells assaulted her senses. The mixture was heady, and it nearly gave Catrin a headache, but as she relaxed, the pain subsided. As the women massaged the oils into her skin, she relaxed further. Kinks in her stiff muscles seemed to melt, and she was amazed by how many places were sore. She'd felt fine before she lay down, but the women worked knotted and sore muscles she had been completely unaware of.
They brought her water and gave her time to drink. When Catrin had had her fill, they motioned for her to lie back down, and she complied without complaint. The massage treatment had been wonderful, leaving her feeling limber and relaxed.
She wasn't certain what to expect when they returned to her side, each holding some sort of narrow cone that was as long as her arm and appeared to be made of waxed cloth. After inserting the small ends of the cones into Catrin's ears, they placed her hands around them, making it clear she was to hold them in place. Catrin had begun to expect unusual things during the ritual, but she could not imagine what would come next.
They returned, each holding a long piece of dried reed. They knelt down, and when they stood, the ends of the reeds were afire. Catrin nearly shrieked when the women lowered the flaming reeds toward the wax cones. Instinctively, she thought of her hair then realized she no longer had any. Tilting the cones forward, she saw flames dancing on the ends of the cones from the corner of her vision, but the waxed cloth burned slowly. A strange but not unpleasant sensation filled her ears, and she laughed. The hooded women just stood and watched the wax cones burn, but Catrin sensed their mirth.
'I know you're smiling under those hoods,' she said, and she stuck her tongue out at them. While they showed no visible reaction, she could almost feel their mental laughter, which made her smile. She tried to relax and trust the women not to set her head on fire, but it was difficult, and she was glad when they removed the burning cones from her ears.
Within the halls of Adderhold he stood, the boy with no tongue. He watched as liveried servants prepared a
