Burn with care, and burn right out.

1

Classes would commence at 8.30, said the woman who received them at the gate. The manor and surrounding field were awash with children in various states of readiness. Hirata entered the immaculately polished front hall with what may not have been full preparedness herself. But, as the sight of Mistress Wishfort, who'd entered just steps ahead, assured her: that was not to be expected. They would not be teaching today; it was early yet for them too, the new staff. There was time for adjustment, handover from the elders. Time had to be allocated for all great moves, and she trusted that the Wishfort company was not one that had ever seen value in a rush job.

Of course, Mistress Millamant Wishfort did not say as much in words. The assurance simply radiated from her presence, her steadiness, so Hirata believed. After all, the mistress never spoke a word that opposed such belief. She said little at all.

All the more of an honor it was that she'd reached out that prior evening with instructions to meet her at the new school. Their new home, and place of work - it would be useful for Hirata to review it ahead of the others.

The gardens. The foyer. A marble kitchen, and the dining hall, with six long tables. The dormitories. The classrooms. Twenty small desks per room - more daunting than Hirata would admit. Then tutors' quarters. Meeting rooms. The staff lounge. In there, a host of old and familiar faces, and the showcase. Now that was a comfort. This setup had been transplanted from the old base of operations and was now mounted on handsome gold-trim cases above and around the hearth. The blades looked particularly regal, basking in the streams of sun that came through the tall casement windows.

Journeying back down the stairwell, a procession of girls in long white dresses funneled past their knees. None must have been older than six; they squealed with youthful joy. Revitalized by the visit to the lounge, Hirata found the voice to warn them to take caution.

Regardless, one fell on a step, and the squealing faltered.

Inexplicably, the mistress reached down and hoisted the child up, as easily as one would a basket of flowers, onto the crook of her arm for inspection. Surprise evaporated the child's tears.

Miss Mil, the girls said in chorus.

Placing her charge gently down on the landing, Miss Mil warned them, in sparser terms than Hirata had, to be cautious on the stairs. Miss Mil?

Miss Wishfort is how they know my grandmother, Millamant responded in low tones. We intend to avoid confusion.

What went unsaid was that never; not in the decades they'd known each other; had Hirata heard anybody refer to the mistress as Mil. The utterance seemed profane; like the child-sized tables in the classrooms. Nobody was so casual with the mistress, and they'd never had classes with more than five or six to a group. This place was almost dissonant with reality. Could one really move from one reality to another, so easily?

Yet there stood the mistress - Miss Mil, as comfortable - perhaps not comfortable, but undoubtedly as stable - as she was in all realities past.

Yes, of course, it all made sense. The name was not about pride but pragmatism. Wouldn't want to confuse the children. Before she could be further scrutinized by the growing milieu of tiny eyes and ears and clammy fingers, Hirata introduced herself. Reiterated her precautions. Dismissed the students; a duty which they of all ages accomplished quite admirably.

The keys will be handed over on Saturday, Miss Mil said, over tea in the lounge. There will be two days to transport all the group's belongings.

Signs of discontent had emerged since meeting her grandmother for confirmation. Not a flicker in the face, naturally, and not a tinge to be heard in the voice. Since childhood, Mil had expertly maintained form - which made any outliers, no matter how small, clear as day. Perhaps she knew - of course she did. It was how they communicated, without words. And now, she had spooned in a good amount of sugar already and appeared to be considering another.

One of the older tutors had opened a window before heading out to class. The room was fresh with pollen and sunlight. Miss Hira began stacking the figures, queuing up the letters, boxes and phone calls in her head. Two days to move, three after that to familiarize with the schedule and building? Compared to those little desks, compared to the new name, she found it easy to say of a short-notice moving day: consider it done.

2

Enrolment stuttered, coming to rest at a nonetheless respectable count of 52. Hira remembered the number clearly - she'd been reviewing the figures when the stranger arrived - as well as the weather that day (heavy skies, a blizzard, children to be kept indoors for the break, much to their chagrin).

Night fell; the snowfall lightened. Whipping winds faded to a whisper, and she could hear the crackle of the frozen ground, attempting to match time with the snap and hiss of her rather impressive fireplace. Not quite so harmonious: the slam of the door in the downstairs front hall, and the ensuing whirl of voices, footsteps.

It was past bedtime. But having spent all day indoors, a bit of roughness on the students' part could be forgiven. But upon completing her filing, Hira emerged from her office to find not students, but her own staff rallying in the lounge. Miss Sinclair, ever vigilant of watchers, noticed Hira first and ushered her in. The new blood's here.

The new blood; tall, square, and sopping wet; was slouched by the lounge fireplace, a blaze which dwarfed those in their individual chambers. A woman, dressed in black, not unlike the tutors milling around her, but something altogether different. The tutors, and even the children and elders, had always seemed creatures that Hira could speak to. For all their differences in power and disposition, they resided on the same plane. Mil, too. This one was different. Licked by flames, a slab in heavy black wool, black hair, there was the sensation of something unworldly.

There was a flash of teeth, of mottled skin under an upturned collar. The stranger set down a long, curved blade on the mantle and held out a hand, weighted with bands and rings. Miss Hira, I presume.

Her voice was unexpectedly smooth, professional. Hira shook her hand, bowed slightly. You presume correct. I apologize for the wait. Then there was the blade. Crimson gems laid in the handle - one of Ramsay's? It was hard to tell by the flickering firelight. Regardless, showcase pieces were not to be handed out so easily, even to potential customers.

Heldris. Hel, if you want. And no worries. I got a warm welcome regardless. Eyes the color of radioactive toxins slid a gaze, a toothy smile, about the room, then followed Hira, as she moved to place the blade back in the case.

There were no pieces missing.

Doesn't look like you have space, the stranger, Hel, drawled. Hira turned, wanted to rub her eyes, hopefully emerge from this strange dream. Hel had another weapon in hand; a small bronze dagger. She twirled it, looking it over. And why rush? Might wanna make something new before putting them up...

The dagger shuddered, the blade coiling like a fern, then bubbling almost lazily into a bulb of round, jeweled shapes. Hel turned the thing over and pinched the base of the bulb into a handle, letting a string of material drip down, harden into a metallic sheen, before pulling it upright. Hm, not enough to make a whole sword.

The dagger had been reformed into an impressive, if diminutive, facsimile of the sword in Hira's own hand. A murmur of amusement from the watching tutors. And a cry of delight from one, Miss Amleth in an oversize nightgown the color of oatmeal, Try Hira's next!

Oh? Hel's nuclear eyes turned to the showcase. Got a sample?

One of the ones with red stones, Sinclair said.

Red enamel. That buckler, for instance, Ramsay put in, helpfully differentiating her own red handiwork from Hira's.

No. It took a moment or two for Hira to recover her voice. We cannot afford to be misusing the material at this point. At any point.

Hel arched a dark brow. I bought this whole lot in for recycling. In a move painfully reminiscent of Mil, she hauled up an enormous sack with a metallic rattle. Here, I'll reset this one back for you. The imitation sword began to bubble again, its blacks and silvers morphing back to original bronze.

Hira resisted fall upon the battered bag, or the reformed dagger. Timing was everything. Thank you. Let's try to keep quiet. The children are in bed. Shrugging, Hel set the pieces down. Quieter, at very least. Hira took one of the hard leather settees across from the fire, under Hel's oddly elongated shadow.

Just a shadow. Hira folded her hands. Perhaps this was a misstep, a sign of weakness. Hel sauntered to the chair opposite and fell into it, cross legged, twirling the newly restored dagger. Miss Amleth took the opportunity to skitter across the threshold to prepare some tea.

Hira left her hands folded; too late to go back on it now. How did you happen upon so many... she sharpened the word, unclaimed pieces?

Another shrug, another spin. Fields out west, mostly. I was with the army.

So they were lost in battle.

Some of them. Not my battles. A lot wound up in medical units, unclaimed. It happens that many of the old wielders - customers - are, shall we say, aging out.

A smile, unconvincing. The woman was forcing euphemism - and was clearly not accustomed to it.

What do you hope to gain from bringing them here?

The dancing blade came to a halt. There was a moment of perplexity, to which Hira felt a surge of righteousness, then that oversized grin curled its way back in place. I'll have to bring it up with the boss. She's the one who asked me to collect as many as I could, before my starting date.

Some terrible mechanism of information in Hira's head clicked into place. You're... the new recruit.

At your service. Another click. Audible, this time. A cigarette had materialized in Hel's hand, and a lighter.

A new tutor. She must have known smoking was disallowed. Hira opened her mouth, closed it. She herself had known, from the morning briefing, that a new member of the team was on their way and she had forgotten that. Forgetfulness was forgivable. Especially if one possessed the crucial skills...

What part do you hail from? Hira asked.

A twist of confusion. Excuse me?

Which family did you study under?

Oh, I apprenticed with guys all over. A whole bunch... classified information, for now.

Hira sat as if embalmed. So it was worse than she'd suspected. How had this outsider been found? And furthermore, approved? The newcomer caught her rigid gaze, behind a veil of smoke, wisps of dark hair. How could one set up so many barriers in such a short space?

Hel tugged free the cigarette. Want one?

Hira was saved from an uncoordinated outburst by the entrance of Mil, who slowly surveyed the scene. To Heldris: You've arrived.

There was no question or play to Mil's tone. No doubts, there never were.

Hel stubbed out the cigarette on a saucer and Mil, to her infinite credit, did not so much as flinch. She extended a hand, bangles and rings clacking together. Pleasure to meet you again, boss.

Mil accepted the handshake without hesitation, glanced around the room. Hira caught her gaze.

Mil didn't say anything. That was expected - or was it? Hira had always accepted silence because it could be read, it wasn't true silence. So what was the message here? We've met before, me and this stranger, that is why she was recruited. Outsider or not, we need everyone we can get. Why didn't you say? I did, the staff learned as much in the morning briefing. Why was I not prepared? You, before everyone? You can't be first for everything.

Hira closed her eyes slowly, absorbing the heat of the roaring fire. She detected a heat beyond it, a raging, poisoning blaze. Neon green.

And puzzlingly familiar. It was not unlike the heat which the students displayed in argument, strongest in the young ones. A friend had snubbed them; a friend had hoarded some toy or trinket; a friend had been a spoilsport. It was always some innocuous slight. A consequence of being surrounded by so many of their kind, with newcomers pooling in every year.

Hira had known Mil since they were young as the youngest of their students. Their company had grown slowly, and it had been so long since the last enlistment (in fact, they'd lost more than they'd gained in recent years). Without the students, she'd have forgotten what it was like- envy. The green-eyed monster, some of the quaint little books called it.

Indeed, green eyed.

Quietly, she thanked the children, asleep in their beds in first floor rooms. As if she had been asleep alongside them, the clatter of steel roused her back to the warmth of the lounge. Mil had come to retrieve the bag of weaponry.

Hira stood. Let me assist you.

Thin arms cradled the disproportionately large load. I'd prefer to appraise these myself, first. In the meantime, will you please aid Miss Heldris in moving her belongings to the available room?

Despite the slighting, Hira nearly smiled at this. Exactly what she would have done herself. Give the distressed child some simple duties and they'd soon forget their woes.

Yes, I've been childish. Only fair that I follow through.

But spoilsport Hel wasn't having reparations made so easily. She waited until the headmistress had left to whisper, with that awful smile once again, I can handle the move-in. Why don't you turn in early?

3

Enrolment: 26.

A bleak showing on paper. But, Hira reasoned, the last round of graduates had been a success. In a group of nine, three had been fit for the forge. One in three, destined for greatness - the school operation was paying dividends, in all.

Hira penned a few more numbers. It was a calming exercise - be up before sunrise, light a small fire, take inventory. Structuring the days, the years, the future of Wishfort.

26 students. 10 housekeeping staff. Perhaps that could be reduced, since the number of children had fallen rather significantly after the latest graduation? 3 cooks who had to be ferried to and from the town with a tutor in tow.

7 general tutors. Acceptable, though it would have been reassuring to have one or two more...

7 pcs in annual sales, thus far. It was only spring; so this was an improvement over the previous year. One sold per tutor - on paper. Three of the pieces had been forged by Hel. And Hel had made quite a stink about letting them go. It was here that Hira realized that she had excluded Hel from the general tutor headcount.

Above the tutors was the headmistress, Mil, and Hira had placed herself between the tutors and the headmistress - less as a showing of rank, and more as a liaison. Mil rarely spoke to individuals of the group directly; instructions were passed through (and occasionally had to be formulated) by Hira.

The exception was Hel. Hel and Mil spoke all the time. No - it was Hel who seemed to speak at Mil. Despite the leery regaling of ‘boss' and ‘headmistress' there was a conspicuous lack of respect. Hira looked at her inked figures, in their neat stack. Honestly speaking, Hel would be wedged somewhere near the top - in line with Hira, or off on some tangent that nevertheless connected to Mil. Like a molten blade, Hel had sluiced her way through the structure and melded herself in at some irregular, obtrusive angle.

There was a knock at the door. With some lingering irritation, Hira answered it.

Headmistress Mil had come with some disturbing news.

Two of them?

A girl and a boy.

Hira was staggered. Did anybody in their dormitory see them go? Are we sure they are not hiding in the gardens?

I saw. They are no longer here.

If they were headed for the woods, we need to hurry. Hira reached for her coat, hanging by the dying fire. The wool was warm. Should she bring an additional coat, for the children, when they were found? Springtime or not, the nights were cold. No - it was not the cold they had to be frightened of. Hira went for her closet, her vault, tore it open. She saw its silver, in light of the dying fire. Familiar red enamel flared under her palm.

Cold shock caught her before she could raise the thing from its holding. A slim hand clasped her shoulder. One of those hands that could haul metalworks and children with ease. She froze. A moment, Miss Hira. I came to you first for a reason.

Hira turned, voiceless. Mil rarely reached out at the staff in such a manner. It was an aberration. Any message, though, was drowned out by the following, spoken in as many words:

The time has passed. They are gone.

The fire died, and behind the pale curtains of the office, the sun was rising.

I don't understand.

I saw them go.

Then why...? Burning bile rose in Hira's throat. Unfit to be aimed at the headmistress. She turned back to the closet, and spoke in a rasp. Two precious children... even after the gains of these few months, you know we cannot afford to waste...

They will remain precious, wherever they are. Not a fault in Mil's tone. As to be expected. But her words blurred, their meaning indistinct through a thick haze, distant. In that moment, her turn of phrase reminded Hira of Miss Hel.

No, now this was a waste. Hira straightened her dress. It was time to structure the impending day. At the assembly, then...

We only tell them the truth.

That two of their schoolmates crept out in the night and disappeared in the woods.

Yes. Exactly as you put it. The children will understand. Regarding the tall cased clock opposite the desk, Mil nodded and motioned for the door. I will confirm the details after morning duties. And she was gone.

The truth passed as best it could. From her stand on the dining hall's pale wooden stage, Hira watched a ripple pass through the crowd taking their breakfast, heads turning to whisper over their fruit and cereal. Stepping down, she was struck with the realization that the words, exactly as she put it, had likely made the children more frightened of the woods than the thought of a day - year - no, future, without their two lost classmates.

Hira closed her eyes for a moment over tea to reconfigure her numbers. Enrolment was at 26 no longer.

Even less content were her fellow tutors. Miss Otto was nearly in tears. Otto usually noticed oddities in the night, waking children, or things at the edge of the wood, and she was painfully ashamed. The tutors beside her leaned in, whispering comfort. Hira excused her from first-period duties.

Hel was inconsolable in her own way. She was not about to be consoled. Cross legged, with her usual choice of bagel and brew of deadly-black coffee, Hira came close to wondering, for a scandalous second, if she'd had something to do with the disappearance.

But when she passed by Hel to return her tin tray to the washer, Hira heard a muttering, what did you and the boss see?

She saw that they were gone. I wasn't aware until she came to me. Hira bit her lip.

Saw? So the boss let them go.

Are you questioning me, or her?

You, obviously. Her, I wouldn't dare. Still, not even a little search party...

They were gone. That much was confirmed to me when the news first broke.

Gone, like something got ‘em? Or gone in that they were safely out of sight? Hel took a loud sip of her infernal blend. Never mind. You wouldn't know. But she went to you first, huh.

A pause. True, Mil came to her first. As she always had, as she always knew she could. As Hira had always assured her, even wanted. But from Hel's lips, there was no pleasure in realizing one got what they wanted. But - no, there was no accusation to make. The downturn wasn't Hel's doing. Before she could stop, Hira's thoughts rolled forth, I wish she hadn't. I wish there hadn't been any such news at all.

The immediate rush of guilt made her limbs heavy as lead. The tray teetered. Watchful, Hel produced a toothpick from one of her many imperceptible pockets and placed it between her teeth, a habit taken up in lieu of smoking.

Well, whatever happened, I can only imagine it went as the boss decided. She did not let Hira pass by. Did you know the two that ran off? Close pals.

Sixth graders - together since they started here. They came from the same nursery home. The forced recollection stung like molten needles.

One of them, the girl, was a real smart cookie. Not destined for more, but sharp as a tack. Hel was staring into the windows at the other end of the hall, over the heads of their 24 remaining charges. The other would do anything she said. He was still pretty bright, a people-pleaser... Boss hinted he might have been forge-worthy. But I digress.

Arms aching treacherously, Hira sighed. There will be plenty of time for remembrance.

Two precious kids. What right did we have to call them that, all considered? The spiraling tip of the toothpick was luring in a headache. Hira thought of the dagger from the night Hel arrived, so long ago it seemed. Hel's thoughts remained on course. The smart kid. She was the most dangerous kind of smart - suspicious. About last year's class numbers. What was it, nine grads - six normal and three greater? I wonder if she noticed. One third of the class did not make it out the gates...

Hira did not reply.

It would be impressive, for someone who grew up here to notice - no, numerically it was obvious - but to notice and risk a runner, with a friend in tow. Nerves of steel, they'd know there was no way but through the forest. That damn forest. Should have chopped it down during construction; chased all those things elsewhere... The toothpick emerged, a mangled splinter, and Hira was struck with inexplicable terror. Hel was angry - about the children? At Hira's ambivalence? She beseeched herself to search for the answer, search the silence - but before she could be subject to further inspection, Hel swiveled on a chair leg and stood. What's up with you? Tired? Here, why don't I handle that tray for you?

4

A less strenuous curriculum may allow them to find their own occupations. Less enforced time with tutors may alleviate any further suspicions. Let them seek us on their own.

12 students remained.

Precious children. Do we have the right to call them that?

Mil asked questions as a matter of practicality. She did not philosophize.

All things considered...

These were Hel's words, Hel's philosophy. The code of one who encouraged beastly behaviors in the children, belittled what few clients remained and, in her own words, had never had a family to answer to. All this had melted and seeped into the foundation that was the headmistress.

Mil was resilient, naturally. But her resilience grew from adaptation. For decades, this had been fearlessly maintained. The stalwart Mistress would assimilate, and quash any incidental impurities. Shedding all extraneous spirits, the weaponry she produced was strong, and flawless. Solid to the point of bludgeon, Miss Ramsay had joked, admiringly. Life imitates art.

Or did it? The breadth of impurity that Life produced, relative to the stray elements that might make its way into the sacred enclosure of a forge, was infinite. Who knew what was out there, in the unseeable and uncontrollable world, what might find its way onto your doorstep?

Hel had returned from a week-long sabbatical that morning. Her suitcases were dusted with sand and smelled of salt.

Hira stowed the enrolment papers in their designated drawer and shifted to the window. The sun was setting, hanging luxuriously low under a pink-streaked sky. In the day's last light, the fields were cast a rosy gold. It was beautiful, wasn't it enough?

Oh it's always nice to be back, but take it from me, boss. You could use a change of scenery. Out south they have these endless beaches...

You called? Hel strolled in, hands in pockets, with an adolescent swagger reminiscent of the older and more rebellious students. And just me, huh. What's eating you?

Hel's clumsy attempts to soften her phrasing had long been dropped.

You spoke to the headmistress about your trip.

Sure.

And you invited her away. The room grew dark with the sinking sun. Hira wished to light a fire, but combined with the heat building in the base of her skull, it would incinerate her. Knowing how the school is performing, and the forge, and how indispensable she is to operations, you must know that we can't afford to excuse personnel for pure recreation.

Is that what this is about? One of those foul toothpicks had surfaced and begun its picking. The boss isn't exactly a pleasure seeker. Of course she won't run from work... If not for me, have a little faith in her.

There's something upsetting Miss Mil. She's not... valuing the children as she used to.

On the contrary, I think she's starting to care a lot more.

Of all things, this made Hira flinch. What did she tell you?

Not a peep, but you know, she's a pro with those meaningful glances. Action over words. She's been giving us more breaks. And can't forget that reduced curriculum.

I thought that was your proposition.

Oh, it was.

Hira turned back to the window, the darkening field. The sunbathed grass was now drowned in shadow, a bleak prospect but she didn't dare turn back. Darkness lay both behind and ahead.

I didn't force the issue. You wanna lay credit on anyone, give what's due to the precious twosome who ran off in the night. The boss actually saw them off. But who knows. Somewhere in the dark behind, Hel stood, paced flat footed to the vicinity of the fireplace. It shook me up too. I've halved my duties here. I don't - can't - do recruitment for kids or commissions anymore. I can't imagine what makes you think I have that much undue influence.

This may be a part-time game for you, one you can step back from, but for us, the forge, the Wishfort family, they are our lives.

And the kids' lives?

Your insinuation... means you really do not understand our position.

So you're gonna attribute me to somehow, what, draining the boss's brain of all understanding as well?

Hira whirled as the fireplace roared to life. What do you propose we do, then? All retire to the beachside hedonism, until we become destitute?

Hel drew up from the rising fire. Listen. You - all of you apostles - making this operation your whole damn life isn't going to hold off destitution. Enrolment's dropping. And the school was already a supplement to crashing sales. She tossed the singed match and toothpick into the blaze. Wishfort's an old institution, so maybe there's some big backup plan. If there is, I'm not sure why you're riled up. I don't know - I'm the newcomer. Even after all this time, I'm still years behind, can't catch up, always a stranger. A sharp smile. I'm not claiming to have a solution. Put me in charge, I still don't think I can save it. I'm the least experienced, after all - I've never been part of anything so big, something that supposedly fit me so specifically. All I know is when I lived out there, in the big ugly real world, nothing was so permanent. Disruption, sudden moves and dismissals were basically guaranteed. Life's composed of failures, or bracing for failure. So forgive me for thinking ahead. I never expected to spend the rest of my life here.

Cautiously, Hira took a seat at her desk. Hel sank squarely in the chair opposite; the seat for guests, but Hira felt distinctly un-hospitable as Hel continued.

Okay, that's me. And kids are great at adjusting - so it's you guys I'm worrying about. Those who can proclaim without a second thought, this is our lives. A thought experiment - bear with me - think about where you'd start outside Wishfort, after Wishfort, even. No school, no forge, no more clients - of the current brick-headed sort anyway-

That cynicism is uncalled for...

Miss Sinclair will love it out there. She talks about visiting that cosmopolitan sister all the time. And she spent a stint on her own before joining, didn't she? Ramsay has that independence too. It's not all sunny skies ahead, though. Even I can admit Miss Otto will find readjustment rough. Miss Amleth, she's an enigma.

Hira sniffed, in spite of herself. It was the first time she could recall anybody designating the tottering Miss Amleth an enigma.

She's stronger than she looks, she'll make it through. Oh, people like her can get popular online. Anyone can set up their own cooking or comedy shows now...

Which Miss Millamant will watch from a beachside juice bar.

Nah, on a cell phone, most likely. Leaving aside that baffling tidbit, Hel hooked her arms behind her head. If I can be honest with you, Mil is the one I really can't put a finger on. The beach thing was just spitballing, trying to draw out an opinion. Even if it were denial — information I could work with. A shrug. She wasn't just born into Wishfort - she is Wishfort itself. At that, I can't say I hope for its collapse, but...

Then don't.

Delinquent to the end, Hel rocked the chair precariously onto its two back legs, gazing upward. Look, we just want the same thing, in the end.

In that we don't truly want the house to... as you say, come down.

We want to see what happiness looks like on the boss. For real.

Hira did not respond.

Because clearly, work, and more work isn't doing it for her. Hel lurched upright as a log dropped in the ash pit, scattering embers. Well. Glad we got that cleared up. I have to go unpack.

Go along, then. I have papers to grade, myself.

Doubt it. You're always on top of things. And, with sense enough to realize flattery would fall on deaf ears, she added, I won't be going to Mil and making retractions, or anything. Claiming the beach is just a detestable pit of sand and sweating bodies and she'd hate it after all. Even if that's kind of true. That would be way too transparent.

I don't expect anything of you.

Harsh. You're free to tell her, though. You've got time. The door clicked shut.

5

Enrolment: 1.

Stars were blinking from the not-quite-darkness beyond her window, when Hira finished grading what would be the school's final, truly final, project. Wishfort's last remaining student was an eloquent and embellishing essayist, so much that assessment of his history papers alone took as much time as it had taken to grade three students' worth in the past.

With unwitting violence she kicked her chair out from under the desk and thrust her arms out in a stretch. The back of her neck ached. She felt ancient. At one time, any member of Wishfort could have stood alongside the soldiers who wielded their works - had to, often, on the testing grounds. How things had changed, and to what purpose?

The last student. A stellar pupil, dignified and studious - and not overly suspicious. He had only ever attached himself to two other students, both older, now graduated, whom he'd be joining soon. Outside. He had much to be proud of, even if he was not destined for the forge - but was that not all the better? The forge had never been a goal, or even a shadow of possibility, in the eyes of the students. It was better that he left without knowing. Hira tried on the sentiment again, and found as she had so all times before, it just did not fit.

Time was running out.

The clock read two minutes after midnight. By the base of the clock, slid under the door, there was a scrap of paper.

—

Hira had only glanced at Hel's room once, unlit, before she had even moved in. Unknown territory - she approached the half-open door gingerly. At the smell of spirits and strange, floral smoke, her apprehension snapped and she strode in.

Cups and plates were strewn about the room from some earlier celebration, presumably with a larger crowd. Hel was ineffectually goading Miss Sinclair, the last straggler, to stay now that the life of the party had finally arrived. Miss Sinclair had clearly partaken in plenty of spirits, but not enough to convince her that Hira was about to provide any winning entertainment. With a giggle, she shook Hel off and left, with a surprisingly graceful bow to Hira as she passed through the door.

The smell of smoke had, luckily for Hel, been emanating from an array of pastel candles. Following this detail, Hira noted with some perplexity that Hel's room, though nearly identical to all the other tutors' quarters, did not have a fireplace. Little wonder that she'd applied for leave and fled for the coast for half the winter term every year.

Hel was quickly sweeping cups and wrappers off the desk, which sat slightly askew. Aside from this, and the dripping wax around them, there was little to complain about. In any case, it was much too late to launch complaints on decor.

Hira sat. Any remaining refreshments?

Now it was Hel who was suspicious. Why?

The invitation did imply... Hira raised the scrap of paper. And I have no duties until tomorrow afternoon. Grim as it was to tend to a school with only one student, it wasn't without minor benefits.

Hel filled a spare teacup with a flourish and slid it across the desk, then filled a mismatched mug for herself. A toast, then, to my final week as a teacher.

To very early celebration.

Fair point. It's my last weekend here, so I thought, why not? Hel back on two chair legs, a habit that she had miraculously never suffered to shake, and surveyed the sights appreciatively. Also thought I'd use up the candles, so I don't have to lug them out on moving day. Don't know why I bought so many. Soap, too. I just have a weakness for those cute little stalls at the town market.

Just remember to put them out before bed. Organic soap and beeswax candles. Hira wondered if the blazing demon who strode in all those years ago really had mellowed out so much, or if it was simply late enough that her impressions were coming loose. So, in a week... where will you be off to?

Without hesitation, Hel jabbed a finger upward. A framed painting was hung above and behind the desk , a panel half-covered in hypnotic strokes of blue, black and turquoise, with white filigree threaded throughout. The upper half of the painting faded into pinkish gradation that ended with a lemon colored strip at the very top.

In her mind's eye she saw the expanse of sand, smelt the raw salt. The painting was of a seashore. Hira had only ever observed its essence in photos, or from Hel's grubby suitcases after her trips.

Hel shrugged. South coast. The ocean. I got it off a painter on the boardwalk. It's abstract, sure, but it captured that certain mood. The ocean at dawn, and where the waves hit...

In the midst of the roiling blues and whites were dizzying flecks of violet and orange, and neon green, not unlike the color of Hel's eyes. Hira frowned. It fits you.

I'll take that as a compliment.

The air seemed to have cooled, despite the numerous flames flickering away. And what will you be doing at or around this ocean?

Hel was wearing her trademark sickle of a smile. Hm. Well, let's just say, after we part ways, you might not wanna meet me again, at least not while I'm on the job...

Law enforcement.

The chair clacked back down onto all four legs. Who told?

It's not an uncommon pathway for those who were once in the military. Hira sipped the burning concoction in her teacup.

Makes sense. Hel folded her arms, yet the smile softened. Why don't you go too? The coastal force is a mess - more than half are scumbags, the rest of them doormats - it's in dire need of good people. Or at least, people who can use their head.

No, thank you.

Eh, I get it. Not the best sales pitch. So, where are you thinking of going?

The tightness in Hira's neck and shoulders was returning. There's still six months - the graduation, the paperwork, then cleaning and... and closing.

Well, someone who can manage numbers and people shouldn't have a hard time finding a place to go. There's always somewhere in the world in need of guidance.

Hira set the teacup down on the side table, a bit loudly. The only thing I know how to manage is this. Wishfort. The forge, the school... Millamant's causes. Once it's gone, not only will there be nobody, but there will be nothing, no path to guide even myself. I told you once that it's our whole lives - my whole life. You've assessed the others' capacity to move on, but notably did not tell me mine. Because you know, don't you?

I offered you a job just a minute ago.

You weren't serious.

Right. Sorry.

The apology was genuine enough to drag Hira out of her fury. She pushed the teacup further away, noting with despair that it had somehow become empty without her noticing. I'm slightly envious. You have a past and a future outside of all this. What's the whole world to us, you can see as a stopover. It's admirable in its own way.

I've been teaching for over a decade now. I'd never call that a pit stop - my perspective isn't that broad. In most cases, I'm barely in control of where I wash up. I was pretty hard for cash when I met the boss, and just got lucky that I happened to stumble upon a useful skill set for her, after a mishmash of studies. Hel waved a hand back at the painting. I'm just a drop in the ocean. Can't fight the flow.

Interesting perspective, from one with such a... heated disposition.

Even a molecule can get excited. Smirking at her little joke, Hel stood so she could face the painting. I thought the same of you. Still sort of do.

Two candles went out, and half the room fell into shadow. Hira could only see Hel, the back of her head illuminated, nearly camouflaged against the painting, the suggestion of an endless ocean.

To the wall Hel spoke somberly, unusually so: In the end, I know you don't want me telling you what to do, so I won't make any huge assessments. All I can say is, keep that fire alive, even if it means letting it wane once in a while. Take care of yourself like you've done this place, like you've done for the boss... you'll do fine.

Back still turned, Hel fiddled with her lighter. A more acrid smoke began to rise. Hira coughed.

Hel turned, revealing the cigarette in her fingers, and dropped back into the chair with a wheezy chuckle. Sorry. Old reflex. She slid deep into the leather seat. This talk's stressing me out.

It's fine. Hira seemed unable to formulate words of her own, for the moment.

They sat, amongst the smoke and candlelight, for a while, regarding the painting for lack of greater distraction.

The boss never dropped by for the party. I'll have to try to catch her sometime in the week.

If you simply slipped a note under her door, it's likely she didn't see it.

Can't just go kicking the door down.

Why must you kick it down? A polite knock will do. Hira dislodged her gaze from the painting and turned to check the clock, which stood in the same place it did in her own room. She typically sleeps late. I don't think she'll be upset with a visitor.

An innocent shrug. If you say so. You're the one who knows her best.

It was a statement without venom, but it stung nonetheless. Throat burning, Hira stood. Come on, then.

Bless your heart. I couldn't do this without you. With more energy than the hour called for, Hel fished up a fresh bottle that had been hiding behind the desk in a sweep that put out the remaining candle. She very nearly lunged for the door, only to hold it open for Hira with mock politeness.

Beside the closet opposite the door, where the fireplace should have been, a long, thin object bundled in purple velvet was propped against the wall. Hira paused. What's this?

A present. For the last kid, since I won't be here to see him off. He's a good one, you know-

You aren't answering the question. What is it?

The sickle of a grin had found its way again, freshly sharpened. One of a couple reasons you won't wanna see me again once we part ways. Oh, I'm messing with you. It's a surprise, but I did clear it with the boss. Speaking of whom... She extended a hand through the doorway with a bow.

Hira opened her mouth, thought better of it, and stepped into the unlit hall, at the end of which was the large, carved door that served the headmistress's office. With the hall lights off, in the deep dark, all that could be seen was the slit of light seeping out from under the door.

Hel closed her own door quietly. Her shape was absorbed into the night, reduced to the coal end of her cigarette, dimly glowing like a withered star. You were right, came an ashy whisper. Looks like she's still up.

And time was running out. Hira made for the light.

6

The hurricane made contact at 2.45 am. At her low table, cross legged by candlelight, Hira made note of the time in her ledger. The diminutive cabin rattled with howling winds. Between gusts, massive sheets of rain attempted to slice through the windows. Occasionally, a branch or stone pulled loose from the mountainside would slam, rake against the walls like a creature's talons.

The cabin would hold. She hadn't been so sure when she'd first moved in, had started arguments with the builders, but this was the fourth storm of the season and their craft had held true. She chewed the back end of her pen, tending to greater concerns. Would the storm last until morning? Would classes be called off?

There was little to be gained one way or another. Unlike Wishfort, there was no formal enrolment to her makeshift seminars. Children came and went as they pleased from the little room spared for her by the temple. The attendance figures she'd noted over the course of the year were erratic; everything here was erratic; from the people to the terrain to the climate. Structureless, perilous.

Seeking an anchor, Hira checked on her holding case, a box resembling a steamer trunk plated in a strange metal. An apparent anachronism in her quaint wooden lodgings, but likely older than anything else in the room. It contained her down payment to the village heads. They had been rather enthused to know she was a weaponsmith, and she was in turn impressed that they knew something of magical weapon construction and value. This work-in-progress would buy her shelter for the next eight years. The villagers only only knew of the traditional forging style, but that process was not too different from Wishfort's practices. It was the materials that differed, but the heads had provided, and the inventory retained some familiarity:

• 100g steel, for initialization
• 3g of blessed water
• 1x round cut ruby, for initialization
• 4x incantation imprint (to be replaced as needed)
• 1 body, 91y/o male
• 1 spirit of above, intact, satisfactorily content (grade B+)

Those destined for the forge at Wishfort had always managed to achieve an A or above. Hira had to lay down warning that the quality of the materials might not produce a combat-ready piece. The elders were not swayed; they only planned to hang the thing in the gatehouse by the village arch. Where he could watch the comings and goings, and catch some sun, so they said.

A buckler was what they wanted, circular like her own. More glass, and more gems, if you please. The approved designs were tucked under the cover of her ledger. Since the result was for display, it didn't matter much that the resulting metallic thickness would have to be sacrificed. Absently, she touched the case. It was hot, though the innards were not yet soft enough for molding. Hira was stalling the process. Without a proper studio, she would have to complete the crafting outdoors, and beginning in the present weather would do more harm than good.

In the final step, the piece would be plunged into the river, cooled by the torrent that rushed from the falls.

She thought she smelled saltwater. But that wasn't possible. The ocean was thousands of miles away.

Hira dropped to her back. The room was small enough that her shoulders landed on the futon. Choosing a hut so close to the towering cliffside waterfall had been a mistake. Things always seemed to be damp and slippery. At random, dead matter and debris swept down from above. Children enchanted by the noise and sights constantly cut themselves on sharp rocks. And in a downpour like tonight's, though she could not see it, the falls seemed to roar, closer than it was, coming closer on the waves of the hurricane-

Hadn't she come north to avoid the water?

Her eyes lingered on the dying flame atop the candle that stood, more dutiful than herself, upright on the table. It flickered, nervously. Foolish thing; the wind was not even touching it.

Sleep was not coming. The frothing monster roared outside, unconcerned with her and her little flame. This was just a stopover.

When sleep had become difficult in the last days of Wishfort, Miss Ottoline, who (contrary to Hel's prediction) seemed to have quickly adjusted to the idea of a shutdown, imparted some advice. Embrace what couldn't be avoided. There would be peace when giving over to an unavoidable nightmare.

A droplet of wax rolled down the candle's side. Protected from the elements, yes, but it wouldn't last forever. Annoyed, she considered just snuffing the thing out. Inevitable dark; inevitable destruction and return to the sea, like the dead leaves and creatures washed down the falls.

Not yet.

Wavering, the candle burned into the night.