Contrary to what Ayte had said, when he arrived, Arwist, the blacksmith, was already on his feet and preparing everything for the smelting. In baskets by his hut stood the ore they had brought the day before, and under a canopy a large amount of charcoal prepared in advance.

- Good to see you! - exclaimed the smith when he caught sight of Marus. - You can help me with everything. There is a lot of work ahead of us.

- Where should I start? - He asked.

Arwist pointed to a wooden hammer and a wide stump standing by the hut.

- First you need to break these larger lumps of ore into smaller pieces and rinse the whole thing with water to get rid of the clay and sand. You take care of that, while I prepare the pile for roasting. - said the smith. - This is a very important process, because it will reduce the impurities in the iron and get rid of the water.

Marus nodded as a sign that he understood and grabbed the handle of the hammer. He soon got to work.

Time passed quickly, and before they knew it, it was already noon. Marus would break the ore into smaller fragments with a hammer and pour the resulting raw material into a sloping wooden trough with depressions of varying depths. Then he would take buckets and go to a nearby lake to fetch water, which he would then pour over the resulting rock. The flowing water took away the useless particles of sand and clay, and pure ore was deposited in the depressions. The work went on laboriously. In the meantime, Arwist prepared a wooden pile on which he placed special grates and then assisted Marus in his work. When they finally finished, it was already approaching evening. They obtained a lot of ore, which they placed on a long wooden stake.

The blacksmith seemed very pleased with his work. He disappeared into his hut and returned after a while, carrying a clay vessel and two cups.

- You did a good job today. You deserve a little reward. - he said with a smile, then poured some golden drink into a mug and gave it to him. - Drink. This is mead I made myself.

Marus tasted it eagerly. His father had forbidden him to drink alcohol, so he did not want to miss this opportunity. The more so because one did not drink mead every day, but only on holidays. Arwist laughed hornily and patted him on the back with his massive hand.

- I could use a helper like you, but I know you have to support your old man on the farm. He's not as young as he used to be. - he said. - I wish I had a son. The god Devias was not kind enough to me in that respect. Instead, I had two daughters before my wife died. Fortunately, I have already married them both well.

The blacksmith poured himself a cup of mead and drank it in one gulp, then stood up and took a firebrand from the campfire and set it under the woodpile. The dry branches quickly caught fire, and the flames shot up into the darkening sky.

- Go home, we're done for the day. - He declared. - Come tomorrow in the morning, and we'll take care of the smelting.

***

The next day at dawn, Marus appeared outside the blacksmith's hut and knocked on the door. It was some time before the sleepy Arwist came outside.

- Bring me water from the lake. - he ordered in a somewhat hoarse voice and when Marus obediently brought the bucket, he washed his face and sighed heavily. - Damn, this headache is killing me.

- What should I do blacksmith? - He asked as Arwist sat down heavily on the stump.

- You must smash the ore we have roasted now. - He pointed to the baskets of burned rock. - I, in the meantime, will prepare the smoking furnaces for work. I have clay bricks reinforced with finely cut straw. I think they will be fine.

Without saying anything else, Marus set to work. Breaking hard rock with a heavy wooden hammer was not a smooth operation and required strength and a certain amount of endurance. Fortunately, Marus did not lack that. Meanwhile, Arwist was busy under the makeshift roofing, digging deep holes with his wooden shovel. He then placed the bricks tightly around them, filling them with clay. In this way, he assembled several smokestacks that were no more than two-thirds the height of a grown man.

By about noon they had managed to finish. Seeing that everything was prepared, Arwist summoned a tired Marus with a gesture and showed him the stove.

- Here, at the bottom, there are two openings through which air enters. - He pointed to the base of the smokestack. - So what? Shall we fire it up? I'll show you how it should be done.

Marus nodded. He had been waiting for this moment for two days.

- I'd like to see how iron is smelted. - he said. This had been Marus' true dream since he was a child, ever since he first touched the iron sword that belonged to his father.

- Here we go!

Arwist lit the fire and then threw the firebrands inside the smokestack. Then he added more wood.

- The biggest secret to this process is the right charcoal. I use the one made from coniferous trees. The best one is made of pine. - this being said, he covered the burning wood with the prepared charcoal.

- And then what? - Marus asked curiously.

- When the temperature rises, we will add ore mixed with charcoal, and then we will only add charcoal. - replied the smith. - After a while the iron will settle below the air holes, and then you can dismantle the furnace and extract it with the tongs. Now that you know everything, let's get to work. We need to fire up a few more of these furnaces. We have enough ore.

***

Once the interiors of the prepared smokestacks were burning and the ore charge was in them, they could basically rest. Every now and then Arwist would have charcoal added to one of the furnaces as it partially burned out. They had plenty of time to talk.

- As you know, I lost my wife. - the blacksmith began. - She fell ill and died suddenly, practically within a few days. This was apparently decided by the goddess of fate Laima. It was hard for me to come to terms with that loss, and it is still hard. That's probably why I drink more than I should, but what's left for me? I'm rich, I could take a young wife, but I'm too old for that.

- I sympathize. - Marus replied, not knowing what to say. - Surely her soul had already left the sacred grove and was reborn in a new body.

- Probably. - He nodded. - Besides, it happens to everyone. No one knows what awaits us and when our souls will come before the god Pikulas, the god of death. I make many sacrifices in the sacred grove to make the gods be kind to us, for our daily life here on earth is hard. - He sighed, then reached for the pot and poured some liquid into the mug. He met Marus' gaze, but smiled. - Don't worry, this time it's just birch water.

Arwist looked ahead again in thought.

- There are still many things in this world we do not understand. There is much we have to learn. - He said, holding out his cup. - Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go to the side.

He got up heavily and slowly walked away toward the nearby bushes. Marus was left alone. He stared at the smoke rising from the ovens, which took on fabulous shapes before the wind blew it into nothingness.