This is a story of our Mountain Genius as a young man, with no more care in the world than all the mysteries in it. He’s about to encounter one of the greatest that even he might not be able to fathom. Enjoy!
“Don’t just stand there, boy!” Slevin yelled. “Move—Irvon!”
The mesmerized youth snapped his head up from the device in his hand. He blinked twice, then grabbed a pail.
Fascinating, Irvon thought, stowing the Navdisk and catching up with his father on the dash to the well.
“What in all sunken splendors were you thinking?” Slevin barked.
“I’ve never seen anything with that pole,” Irvon said. “Didn’t know if it’s because I missed it or nothing was happening. I thought if some wood burned, then I’d get an idea.”
“Save us,” his father muttered under his breath. “Why did you put so much, and the logs? Did you want to burn the settlement down?”
“Different sizes to show the strength of the lightning. I didn’t think it would catch much, maybe just some charring, especially with the rain coming.”
“Well, we can’t wait for the rain,” Slevin said. “We’ve got to keep it from the house and woods.”
By now, other Mountain Folks were running out of their houses into the early twilight effected by the storm.
“What’s he done now?” Neil Bowman shouted, running alongside.
“Ugghr,” Slevin grunted, shaking his head. “Never mind—let’s just put it out first. It’s been dry, and the grass is spreading it pretty good.”
Irvon twisted to look at the flickering orange glow. Already, it was widening on the ground around it. He’d placed the metal pole exactly halfway between his house and the tree line, thinking that was more than enough caution.
“Form the line!” his father said.
Irvon turned back to see a row of Folks in place from the well to the blaze. His glance slid past the usual faces—exasperated, irate, or mocking. Most of the latter belonged to those of his age, which he was used to ignoring. He handed the pail to his father at the head and squeezed between a redheaded girl and Killian Fletcher.
For a harried space, they passed the buckets of water in rapid succession without talking. Gradually, the flames diminished, and the pace of the water chained relaxed. Then the not-so-quiet whispering began.
“He’s a menace…”
“… should control him better…”
“One of these day’s he’ll kill us all.” Neil’s son, Coby, didn’t bother keeping his voice down, only a few heads away from Irvon.
Killian remained quiet. He gave Irvon a curt nod when he caught his eye. A serious ten-year old, Killian often lingered to watch Irvon work. Sometimes Irvon explained what he was doing. It helped to say things out loud, and the boy listened well.
“Be nice if we could pump the water up.”
Irvon glanced back at Killian, but the matter-of-fact words didn’t come from him. He pivoted to the other side. The girl had spoken.
“Siphon it up to a spigot and send it in any direction,” she continued. “You should invent that next before messing around with anything else that might burn.”
Irvon squinted as he handed her the sloshing pail. He detected no sneer, taunt, or any hint of ridicule. She did look tired and possibly annoyed from that.
“I suppose we could make troughs to funnel the water once we get the bucket up.” Irvon began to follow trails of thought.
She shook her head, bobbing the copper locks. “One hose, tight against the spigot and made of flexible material. Easier to move, so you could point the water wherever. Use that gum from the dandelion milk, same as you did for the gloves in the forge.”
“You’ve been to the forge?” Irvon asked.
Killian nudged him with the next pail.
“Sure. Isn’t it communal?” she said.
“Yes, but I didn’t think you would go there.”
“Why?” she said, taking on more color in the flickering firelight.
Irvon twitched and spilled some water. He considered carefully before answering. “Because you’re a girl.”
Killian sputtered a cough. Lightning flashed, striking the rod again and flaring the fire.
Irvon furrowed his brows. “Where is that rain? I should’ve pull that thing up, but Father told me not to touch it. You know, the Navdisk spun then stopped—”
“What did you say?” The girl’s voice cut off Irvon’s speculations.
He looked at her and stepped back into Killian. “Huh?”
“Move the line!” Slevin shouted.
Irvon fumbled the bucket from the boy. She snatched it and whipped it behind her without taking her eyes off him. Flames reflected in her bright irises, though she was turned away from the burning wood.
“About me being a girl?” she said. “Are you saying girls are too stupid to use the forge?”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said, forgetting everything else in his exasperation. “Anybody can use it. It’s easy. But I see that most girls don’t, especially the pretty ones. I hear they don’t want smudges to get on their faces and clothes.” He shrugged and passed her another pail. “It’s just dirt. It’ll wash off. But they don’t mind so much when a young man’s working in there.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, tilted her head, and handed over another can of water behind her. Finally she said, “Are you saying I’m pretty?”
Irvon scrunched his eyes and stared. “You’re the prettiest. Don’t you know that? That’s why the guys gawk and the girls glare. Although, I don’t see the point of that either. Why be jealous? You can only take one fella, assuming any ever work up the courage to talk to you. And it’s not like it’s your fault that you’re better looking than them.” He jiggled his head. “Anyway, it doesn’t make sense, so I stick to the simple stuff… Tell me about pumping the water up. You have an idea, don’t you?” He waited as she studied him. See? Girls are so weird, he thought. She was so mad just a moment ago and now, nothing but smiles.
She focused and looked normal again. “Have you ever noticed a screw?” she said. “It’s so much easier to twist into the wood than banging a nail in. I remembered you ramming that pole in the ground way back when”—She threw her head in the direction of the mini-bonfire in his yard—“and wondered if threads on the pole wouldn’t have made it easier. You know, like a large screw? So, I made one in the forge.” A sudden grin flashed, then she continued, “I tried it on the ground. It was easier, but I had to get on a chair to be tall enough to turn. Didn’t seem viable… then I noticed the dirt, scooping up like you’re digging a hole. I’ve been wondering if that could be useful… and it clicked when we were passing the water. The screw brings up dirt, but water in the ground could be like dirt. Do you see?”
Irvon did—and returned her beam. She really was pretty.
“That’s very good, Phylomena.”
Her face shut down. “Only my mother calls me that. It’s just Phyla.”
“Okay, Phyla, let’s go do it. Won’t take long to carve the threads with the lathe… The screw will have to be enclosed, to hold the water until it gets to the spigot. We’ll worry about that later and the valve…” Irvon stepped out of line, starting toward the low structure of the forge.
“There’s still the fire—”
A bolt lit up the sky and enlivened the sparks again with an echoing boom. Seconds later, water spilled from the sky. Irvon heard sighs and mutters of relief as the flames hissed to smoke.
“Well?” he said to Phyla. A sudden twinge of awareness beset him. “Are you too tired right now?”
For a moment she stood, eyes clouded in the gloom. Then they gleamed with their own green light. “No, let’s go.”
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