Secrets of Urthis: Forged in Iron and Fury: The Metalist's Journey, #1

By KD Lumsden

A world in peril. A power revealed. Irwin's secret will either bring salvation or destruction.

 

Samuel IRWIN Miner grew up on a lonely mountain top, his small and ordinary life ruled by his father and grandfather. Over the years they mistreat the boy who has special talents and certain feminine ways. Now the nineteen-year-old has seen his father do the unspeakable, and now he has been left bloodied and alone to die deep in the forest by that same man. Irwin pulls himself out of the mud and escapes, but from that day on he will never be the same.

 

Irwin sets off to explore the planet of Urthis where he slowly realizes his Ferro-kinetic powers help him do more than mint coins, they heal him from death knells and keep those around him grounded. He must learn to survive the wrath of frightening specters that live in the shadows and darkness, avoid creatures who harness the elements, and fight beings who can shapeshift into anything. Only after meeting a beautiful Telepath and a ruggedly handsome shapeshifter does Irwin begin to uncover the secrets of Urthis.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: KD Lumsden
• Release date: Apr 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9781959679011

Book preview

Secrets of Urthis

The Metalist's Journey, Book 1

KD Lumsden

A KD Lumsden Production

SECRET'S OF URTHIS, The Metalist's Journey, 2nd Edition, 2023 Copyright © KD Lumsden.

Edited by Camille Cole.

Cover and Internal Design by © 2023 KD Lumsden.

This book was originally published by Golden Storyline Books, London UK, 2022.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All Characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is published in the United States and Internationally by KD Lumsden.

ISBNs

Paperback: 978-1-959679-00-4 EPUB: 978-1-959679-01-1

www.KDLumsden.com

Dedicated to my loving husband, and son.

Thank you for always believing in me.

A special thanks to my editor & writing coach, Camille Cole.

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Contents

1.Iron Irwin

2.Golden Bounty

3.Goshee

4.Thieves

5.Captured by Emotions

6.Nightmares of Saryh

7.Meeting new people

8.Koloto the Giant

9.Never trust a Bard

10.Shifty Travelers

11.Twisted Words

12.Chinochi

13.Who to Trust

14.A Silver Mine

15.Yace the Telepath

16.Kipp the Clan-Duin

17.Making Friends

18.Sharing Secrets

19.Telling Stories

20.The Gypsy

21.Erthins

22.Jo Hara

23.Coralin

24.Telepathic Talk

25.Friends

26.Showing Off

27.Social Cues

28.The PCP

29.Kipp to the Rescue

30.Onj Raha

31.A meeting with Death

32.Lord Master Dephen Ishik

33.Following Telepathic Trails

34.Lies, Everywhere Lies

35.Nonbry

36.Ishik Empire

The Unusual Creatures Mentioned

Also BY

About KD Lumsden

1

Iron Irwin

Metal.

Had Irwin any remaining within his flesh, like silver or iron, he would have recovered by now, but his father had stolen it all. His injuries would heal, and he would survive, but it would take time—time he might not have.

It was the rain on his ashen face that woke him. His wet cold clothing clinging to his skin. Then it came to him—the whole horrible night.

The light was gray deep in the woods where he lay by the road in the mud and his blood. Crows called back and forth in the fir tree canopy above. Bloodied and bruised, tears rolled down the side of his face and into his ear. He waited for Death to take him.

A crack of thunder shook more chilly rain from the trees. Irwin tried to move, winced in pain. His cracked ribs throbbed; his right arm was swollen, felt fractured; the right side of his face ached, likely a broken cheekbone; his right eye was swollen shut. Muscles in his left shoulder throbbed. He had defended himself from kicks to his head. Shifting his body again, struggling to push himself up, his arm gave way.

More thunder crashed, drowning his cries of agony and pain. Now the rain pummeled him, washing clean the dried blood. His clothing was torn and soaked with crusts of blood and forest debris, gray hair slick with mud. All the same, the copious wounds left by his father’s boot were fading, fading because Irwin was what was known on Urthis as a Metalist—he held powers of instantaneous regeneration, and Ferro kinesiology (the ability to manipulate any type of metal).

His healing abilities had always been bewildering. The swollen eye began to open a crack. He needed metal within him to heal quickly, completely; the cracked ribs, his fractured arm, torn muscles, and the inflamed eye would take longer to heal without any metal. When he held metal in his body, the healing process was almost instantaneous. His father, also a Metalist, had stolen all of Irwin’s metal before leaving him for dead.

I knew this would happen. I have never been the person Father wanted me to be, never will.

A splash of rainwater landed in his eye.

Where are my donkeys? I need to get up. I cannot remain here.

Struggling to get to his feet, first on one knee, and then the next, Irwin pushed himself all the way up. He peered up and down the roadway, half expecting to see his father, Albert. The muddy road looked heavily traveled—hoof prints in both directions, but now, nothing more than a dirty stream of slick muddy puddles. Jenn Jenn! Nee Nee! He cried, but there was no sign of his female donkeys. The hoof-printed mud bore little clue as to which direction they had gone.

He slumped.

I hope he did not take them. I hope he did not kill them. Where are my Jennies?

He called out for them again.

All those years of torment and hatred. Why has Father hated me all my life? What did I do to him? Nothing except for being born. He should have killed me when I was born if he hated me so.

He grunted.

He could not do it, not then and not now, so he left me for Death to find. What an asshole. I am glad he left me.

The years of abuse, mental and physical, had been more than Irwin could bear, but he had not understood it completely until right now. Right now, as he teetered in the middle of a lonely cold and muddy road in the middle of a forest. As a child, he believed he had earned every beating.

I never lived up to his or Grandpa Jebadia’s expectations.

He might have flourished into the person he was meant to be if his Great Grandfather Edwin had not died when Irwin was only a child. The kindly old man had been the only person who ever loved him and accepted him for who he was. And when he sat with Saryh last night on her bed, she reminded him with her soft voice of those heartwarming times—of the kindness and care he deserved.

Each beating from his father Albert and grandfather Jebadia had kindled his resolve to hide his true self, but just the same, to not quit trying to taste everything that brought him joy.

They hated me being happy. They hated laughter.

He remembered how he had wrapped his soul in a shell, created a wall. As a child, he forced himself to persevere through the mire of his life. At times, he had contemplated his own death. Now he was older, wiser. And it came to him there in the mucky woodland that he wanted to live, wanted to recover what he had forgotten about himself—his love for the mountain’s wildflowers, the mountain goats, and the soft white clouds drifting above.

Last night came into focus—the kindly Saryh; the woman to whom he had been taken to for his first time—the woman who understood why he couldn’t and held no judgement.

I am glad to have met someone as caring and accepting as Great Grandfather Edwin was before he died. She opened my mind and my heart to possibilities I have forgotten.

Standing still and straight like a stone carving while his body and his mind began to heal, Irwin gazed up the sloping roadway. He now knew how much he wanted to live in peace and to be who he was without fear.

He shivered. His heart ached as he wrapped his arms around himself and felt the warmth of his own hug. I am better than Father. I will never be like him, ever.

He winced and groaned and took one wobbly step up the muddy road. His bare feet were numb from the cold mud. Inch by inch, his body heat waned. He trembled, drew one leg forward and then the other. His shaking brought on sharp pains in his side. Gasping for air, he tried to think of warm thoughts—of fires and sizzling summer days—he needed to get warm.

Movement is the only way. I must keep going, just keep going, things will get better. Huh, how many times have I said that to myself?

On and on up the slippery forest road, one agonizing step after the other—Irwin made his way toward the trailhead that led to his home in the cave—the only home he had ever known.

The rain let up.

His feet found a good rhythm and his body began to warm. There, at the intersection of the animal trail that led to the cave, a trickling stream meandered down the well-worn path. It would take almost two days to climb up the slope that had taken only one day to descend. The mountainside started out gentle, but it would increase in steepness and effort. It was always a hard climb.

On a good day, he often dreaded the walk back home.

Where else could he go? Not back to the small city of Kobiton where his father had killed the whore and several PCP soldiers. There was a trading post village two days further north where Albert once traded for the young Jenny donkeys that became Irwin’s pack animals. That was eight years ago. As far as he remembered that village was full of tents where local miners spent the night. It was where they went for supplies, refreshments, and women. He and his father had then only stayed long enough to do the business at hand.

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No longer cold, his clothes were still damp, his sandy-silver hair dry, and the color had come back to his pale skin.

I do not want to see my father again. He will never be sorry for what he did last night.

All this because I would not follow his one request to be with that woman—because I will never be comfortable doing what he wanted, but especially with a woman. He does not care what I want … never has. He wants a son who will obey.

All I want is to get my clothing and hunting supplies. Irwin called in vain to the crows flying overhead. They screamed back into the wind as if to agree with his decision to leave home, to escape.

What if Father is there?

If he is in the cave, then I will take my belongings and go.

What if he does not allow me to?

I will leave anyway. He cannot control me any longer. I can make new hunting gear, buy new clothing. I am resourceful. He cannot keep me prisoner in that cave. I will leave. I will find my place. I will find my way.

I need to retrieve the rest of my metal, he muttered again into the wind.

Up the worn animal trail, he heard the trees rustle. Fearing the worst, he hid behind a giant fir, watching the trailhead.

Please do not be father. Please do not be father.

The shivering began again. He could not stop it.

Jenn Jenn stepped out of the forest—foliage protruding from the pack bags and bindings on the donkey’s back. The pannier packs rocked toward her shoulder as she ambled toward him. It looked like she had tried to scratch them off. He laughed, shaking off his fears. You silly!

She brayed in what must have been great relief. He stepped away from the tree and stuck his hand out for Jenn Jenn to nuzzle. He laughed harder when he saw Nee Nee slide down a muddy section of hill on her butt, right into Jenn Jenn—her packs still upright and intact.

I am glad to see you too! He smiled and gave them scratches on their long ears. I missed my Jennies.

After the loving, he stripped down and pulled a blanket from one of the packs and wrapped it around himself. His only change of clothes was wet and dirty. He found a tunic in another pack that was old, filled with holes and soot riddled.

No bother if it is dry.

He rummaged further through his packs, found dried goat meat in a small satchel, and ate a good portion. He guzzled one of his three flasks of water. Refreshed and somewhat dry, he considered the trail again.

A light mist filled the air, cooling what felt like a fever.

He put his arm around Nee Nee’s neck. I do not think father came this way.

Not wanting to be cold and wet again, Irwin found the wolf hide he had packed away. Wrapping it around himself, he fastened the packs and took up the donkeys’ lead lines. Irwin and his Jennies inched up the slippery slope.

He was remembering the first time he traipsed down this trail with his father. They were heading to Kobiton after a late spring snowstorm. This was shortly after Grandfather Jebadia’s death, and Albert had insisted Irwin come along. Since then, each visit to the hillside city of Kobiton was the highlight of every full moon. He recounted those memories as he trudged along, trying to keep his spirits up, trying to remember the times when he had learned something new about the world beyond the mines.

He thought about the woman, Saryh. They had talked a lot during their time in her room. He learned about her life and the quaint city of Kobiton.

Her daughter will grow up alone—an orphan now. She will have the life she has. There is nothing I can do.

I wonder what people do when they are without a family?

Irwin’s Jennies are his family.

They do for themselves, I suppose, just like I am.

He did not need his father’s help anymore. He could survive on his own. He could hunt for food. He could mine for ore. He could make a living off coal—if he chose. He could find love the way he chose, and maybe someday a loving family.

What else is out there for me? Mining is in my blood!

These thoughts disturbed him, but kept him going. By nightfall, he was still a half day away from the usual stopping point, and it was raining again. The sky had grown dark long before all the day’s light was suckled away. Deep in the forest, he traipsed up an even steeper slope. By now, he should have found a flat spot for the night’s camp and had a fire blazing. No matter, he was tired and needed to stop. There were only a few places between the trees where the ground was flat enough for a camp.

He inspected his packs and as he did he remembered packing Albert’s Jacks while shopping at the markets the day before. His father had insisted that he wanted their newly purchased supplies and rations organized, that the important items were to go in his packs. Items carried by Irwin’s Jennies now amounted to his personal camping supplies, wooden bowls, several flasks of water, a small satchel of dried goat’s meat, and a bag of rolled oats for the Jennies.

That shitty asshole! All of this was planned.

But even with the metal cooking utensils gone, he could keep himself and his animals fed. He did not have enough food to make it to the cave—unless he went hungry tomorrow. He could hunt, but most of his hunting supplies were in the cave.

He remembered Saryh’s words: You might think you are a disappointment to your father, but in my eyes you are not. He remembered how she had looked at him. He remembered her smile, her bouncy brown hair, and how she had flirted with him.

I must stop thinking about her.

She was the one person who knew he was not attracted to women, yet she accepted and loved him anyway. His father’s brutality to her and to him was fresh in his mind; he could not control his weeping.

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It was only one night ago that Albert had marched back down the hillside toward him. You are no son of mine! Go, you privileged asshole! May you have bad luck, you damn sniveling, pitiful, ungrateful child.

He had heard these words before, but not with such venom.

You are a disgrace to our family name. I paid that whore to teach you something, and you conned her into thinking she did not have to teach you anything! All you did was chit chat with a mouse of a whore! Albert had been in his face, and with the force of his rage, knocked him about, flinging him onto the road like a dying chicken.

Albert kept on and on like the madman he was. You are not a worthy Miner. You will never amount to anything more than a disgrace. You are no son of mine. He spat on Irwin, turned, and left.

The man raged on as he stomped back up the road. Before passing out, Irwin had struggled to find his center—knowing the metal in his bags would help. He could use his Metalist powers to absorb all the nearby metal. A Metalist’s body can hold up to eight pounds total of multiple kinds of metals, and his cast-iron pot was three pounds. He pulled all he could from his pack and the metal turned to liquid—poured through the canvas fabric and into him without a tear. He was adept at extracting metal from the tightest of spaces.

But Albert had stopped, turned, and summoned the metal Irwin had begun to absorb.

It felt as if the metal was tearing through every muscle, organ, and bone in Irwin’s body.

A Metalist’s body was made to absorb and expel metal. Samuel Irwin Miner could manipulate the molecules of whatever metal he was absorbing, making it pliable. His skin could filter out impurities. He could separate ores used to make steel—iron and nickel. He could distribute metal throughout his body unless it was needed in one specific area. Pulling metal into his body was easy, but it burned and throbbed when it was unwillingly extracted.

He had screamed in pain. Weakened by the fight; he pleaded for mercy.

I cast you aside! Albert roared like an angry bear.

He had rolled away from his father’s foot that was again looming above him. Albert’s eyes were glowing gold. Why Father? Why do this? Why? I have done everything you ever asked. I have always complied. I have—

You were daydreaming with that whore I paid for. Albert kicked at his only child.

Irwin knew he would not win this fight. He grabbed his head and tucked it toward his chest while his father beat him one more time.

Goat Herder … stupid, ignorant fool! Albert kept on kicking Irwin in the gut, backside, shoulders, face, arms, and pushed him into the muddy roadside. Stupid … pathetic … pitiful …. I cast you away … you are no longer my son.

2

Golden Bounty

Irwin chewed his meager supper.

I hope I never lay eyes on father again. I know things will not go well if he is in the cave when I arrive. He will probably try to kill me again.

He ate all but two strips of meat, saving them for the morning. He refilled his flasks with ice-cold mountain water from a nearby creek. He pulled out his other wolf hide and thick wool bedroll.

Then he prepared his resting spot at the foot of a giant fir tree. The Jennies bellowed. They had caught the smell before Irwin saw a wolf staring at them from the other side of the small creek. The large canine stood stone still, watching. Irwin stared back at the amber-eyed, dark-gray wolf. The animal growled, but then turned and jogged off. The Jennies trained their ears on the wolf’s descent. He knew they would alarm him if that wolf, or any others, approached again during the night.

Exhaustion seeped into the core of his being. He found slumber while the creek babbled, and Jennies stomped. Nothing disturbed Irwin that night but dreams.

He awoke in the dark and fought hard to go back to sleep. But he could not. Every time deep sleep set in, so did the nightmares.

He got up from where he lay next to the tree as the black sky gave way to the shifting gray of far-off morning light. As he readied the Jennies for the rest of the trek, his feet already ached. He tried to ignore the discomforts.

I want to be home.

He was ready for whatever outcome he would encounter in that cave.

He drank a good portion of water and started off again. He saved the last two strips of dried meat until he had to eat them—not wanting to hunt until he could leave his Jennies in the cave. There were plenty of mountain lions and wolves in this harsh wilderness terrain. Over the years, they had taken many donkeys—such a cruel way to die.

Late in the day, they broke past the timberline and took a brief break. Beyond the trees, food was a scarce find, but water would be prolific. Glacier-fed pools were full of clear icy water. He was now going at a faster-than-normal pace up the rocky mountainside. The Jennies balked at times, but Irwin pulled them along. He did not stop when darkness came. They were more than halfway between the timberline and the cave’s entrance. The landscape was rocky, but Irwin knew this section of the trail. Home was close.

By midnight, they made it to the barren cave. They were soaked and starving. Irwin fed his Jennies and took a nap on his own bed of dead grass, fir-tree branches, and donkey hides. He woke at dawn and left his cave to hunt for food.

He sought out squirrels—wanting to bring back enough meat to dry, to have a cache. When the afternoon light began to form long shadows, Irwin took his bundle of dead squirrels and went back to the cave. His hunting excursion had taken him a long way along the forest’s edge. He watched golden eagles soar overhead and brilliantly white goats grazed in precarious sunlit cliffs—made a mental note of where the mountain goats were located. The idea of hunting them was tempting, but his stomach told him to go home and eat. Without the Jennies in tow, he effortlessly scurried up steep mountain walls much like those mountain goats. This cold and blustery place was his homeland as much as it was theirs.

Finally, back in his cave, he made a warming fire and cooked his meal. That night, he ate well and readied a stash of dried meat. He made an inventory of what he had by way of rations and camping items. There were a few things left behind in the cave, but Albert had stolen all his personal belongings.

He was planning to leave me. I should have seen it coming.

During his hunt, Irwin made a final decision that he would not stay. There were too many terrible memories lurking in those caverns. He would pack only items of value and travel back downslope. He could not go back to Kobiton after what had happened, after the slaughter of Saryh and the killing of the guards, even if he wanted to. He would go to the trading post.

I hope I do not meet father there. I fear that man’s wrath.

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The next morning, he visited the family trove room and found it barren of silver; he decided to explore the caverns one last time. Albert had scraped the walls bare—a man who never shared his shiny loot. He brought Nee Nee, along with her packs, hoping to find a smidgen of metal. Along the way, he retrieved pieces of coal for fire-making later. Inside the caverns, he thought he heard a song—a quiet hum at first, and then he recognized the golden melody and followed the resonance. He found a narrow passageway; he had never been down this forbidden side-cavern. This was Albert’s retreat.

Irwin also had his own personal spot outside the cave and up slope where he would go for peace of mind and meditation. His space was a small niche in the mountainside with a grand view—not an actual cave, but a place to get away. Up in his hiding spot, he kept a stash of gold, iron, copper, and silvery ore. He already packed up his small fortune—amounting to not much more than a few ounces—not enough even to buy the supplies he needed.

The golden melody humming throughout his body grew louder as he approached this new place. He squeezed through a small opening. Albert’s secret place was coated in gold.

Why did he leave such a deposit behind? Probably so confident about leaving me that he forgot. Damn him. He is arrogant. But would he forget? Maybe ….

Irwin decided to take his father’s gold!

What if he comes back?

I do not care. I will not be here.

He put his hands on the walls of the small enclosure. The gold was smooth, and it sang to him. It wanted to meld with him. He held back the desire to absorb it all. A study of the area had to be taken. Using his Metalist skills, he carefully withdrew the metal from the ceiling and the walls—about forty pounds of gold. He felt something else too. He peered up and realized that beyond the smooth golden-arched surface, the stones and rocks were ready to move. He paused in hopes of not causing the cave-in that surely was about to happen.

Of course!

Albert has always been at least one step ahead—plotting twisted setups. This is one more trick to eliminate me from existence.

He would never have left this much gold behind, not unintentionally. Irwin spoke aloud to the ghosts in the cave and squeezed through the narrow passageway to get out.

I should have known! This was all pre-planned, every moment. How long has he been plotting this? How long has he wanted me dead?

Once on the other side of the short passage, Irwin put his hand forward to summon the gold, his father’s gold—careful about pulling the precious metal from the collapsible chamber. The passageway rumbled around him. Above and below the cavern groaned. Nee Nee pressed against his side. Irwin pulled the golden bounty into one hand, pushed it through his body, and expelled it all out the other hand creating several five-pound rocks, making sure to distribute the heavy metal evenly into the packs on his donkey.

The cavern boomed louder. Nee Nee brayed and swayed from side to side. Irwin had retrieved almost all the gold. Tiny pieces of rock fell from the ceiling. The lesser chamber where he found the gold had already collapsed. And that cave-in loosened the section where Irwin and Nee Nee now stood.

Grabbing Nee Nee’s lead line, he ran toward the entrance.

He heard the echoes of more cave-ins behind him. Dust clouds pushed them through the cavernous corridors. Rocks and pebbles rattled loose. Walls, ceilings, and even the ground rumbled. They ran faster. All the caves made by Albert and Jebadia were now imploding. The rumbling of death chased them as they fled.

This was a calculated tactic implemented over many years of planning and mine building. He could see the orneriness of Albert and Jebadia concocting their devious plan to bring down the mountain on some unknowing fool—a worst-case-scenario plan.

Larger rocks crashed down, and Nee Nee was pulling him away from the destruction. They rounded the last cavern corner—raced down the main passage toward the only exit.

Jenn Jenn bellowed at the cave’s entrance. They raced toward her. Get out of the way, Jenn Jenn!

Dust and chunks of rock enveloped Irwin and Nee Nee before they reached the end of the tunnel. There was nothing they could do but run faster—the thunder of destruction rumbled around them. They were pummeled by the rocks, but neither stopped.

Irwin ran into the wailing Jenn Jenn and fell. He scrambled to his feet. Dust and debris swirled, nearly enveloping them all. He could not see through the dust cloud, but instinctively knew which way to go. Behind him, the key passage collapsed, sending more rocks, coal, and dust flying in their wake. He did not stop to watch the obliteration. He and the Jennies bolted down the rocky mountainside in the midst of the dust cloud. They would not be safe until they were far away from the rolling chaos.

Just in time, they reached the timberline.

His heart still raced, and the Jennies were still bawling as he located their camping spot for the night. He would be safe from Albert and any remaining tumbling rocks here.

All he could do for a long time was sit on the edge of a downed tree and stare off, occasionally looking up the mountain. Even the Jennies stood frozen in place.

It was nearly dark when he decided to make camp. He removed the packs from his donkeys and gave them water. He choked down a meal of dried squirrel. He made a fire with a small piece of coal. Curling up inside his hides and blankets, Irwin was warm for the rest of the night. He felt almost safe snuggled inside the soft, furry pelts.

Sometime during the night, he awoke to a soft rain. He had been dreaming about what had happened in Kobiton, about the soft caring woman who seemed to understand him, who died so horribly at his father’s hands—her throat slit in one gory movement of his knife.

After a night of torment, he was glad when morning’s light woke him one final time. It was early. He ate more dried squirrel once the Jennies were packed. They stomped their feet, ready to go. He glanced up the mountain toward his destroyed homestead. There were many memories he was happy to leave behind, but he would never forget his Great Grandfather, Edwin. He would carry him in his heart wherever he might go.

He and Edwin had toured the mountaintop meadows, hiked along precarious ledges in search of mountain goats, sat in the sun while his great grandfather rambled off all the precious ores he knew; shared lessons about life and how to live in the harsh conditions of the mountain. He had much insight and patience for Irwin.

I will miss you, Papa Edwin. He muttered; a tear slipped down his cheek.

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Since the age of six, after Edwin died, Irwin had labored in the mines beneath the fists of his father and grandfather. It was challenging work for a young boy, but he always obeyed orders, kept focused on the miserable work.

He would always remember that brief time of happiness before Edwin dropped dead one afternoon when they were out exploring the mountainside. His great grandfather had brought Irwin into a new mineshaft to show him the construction his grandfather and father had crafted using giant timbers. Edwin told him to stay put, that he had forgotten something at the mine’s entrance. But for reasons Irwin could not now remember, instead of obeying, he was drawn further into the mine—an internal pull he could not overcome. When Edwin found Irwin, he was plastered against the wall of the mineshaft, crying. His hands enveloped up to his wrists in liquid silver. He was magnetized and could not let go. Edwin was breathing hard when he pulled Irwin from the wall. He asked no questions of him nor scolded him.

Later that day, Edwin keeled over in the mountain grass and never recovered. From that day on, Irwin’s childhood was over. He remembered the hot sun on his back as he leaned over Edwin lying on the ground, tears burning his eyes and his throat; he remembered Albert finding them there and yanking him away from the body.

After Edwin was gone, Irwin led Grandfather Jebadia and Albert to the lode of silver he had found the day Edwin died. The two beat him until his nose bled and warned him to never ever reveal to anyone what happened in that mine—what he had found and what that find did to him.

Young Irwin was then forced to work in the mines—where instead of playing and discovery with Edwin, his life was defined by cave-ins, stubborn donkeys, and his grandfather’s and father’s heavy hands.

3

Goshee

Sometime before midday he found the road that led to the trading post, and Irwin and his Jennies began another trek up an incline.

For two nights he slept under a canopy of thick fir trees. Each night, he built himself a fir branch bed that kept him off the wet ground. After dusk the first night, the rain was unrelenting. His cloak was not long enough to keep himself, or the makeshift bed, from getting wet. His nightmares and his cold, wet feet were almost more than he could bear. But he continued