Tuesday Tidbit: Stone and Water

Everything is ready inside the mill-to-be, and the stones move once more. As does something that’s not supposed to…

Harald stayed well clear as the men lowered the bedding stone onto the drive shaft. Wulfgar and the blacksmith had almost come to blows over the cross-shaped iron “key” that held the bedding stone onto the castana shaft. Harald had separated the two but it had not been easy. Now he stood beside the Scavenger’s voice as the men lowered the stone a finger-width at a time. Morning light streamed in through the open doors.

Wulfgar squatted lower and lower as the stone descended. He guided the men with hand signs instead of words. The pulley squeaked, men grunted, and the faintest scraping sound rose, perhaps, as the largest stone slid down the shaft.

“Stop.” Wulfgar’s voice cut through everything around them. “Good.” He untied the ropes and waved the men away. Everyone got clear and waited. Nothing happened. “Next one.”

The priest rested his hands on the stone and murmured. Wulfgar knelt and the others bowed, heads bare. When the priest finished, they lifted the stone and shuffled to where the ropes and pulley waited. Wulfgar tied everything, and the men lowered the cradle around the stone. The stone remained in the ropes. Wulfgar gestured, and the men got ready to pull on the rope.

“Has one ever fallen?” the priest murmured, low voiced, beside Harald.

Eyes still on the work, Harald murmured back, “Yes, sir. Dented the floor, broke the stone in three, and crushed a man’s feet so badly he died. The stone cutter salvaged the stone and paid blood money. The first four grinds in the mill went to the man’s family and his temple, then to the temples of Gember and m’Lord Scavenger.” That had been more than fair, all agreed, especially after the priests of all gods blessed the mill as appropriate.

“Ah.”

The second stone settled into place, and the third followed quickly. “How does, ah, it lifts, yes?” The priest asked.

“Yes, sir. Most milling here only calls for the main stones, but if someone brings heavier grain, the third stone can be used to refine the flour.” It wasn’t how most mills did it, but the contract had requested the arrangement, and so they’d done it this way. Once the town accepted the first grind, it was not his business.

The priest glided toward the mounted stones. The workmen moved out of his way, all save Wulfgar, who frowned as he measured the space between the first stone and the bedding stone. The priest stopped beside him and watched. The stone cutter measured once again, then straightened up. He bowed to the priest and gave the Scavenger’s voice room. The priest rested one hand on the stone, then lifted his hand and glided back. He turned and left the mill, nodding to Harald as he passed. The men bowed as the priest departed.

Harald went outside and leaned against the heavy doorpost, eyes closed, head tipped back. “Thank You, Lord of the Hidden. Thank You, Lord of the Wheel,” he whispered. The rays of Rella’s Lamp brought light but less heat than before. The Lamp rose farther south each day, warning that summer’s time waned. He smelled wood, and mown hay, and wet stone.

Wet stone? He opened his eyes and straightened as the sound of fast steps and panting reached him. “Master,” gasp. “Master Harald, sir, water coming down the channel!” Toglos rested his hands on his thighs and wheezed, then straightened. “Not much, but there’s a trickle.”

He nearly cursed, but caught himself. Had the temple of Donwah declared the need to open the head gate? Harald ducked into the mill and almost collided with Wulfgar. “Water in the channel,” he said. “Not my doing.”

“Not good,” the stone cutter growled. The two masters trotted around the building to where they could see the channel. A small stream flowed down the stones. It wouldn’t turn the wheel, all gods be thanked. At least, not yet. “Why?”

Harald shrugged, the cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dane,” he called to one of the journeymen carpenters. The man waved. “Get everyone out of the channel and downstream now! Water flows.”

Even from here, he could see the man’s eyes get big. Dane nodded, spun, and raced away from the mill. Workers in the downstream channel staked the last of the weepin’ salla mats, and Harald snarled to himself.

“Please, Donwah, not enough to wet the wheel yet, please, Lady of Waters, please,” Harald murmured as he strode up the channel. He climbed over the gate where the channel passed through a schaef hedge, then half-ran up to where the head gate stood. The water ran a hand-length deep over the stones. Two blue-clad figures and two big men stood at the gate. Harald skidded to a stop before he got too close. Had the Lady commanded the gate opened? He breathed hard, smelling water and mud and grass.

One of the priests turned and raised her hand. “Peace, Master Harald. We raise the gate no farther. We must test it that it still opens and closes.”

Oh, he was glad that he had not cursed. Instead he breathed and bowed. His side ached. He did not run—that’s what apprentices did. “Thank you, ma’am.” He breathed some more. “Your messenger had not reached us yet, and I feared damage to the gate.” Or worse, some fool trying to hurry the mill.

“The water reaches so far?” the second priest said. He too turned, frowning. “Should that be, that water reaches the mill already?”

Harald glanced at the stream. It ran high, not flood plain high but close. “Yes, sir. The walls below the water guide more into the channel. Men work in the channel below the mill, staking in the weepin’ salla mats, and I was afraid of a full flow.” If the millwheel had turned as they mounted the stones—!

The priestess gestured, and metal and wood scraped and groaned as the men at the head gate lowered the gate back into the gap. The flow of water faded to a trickle, then nothing. Well, now all knew that the gate worked, at least when lifted that far. “We will provide more notice, should we need to open the gate again,” Donwah’s priest said.

Harald inclined toward him. “Thank you. We hope to mill the first grain in two eight days. We will tell the temple before we open the gate, if you have not opened it.”

“Good.” The priest raised his hand and made Donwah’s Wave. “May the Lady of the Waters bless your work.”

Harald bowed. “All thanks and praise to the Lady of Waters.” He touched his forelock, then turned and walked with least speed and far more dignity back to the mill site. No big trash had gotten into the channel, and he didn’t see any signs of the water escaping the stones. Some would, Donwah and Gember claiming their toll, but everything seemed as it should be.

“Stones missin’?” Wulfgar demanded when Harald returned.

“None yet.” He made the Horns and spat through them, them made the Wheel. “An’ th’ head gate works, least so far as the priests had it opened.”

“Not so deep or it’ll crack,” Ceol warned the journeyman cutting channels in one of the new pulleys. He looked over at the other two masters and blinked. “Why’d they open the gate?”

Harald shrugged. “They said they needed to be sure it still worked. I don’t know if that’s in the contract with the Temple the city holds, or if someone’s claimin’ the gate’s locked in the frame.” It had happened, usually in the worst position possible—up in floods or down when the mill wheel needed wetting or the mill had caught fire.

(C) 2024 Alma T. C. Boykin All Rights Reserved.