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Chapter 44 - A Spark Beneath the Sand
🕑 Added 2025-05-16 21:00:11 +0000 UTCMorning came gently, with a pale sky and a soft breeze weaving through the village. The first light touched the tops of the trees, casting long lines of gold across the clearing. Birds chirped in the canopy above, and the fire pit still held the faint warmth of last night's embers.
Athan stirred from the bedding he shared with the girls and sat up slowly. His shoulders were sore from the past two days, and his tunic smelled faintly of wood dust and dried sweat. He'd been so focused on the cart, on each detail and joint, that he hadn't taken time for much else—not even himself.
Lara was already awake beside him, pulling her hair back with one hand while adjusting her brand new tunic with the other. On his other side, Kali yawned and stretched under the shared shelter, her expression still caught somewhere between sleep and mischief. The two girl having already sniffing him, looked at him with a slight frown.
"Come," Lara said gently. "You need a rinse more than we do."
Kali grinned. "You smell like fish."
Athan rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Together, the three of them made their way toward the bathing pool, walking through the fresh grass while mist still floated above the surface of the water.
At the edge of the basin, Athan took his shirt off, knelt and splashed water onto his face, then shoulders, washing away the grime from days of focused work and sickness. Lara and Kali stood nearby, quietly doing the same. The water was cool and clear, its touch a welcome contrast to the heat and effort of the days behind them.
When they returned to the clearing, Wade was already there, sitting near the fire pit with a carved wooden bowl in hand. He nodded to Athan but didn't speak, just took a slow sip of the dark brew Rael had prepared.
The smell of roasted roots and bitterness lingered in the air. Others were beginning to gather too—Ok, Yun, even one of the younger hunters—all holding similar bowls, quietly sipping as the day began.
It had become a habit now. Rael, ever attentive, had taken over the morning preparation of the bitter drink Athan had once shown her how to make. A simple mix, strong and earthy—something that helped clear the head before work began.
Athan grabbed a bowl for himself, poured a bit from the pot, and sat down beside his father. The warmth of the drink seeped into his hands as he held it, the rising steam brushing his face.
Another day was beginning. And once again, the village moved forward—together.
After finishing his bowl of hot brew, Athan stood and stretched. Wade silently mirrored him, following as the boy turned once again toward the cliff where the dried materials were stacked.
Today wouldn't be a heavy workday. No walls to raise, no cement to mix. Just a simple project—something that had been on Athan's mind since yesterday.
They reached the row of planks leaning against the stone wall. Athan scanned them carefully, running his hand along the grain of the widest one they had. He gave a small nod, then turned to Wade.
"A table," he said simply. "We are going to make a table for the girls."
Wade tilted his head slightly in interogation but didn't question it. He helped Athan lay the wide plank flat on the ground. Athan stepped back, measuring the length with his eyes, then marked off about a third of it with charcoal.
Using his hatchet, he carefully cut away the section he wanted, leaving a long, sturdy piece for the tabletop. The offcut was set aside for another time, and he placed it carefully back against the cliff wall where the rest of the wood was stored.
Next, he used the bow drill with a fine handle to carve holes at each corner of the board—four in total. Each one went all the way through the plank, allowing the legs to be inserted from beneath and wedged tightly from both sides. The holes were clean and even, ensuring a firm grip for the legs once everything was in place.
They selected four straight pieces of wood from the pile nearby. Athan trimmed and smoothed each one, then shaped the ends into tight-fitting square pegs. One by one, he inserted them into the tabletop and tapped in wedges to lock them in place.
No nails. No rope. Just fit and pressure.
When he pressed down on the table, it didn't wobble. It stood firm—simple, strong, and tall enough to work comfortably.
"Let's bring it to them," he said.
He and Wade walked together to retrieve the cart first, bringing it closer to where the table had been built. Once it was in place, they lifted the piece carefully and set it onto the cart's platform. The fit was perfect. With the handles in hand, they began walking toward the fire pit.
As they approached, the wooden wheels creaked lightly beneath the weight, but the cart rolled smoothly. Lara and Kali, crouched near the cooking pot where they had just brought dandelion for later use, turned their heads at the sound.
Kali blinked. "What's that?"
Athan smiled as they stopped beside the fire. He and Wade lifted the table and set it down carefully next to the cooking pot, the legs settling into the dirt with a satisfying thud.
"You don't need to cook on the ground anymore," Athan said. "Now you can stand, and work here."
Lara stepped forward, touching the surface with both hands. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
Kali grinned, already placing one of the wooden bowls on top. "This is smart. Very smart!"
"No more bending, no more dropping things in the dirt," Athan added with a shrug, though his tone was quietly proud.
The girls exchanged a glance, then both turned toward him with warm, grateful smiles—genuine and full of appreciation.
"You always think of us," Lara said softly.
Kali leaned closer and whispered, "We like that."
Athan rubbed the back of his neck, not sure what to say, but the warmth in their eyes said more than enough.
With the table in place, the girls took a moment to admire it but didn't begin using it right away. Lara turned to Athan and explained that they would first go turn the bricks drying near the kiln and bring more firewood using the cart—wanting to test its usefulness.
Athan stepped back, nodding at the plan. His work here was done. But something lingered in his mind.
He hesitated for a moment, then turned his gaze toward the trees, listening to the faint sound of water in the distance.
Without a word, he started walking toward the river.
Wade, as always, followed quietly behind.
Reaching the river, Athan and Wade passed the edge of trees that bordered the water—trees Athan had insisted on preserving. Cutting them down would have left the soil exposed, and with each rain, the bank would've eroded, eaten away little by little. The roots held the earth in place. They had to stay.
Athan walked slowly toward the water's edge, his eyes scanning the rocky ground. The river whispered softly nearby, its flow steady and cool. All along the bank, stones of various shapes and sizes were scattered—smoothed by water, settled deep into the silt.
Not far ahead, he could see the fish trap, its woven funnel partially submerged. But he didn't head there. Instead, he moved along the riverbank, eyes focused downward, stopping now and then to crouch and examine a particular stone.
He picked up a few—dull, rough, with flecks of darker color. His hand grew full quickly, so he walked back and began placing the stones in Wade's arms. The man said nothing, only adjusted his stance and accepted the growing weight.
They continued like that—Athan walking, searching, selecting. Wade following silently, collecting.
Eventually, they reached the sand deposit. Athan sighed and let the remaining stones drop near his feet. What he'd gathered weren't just any rocks—they were ferrous. Iron-bearing fragments. He could feel the weight, recognize the density. But they were small, scattered. He remembered the larger ferrous stone he had once found during the great sorting—set aside at the time, too early to be useful.
Here, these were just crumbs by comparison.
"Leave them by the sand," he said quietly.
Wade stepped over and placed the stones down near the base of the deposit.
Athan remained where he was, squatting low, eyes still scanning the ground. He kept moving small stones aside, brushing away pebbles and grit. If they wanted usable iron, they'd need either a massive quantity of this kind of stone… or something far richer.
He was about to stand when something caught his eye.
A small, brownish stone sat nestled in the sand, no larger than a child's fingernail. But unlike the others, it had a faint metallic sheen—subtle, but undeniable. He picked it up, feeling its surprising weight for its size.
Suspicious, Athan pulled out his knife and drew the blade gently across the surface.
Where the stone scratched, a narrow orange streak appeared—bright, distinct, unmistakable.
He froze.
For a long moment, he just stared at it, heart quietly pounding. Then he looked up and around, scanning the deposit again, as if the surrounding earth might suddenly give up more of its secrets.
It wasn't iron.
It was copper.
Raw, unrefined—but real.
His fingers tightened around the tiny stone. If this riverbed could offer more—if he could find a way to gather enough of it—then the village might not just touch the age of stone and fire… but step into the age of metal itself.
And that would change everything.
Athan stood still for a while, the tiny copper fragment resting in the center of his palm. It caught the light faintly, almost like it wanted to hide rather than shine. He turned it between his fingers, feeling its weight again.
But that was the problem.
Even if there were more like it scattered through the riverbed, they would likely be just as small—buried under sand, silt, and stone. Too tiny to see. Too easy to miss. He might spend hours searching and find nothing, or worse, find a few more grains that still wouldn't be enough to smelt, let alone forge.
Iron was different. Large ferrous stones could be spotted with a trained eye. Heavy, obvious, almost demanding to be picked up. But copper, in this form? It could be everywhere… or nowhere.
He crouched again, letting his fingers sift through the damp sand. A few more stones rolled between them, but none with that same metallic weight, that subtle shimmer. No more copper—not that he could see.
His brow furrowed.
How do you gather what you can't even see?
He stared at the water, then at the banks again. The slow current. The smooth bends. The natural traps of the river.
And then, like a small spark flickering to life in the back of his mind, he remembered something.
A fragment of memory. A video. Shared, reposted endlessly across the networks he used to scroll through in his past life. People in muddy streams, swirling pans in circles. Scooping up dirt and letting the water carry the lighter grains away—leaving behind flecks of metal. Gold, mostly. But it wasn't the metal that mattered.
It was the method.
Athan's fingers closed around the copper fragment, clutching it gently. That was it.
If the river carried tiny grains like this, and if heavier materials settled deeper while lighter ones were washed away…
He stood, eyes fixed now not on the water, but on the tools he would need.
Without a word to Wade, who was still nearby sorting through the last stones, Athan turned and began walking—not back toward the shelters, but along the edge of the clearing, toward the cliffside where his tools were stored.
The copper stayed in his palm, cool and quiet.
But the idea in his mind burned bright.
Athan stopped in front of the tools stacked along the cliffside, his gaze settling on a plank resting among the materials. Long, straight, and only slightly warped by time—it would do. Before picking it up, he reached into his pouch and carefully tightened his grip around the small piece of copper he'd found earlier. He didn't want to risk losing it—not now. Once secure, he turned his focus back to the wood.
He laid it flat on the ground, knelt beside it, and pressed a hand against the wood to hold it steady. Then, with a piece of charcoal, he traced two lines along the length—one near each edge. He'd need to raise the sides to keep the water and sediment from spilling over during use.
He found two narrow wooden slats—leftovers from past construction—and lined them up along the marked edges. After a quick dry fit, he secured them using wooden pegs and wedges, tapping everything into place until the sides stood firm.
Once done, he stepped back and looked over the shape.
A simple channel.
He wiped the dust from his palms, then searched for shorter pieces of wood—flat and sturdy. He selected a few and began carving them into narrow strips, each cut to fit snugly across the width of the plank.
One by one, he fixed them along the base of the channel, evenly spaced. They formed a series of low ridges, like the rungs of a ladder laid flat inside the box. Each one would act as a trap, catching heavier particles while the lighter sand and water flowed past.
It wasn't perfect. The wood would swell with moisture. The fit might shift with time. But for a first test, it was enough.
He lifted the box carefully, testing its weight. It was solid—heavy, but manageable.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Wade approach. The man had been watching quietly from a short distance, arms crossed.
"New tool?" he asked simply.
Athan nodded. "Yes. To look for metal. Copper, maybe."
Wade raised a brow but didn't question it. He stepped forward and grabbed the other end of the box without a word.
Together, they lifted it—like a narrow wooden bridge—and headed back toward the river, the morning light glinting off the surface of the stream just ahead.
As they walked toward the river, Athan veered slightly off the path near the shelters. He spotted one of the wooden cups set aside to dry—shallow, with a smooth lip and a small handle carved in probably by Ok.
He picked it up without slowing and gave a small nod to himself. It would help.
Wade didn't ask, only adjusted his grip on the sluice box and kept moving.
When they reached the riverbank, Athan scanned the area carefully. He didn't want to place the box too deep into the flow—just enough to let water run steadily through, without overwhelming the ridges inside.
They found a small, natural incline just past a bend, where the water trickled gently over a patch of gravel. Athan set down his end of the box and waited for Wade to do the same.
Then he crouched beside it, running his fingers along the riverbed. He scooped up a few handfuls of sand and silt, examining the mixture before dropping it near the mouth of the box.
He positioned the sluice at a slight angle, raising the upper end with a smooth stone and making sure the length of it sloped gently with the current.
With the setup ready, he crouched beside the river and used his hands to scoop muddy riverbed sediment directly onto the top of the sluice box.
The water did its work instantly—washing over the mixture, carrying the finer sand forward while the heavier particles tumbled and slowed. Some of them settled behind the wooden ridges, caught in the narrow gaps Athan had carved.
He repeated the process, handful after handful, watching how the flow behaved. Not everything stayed. Some grains slipped through. Others lodged themselves deep in the ripples of water and wood.
Athan leaned closer, narrowing his eyes at the material beginning to gather behind the second and third ridges. There—among the darker sand—he caught a faint glint. Something heavier. Denser.
He reached for it, brushing it free.
Just a small flake. Dull, brownish-red. He pulled out his stone knife and carefully scratched the surface. A thin layer peeled away, revealing a brighter tint beneath. When he rubbed the spot between his fingers, it left a familiar mark—a faint orange streak.
Copper.
He looked up slowly, his heart steady but his breath short.
It was working.
Not fast, not perfectly. But it was working.
Wade crouched beside him, peering into the trough. He didn't speak, but Athan could tell he saw it too.
One flake. Maybe two.
If there were more, they would find them.
Bit by bit.
Comments
Maxime Charest
There are too many people living in a crowded space. For now, moving it inside would be a bit tight—let’s plan for it in the future 😉
Ollie Fairweather
Why is he building a cooking station rather than an indoor fireplace. it keeps the house warm and he has bricks for it.
