Gedda Foss's Arc

Chapter 1 of 6

The kiln died at midnight. Gedda felt the heat fade through the walls of the shack, a slow drop that made his chest tight. He pulled open the firebox door and stared at the dark bricks inside. The vase he'd been firing sat half-finished in the chamber, its glaze frozen in place. He'd spent two weeks rebuilding the firebox seal. Now the whole thing had cracked apart again. He sat on the floor and sketched the problem on a scrap of paper. The crack ran through three joints. He'd need a mason who knew old kilns. The only person he could think of was the girl from the village who fixed things. She'd helped repair the mill wheel last summer and asked everyone who owned it, why it broke, what they planned to do with it after. Gedda had watched her work from a distance. She never stopped talking. He looked at the vase on the wheel outside. The pattern had taken him four tries to get right. His mother would have done it in one. The clay was drying too fast now without the kiln's warmth nearby. He'd have to start over unless he got the fire going again soon. His stomach hurt thinking about explaining the project to someone. He couldn't even tell her it was his mother's shack without her asking where his mother was now. Gedda stood and walked to the door. The girl would come if he sent for her. She'd fix the kiln because that's what she did. And she'd ask questions because that's what she did too. He picked up his sketching paper and drew a simple message: kiln broken, need help. He couldn't hide the workshop forever if he wanted it to work. His hand shook as he folded the paper. This was choosing to fail in front of someone instead of alone.