Friday, January 22, 2021

Stars in the Slag

*A quick note: the "salamander" in this story refers to the build-up of solid and liquid matter that collects at the tap hole of a blast furnace. Removal of the salamander is necessary for repairs. This story was inspired by a salamander preserved in a park near my home. It's maybe two-three feet high and approximately four-five feet in diameter, and weighs about 13,000 pounds.

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The foreman pinched a tension headache from his nose while our dowser stood firm. Workers shuffled nervously in the furnace heat.

“What do you mean ‘interference?’” the foreman growled.


The dowser remained stoic.


“Exactly that. Interference. What kind? Who knows. But I cannot find a good tap.”


A boiling moment passed.


“Fine!” he blasted. “We’ll do this the old way. Karlson! Grab a team and hit a spot that looks good. We clear that salamander tonight! Hop to!”


Dismayed affirmations all around. Men geared up, taking shifts at the drill, swapping out as men ran coughing from smoke. It took twelve hours to drill the tap hole, and then the salamander was slow to spill.


It was Dag who spotted the oddity. Crew gathered round the skimmer as a glistening blue fluid trickled through the red. The fascination was more than curiosity. Somehow, it compelled one’s gaze.


“Gods asunder,” cried the foreman, “That’s star iron! Don’t look if you value your eyes! Dag! Get your team up top! We’ve got to keep this hot!”


The furnace was brought to raging, and the blue streamed like searing ice. As men struggled to keep the furnace stable, the foreman was feverishly reckoning profits while shooing away the dowser’s protests.


The explosion hit some time after the dowser ran away. Some workers on-site survived, supposedly, but no one knows their fate. All paths to Thogham are now closely guarded, and none are allowed to enter… or leave.


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