The next morning, Katja felt a frisson of excitement zip through her when Tante Bettina announced they would be working with natural elements, determining if anyone had an affinity for phenomena such as fire, air, water, stone, or metal.

Katja noticed Liesel, the only other girl still waiting to discover her gift, listening closely to Tante Bettina, and she wondered if Liesel was also scared she might not have an affinity. Part of Katja wanted to reach out and ask the other girl how she felt, perhaps even offering encouragement, but a stomach-churning mixture of uncertainty and shyness ultimately kept her from saying anything.

Katja didn't have any luck connecting with fire, although she admired the raw power of the flame and tried as hard as she could to make it grow or shrink.

She similarly didn't feel anything when trying to influence the air around her, unable to so much as make a leaf blow across the courtyard.

Neither water nor stone responded to her, and it didn't matter whether the stone was in the form of a rock or a costly gem, although she did enjoy looking at the different types of precious gemstones.

Finally, it was time to try her luck with metal. Tante Bettina, who had an affinity for metal herself, instructed the girls to line up behind a long table on which were laid seven different types of metal. As each girl came forward, she was told to close her eyes, and then a piece of metal was placed in her hand, which she was asked to name.

The other girls correctly named one or two of the metals, but as no one named more than two, it seemed they'd simply made a few lucky guesses, which was fine, given that most of them had already discovered their affinities.

When it was Katja's turn, she stepped up to the table, closed her eyes, and held out her hand. As something cold was placed on her palm, Katja felt as if the metal sank straight through her skin, seeping into her bloodstream and filling her limbs from the inside out.

And that's when she heard the music—cheerful, trilling notes soon followed by a majestic chorus of pomp and circumstance, warm and expansive, pliable in the right circumstances but otherwise hard to the world around it. Within the melody, the metal introduced itself, and she was amazed at how easily she could understand what she heard.

"It's gold," she said out loud, eyes still shut. The metal had told her its name, and even though she had no reason not to believe it, she still felt a thrill of pride shoot through her when informed she was correct.

Keeping her eyes closed, she waited until the next piece of metal was placed into her hands, then pulled it close to her chest. This metal was cool to the touch, and its song made her think of falling snow, icicles gently clinking in a winter wind, sharp notes of cold moonlight and deep, melancholy melodies that made her feel far beneath the ground, surrounded by dirt and silence.

When the song was finished and she'd learned the metal's name, she did her best to thank it for sharing something so personal with her.

"This one is silver," she said, handing the metal back.

"Correct!" replied Tante Bettina, and even through her still-closed eyes, Katja could feel everyone watching closely as she was handed the third piece of metal.

This piece of metal was so eager to communicate with her, it burst into song as soon as her fingers closed around it. The song was vibrant and happy, making Katja think of cheerfully completing assigned chores, and she felt warmth from the metal, a softness coupled with an eagerness to be of service. The melody was reasonably steady without much variation, and it progressed forward with only minor changes, making Katja imagine a long, well-lived life.

"It's copper," she said, grateful to the metal for sharing its name with her. She found herself wanting to spend more time with this metal and, while she was relieved to hear she was correct, she was also reluctant to hand the copper back to Tante Bettina.

Katja easily identified the next three metals, including two she'd never heard of before—palladium and magnesium—but thankfully, the song always supplied the metal's name, and she repeated the pronunciation as best she could.

When it came time to identify the last metal, Katja took a deep breath before carefully wrapping her hands around what was handed to her.

This metal was hard...cold...unyielding and unchanging, its melody slow and rhythmic, with low notes that spoke of darkness and solitude, of incessant pounding and hammering, and the sense of time passing. This metal wasn't particularly receptive to connection, although Katja could sense something like interest when the song finished and asked her to introduce herself.

Concentrating intently, Katja attempted to convey more of herself to the metal, to explain what she was doing and the importance of having an affinity. She heard herself producing notes inside her mind, a few at a time, as she tried to adapt to communicating without words, but at least some of what she conveyed must have made sense, because the metal—which identified itself as iron—responded, and not only in her mind...she felt it moving inside her cupped hands, as well, changing as they communicated.

Katja offered up more of herself to the iron, and the metal did the same, allowing her glimpses into its past deep in an underground mine, as well as the terror and excitement it had felt at being removed and taken somewhere new, hoping it would be put to a good use rather than forced to undergo constant changes until there so little left it was simply discarded.

Katja understood the desire to find a purpose, to feel useful, and, more than anything, to fit in with no chance of being excluded. The iron became warm against her skin, and she felt it shifting, turning soft and malleable, changing with her thoughts as the iron replied, agreeing or disagreeing with the images she presented until something reverberated deep inside her bones, almost making her drop the metal.

Somehow, she managed to keep hold of it, and when it offered a final goodbye melody, she was shocked to hear some of her own music now intertwined with the song of the iron.

Opening her eyes, she slowly uncupped her hands and gasped—there where a chunk of iron had sat was a dark grey heart with smooth, rounded edges.

Tante Bettina leaned forward, her eyes wide, as she and the other girls marveled at the heart.

"How did you do that?" asked Tante Bettina softly.

"We did it together," Katja tried to explain. "The metal and I...we made it."

"Can you tell me more?" prompted the blacksmith.

Katja ran a finger along the edge of the heart, amazed at the smooth lines she'd somehow created using only her mind.

"I could tell the metals apart because they told me their names through their songs," Katja explained, finding the words inadequate at conveying the truth of what had actually taken place. "Each metal had a different song, but even though there were no words, I could still understand it. I tried to say something back, but I couldn't speak...whatever I thought turned into music, and the music made me feel things."

She looked down at the iron heart in her hand. "We shared the music we each made and then, I started hearing new music that hadn't been there before. And somehow we created this." She raised the heart a little higher into the air, loathe to let go of it until she absolutely had to.

"Well, Katja, it seems you've discovered your affinity," grinned Tante Bettina. "I must say, I'll be glad to have another metallurgist around here."

All the other girls, aside from Elise, congratulated Katja before heading to the Essen Hall for lunch, but Tante Bettina placed a hand on Katja's shoulder, keeping her back.

"Now that you've discovered your affinity, it's time to tell you about your mother's."

Katja's heart nearly stopped beating, and she clutched the iron heart closer to her chest as if it might function as a replacement.

"Sabrina was a metallurgist," explained Tante Bettina, "like you. She and I used to work together quite frequently, although she was much more theoretical whereas I always preferred the practical. She was a true pioneer in research."

"What kinds of things did she research?" asked Katja, desperate for every scrap of information she could gather about her mother.

"She was especially interested in alloys," replied Tante Bettina, "combining different metals with one another to create something new, either stronger or to serve a different purpose. Some of her research was so experimental, I don't think there was a name for it. She loved having new ideas and finding ways to test her theories."

"Do you know if the metal sang to her like it does to me?" Katja leaned forward ever so slightly, hanging on the blacksmith's every word.

"I'm sorry to say I don't know," sighed Tante Bettina. "It's possible, but I wouldn't expect it. Even witches who have the same affinity experience it differently. For instance, I don't hear music when I touch metal...I see colors."

"Really?" Katja's sadness at not knowing how her mother experienced connecting with metal was somewhat lessened by this interesting revelation.

"Really," nodded Tante Bettina. "I don't know how else to explain it, but the colors make me feel certain things, and the metals and I use them to communicate and decide on what we're going to create. This, though," she gestured towards the iron heart still clutched between Katja's hands, "is most impressive. I can shape anything using the right tools, but I've never been able to shape metal using only my mind."

"Is that bad?" asked Katja, her fears of not fitting in or having a good enough affinity quickly resurfacing.

"Not at all!" assured Tante Bettina. "As I said, even witches with the same affinity experience it differently. That's what makes everyone so important...we all contribute in slightly different ways. We'll talk more about this when we begin our training together," she added. "Sprechen Olwyn is also a gifted metallurgist, and I know she'll be thrilled to work with you, as well."

Katja smiled at that, quite liking the idea of being a member of a small group, learning things from others who could communicate with metal. It was almost like being part of a family.

"I'm looking forward to it," she said.

"Good," nodded Tante Bettina. "Now off to lunch with you! And please, keep the heart. The iron clearly chose you."

"Thank you!" Katja said, letting out a relieved breath at knowing she'd be allowed to keep the first thing she'd made with her newly-discovered affinity.

Rather than heading straight to the Essen Hall, though, she instead went back to the dormitory. Checking to make sure no one was around, she retrieved the key she kept hidden beneath her mattress, then pulled a trunk out from under her bed. Before she inserted the key into the lock, she paused.

The lock was metal.

Could she communicate with it and open it without using the key? There didn't seem to be any harm in trying, so she pressed her fingertips against the cool brass and offered up a polite hello.

To her delight, the metal was ecstatic, if somewhat surprised, to have been spoken to, and it shared a lovely song filled with pride over its role in protecting special objects, dotted with notes of boldness and assurances of strength.

Katja was quite impressed and thanked the lock profusely. She then explained what she was attempting to do, and while it took a few tries to get the notes right, eventually the lock understood what she wanted and easily unfastened itself, opening with a happy click.

Katja placed the iron heart gently inside, next to the picture of her mother, some pretty rocks, a few books she'd received as birthday presents, a handful of feathers she'd collected from the orchard, and a folded red cloak she'd been told she was wrapped in when she'd arrived at the castle as a toddler.

Clicking the lock back into place and thanking it again for its help, Katja considered the key. She didn't need it anymore, but it seemed wrong to simply throw it away. Placing her fingertips against the lock again, she asked if it might be open to joining with the key in a different way.

She wasn't sure it was entirely possible, but the lock was game to try, so Katja carefully pressed the tiny key against the front of the lock and concentrated. The lock and key already knew one another well and both liked the idea of more permanent companionship, and while Katja wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, she let out an excited gasp when the key began to quiver, becoming less solid and more liquid until it was completely absorbed into the lock.

Patting the top of the trunk, she couldn't help but think her mother would have been happy—perhaps even proud—to know her daughter had inherited her affinity for working with metal.

"I'm going to be the best metallurgist the Hexen have ever seen," whispered Katja. "And then everyone will know I really do belong here."

(Artwork by stux from Pixabay)