“He won’t come,” Clod said, his chest feeling raspy. “People still fear Yugen, even after he was banished.”
“I’ll persuade him,” Eidy said, patting Clod on the arm. “I want you and Ada to rest.”
“No,” Ada said, twice as defiant as her height. “I know where to find healers. I’ll go.”
“But you’ve never met him. He’s a—”
Clod dropped to a knee, suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. This was dumb. Why did he feel so tired? Had he been pushing that hard?
“Clod, you’ll rest better in bed,” his mother said, trying to help him up. “Ada, would you give me a hand?”
There was a coughing sneeze as the door closed. Ada had left without another word.
“Ada, wait,” Eidy called out.
“Mum,” Clod said. “What’s happening?”
The room spun in a frenetic assault of heat and sweat. The floor was hard when he landed with a boom that shook the rafters, but despite the initial smack of pain, it was cool to his cheek. His vision and thoughts faded in and out like a sun behind drifting clouds. His mum had tried rolling him to his back, which made him giggle uncontrollably. When he rolled himself over, she was momentarily trapped under one of his arms, which, oddly, seemed far too heavy for him to lift. The room went dark, and he woke for a moment, calling out for Ada. Why wasn’t she there? Was she gone already? He succumbed to darkness and woke suddenly to a noisy door hinge and sharp light.
A blubberous old man with reddish skin and a bald head framed with gray hair stood in the doorway. His eyes were wild, and he mumbled something around Ada’s hand, which was shoved wrist deep into his mouth. She rode on his back, her other hand clutching a long, pointy ear that was never meant to be a handle.
“I swear, healer, if you don’t go in and help Clod, I’ll turn your tongue…no, your entire jaw to stone,” she shouted. “Now go!”
He nodded, sweat dripping freely from his cheeks, and snorted through his pig-like snout. Had she really ridden him like a horse, with her hand in his mouth, all the way to the cabin? Clod laughed maniacally as she drew it free and wiped her arm on Healer Swayloo’s shoulder.
“Get off,” Swayloo squealed in a wince-worthy voice. “I’ll look at the boy.”
Ada hopped off Swayloo’s shoulders like she was dismounting a prize pony. The healer’s mortally offended glare was soon washed away with concern as he knelt beside Clod.
“How long has he been this way?” Swayloo asked.
“Hours,” Eidy said.
The healer reached into a pouch and drew out several spotty leaves. He rubbed them between his hands while muttering something unnatural that Clod’s ears didn’t really want to hear. He shied away as best he could, but Swayloo jerked Clod’s head back and shoved the leaves into his mouth. Clod had never tasted a color, but somehow knew it was green. It was worse than green; it was disgusting. His body convulsed, wanting desperately to expunge the green that soaked in like a new, warm sickness.
“What are you doing?” Ada shouted.
“Quiet, beast,” Swayloo said sharply. “This one is almost dead, and I’m doing what I can to save him.”
Dead? He couldn’t die. Ada needed him in order to live. She would only be awake for another day. His mother was on the verge of quitting her job now that he had regular sculpting work. He had to live, damnit. They needed him to live!
“That’s it, boy,” Swayloo said with a grunt and a snort. “Push through.”
Clod had once run too far, chasing Ada through the woods. Collapsing onto a prickerbush in exhaustion, unable to breathe, Clod had thought he’d died. That was easy in comparison. This was a thousand prickerbushes, probably every prickerbush on Yulth. And then it was gone, like a noisy crowd of people suddenly silenced. There was a cool blackness until his mum slowly appeared, shouting with Ada for him to wake up. Eventually, he did push through death’s cobweb and woke to madness. His mother was bawling. Ada was slapping him and shouting. The red pigman doctor snorted out his spells, spittle landing on Clod’s face.
“Stop,” he said, pushing up on his elbows. “Stop, please. I’m fine.”
They all stilled, staring at him in disbelief. The quiet in the room was only broken by the rustle of Ada’s clothes as she hugged him, and the soft, tearful kisses on his cheek. Long moments passed as he breathed sweet air that tasted so much better than green. Healer Swayloo rested on his haunches, wiping globs of oily sweat from his red face. His mother held herself, seemingly unable to speak.
“Wut happened?” Clod asked. “Wut was that?”
“The wasting,” Swayloo said softly. “I’m surprised you still live.”
“The wasting?” Clod asked in surprise. “That’s how my dad died.”
His mother nodded in confirmation, her eyes flitting up to make the briefest contact before returning to the floor.
“There’s nothing more I can do,” the healer said. “It’s only a matter of time now.”
“No,” Eidy demanded, turning on Swayloo. “You can’t be done.”
“There is no cure for the wasting, and I’ve already done too much,” the pigman said. He stood, holding out a shiny black hoof defensively. “Yugen, his allies, will see me dead if I do more. He hates you, all of you. Yugen says the ugliness of your evil taints our town, that you were to blame for the summer blizzard. I can’t be kicked out of town like he was. I have a family.”
“Fine,” Eidy said, the word dripping with frost. “But I promise, Clod will live longer than you.”
“I just,” Swayloo said, “I just don’t understand.”
“What’s that?” Clod asked.
“What are you?” he said, looking at all of them.
“What are any of us?” his mother asked after a long silence. “People. Beings. Creatures. Entities. All of us alive. Thinking and living. We look different, we act different, but all of us want the same thing. To live a life not threatened by others. Is it so hard for you to fathom? You, who are so different than them?”
Swayloo said nothing, staring at the floor. After a long moment, he shook his head. “I need to go.”
“I agree,” Eidy said sternly. She walked to the door and opened it. “Ugliness comes from hatred, and there is nothing ugly in this home.”
The red pigman stood on shiny black hooves that clicked noisily with every step. When he reached the door, he turned to face them. After a brief moment, he nodded respectfully, snorted out his pig nose, and trotted away.
“How about pot pie for dinner?” Eidy asked enthusiastically.
“Really?” Clod asked, practically drooling at the thought. Gravy, meat, and pie—it was truly the best of all worlds, and by far his favorite meal. The very thought made him feel better already.
“I’ll even make you three this time,” she said. “But only if you both promise to help.”
“But he’s still sick,” Ada said, clinging to his arm.
“I’ll make him better,” Eidy said. “And it starts with pie.”
He was disoriented and weak, as if he had slept for days and wasn’t ready to wake up. It was all a bit surreal. Despite his mum’s worry lines, she acted as if the ordeal had never happened. Ada didn’t look ready to celebrate his recovery quite yet, a frown on her face as she stared at Eidy.
“Ada, you tell Clod about how your hand ended up in pigman Swayloo’s mouth,” she said, making Ada blush and Clod chuckle. “I’ll run to town and get ingredients.”
“Mum?” Clod asked.
“Yes, Clod,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said. “And thank you, Ada.”
Ada sneezed, but nodded vigorously. His mum frowned at his clay friend before rushing out the door.
“She’s not telling us everything,” Ada said. “I’m worried you’re still sick.”
“Yuh,” he nodded. “But mum doesn’t lie to us.”
“True,” she said, lost in thought. She shook her head. “What was that creature?”
“He’s the
healer,” Clod said.
“I know he’s the healer,” Ada said. “I got him.”
“Oh, yuh,” Clod said.
“I want to know what he was?” she asked. “Maybe you’re still sick in the head.”
Clod stuck out his tongue before answering. “He’s just a pigman. I guess they’re the best race of healers.”
“You’ve never talked about him, or them,” she said with a frown. “Are there others?”
“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Andoo, one of the boys who picked on me in school. He was a pigman.”
“You never mentioned that,” she said.
“Doesn’t make a difference what he looks like. He was still mean,” Clod said, staring at his feet. “Pigmen…they don’t like being called that. The Pilaly can be pretty aggressive. The ones I’ve met like to argue.”
“I noticed,” she said dryly. “That’s why I made him stop arguing.”
Clod laughed and patted her gently on the shoulder. She told the story of her tongue-grabbing persuasion in extensive detail. Some of the terrible rumors of their “dark magic” had actually helped, and Swayloo had apparently believed all of her threats. Clod was both impressed and grateful for her bravery.
“Are there others who don’t look like us?” she asked.
“You mean other races?” he replied. “Sure, more than I can count. Elves, and dwarves, and nessmu, and frouli, and plainta, and…”
“Wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “Do all of those races hate me for being different, like Swayloo?”
“I dunno,” Clod said. “Probably not all. I guess most wouldn’t even care about you. It’s not about races, but the nations they come from don’t like others for dumb reasons. It’s complicated. I didn’t pay attention to that much in school.”
“So, why keep me hidden if people don’t care?” she asked.
“Yugen,” his mum said from the doorway with an armful of groceries. “He could never sense Clod’s magic, so he assumes it comes from evil.”
She set the bag of food on the table before approaching Clod and placing the back of her hand on his forehead. The worry lines by her eyes didn’t go away.
“Why?” Ada asked, sniffing noisily.
“He’s a smart man, but very arrogant. I don’t think he understands how you two work,” Eidy said, waving a hand back and forth between them.
Clod looked at Ada, who shrugged and smiled.
“Yugen came to the conclusion that if something doesn’t fit into his way of thinking, it must be evil,” Eidy continued with a sour face. “So, he made us out to be bad. In turn, it made him look good, which helped him to become mayor.”
“Ugh,” Ada said, her face contorted in disgust.
“He’s gone now. The council banished him, and took his magic,” his mother said. “He had a lot of friends, and they all blame us, so it’s important to be careful. I understand why Swayloo was in a hurry to leave, even if it makes him a coward.”
“Banished Yugen,” Clod said with a smile. “Better than Learned Yugen.”
“Ha!” Ada said, her laugh turning into a cough.
“Ada, are you okay?” Eidy asked. “You look tired, dear.”
“Yeah,” she said weakly. “I think it’s time.”
“Aww,” Clod said. “It’s too soon.”
“I guess that’s what happens when we both…get…sick,” she said.
There was a crunching sound as the clay woman stilled. At first, she looked like an old statue with fine cracks. A cobweb crept across her like a shattered window. Clod approached, wishing he could hug her one more time as tiny bits of clay fell to the floor. He reached out and took her hand, which still seemed so small in his own. It became ash as her body fell into a pile. It hurt every time.
“You’ve done wonderfully, Clod,” she said, gripping his arm. “Ada is quite a friend, and she’s lasting longer every time.”
“Yuh,” he said. “I wish she wouldn’t go.”
“One day, very soon, she will stay and won’t go,” his mother said. “But none of us last forever. Be grateful for the time you have together.”
“Sure, mum,” he said, watching the last of the ash collapse into a pile. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll do,” she said.
His mum went about preparing the pies, humming a tune to herself while Clod dozed. He was tired from being sick, the room was warm and smelled like meat and pastry, and sleep sounded like a good idea. But every time he’d start to drift, she would wake him with an Ada question, or share a nostalgic story about his dad. Somehow, despite his exhaustion, he was able to focus when she set three pies beside him.
She watched him fondly as he gorged himself on dinner. It would’ve been rude to healer Swayloo to say that Clod pigged out on the feast, but accurate. He was still tired, but the ache from overeating would keep him awake for hours.
“Ada would probably last longer if you used stone instead of clay.”
“Wut?” he said in surprise. “I… How does that work?”
“Clay and stone are both earth,” she said. “If you carved Ada from stone, and woke her up, she would still be like us. She would be alive, with a heartbeat, and warmth, and flesh—she would just last longer.”
“But how do I carve stone?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Wait here,” she said, walking to the bedroom.
She came back and handed him a large, leather roll tied off with twine. It was hard to loosen the knots with his thick fingers, and his mum’s excitement was distracting. Finally, he unrolled the bundle to find worn steel carving tools unlike any he’d seen.
“They were your father’s,” she said, with a small catch in her breath. “He wanted you to have them when you were ready.”
“But…stone?” Clod said in disbelief, looking at the tools as if they’d been touched by the gods.
“Your father’s best sculptures were made from stone. Many of them can be seen around town. Some are even at the castle,” she said. “Stone lasts much longer than clay.”
“Sure,” he said.
“Those tools weren’t just your father’s. They’ve been handed down for generations,” Eidy said. “Many in our family have been sculptors. You saw their work when you were young, playing tag with Ada.”
“The graveyard,” he whispered.
“Yes,” his mother said softly. “Let’s go look, and I’ll tell you about your father.”
Clod really didn’t want to leave their home, especially to go to that forbidden place. He still felt sick, and the only things keeping him awake were the excitement of his father’s tools and a stomachache from too much supper. There was no arguing with his mum, though, so he slowly stood and followed her outside. A sense of foreboding tickled his skin until he had goosebumps, and he wished Ada were here to hold his hand. She wasn’t, and he held hands with his mum instead as she led him down a wooded path.
“I would like you to listen as I tell you this story,” she said. “Please don’t interrupt or I’ll become distracted.”
He nodded obediently.
“Your father’s name was also Clod,” she said. “I may’ve misspelled it, but it was Clod. He was a big man, and like you, had a gift for sculpting. I can sculpt too, but I’ve never had his talent. I’m sorry for that.”
“Why are you sorry?” he asked, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to interrupt.
“Only because of how unhappy you've been with the results,” she said. “I've never been disappointed at all.”
The explanation didn’t help, but he kept himself from asking more. It was obvious from her tense voice that she was upset. His mum was quiet for a while as they stepped over a rotting log and made their way down an embankment.
“Your dad worked very hard. Our home is small, but we have quite a bit of land. Everything on this side of town is ours. You’ve walked the breadth of it with Ada. Our land stretches between the city and the sea. And, we own the only lot of clay,” she said proudly. “He fought fo
r that, and won.”
Clod bit his tongue, trying not to express his shock. It was such a great expanse, so much that he’d thought it belonged to the kingdom. They’d always lived in poverty. Why hadn’t they sold just a little bit to be comfortable?
“It’s not about money, Clod. It’s not about things,” she said, as if reading his mind. “You’ve never gone hungry, or without a roof. We have what we need. We also have clay for molding, and stone for carving, and they are the key.”
She seemed nervous and worried, which made his heart race. Holding his tongue made his anxiety worse.
“Your father’s life was every bit the challenge yours and mine have been,” she said. “Our lives have been filled with hard work that often feels thankless. You feel that way, don’t you?”
Clod was hesitant to speak, not wanting to interrupt, but she’d stopped and was looking at him. “All the time.”
“How do you feel when you’re with Ada?” she asked.
“Wonderful,” he said, warmth in his heart. “She makes it better.”
“Is she worth it?” Eidy asked.
“All of it,” he said.
“I feel the same way about you,” she said, squeezing his hand hard. “It’s not always about comfort or things. It’s really about friends and family.”
He nodded because it made sense. Ada was the only friend he had, and he only had brief moments to spend with her. At first, days instead of weeks, now weeks instead of months, and all of them precious. He tried hard to make the most of his time with her, because they didn’t have much. If they had, maybe he would’ve taken it for granted. He didn’t.
They reached the graveyard of statues, and she rushed him through a maze of stone figures. They moved so quickly, he didn’t have time to make out faces. The statues were a mess of men and women of different sizes, all standing in peculiar poses. Clod had been to the city graveyard, but had never seen monuments like these. When they finally stopped, he stared at the ground, fearful to look up.
“Clod,” she said softly. “This is your father.”
She placed a finger under Clod’s chin and gently pressed upward. It was like looking at a mirror of himself, but one made of white stone. His dad was every bit as huge and awkward as he was. He had the same dull expression, heavy jowls, hunched over shoulders, and hanging gut. Still, the sculpture smiled with a sort of relaxed satisfaction.
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