“Yes, of course, that’s the plan.” He picked up a tub of white goop. “This is the cement glue we use. It will bind the stone. All I need to do is fill in the cracks with it. But he’ll have to wait until it dries before he tries another takeoff, or he’ll just need to be fixed again.”
She studied it. Father had used a similar paste. “All right. But I’m watching.”
“Great.” He muttered, “That won’t make me nervous or anything.”
Risa glared at him. “Don’t mess up. This is my brother. Maybe you should let Mayka do it. She has steady hands.”
Mayka held her hand out, palm up. She’d helped Father with tasks around his workroom before, and this didn’t seem difficult.
Garit clutched the glue tighter. “I can do it! Look, I know you don’t have any reason to trust me after . . . Well, I just want to help. Let me fix his wing. Please. The bird . . . he didn’t ask for the mark that Master Siorn carved, and I . . . didn’t realize someone might not want it.” He looked first at Kisonan, then at the Scrap Room where the pieces of his friend lay, and lastly back at Mayka.
She stared at him, trying to read his thoughts in his eyes.
I wish humans wore their stories on their skins, she thought. He must have been willfully delusional not to realize a living, thinking being wouldn’t want to be controlled.
She let him keep the glue, but she watched as he opened it, dipped in a brush, and painted the cracks in Jacklo’s wing. He did it painstakingly slowly, only a drop here and a drop there, careful not to allow the glue to drip in between the feathers.
He pursed his lips as he concentrated, and Mayka had the feeling he’d forgotten she was there. She didn’t speak. Merely watched. Perched on her shoulder, Risa watched too.
Jacklo was quiet as well, which worried Mayka more than anything else. The bird was more vulnerable to the mark than Kisonan was, because he was naturally so trusting. Already Jacklo was changing, incorporating the mark into his personality, letting it rewrite him into a creature who belonged here with Master Siorn, rather than with Mayka and Risa on the moun-tain.
“He’s good,” Si-Si said, as Garit added another drop of cement, filling in a fissure. “Steady hand. Eye for detail.” She lowered her voice, speaking softly enough that the griffin guarding the private workroom wouldn’t be able to hear. “He could remove the mark.”
Garit flinched, answering in an equally soft voice, “I can’t.”
“You could,” Si-Si corrected. “You won’t. You have the skill.”
Jacklo spoke for the first time since Garit began. “Of course he has the skill! He’s learned from one of the best stonemasons the world has ever seen.” The worship in his voice rang out clear and strong.
“Shhh,” Risa ordered.
“Master Siorn is not the best,” Mayka said. “He plans to control all stone creatures. Rewrite their stories. Look at what the mark has already done to you! You’ve always loved our home—it’s part of who you are—but now you don’t want to leave this place.”
“Stone creatures have always belonged to keepers—that’s how the system works. Keepers pay, and stone creatures work,” Garit said. “This just formalizes that.” But she heard the uncertainty in his voice.
He doesn’t believe it, she thought. He’s only repeating what Master Siorn must have said to him. If she could convince him to remove the mark now, while Master Siorn was locked away in his private workroom . . . Garit wasn’t meeting any of their eyes. Instead, he was spending an inordinately long time sealing the lid of the cement glue. “By choice,” Mayka pressed. “This takes away any choice. Don’t you see how wrong it is? See this?” She thrust her arm in front of him, forcing him to look at it. “My story says I’m a girl who lives on the mountain, surrounded by my friends. But because it’s my story, I got to decide what part of that tale is important. To me, it’s my friends. So I chose to leave the mountain and come here to try to save them. If I had Master Siorn’s obedience mark, though, he could have ordered me to abandon my friends. Or even to stop caring about them at all.”
Looking at her own arm, she had the startling thought that she really had done everything she’d described: she’d changed her own story. She wasn’t just a girl on the mountain anymore. She’d come to the valley, to Skye.
Shifting away, Garit mumbled, “It will improve the lives of both people and stone creatures. It will ensure peace and enable innovation without fear.”
Mayka continued to study his reaction, certain she was getting through to him. “You don’t believe that. You’re just repeated what he said. What do you think?”
“You’re asking me? I’m the apprentice. My opinion doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” Mayka said.
He stared at her.
She stared back, and waited. Please, understand.
The silence stretched long, as if he were considering a dozen thoughts and then discarding each one. She did not rush him. This was too important. Softly, Mayka said, “Tell me your story. Why are you here?”
“I . . . I don’t have a story.”
Funny—Ilery had said almost the same thing. Did all flesh creatures deny their part in their own story? Doing that didn’t exempt you from having a story; it just meant other people would shape your tale for you. You have to seize your story, Mayka thought. That’s what stone creatures do. We make our marks our own. And that was part of why the obedience mark was so horrific—it hijacked that process. “Of course you do. Everyone does.”
“It’s not very interesting. I’m from outside of Skye. A farm. I have twelve brothers and sisters and . . . well, it’s hard on the farm. Bad weather killed our crops for a few seasons. And there’s been flooding in the pastures. With a family so large, there’s not much money for food and clothes and everything we need. My parents brought me to the city, found me this apprenticeship . . . I’m very lucky. It’s hard to find a good apprenticeship. My family has such high hopes for me.” He held her gaze, as if pleading with her to understand. “I need to keep this apprenticeship. So I can’t . . .” He trailed off.
“You’d sacrifice the freedom of stone creatures like Jacklo because of your family’s hopes?” Mayka tried to be angry with him. He knew the mark was wrong, and yet he wasn’t going to help them! But his family . . . She thought of her family back on the mountain. I came here to help them, she thought. He did the same thing.
“He’s right that if stone creatures had the mark, the laws would change,” Garit said. “Stone creatures would be trusted more. Given more responsibility and more opportunities. Treated better.” He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as much as them. “With his new mark, Master Siorn believes we could do great things together.”
“And what do you think?”
He was silent for a moment. “I think if I defy Master Siorn, I’ll lose my apprenticeship, and no one else will take me on, and I wouldn’t be able to help my family.”
Si-Si growled. “Coward.”
“Would you take the risk, if you had something to lose?” Garit countered.
Si-Si fidgeted, hiding her face behind her wings. “Yes,” she said in a small voice. “I already did.” Lowering her wings, she glanced at Mayka. “I lied to you. I wasn’t forgotten by my family. I ran away. They thought of me as a decoration—that much was true—but I didn’t want to be just a useless toy. That’s what my story means to me: I yearn to be like the great dragons of legend, to soar on the wind and save the day!”
“You aren’t just a useless toy,” Mayka told her.
“The point is,” Si-Si said, glaring with her fiery eyes at Garit, “if a mere bauble can choose to be brave, so can you.”
Garit shot a look at the door to the private workroom, and the griffin stared back—too far away to hear but close enough to watch. Under Kisonan’s expressionless gaze, Garit fidgeted as if he wanted to bolt. “I . . . I . . . can’t. You don’t understand.”
Maybe if Mayka could unde
rstand, she could convince him. “Tell me about the creature you lost. Your friend that he broke.”
“What? But she’s gone. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Of course it matters.” Mayka sat down on a stool, ready to listen. She felt certain that this was the key to Apprentice Garit. Everyone had a story that mattered most to them, that defined them. For her, it was the mark that made her part of a family. For Si-Si, it was the mark that made her want to be like the flying dragons of legend. “What was her story?”
“Uh, well . . . she was nice. And I didn’t expect that, because most of the stone creatures that Master Siorn carves just do their job. They clean or cook or guard or carry. They don’t listen. But she listened. When I messed up on a carving . . . or when I couldn’t find the right tool or the right stone that Master Siorn wanted when he wanted it . . . or when I was missing home . . .”
“You miss your family?” Mayka prodded. “I miss mine.”
“I still see them on holidays, but it’s not the same. I miss having breakfast with them. I miss sleeping under the same roof as all of them. I miss the sounds at night. Crickets in the field. The cows. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Here I am in the greatest city in the valley, with an apprenticeship that helps my family . . . I should be grateful. That’s what my parents say when I tell them I miss home. But Ava, my stone friend, didn’t say that. She just . . . listened. And it was nice. She might have been terrible at everything else, but she was good at that.”
“Did you ask him not to destroy her?” Mayka asked.
“He doesn’t listen to me. Doesn’t listen to anyone. He’s always absorbed in his work—it’s his life. Truthfully, I’m surprised he even talked to you. Guess it’s because you look so much like a person but you’re not.”
Mayka scowled at him. “Thanks.”
“Sorry! I mean . . . You’re offended by that? Really?”
“Yes, really.” She poked him in the shoulder. “How would you like it if I said you weren’t a person because you’re made of mostly water, hmm? How would you like it if I said you weren’t real because your body changes all the time, and you aren’t made up of the same parts from one year to the next? Your blood changes, your skin changes, your whole body gets swapped out for new bits—it’s happening all the time. But I don’t say you aren’t real, even though your very existence is ephemeral. You are no more real than a cloud. You’re here, you live, you die, and the world goes on. You’re a breath of wind. Of the two of us, I am more real. I am stone, eternally unchanging.” Except that I’m fading. She stopped herself. She wasn’t eternal or unchanging. She simply would last longer than he would.
His mouth was hanging open.
“It doesn’t matter whether I was born in a mess of blood and goo, or whether I was shaped lovingly and carefully in a workroom with chisel and hammer. I exist now, and so do Jacklo and Risa and Si-Si. And so did your stone friend. Master Siorn has no right to our existence.”
He stared at her.
She crossed her arms and glared at him.
At last, he said, “You’re right.” There was a note of wonder in his voice, as if he were seeing the world anew. He took a deep breath. “I’ll help you.”
Uncrossing her arms, she smiled. “Thank you.”
Garit placed a monocular over one eye, and he examined Jacklo’s marks.
Mayka waited. Risa fidgeted. And the griffin stood guard at the door, silent and motionless. I wonder how much of that he heard, she thought. And what he thought of it. She stroked the crest of stone feathers on Jacklo’s head, to keep him calm.
Garit made humphing noises, as if he’d seen something he didn’t like, and Mayka leaned in to see what he was looking at.
The new mark was glaringly raw against the old, worn stone, and to Mayka, it looked like a cut in flesh. She wished she could seal the stone closed again. Master Siorn had carved it right in between Jacklo’s other marks, intertwined with them, so it all became part of the same story.
“It won’t be easy to remove,” Garit whispered. He pointed to the lines. “Look how it’s bridging the other lines. I don’t even know what all these symbols mean.”
“I can read it for you,” Mayka offered.
He looked at her oddly but moved aside.
Leaning over Jacklo, she began his story: “Once upon a time, the sky was empty of laughter. The sun shone in the day, and the moon and stars decorated the night. Rain fell. Wind blew. Clouds formed and fled. And a stonemason looked up at the sky and thought it was lacking. So he carved a bird and filled it with delight and wonder. This bird is Jacklo, full of innocent joy, and laughter on the wing. He soars through the sky and”—she stopped, because there was where Master Siorn’s ugly mark cut across his tale. She swallowed hard—“obeys Master Siorn. He loves the air above the mountains, the trees, and his sister, Risa.”
“I do,” Jacklo said solemnly.
“I don’t see all that in those symbols,” Garit complained. “I see sky and laughter—but how did you connect them like that? How did you know that’s how to read it?”
“Because of how the symbols are drawn touching.” She pointed to the lines that linked them, like vines lashed around a tree. “And because I know Jacklo, and that’s what his story is. He loves to fly. He loves the mountains. And he loves us. Master Siorn had no right to add that”—she jabbed at the obedience mark—“to his tale. It doesn’t belong. He’s supposed to be a bird who lives with us on the mountain, not a bird who serves a stonemason in Skye.”
Garit leaned over him again.
“Can you do it?” Risa asked.
“I . . . I don’t know. It’s between his other marks,” Garit said. “If I were to try to chip it out . . . Look how close it is to the words that grant him flight. If I try . . . It’s possible he won’t be able to fly anymore.”
Si-Si squawked. “Don’t do it!”
Jacklo raised his head. “Not fly?”
From across the room, the griffin guard shifted, and Garit gave him a weak smile and a wave, as if to say all was well here and the griffin needn’t concern himself. Kisonan didn’t move again.
“I’m sorry,” Garit whispered to Mayka and Jacklo. “I wish I could promise that it would be fine, but the way the lines are positioned . . . I don’t know. I have to be honest. I’m not good enough to be sure I can get the mark out without damaging the marks on either side.”
He seemed genuinely sorry.
She turned to Jacklo. “It’s still your decision—do you want to take the risk?”
“He’s going to do it,” Risa said.
Mayka held up her hand. “Jacklo’s decision only.”
“How can he make a proper decision when that mark is interfering with his brain?” Risa asked. “He can’t think straight when it’s on him. Otherwise he wouldn’t have hurt himself trying to keep from leaving the stonemason.”
That was true. But still . . . “Jacklo? What do you think?” It was too big a decision to be made for him: flight or freedom. He defined himself by flight. It gave him joy. It made him a bird, himself, Jacklo. Only he could decide whether or not to risk it.
“I . . . don’t know. I don’t want to disappoint Master Siorn, but I don’t want to upset you and Risa either,” Jacklo whispered. “I don’t like how I feel. I feel so torn. Why do I feel this way?”
“It’s because of the mark,” Mayka said. “You understand that, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer, and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to. But then he said, in a voice so soft it sounded like a puff of wind. “I want to think for myself again. Please do it, Garit. I trust you.”
Looking at Garit and remembering his lost friend, Mayka thought, I do too.
Chapter
Seventeen
“It will take time,” Garit cautioned. “And I’ll need the tools in the workroom. So it will need to be done when Master Siorn is away.” He shot another look at the locked door.
Mayka nodded. Th
is would have to be done secretly. Funny, I’ve never kept a secret before. She’d never needed to. She’d told Father everything she thought and felt, and she’d assumed he did the same.
He kept secrets from me, though. She hadn’t known he’d been in a war, or that he’d lost his family. Or even that he’d had a daughter before her. He hadn’t talked much about his life in the valley. Maybe because those stories hurt too much to tell.
Or maybe because he’d used an obedience mark and knew how I’d feel about it? No, she didn’t believe that. He’d made her the kind of person who would hate such a mark, so how could he be a person who would carve one?
She wished she could have asked Master Siorn more. If he were a different sort of man, the kind who would never think to create such a mark, then she would have happily spent a week or two staying here, listening to tales about Father. There must have been more to tell, if he was famous enough to inspire legends and a mural.
“How do we get your master to leave?” Risa asked.
Garit considered it for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he thought. “The trick isn’t getting him to leave; it’s me being able to stay. He needs to oversee preparations for his festival stage. He’ll have to leave the Stone Quarter so he can make sure everything’s in place and exactly like he wants it. Usually, I take notes for him and run errands.”
“Tell him you need to stay here to work,” Risa said.
Mayka pointed at the dragon. “Tell him you need to work on Si-Si.”
“That’s . . . not a bad idea,” Garit said. “I can start to carve her, and then when Master Siorn says it’s time, I’ll say that I’m at a delicate point and can’t stop. He’ll want me to finish what I started. It’s brilliant!”
Excited, Si-Si danced in place. “Yes!”
Mayka beamed at Si-Si. “And then we’ll be able to leave, and Si-Si will be able to fly! Everyone gets what they want.”
He held up both his hands. “Well . . . not just yet. I can prepare her wings—I’ve been thinking about how to do that—but I’ll need to study the birds more to replicate what Master Kyn did with the marks.”
The Stone Girl's Story Page 16
