“We know you’re in there, Fidget.”
He recognized Tatem’s voice. Fidget tore his eyes away from the metal man and looked back at the entrance to the cave. He could see the light outside, and hear other boys’ voices.
He wondered if he’d be able to hide in the cave, and maybe his tormenters would leave him alone. Then his nose wrinkled. He could smell wood smoke, and in a breath he could see wisps of grey entering the mouth of the cave.
The boys had started a fire.
Fidget coughed and his heart started to race. He might not have been the fastest runner, or the strongest wrestler, but he was clever, and he knew that if he stayed in the cave he would choke on the smoke and die.
Already smoke was pouring into the cave, filling it with gray clouds that clustered on the low ceiling. The entrance could no longer be seen through the haze. Fidget had to act, and he had to act fast.
He crouched down low and ran half-bent over, his hand over his mouth and nose. Fidget heard the sound of heavy branches being dropped onto the fire outside. He screamed as he reached the cave’s mouth and all he could see was grey, interspersed with flickers of red flame.
Terrified beyond belief, Fidget ran blindly ahead, feeling the fire touch his skin, burning through his thin clothing and blistering his stomach and legs.
He tripped over a branch and fell to the ground. Rolling, his eyes shut tight and lungs burning, he kept moving until he finally felt the heat lessen, and he knew he had made it out.
“Look, Tatem, isn’t that your pathfinder?” a boy piped.
Fidget still held the device in his hand. He opened his eyes. He was on his back, squinting against the bright daylight. There were five of them; they stood around him in a group, looking down at him.
“Lord of Fire, look at Tatem’s face. I’ve never seen him so mad.”
Fidget grimaced as he tried to move. Though his burned skin hurt worse than anything he had ever felt before, he knew the danger was far from over.
“You’re not getting up,” Tatem finally said. The expression on the big boy’s face was dark. He bent down and took the pathfinder from Fidget’s unresisting fingers. “You stole from me. No. You’re not getting up,” he repeated.
Fidget’s vision burst in stars and he felt an incredible pain. Tatem kicked him in the head again. Then the breath went out of him as Tatem kicked him in the stomach.
The other boys jeered and laughed. Fidget tried to cover his crotch, so they kicked him in the head. Then, when he covered his head, they kicked him in the crotch.
The kicking went on and on, all the boys joining in. Fidget’s body curled up, but they still found unprotected spots. All of the individual points of pain joined together, and Fidget felt his mind disconnecting from his body. When Tatem kicked his back with all his strength, Fidget felt something break inside him.
Eventually they left him, and as the day passed, Fidget wondered if he would live. The sun set over the horizon, and the moon rose, and still Fidget couldn’t move. He heard the howling of wolves.
Petrya is near the desert, and with the night came a terrible chill. As the temperature dropped, Fidget began to shiver, but it wasn’t until he heard the wolves’ howling draw closer that he managed to drag his body back inside the cave, crawling along the earth like a worm.
By late the next day, Fidget was finally conscious of his surroundings. Lying on the ground, his breath wheezing in his chest, he looked around and realized that after such a long time in the cave his eyes had adjusted to the darkness.
And there, just a dozen paces away, was the metal man, as still and silent as ever.
Fidget tried to stand, feeling pain shoot through his bruised and battered body, but there was something wrong with his back. He fell back down to the ground, crying out with the agony.
When he could think again, Fidget noticed something he hadn’t noticed before. Behind the statue, not far from Fidget’s eyes, was a flat box. It wasn’t a big box; it was only about a foot on one side and half that on the other, perhaps a couple of inches high.
Fidget hobbled over and opened the box, the lid coming off easily. Inside was a flat tablet of marble, and immediately he recognized the runes of magic that covered its surface, just like the pathfinder he’d stolen, but with many, many more of the little symbols.
He bent down and took the tablet out of the box. Fidget sat down and put it on his knees so that he could examine it more easily. Behind him, the man of metal stood silent.
Fidget spent days in the cave, tinkering with the tablet, forgetting about his pain, or even about hunger or thirst.
Three days after his beating, Fidget hobbled into the village. In the crook of his left arm he held a marble tablet that glowed with eerie magic, and his right hand touched it here and there.
Beside him walked a seven-foot tall man of metal.
As Fidget touched the symbols, the man would turn, or walk faster, or walk slower.
Making his was with painful steps through the village, Fidget found the boys who had hurt him, one by one. He had the iron golem – for that’s what it was, though he didn’t know it yet – hit their faces, kick their stomachs, and stamp on their necks. He didn’t say anything as he touched the tablet here and there, and beat them to death.
He found Tatem in his house with his family, in the middle of a meal. Tatem’s pa tried to stop him, but the golem was quicker, and it knocked the man down. Fidget made the man of metal beat Tatem to a bloody pulp, but left him alive.
He then burned Tatem's house down with him in it.
Fidget left the village, and they never saw him again, although they say he is out there, somewhere, with no other company but a man made out of metal.
~
Petie shivered as the old storyteller finished speaking and took a sip from his wooden cup. The other members of the group sighed, and met eyes with each other, grinning and shaking their heads.
Petie missed his pa so badly. Why did he have to die? He didn’t want to be alone this night.
“Well,” said Jenrin, “that was certainly dark.” He shook his head. “I thank you, for your stories and your company, and I hope you’ll enjoy the warmth of one of our wagons on this cold night. We should…”
He was interrupted by a new voice, a cold voice, calling from the darkness. “None of you move, there are more of us than there are you, and we won’t be here long.”
Eight men stepped into the circle of firelight. Each held a wicked sword in his hands, and they were big men. Hard men.
“It’s a cold night, but it’s about to get colder,” the leader, a burly, bearded warrior, spoke again. “We’ll be relieving you of your wagons, your clothing, your gilden…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Petie saw the old storyteller bend down, rummaging in the sack at his feet. He pulled out a flat stone and sat it on his knees.
“Excuse me,” said the storyteller in his thin voice, as his fingers danced across the stone.
A figure walked out of the night, emerging like a demon, black and terrifying. A man made out of metal.
“…There is someone I’d like you to meet.”
The Builder’s Mark
It was graceful and beautiful. Each stone had been carefully chosen, matched to its fellows and carved with little whorls and the petals of flowers. The arch was complete.
Akio stepped back and regarded his work. Then, taking a deep breath, he began to remove the wooden supports. As he dismantled the frame the stones’ weight shifted, the arch came together, and for the first time was one.
Akio’s heart hammered as he withdrew the slats. He felt the arch tremble, and froze, his hands holding a piece of wood half-way through taking it away from the stone it supported. The arch’s tremble became a rumble.
“Look out!” Norio, Akio’s father, cried.
Akio jumped away, watching as the arch broke apart, barely escaping the heavy blocks of marble that tumbled to the earth. But he'd forgotten about the step ladder behind
him. Suddenly he was looking up at the sky, finally smashing the back of his head into something hard.
Finally, all was still.
Akio coughed and rolled over. He immediately thought of his father.
“Are you hurt?” Akio shot to his feet and rushed over to Norio.
“I’m fine!” Norio scowled, pushing his son away.
Akio put his hand to the back of his head and winced when he felt a lump. He looked around the quarry. Some of the other apprentices had started to come over at the commotion, but seeing that Akio and his father were unhurt, they returned to their work, shaking their heads and grinning ruefully at each other.
Though Norio was small and wizened, he had a wiry strength. He briskly turned Akio around to look at the back of his head, shaking his head as his son groaned. “You’ll never win Rika’s heart at this rate, and you certainly won't be able to count on her father's approval. You’ll be lucky to get your building license. I know I wouldn’t grant it, the way you’re going.”
Norio took Akio by the arm, leading him to the remains of the arch.
“Why do you think each apprentice is required to build an arch? What’s so special about an arch that the High Builder thinks it’s the best way to test your skills?”
Akio sighed. “I know, Father.”
“Tell me again.”
“Stone handles compression stresses but not tensile stresses. An arch provides a structure that eliminates tensile stresses while spanning an open space.”
“What else?” Norio demanded.
“An arch can be constructed in many different ways. It can be made tall or strong, span a wide space or a narrow one. The apprentice has a chance to demonstrate his skill.”
Norio picked up one of the smaller stone blocks. He turned it over in his hands to display the carved petals of a flower. “Tell me, Akio," Norio said, holding up the stone. "Where does it say that a good arch is one that was decorated with beautiful designs on the stones? They are pleasing to the eye, yes, but remember: You are building an arch. Not decorating one.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Building isn’t just about beauty. It’s about function, and form, and stresses, and forces.”
“Mathematics,” Akio scowled.
“Yes, my son. Mathematics. And lore. Your designs are pretty to look at, but where are the runes? The runes are there to help you – so use them! The runes make the stones stronger, or lighter, or resistant to heat, or bond better to the other stones. The runes, like the arch, are practical things.”
Akio finally raised his chin. “That’s not true. Not every structure is practical. What about the Long Bridge in Sarostar? Or the Terra Cathedral in Ralanast? In Torakon itself, in our capital Sakurai, what of the Pillars of Minoru, the Cathedral of the Sky, and the Akita Theatre? Even the earth temple in our village is a work of beauty.” Akio paused to take a breath.
“Akio, Akio,” Norio shook his head. “Yes,” he agreed, “they are beautiful structures. But,” he glared at his son, “first they were made to stand. Only after you have given your work both form and function, then can you make your mark in tiny letters on a block of stone that no one will ever see, but that you will know is there.” Akio’s father looked into the distance. “My mark is hidden in the walls of the house you live in, and the stones of the new spire on the village temple. One day you too will make your mark.” He gripped Akio's shoulders. “Persevere, my son. Persevere.”
~
Akio was on his way from the village workshop back to the quarry when he saw her. Rika. He murmured her name, feeling pleasure in the way it sounded on his lips.
She wore a lilac tunic, belted around the waist. It was the same style as the other village girls wore, but because her father was guild master and one of the most important men in the village, she wore a golden ribbon in her hair and the belt she wore was of yellow silk from Altura. Her hair was dark and long, with curls at the end past her neck. Curved eyebrows framed soft brown eyes, and her nose was regal, long enough to give her face character. At first, Akio had thought she was haughty, but then when they’d become friends he realized she was lonely, and for some reason he could make her laugh. She hadn’t yet seen him and Akio felt his heart ache. She was so beautiful. How could he ever hope to win her?
“Rika!” Akio called. He crossed to her side of the road.
Rika looked around. “Akio,” she took a step back, “you can’t be here! Someone will see us and tell my father.”
“Please, Rika. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“I mean it. You must go. But tell me, quickly, how is your work going?”
“It goes well,” Akio said. He looked at Rika's sympathetic eyes and sighed. “Actually, it isn’t going very well at all. My father’s frustrated. I know what I want to do. I want to make works of beauty. But the logic of it, the equations and the calculations… they sometimes escape me.”
“You’re too modest,” Rika said. “I’ve seen your work. It’s beautiful. You’re too hard on yourself.”
Akio shook his head. “You’ve only seen my carvings. You’ve never seen me build.”
“Have you heard the news? Prince Masaki’s coming to the examinations. To our village! Don’t worry, when my father sees how good you are, with Prince Masaki looking on, he won’t be able to refuse your license.”
Akio wished he shared her confidence. He didn’t know what to say next, so he simply stood, looking at Rika, memorizing her features: every strand of her hair and line of her chin, every curve of her lips.
“I need to go now,” Rika said. She glanced around, and then gave Akio a swift kiss on the cheek. “Good luck.”
~
“No, Akio. That’s wrong! Didn’t you hear what I said? Use your oracle. The artificers don’t sell those gadgets cheap, you know.”
Akio spoke the words to activate the oracle, and again keyed in the numbers. The answer was the same. He scratched his head.
“Give it to me,” Norio puffed with exasperation. “You need to divide percentages by a hundred. You know that!”
Akio felt the pressure building up inside his head. One week until the apprentices’ examination. One week. And it seemed that the closer the date came, the more mistakes he made.
“Stop thinking about that girl!” Norio yelled. “She’s housebound, and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Did you not think you’d be seen in the street? That word wouldn’t make its way to Rika’s mother and then to Builder Kazuki’s ear? You won’t see Rika until after the examinations are over, so just concentrate!”
“I’m trying my best,” Akio protested.
“Well try harder!”
Akio felt the pounding in his head grow in intensity. The blood rushed to his temple, and the oracle in his hand wavered.
“Do it again, and this time divide by a hundred. I saved for a year to buy you that oracle. Use the thing!”
Akio looked at the beginning of the arch in front of him. Behind it was the large marble block he was cutting the stones from. He had nowhere near the number of stones he would need.
Looking at his scowling father, and then at the amount of work in front of him, Akio suddenly couldn’t take it anymore.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t have!” he cried. “Maybe I need to figure things out for myself sometimes. Maybe if you hadn’t been pushing me so hard, I would have learned on my own. Did you ever think of that?”
Norio drew back, his eyes wide with shock, but now that Akio had started he couldn’t stop.
“It’s just you and me,” Akio said. “I remember you saying that after Mother died. But it’s always about you! What about what I want? Did anyone ever ask me?”
Even as he said the words, Akio knew they were wrong. Norio regarded him with an expression that said that Akio was old enough to know better.
As Akio waited for his father to speak, Norio instead turned and without a word he walked away, leaving Akio alone in the quarry with the sun setting and all the other a
pprentices gone home.
Akio sat down on the hard rock, staring at the marble block and the cart he was supposed to use to bring his completed arch back to the village.
In a fit of rage he took his large hammer and smashed it into the huge marble block, again and again. Chips and chunks of stone flew off in all directions. Finally Akio kicked the block, and it tipped backwards, half-falling onto the cart.
Akio sat down and wondered what he would do.
~
The village was buzzing with the news that Prince Masaki was finally in town. High Lord Koraku’s son was young, handsome, and unmarried. The village women had been run off their feet the previous week, not only ensuring their homes and husbands were looking their finest, but also that their daughters were looking their most presentable.
Norio raised himself onto his toes as he tried to look over the shoulder of a tall man holding a baby. He was in the village square, a wide space paved with cobbled stones under the watchful gaze of the earth temple’s spires. The square had been cleared, with the townsfolk packed along the sides; it was not permitted to move further into the judging area. Norio pressed into the crowd and struggled to see through the mass of people.
A score of apprentices nervously stood next to their wheeled carts, and on each cart stood an apprentice's creation. Each work was covered by a cloth which would be removed when the High Builder and the guild master – Builder Kazuki, Rika's father – made their assessment. For added excitement, Prince Masaki would accompany the examiners on their grading. Builder Kazuki was puffed with importance to not only be in the company of the High Builder but also the High Lord’s son. He knew this boded well for his career.
Norio could see Rika standing in the crowd, not too far from her mother. Rika looked especially beautiful in a summer dress of blue and orange, although she wore a scowl on her face as her mother fidgeted with her hair.
Another apprentice entered the square, the drudge-pulled cart eventually coming to a halt, and suddenly Norio’s heart was in his mouth. It was Akio.
Seven Words of Power Page 3
