#masonnano

[wootensmith]

Woodwose

had a little breakdown, rethought a whole bunch of stuff and started somewhere else. If you are reading these (I don't think anyone is, but if you are), I apologize, I've skipped a whole bunch between because I am not certain what goes there yet. I'll have that part eventually, but probably not until the end after I figure it out. This is why I shouldn't draft in public ;)

The trees split, almost before she could realize that the light wasn’t as dim and green as it had been a few steps before. A large ring of mossy rock rose up from the foot of the forest. A trickling spring tumbled down the rocks, sparkling in the sudden light and the breeze, which Sela hadn’t been able to feel all morning, whistled softly through the crevices in the craggy hill. At the peak stood the tree of voices. She had no doubt what it was. It stood alone, its roots slithering through the stone, enormous in width, though not much taller than its fellows in the forest surrounding. She could see no path to it, nor any leading back into the forest. Sela had thought she lost her way. She understood, now, that there was no way to lose. Whether the tree had been forgotten or shunned, she could not tell, but there had been few pilgrimages to this place. No campfire rings or torch brackets, not even a game trail beaten into the bracken. It’s a marvel I reached the place. And that Nevdah knew to send me here, she thought. She started to pick her way up the slippery green rocks and paused when she had to climb over the first massive root. It stretched and branched like a claw around the side of a boulder before sinking into the soil below. She placed her hand on the root, using it to stabilize her and a strange shriek erupted from the top of the hill. Maybe there is a reason this place is forgotten, she realized, immediately shrinking away from contact with the root. Perhaps I shouldn’t be here.

The shriek extended into a howl. Birds from the forest behind her lifted up in protest, flocking toward the west, away from the sound. Already here, she told herself. Besides, it’s just a yell. It is supposed to have a thousand voices, right? That’s what it’s called. Sela gripped the root and climbed over, headed for the shrill cry at the top of the hill.

“Hello?” she called, trying to make herself heard over the lengthy scream. She wondered if whoever it was would pause for a breath. “I don’t mean harm,” she added, not sure anyone could even hear her. Another shout joined the first. Sela winced but nothing ran out toward her or appeared at the top of the hill.

It’s just noise, she thought, even as a few more voices joined in. And they sound more scared of me than I am of them. Best get up there and show them I’m no threat. She had to climb over another root. She slipped on the mossy bark and it tore under her feet. She caught herself on a rock and made it over, but the din was even worse. Her ears were beginning to ring, and whoever was shrieking seemed to have endless breath, because there was no pause in the sound. Sela clenched her jaw but kept climbing. She wanted to cover her ears, but needed her hands to negotiate the uneven terrain. The roots were thickly clustered now, overtaking the rocks entirely and coated in a thick furry moss. Sela was walking on a snarl of sinuous green. She could see the tree was not a single solid trunk, but hundreds of separate clusters of vines joined at the crown that had plunged into the ground some distance from the central mass of the tree. At the center of each vine cluster was a solid knot. From her position just under the crest of the hill, it looked as if the knots had been carefully carved by some skillful woodworker into a face. She could see dozens, all with their own expression and crannies, all seemingly looking at her. She wondered if the wind were just blowing through the little openings between the vines and making the overwhelming howl. As she came close to the first of the vine clusters, however, she could see the face was open-mouthed, alarmed, screaming. It occurred to her that perhaps the faces weren’t carved at all. There were no cuts, only smooth shaped bark and a pair of strangely glistening eyes that followed her movements. When she reached out to touch the lumpy wooden cheek, the bark shifted under her fingertips and she drew back, alarmed. The face stopped screaming and the vines rattled around it as it stared at her.

“What are you going to do?” it asked in a whimper.

“You’re alive?” Sela asked.

“Course I’m alive. Root rot’s not got me yet. Only the southern side. Or so the others say. But what are you going to do shallow-rooter? Cut us? Burn us?”

“No! I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“Hurt our toe already, like a clumsy gopher. Ripped a good portion of our bark off. It smarts and it’ll take a month to regrow, if the beetles don’t get in in the meantime.”

Sela glanced down to where she’d slipped. The bright raw wood where she’d exposed it seemed like bone through a green wound. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I’ll see if I can put the bark and moss back to protect you when I go back down.”

“You will?” asked the face. “Why did you come here? How did you find us? No one’s found us in forty summers.”

“I came to—“ Sela stopped, interrupted by the intensifying wail from the other vines.

“Peace!” roared the face. “I’m talking to the intruder. We all know she’s here now, you can stop the alarm.” It waited a few seconds as the din slowly petered out. “Please, continue,” the face said when Sela didn’t speak.

“I came to see the woodwose,” she said. “I need to know how to destroy the Ker Splinter.”

The face’s heavy brow creaked slightly as it creased. “Woodwose is one of our oldest. Why should I let you see him?”

Sela shrugged. “This is obviously the tree of voices. He’s here. All I have to do is find him. I’m not sure it’s a matter of what you let me do.”

“You think our alarms were all we could do when faced with an intruder? We’re not defenseless,” said the face. “And there are hundreds of us. It would take you hours to find Woodwose without our help.”

“As I said, I’m not here to hurt anyone. The man who carries the Ker Splinter is dying. His only wish is to be reunited with the Queen, whom he loves. I’m trying to help him. Help us all. Once he’s gone, if the Ker Splinter remains, what will happen?”

The face’s glittering eyes rolled. “The Khemeia will retake it, I imagine. Nothing to do with us.”

“Doesn’t it have to do with you, too? I don’t know what the Khemeia will do with it, but your friend must have thought it was something pretty dire— he helped the heroes who came before me, didn’t he?”

The face hesitated. “You leave your attachments here,” it said after a few seconds.

“Attachments?”

“That fruit pod you’re carrying. Leave it here. I don’t want you carrying any weapons to Woodwose.”

Sela thought for a moment and realized the face must mean her pack. She slid it from her shoulders. “Okay. Nothing in there except a blanket and some food. My tools. But those are for stone.”

“Leave it anyway. Then I’ll know when you’re gone.”

She shrugged and placed it at the point where the cluster of vines disappeared into the ground.

“Turn around,” the face instructed. “I need to look you over.”

Sela turned slowly around, trying not to scuff the roots under her shoes.

“Very well,” said the face when she’d turned to it again, “Head for our center. “Woodwose is near our heart behind me. The others will help if you turn astray.”

“What does he look like?” asked Sela.

“How should I know?” snapped the face. “I sprouted three centuries after him facing west. We’ve never met.”

“Sorry,” said Sela. “I didn’t mean to insult you—“

“Just get going. Be glad to see the back of you.”

Not sure you’re going to see the back of anything, she thought. You can only see in front of you and I’m sure I won’t be going back the way I came. She picked her way across the web of roots toward where the clusters of vines grew closer together. Several of the faces stared at her as she passed. At first, she greeted them, but getting no response, just tried to ignore them. The vine clusters grew thicker as she went further, each one taking up more and more space, eventually seeming to melt into themselves, creating a sturdy trunk. The faces in the center varied, some angular, some round, some sprinkled with moss or pale lichen. A few had gnarled whorls or small twigs growing astray or tiny blue toadstools popping up from pointed chins. Underfoot, a thick carpet of decaying leaves gave the air a moist, earthy smell and seemed to trap the sound of Sela’s own feet in her ears. The vine clusters crowded her and she tried very hard not to touch them as she weaved in and out, trying to find the central trunk. She soon realized she had lost her way and could not see the open glad any longer.

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. It’s just one tree. You’ll come out the other side in a moment.

“What’s wrong, shallow roots?” said a face near her elbow. It’s voice was raspy and quiet.

“I’ve lost my way,” she whispered, uncomfortable with disturbing the silence around her.

“That happens when you don’t plant firm,” the face said.

“I need to find Woodwose. Can you help me?”

The face wrinkled into a wide smile. “Woodwose? Haven’t heard his voice in several seasons. He should be straight ahead of me. Thirty or so new sprouts since I last saw his branch. Got crowded. Those were good growing seasons. Go on, straight from me. Tell him Jura still roots and that the western spring runs clear. He will know what is meant and it will help him to know.”

“Very well,” said Sela and turned the direction the face had indicated. She had to pass through very small gaps between the vine clusters, accidentally brushing a few of the faces as she did. Almost none of them responded and the ones who did only muttered sleepily, not even opening their odd, glistening eyes to look at her.

Woodwose was massive. His face elongated and flaking old bark as he blinked slowly at her. His vine cluster stretched several feet in every direction, each vine as large around as the first clusters she had encountered. And still, she could see an even larger trunk behind him.

“Hello sapling. Your footsteps cause many tremors.”

“I’m sorry,” said Sela.

“It is not you who made the ground unstable. It is our own growth. What was done before you brought us both to this place. Neither of us can undo it, the growth or the splintering of the stone, but what we do next still belongs to us.”

“You know I came about the Ker Splinter? How?”

Bark sloughed off in little shards as Woodwose’s face stretched into a smile. “Tremors cause echoes, little earth-shaker. Once, when I was a sprout, we were all that grew in this land. I could see a long, long way for centuries. The world and the forest crowded in a long time ago— I have not seen the outside world in several of your lifetimes, sapling. But our roots still extend far, far into your realm. They taste the changes in the soil, in the water. Your echoes still reach my ears on occasion. I’ve even had visitors from time to time. Neither of us is as small or forgotten as we like to think, you know.”

[wootensmith]

Ker Splinter

“Already abandoning me?” Nevdah called down the path.

Sela turned, squinting against the morning sun. “I can’t do much without stone. Or mud, for that matter. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

Nevdah glanced up at the tower. “Is it far, the place you’re going?”

“Not far. Whoever built the place used local stone. The river at the base of the bluff will probably have what I need.”

“And you’d only be gone a few hours?”

“That’s the plan.”

Nevdah hobbled down the uneven path toward her. “Then— care for some company? It’s been years since I went that far but I used… I saw the realm, you know.”

“I know. But it’s a steep climb—“

“It’s not because I can’t go far. My legs still work. A little stiff at the knees but the stretching does them good. It’s the shard.”

Sela looked at the tower. “I don’t mean to doubt you, Nevdah, but the tower’s not such a formidable building to get into. If someone wanted to steal the shard I don’t know that you being here or not would stop them. If you want to go for a walk near the river then you should.”

Nevdah smiled. “That tower’s got more secrets than you know. I told you Dror always knew his exits, but he also knew his traps and secret hiding places, too. The tower wasn’t built to protect the shard, it was built to protect him. The shard’s safe as long as I’m breathing, you don’t need to worry about that. I told you, all you have to worry about is fixing the roof. Not the world. And I think I’d like to risk the walk, if you won’t mind me tottering along.”

“Not at all,” said Sela, picking up the handcart. “Tell me more of your story on the way. I’ve only heard about you and Dror. What about the others? You said some were nobles. How would two boys from the docks of Parin meet nobles? Did Dror try to steal from them?”

The rumble of the cartwheels almost overwhelmed Nevdah’s laugh. “No, no, not that time, though that’s a good guess. It was Maija who brought us all together.”

“So you met her first?” Sela glanced over her shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, the smile lingering still. “I met her first. And thank goodness, or it might have been Dror and I never would have won a contest of charm with him as an opponent.”

They passed the final statue and Nevdah gave its mossy knee an affectionate pat. “Not that we ever fought about Maija, we didn’t. She was always… I don’t know why she took to me, in particular. It was never a question that I would love her. Not even that first day. It wasn’t like the tales, mind you. We didn’t swoon upon seeing each other or any of that nonsense. I don’t think it ever actually happens that way, if I’m honest.”

Sela laughed. “My mother always says if you fall in love at the sight of a person, you’re just as likely to fall out again when you see them the next morning.”

“She’s likely right. It wasn’t like that with Maija. I didn’t even think she looked much of anything that day, though you’ll never catch me telling her that.” He caught up with the front of the cart. Sela watched him for any sign he was out of breath or in pain, ready to slow her pace, but he walked easily beside her.

“It has to have been almost half a century now, isn’t it? I think she’d forgive you if you didn’t think she was beautiful the first time you met.”

“She was a wreck. Half-drowned and covered in the filth the city dumped into the river. I hauled her out of the water just outside the city gates. She never could swim, but she’d tried that day. The Khemeia had sacked her town up river some ten leagues. She’d fought to the bitter end until they pushed what remained of the town’s defenders to the banks of the river with their flaming powders and metal rains. She’d been afire and jumped in to stop the burning. The current was swift and carried her away before she realized. She clung to the side of a sinking fisherman’s boat until it finally broke apart. She always said she didn’t remember how she managed to stay afloat the rest of the way. She coughed water a good few hours after I found her.”

“Was that the first you’d heard of the Khemeia?”

“To our shame, no. The Khemeia had been troublesome for the northern territories for years. And our city councilors were slow to act even with their forces being so close to Parin. But Maija had seen something in the chaos that day. Between choking on the filthy water and her flailing to stay upright, it was the first thing she said to me as I tried to fish her out. ‘A stone like the void of night,” she said. ‘Sucks the life right out of anything it touches. Tell them, tell them to flee.’ That’s what she told me. I thought she was touched. I took her home and my mother wanted to throw her out because of the stench. But Maija just kept talking about this stone and she was badly burned from the Khemeian weapons. My mother was not a hard woman, and she relented, taking Maija to bathe her and heal her. But it was me, it was me she kept talking to. I didn’t understand most of it— I think she was still terrified and lost in the battle to make much sense. She finally fell asleep gripping my hand. I stood up to go and she squeezed my fingers one more time in her sleep and her lips moved, still whispering about this terrible stone. And that’s when I knew I’d love her. I didn’t love her yet, but I knew I was going to. Not the same thing, though sometimes people mistake them. It was only a moment, lost for a long time in so many others. One of the ones that would shake loose if the storytellers tried. Back then, though, I had other things to worry about. What to do with this strange woman. Whether to listen to her strange story of powerful stones or bring her to the Quiet Houses to recover her sanity. It wasn’t until much later— months, maybe, that I realized I’d even had an idea of loving her. Not until long after she’d persuaded us all into a mad attempt to stop Grindall.”

“You’re skipping ahead,” said Sela.

“I am. It’s hard not to, with her. She is a torrent in my mind, a flood that carries all else away. It’s difficult to remember a time before her and all the moments after her have been an agony.”

“Why— forgive me,” said Sela shaking her head.

“For what?”

“Pay me no mind. Go on with your story. We’re almost to the river.”

“What would you ask?”

She shook her head again. Nevdah smiled.

“You meant to ask why we parted, is that it? And feared offending me?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“There is nothing to feel offended by. There was no quarrel. Nothing to blame myself for. And certainly nothing to blame Maija for. Not ever. It’s the shard. You’ve heard how we shattered the stone.”

“Of course.”

“But those stories do not say we had to shatter it four times. And when Asa finally discovered how to keep the shards separated, the stories do not tell how it was still not enough. How Dror and Maija withered when they grew too near to one another. How even several leagues was still not enough to keep them from losing some of their vitality. They do not say that the reason the Ashen Cuckoo’s tower is here is because it is this distance that keeps ruin at bay. Nor that Queen Maija has never seen the interior of her country because if she closed the distance to the Ker Shard it would rapidly age her at the same time as it aged the bearer.”

The cart rattled over the river stones and Sela set it down. “I don’t understand. The Queen could just leave her Splinter in the care of her army. Or send an army here to secure the other. Why should that keep you apart? Have you really found no one in all these years trustworthy enough to guard them?”

“Alas, Sela, I have had many friends who I trust. Many more than our small band of six. So did the Queen and all the others. Dror even had a lover he prized above all. It was not distrust that did this.” Nevdah’s fingers trembled slightly as he pulled his tunic aside. An oblong sliver of metallic black split the skin of his chest. “Asa kept the shards from reforming into that terrible weapon, but it came at a cost. Dror was first. He was always the bravest. It only took a little, every year. It only took a few breaths away over time, Asa told us. But he didn’t volunteer, either. And on the opposite end, the Hagion Splinter extended those breaths. And Maija was the obvious choice.” He touched the edge of the sliver gingerly. “Not because I loved her. The people already loved her, too. She was always going to be Queen if we survived. It was always her rallying the realm, pushing us to stop Grindall, standing in the breach. That’s why I asked if she looked as young as she had when last I saw her. It’s been so long, Sela. We had such a good life. And the others paid for it. Dror lasted a decade. Asa went next, said it was his fault. We tried to persuade him that he was the only one who could undo it, but he— I don’t think he was the same. I think the guilt destroyed him. He only lasted two. Then Zyvie. And Barnabus. I remember the last time I was here— before. We were young men still. Youngish. We should have been. But he was frail. The man had been— enormous. Laugh as loud as a cathedral organ and he could knock me over with a friendly tap not even meaning to. But I came to visit, to bring him news and company and the wine he used to love. He was a shell. All the color gone from his hair, from his skin. He hunched and his gaze was always distant. He was silent more often than not. And he told me I’d better go, if I wanted to say goodbye. He meant if I wanted to say goodbye to Maija. We’d run out of time. I wish I’d gone. I wish I’d run back to her and— “ Nevdah broke into a sob and wiped his face. Sela reached out to touch his shoulder. “I was the last. I was the last and cursed to endure the longest. I never got to tell her properly. There was no time. And now there is too much. All these years we never asked another to take the shards. How could we? We woke up every day and kept deciding to try and save the world. But now— there’s nobody left. And I am not young. Or youngish. What will happen when there’s no one to hold the Ker Splinter?”

[wootensmith]

Ker Splinter

“Already abandoning me?” Nevdah called down the path.

Sela turned, squinting against the morning sun. “I can’t do much without stone. Or mud, for that matter. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

Nevdah glanced up at the tower. “Is it far, the place you’re going?”

“Not far. Whoever built the place used local stone. The river at the base of the bluff will probably have what I need.”

“And you’d only be gone a few hours?”

“That’s the plan.”

Nevdah hobbled down the uneven path toward her. “Then— care for some company? It’s been years since I went that far but I used… I saw the realm, you know.”

“I know. But it’s a steep climb—“

“It’s not because I can’t go far. My legs still work. A little stiff at the knees but the stretching does them good. It’s the shard.”

Sela looked at the tower. “I don’t mean to doubt you, Nevdah, but the tower’s not such a formidable building to get into. If someone wanted to steal the shard I don’t know that you being here or not would stop them. If you want to go for a walk near the river then you should.”

Nevdah smiled. “That tower’s got more secrets than you know. I told you Dror always knew his exits, but he also knew his traps and secret hiding places, too. The tower wasn’t built to protect the shard, it was built to protect him. The shard’s safe as long as I’m breathing, you don’t need to worry about that. I told you, all you have to worry about is fixing the roof. Not the world. And I think I’d like to risk the walk, if you won’t mind me tottering along.”

“Not at all,” said Sela, picking up the handcart. “Tell me more of your story on the way. I’ve only heard about you and Dror. What about the others? You said some were nobles. How would two boys from the docks of Parin meet nobles? Did Dror try to steal from them?”

The rumble of the cartwheels almost overwhelmed Nevdah’s laugh. “No, no, not that time, though that’s a good guess. It was Maija who brought us all together.”

“So you met her first?” Sela glanced over her shoulder.

“Yes,” he said, the smile lingering still. “I met her first. And thank goodness, or it might have been Dror and I never would have won a contest of charm with him as an opponent.”

They passed the final statue and Nevdah gave its mossy knee an affectionate pat. “Not that we ever fought about Maija, we didn’t. She was always… I don’t know why she took to me, in particular. It was never a question that I would love her. Not even that first day. It wasn’t like the tales, mind you. We didn’t swoon upon seeing each other or any of that nonsense. I don’t think it ever actually happens that way, if I’m honest.”

Sela laughed. “My mother always says if you fall in love at the sight of a person, you’re just as likely to fall out again when you see them the next morning.”

“She’s likely right. It wasn’t like that with Maija. I didn’t even think she looked much of anything that day, though you’ll never catch me telling her that.” He caught up with the front of the cart. Sela watched him for any sign he was out of breath or in pain, ready to slow her pace, but he walked easily beside her.

“It has to have been almost half a century now, isn’t it? I think she’d forgive you if you didn’t think she was beautiful the first time you met.”

“She was a wreck. Half-drowned and covered in the filth the city dumped into the river. I hauled her out of the water just outside the city gates. She never could swim, but she’d tried that day. The Khemeia had sacked her town up river some ten leagues. She’d fought to the bitter end until they pushed what remained of the town’s defenders to the banks of the river with their flaming powders and metal rains. She’d been afire and jumped in to stop the burning. The current was swift and carried her away before she realized. She clung to the side of a sinking fisherman’s boat until it finally broke apart. She always said she didn’t remember how she managed to stay afloat the rest of the way. She coughed water a good few hours after I found her.”

“Was that the first you’d heard of the Khemeia?”

“To our shame, no. The Khemeia had been troublesome for the northern territories for years. And our city councilors were slow to act even with their forces being so close to Parin. But Maija had seen something in the chaos that day. Between choking on the filthy water and her flailing to stay upright, it was the first thing she said to me as I tried to fish her out. ‘A stone like the void of night,” she said. ‘Sucks the life right out of anything it touches. Tell them, tell them to flee.’ That’s what she told me. I thought she was touched. I took her home and my mother wanted to throw her out because of the stench. But Maija just kept talking about this stone and she was badly burned from the Khemeian weapons. My mother was not a hard woman, and she relented, taking Maija to bathe her and heal her. But it was me, it was me she kept talking to. I didn’t understand most of it— I think she was still terrified and lost in the battle to make much sense. She finally fell asleep gripping my hand. I stood up to go and she squeezed my fingers one more time in her sleep and her lips moved, still whispering about this terrible stone. And that’s when I knew I’d love her. I didn’t love her yet, but I knew I was going to. Not the same thing, though sometimes people mistake them. It was only a moment, lost for a long time in so many others. One of the ones that would shake loose if the storytellers tried. Back then, though, I had other things to worry about. What to do with this strange woman. Whether to listen to her strange story of powerful stones or bring her to the Quiet Houses to recover her sanity. It wasn’t until much later— months, maybe, that I realized I’d even had an idea of loving her. Not until long after she’d persuaded us all into a mad attempt to stop Grindall.”

“You’re skipping ahead,” said Sela.

“I am. It’s hard not to, with her. She is a torrent in my mind, a flood that carries all else away. It’s difficult to remember a time before her and all the moments after her have been an agony.”

“Why— forgive me,” said Sela shaking her head.

“For what?”

“Pay me no mind. Go on with your story. We’re almost to the river.”

“What would you ask?”

She shook her head again. Nevdah smiled.

“You meant to ask why we parted, is that it? And feared offending me?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“There is nothing to feel offended by. There was no quarrel. Nothing to blame myself for. And certainly nothing to blame Maija for. Not ever. It’s the shard. You’ve heard how we shattered the stone.”

“Of course.”

“But those stories do not say we had to shatter it four times. And when Asa finally discovered how to keep the shards separated, the stories do not tell how it was still not enough. How Dror and Maija withered when they grew too near to one another. How even several leagues was still not enough to keep them from losing some of their vitality. They do not say that the reason the Ashen Cuckoo’s tower is here is because it is this distance that keeps ruin at bay. Nor that Queen Maija has never seen the interior of her country because if she closed the distance to the Ker Shard it would rapidly age her at the same time as it aged the bearer.”

The cart rattled over the river stones and Sela set it down. “I don’t understand. The Queen could just leave her Splinter in the care of her army. Or send an army here to secure the other. Why should that keep you apart? Have you really found no one in all these years trustworthy enough to guard them?”

“Alas, Sela, I have had many friends who I trust. Many more than our small band of six. So did the Queen and all the others. Dror even had a lover he prized above all. It was not distrust that did this.” Nevdah’s fingers trembled slightly as he pulled his tunic aside. An oblong sliver of metallic black split the skin of his chest. “Asa kept the shards from reforming into that terrible weapon, but it came at a cost. Dror was first. He was always the bravest. It only took a little, every year. It only took a few breaths away over time, Asa told us. But he didn’t volunteer, either. And on the opposite end, the Hagion Splinter extended those breaths. And Maija was the obvious choice.” He touched the edge of the sliver gingerly. “Not because I loved her. The people already loved her, too. She was always going to be Queen if we survived. It was always her rallying the realm, pushing us to stop Grindall, standing in the breach. That’s why I asked if she looked as young as she had when last I saw her. It’s been so long, Sela. We had such a good life. And the others paid for it. Dror lasted a decade. Asa went next, said it was his fault. We tried to persuade him that he was the only one who could undo it, but he— I don’t think he was the same. I think the guilt destroyed him. He only lasted two. Then Zyvie. And Barnabus. I remember the last time I was here— before. We were young men still. Youngish. We should have been. But he was frail. The man had been— enormous. Laugh as loud as a cathedral organ and he could knock me over with a friendly tap not even meaning to. But I came to visit, to bring him news and company and the wine he used to love. He was a shell. All the color gone from his hair, from his skin. He hunched and his gaze was always distant. He was silent more often than not. And he told me I’d better go, if I wanted to say goodbye. He meant if I wanted to say goodbye to Maija. We’d run out of time. I wish I’d gone. I wish I’d run back to her and— “ Nevdah broke into a sob and wiped his face. Sela reached out to touch his shoulder. “I was the last. I was the last and cursed to endure the longest. I never got to tell her properly. There was no time. And now there is too much. All these years we never asked another to take the shards. How could we? We woke up every day and kept deciding to try and save the world. But now— there’s nobody left. And I am not young. Or youngish. What will happen when there’s no one to hold the Ker Splinter?”

[wootensmith]

Stories

Nadev had disappeared after showing her to the small gardener’s cottage for the night, scolding her when she stammered her thanks. “Knew I should have just let you keep thinking I was the gardener. That’s all I am, Sela. Just the gardener. This wasn’t my tower, I’m just caretaking it awhile. I get so little company, let’s be pleasant together until your work is done, hmm?”

“I’ve heard so much about you though—“

“Forget what you heard. Different Nadev. It’s more than half invention anyway. That’s how stories work. Just think of me as the gardener.”

“Won’t you tell me the real story then?”

The old man sighed, rubbed at the callous between his thumb and forefinger. “I can try. Another night. If you’ll sit with me a while and tell me the news of the world below this bluff. And remember I’m just an old man now, not some oracle or great warrior. Just an old man who likes to pull weeds on occasion and sleep in the sun and hear a friendly voice from time to time.”

He’d left then, and Sela had tried to sleep in the clean, cheery cottage.

She’d spent the morning in the little wood again, chopping sturdy pieces for her scaffolding. Constructing the remaining platforms and stairs had taken the rest of the day. The hazy afternoon cooled and the sun set, throwing the front of the tower into shadow by the time Sela had secured the final railing. She should have started to inspect the roof, but instead she watched the last fingers of light rake back across the valley, shrinking up to the foot of the bluff. The glitter of hearth fires and lanterns filled up the dark instead.

“I’ll say this for Dror, he picked a fantastic view.”

Sela turned and found Nadev hunched over the railing a few panels back. “How did you—“

“Of course, what did I expect from a tactician? Always worried about our escape routes. Every blasted night. Couldn’t just post a lookout and flop down, even though your legs ached and your back was screaming. No, we had to scout for a mile around the site. Had to know which way we’d flee. Which way we’d have something at our backs if we had to fight. Go over the plan ten times during supper. Dror was my best friend but there were days I hated him. Of course, he kept me alive all this time, so I suppose it’s no good complaining about it now, is there?”

“How did you end up here, Nadev?” she asked.

He glanced behind him. “The stairs you made, of course. You’re right, they aren’t rickety at all. You are good at this.”

“No, I meant here. At this tower by yourself. Where’s your family? Your servants? Your friends?”

“Ah. Never had any servants. The stories say I had servants?”

Sela shifted to lean on the railing next to him. She could see the distant shimmer of the capital city from here, leagues away, but still bright enough to make the horizon blush a deep rose. “The stories never talk about servants. I just assumed you’d have people clamoring to help you. To take care of you.”

Nadev uttered his raspy laugh. “What would I pay them with? Dror could always find a way to get by, there were always parties and shows for the wealthy. Someone with light fingers could always find something or other that no one would miss. And Maija was able to gift him the tower. That much she could wheedle from the advisers. The holder of the Ker Splinter would always remain here. As far from the Hagion Splinter as possible. It was a pretty place once. I visited many times on errands between Dror and Maija. He had servants and his love, of course. And Barnabus had his knighthood. Asa and Zyvie were both nobles. That just leaves Maija and me. Maija became Queen and I— had Maija. For a while. They were all the family I had. Now only Maija and I remain. But she cannot come here and the Splinter stays at the tower.”

“Why?”

He patted her hand. “It’s been a long day. You must be hungry.”

“I’d rather hear about the Queen. And you.”

He laughed again. “And I would rather talk about Maija than anything else. But the stairs are steep and my knees aren’t what they used to be. Will you go down to the kitchen with me, granddaughter?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, quickly lending him her arm. He didn’t lean on it quite as heavily as she expected. They made it easily down to the blue door and she suspected he hadn’t needed her aid nearly as much as it had seemed. The man crossed the Great Eastern Ridge and battled the Khemeia. He doesn’t need help, she told herself.

The kitchen was already bright and humid. A large covered pot sat on the table with a pair of small bowls nearby. “Thought you might like something fresh today,” said Nadev. She could smell the earthy green of the stew as soon as he lifted the pot lid. She sat and ate with him quietly for a few minutes.

“Are you going to tell me the story?” she asked.

“Pah. Stories. I told you, stories just shake a person until the worst moments of their lives come loose. That’s the part they tell you. What have you heard about me? About us? The day we fought Grindall?”

“Yes. And how the Khemeia blade shattered—“

“There you go,” he said, waving his empty spoon toward her. “It wasn’t a blade, to start. It was a lump of stone. Why’d they make it a blade? Because that’s more exciting. It should make you wonder about what else they invented, these storytellers. The day we fought Grindall, bet the stories only tell you about the hour it took to actually corner him and beat him, don’t they? They don’t say anything about how I burned our breakfast because Maija was crying and I wanted to calm her. Or how Asa couldn’t sleep once we came in sight of the river. Or that Dror’s hand smelled like death because he had sickness in it after getting a nasty scrape in the swamp. The thing they don’t tell you in the stories is that you don’t just save the world in an afternoon. Or with one battle. Or even when the stone shatters and you go home. You have to keep doing it. You have to wake up and decide to save it all over again, every day. It’s like— it’s like being in love. The exciting parts are glorious and triumphant and happy. But some people walk away after those parts. And things fall apart. Those stories leave off before they ever get to that point.” He shook his head and plunged his spoon into his bowl again, scowling.

“If they told the whole thing, those stories would last as long as your journey. It can’t be told in one evening.”

“Exactly.”

Sela picked at a scrape in the table. “I can’t stay a year and a half, Nevdah,” she said. “The Queen’s steward only hired me to fix the roof. I have work lined up in the village when I get back—“

“How long is it going to take you to fix the roof?” he asked.

Sela shrugged. “I haven’t taken a good look at it yet. Are you trying to get rid of me or trying to keep me longer?”

He squinted at her. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Then— I could probably finish in a month if I hurried.”

“And if you didn’t? If you helped an old man with a few other projects around the tower, a few more repairs?”

“Until the frost, maybe. Until the steward’s patience runs out, anyway. I can repair the statues on the road, perhaps. And you’ve got some damage on the western wall. Is that long enough?”

Nevdah rubbed his chest with a grimace that deepened the creases around his mouth. “What about the people in your village? Sweetheart, kids, parents?”

“You’re very curious.”

Nevdah’s wheezy laugh echoed on the kitchen walls. “So are you.”

Sela flushed. “I suppose I am. No sweetheart and my parents do well for themselves. Besides, who could be upset that their daughter is commissioned to help the Ashen Cuckoo, no matter how long it takes?”

“But I’m not the Cuckoo.”

“You’re Nevdah. The one who shattered the bla— the lump of stone. That’s as good or better. And knowing the real tale will buy tavern meals for a year even in my village.”

“It won’t. The real story isn’t as flashy as the one you know.”

“I still want to hear it.”

“You can really fix the statues? You can put Maija’s arm back without marring her?”

Sela hesitated and then nodded. “Her statue I can fix. She’s been under the tower roof all these years. A few of the others— what wind and water have melted, I can’t put back. I’m a mason, not a sculptor.”

“The story then, in exchange for Maija’s statue. And the roof you’ve been paid for.” He stuck his hand out. She grasped his arm. “I’d better get started then, I suppose, if we’re going to finish in time,” he said. “I told you Dror and I were friends. From long before Grindall was ever a threat. We lived in the back alleys of Parin, down near the river docks. My mother was a healer and Dror— well, Dror was a thief from the very beginning. He had no one. So whenever he got caught stealing from the unloaded ship crates, he ran to me to fix the cuts and bruises from the beatings the sailors gave him. I didn’t know much, not even then, but it was enough to keep him patched together. My mother wouldn’t let him into our home at first, but he plied her with fruit he’d snatched from the market and she knew he had no one. He was sleeping in front of our hearth by winter of the year we met and we didn’t separate until he came here….”

[wootensmith]

Meeting

This is not a story about saving the world. The world had already been saved, thirty years before Sela was born. Despite many threats since and the tendency of things to go horribly wrong when least expected, the world stubbornly remained safe all the time she grew and well into her adulthood. So Sela became a stone mason instead of an adventurer. Not that she regretted it. The travel was usually minimal and the pay was better as a stone mason anyway. And she was really rather good at it, truth be told. So while it was an honor to be hired to fix the Cuckoo’s roof, it wasn’t exactly a challenge.

  One pleasant, breezy summer morning, Sela packed up her tools and made the long climb to the Cuckoo’s tower. Sela expected a castle of some grandeur. It did, after all, belong to the hero who had last saved the world. It was difficult to see from the plains below the lonely bluff where it sat, except for the glimmer of the roof tiles among the fog. When she arrived, she found the tower to be something of a disappointment. Half the roof tiles missing and the walls bulged where the ground had shifted— it was ramshackle at best. Even the long line of statues along the path were badly damaged and half obscured by grapevine and moss. They’d been carved to resemble the Cuckoo and his band of friends. Only the Lady remained clear of overgrowth. But even her statue was in disrepair, an elegant arm broken off. It was placed neatly beside her foot. “Well,” Sela told herself, “I wasn’t hired to have tea with the Cuckoo. What did I expect?” So she unpacked her tools and headed for the little wood at the far end of the bluff.

  The day was hot and the tower stone baking by the time she hammered the first of the putlogs into place, but still she had seen no sign of life from the tower. She’d expected a gardener, a stable hand, a scullery maid— someone. Such a large tower had to have an army of residents, yet she saw no sign of them and no one came to scold or watch when she began hammering away on the side of the tower wall. Festival day? she wondered. When she still hadn’t seen a soul by evening, she began to worry. She packed away her tools and walked up to the large carven door. The battle scene caught the last of the evening light. Shadows sat in the wooden creases of the enemy Grindall’s louring face. It didn’t strike her as right to knock on it. The Cuckoo would not appreciate a dusty, sweaty stonemason on his stoop, surely. She went around to the servant’s entrance. A modest blue wood door that seemed more Sela’s size. She tried to dust her clothes off and knocked.

“Travelers use the bell. If you’re looking for a meal,” said someone behind her. Sela turned around to find a small, elderly man. The knees of his trousers were covered in soil. “Can’t hear the knocking as well as I used. But the bell’s still loud enough for these old ears.” “I’m sorry, grandfather. I’m no traveler. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I thought a cook or one of the stable boys would open the door.” He leaned in to squint at her in the dim evening light. “Not a traveler?” “No. Stonemason, for the roof.” She pointed up to the scaffolding above their heads. “You didn’t see me today?” He glanced up and then his face scrunched in an embarrassed grin. “Napped a bit more than usual today, I suppose.” He stepped past her to open the door. “No more stable boys anymore. Nor horses, for that matter. Dror loved them, but I— well, there’s not much call to ride out anyplace. And the only patch of garden I’ve got is too small to worry about keeping a horse. I can pull the plow myself when I need. Though…” He stepped into the dark kitchen and rubbed a filthy hand over his chest. “Maybe not next year.”

“Are you the gardener?” asked Sela. He waved her inside. He wheezed a laugh. “I suppose. Sadly, for your sake, the housekeeper and cook as well. Don’t remember arrangements for a mason, though.” He lit a greasy candle on the long wooden table. “I was hired by the Queen. Or— the Queen’s steward anyway.” “Might have known. They should have said you were coming.” He shuffled to the large fireplace and groaned as he squatted. “Afraid the only room that’s half decent for you is the cottage. And you’ll have to wait a bit for supper. My days are scattered lately.” Sela knelt beside him as he arranged a small bundle of wood. “I just need a place to sleep where I won’t be underfoot. I don’t need to trouble you grandfather.” The old man grunted. “I’d be a poor host if it didn’t trouble me.” She laughed. “It’s the Cuckoo, not the gardener who should worry about his guest’s comfort. If it’s dusty, I’ll wash it. If I need to cook for myself, well, I’m not a stranger to that either. I’m here to fix a roof, not dance at a ball.” The kitchen brightened slightly as he lit the fire and she looked around. The kitchen was neat and well-scrubbed, but almost bare. “I just expected the world’s greatest hero to live more… lavishly. It’s sad to think he’s cooped up here alone. I mean— excepting yourself, of course,” she added quickly. The old man uttered his wheezy laugh again. “I wouldn’t except me.” “What?” “What’s your name, mason?” “Sela,” she said holding her arm out to him. He grasped it. “Well, Sela, if you aren’t averse to a little more work, there’s a bucket by the door and a well down the path. You get a bucket of water for us to wash with and I’ll see what we can do about supper.” “Of course, grandfather.”

By the time she’d returned with the water, the old man had the kitchen fire blazing. They washed the dust and soil away and he went to work cutting an expensive wheel of cheese and poking a few strips of meat in a bowl of water. “Should make bread tomorrow,” he muttered. “Girl’s got to keep up her strength, climbing up this old tower on rickety logs.” “ They aren’t rickety,” said Sela. “I put them in myself. And you shouldn’t get in trouble with your lord for my sake. I don’t need fancy cheeses or his salted meat. Give me the same you get, grandfather.” The man grinned. “And who is this mighty lord entertaining that he needs to lock his larder against a hard working mason, hmm? No one ever comes here except to deliver more of this.” He held up a bit of cheese. “Every month. It just sits. I can’t eat the lot myself. I tell the— Quee— I tell the cart men that we can’t use what they bring, but still they come. I won’t seethe a swan for you, but a bit of cheese and bread won’t break me. The fruit I grew myself and I’ll be insulted if you don’t enjoy it, Sela,” he said sternly. 

He brought a wooden platter of food to the long table and patted the bench. “Come and eat. And tell me about the Queen. Is she still the beauty she was when all the statues were made?” Sela laughed. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I’ve never met my Lady. But no one, no matter her station, remains the same after sixty years. I hear she is still kind. I hear she is still wise. That is enough for me to admire her, however her face might appear.” The old man patted her hand. “Well said, granddaughter. In my mind she will always remain the fierce, startling beauty she was the moment she grasped her half of the Hagion Splinter. That expression of pure relief, the way her brow smoothed and her grimace faded in the clear morning light through the arrow loops— I will keep that image forever. It is good that her beauty shines forth to others in many ways.” “You speak as if you were there.” “Eat,” he urged her. “I’ve chattered too much for a night.” “You— you’re the Ashen Cuckoo, aren’t you?” Sela asked, aghast at her own behavior. “No, dear, no. Dror died forty years back.” The old man pushed the tray closer to her. “Eat. He would have fed you, too, if he were me.”

“Who are you then? You remember the Queen as a young woman. There were no gardener’s in the tale.” “Pah. Tales. Those storytellers just pick a handful of the most exciting moments and string them together. Tell you about the worst day of somebody’s life and call it heroic. They don’t talk about all the days before. All the worrying and the waiting and the walking. Mothers preserve us, all the walking. How would you know if a gardener was there or not?” “Then— you were?” The old man sighed. “I was there. One of six.” He rubbed the center of his chest. “And except for Maija, I am the last. She will outlive me. And grieve. I worry for her. She thinks I will outlast the roof, as she sent for you. But I know better, my dear. I know better.” He got up with a low groan. “Eat. I’ll get the cottage ready for you.” “But grandfather—“ “Nadev. I don’t have a fancy designation like the Ashen Cuckoo. Just Nadev. Go on and eat, Sela. I survived Grindall, didn’t I? Changing some bedsheets isn’t what’s going to kill me.” “But you just said—“ “Story for another night. One of those handfuls of bad moments that make good tales. It’ll be good to tell a few. Even if I leave out the walking parts. Don’t worry. You just have to fix the roof, not me.” He shuffled out the shabby blue door into the dark and Sela sat staring at the place where he’d been sitting.

[wootensmith]

Something new?

ok, going to try something potentially very stupid. My brain needs a break from my normal writing (as in the writing I actually am occasionally paid for. My day job as it were. Even though it’s like my second actual job but anyway) which is mostly postapoc/dystopian hard sci fi. And Nanowrimo is coming, which I haven’t done in years (I’m usually editing a book around this time of year, not drafting, but this year the timing stars seem to have aligned). I’m very bad at it- I usually make it to about week 3 before something happens (usually something kid related but not always) and I get off track. But I like let it slide because no one is watching me anyway, so what does it matter if the draft is finished on Nov. 30 or Dec. 15th? So THIS year, I’m gonna post it. Every day. However much I wrote. Maybe nobody will read it and that’s ok (in fact, I’ll probably take it down to edit and actually publish if it turns out the way I want anyway at the end), but just having that daily deadline might be enough for me to push through (I make it sound like I’ve never completed a nano before, I have, a few times. Just haven’t finished a good portion of them in the time limit). Anyhow, it’s going to be fantasy and it’ll be here every day. If you want to mute all this nonsense, I’ll tag each one #masonnano because I think that’s specific enough not to mess with anything else you are filtering. See you in a couple of days.