Firecraft

Î wasn’t sure how to light the kiln. The torches looked more likely to smother her kindling than light it, and both Emet and Gar knew nothing of firecraft.

“We have no choice,” Emet sighed as Î struck for the fiftieth time at her now mangled piece of flint, “you will… use alchemy.”

Î sat upright, excited.

“I’ve always heard alchemy was a load of old rubbish, begging your pardon ma’am,” said Gar.

Emet ignored him, “Fire releases damp, is pure, and formed… from airy and hot. Take strong water for damp… Spirit of the wind for … airy… spirit of salt for heat, but… have caution lest it burn you. Finally, philosopher’s snow for purity.”

With Gar’s help Î managed to find all the ingredients in less than an hour. They arranged them on the ground around a glass bowl.

“Pour the strong water in first, then… stir in the spirit of the wind.”

Î filled the bowl with the yellow liquid and stirred in the white wedges of crystal.

“It doesn’t look like wind at all,” Î said to Gar, “it looks like—“

Î and Gar both gasped. The spirit of the wind dissolved before their eyes, absorbing the strong water as it did so, each element vanishing into the other.

“Now… add philosopher’s snow.”

Philosopher’s snow was white and snow was white. That made sense. But Î couldn’t figure out where the philosopher came in.

“Maybe they were wondering why the snow is dry?” Gar suggested.

Î shrugged and stirred it in. Alchemy was far more confusing than kinesics. A white paste formed at the bottom of her bowl.

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“Ready your tinder, and add… a few drops of the spirit of salt.”

The spirit of the salt was a liquid, further confirmation of Î’s growing belief that alchemists drew names out of a hat. She dropped the bottle in shock when the first drop caused the powder to burst into red flames.

“Well I’ll be,” said Gar as he fed tinder to the flames, “I take back every negative thing I ever said about alchemy.”

The clay figure was left to dry in the kiln for two days. Î entered the workshop early every morning and left late every night to make sure the fire stayed stoked. She would have gotten Tool to supply the kiln, but he followed her everywhere she went. He even stood on her pillow while she slept.

It was afternoon on the second day. Emet was expounding upon some of the deeper aspects of kinesics. Î was warming herself in front of the kiln and sewing a little doll from scraps of cloth. The constantly burning fire had raised the temperature of the workshop considerably, and even dried it out a bit. The whole place had become far more pleasant.

“There are seven aspects… to kinesics. Inscriptions, runes, inks, materials, emotions… words, and schools.”

“Schools?”

“Yes… there are seven. Tools: for crafting fine instruments. Wards… to keep foes at bay or preserve eggs, among… other things… Enchantment: to create wonders… Craft… to create the tools of the trade. Dreams: needed because power is impotent… without vision. Golems… the awesome creation… the greatest of the schools. Enhancement: to make the weak strong, to give people—”

A loud crack interrupted Emet’s answer.

“What was that?”

“The clay expands as it bakes. If there is water… it breaks free.”

There was another crack followed by several large thuds.

“It sounds like it exploded!”

“Yes… The repair runes… will mend it. Tomorrow it will be finished. You will make a scroll… written in blood.”

Î’s eyes grew wide, “Blood?”

“Yours…yes. Rebeka would quote Lord Glove… ‘Unpleasant, but necessary’”

Î’s lip trembled. She imagined a gaping wound in her neck, pouring blood onto endless scraps of parchment while Lord Glove repeated, ‘Unpleasant, but necessary. Unpleasant, but necessary.’ She shuddered and forced the image from her mind. She distracted herself with her dress, running her finger over the hole above her hip.

“Emet?”

“Yes?”

“Why am I building golems?”

“Did Lord Glove not speak… of infrastructure?”

“Yes, and he showed me all the buildings and their runes. Only… Only there’s no golems anywhere.”

“Ah… you see clearly. Infrastructure… bridges to move merchants’ carts, sewers to move waste, roads to move people. Golems… move only themselves. Golems… are for war.”

“What war? Why am I making golems?” Î asked again.

“War yet to come…. Lord Glove never said when.”

“Did Rebeka make golems? Besides the ones down here? Did she make Golem’s for war?”

“She did not wish…”

“Did she?”

Emet released an affirmative sigh.