Where… Î?

Last time Grady had this post the wind had howled through the cracks, the walls had sagged, and he had been terrified. Since then, the wall he had repaired with his sword had collapsed and the wind howled louder than ever. This time, however, he was not scared. Gar had told him the voice came from a wall with a great big face in it. A wall. Who was afraid of a wall? Why, if a wall came up the stairs right now Grady decided he would stab it. No running away. No voices of fear hounding at his heels. Just one of those, and a couple of these. He took a few practice leaps with his spear, lashing the tip forward, then back, then forward again.

“Where… Î… learn… three days…”

Grady nearly impaled himself on his spear. Fortunately, the head of the spear snagged on his tunic and broke off. Grady stumbled into the wall behind him, which promptly collapsed. The two remaining walls groaned under their increased burden, but did not collapse.

Grady scrambled upright. The ceiling might collapse at any moment, but that was the least of his worries. As he had fallen he had stepped in a puddle of… Grady blinked, stared at the puddle again, and immediately forbade his brain from describing it. He’d need to wash his boot. And then burn it.

“hWhat d’ye hwant golem?” Grady shouted.

A reek worse than his foot wafted up the steps, “Bring…Î…”

“`e ‘ad han haccident hon ‘oliday. Fell down t’ stairs chasing hone hof Gar’s girls. `ealer says `e houghta stay still hafore `e `urts `erself moreso.”

“Bring… now…”

Shouting up and down the stairs wasn’t getting anywhere. Someone would need to talk to the wall in person. Grady looked around hopefully, but no volunteers stepped forward.

“hRight,” he said, adjusting his helmet, “hI’ll be hright down ‘en.”

He looked out the wall. There, just in the distance was the place he loved so much. It was small. Some might even call it ramshackle. But to Grady the Seven Spades tavern was a thing of beauty. Grady raised an imaginary flagon in salute and began the long march down the stairs.

Marching proved to be a very fast and efficient way to get down the slippery stairs. On the fourteenth step Grady stamped down on something which screamed, causing him to lose balance. By Grady’s own reckoning it took him four hours to fall all the way down the stairs, and another six days to recover.

He wobbled to his feet and looked down the dim tunnel he had landed in. Seven doors swam back and forth in front of him. He staggered over to one at random. By the time he arrived, all seven doors had resolved into a single entity.

“Kineser’s magic no doubt,” he muttered. He wished Î was here so she could stop the walls from spinning. He squeezed through the gap in the door.

“’ello? Ye called? hÎ can’t be moved. `e’s too weak. hWhy do ye need `er so badly? hAre ye hout hof food hor somesuch?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The wall didn’t move. Grady took a step toward it. Nothing happened. Emboldened, Grady closed the distance and pressed his hand against the wall. He thought it might tingle or burn, or something else magical, but it just felt like damp earth.

“”hWell `en, hI’ll be hoff. Got ha dom ta protect hand hall ‘at. ‘ealer says hÎ’ll be fit for lessons hin habout ha month. Probably going ta lose huse hof ‘er harm. hRight ‘ame, hRight ‘ame. hWhat can ye do ‘ough, haye?”

“I… can heal her…”

Grady jumped so high the point of his helmet embedded in the ceiling. He stayed there, suspended by the chinstrap about his neck. His legs danced frantically a few feet above the ground. Grady could feel his face going numb. His vision started to fade…

Snap!

His chinstrap gave, sending him crashing to his knees. He took in several long ragged gasps.

“hWhat’re ye… doing scaring… me like `at?” he croaked.

“Take a tool of inscription… Lead… unmoving. Tell her to write… Repair. She will know... to do.”

The lips of the wall had moved. He’d been touching the thing a minute ago. It could have swallowed him whole! Grady would have run if it wasn’t for Matt and Sally. He was a father, not a coward. It was like he had told Matt when Matt had confessed that he was afraid of the dark. Remember `is halways Matt. `ings’ll scare ye. hI bet `ings scare Lord Glove heven. But ye don’t `ave ta run. Ye ‘ave ha choice. Ye can look fear hin t’ heye hinstead. hIt’s more terrerafyin’ `an ye’d suspect, but t’ fear, hwhen ye don’t run, hit’s scared too. hIt’s hwonderin’ hwhy yer not running. hIt’s hwonderin’ hwhat ye know ‘at hit doesn’t. Scaring t’ scares, `at’s bravery son.

“’e needs ha lead tool hof hinscription? hRight, hwhere do hI find ‘at?”

“Hand ‘at’s hwhat t’ hwall told me. Ye got ta hWrite Repair hwith ha lead tool. So ‘ere ye hare. hI can’t stay. Got ta see ha man habout ha carpenter.”

Grady left the room.

“What did that mean?” asked Alisa.

Î knew. She knew and the thought terrified her. She swallowed.

“Go to the door. Tell anyone who comes by to leave me alone. Don’t let anyone in. It’s important.”

Alisa looked confused, but obeyed. Î couldn’t bear to say what she had to do out loud. If all went well she could tell Alisa then. If not… Î whimpered and pushed the thought out of her mind. Her eyes kept straying to the hole in her dress. She’d only ever messed up once… a lance of pain shot through her arm like white fire, consuming her thoughts, leaving her addled and hazy.

She wanted her arm to be better.

Î wrapped her fingers around the inscription tool Grady had brought her.

She couldn’t move. It hurt too much.

Î sat up.

She hadn’t learned to draw with her left hand.

Î placed the tip of the tool above the source of her pain.

She wanted her arm to be better. She couldn’t do this.

The tip bit through her skin. Blood as red as the fire which engulfed her arm welled from the incision.

Pain. Pain like an ice cold river.

She couldn’t tremble, not even a little bit, or her arm would dissolve away.

She couldn’t move.

Slowly, so slowly it felt she would run out of blood before she finished, Î carved the rune into her skin.

So close. So close to failure.

Emet’s voice came to her: “Lead… remembers its form.”

She had to give up. If she gave up now, she was safe.

The rune on her arm had become so coated in blood she could hardly see it. Î took her bandages in her hand and wiped her wound clean. White spots appeared in front of her eyes.

She couldn’t see. It was too much.

Î screwed her eyes against the pain, took up her tool once more, and continued.