Carving Lessons

It was the day after the stable owner had discovered Gross. Î was trying not to slice her fingers off. Emet had called it carving, but Î had heard you got sculptures when you carved, whereas her ‘horse’ looked more like a celeriac root stuck with toothpicks.

Î placed it on the board in front of her. It promptly fell over.

“This is impossible,” Î declared.

“You… are a fine… worker with pottery. You etch runes like a master. Yesterday you chiseled… gargoyle sufficient to divert… the dripping from the ceiling… Now… you have found one talent… you must practice… You will become better… in time. For now… it will suffice.”

Î picked up her carving and twirled it around in her fingers, “Where do I fit the scroll?”

Alisa laughed, “More to practice Î, you’ll have to carve a new one.”

What was the point? She’d never figure it out. Stupid horse. Î didn’t even like horses. She grabbed her gouge in her left hand and stabbed at the carving. The tool skidded across the wood’s hard surface and tore a line down Î’s right arm. She cried out and clutched the wound. A moment later the stinging faded, and then was gone. Î lifted her hand and gasped. The flesh of her arm was whole.

Emet contorted into a frown, “I have… forgotten. You are a girl… The rune… must be… destroyed.”

“Why?” Î said.

“Lead… is most powerful, with clear… intention. But… it is unchanging… You will grow. Your arm… will not.”

Î looked at the rune in horror. Was it her imagination or did her right arm already look smaller than her left? “How do I get rid of it?”

“To unmake a rune… without it becoming opposite… you will mar it with a material… different from the one with which it was carved.”

The row of hooked inscription tools glinted invitingly. Î grabbed a bronze inscription tool.

“Mar it with… a line at least equal in length… to a seventh the diameter of the rune.”

Î bit her lip against the pain as the bronze tip dug into her. It tore a cry from her lips even as it tore her skin. It was done, though the scar shaped like a repair rune remained.

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“Lead…”said Emet, “I remember now… Lead was the undoing of one of the last kineser.”

“What happened to them?”

“Do you know… of Otto?”

Î nodded, “He’s the king of Ganter. That’s what Lanet said.”

“Yes… Do you know… what he attempts?”

Î shook her head. She’d never thought about what kings did all day. She’d assumed they sat around on their thrones and hosted feasts.

“The destruction… of all kineser…”

It took Î a moment for what Emet had said to sink in. Didn’t Lord Glove work for Otto? Î was a kineser. Was she in danger? She looked behind her as though she expected Otto’s soldiers storming into the workshop. “What? Why?”

“We spoke of immortality… Otto wishes to complete… Stalwart’s Legacy. He thinks it… the only way… to be remembered for eternity.”

“We have to warn Lord Glove!”

“NO!” Emet shouted so loud Î had to cover her ears. She felt hurt. Emet had shouted when Î had struck them both deaf, but never at her. “Tell Lord Glove… nothing. He knows… and he aids Otto, though Rebeka knew not why… She confronted him… and he abandoned her to this hole.”

Î tried to imagine Lord Glove abandoning anyone, but couldn’t. He had even run into a fire to save that baby.

“Rebeka constructed a golem… of destruction… and of malice, to stop Otto. She created… Death…”

Î swallowed, and rubbed her eyes, an image of Lord Glove running into a fire to save a crying baby blossomed in her mind’s eye. Then Rebeka was tossed into the fire by a dark king as Lord Glove watched. Then Lord Glove tossed Rebeka into the burning house himself, and locked the door. Then—

Gar rushed into the room heaving and covered in mud, one arm clutched to his side, the other cradling a spear, “I heard a shout, you alright?”

Î stared at Emet, then at Gar, then back at Emet. Her eyes went wide and her lips trembled. She didn’t know who to trust anymore. Her voice wavered, “Yes.”

Gar’s eyebrows pressed together and he walked to Î’s side, “It’s getting quite late, you’ll miss supper. I’ll get you to the manor.”

She trusted Gar, but Gar worked for Lord Glove. But she trusted Lord Glove. But he worked for Otto. “I don’t want to go.”

Gar dropped down into a squatting position to look Î in the eyes, “Don’t want to go where miss?”

Gar was kinder to her than anyone. Kinder than even Lord Glove or Lanet. “Don’t want to go to the manor.”

Gar frowned, “Why not?”

Even if she trusted Gar she couldn’t tell him it wasn’t safe. And she couldn’t find the words even if she wanted to explain everything to him. “Don’t want to go. That’s all.”

“I guess it can get kind of lonely up there all by yourself. Lord Glove should be back soon though,” Î drew away from him, but Gar continued, “but you can have supper with me tonight, I suppose.”

Big lipped, Î nodded. Gar clapped her on the back and smiled, “Let’s get out of here.”

His eyes found her sorry lump of wood as he stood. Gar picked it up, “Did you carve this horse?”

She smiled beneath her tears. Then she brushed back her bangs and nodded.

“It’s not bad for a first attempt. Tell you what, gather the tools and that bit of wood there. I know some carving myself, maybe we can show each other some tricks, eh?”

Î’s smile grew brighter and she hastily gathered up the gouging tools and chisel.

“Come on Î, up on my shoulders. Let’s race Alisa to the top. We’re having pretzels!”