His limbs were mush.
His mouth was ashen.
Dark rings curled beneath his eyes.
Even his mind was dulled, blunted by days of little to no rest.
Kosta had never been happier.
He took a step away from his creation. It was finally, finally done, and adoration filled his heart as he looked at it. The keystone was complete…well, its form was. Although powerful energies coursed through, ready to be woven into a new heart to circulate power throughout Dytifrourá’s stone walls, the keystone lacked focus.
But its shape was complete! Kosta had hewn the rough bloom of summer stone into a glittering icosahedron. At times it had proved extraordinarily difficult to ensure the proper ratios of the geometric figure’s twenty faces, particularly with the struggle Kosta encountered with using his tools to only chip away at the phaetra, but he proved triumphant.
Kosta’s comprehension of wardstones and the geometry required for magic to take on specific properties was…incomplete. That was a generous descriptor, to be honest. He’d gleaned some scraps from simple intuition, old stories, and the fragments of knowledge that Papa had passed down, alongside some advice that Headsman Linus had granted, but this represented the fullest extent to which he could create.
Twenty identical faces shimmered a glorious rose-gold beneath the white glow of his workshop. Kosta’s feverish gaze admired the way it seemed to sup upon whatever light struck it, reflecting in such a way to share the core of power that seemed so close to the surface now. The stone had grown full and lustrous beneath the sun’s light, and now that power was revealed in its fullest.
His hands shook.
It was beautiful.
Pride filled him, even if this was just an incomplete product. So often it was that he could only see the flaws, only see the ways he might have improved. This was far from perfect: Kosta spotted minor irregularities in the cut, some angles might have been a degree or two off, and at least three small chips leapt out beneath his critical gaze, but Kosta couldn’t help but be happy with his most recent creation.
What a bizarre feeling!
The vision in his head had leapt from his hands into the physical world. Kosta’s imagination was vivid and bright, painting these wonderful images of precision and vivid colors and a purity of expression, and so often his workings fell short. Nothing was more frustrating!
It was so clear in his head. Why couldn’t it be just as easy to transfer it into stone or wood?
Such would be different in his own world. Expression would come as easily as thought itself. Simpler than even breathing.
He traced a trembling finger across the glossy surface of the phaetra keystone. Kosta had cut it cleanly, then ground down any uneven bits until it was impossibly flat and smooth as glass. His nose wrinkled as his fingertip ran down a tiny bump invisible to the naked eye, but he put it out of his mind as the summer light of the phaetra pulsed, its inner flame dancing to his touch. Warmth shot up his arm as the little fire leapt to brush against the stone nearest his skin.
Kosta laughed. It probably sounded more than a bit mad, but who cared? This latest binge had gone on for days, and he’d neglected himself. Normally he stuck to a fastidious self-care routine, ensuring that he bathed each and every day and that his hair and skin were properly treated with concoctions of honey, olive oil, and yogurt to ensure their health and vitality, but right now he was a greasy, gross mess of sweat, fatigue, and oil.
It wasn’t as if he’d completely failed to take care of himself. Evanthe had swung by the day after he’d met with his parents, and Kosta wouldn’t dishonor her or himself by looking anything but his best for the occasion. They’d made fine progress on the Argyropolan commission, and he’d treasured their hours of discussion as he worked.
He’d taken time for other projects as well, even if he worked on them with the same feverish intensity as the keystone. Kosta found that vast sums of time invested into a single project were all well and good, but he’d endlessly disappoint himself if he succumbed to tunnel vision. No, he’d managed to get a start on his rendition of the manticore as well as a little ward for Clymere using the scrap of stone he’d requisitioned from the Hesperian obelisk not too long ago.
And then Kosta had returned to the keystone as soon as his mind cleared. His body and magic had been ground down to their foundations, exhausted by the days of labor, and Kosta desperately needed a few hours… no, days of sleep.
Despite it all, he was satisfied.
Clymere always made fun of him for the time he invested in himself. She’d be delighted to see him like this.
The rose-gold icosahedron glittered merrily in his hands. It may seem an odd choice for a keystone, as the geometry wasn’t particularly conducive to stability or sturdiness, but in his eyes the wall was sturdy enough already. Lesser cores already permeated each section to act as reservoirs and wells of power for the transpoietic arrays which strengthened the walls and could be drawn upon by defenders.
A cube or pyramid would have amplified that aspect of the walls. Their power would consolidate and condense when fed through the cube and reflected off its faces. They would be nigh impenetrable to conventional attack, at least when properly manned and supported.
But the walls were built with strength in mind. They were a bulwark against the dangers which crawled from the west. All of the previous cores had been built with a need to enhance that nature.
That wasn’t enough for Kosta: he aimed not to enhance the wall, but to revolutionize it. Rather than amplifying its stability, the icosahedron acted as a proper nexus for the energies which flowed through the wall, fed to the constructs by endless helioklept veins and panels which transferred the sun’s energy into the reservoirs and arrays.
The icosahedron often represented water and the flow of energies, and that was what the phaetra reflected! Rather than strengthen the wall as a whole, his keystone would increase the flow of magic from one point to the next, enhancing the ability to consolidate it where necessary to defend against attack.
Life on the frontier was hard, and the need to be flexible was always present. Why not apply that to their defenses as well?
Headsman Linus had approved the idea; that was enough for Kosta. He trusted the warden’s decades of experience.
Boom!
Kosta nearly leapt out of his skin as the door to his workshop slammed open. He bit out a curse as the icosahedron nearly slipped from his fingers and then placed it back upon a linen cloth with the utmost care.
“Kosta! I’m back!” Clymere bellowed, voice loud as thunder. She seemed to be in good spirits…that either meant they’d run into zero trouble out on their survey, or they’d killed something enormous. “Did ya miss me?”
“Like a bad rash, maybe.”
Clymere thumped her spear happily against the floorboards as she marched into the workshop. She was delicate as an ox most of the time, but Kosta appreciated that she always took special care to steer clear of any projects.
As always, Clymere stared around with undisguised fascination. Her eyes flitted from project to project, constantly drinking it all in hungrily. Clymere’s powers revolved around the raw forces of heat and light, but in spite of that (or perhaps because of it) she’d always had a fascination with the process of creation and the wonders that could be crafted with a creative mind, practiced hands, and enough time.
“That’s a new one,” Clymere observed as she glanced up at the marble bust of Evanthe. It had evolved from a simple three-dimensional approximation of the Myrtle’s form into a detailed relief. Kosta had lovingly crafted the folds of her peplos dress, the cascading golden ringlets of her hair, and the sharp lines of her face.
Stolen novel; please report.
He hadn’t finished the marble with abrasive emery powder, however, and would only do so when all details were exactly to his liking. Kosta’s magic could do the same task well enough, but the time required to use the proper tools offered time for analysis and deeper thought on his works.
Magic was just too effective sometimes.
He’d also sculpted the arms and their fixtures separately to attach them to the statue’s base. The enormous circular shield was finished as well, and in the end it proved to be a fairly faithful depiction of Evanthe. He idealized a few aspects for the sake of the symbolism and spirit of the piece, but she was more than recognizable as its inspiration.
It was still incomplete. Kosta was unhappy with his depiction of several details, and he’d have to properly mold certain aspects of her dress and correct a few angles. Some sections needed to be softened while others needed to be brought into prominence.
Despite that, it was another project that Kosta was content with.
“Evanthe,” Kosta grunted. He barely had enough presence of mind to speak, let alone attempt a proper conversation. “Argyropolis commission.”
“That’s right!” Clymere whistled. “You told me about that one. It’s looking good! She could really use a spear, though.” She helpfully raised her own weapon high, though laughed nervously as the tip nearly plunged through the ceiling. “What’s she going to do with just a shield? Batter them to death?”
“If she has the stomach for it, I guess,” Kosta said. “It’s supposed to be symbolic. Dytifrourá.” He thought back to her cheery mood. “What did you kill?”
“Nothing!” Clymere chirped. “The survey was clear. The manticore was a fluke, apparently. It must have stumbled into our territory just after the patrols went through. No Hesperians, either.”
“Then where’d those corpses come from? And the arrows plunged into the manticore’s side?” Kosta asked, raw memories of the manticore’s fury returning to haunt him. “They were here.”
“They were,” Clymere confirmed with less enthusiasm. “Headsman Linus believes they were just scouts, perhaps here to harass supply lines. It wouldn’t be the first time. We’ve stepped up patrols, but there’s only so much we can do with a quarter of our people headed to Fort Phylax. Resources are thin as is.”
His stomach sank at the reminder. “You’re still going, then?”
“Someone has to keep you all safe!” Clymere slung an arm around him, then sniffed. “Ugh, you’re disgusting!”
Kosta smirked at the reminder and refused to let her squirm away. He felt absolutely foul, but at least it brought some kind of amusement. That said, he couldn’t wait to scour his skin clean and finally feel the air against him rather than the sweat and slime that had accumulated over the past few days. “I’ve been working hard. See?”
“You did it…” Clymere’s eyes widened as she beheld the phaetra icosahedron. “You actually did it! Headsman Linus will be so pleased! You’re going to drown in favor, Kosta. Favor and phaetra.”
He couldn’t imagine a better fate, although he knew which of the two he’d prefer. “It’s not finished,” Kosta said. “I don’t have the strength to work the proper enchantments. The shape is ideal, but its nature is still raw and wild. I need to attune it.”
“Headsman Linus could do it, or Evanthe,” Clymere pointed out. “Old Isidora too, I suppose. They’re all strong enough. Maybe Papa?” She hedged, but Clymere didn’t sound so confident.
Kosta shook his head. “They could, but the core might take on the aspect of their blessings. Their magic is an expression of their soul, and I can’t risk unpredictable results by allowing their natures to guide the course of the enchantment. If the core is suddenly attuned to Headsman Linus’ illusions, it may prove worthless. No, I will treat it as a learning experience.”
Clymere squinted at him. “You’ve already figured out a plan, haven’t you?”
He grinned back. “I have.”
“And…?” Clymere gestured impatiently. “Spill it!”
“The way I see it, there are two options,” Kosta said, his enthusiasm opening him up to speaking a bit more. He clutched the heavy phaetra core between his weary hands and relished the sensation of the power stored within humming against him. It knew him well after so many hours invested in its shaping. “I might dip it in the Ischyrópota and allow it to steep in the water’s blessing. But the water muddles the phaetra’s nature, and the cleansing aspect may influence the core to strip the protections from the wall rather than strengthen them.”
“So not an option at all,” Clymere said. Her lips curled into a smirk. “Headsman Linus would mount your head on the walls. What a pretty sight that would make!”
“I’d rather avoid that,” Kosta agreed. He gently placed the phaetra back down onto its cloth. “The other option is the dendrac.”
Clymere wrinkled her nose. “You really think that old tree has what it takes? And how are you going to get its blessing, anyways?”
“It’s powerful enough,” Kosta said, raising one finger at a time as he listed his points. “Its spirit is slow but attentive. It’s overseen these lands for centuries. The dendrac’s bark is strong and sturdy, designed for protection. It’s perfect!”
“What if it won’t activate the phaetra?” Clymere questioned. “Is the Ischyrópota still your second choice?”
“No. I’ll just ask Papa,” Kosta grunted, less than pleased about the prospect. “His input would align most with my own, and he wouldn’t have any troublesome aspects that might bleed through and steer the phaetra away from protection. If he can’t do it… well, Headsman Linus will serve well enough. It may even prove for the better if he can channel through the walls.”
Clymere nodded along. “Well, good luck. Headsman Linus agreed to offer you requisition passes for the phaetra, by the way. You’ll be able to stop by the vaults to get whatever you need. We’d rather not tempt any thieves by leaving them in your workshop.”
“That’s fine,” Kosta said distractedly. So long as he received what was his, all was well. He hadn’t been looking forward to dealing with the security of a small fortune’s worth of phaetra. “When will the manticore’s bounty come in?”
She grimaced. “For you? Probably a month or so. Headsman Linus will fund the bounty with the manticore’s parts and pay from the town’s coffers for whatever bits the militia keeps for weapons and such.”
“And for you?”
Clymere wilted. “It’s my ‘duty as a proud member of the Dytifrourán militia’ to slay such beasts. I won’t see a single coin. Headsman Linus was less than pleased that we took the risk,” she admitted. “If we’d failed, the manticore may have lurked there for months with no one the wiser. And if it fully recovered…”
“I get the picture,” Kosta said. He sighed as Clymere looked expectantly at him. “Well, as a dutiful brother, I suppose it's my responsibility to take my manticore-slaying sister out for dinner with some of that bounty.”
“You’re damn right it is!” Clymere cheered. Kosta rolled his eyes. She batted her eyelashes dramatically and shifted tune. “I mean…oh, master sculptor, please take pity on your poor, starving sister who has been hiking in the mountains for the past week. Please buy her a morsel with the money you earned from the manticore that she put a spear through.”
Kosta sniffed indignantly. “I dropped a rock on it.”
“And what a beautiful rock it was,” Clymere agreed. “Pop! Like a fat berry. You should have seen the mess underneath it when Headsman Linus yanked it off the manticore’s corpse.”
“I’d rather not, really,” Kosta said. Part of him should have been surprised that Headsman Linus hauled several tons of stone off by himself, but he really wasn’t. Power bled from the giant man in waves. He sniffed, but nearly recoiled as his reek struck him again. Clymere didn’t exactly smell of roses herself, although at least she was in the habit of burning away anything too foul.
It meant that she smelled of smoke and ash half the time, but she normally smelled like that anyways. Her pyromania didn’t leave many other options.
“I’m a mess.”
“Yep.”
“I need to shower.”
“Absolutely. Wouldn’t want to scare the crowds away.”
“I need to fix my hair.”
“I’m going to be waiting for hours, aren’t I?”
Kosta snorted. “It wouldn’t kill you to go clean yourself up either.”
“Probably not!” Clymere laughed. “Fine, I’ll head back to the barracks and get myself fixed up. I’ll meet you in the market…just don’t take too long, or I’ll get bored.”
They’d all rather avoid that. A bored, off-duty Clymere was a dangerous thing. Kosta nodded stiffly in agreement. “Eneas’ shop?”
“I’d kill for one of his cakes,” Clymere groaned, then smiled stupidly. “Huh, I guess I did! Oh well! I’ll see you soon, Kosta.” She glared daggers at him on that last point. There might have been an occasion or three where his hygiene habits had pushed their nights back a bit far. “Right?”
“Just go! I won’t be long.”
He waved her off, then carefully wrapped the rose-gold phaetra in its linen covering and stowed it away in a lockbox that he kept for his most valuable materials. The people of Dytifrourá were largely trustworthy and few would ever tempt Clymere’s wrath, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Unnecessary risks were a fool’s game.
The unprimed keystone was worth a small fortune. Anything potent enough to feed the demands of Dytifrourá’s walls was potent enough to be turned to a dozen other ends. Greedy hands might be tempted to make off with it.
But that was something to worry about at a later time!
Right now, he was going to relish every second of scrubbing the sweat and toil of his binge away. Kosta’s heart sang at the prospect of finally being clean!
Clymere was back. The keystone had progressed. His power waxed with every project.
Life was good.