had heard the prohibition against invoking that gift of the Mechanism. But she had left Town Dulade years ago to be alone with Maddus, to live as they saw fit, faraway into the metal wilderness; she had discarded the prohibitions of her former home.
She finished gathering the fragments of the corpse. She laid them one against the other, roughly recreating the pattern of Maddus’s body. Parts were missing or damaged beyond hope. Half the left hand was crushed to a pulp; the tendons of the right leg were shredded; part of the face had been torn off and flung away, and Berrin could not find it.
Yet in the end, what she had assembled of Maddus was enough. She went into the house—what the Anubine had left of it. They had burst a wall, smashed the glass windows, demolished the furnishings; but they had in fact taken nothing, for stealing was not their way. Berrin found the heavy casket she was looking for; it was gashed and battered, but unopened. She fit her key inside the lock and opened the lid. Inside the casket were all the fragments she had gathered over the years. A vast selection, full of possibilities.
So she set to work. Inside the casket were crimped needles with a point at either end, shards of gears, small toothed wheels, screws of bronze and nails of brass, clamps that looked like the heads of children with grotesque jaws, coils of barbed wire fine as hairstrands, icicles of melted glass, thin slabs of steel pierced with a myriad of holes almost too fine to discern, and much else. Patiently and with precision, Berrin reassembled Maddus. She stapled and sewed shut the tears in the internal organs; fitted metal caps onto the shattered ends of the spine and socketed them together; pinned the arms to the shoulders; to replace the missing fingers, she screwed lengths of coppery cylinders onto the carpal bones, and set steel cable inside the leg in lieu of a tendon.
She worked until the sun had declined to the edge of the world and drowned her work in shadow. Then she stopped, spent. She might have made some light, but there was no need. She was finished. No matter the outcome, she had done her utmost.
She kneeled, facing the half-disk of the sun, and prayed to the Mechanism, that it might grant her her heart’s desire. Under her legs she could feel the thrum of it, the slow energies still coursing through the vast expanse of dying metal, and she begged that they might come to her aid. As if to answer her, the horizon clock clanged out its evening call, and Berrin started. At that moment, Maddus drew a shuddering breath. Berrin went to her, took her into her arms, supporting her head.
Maddus’s eyelids fluttered, drew open. The eyes rolled randomly, then fixed on Berrin’s face. There was no recognition in them. Maddus coughed long and hard, retched, and finally spat out a clot of blood; in the heart of it gleamed a steel needle.
REMEMBERING
She was like a child in some ways, an infant. She could not control her body, and her limbs would suddenly flail about convulsively, then settle back into immobility. From time to time, groans and whines forced themselves through her throat, random exhalations unrelated to anything else. The metal pins Berrin had set in her flesh were moving about slowly, like thorns in stirred clay. Twice already, a sharp projecting edge had scored Berrin’s flesh while she tried to restrain Maddus’s thrashing limbs.
Toward dawn, Maddus began to quiet; her movements had lost some of their spastic quality, and she no longer gave voice. Berrin took some food from her pack and ate, then drank water from her gourd. After a moment’s hesitation, she offered some to Maddus, who proved able to swallow the liquid, but closed her lips tightly after a few mouthfuls.
The sky lightened in the east, in the direction of the Hedge Forest. A tremor passed through the skin of the Mechanism: some huge weight shifting far below them, the beat of an escapement so vast its period was measured in years,
She finished gathering the fragments of the corpse. She laid them one against the other, roughly recreating the pattern of Maddus’s body. Parts were missing or damaged beyond hope. Half the left hand was crushed to a pulp; the tendons of the right leg were shredded; part of the face had been torn off and flung away, and Berrin could not find it.
Yet in the end, what she had assembled of Maddus was enough. She went into the house—what the Anubine had left of it. They had burst a wall, smashed the glass windows, demolished the furnishings; but they had in fact taken nothing, for stealing was not their way. Berrin found the heavy casket she was looking for; it was gashed and battered, but unopened. She fit her key inside the lock and opened the lid. Inside the casket were all the fragments she had gathered over the years. A vast selection, full of possibilities.
So she set to work. Inside the casket were crimped needles with a point at either end, shards of gears, small toothed wheels, screws of bronze and nails of brass, clamps that looked like the heads of children with grotesque jaws, coils of barbed wire fine as hairstrands, icicles of melted glass, thin slabs of steel pierced with a myriad of holes almost too fine to discern, and much else. Patiently and with precision, Berrin reassembled Maddus. She stapled and sewed shut the tears in the internal organs; fitted metal caps onto the shattered ends of the spine and socketed them together; pinned the arms to the shoulders; to replace the missing fingers, she screwed lengths of coppery cylinders onto the carpal bones, and set steel cable inside the leg in lieu of a tendon.
She worked until the sun had declined to the edge of the world and drowned her work in shadow. Then she stopped, spent. She might have made some light, but there was no need. She was finished. No matter the outcome, she had done her utmost.
She kneeled, facing the half-disk of the sun, and prayed to the Mechanism, that it might grant her her heart’s desire. Under her legs she could feel the thrum of it, the slow energies still coursing through the vast expanse of dying metal, and she begged that they might come to her aid. As if to answer her, the horizon clock clanged out its evening call, and Berrin started. At that moment, Maddus drew a shuddering breath. Berrin went to her, took her into her arms, supporting her head.
Maddus’s eyelids fluttered, drew open. The eyes rolled randomly, then fixed on Berrin’s face. There was no recognition in them. Maddus coughed long and hard, retched, and finally spat out a clot of blood; in the heart of it gleamed a steel needle.
REMEMBERING
She was like a child in some ways, an infant. She could not control her body, and her limbs would suddenly flail about convulsively, then settle back into immobility. From time to time, groans and whines forced themselves through her throat, random exhalations unrelated to anything else. The metal pins Berrin had set in her flesh were moving about slowly, like thorns in stirred clay. Twice already, a sharp projecting edge had scored Berrin’s flesh while she tried to restrain Maddus’s thrashing limbs.
Toward dawn, Maddus began to quiet; her movements had lost some of their spastic quality, and she no longer gave voice. Berrin took some food from her pack and ate, then drank water from her gourd. After a moment’s hesitation, she offered some to Maddus, who proved able to swallow the liquid, but closed her lips tightly after a few mouthfuls.
The sky lightened in the east, in the direction of the Hedge Forest. A tremor passed through the skin of the Mechanism: some huge weight shifting far below them, the beat of an escapement so vast its period was measured in years,
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