Роберт Беннет - Foundryside

“Then can we gain the proper context from the rest of the notes?” asked Orso. He pointed at one particular paragraph. “Here…‘ The hierophant Pharnakes never called them tools, or devices, or rigs. He specifically called them ‘urns’ and ‘vessels’ and ‘urcerus’—which means ‘pitcher,’ like water .’ Surely that has some relation to why Tomas Ziani called his failed imperiat a shell , yes?”

“True,” said Berenice. “And Pharnakes goes on to directly describe the ritual here — he refers to a ‘transaction’ or ‘deliverance’ or ‘transference’ of sorts that must take place at ‘the lost moment, the world’s newest hour.’ Though I’ve no idea what that means.”

“I think that bit’s clear, actually,” said Orso. “The hierophants believed the world was a vast machine, made by God. At midnight, the world essentially changed over, like a big clock. They believed there was a ‘lost moment’ during which the normal rules were suspended. Apparently that’s when the forging of hierophantic tools must take place — when the universe has its back turned, in a way.”

“In that moment, something fills the pitcher,” said Giovanni. “The shell.”

“Meaning what?” said Clef, frustrated.

Silence.

“I’m not sure this is progress,” said Clef.

“What else is in these damned notes?” said Orso. He flipped through the pages rapidly.

“There’s this bit here,” said Berenice. “Also from Pharnakes—‘ The lingai divina cannot be utilized by common mortals. By the nature of the Maker’s work’— I assume he means God there—‘ it is inaccessible to those who have been born and shall die, to those who cannot, like the Maker, give and take life itself. ’ ”

“But what exactly happens ?” demanded Clef. “This is all really fun, reading these cryptic bits of quotes — but what is this goddamn transaction supposed to be? What does the dagger have to do with the urn, the shell, with the language of this Maker? It looks like someone is being executed, yeah, but what does that have to do with scrived tools, or this lost minute?”

“Shouldn’t you know?” said Orso, exasperated. “I mean, you are one!”

“Do you remember your birth?” said Clef. “I sure as hell expect not.”

And then Sancia understood everything.

She understood how the ritual worked, how the hierophants had made their tools, why their tools needed no lexicon to function — and why they never actually called them “tools.”

she said to him. do remember your birth. Don’t you?>

Clef was silent.

Orso glanced at Berenice. “Why isn’t he saying anything? What’s going on?”

“That’s…that’s right,” said Clef quietly. “I do remember how I was made.”

“You do?” said Berenice.

“Yes,” said Clef. “I was lying on my back…and then I felt pain, shooting through me…and then…I…I became the key. I filled it. I moved within it. I filled its cracks and crevices…and…” He trailed off.

“And?” said Orso.

A cold horror filled Sancia’s body — and she suspected that it was Clef’s horror, not her own.

she said.

“What are you saying here?” asked Claudia.

“I’m saying it wasn’t human sacrifice,” said Clef softly. “Not entirely.”

“What?” said Orso. “Then what was it?”

“I…I remember the taste of wine,” whispered Clef. “I remember the feeling of wind on my back, the sound of breeze in the wheat, and a woman’s touch. I remember all these sensations — but how could I, if I was always a key?”

They stared at him. Then Berenice’s mouth opened in horror. “Unless…unless you weren’t always a key.”

“Yes,” said Clef.

“What do you mean?” asked Gregor.

“I think that…once, I was a person,” said Clef. “Once I was alive just as you all are…but then, during the lost minute, they took me out of me…and they put me in…in here . Inside this…contraption.” Sancia’s fingers curled around the golden key, gripping it so hard her knuckles turned white. “The histories don’t record the hierophants killing anyone — because they didn’t. They stripped a mind from raw flesh and bone, and during that lost moment in the depths of the night…they placed it inside a shell. A vessel.”

“All thoughts collected,” said Berenice.

Orso put his face in his hands. “Oh my God…It’s a loophole, isn’t it! A stupid, scrumming loophole!”

“A loophole?” said Claudia.

“Yes!” said Orso. “Occidental sigils — the sigillums of God Himself — can’t be used by anything that has been born or shall die. So what do you do? You take a person and turn them into something deathless— something that is not really born, and never will truly die. You do it during the world’s lost hour, when the rules aren’t enforced. That gives you access to untold permissions and privileges! Reality will happily follow the instructions of the tool you’ve created — because, in a way, it genuinely believes the tool is God Himself !”

“I’ve been trapped in here for…for forever,” said Clef faintly. “I’ve outlived the people who made me. I spent so long in the dark…all because they needed a tool to do a job . It’s not human sacrifice — it’s worse .”

And then, to everyone’s surprise, Clef burst into tears.

Berenice tried to comfort him as the rest looked on, hugging Sancia’s body close as Clef wept.

“To imagine it,” said Orso. “To imagine that the discovery you’ve sought for so long is…is this ghastly mutilation of the human body and soul…”

“And to imagine what the other houses would do,” said Gregor quietly, “if they were to make the same discovery. In many ways, Tevanne already runs on the fuels of human suffering. But if we were to switch to this method…imagine the sheer human cost.” He shook his head. “The hierophants were not angels at all. They were devils.”

“Why don’t you remember more about yourself?” Giovanni asked Clef. “If you were a person, why do you still think and act like…well, the key?”

“Why is bronze not like copper, or tin, or aluminum, or any of the rest of its components?” said Clef, sniffling. “Because they have all been remade for another purpose. The key looks like just an object to you all, but on the inside it’s…it’s doing things. Redirecting my mind, my soul, to act in a certain way. And because it’s breaking down, I…I remember more of myself.”

“And this is what Tomas Ziani is attempting,” said Gregor. “He is attempting this grand remaking of the human soul — only he is failing, over and over and over again. And he is willing to fail more , with over a hundred people.” He looked at Sancia. “Now we know. Now we truly know what’s at stake. Will you try to stop it tonight, Sancia? Are you willing to rob the Mountain?”

Sancia took control of her body again, like a hand sliding into a glove.

said Clef softly.

She shut her eyes and bowed her head.

Nightfall, and Berenice, Sancia, and Gregor skulked through the Commons south of the Candiano campo. Sancia’s blood buzzed and boiled in her veins. She often felt jittery before a big job, but tonight was different. She tried to stop glancing at the Mountain in the distance so she wouldn’t remember exactly how different it was.