The sun shone down with all its grace and might upon the city, reigning over what was a radiant day, even if distant storm clouds creeped ever closer. But the radiance only laid the scars of the city bare, no matter how much they tried to hide and decorate them.
Walking down the street, Lucio’s eyes remained on the buildings that lined up to both sides of the road. Three or four floor behemoths of stone and wood, most of them still looking battered and weathered. There were few single houses left, if one did leave out the palaces and manors of high nobility, that was. It was the only way to accommodate the people quickly and efficiently. Repairs and new constructions were underway everywhere, racing against time before the next winter arrived. It was easy to spot these, using black stone for it and almost lacking in the ground floor. Even if it was a crude and basic solution, it was quick and efficient, and helped mask the charred walls of the lower and ground floors.
The air was clean, with smells of all sorts mixing for a moment before disappearing again. Cut wood and someone’s freshly cooked meal, the saltiness of the seawater and spices, sweat and metal. And yet, he couldn’t shake off the stench of death from his nose. It made his mouth and throat dry, unable to forget the smells, even after all these years. Rotten flesh set ablaze, choking smoke, burning incense and gunpowder.
He was barely a young man at the time of the Rot war, but no matter how long it passed Castelnegro would always have to bear the scars. And there also was-
Clang!
Metal groaned and clicked as he stepped back, rubbing his nose and eyes closed. Him and his tendency to daydream… He opened his eyes, being greeted by a medium frame of metal and ceramic with an unblinking metallic face. Sharp features cast in steel and glossed with ceramic, framed by a piece modelled after the helmet used by gardias, just like the armour that dotted the body. Cuirass and pauldrons, an armoured belt, and steady greaves. All of it decorated with sparse bronze and brass filigrees here and there. A good middle ground between protection and nimbleness, perfectly suited for the city. The machine said nothing, did nothing, merely staring at him with empty metallic eyes. Its smaller companion, a mechanical quadruped, similar to a dog, didn’t even turn around, remaining at attention.
– Sorry! Sorry! - He said, clasping his hands and bowing lightly, stepping aside and walking around both.
The machine spun its head around clockwise, clicking as it looked to the front and stood at attention. A quick glance around to ensure no one paid attention to him, as things like that were rather common. It was not the case though, someone looked across the street, and he could see a woman snickering nearby, her blonde hair gleaming like molten gold in the sun. He felt his cheeks redden with embarrassment, heart fluttering, but he was not mad. How could he be?
– Having fun at my expense? - He said, closing the distance. - How heartless.
– It has an innocent charm to it. - She smiled, clasping her hands behind her back. - And thank you for accompanying me.
– How could I refuse?
He held the arm out, which she gently took, sneaking her own around his elbow. They walked steadily and calmly, enjoying the clear sky and the sunlight. The woman held on to his arm gently and lovingly, her eyes glued to the glass dressing windows. There were less and less of those, windows being sealed shut or greatly narrowed, having to step inside to see the goods. It could be awkward, more so if one did not end up with a purchase, but it was easily understandable. Just another effect, like the black stone used everywhere.
Men hurried back and forth in errands for different guilds, or stood in uniform keeping oversight on the machines that stood guard. Women came and went from shops or homes dressed in colourful clothes; some more expensive and frilly, others more plain. But the keen eye could notice an always present mark of use and time. And yet, there was something that could easily be noticed, but best left unspoken.
– Nothing like the paintings. - Murmured the woman, slowing down a bit.
– It hasn’t been that long. - He added, slowing down. - Maybe it’s best if you rest.
– It’s not that bad.
– It has been there for as long as I have known you, Clara.
The woman kept quiet, biting her tongue while she caught her breath back. Walking was laborious, and best forget about running entirely unless she wanted to collapse in a panting mess on the cobblestone street.
– …Mother says she has found a way to cure it. - She reassured him, giving the man a kind smile and walking again, away from his deadpan gaze. - Next time, I will be the one defending you, Lucio.
– I’ll believe it when I see it.
– Come on, you know me well enough!
– Hum…
Once again on the trail, he thought back to the few times he had met her mother. A loving woman, but often dressed in black cloth outfits, a middle ground between ostentatious and plain. Perfect for blending in. The one thing that had stood out, if anything, was the thin black veil over her face. He could make out her features, sharp and cold, but thinking back, he had not seen her face besides two crimson lips and a pale chin.
Next to him, Clara walked in silence, lost in her own thoughts. For all her cheerful attitude and youthful beauty, there was something that felt off. It could easily be missed or taken for granted, but he had made sure to keep track of it in his mind. Her small footsteps, taking them towards their goal at a painfully slow speed. Her breathing, laborious and difficult even for such a simple thing as walking to the store. Her skin, too pale to be a good omen. All of them brought back to mind the symptoms and customs acquired during the Rot war.
It worried him. The mere idea bringing possibilities -nightmares- he dreaded to entertain even. His faith was not one of his strengths, and hearing the news of this cure… he doubted. For his own good.
Heavy footsteps brought him out of his stupor. A couple of machines, just like the one before, marched down the street, the canine looking ones at their side. They did so in complete silence and unison, passing by the side of anyone in the street, and not sparing even a glance. Not to them, not to anyone else. Not that they had a reason to.
– Here we are.
Clara’s voice caught his attention immediately. They were in front of a large wooden door. It’s brown managed to stand out from the dark stone, a quick glance giving him the suspicion that it had not always been so. He immediately got to action, pushing the door open for her. A big blade, thick and heavy. A good barrier to keep things out. Or the smell in.
– If you please, fair lady. - He smiled, opening an arm wide for her to pass
– Thank you, kind sir!
She gave him a little playful bow, entering the store with him behind. Closets and wardrobes obscured much of the vision, but the smell was omnipresent. Thin trails of smoke came out of several thuribles, mixing the various scents of incense in the air around them. It was almost overwhelming, making Lucio dizzy. It crawled up the nose and dried the mouth, making the tongue uncomfortable, leaving a metallic aftertaste.
Behind a sturdy desk waited an old man, wrinkled and bald. His clothes, as old and weathered as him; and what little hair remained in his head stuck to his big eyebrows that could easily cover his eyes if he squinted enough. He said nothing as they approached him, following them with his dark eyes.
– Good day!
Clara’s greeting was accompanied by her pulling a piece of parchment out of her sleeve, which the old man took. His pulse remained steady, finding the right distance to read. His brow furrowed, looking up at the beaming woman, and then to her companion, but did not say a single word. He gave the note back, neatly folded, and walked away from the desk, looking for something in the back of the shop. Lucio gave the woman a confused look, the note out of his sight and safely tucked away. He did not go unnoticed, to which she simply shrugged and smiled.
The wait was not to last, as the man came back with a small wooden box, opening it with his boney and old fingers. Inside there was a tiny bronze thurible, and an incense that was almost overwhelming. Even in the shop, it managed to stand out. Somehow. Clara gave a small nod, he closed it and handed it over, followed by the rustle of cloth and clinking of coins. No one said anything as they picked the box and headed for the exit, but as Lucio swung the door open, a deep and cracked voice came from behind.
– Stay safe.
Clara was already out, but Lucio did look back, the man having an unreadable expression in his face. He nodded, closing the door behind him and focusing on the woman.
– Anything else?
– No, this is it.
– Shall we be off then? - He said, offering her an arm once more. She took it without hesitation.
– Of course!
Once again, his thoughts went to Clara. To her walking and her condition. She was so slow and frail. If worse came to pass and he was not around… he tried to shake the thought off, but it would not let go. Settings and situations played in his head constantly, all with horrible outcomes he had no control over. All of them with one common thing, haunting him ceaselessly.
If there was something, anything, he could do to avoid such things…
– It is a lovely day, shame it will be raining soon. Have you noticed?
– E-eh? - He blinked, back to paying attention to his surroundings. The clouds had advanced enough, and threatened with a downpour. - Sorry I was… a bit distracted.
– Uh-huh… paying attention to anything except what you have to. - She stuck her nose up to the side.
He followed her with the head, being about to retort, to protest. But something caught his eye, choosing to harrumph instead. Their steps had taken them down an ample street, one of the main arteries of the Castelnegro that branched off the main one. Much more populated and transited, but the figure remained at a distance.
– Clever. - He whispered.
– Just follow my directions, and we’ll make it home in no time.
– I’ll make sure you do.
The confidence in his voice and serious tone made her heart flutter. Which only made her thoughts filled with regret. But there were other things to take care of first. Like getting home.
– Of course you will. - She smiled, playfully. - Say, Lucio. Do you love me?
The man stared into the air for a moment, taking in the question. And as he did, his cheeks started to redden, slowly but surely. He tried to stammer a clear answer, as Clara leaned against his side, a cheeky smile on her face, glaring closer and closer. Unable to answer, he did manage to nod, a bit too energetically even, but it would suffice. She chuckled at his reaction, the grin in her face widening.
– Then let’s go!
For all his previous absent-mindness, he acted quickly, managing to catch her mid-jump and holding her in her arms. The squeal of glee that came from the blonde woman turned many heads towards them, making the man’s cheeks flare even brighter red. Perhaps it was to get out of the spotlight, perhaps it was to leave the pursuer behind, but he started walking at a brisk pace. Navigating the streets proved easy, with Clara whispering directions. Turn right here, turn left there. A man with a woman in his arms was still noticeable, yes, but they were making gains.
The route was longer and often contradictory, passing by places they had already been and taking other directions. But this allowed them to glance at the extent of the trouble that pursued them. At least two people, a man and a woman, who they saw looking around rather overtly. As if they were looking for something specific.
– Discretion is not the strong point, is it? - She giggled quietly.
– No, it’s not… - He couldn’t help but smirk. - Not so good out of the fancy avenues, eh?
However, his attention immediately went back to his lover, and to his aching arms. He would never mind carrying her, at all, but that did not make it less tiring. Her breathing was elaborate, the stress of the situation putting its little grain of sand to aggravate her already frail health. Walking next to a wall of black stone, vines creeping all over it and partially covered by the shadow of two large cypress trees. His pace never slowed down, the heartbeat feeling like punches in his chest. As if it threatened to burst it open and jump.
– Here we are.
They stopped before a dark iron door, a thin slab with a small opening that was protected by iron bars. Nothing fancy or decorative about it, favouring function over fashion. Clara opened it without needing a key, the metal letting out a high-pitch creak as it opened and closed. The couple remained still for a moment, Lucio letting Clara look over the shoulder.
– They are gone… for now.
– Do you think they will find your home? - He asked, turning around and facing the gate too.
– It will not be difficult. And the door won’t stop them.
– Why not?
– It’s broken, something Mother has yet to fix.
– Yes, I know.
Both jumped at the sound of the voice behind them.
It was the first time he saw Mother’s face. A mask of clear ceramic with a perfectly articulated mouth, with some red accents around her eyelids and cheeks. Glassy eyes took turns looking at either of them, glaring at the door behind them. She frowned lightly, red lips pressing a bit.
– Do not stand there, sweetheart, come inside. - She said, motioning them to do so. - And mind entering with the right foot first.
– Yes, madam. Any reason?
– Good fortune.
Lucio put good care in doing as told, entering with Clara still in his arms. Mother closed the door behind them, shooting one last glance at the entrance. Once the slab of wood and iron closed, she turned around to face them, her expression relaxing. Something that the man couldn’t help but admire.
– I believe this is the first time seeing me like this, isn’t it?
– Yes.
The mechanical woman smiled warmly, almost beatifically, her mask-like face doing so seamlessly and with minimal clicking. Her hair was composed of steel grey plates, perfectly tied together and falling down her back like a curtain of dark silver. A mantle of fish-like scales, or like the armours of old.
– I see you are under good care, Clara dear. Did you bring what I asked you?
– Yes, Mother.
The woman handed the automaton the box, opening it to check the content. A momentary glance, and the box was shut again.
– Excellent. I will get things prepared, meanwhile, why don’t you have her seat by the hearth?
Clara tried to protest and stand up, but an inquisitive glance from her Mother was enough for Lucio to hold her steady. It did earn him a furibund huff and look from his lover, who crossed her arms in retort. Much to her mother’s amusement. But he did as told, setting her down on an elegant and comfortable looking couch. As for himself, he leaned against the chimney, the stone of the walls and the floor being less hostile there. He had been inside a few times. An errand to deliver, a meeting with Clara. But he had never taken the details of the inside.
It looked… empty. Almost fervently so. The furniture was made of different woods, but it was rather rustic. Yes, there were some carved filigranes here and there. The feet of the armchairs did resemble animal paws, and some furniture edges were sculpted into floral patterns, but it lacked almost everything. No overly designed pieces, no displays of heroism that were carved on the wardrobe doors, no decoration on the stairs that went up and down… There weren’t even any sort of portraits or tapestry. In fact, the carpets that softened the steps were, if anything, remarkable. The one thing that kept the stone at bay.
– You know I can stand on my own, even if I get a little tired.
– Yes, but I do not want to get on your mother’s wrong side.
– As if that could happen. - Clara scoffed, rolling her eyes. - She is really fond of you.
– That is… a relief to hear.
– She does leave quite the impression when you see her face. - Clara said, forcing a smile.
Lucio could only nod, before walking over and sitting next to her. He closed his eyes, the ache of his tired arms filling his mind. He didn’t mind about it, never would forgive himself if he did, but that did not mean it was not tiring.
– Sorry, I didn’t think it would be for so long.
– Bah, what kind of man would I be if I couldn’t do so?
The answer earned a chuckle from the blonde woman, who moved to lean against him.
– By the way, you haven’t answered my previous question.
– Your question…?
He thought back, trying to remember the exact words. The meeting with the mother, the wild chase through the streets, and before that… His face reddened once more, as the question came back crystal clear. Looking to the side, Clara was gazing at him with big and inquisitive eyes.
She fluttered her eyelids, her lips curling into a small grin as her face crept ever closer to his; which was almost as bright as the nearby fire.
– Hmm?
– I… believe you already know.
– Oh no. You are not getting out of this one like that. Yes or no?
– …Yes. - He huffed, much to Clara’s glee, as he crossed his arms over his chest, bright as a flame. - I believe it was obvious.
– I am so happy to hear you say that. - She said, making herself comfortable. - Can I ask another one?
– Since we are at it…
– Would you love me if I was… different?
He did not answer. The question made him stiffen a bit, looking at Clara. The woman still leaned onto him, but had her eyes fixed on the hearth, looking at the glow of the cracking fire behind the iron. For some reason, it made his heart pound, each time like an arquebus shot. He mulled over his thoughts for a moment.
– Clara, what do you mean?
The woman did not answer, gazing at the fire.
– Clara?
– I think it’s best if I step in. - Said Mother’s voice from behind them. - Clara, my dear girl, come with me.
The blonde woman obeyed immediately, standing up and walking to her. Mother gently reached for her daughter, embracing her as she helped her out of the room. Each step felt like a titanic labour, steady, yes, but slow. Right… left… right… left… step by step the woman was further and further, being led to an open door. It went outside, to a back garden and somewhere else he could not see. The light seemingly dimmed on its own, refusing to follow.
Lucio wanted to rush to her side, to make sure she would be fine. He stood up, ready to do so.
– Remain here, I’ll come back shortly.
He heard them leave, sitting back down, or trying to. But the tension, the tension remained. The sound of shoes against the cold stone grew distant, easily imagining the two of them walking over cobblestone. The door slammed shut, leaving him alone, his mind to be devoured by doubt and question. What was back there? What did Clara mean with that question? He felt like he was being left out of something vital, something that he needed to know, but he did not say a word. Instead, he stood up, pacing around the room, trying to calm down his uneasiness.
He went from the hearth to the couch, and from there to the wall to pacing around the room. It was tempting, so very tempting, to rush down no matter what. He wanted to, so very badly. But his mind managed to stay his impulse, sighing in defeat and finally sitting back down. The couch groaned as he did so, the roar of thunder marking the beginning of the storm outside.
Light grew ever dimmer, the fire barely able to light up the room. He walked to the chimney, crouching next to the metal door and sliding the bars a bit open. The room seemed less hostile, but he could feel the cold seeping in, like a soul that crawled almost unimpeded through the stone walls.
The pacing, the warm and the cold. Nothing could take his mind off the topic. The incense, the people following them, those questions… What exactly was he missing?
– Apologies for the delay.
Immediately standing up, he turned around to face her. Mother stood by the doorframe, looking at the source of light. Her arms were visible now, an armature made of steel and decorated with sparse filigrees of bronze, much more articulated than the standard automaton. And yet, even in the dim light and the quickly encroaching dark, the effect of time was noticeable. Not the most gleaming of metals, but the lustre had almost completely vanished from the arms. Mother sat down by the couch without saying a word, lost in thought. He took his own seat across her, crossing his arms and waiting.
– I’m certain you have many questions. - Mother said, looking him in the eye. - There is no point in delaying. Ask away.
For the first time, it was just the two of them. The whole day crossed his mind. All the doubts, all the questions. Lucio remained in silence, thinking his words for a moment.
– Clara said you found a cure for her condition, is that true?
– It is. - Mother answered, her face showing a small but tender smile. - Something drastic and irreversible.
– How?
The mechanical woman did not answer immediately, weighing her words carefully.
– By turning her into something like myself.
The sound of rain filled the room, competing with the cracking fire nearby, thunder booming like the greatest cannon. Again the heartbeat felt like a hammer in his chest, almost as if tried to match the thunder outside. His breath grew a bit heavy, trying to fully grasp the extent of the possibilities that raced across his mind.
– You plan on turning her into an-
– Don’t compare me with those machines, Lucio. - Mother hissed.- I am the original intent, changed due to extraordinary circumstances.
– “Extraordinary circumstances”...
– I do believe the Rot War qualifies as such, yes. And I hope it remains like that.
He said nothing, merely nodding in agreement, particularly that last part, although he had more than enough with trying to wrap his head around what he had been told. The machinery that played a crucial part in winnin- in the survival, a rushed and incomplete thing.
– I never knew how it was beyond the palatine sea.
– As horrendous and terrible as elsewhere. - Mother said.- Those days in Lavorno are not the fondest, if I’m honest.
– I can only imagine, he murmured, thinking back to the infamous reputation of the city-states. The idea of such a blight thrown in… he shuddered. However, that name did light the dark.
– Clara never told me where you came from.
– I instructed her not to do so. It was in our best interest.
– The stories from the mariners. Are they real?
– I do not know those stories, but they are often exaggerated. -She smirked briefly.- But yes, it was hellish until the first automata were sent into battle.
– A shame the inventor-
– Died in the siege?
He nodded.
– A most convenient story, is it not? It allows work to continue, while not being bothered as much.
The man kept quiet, trying to hold on to the couch as words fully sank in. A hundred different questions fought in his mind for the privilege of being asked first, his mouth opening and closing while trying to stammer a sentence. Mother merely smiled at the sight, with practised patience.
– Why? -He finally managed to blurt out.- Why disappear?
– The answer is obvious, isn’t it? -She answered. - An army immune to the Rot, powered by the purest essence of man. What did you think arrived to me, even as the fighting took place?
He remained in silence as the woman continued, her voice oozing venom and disgust, but he could guess the answer.
– A disease so infamous and vile that not only twists and corrupts the body, but also the soul. The end of days, and some still found time and means for their power games.
She almost spat those words.
– What did you mean with, “The original intent”?
– Something greater. - She smiled, sadly.-The Rot forced me to rush my studies, the result being such… crude work.
– The goal being?
– To surpass weakness. To triumph over weapon, blight and time.
– That’s…
She leaned forward a bit, her elbows on her legs and her hands clasped before her mouth, eyes boring into his soul, waiting for him to finish. His heart beat in his chest, loud and strong. He had touched something delicate, and the wrong word could-
– …dangerous.
Her face remained motionless, like a doll.
– It is… a noble idea, yes. - He said. His throat felt dry, and inside he trembled like a leaf in the storm.- But in the wrong hands… I dread thinking about the ways it can be twisted.
She smiled, leaning backwards and taking away the pressure in his chest. He let out a breath he did not know had been holding, earning a chuckle from her.
– A reasonable though, young man. Now come, Clara should be ready by now. - Mother said, standing up and ready to walk back to the basement.
– And what does she think?
– What do you mean?
– What she is about to do. Is it her choice? Or…
The mechanical woman had stopped in place, turning around and slowly walking to him. He remained stalwart and unflinching, his eyes locked with Mother’s. Truth was he immediately regretted those words, and was too terrified to do anything but stare. Each step she took was accompanied by faint clicks, something that had always been there, but now sounded deafening. A machine preparing to attack. And he was the target.
– Let me make one thing clear, young man. I will never allow any ill to befall her if I have any say in it. - She said, her tone sharp and clear.- Is that understood?
He expected a slap, a punch, a stab. Anything for such a question. Instead he could only stare as the mechanical woman stopped and turned around, clasping her hands.
– I did once, and I will never forgive myself for bringing this upon her.
Calming himself a bit, he stood up from his seat.
– Apologies for the impertinence.
– It is I who should apologise for the outburst. -The woman shook her head.- Follow me, I think she will appreciate your presence.
As the fire cracked, the two made their way through the dimly lit house. She opened the door she had used before to usher in Clara, it led outside, to a back garden, the house being much larger than first expected. Two lines of pillars ran parallel to each other, holding a roof overhead. It did little to protect them from the rain though when the wind blew. Her silhouette was hard to make, her dark dress concealing her. If not for the faint noises she made when moving and the occasional lightning, it would have been hard to notice her.
Had it not been for the storm, it could have been rather pleasant to find this back garden, but now it felt hostile and menacing. The dim light did not venture down the hallway, leaving them in an almost complete darkness when he closed the heavy wooden door behind him. Cypress trees loomed tall like giants swaying in the storm like they would pounce on them, and the stone pillars felt less like a refuge and more like they funnelled them towards the door at the end. A smaller building, with light visible under the door and through the single narrow window it had. His steps vacillated, worried about what could wait ahead. For a brief moment the thought of turning back crossed his mind, it lasted for a single moment, drowned by the clicking that came from ahead. He would see this through, for better or worse, he had to. For Clara.
Mother opened the door, which creaked open, and he was greeted by warmth and the smell of burning incense, one that grew stronger by the moment. As they reached it, he threw a quick glance backwards. He could have sworn the walk had felt longer than what it had actually been… The building seemed to be a workshop of sorts, built in the image of the main house but lacking the decoration of it. Given that it was sparse back there, the stone walls and floor, bare naked, held simple and plain furniture. Some shelves and tables to the side, a fireplace and a small forge at the far end, a fire in it that filled the room with warmth.
The metallic figures, vaguely resembling the human shape, and the array of metallic pieces were quickly shoved aside when he laid eyes on Clara. The woman remained with her eyes closed, laying nude on a table in the middle of the room, her blonde hair fanned around her like the areola of a saint. And close to her, the thurible burned the incense, thin smoke trails elevating in the air before fading. Despite the urges, he did manage to control himself from looking elsewhere or rushing to her side and trying to wake her up.
– I assume the incense has to do with it. How?
– It will make the change much easier. - Was all Mother said, walking to her side and sitting on a stool.
He followed her lead, standing next to the other side of the table. The movement on her chest gave away that woman breathed still, but weakly. Reaching for her hand, he glanced at the mechanical woman for permission. The nod was all he needed, carefully and gently reaching for her hand. It was terribly cold, but the gesture managed to get the woman to open her eyes. Her grip grew ever weaker, her eyelids heavy, and the small smile on her face, forced.
– See, my dear girl? He’s here too.
He gently squeezed her hand, reassuringly.
– Now, let her be. She needs space.
Following Mother’s instructions, he gently set her hand down and walked to her side. The paleness on her skin only grew, taking a light greying hue. Her peaceful expression with her closed eyes, along her limp hand and her cold touch sent a chill down his back. The grey on Clara’s skin only grew more and more apparent, changing her. His mind, already dazed by the pounding beat on his chest, refusing to believe anything else. He knew what he had been told in the living room, but still, in the seclusion of his mind, he prayed. From the simplest prayers to the lengthy creeds he knew by heart, so the Almighty above ensured everything went as her mother planned. As he dearly wished.
Watching her skin grow unnaturally pale and grey only made him uneasier, being long past even the sickest and weakest of skin tones. And as much as he begged in his prayers that the cracks on her skin were just a trick of his mind, he knew full well they were not. With Mother by his side, he could only stare forth, watching them grow larger and deeper, branching all over her body. Across her face and down her neck, reaching all the way to her chest. And from there, it spread in all directions. Torso or limbs, it didn’t matter. She looked like a dried figurine of herself, like clay or dirt that had long been denied water. It made her seem so… so fragile.
Crack.
The noise made him sick. And brief glances down the corner of his eye told him Mother was not fond of it either. Even with her doll-like face, he could see her hard stare. Or maybe it was just his mind, since she had shown nothing but care for the woman so far.
Crack-a-crack-a-crack…
It only grew louder, stronger, rivalling even the shutters that had been left unattended and now flailed wildly. And as it did, the cracks became wider and deeper, the light of the forge casting dancing shadows in them. His heart pounded like a mad cannon, clenching his fists anxiously. He was no artisan or potter, but by the look of if, if it continued going like this, she could-
There was an eerie silence as the noise stopped. Her figure vanished, sinking into the table as it was reduced to mere grey dust. It was a moment, but the image was etched in fire in his mind. The small flakes that fell off her, followed by the rest; like a small mound of sand swept by a sea wave, or a tiny amount of ash and dust blown away by the wind.
A shaky step backwards prevented him from completely collapsing. As much as he refused to believe what he had seen, he could not deny it. His throat parched and dry as the deserts of the south in summer, his hands as shaky and feeble as his legs that barely held him up. His heartbeat echoed in his mind like the mightiest of cannons.
She put a firm hand on his shoulder, her gaze firm on the dust of what had been Clara. It was hard to look at, his eyes feeling as dry as his throat. But she was right, something glistened. Her body clinked as she closed the distance, grabbing a clear crystal, surprisingly well polished and the size of a clenched fist. Even with her mechanical body he could see the slight shaking of her hands.
– The Almighty above, creator of all. From dust you rose us, and dust we shall become. -She recited, her hand holding tightly.- Shield her soul, immortal and pure, to be free from sin and lapse.
The stone seemed to react to the prayer, vibrating and gently glowing, something barely noticeable at first. Mother acted quickly, handing the stone to him, the man looking in disbelief. First at the stone and then at the mechanical woman, a steady and serene look in her mask-like face.
– Don’t despair. -Mother said, her voice firm.- And focus.
With a shaky pulse, he took the stone. It- She looked so small and fragile, but no harm would come to her. He would make sure of that.
Meanwhile, Mother set one of the mechanical figures on the table where Clara had been, doing it so with surprising gentleness and ease. It was only then he noticed an empty cavity on the chest, the next step clear, and after a nod from her, he walked the distance. His pulse firm and steady, and his pace determined. No matter the banging and howling wind outside, no regard for the flashes of lightning and booming thunder. With as much care as he could he inserted the sto- Clara in her new body.
The different metallic parts and pieces that formed the figure vibrated, resonating as groans and creaks filled the workshop. An invisible force seemed to make them obey, quickly accommodating the crystal as metal bent and moulded. It took new forms, changing everything. The figure, previously crude and simple, shaped into an elegant and stylized one, with long and graceful limbs. Each part was perfectly locked with its neighbours, no matter how shaped or its size, making arms and legs fully articulate. Even their previous dull grey changed, as it took a new and gleaming lustre.
Glowing in the centre of the chest, the glowing gemstone buried itself deep within the metal, bending it to a more familiar shape. A more human form. Groaning, the torso developed more feminine curves, not too different from Clara’s original ones, but they were definitely more accentuated. And the same went for her bust, as metal forged itself into a rather generous one. Clara had always been naturally beautiful, but the sight made Lucio blush lightly and arch an eyebrow. Feeling his gaze on her silvery and plated hair, Mother turned to face him, merely shrugging.
– I have no way to influence this. - She said quietly.- The best I can do is let her be.
– Then?
– This is all her doing. What you held is her crystallized soul. - She looked at the changing metal.- An egolith.
– Is she awake? - He struggled to keep his voice down.
– Not as you believe, it is more akin to a dream. She is not fully aware of her surroundings, but it can influence her.
BANG!
He was about to ask something. One of the dozen questions that she raised each time she spoke, but a banging noise made him silent. He glanced at Mother, the mechanical woman alert and approaching the door of the workshop. It had sounded nothing like the shutters, and it was close. Too close for comfort. Metal groaned as it kept changing and shaping, his sight mesmerized at Clara’s forming face.
– I am afraid we might have additional guests. - She said quietly, reaching for something in a nearby table.- Remain by her side.
– I will go take a look. - He said, resolutely.
Mother opened her mouth, seemingly ready to protest, but he did not give her a chance. He faced the howling wind and rain, quickly soaking his clothes as the cold bit him to his very bones. The door closed as thunder boomed, concealing the sound. His heartbeat echoed in his mind, deafening as a war drum, as he finally inspected the weapon he had taken from her. Although “weapon” might have been a bit too generous for his sudden outburst. It was straight and heavier than he thought, but its sharp end and curved hook more than made up for it. The fire poker might not be the most ideal weapon, but it would have to do.
He walked slowly between the columns, his eyes fixed on the main house’s back door. Wind and thunder made it difficult, but he was sure he could hear someone moving inside. Moving to the side, he stepped out of what little cover the columns offered. Even when lightning cracked, the shadows they casted made it easier to remain concealed. It left a clear sight to the workshop, the light that came from it drawing the attention of any intruders. With rain beating him down, he stuck to the stone wall of the main building. He had to ensure that his weapon, now wet and losing some of the soot, did not glisten due to some lightning.
The back door opened quietly, making his heart stop for a moment. Two figures slipped through, moving quietly through the garden. She was right. They wore dark clothes, and with good reason. When the storm darkened the most, it was hard to make out their silhouettes. One of them was bulky and tall, doing his best to remain quiet as they approached the workshop. The other was shorter and lankier, moving quickly and silently. Gripping the fire poker tightly, he moved behind them.
It didn’t have to be fair.
Step by step, he got closer. The bulky one first.
It didn’t have to be clean.
He slowly raised the weapon, ready to strike.
It needed to be quick.
Stab!
The blow landed on the bulky figure, missing the head and instead hitting the left shoulder with a sickening noise. The bulky figure screamed in pain, trying to turn around. Lucio held the poker in his hands, even as the intruder faced him. The hook came free, rending through his shoulder and painting the stone path below red. The man snarled, holding a hand over his wound, while his partner took over.
Clang!
Clang!
Quick and swift strikes tried to reach him, Lucio defending himself the best he could from the two daggers. As lightning cracked, he could see them glisten in the dark for a moment. Each blow he stopped with the poker filled the air with a metallic hum, the vibrations making their way up his arm. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep up with the lighter blades. The storm only grew more violent, wind and rain making it difficult to see.
Sweat and water mixed in his palm, making his weapon awfully slippery. It had been some time since he had last practiced combat, and now he cursed himself for it. No need to be a masterful duellist, but at least to put up a capable defence. And he was making promises of defending Clara? His mind wandered for a moment, his eyes fixed on the door back. The bulky figure was slowly advancing towards it.
– There are two of them!
In a moment of respite the storm had given him, his words shattered the silence, loud enough to be clearly heard by Mother. With renewed vigour after muttering the words, he took a step back. Having relied on his weight to keep the barrage, the attacker let out a higher pitched eep, stumbling forward. Right into his foot, which delivered a kick on her chest. The woman in dark grunted, stumbling backwards into a column, gasping for air as the blades clinked on the stone path.
Rushing forward, subtlety and discretion had long been casted aside. The bulky figure turned around, stopping his lunge with a batton. He grunted as he was pushed to the side, followed by an acute pain on his cheek and jaw. The cold and wet metal wounded his face, while warm liquid with an iron taste filled his mouth. He spit to the side, gripping his weapon tightly, and exchanging blows with the new opponent. Twice, thrice and half a dozen times. What it lacked in speed, it more than made up for in sheer strength, the wood durable and the metal creeping dangerously closer each time. And its shorter size made it easier for him to move between the columns. Lucio spit again. Bastard was keeping him pinned.
A commotion caught the attention of both for a moment. It came from the workshop. Had something happened to Clara? Taking the initiative, he lunged forth again. The bulky man easily stopped it, stepping slightly to the side and delivering a powerful blow on his stomach. Lucio gagged. The blood of the two mixed on the path, as Lucio lunged again and again, trying to force him to step aside. If he managed to switch places, to have the workshop in his back, he could expect Mother to-
Stab!
Sharp pain rendered him paralyzed, fire poker held in the air preparing for a swing. He needed air, as an acute pain spread from two points in his back. Gasping for breath, he could see the woman behind him, twisting the daggers and making him squirm in pain. It didn’t last, as the batton delivered a devastating blow to the side of his head. A sickening crunch echoed inside his head, the clanging of metal against the path ringing in his ears. He leaned against the column as his sight became blurry, threatening to fade to black, as the sounds around him became muffled and vague.
Lucio could hardly make out things. Shouts and screams. The clanging of metal and ringing in his ears. Some distant flashes of light. There was an overwhelming cold feeling, one that left him numb. The rain and the wind. The human figures. The flashes of lightning. All seemed to blur and fade into the grey.
He felt light, as if someone carried him gently. Just like with Clara.
There were voices around the grey, sounding nearby and growing clearer. No word could be made yet, but there were two- no three distinct ones. They spoke quietly, barely breaking the silence. A severe and commanding one, an obedient one, and a rather… distressed one? Had Mother succeeded? Yes, that was what he was fighting for. To buy some time. It was getting harder to remember, but that thought refused to fade. The distress in the voice. Had something gone wrong? That woman. As beautiful as she was lively.
Images of her flashed in the mind.
The paleness on the skin, laying on the table.
How she was reduced to nothing but dust.
The gleam of the crystal before being put in the metal.
How the metal groaned and creaked, moulding and changing.
The shapes of her new body, with her curves and beauty.
How graceful all it had seemed, even if it had looked terrifying.
The final result, unseen before leaving.
How… fragile she had seemed.
She needed company, and someone to defend her. At least until she recovered. She could not be left alone.
She could not be left alone. The thought repeated itself. Ad nauseam.
Wake up. Do not leave her alone.
Wake up. Do not leave her alone.
Wake up. Do not leave her alone.
Eyes fluttered open, closing immediately at the light around.
– Oh my. Please remain calm while I fetch Mistress Elvira.
The voice had sounded calm and melodious, hurried and clinking steps followed by a slam of the door. Surrounded by complete silence, the footsteps could be heard growing distant, overtaken by the cracking of a nearby fire. The silence sets the mind at ease, eyes closing again for a moment, memories rushing back. The stone building, the table, the nearby thurible and incense… all familiar, yes. Flashes of the night came back, remembering the debacle in that thunderous night. It made sense to be brought here, otherwise the blood might have made a mess that was hard to clean. A deep breath, one that was badly needed, could not be taken. And as the gaze moved down, to the chest, it was greeted by a couple of feminine mounds.
Frozen at the sight, she approached a hand at them. The hand was lean and delicate, cast in clear and delicate porcelain, material it shared with the modest bust the eyes were fixed in. A light grazing noise filled the place when the fingertips made contact, the mind shivering at the careful touch. Trying to sit up, hurried footsteps could be heard coming back, the door opening violently as people barged in.
Clara’s face was a beautiful mask of gleaming bronze, topped by delicate porcelain hair that stretched down into a long and intricately elaborated braid; and was currently having difficulty articulating words. Her body was mostly covered by the dress she wore, the same dress she had used at their last meeting, but her arms, now made of bronze, seemed oddly elaborated and articulated.
With metals gleaming in the sunlight that seeped in from the outside, Mother joined her by the doorframe, gently pushing her daughter forward and closer.
There was a third one, someone unknown. She was made of clear white porcelain, her hair a single brass piece that reached her neck. Lavishly decorated with gold and bronze filigrees in her limbs, her maid uniform made her role clear, as did her obedient and submissive attitude. She merely stood by the door, a small smile on her face, and hands clasped over her chest.
– Clara? -The high pitched voice sounded odd and unsure. Not that there was anything to be done, as the bronze automaton rushed forth and embraced her.
– You are alive! Thank the Maker! Thank you Mother!
Mother waved her away, remaining in silence by the maid as her daughter clung to the newly awakened mechanical woman. Still confused, a hand reached for Clara’s shoulder, answering the embrace the best it could.
– I…
– You almost… you reckless! -She shouted, tightening the embrace.
– How did it end?
– You were badly wounded. Had Mother not been quick…
– And the intruders?
– Dealt with. -Hissed Clara, one of her hands rearranging itself into a firearm.- And any that try will meet the same end.
Taken aback by the malice and the venom the words oozed, the new mechanical woman sat up, trying to stand up or at least to reach the edge of the table. And meanwhile, Clara did not let go, embracing her in an unbreakable lock.
– What about her? -She asked, motioning at the maid.
– They forfeited mercy the moment they broke in. -Said Mother.- Now she is a brand new self. Isn’t that right, Mercedes?
– That is correct, Mistress. -Replied the maid, obediently and with a smile on her face.
It sent a chill down hi- her form. Standing up in shaky feet, she relied on Clara for support, something the woman was elated to lend. Looking down she could finally see herself. Not too different from the previous height, if anything h- she was a bit taller, it seemed? Her limbs were long and lean, making her form seem a bit fragile with the porcelain cast that covered her. Taking one hand to her face, her fingers touched it, confirming that indeed it was not a dream or a delirium. She moved up, reaching her hair. A single and elaborate piece that mimicked short hair. It seemed to be some sort of metal. Bronze, or brass.
– I don’t understand. -She said.- Why…
– Why do you look like this?
The woman nodded, looking at Mother, who approached, followed dutifully by the maid. Holding her chin, she moved her head a bit, before stepping back and motioning her to turn in place. She complied, revealing her lithe and lean figure.
– I told you that, didn’t I? That it was akin to a dream. -She said.- Tell me, what were you dreaming of?
– Mother?
– Hush now, Clara. -Elvira asserted.- Answer truthfully, please.
There was a moment of silence, as she gathered her thoughts, formulating an answer that she found satisfying.
– Clara. -She said, her head hanging low.- I thought of her beauty and lively self. Of how frail she looked when ill, and on the table. And how I only hoped to have bought enough time.
Silence set in again, Clara hugging her lover carefully and tenderly, and Mother shaking her head in disbelief.
– Of all the things… Clara, you better treasure her, is that understood?
– Yes, Mother!
Mother took a couple of steps forward, gently holding the porcelain hand of the woman. Her eyes had the most warmth she had ever seen in them.
– May I call you Lucia?
She thought about it for a moment. It was similar, but not the same. And she certainly was not what he used to be. Everything was fresh and new, the moment hot in her mind, and once things settled down doubts and questions would begin to rise. In great quantity.
– I think it sounds lovely. -Said Clara.- And it fits you.
– Still me, no matter how I look? -Said Lucia, a small smile on her lips.
Clara merely hugged her.
– What about my job, my life, my… everything.
– We’ll figure things out as they come. -Reassured Elvira.- For now, I am glad to have you back.
She stood up, snapping her fingers. Mercedes, the maid, stood at attention.
– Yes, Mistress Elvira?
– Mercedes, find and prepare a good dress for Lucia. And take Clara with you, she’ll know what will be the best fit. If there is none at home, let me know and I’ll send you off to some errands.
– Yes, Mistress! -The maid said. Holding Clara with a careful but firm grasp, she walked out, dutiful and obedient.
Refusing to be torn from her lover’s side, Clara opened her mouth to protest, but the eager maid did not stop, taking her away with her.
– I expect you back soon. -Elvira said with a cheeky smile.
The door closed behind them, leaving Elvira and Lucia alone. Silence hung heavy.
– Lucia…
– I- During the night… I was sure I was-
– You were. -Elvira said, looking at her like a severe mother.
– You were reckless, and fighting off an assassination attempt on your own had the expected result. But your heroism did buy the time needed.
It was good that she breathed no longer, or else she would have started panting like mad. She took one hand to her chest, her own crystal inside her new form. Mother clasped her hands around Lucia’s own, a tender and caring gesture that was accompanied by the most honest smile she had seen from her.
– And for that I thank you.
Lucia nodded. She was not certain if her body could tear up, but at least her soul did. She slumped forward, defeated, into Elvira’s shoulder.
– Do you truly mean it? That you will help me with… this. -The new mechanical woman said, gesturing to herself.
– Don’t you ever doubt it. -Said Elvira, trying to soothe Lucia.- During the night, when I saw you… I dreaded it was happening all over again. First Clara, and now you.
– But I-
– You live. And remember what Clara said. She loves you, no matter if you are different. -She smiled, separating herself as hurried footsteps approached the door.- Is that understood?
Lucia merely nodded, giving her a small smile as the door opened and Clara charged in.
– Mother, Mercedes and I have found a dress that might fit wonderfully. Once she tries it on it might need some adjustments.
– We’ll see momentarily. -Elvira said, standing up and making sure the fire in the workshop was dead.- Clara?
– Yes, Mother?
– Bring her to your room. We have much to arrange and prepare, and I want you to remain by her side. Is that understood?
– Yes, Mother!
Clara picked Lucia in her arms with surprising ease. Walking away with a cheerful giggle as Mother followed behind her. Be it by the water, be it by the maid, it did not matter, the scars of the night had been all washed away. With her new porcelain skin gleaming under the light, she relaxed in her lover’s arms. The day was bright and the sun shone with all its grace and might upon the house and courtyard.