“Dad?” he asked, his throat tight.
“He was a good man,” she said. “As was his father.”
He followed his mother’s eyes to another sculpture. It was also Clod. Not really, but so very close. Maybe thinner, with a longer nose, and curly hair. He looked down the row of sculptures and saw dozens, maybe hundreds of Clods. Between each of them were hundreds of Adas and Eidys.
Clod felt bombarded with confusion, fright, and exhaustion. These statues made no sense, how could it be possible that so many of them looked familiar. It felt like he was walking on his own grave, and he shivered at the prospect that this was where it would end. Why had his mother brought him here? He was just so tired, so very tired that he worried the wasting would take him away from Ada and his mum when they needed him so bad. She gripped Clod’s chin again and pulled his face to meet her gaze.
“I love you, Clod, as you love Ada,” she said. “I had the wasting sickness, and your dad saved me. I was angry with him, at first, but in time I came to know this was the way of things. You’ll become angry with me, but in time you’ll understand that this is the only way I know to save my Clod. You have many years to come with Ada, and that is my gift to you.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. The churning in his stomach wasn’t from pie. He wanted to ask more, but her stern gaze told him this was a time to listen.
“Take your time with your next sculpture of her, even if it takes months. Make her every bit as real as you can.” She took a deep breath, her eyes glassy with tears. “Then, the hardest part. Believe in yourself, in your own beauty. It comes from inside you, Clod. When you do believe, pour all your love and magic into Ada, and she will always be with you. Promise me.”
“I promise, Mum,” he said, unable to keep the shudder from his voice.
“I love you, my Clod,” she said, holding onto his hand so hard it almost hurt. She reached up to his father’s outstretched hand and gripped it hard. “I’m so glad I made you.”
“I love you too, Mum,” he said.
Life. Her life flowed into him like a cool brook on a warm summer day. It felt familiar, like when she’d tend to his scratches, or listen to him talk about his clay stories as a youth. It was so much of her love that he squeezed his eyes shut. A dizziness overtook him, making him stagger, but her grip was firm. And then too firm. And then he opened his eyes.
His mum was stone, as solid and still as any statue in the graveyard. One hand held onto his father’s, their fingers intertwined. Her other hand held onto his own. And then he understood. And then, he wept like he’d never done before.
Age 27
“You are making my retirement party not fun,” Haim said, his tall ear lifted mockingly. “You can’t always be sad, young Clod.”
“Sorry,” Clod said, patting Haim’s leathery green arm.
“You thinking of your mother?” Haim asked.
“Not this time,” Clod said sullenly. “Ada should be here.”
“She’s probably upset you won’t take my shop,” Haim said, only half joking.
The other half of Haim’s joke was filled with bitterness and a hint of resentment. Clod could bake, but he wasn’t a baker. Haim had wanted, more than anything, for Clod to take over his legacy. The malgam deserved this. He’d taken Clod under his wing, as an employee, and as a son. But the shop was a gift Clod couldn’t accept. Not because he didn’t appreciate the significance, but because he’d finally realized what he was.
Clod had spent almost two years alone, without his mum, and without Ada. The first few months after his mum turned to stone was a desperate time filled with futile attempts at reviving her.
It felt like a cruel trick. He could bring back puppies or half dead bodies all day long. They were made from flesh and bone when they lived and retained some of those qualities when they died. Clod, Ada, and his mum weren’t human, in the traditional sense. When he made Ada out of clay, he was unable to bring her back after she turned to ash. His dad must’ve carved his mum from stone. When she went away, she returned to stone, and there was nothing he could do. His magic had limitations that mocked him, making life seem that much more unfair. All of which just made him hurt worse.
When the mourning and grief finally lessened, he committed to taking some of her advice. His mum had pressed him to make Ada one final time. To carve his friend from stone so she would last.
He spent more than a year failing. The entire time was filled with struggle and heartache. He missed his mum, who would never come back, and he missed Ada, who unknowingly waited for him. He refused to bring Ada back as clay; he wanted her to stay which meant she had to be carved from stone. Figuring out how to chisel and shape with his father's tools wasn’t a learning curve—it was a learning mountain, and the cost was great. Clod didn’t take good care of himself as he was practically obsessed. He even sold off parcels of land to have blocks of stone delivered.
It took months more to realize why it wasn't working. One late night, after too many failures, he was about to give up. Clod just didn’t understand why he couldn't carve her image like he saw in his mind. It should have been easier, because he loved Ada so much, just like his mum had loved him. She had poured all of her love into sculpting him. And that was when it came together.
Both his mum and Ada, and even Shaman Millow, had tried to convince him that beauty came from inside, but it was hard to accept when he couldn’t stand looking in a mirror. He’d believed that everything about him was ugly, which made it almost impossible to make someone as beautiful as the Ada he saw in his mind. But, how could he truly be ugly if he was made from his mum's love? This realization was the lifelong hurdle that kept him from succeeding, and understanding meant he could finally do it. Clod chiseled the barest of grooves into Ada’s toenails. He carved out hairs on her legs and arms. Each finger bore unique fingerprints. One eye was a little higher than the other, and one ear slightly lower. She had moles, and dimples, and imperfections, and blemishes, and everything that made one human. After hundreds of failures and angry frustrations, he finally, finally made her as Ada as he could. Then he willed, and willed, and willed until his heart hurt and he gasped for breath. And then she woke. And then she was Ada. His Ada who would always stay and never leave.
“I hope you know I tease,” Haim said, his tone becoming a little sly. “Mostly.”
“I wish I could take the shop, but Ada and I have more sculpting business than we know what to do with,” Clod said. “She wants to take on apprentices to help. It’s overwhelming. I don’t even know where the business comes from.”
“Rumor is that Shaman Millow tells townships to commission work from you,” he said. “And after what you and Ada did to Yugen, nobody argues. You were heroes!”
“We were all heroes,” Clod said, unable to hold back a smile. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Bah,” Haim said with a dismissive wave that didn’t hide the smile around his giant tusks.
“Not this story again,” Melda said as she came up from the cellar. “Every time you call him a hero, Clod, he stops working for a week to bask in his glory.”
Haim’s wife was even larger and more muscular than Haim. Clod struggled to tell them apart, except that during some seasons, Melda was a darker shade of green. Every spring, her tusks would grow from her top jaw, and then she would lose them at the end of summer. He’d been there when they came out once, and almost threw up. Apparently, tusk removal was a private matter among malgam, and she took his reaction poorly. It took weeks for the bruise on his forehead to heal. Those tusks were solid.
“Speaking of Yugen,” Haim said. “Wasn’t he in town several days ago?”
“Wut?” Clod asked. “But he was exiled.”
“Mostly. They never proved the storm was all him,” Melda said. “And there are still humans here who like him.”
“You look worried, Clod,” Haim said.
“Ada was going to meet me here hours ago,” Clod said. “Wut if he t
ook her?”
“He has no magic. The council leached it,” Haim said with a shudder. “And she could stop him with a touch.”
“Yuh,” Clod said. “If she could touch him.”
“So…what to do?” Melda asked.
“He was in town for a reason,” Clod said. “Where do Yugen’s friends hang out?”
“I’ll show you,” Haim said. “This bad party anyway.”
What could Yugen be planning if he didn’t have magic? His old teacher hated them, blamed them for everything bad that happened. How far would hatred drive Yugen? Was he planning to kill her? Had he already? With every fiber of his being, Clod believed Ada was still alive. She had to be. Clod’s heart wanted to climb out of his throat as they rushed across town.
He winced when they arrived. The Hid Inn was a seedy dive of dark corners and greasy milieu. It was one of those places his mum had told him to stay away from, and crossing the threshold fueled his anxiety.
“Get out,” growled a gray dwarf who was as wide as he was tall. “Your type aren’t allowed…”
Haim squeezed through the door behind Clod, and glared down at the short man. He placed his giant hand on the dwarf’s head and pressed hard enough to make the man yelp. His hand remained steady, the malgam’s sharp nails hovering just above the dwarf’s eyes, and he leaned slightly as if he’d found a new favorite cane.
“That’s them,” Haim said with a nod. “At the thwart game table. I watch your back.”
“Who’ll watch my front?” Clod said with a gulp.
“You a man,” Haim said. “Be brave, and do what you have to. It’s for Ada.”
Clod approached the rectangular, wooden table at the far side of the room. Three people stood on both sides along the length, each of them smacking levers or shoving poles. A muscular man with oily black hair and pale skin stood at the head, gripping two edges of the thwart table as if holding onto a wheelbarrow. He jerked suddenly, rocking it from side to side as the others cheered and jeered. Despite the raucous growls, it looked like everyone was having fun.
Clod’s curiosity was stamped out like a small fire when he saw what was going on inside the table. A sizable rat scurried through a maze filled with traps. The levers were meant to force it into action, either prodding the rat forward, or jabbing it until it turned around. The poor beast looked mad with pain that abruptly ended. A prod struck the rat’s back with a loud snap, making it squeal until it stopped shuddering.
“Another loss for ya, Telk,” a scraggly looking drunkard shouted.
“Trollbile,” Telk cursed, picking up the dead rat and shaking it. “Fah,” he shouted, tossing the carcass into a steel bucket beside the table. The bucket was half-filled with dead rodents.
“You want a go?” a sweaty redhead woman asked Clod. “Game of thwart will cost you two brets.”
“No, uh,” Clod said around his dry tongue. “I’m looking for my friend, Ada. Pretty, with long brown hair, twenty years old…”
“No one pretty around here,” Telk said.
The woman slapped his mouth, which was followed by a round of laughter. The angry muscle man smacked two coins on the game table and pulled another rat out of a nearby crate. The box was filled with animals waiting for death, and Clod’s shoulders tensed.
“Please,” Clod said through gritted teeth. “I think Yugen has her…”
“Move off,” Telk said, holding the frightened rat up to Clod’s face. “It's probably too late for that one anyway, boy. Yugen’s probably done with her already, I gotta thank him for one less freak in the world.”
Clod roared in anger, grasping the rat and drawing life from it. The creature’s squeals stopped as it deflated and finally went limp. Telk stepped back into his friends, who scrambled away. Clod grasped the large man’s throat and drew in the tiniest bit of life. A trickle, a drip, just enough for the man to feel it. Telk went weak, unable to stand on his own.
“I heard of you,” he wheezed. His legs shook, and Clod continued holding him up by his neck.
“Tell me where Ada is, or one of your friends will,” Clod said, drawing in just a bit more.
“The caves,” he whimpered. “At the edge of the woods.”
“Why?” Clod demanded with a growl.
“He’s gonna get his magic back,” he said. “Says her life can do it.”
Clod’s heart stopped. He let go, and Telk collapsed to the floor. He glanced around the room. Not a single person breathed, their eyes filled with fear.
“If you ever do this to animals again,” Clod shouted, kicking open the crate of rats, “I will come for all of you.”
The rats scurried everywhere, and he stomped over them to Haim, who released his hold. The dwarf fell to his knees and crawled away. Clod rubbed his hands together as they walked out. He felt like he needed a bath.
“You shake,” Haim said. “You okay?”
“I don’t like killing,” Clod whispered. “Not even rats.”
“It was a mercy,” Haim said. “Let’s go get Ada.”
“No,” Clod said. He stopped and turned to face his friend. “You can’t come with.”
“You shouldn’t go alone,” Haim said. “Sounds like dark magic. We should be heroes together again.”
Clod couldn’t help but smile, a little. He placed a hand on Haim’s broad shoulder. “Please get Shaman Millow. If this is dark magic, and I can’t stop him, the council will need to.”
The malgam took several breaths to compose himself and let go of heroics. Age and realization finally settled in. “Be safe, son,” Haim said with a nod, and lumbered off to the town hall.
Running again. Why did everything about Ada require running? His mind tried talking his legs into a brisk walk, logically explaining that he didn’t want to be exhausted when he found Yugen and Ada. His heart knew Ada was still alive, and pushed his legs to move faster than ever. He was a steamy, sweaty mess when he arrived at the cave, but, to his surprise, was still able to breathe.
The cave was easy to find, at the edge of his own property. It was nauseatingly close to his home. Had Yugen been living here since being exiled? Had he been spying on them? It gave Clod goosebumps that felt like they may never leave.
A dim, flickering light at the end of the cave was enough to guide Clod. He recognized Yugen’s voice as it moaned words that made Clod’s skin crawl and his stomach clench. It was true. This had to be dark magic.
“Clod,” Ada called out, her voice muffled.
“I’m here,” Clod said, entering a room that was larger than their cabin.
Yugen stood over a squirming Ada-filled bag, dragging the tip of a sick-looking dagger along the burlap. His old teacher had lost weight and grown a goatee that was long and white, ending in a point that made his face seem angular.
“Finally,” Yugen said. “It took you long enough, dolt. I couldn’t have placed more breadcrumbs around town. I almost fell asleep waiting.”
“Waiting for what?” Clod asked.
“It’s a trap,” Ada cried out. “Run!”
“Let her go,” Clod said.
“Oh, okay,” Yugen said, kneeing the bag.
She grunted but didn’t cry. Clod wanted to. She was always so much braver than him, and he latched onto her courage.
“Over there,” Yugen said, gesturing with his dagger. “Now, or she’s dead.”
Clod glanced over at a red, square symbol on the cave floor that made him want to retch. It was similar to the one at the Town Hall during the blizzard, and it took all his will to tear his eyes away.
“Do it,” Yugen shouted maddeningly, “or I’ll kill your Ada!”
“Clod,” Ada called out. “He’ll get his magic back, and—”
Yugen kicked the middle of the bag hard enough to cut her off. Ada began coughing. Clod took a step forward, and Yugen grasped the sack and lifted it.
“Now,” Yugen snapped.
A sudden chill overwhelmed Clod, making him shudder. This wasn't the brisk cold from a winter w
ind; this was a painful, achy cold that comes from being sick. He looked around the cave, trying his best to avoid the symbol. Something was wrong—not only did he feel it, he could see it. Whenever the light dimmed, even a little, shadows on the cave walls squirmed like a pile of snakes. They constantly crawled over each other, as if watching and waiting for something. There was more going on than Yugen getting to cast spells again, and Clod didn’t want to be the catalyst. He needed to give the council more time to get here.
“A day of days.” Yugen laughed maniacally. “I get my magic back, I get my life back, and I finally purge this town of your ugliness!”
“No, Banish-ed Yugen,” Clod said.
Ada laughed at the nickname.
“What’s this?” Yugen asked.
“All my life, I’ve wanted to beat a bully,” Clod said, his knuckles popping as he balled his hands into fists. It was the sound of dry leather being stretched over brittle tree branches.
“You…you can’t beat me,” Yugen said. “I’ll kill her! I’ll do it!”
“My mum always told me no. She said violence was never the answer. That my size and strength could kill someone by accident, and I would have to live with their death for the rest of my life. I always held back, until now.”
Clod slowly, carefully rolled up the sleeves of his red tunic, folding end after end until his strong arms were revealed. His hands were calloused and rough from years of sculpting. Veins protruded along his muscles, well earned from collecting clay, and hauling flour, and carving stone. His naturally large forearms and biceps bulged in a way that made Yugen swallow hard.
“I’ll take her life,” Yugen said, his voice shaky. “Or I’ll take yours. Which is it?”
Yugen was lying or he’d have killed Ada already. Clod took another step forward, glaring at the man. Despite his rising anger, his heart beat steadily as a clock. He took in deep breaths that escaped his nose, sounding like a bull readying to charge. It was as if years of chasing Ada through the woods had accidentally made him healthy.
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