The Stone Girl's Story

by Sarah Beth Durst

  “Just watch where you step,” Garit said to Mayka and Si-Si, and continued across the last of the stones, until they stood on a broad patch of dirt. “Okay. Safe now.”

  Unlike the other houses in the Stone Quarter, Master Siorn’s had a blank, smooth boulder in place of an ordinary door. No face. No knocker. No handle, or any way to open that Mayka could see.

  Garit waited.

  “Why are we—” Mayka began.

  Risa squawked as two eagle-like talons wrapped over the top of the boulder. The boulder-door rolled to the side, and, outlined by candlelight, a stone creature filled the entrance. He had the head and talons of an eagle, and the body of a lion.

  “Ooh,” Mayka breathed. She’d never seen a creature like this.

  Si-Si made a chirping sound that was almost a sigh. “A griffin!”

  The griffin lowered his head to examine the little dragon. Si-Si held still as the griffin studied her. “Hmm, a dragon.” Rising back to block the door, the griffin said, “Garit, I presume you have an explanation?”

  “Master Siorn will want to meet them.”

  “That is an excuse, not an explanation.”

  “They need help,” Garit said.

  “Master Siorn does not engage in charity. Especially not before the festival. You had best be certain what you ask of him, before you bring this dragon and her keeper to see him.”

  “I’m not her keeper,” Mayka said. “I’m her friend.”

  “Friend or not—” Actually looking at her directly for the first time, the griffin broke off what he was saying and reared backwards. “Extraordinary! Yes, indeed, bring them inside.”

  “Thanks, Kisonan.” Garit scooted in and waved for Mayka and Si-Si to follow. Risa swooped in with them, flying right in front of the griffin.

  Seeing Risa, the griffin exclaimed, “Oh my!”

  “I know,” Risa said. “You’ve never seen a flying stone bird before. Blah-blah-blah.”

  “Actually, I expressed astonishment because you are the second flying stone bird I’ve encountered this week,” the griffin said. “The first is the master’s guest.”

  “He is?” Mayka cried.

  With a squawk, Risa darted forward through the house. “Jacklo! Jacklo, are you here? Where are you?”

  Mayka ran after her. “Jacklo!”

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  Mayka ran from room to room through the stonemason’s house, with Garit and the griffin shouting after her to stop, slow down, wait for them, but she couldn’t wait anymore. Jacklo was here! She heard a noise up ahead—​the clink of metal on stone—​and ran toward it.

  She burst into the workroom only seconds behind Risa.

  The room was vast, with half-finished carvings everywhere, boulders piled in one corner, and slabs of stone resting against the wall. In the center of it was a man wearing a leather apron. His beard was white, with curls poking out at odd angles, and his hair was a cylindrical patch in the center of his head that grew straight up like a plant in a vase. He blinked owlishly at them. “Garit, you’re back early. And not alone, I see?”

  Garit skidded to a stop behind Mayka. “Yes, sir,” he panted. “I brought them. They wanted to meet you, and I thought you’d want to meet them.”

  “Where’s my brother?” Risa cried, as she circled the workroom.

  Master Siorn squinted at her, and then he smiled broadly and clapped his hands together. “Ah-ha! Excellent! This must be Risa.” He beamed at his apprentice. “Garit, my boy, stupendous work!”

  Garit gulped. “Really? I mean, thank you, sir! I mean, you know her name?”

  Mayka hurried forward, passing by a half-carved heron, a block of stone shaped into the rough form of a bear, and an ornate vase with figures sketched in chalk, ready to be sculpted. “We’re been looking for our friend, a bird named Jacklo. Is he here?”

  Master Siorn stared at her. “Garit, what’s this?”

  “I found her by the festival stage. Or, more accurately, she found me, sir. She’s searching for a stonemason, as well as a second stone bird. You really have him here? You, uh, didn’t tell me.”

  Grabbing a monocle, Master Siorn positioned it over one eye. He peered at Mayka, shoving his face up to hers. He lifted one of her arms then released it.

  Cradling her arm, Mayka took a step backwards. “Jacklo?”

  “Yes, yes. Kisonan, would you please fetch our newest addition?” As the griffin bowed and backed out of the workroom, Master Siorn continued to examine Mayka. “Stunningly exquisite. The level of craftsmanship. The choice of detail. The way the strands of hair are carved to mimic the appearance of wind tugging at her braids. Even down to the texture of the fabric of the ‘clothes.’ I haven’t heard of this quality of work since . . . Could it truly be?”

  Kisonan returned to the workroom with a cage dangling from his beak. The cage was covered in a thick cloth. Plummeting from the rafters, Risa darted for it. “Jacklo!” She caught the fabric in her beak and yanked it away from the cage.

  Inside was a stone bird.

  He was lying limply on his side, his head tucked under his wing. But before Mayka could speak, he raised his head and blinked. “Hullo? Morning already? Risa?” He hopped up onto his feet and then onto the bar that stretched across the center of his cage. “Risa!”

  Mayka ran across the workroom. “Why is he locked up? Let him go!”

  The griffin twisted, putting his body between Mayka and the cage.

  Risa dove at him, pecking at his face. “Let him free!” she screeched.

  “It’s okay!” Jacklo cried. “I’m okay!”

  “You misunderstand,” Master Siorn said, his hands out as if he could calm them all.

  Kisonan set the cage on a workbench and then snapped his beak at Risa. “Quit your feeble attacks. Your brother is quite well.”

  Mayka tugged at the cage door. “Why is he caged?” She found the latch and opened it, but Jacklo didn’t fly out. “Jacklo, what did they do to you?”

  He held up one wing. “He fixed me.”

  Mayka saw a crack through it, sealed with a white streak.

  “Please, please, don’t overreact,” Master Siorn said soothingly. “This is a peaceful place! A place of creation and healing, not of anger and fear. You have nothing to be afraid of.” He crossed to them and patted the top of the cage. “We found him. He’d been injured trying to enter one of my fellow stonemasons’ houses. Fell afoul of their security systems. Luckily, my otters recognized him for an injured victim rather than an intruder and brought him to me. I’ve done my best to repair the damage, but he must not attempt to fly for at least another day. He’s caged in case he forgets—​he’s already forgotten once, which was why we took this measure. It’s for his own safety, you see.”

  “Master Siorn saved me!” Jacklo said.

  Risa flew into the cage and hopped in a circle all around him, studying him. “Jacklo, your marks! They’re deeper!”

  “He recarved my marks too,” Jacklo said proudly. “I’m not fading anymore, Risa, Mayka. He fixed me!”

  Mayka wanted to cheer or dance or explode from joy. Jacklo was not only okay—​he was better than okay! And this stonemason had fixed him! This stonemason could fix all of them! “Master Siorn, thank you so very much!”

  Si-Si hopped forward. “You are a great stonemason! You can help us!”

  He smiled at the dragon and reached down to pat her on the head. “Ah, a Master Lison creation. Very nice.” Turning to his apprentice, he said, “Garit, you may observe as I examine the second bird and the stone girl. Take notes for yourself too. But I think the findings will confirm what I suspected: these, all of them, with the exception of the decorative dragon, are the work of Master Kyn.”

  Mayka jumped when she heard the name Kyn. He knew Father?

  “Wow!” Garit said. “But I thought all of his work had been destroyed.”

  “So say the stories.” Master Siorn circled Mayka again. “Clearly, they were exaggerated,
for here is proof.” He waved grandly at her and the birds.

  “What stories?” Mayka asked. “You knew my father?”

  “Of him, child. I knew of him. All stonemasons do. But I was born well after his time. My grandfather used to talk of those days.”

  She’d lost track of how many years had slipped by on the mountain.

  “He’s quite famous, one of the greatest masters ever known. Perhaps the greatest. And to think, three never-before-seen masterpieces are here in my workroom!” He clapped a heavy hand on Garit’s shoulder. “Well done, my boy, bringing them here. Shows good judgment.”

  Garit’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh! Thank you!”

  Master Siorn rubbed his hands together. “Make some room. I want to study them.” The griffin waddled forward and began to shove workbenches to the side. Garit scurried to pull candlesticks as tall as he was into a circle. He lit them, creating an amber flicker on the walls.

  “What do you know of Father? You said his work had been destroyed. Who would do that?” The idea that there were others like her . . . She’d never imagined he made anyone but her friends on the mountain, but of course he must have. She’d known he was a stonemason in the valley before he climbed the mountain to be alone, but she hadn’t thought of what that would mean. I could have brothers and sisters! There could be others like Risa and Jacklo, like Turtle, like Nianna. Like me!

  “Garit, answer her questions, please,” Master Siorn said. “I need to focus.” He pulled out a notepad and began sketching. Examining Mayka, he drew her form in rough lines with a charcoal pencil that shed black dust all over the paper and his hand.

  Garit looked suddenly nervous, shifting uneasily and fiddling with the collar of his shirt. “Uh, I’ve heard a couple stories. Master Kyn was the most famous stonemason in the valley. It was said that he carved the moon one night when it forgot to shine.”

  Master Siorn snorted. “Nonsense.”

  “It was also said he carved birds that could fly and fish that could swim.”

  “Clearly not nonsense,” Master Siorn admitted, “though I would have said it was. No one has ever carved such masterpieces before or since.”

  “No one?” Si-Si chirped. “But surely a stonemason of your skill—”

  “Everyone assumed the secret of how to carve birds that could fly died with him,” Master Siorn said, talking over the dragon. “Others have been trying to invent flying marks for decades without success. As to human-looking sculptures . . . Such finesse! Never seen its equal.”

  “No one else can make creatures fly?” Si-Si spread her wings and looked at them sadly. “But I hoped . . . I want to fly. I’m made to fly. Just not . . . precisely made to fly. Yet.”

  “Our friend Siannasi Yondolada Quilasa is looking for a stonemason who can make her wings functional,” Mayka said, speaking up for her. Si-Si gave her a grateful look. “And we are looking for a stonemason who will come home with us, to the mountains, to recarve the marks on myself and our friends. We are beginning to fade. Our friend Turtle has already stopped.”

  Master Siorn’s head shot up, his hand freezing mid-drawing. “There are more of you?”

  “Yes.” Mayka pointed toward her mountain, even though it couldn’t be seen through the walls. She knew which direction home was, as surely as the sun knew which direction to rise. “High above, at the treeline. We promised to bring a stonemason back with us. You would not have to stay long. Just long enough to recarve us, like you did Jacklo.”

  Master Siorn stared in the direction that Mayka had pointed, drawing forgotten, pencil fallen onto his lap. “Incredible. How many more of you did he carve?”

  “Jacklo and Risa are our birds. Dersy and Harlisona are rabbits. There’s also Turtle, Badger, the cat Kalgrey, the owl Nianna, Etho the lizard, and the fish. All of us need the kind of help you’ve given Jacklo, if we’re to continue to survive. Will you help us?”

  Garit cleared his throat. “The stories say that Master Kyn swore he’d never carve again, broke all his masterpieces, and fled to the mountains, to live out the rest of his days as a recluse. It was believed he’d died . . .”

  “He did,” Jacklo said. “We were all very sad.”

  “It was some time ago,” Risa said, folding her wings and lowering her head. “All of us helped bury him, under rock, the way he wanted.”

  Mayka remembered it as clearly as any story: the way the dirt had felt in her hands, the sound of the wind as if it were moaning, the feel of the sun as it rose her first morning without him. It had taken years before she faced the sunrise without expecting him to wake.

  “I don’t understand,” Mayka said. “Why would he swear never to carve again? Father loved to carve. He made our cottage. Shaped the pond and the streams. He made me!”

  “He’d suffered a tragedy,” Master Siorn said.

  Garit nodded and said, “He fought in the Stone Wars. In fact, he—”

  The stonemason cut him off. “We don’t talk about that time.” He spat on the floor twice and snapped his fingers to ward off bad luck. “Especially not before the festival.”

  “But he—”

  Master Siorn held up a hand, stopping Garit midsentence again. “Great artists have sensitive hearts.” He thumped his chest with a fist. “His family—​his wife and his twelve-year-old daughter—​both died. Crushed to death by stone, during the time we won’t speak of. And the loss broke his heart.”

  Mayka thought of the mural and the picture of the two graves, side by side, and Father with blue stone tears on his cheeks.

  “They died instantly,” Garit said, “and even though Master Kyn sent every stone creature he could to help clear the rubble as quickly as possible, it was too late. All told, about two hundred deaths that day, I think. Maybe more.”

  “Or just as likely less,” Master Siorn said with a wave. “The story has grown in the retelling. But the event broke his spirit. He destroyed his workshop that night and was last seen walking toward the mountains. Many searched for him, but none found him. Ah, to see where he spent his final days! To see his final masterpieces!”

  “Then you’ll come with us?” Mayka asked. “You’ll help us?”

  “Of course! I would be honored,” Master Siorn said. “As soon as the festival is over, I will join you in your mountain home.”

  Jacklo and Risa cheered. Mayka smiled so hard that her stone cheeks felt as if they’d harden in that position. “Thank you, Master Siorn. On behalf of all of us, thank you!”

  In a tiny voice, Si-Si whispered, “But will he help me?”

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  Mayka tried to be patient as Master Siorn studied her and the birds. He sketched them. He measured them. He instructed her to raise her arms, then touch her toes, then turn her head, then sit and stand and walk and even demonstrate how well she could use her fingers to tie a knot in a ribbon. All the while, he murmured praise about her father, which was nice to hear but not why she’d come.

  Every time she tried to ask a question—​about Father, about Skye, about the Stone War—​he shushed her absentmindedly, his attention clearly on his notes, not on her words.

  She gritted her teeth and managed not to complain, though, because he’d promised to save her and her friends, and he had fixed Jacklo. Risa spent the entire time next to Jacklo’s cage, scolding him about being reckless and irresponsible and worrying her so badly that she wanted to molt, which was impossible because she was stone. All the while, Jacklo hung his head and promised to be more careful.

  At last Master Siorn put down his pencil, and Mayka thought, Yes! Now we’ll talk about recarving us. But instead he said, “Garit, continue with your notes. Measure the birds carefully and record copies of their marks. As fascinating as this discovery is, I must work on my masterpiece.”

  “Yes, sir,” Garit said.

  Before Mayka could ask any questions, he bustled toward a heavy door covered in iron decorations at the back of the workroom. He swung the door open, and
Mayka caught a glimpse of a massive mound of rocks inside a cavernous room—​before she could see anything else, he’d shut the door behind him.

  Si-Si waddled over to the door, sat, and stared at it forlornly. During all this time, Master Siorn had barely noticed her. And now they’d all been deserted, in favor of his “masterpiece.” Morosely, Si-Si curled into a ball next to the door and rested her head on her front paws.

  Mayka realized the stonemason had never answered the little dragon’s question. Si-Si didn’t know if he would try to fix her, now that he knew it could be done. I should have asked again for her, Mayka thought. But Master Siorn hadn’t been paying attention to anything but studying them.

  “He forgot about me,” Si-Si said.

  Garit shot an apologetic look at her. “I’m sure he’ll help you when he gets a chance. With Master Kyn’s birds to study, it should be possible to replicate his marks for flight.”

  Springing up, Si-Si danced in place. “Oh, oh! You think so? Me, flying! Could it really happen?”

  “Just not until after the festival,” he cautioned. “That’s his priority right now. Master Siorn cares deeply about his work. He believes he’s the one who will restore the reputation of stonemasons to what it was before the Stone War. Stonemasons used to be revered.”

  “What was this Stone War?” Mayka asked.

  He glanced at the door to the workroom. “Bad luck to talk about it before a festival. And I’m supposed to finish his notes. So . . .” He scurried across the workroom to the stack of notes, straightened them into a neat pile, and then shuffled their order and straightened them again.

  “Are we supposed to just wait?” Risa asked. “Our friends are expecting us!”

  “Master Siorn said I need to wait another day to heal,” Jacklo said. “But truly, I feel stronger already. I could—”

  “Stay still,” Risa instructed him.

  Garit spread his hands, palms up. “I’m sorry. The festival’s important. Especially for Master Siorn this year. He’s debuting a new mark. I’m sure he’ll help you after it’s over.”