Chapter 4

“The misuse of uncut Stormglass taints the very memory of our forefathers. Their sacrifice to bring us out of Old Atoraxis and out of the storm was intended to grant humanity another chance at survival. I’m certain High Chemist Arlos did not foresee this outcome when he presented his findings, but alas, he has been relieved of his position as we strive to smother this new process coined Body Carving.”

Excerpt from Callanth’s compendium, page 26, signed King Lithro, the fourth king of Atoraxis.

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I kick the door shut behind me, quickly peeling off my right hand-guard with my teeth as I struggle to slip the Stormglass shard out of my pocket. I lean up against the door, ensuring no one will be able to burst in on me.

I hold my right hand out in front of me and grimace. Blackness extends from my wrist and wraps around my entire hand, reaching as far as the cuticle of each fingernail.

I’ve pushed it too far this time.

I clench my teeth as I position the sharpest point of the shard above my black, hardened skin. In the past, I would’ve hesitated and double-checked the symbol Maven had drawn for me, making sure I got it just right. But at this point, I don’t even need the crumbled piece of paper that’s hidden under my bed. I also would’ve hesitated at the uncertainty. Whether this shard was volatile or not.

In five swift movements, I carve lines from the center of the back of my hand to the first knuckle of each finger. As soon as the shard pierces the skin, I gasp and my visions whitens. The muscles in my hand tense, heated blood returning to its veins, and it sends a pulsing sensation of electricity through my entire body. My legs give out from under me, and I slump to the ground, still leaning heavily against the door.

My senses reach their baseline my vision returning, and the silver lines dwindle to a low glow that my hand-guard will easily hide. As I regulate to the warm tingling sensation in my hand, I also grow disgusted with myself. I toss the spent shard aside, its glow expelled and now tainting my skin. I test my hand, flexing it, turning it over, examining it for any residual blackness. As always, my hand looks completely normal, as if nothing happened three years ago. I don my hand-guard again, relieved to have the taunting symbol out of sight.

I could just cut it off. It’s not that uncommon to have a missing limb. I could adjust.

I close my eyes. It feels sacrilegious to conjure life back into my hand. But Body Carving isn’t just revitalizing. It’s also highly addicting. Nothing need die. No loss permanent. But maybe that’s the problem. It’s unnatural. Forced. A nonconsensual coupling of life and science. Hence why Body Carving has received heavy scrutiny among society, specifically and unfortunately High Chemists and Scavengers. No one wants an unreliable scientist or teammate. You’re a liability. As volatile and unpredictable as uncut shards. Without proper processing, a Stormglass shard can either enhance and heal the body part it carves, or slowly leech the life out of you, stealing the energy it would’ve replaced till you expire with the shard in a month. I’ve been lucky to have never been victim of a volatile shard yet.

So it’s vital I keep my hand covered at all times. The only reason Maven knows about my Carving is because she was there when I lost my hand. And yet, I keep abusing the natural to allow my full capability, specifically in my livelihood.

Capability, I think with a scoff.

I heave myself up from the floor and stagger to my bed across from the door. My room, like any of the three rooms in the tall house, is sparse. A bed and a dresser for clothing and other belongings are the only furnishings to personalize the room made of broken wooden slats of mismatched colors. My window, however, is the only redeeming feature.

I sit in the middle of my bed, running my now mobile right hand over the grey blanket my mother knitted for me long ago, and gaze out the small, square window. Since my room is located in the highest point of the house, I’m able to peek over the pointed rooftops surrounding me. Any sun light is long gone and the aggressive night wind has subsided, but despite Callanth’s ability to light its streets, using an artificial light source at night is frowned upon. Therefore, everything around me is cast in blackness, allowing perfect view with no light pollution to reveal Hesperia’s constellation.

The starlight from the constellation shares a soft glow with the snow caps and lake, the light bouncing off of the reflective surfaces. It illuminates enough of Callanth to hint at the numerous closed stalls, warmed houses, and towering Citadel carved and molded into the tallest point of the mountain on the south side of the lake. From my window, I have an unobstructed view of Hesperia, inviting a deeper connection with the otherwise unseen goddess since I was a young child.

“I don’t want to keep doing this, Hesperia,” I lament, my breath leaving a light fog on the window panes. “I don’t want to keep sneaking around, lying to Leil as if he doesn’t already suspect. Maven already hates herself enough for teaching me. And Leil… he can’t stand Body Carving. Neither Maven or I have told him, but… I don’t know where it’ll leave us all if I ever did tell him. If he found out.”

I close my eyes in shame and lean my forehead against the cool glass. “I hate that I rely on Stormglass to even be able to use my hand. I hate that Maven introduced me to it. I hate that I… that I can’t stop,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes as tightly as possible, willing, forcing myself to say the words. Saying it out loud forces me to do something about it. Else I’ll just remain stuck in my own head.

“If only there was a way, some way that Carving was permanent. A way that I didn’t have to repeat this process every month to be able to cook effectively…” I shake my head and let my musings trail off.

I shift in my bed till I’m under my blanket and stare into the crooked ceiling. The properties of Stormglass have been studied for years. Certainly a High Chemist has entertained the same thought as me at some point. Before sleep can steal my thoughts, I linger for a moment longer on the possibility.

“Capability,” I whisper to myself, this time with intrigue.

***

“So, are you really ready for this? I mean, a Chemist’s apprenticeship? That's serious stuff.”

I smirk at Maven and nudge her with an elbow as we continue up the steep steps. The early morning sun cresting the lower peaks blinds me, causing me to trip over the 20th step on the stone stairs leading up to the Citadel.

“Come on, Maven. It’s just reading numbers and measuring powders, right? How hard can it be?” I try sounding nonchalant, but I’m too out of breath to succeed.

Maven raises a manicured eyebrow. “Just numbers and measurements? You know it’s not exactly like baking a cake. What if you mess up a formula?”

I shrug. “That’s why I have a supervisor, right? Besides, I’m not a Chemist’s apprentice. I’m just… visiting.”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

My thighs burn while Maven marches on as if unaffected by the steep climb. Maven sighs at my comment.

“Just be cautious, okay? Don’t speed ahead,” Maven pleads, her eyes seeking any confirmation of my agreement.

I may have tossed all night in my bed at the prospect of joining Maven in court, but Maven never ceases to encourage laughter. I nearly snort.

“Don’t worry, if anything happens, I’ll just blame it on you,” I tease and shoot a mischievous look in Maven’s direction. True to form, Maven slaps a hand across her chest in mock shock.

“The gall! Put your lifelong friendship at risk to save your skin?” She drops the theatrics and shakes her head at me. “Just be careful, okay? I really don’t want to have to defend my best friend in court because she let her impulsivity drive.”

“We’d make quite the team, though,” I reason. “You defending me while I plead my case.”

Maven raises a hand and her chin in exaggerating pride. “Your Honor, she was merely following her creative instincts.”

I erupt into laughter, which forces me to pause on the step I’m on till I’ve gained control of myself again. “Exactly! And look at you—so familiar with court proceedings. You should consider a career in law.”

Maven waves me off once I start moving again. “Nah, I’m much more comfortable being the ‘gossip scribe’ for the princess. But really, no experiments until you’re well-trained, okay?”

I draw an X over my heart with my index finger. “Fine, fine. No experiments.”

Maven smiles fondly at me and our banter we’ve fine-tuned over the years. “I get that you want to prove yourself, especially… Anyway, just remember, that chemistry is science. And sometimes, science takes a little time to figure out. Just like you.”

I consider her words, not because it was the first time Maven has imparted a warning in form of a friendly conversation, but because her words carry a much more personal intonation.

Science takes time. Yeah, well, I have a monthly deadline to figure something out. There has to be something I can do, I ponder, hoping and wishing that Hesperia will somehow finally grant an answer, a blessing, a miracle.

“You really think this will work?” Maven asks when I don’t continue our conversation. We’re almost to the top of the stairs, the ache that has spread to my calfs makes every step sting.

How in the Three Peaks does Maven do this every day without taking breaks?

“Which part?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the now garish sun with my newly functional right hand, until Maven pulls it down.

“This. Do you really think this is going to work long term?” She insists quietly while squeezing my right hand knowingly.

The pale sun hides behind a taller peak for a moment, granting me a quick glimpse of the concern etched on Maven’s face. Her deep blue eyes seek any hesitation in my amber eyes. Her blonde hair hangs elegantly past her shoulders, showcasing her collected earrings, barely hiding the white tassel hanging from her chest pocket. Maven takes her position of Princess Atarah’s scribe seriously, and dresses professionally for the occasion, something I’ve always admired. Where I strive for importance and recognition, Maven has already achieved it. Yet, in the eight years of friendship, Maven has never flaunted her status.

I pull my hand out of Maven’s grip and sigh. “Not at all.”

Maven pauses on the stairs, spreading her arms out wide. “Then why exactly do you keep doing it?”

I consider continuing up the rest of the stairs and leaving Maven’s question unanswered, but if there’s anyone I owe answers to, it’s Maven. I turn around, the sharp sun once again casting the surroundings into brilliant radiance.

I step down to the step Maven stands on. “Because I don’t have a choice. I have to be able to keep cooking to provide, and I can’t do that efficiently if I suddenly have one less hand to use. I can’t just ease into it, and I can’t jump in all at once. I’m stuck with what I have,” I whisper, hoping the slight tremble I feel in my throat doesn’t give away my desperation.

In the soothing morning breeze, we are the only ones on that particular staircase, but I’m worried if I speak any louder, all of my fears would spill out. Through glittering rays of sunlight, I can only make out part of Maven’s face and the evolving emotions I find there.

“I still don’t think—” Maven starts in a hesitant voice, but I interrupt.

“What would you do if you lost your writing hand?” I prod, noticing the way Maven shifts her weight from one foot to another in discomfort. “If you had somehow lost use of your hand, so you couldn’t write anymore, but you knew there was a way to restore it back to full health, would you use it?”

Maven presses her lips together tightly, her jaw set as if she’s refraining from saying anything, which encourages me to push further.

“What if your friend was the one to show you how to do it? What if she was the one who threw you into this mess and then kept telling you to quit?” I know I’m being unfair, but my poor mood from the night before didn’t completely evaporate once morning broke. Since that fateful day in the Singing Cave, I’ve never confronted Maven about her choice. I’ve never felt a need to. I know Maven, and I know that Maven only has good intention in all that she does. Unfortunately, no matter her pure intention in saving my hand, it had introduced me to a darkness I have yet to dispel, a darkness that traps me.

Maven turns away from me, her shoulders tense and her arms wrapped around herself. “We should get going. I don’t know High Chemist Sulien’s schedule, but I know that the Chemists like to meet with their sponsored Scavengers in the morning to discuss testing prospects,” she mumbles before stepping past me and hurrying up the steps.

That could’ve gone better, I note with a heavy sigh as I drag myself the rest of the way up the stairs and after Maven.

I crest the stairs and would’ve gasped if I wasn’t so out of breath. Why the court feels the need for steep stairs being the only way to the Citadel confounds me. Granted, standing in the large circular courtyard of carved blocks of grey stone, I can see the appeal for its location at least. The courtyard is bare and only provides a large meeting place or symbol of opulence for the court, but when I turn, I have a full and unobstructed view of the entirety of Callanth. I’m familiar with this view from the north side — coming from the arena. From this side, the sun dances across the pointed metal roofs of the village, while the oval-shaped lake sparkles like a diamond at the valley's center. The air is so clear that I’m certain if I took the time, I could spot the Fish Farmers caring for their herd of fish at the edge of the lake.

"Ryn?" Maven's voice pierces the air, and once I turn around I find concern and hurt evident on her face. My regret is immediate, but I push my worries aside, knowing that some conversations are best had in private and with a full stomach. “You coming?”

I’ll make her favorite dish tonight, I decide.

As I walk towards Maven, she turns and starts walking before I reach her. I keep my distance and distract myself by taking in the absolute unnecessary height of the Citadel.

Its stone façade a mosaic of muted colors tapers to a sharp crest, merging seamlessly with the mountain peak like the tip of a knife. At its base between two guards, dark wooden double-doors form an arch in which Callanth’s insignia is carved into the thick wood; a representation of Hesperia’s constellation. At the visual reminder, I look to the subtle blue sky.

Please let this go well, Hesperia. I don’t think I could handle another failure in two days.

Maven is still walking three or four steps ahead of me when she pulls a folded, yellowed pamphlet from her pant’s pocket, prompting me to pull out my own identification papers as well. Before Maven is within reach, the large doors slowly open, but the guards haven’t moved from their post. Maven pauses, allowing me to catch up and read the confusion on her face. But the confusion is quickly replaced with recognition as High Chemist Sulien emerges from the cracked doors, his black attire accompanied by what looks like a black robe flowing behind him, his face a mixture of warmth and welcome.

"There you are!" he exclaims, embracing me and Maven with a broad smile. “Good morning. I was starting to worry. Oh you won’t need those,” he says and waves away our extended identification pamphlets. “Scribe Tanner! Good to see you out and about. I usually only see you at Princess Atarah’s side.”

Maven smiles politely at the High Chemist as she tucks away her pamphlet again, but I notice how her shoulders remain tense. “Good morning to you too, High Chemist. I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen you outside the Citadel even, aside from your attendance at the Trials,” Maven replies in a soft and polished voice, one perfect for a Court Aid meant to go unnoticeable yet omnipresent.

Sulien nods. “I admit I tend to sleep where I work and work where I sleep.” He then turns to me. “Speaking of work, we’ve got quite a bit of that to do, if you’re still interested.”

I smile a tight-lipped smile. “Ready when you are,” I say, but my nerves make me hesitate to follow when he promptly spins on his heel and walks through the grand doors.

“Hey,” Maven calls just as I’m about to move. “Meet here at sunset?” she asks in a mumble. I nod, and while her words aren’t more than a reassurance, the motherly sincerity in her voice communicates ‘good luck’.