Page 89 of Minor Works of Meda

“So what? If they come, the faerie will fight them off.” He hadn’t moved from where he leaned against the wall, though he wiped his face with the hem of his shirt.

“And what if we can’t? What if they take you and the Ward goes away altogether?” Didn’t he see it—that this could happen everywhere, to everyone?

“He’s right,” Kalcedon said. “We have to help them.” He stood with his back to both of us, arms crossed as he studied one of the figures.

“But…”

“Come on, Meda,” Oraik said. “The sooner we start the sooner we can go, yes?”

“Any ideas?” Kalcedon asked.

I felt like they were pairing up against me.

“Of course not. Why would I know how to turn someone back from stone?”

“You must have read something, somewhere,” Kalcedon said.

“How many books do you think there are about living statues?” I muttered, and ran my hands through my hair. The answer, as far as I was aware, was zero.

Restore a tree dead from inside to out. But these were people turned to stone. Not wood; not trees.

“You’re the one with the talent for phrasings. I’m just a heartless faerie.” He said the words almost jokingly—dryly, but I knew Kalcedon—as he at last turned my way, arms still crossed.

“I don’t know where to even start.”

“With you writing a spell,” Kalcedon said.

I wandered over to one of the statues. The girl looked young, perhaps twelve, though it was impossible to get a real sense of age from the determined stone face. Her frozen mouth gaped in a silent unending yell, arm cocked back to throw her stone. I frowned and pressed a hand to the figure. I could feel no magic, no life. No heartbeat. No warmth. To all purposes, the child appeared to have never lived.

I felt sick to my stomach, and overwhelmed.

“What if we get it wrong?” I asked.

“Better than doing nothing,” Kalcedon said. He’d followed behind me, his steps silent.

“We have to try,” Oraik agreed.

“It could kill them. What if we try to, I don’t know, soften them, and they melt?”

“One at a time. Maybe we don’t save them all, but it’s better than nothing. Right?” Kalcedon asked.

“Horns,” I muttered. I took a step back from the child. How could we even choose who to try it on first, not knowing what the results would be? “This is chancy. And no doubt we’ve got hunters headed our way.”

“Meda,” he said quietly. “You know I’ll keep you safe. You don’t need to worry.”

I shook my head grimly, mouth still pressed tight. It wasn’t just about me, or even the other people who were in danger with every move the outland fae and the Colynes made. The fight on the warship had almost done Kalcedon in. I couldn’t risk that happening again.

“I know phrasings for loosening muscles,” he told me quietly. “Maybe there’s something there?”

“Maybe. I don’t have anything to write with.” My bag was back at the inn.

A shop down the street sold school supplies, books and maps and abacuses. Kalcedon went to look. He returned with a slate board and a piece of chalk.

“There wasn’t anyone there,” he said. “They must’ve run. I just took it.”

“Well, we are trying to save people,” I rationalized. I was sitting beside Oraik. Kalcedon walked up to us, then crouched. He thought for a moment, hand covering the red mask’s mouth, then leaned forward and began drawing sigils. After a moment I came to stand behind him and watch him work. Kalcedon’s hand froze, the chalk lifted just over the board. He shifted, ever so slightly, towards me. Then the chalk started scratching again, harder than before.

I looked at Kalcedon’s work. He’d written the sigils quickly, and a little messily. If he were casting, it wouldn’t go well, but I could see what shapes they were meant to form. I crouched and studied it a moment longer before spotting a problem.

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