Foundryside (The Founders Trilogy #1) - Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,90

died hundreds if not thousands of years ago.>

Sancia swallowed. She’d imagined many horrors when it came to Clef—mostly that he might fall into the wrong hands, or she might lose him—but the idea of him dying had never occurred to her.

he said firmly.

She sat there, trying to process this.

She hesitated, then walked into the bathing room. It was all marble and metal with a huge porcelain tub, and it had mirrors—something she’d seen only rarely in her life. She looked around for a place to hide Clef in case someone walked in, and settled on a cabinet.

said Clef as she set him down.

Sancia shut the cabinet.

* * *

Alone in the bathing room, Sancia stripped down. Then she looked at herself in the mirrors.

Her arms and thighs and shoulders, strong and rippling and wiry. Her belly and breasts, covered in rashes and bites and filth.

She turned around, and saw her back. She took a sharp breath in.

She’d thought they’d have gone away by now, or shrunk, but they seemed just as huge as ever, the bright, shiny strips of scars that ran from her shoulders down to her buttocks. She stared at them, transfixed. It had been so long since she’d last seen them, for mirrors were rare in the Commons.

They’d told stories of slaves that had bravely borne countless whippings, stoically taking lash after lash. But the instant she’d been whipped, Sancia had realized it’d all been a lie. The second the lash had touched her, all her pride and fury and hope had been dashed away. It was surprising, how fragile your idea of yourself was.

Sancia stood in the tub, soaked a cloth in hot water, and scrubbed herself clean. As she did, she told herself she was not a slave anymore. She told herself she was free, and strong, that she’d been alone for years, and she’d be alone again one day, and she would, as always, survive. Because surviving was what Sancia did best. And as she scrubbed at her filthy, scarred skin, she tried to tell herself that the drops on her cheeks were just water from the spigots, and nothing more.

II

CAMPO

And so great Crasedes came to the city of Apamea, on the edge of the Sea of Ephios, and though no text survives of what he said to the kings of this city, it is clear from secondhand sources that he brought his usual message: of co-option, of integration into their empire, and urgings of surrender. By now word had spread of the hierophants’ arrival in the region, and many were fearful—but the kings and wealthy landowners of Apamea refused him, and rudely rebuffed great Crasedes.

Crasedes did not respond with any wrath, as some had feared. Instead he simply walked to the city square, where he sat in the dust and began to build a cairn out of gray stones.

The legend goes that Crasedes built the cairn from noon to sunset, and the height of the construct grew to be extraordinary. Exact accounts differ regarding the height—some say a hundred feet tall, others hundreds of feet. However, every version of the story omits two critical parts: if the cairn of stones was extraordinarily tall, how did Crasedes, an average man in height, manage to keep stacking the stones on the top? It was said Crasedes could make many things float, and could fly himself—but this is not noted in this story. So—how?

And secondly,