tick..tock..tick…tock…
The ticking of the clockwork spinning down was nearly drowned out by the sobs of Nerah. Kneeling over the body of her beloved creation, its flywheels twisted into melted globs of copper and it’s gears rusted into unmoving mechanical nubs, she stroked the smooth, pristine porcelain face of her mechanical child. The cold of the stone under her fingers was like an electric shock, bringing back flashes of the hateful mob, and every chime of the bells in the tower was like another arc crashing through her synapses, too powerful and too painful to hold back.
BONG…
The hours spent in near-darkness, with only candlelight and glowing flames from the forge to illumine her scrawled notes. The heat from the molten metal was almost unbearable after a long day of casting metal gears for Lord Baltimbre’s extravagant commission, but the evening chill and her dedication made the steamy room just barely tolerable.
BONG…
The months spent travelling to the mainland, travelling from one town to the next, looking for a mage willing to assist in casting a spell, just one spell that would change the world.
BONG…
Being turned away each time. So many times, being turned away. Each rejection just a bit less gracious than the last. Every…single…time… why wouldn’t they listen?
BONG…
The countless explanations. No, she wasn’t a mage, but she was an artificer. She knew the limits of magic, and how they could be bent and molded by careful manipulation. And there was no better use of magic than this, was there? What cosmic power, what powerful master, what arcane scholar would turn away the opportunity to work on this? All of them, apparently.
BONG…
The meeting in a dimly-lit alleyway. Some hedge witch offering their services, claiming that they could do what other mages had called an absurd task. It seemed too good to be true, but beggars can’t be choosers, and she was out of time, out of money, and out of places to look.
BONG…
The strange smile on her face as she explained the magic. How powerful it would need to be, was she sure she could commit to it, was she sure she wanted to…all the questions of a skeptic. But that reassuring smile…it was both terrifying and calming in equal measures. A look of absolute reassurance on a face that looked as though it could eat away the courage of any man.
BONG…
The final work. Everything had to be just perfect, every component prepared without flaw, every gesticulation executed perfectly. No amount of preparation could ready her for the task at hand, and the hammering of her heart in her chest told her as such. And yet the time was here; there was no turning back now.
BONG…
The eyes opening. Standing up, looking around. Speaking. All of history would remember this moment, as soon as people saw it. Her name would not be simply a footnote in the margins of a history book, just another maintainer of Lord Baltimbre’s symbol of extravagance; no, it would be remembered as the dawn of a new era. As she heard the crowd of people outside, gathering to discover the origins of the immense flash of arcane energy that had lit up the night sky like a second sun, she would show them her magnum opus.
BONG…
And then came the searchlamps. golden in hue, flashing down dark alleyways as she fled with her creation from the unveiling. People weren’t ready for what she had come to show them. They weren’t prepared for what they saw. Her creation was without flaw, but history was not yet ready for such perfection. The purity of such a being only served to remind everyone of their own faults, their own blemishes and impurities. That is why they struck out with such anger.
BONG…
She hadn’t expected there to be any mages prepared to cast such vicious spells within the city limits, certainly not at that time of night. She could do nothing but watch as the arcane rust set into his ticking joints, do nothing as the blasts of fire melted the delicate metal pieces into clumps of charred goo.
BONG…
When the joints finally failed, and all but the ticking of the motorized heart remained, Nerah carried her creation to the one place others could not easily follow. And now, here she was. Holed up in Lord Baltimbre’s clocktower, the impossible architecture of her own design rotating around her, a temporary shield against the horde coming to slay her and dismantle the only creation she ever made that mattered. And all she could do was weep. She didn’t weep for herself; no, her life was of little consequence. She wept for the loss of her creation. She wept for the destruction of something so beautiful, so pure. She wept for the agonizing realization that history would not just forget her name, but it would never even have the chance to remember the gift that might save them. And so, as the clock tower struck midnight, Nerah wept, the gears of the tower ensuring her temporary solitude.
BONG…
And yet…she was not alone.
“Do you wish to save him?” croned an old, familiar voice.
Nerah looked up to see the face of the old witch, the one who had given her creation life. The hag was kneeling on the other side of the body, so close that Nerah couldn’t imagine how she got there unnoticed. Nerah could not speak, unable to issue forth the words with which to express her regret to the co-creator that now stared at her creation, lifeless and deformed on the floor. So instead, she simply nodded.
“It will come at a cost.” The woman’s voice said firmly from under her hood. Her meaning was clear.
Nerah shook her head. “I don’t care. But…what can you do?” It was then that the woman pulled down her hood. No longer was there a wrinkled, sagging face underneath. Instead, the face that showed in the pale white moonlight of the tower was youthful, without mark or blemish. As the woman rose to her feet, she seemed to double in size, her skin emitting a warm, golden glow that slowly filled the chamber. “Adaya…” Nerah breathed. She couldn’t believe who was in front of her, and yet…it made so much sense. The goddess herself, breathing life into her creation. Who else could rectify such a thing?
Adaya smiled. “I can do much, child.”
As the golden light swelled, Nerah felt herself in a tight embrace. It was as though she was being swallowed in a tight hug. All fear drained from her, and she relaxed as her soul was taken from her. In her last moments of consciousness, Nerah smiled as she heard Adaya’s last words to her:
“Your name - and your sacrifice - will not be lost to history forever. When the time comes, your creation will re-emerge.”
— As the golden strands of energy faded, moonlight returned to the clocktower. There, on the surface of the largest of the copper gears that comprised the mechanisms, was a statue, frozen in motion yet infinitely lifelike in appearance. The face of a young girl, beaming with satisfaction, and below it, the intricate mechanical pieces of a clockwork body. That statue remains, untouched by the ages, to this day.
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