Sol's Arc

Chapter 3 of 5

Sol left the council hall with his father's words still hot on his neck. He would not go home. He would find Slate and get an answer of his own. If the god of stonework had shamed him in front of the elders, Sol would at least learn why. He found Slate on a hillside outside the city, sitting on a flat rock with a chisel in one huge hand and a lump of granite in the other. Spiral horns curled back from a broad, bearded head. Tools swung from his belt. He was the elder Sol knew least. Slate rarely spoke at council. When he did, the others listened. Sol stopped a few paces off. He kept his robe clean of the dust. "You passed the sculptor's work before I brought him in. You made me look like a fool." Slate did not look up. He turned the granite, scored a line, tapped once. A curl of stone fell. "You made yourself look like a fool," Slate said. "I only judged the stone." "Then judge it for me now. Tell me why." Sol's voice cracked higher than he wanted. "The law says an erased name stays erased. He carved her anyway. That is the crime." Slate set the granite down. He looked at Sol for the first time. His eyes were the color of wet slate. "Boy. Sit." Sol did not sit. He crossed his arms. Slate shrugged and kept working. "I have broken bad statues. I have broken lazy ones. I broke a temple last spring because the mason cheated the joints. I do not break love." "Love," Sol said. "You saw the statue. The crooked finger. The stress lines around her mouth. He carved a real woman, not a story. He owed her a life and he paid it in every chip." Slate tapped the granite again. "That is not debt work. Debt work is flat. His hands sang." "She is erased." "She is standing in a yard in black stone." Slate's mouth moved into something that was almost a smile. "You cannot erase what a mortal loves enough to carve. I will not try. Neither should you." Sol's throat was tight. "The council expects the law kept." "The council expects you to grow up." Slate finally set the chisel down. "Your father did not scold you for missing the law. He scolded you for missing the room. Slate approved. Hound failed. The matter was closed before you walked in. You had one job. Read the room. Drop the charge. You did not." Sol felt heat climb his face. He had come for an argument. He had been handed a lesson instead, plain as a hammer. "Then what do I do now," he said. It was not quite a question. Slate picked up the granite again. "Go find the woman he carved. Look at her with your own eyes. Then decide what kind of god you want to be." Sol turned and walked down the hill.