Chapter 10: Function and Form

Note: Thanks to WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Kora Falk – Az, Princedom of Kivoneth, The Strifelands of Zeutch

Theophil ran his finger across the facet of the ruby, his blue eyes growing studious. “Biomancer Vebrin...”

The way he said the name made my skin crawl. I swallowed, hating that I was so close to him right now. As he moved the gem in his hand, the chain rubbed at the back of my neck, chafing me. Shuddering, I glanced at my brother standing nearby, his arms folded across his chest.

“What a great craftsman,” Theophil continued, his eyes growing distant beyond his bulbous nose.

“Great craftsman?” I frowned. Did he mean the biomancer?

“He built so many unique crafts, working with the raw materials to make new things never before seen.”

“New things?” I hissed, a surge of anger rushing through me. I grabbed the gem and yanked it out of his hand, taking a step back. “Raw materials? He butchered art.”

“Art?” the older man frowned.

“Yes, art! He took the works others made and debased them with his craft,” I said, my blood boiling. How could anyone admire the biomancer? “He made monsters!”

“Debased? He improved them.” He shook his head. “We aren’t art. You, me, all of us are machines. Living ones, yes, but still machines. Your heart pumps blood through your veins and supplies energy to your muscles. You ingest fuel through your mouth and when you’ve burned it for heat, your body excretes the waste. Take your muscles.” He smacked his right palm into his thick, left arm. “They are a complex form of machines. They flex and pull, responding to impulses from your brain. What a great machine each living creature is.

“Vebrin may have been despicable, but he delved into the craft of life and made new machines. New combinations of life. Functional life. Life that still breeds, that still lives, to this day.”

“He was despicable!” I hissed, my eyes harrowing. “His creations are a plague upon the world. They are dangerous. They kill. They brutalize. They infest the seas. They roam the mountains. They haunt the dark corners of the woods.”

“As do natural monsters and beasts,” Theofilus said. “He was just the first mortal to figure out how to work with life with the same skill as the Gods.”

“No, what the Gods make is inspired by Rithi! It’s art. It’s functional and beautiful and majestic!”

“Pretty words.”

My fists clenched. My entire body shook. Pretty words. “Do you want Biomancer Vebrin to live again?” I demanded. I shook the amulet at him. “He’s right in here. You want him to befoul the world again with his craft?”

Theophil’s cheek twitched.

“Is that all that matters to you? Making ugly, twisted things from the art of others? Lacking any beauty? Any inspiration? Do you not care about that?”

“Inspiration is what drives the inventor,” he answered. “To make something useful, something functional, is profound. It is true beauty. Not some pretty scribblings on a piece of canvas or a stone shaped into a pleasing form. They may be aesthetically pleasing, but it doesn’t help society prosper.

“It feeds the soul! It nourishes people’s hearts and gives them hope. It inspires them to be better. To think about their actions. To understand their place in society. It is a channel to something greater than us. It is not something pedantic as functional. As useful.”

Sven Falk

I stood with the others, staring in shock at my sister and the high priest of Krab arguing over nearly the same thing. I almost wanted to let them fight. To let Kora offend the priest so he demanded us to leave, forcing us to depart without finding the altar. Then I would have my sister with me for even longer and...

Kora needed to destroy the Biomancer. His existence offended her deeply. What he did was an assault on her very belief. To her, the Biomancer was merely a thief. Someone who stole others work and modified them just enough to claim them as his without truly understanding what he was doing. What the meaning was behind the art he destroyed in his own fumbling attempt. She needed to protect art from being despoiled.

“Nothing is more important to an object than its use,” growled Theophil. “Art is a luxury afforded to societies with the wealth to idle time on waste and frivolity.”

“Frivolity?” Kora’s face twisted in outrage. “It provides escape for people from the hardships of their life. Are you so dead inside you cannot recognize that fact? Don’t you feel that need to be a part of something greater? That connection to the divine? To insights into the world beyond your own limited perspective?”

I had to intervene before they came to blows. “You might admire Biomancer Vebrin,” I growled, grabbing his arm and pulling him back from my sister. His bicep flexed beneath my grip, all ropy muscle. “But do you want him alive? His servants search for this phylactery. We need to destroy it. So unless you want him free, help us or stop wasting our time?”

Theophil eyes slid over to me. He worked his jaw together, his blue eyes hard. Anger tensed his muscles. Despite the man being twice my age, he had solid mass. He could inflict damage with a punch. Labor kept him strong.

My feet shifted as I relaxed into a fighting stance, my eyes narrowing.

He let out a harrumphing grunt. “No, I do not want him returned to life. His creations are not useful to me. But they are remarkable.” He moved from my sister and marched over to Princess Ava. He stopped before her. She swallowed as he said, “I’ll help her if she is truly the Masterwork Craft. The ultimate one Krab waited for.

“The one who can open the Vault.”

“What’s this Vault?”

Princess Ava

“Oh, wow,” I said as we stopped before the round door set into the wall at the end of the basement corridor. The light from lantern held in Carsina’s hand played off of it. My jaw dropped.

“Cernere’s black cunt,” Aingeal said, her voice thick in awe.

“Gods damn,” grunted Sven. “What is that? How?”

I nodded my head. The wall, the round door that was easily Sven’s height in circumference, all reflected the light like they were metal, a silvery sheen rippling across the surface as Carsina moved her lantern around. But the material also was clear like crystal. It was so thick that whatever lay inside the Vault was blurred and distorted.

“It is made of adamant,” Carsina said. “It’s a crystal that can be worked by metal. Once it cools, however, it can never be affected by tools again. Only a craftsmen of sublime skill could make this. No human has the skill.

“You look upon the work of a God.”

A tremble raced through me. It was one thing to believe in the Gods, to know that they existed and guided the world. Yes, Slata, using the divine seed of Pater, created Humans and the other dual-sexed races, and Aingeal and the other faeries were made by Cernere with Las’s seed, so everyone in this room were works of the Gods, but...

This felt more ... direct. There were hundreds and thousands of generations between myself and Slata.

I felt something inside of me tremble as I approached the door. I passed solid Theophil to reach out and touch the door. It felt cool to my touch, so smooth it was almost slick. I slid my fingertips across the vault door until I found the seam. I rubbed at it where it lay flush against the wall. I could feel hardly a gap between them. My soul quivered. It wanted to imbue it, but...