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The Memory of Stone
The Memory of Stone
The Memory of Stone
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The Memory of Stone

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Novella of 21k words.

The Guild of Makers has long been the most powerful guild in the Empire. Gilafas ADelios, the man who rules it, is therefore one of the most powerful men in the land.

But he has never been confident in his ability as an Artisan, and he is unprepared for the newest entrant into the Guild of Makers — a young girl from the Free Towns whose is so profoundly talented she may rival the legendary ability of the guild’s founder.

On the eve of the failure of the two great artifacts given the Kings centuries past, the fate of the Empire rests on the shoulders of an uncertain man and a girl who can hear the voice of the stone in the tower of Artisans—if they survive.

This story takes place in Averalaan, in the Empire of Essalieyan, the universe of Michelle West’s novels.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherRosdan Press
Release dateAug 5, 2011
ISBN9781927094112
The Memory of Stone

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    Book preview

    The Memory of Stone - Michelle West

    The Memory of Stone

    by Michelle West

    Rosdan Press, 2011

    Toronto, Ontario

    Canada

    SMASHWORDS EDITION: 978-1-927094-11-2

    Copyright 2011 by Michelle Sagara

    All rights reserved

    Cover design by Anneli West.

    Four Corners Communication

    The Memory of Stone Copyright May 2002 by Michelle Sagara, first appeared in The 30th Anniversary DAW Fantasy Anthology ed. Elizabeth R. Wollheim and Sheila E. Glibert.

    Smashwords Edition License Notes

    This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

    Novels by Michelle West

    The Sacred Hunt

    Hunter's Oath

    Hunter's Death

    The Sun Sword

    The Broken Crown

    The Uncrowned King

    The Shining Court

    The Sea of Sorrows

    The Riven Shield

    The Sun Sword

    The House War

    The Hidden City

    City of Night

    House Name

    Skirmish*

    War*

    *Forthcoming in 2012 and 2013

    Table of Contents

    Introduction

    The Memory of Stone

    Other Stories by the Author

    Introduction

    I am very fond of this story.

    I am often fond of certain stories. I have never, however, been any capable judge of how those stories will work for readers. The stories I’ve often loved best work the least well, although this isn’t always the case. I learned early on not to second guess my readers; instead, I focus on the story and the characters and hope that when the story is finished, it will speak to others as strongly as it spoke to me.

    Sometimes it does. This one seemed to. But if you asked me why this one worked better than any of the others I’ve written, I honestly couldn’t tell you.

    This was written for a 30th anniversary celebration—in this case, my publisher’s. DAW put out one fantasy anthology and one SF anthology; I was invited to write for the fantasy book because that’s what I write for DAW. When I received the invitation, I called my editor and said, "Do you really mean six thousand words maximum?"

    Yes. We’ve got a lot of authors.

    Oh. Ummm. If you want a story that isn’t connected to my novels, I can probably write one that length. This is, by the way, completely unfounded optimism on my part. Luckily, I have an editor who understands my writing very, very well. But if you want a story connected to the novels, I don’t have a hope in hell of writing one that comes in at less than ten thousand words because I’ve never managed to do it before.

    She preferred a story that had some connection to the published novels, and it seemed more fitting to me that I write one connected to that universe, so we agreed on ten thousand words. Which, as it turned out, was also unfortunately unfounded optimism.

    But I thought I would have a chance of writing something that length if I chose to write about characters who never appeared directly in the novels, with small cameos by characters who did—and I had always wanted to write a story about the Guild of Makers, and in particular, the Artisans—the half-mad makers who weave magic into all of their work the way painters in this one use color.

    So I started the story.

    But it had two viewpoints. At about fourteen thousand words—with a story that wasn’t finished—I phoned Kate Elliott. I asked her how long her story was, because both she and I tend to think structurally, and not in terms of length, and hers was shorter than mine. Being the only person to muff the given length limits so badly didn’t have a lot of appeal. Oddly enough, my pleas for Kate Elliott to write a longer piece fell on deaf, if amused, ears, and I continued to write. I decided that I would cut it to pieces once I’d finished, because at that point I would know the shape of the story, and I could more easily pick out the unnecessary elements.

    At length (no pun intended), I decided that the only way to bring the story in at its agreed on length was to cut one of two viewpoints. So I sent it to my editor. She read it and liked it a lot, and I told her that I couldn’t bring it in at ten thousand words unless I lost one of the two viewpoints; she said, but it would be half the story in every possible way. And I said, That’s what I thought, too.

    So she generously let it stand.

    The Memory of Stone

    THE GUILDMASTER commonly acknowledged by The Ten Houses to be the most powerful man in Averalaan stood in front of the long window by which he might survey the eastern half of Averalaan Aramarelas. He had no throne, no place in the Hall of Wise Counsel, no direct route to the ears of the Kings, the two men who ruled the breadth of the Empire of Essalieyan. But money counted for much in the Empire; what The Ten owned in the political realm, he rivalled by the simple expedient of wealth.

    He was not a young man, nor a particularly tall one, and his hair, on those days when he had no onerous public duties, fell in a white plume down the back of his head.

    On this particular day, it was a solid braid.

    He glanced out of the window, his eyes skimming the surface of the ocean beyond the seawall. Light sparkled there, in a pattern the makers of the east tower were doubtless attempting to capture. It reached his eyes, but no more; he looked away.

    The ocean’s voice was strong. The strongest of the voices that he heard.

    Master Gilafas.

    Certainly the most welcome.

    Gilafas was an Artisan. But in truth, he was only barely that; the weakest, the most insignificant of the Artisans the guild had produced in centuries. It galled him when he thought on it, and he was a maker: he could dwell upon any fact, without pause to eat or drink—or sleep, for that matter—for a full three days.

    The man who had spoken knew it.

    But he was called The Lord

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