Spindlewheel Stories

I worked the stone in a dull haze, my ears still ringing as I shaped the frieze depicting my grand appointment to divine artisan, following the treachery and swift execution of my predecessor. The tools were still warm from his hands. I remember it rained hard that night, flooding the stone gutters and hissing steam off the bronze pipes that lined the halls of the labyrinth god. His vast face watched us all. Without thinking, I'd carved it into my own figure on the tableau. And then, a flash of lightning--and by chance I looked up to see her racing on the top walls. Hide flecked with ichor, dark silhouette at once wolf and deer, and that long vicious horn piercing the fog. As sharp as the chisel in my hand. As she ran, the god's face followed her, and the weight of his gaze lifted off my shoulders for just a moment--long enough to bolt--long enough find my brothers--long enough to drive the chisel, still warm from his hands, into the labyrinth god's neck. From his dying body, I see the dawn filterin