12
Later that day, I sit on my bed in blissfully dry clothes and attempt to gently contort and somehow coax the knee joint of my damaged prosthesis back into the cautiously comfortable place Daedalus had it in before I came to this island.
I force the hinge to fold, but the metal still grates and I can’t seem to work out the bend enough to…
Blowing out a defeated breath, I lower the limb to my lap. If I break this thing, I’m as good as dead.
There’s a knock at my door. I tense, wondering who would visit me here. Cillian promised he’d go straight to Abuela. Is someone here for my spear?
“Who is it?”
“An old friend,” a familiar, wizened voice replies.
The handle twists and in walks a man I didn’t expect, carrying a long, worn leather bag. The wind blows his gray beard sideways as he plants his wooden cane and steps inside my oikos.
“Daedalus?” I greet, sitting up straighter.
“I saw what happened to that relic during the trial.” He closes the door behind him. “And thought you could use my assistance.”
Tears burn my eyes. “I definitely can, but I’m not sure it’s allowed.”
Morrigan commissioned him. She granted his favor in exchange for his help. Would this count as her ‘assisting’ a mortal she doesn’t and can’t champion? Would Niall be killed for this?
“I spoke plainly to Ares in Olympus to be sure my coming here wouldn’t harm you, the goddess, her mortal, or anyone else, in any way.
I explained that Morrigan commissioned me, and our bargain was sealed before the trials commenced and the rules set.
Therefore, I argued that my craft and visit should not be prohibited. ”
“And he agreed with you?” I ask skeptically.
“In a manner of speaking,” he hedges, taking in the details of my room instead of meeting my eyes.
“What do you mean?”
He sighs. “Ares granted me passage to the island, provided I wholly release Morrigan from the deal we made.”
My heart floods. “But it would have helped your entire bloodline.”
“I wouldn’t have been permitted to visit you if I didn’t dissolve it, which wouldn’t have helped you in the least,” he volleys.
“But I don’t matter,” I tell him.
He levels me with a glare as he clears off my only chair and drags it over beside the bed where I sit.
“You certainly do matter, and you don’t deserve any of this,” he argues.
“I would rather my descendants respect me for upholding my values rather than giving them up. Without principles, what good are we?”
He unzips the leather bag and takes out a beautifully crafted prosthetic leg, fashioned from varying metals – gold, silver, bronze, steel – that seamlessly bend and blend into a work of art that’s as cold and fierce as a fine piece of armor.
“I hope you like it. I neglected to ask what material you preferred, so I took certain creative liberties.”
Emotion overwhelms me. “It’s incredible. Beautiful.”
Daedalus nods, studying the artful piece on my lap before glaring at the one I damaged in the trial. “It won’t fail you like that one did today. I’ll stake my reputation on it. Now, let’s try it on in case adjustments need to be made.”
From the bag, he produces a new sheath. It’s soft under my fingertips. “This will breathe with your skin, and it’s threaded through with copper. It has a locking pin like your last one. I figured you’d be comfortable with that mechanism.”
“Of course.” I’m so grateful, my heart feels like it might burst. I pull the sheath on. It’s light and comfortable. Strong, too.
The limb he crafted fits my body perfectly. The length is right, and my thigh securely and comfortably settles into the socket.
I’m in awe.
It bends when I want it to, and is so fluid and natural when I move, I literally have no words but “How?”
How did he make something so perfect in so little time?
He gives a demure smile. “I found a profession at which I am gifted, and I’m even more fortunate that it is one with which I can help others.
That, and I’m distantly descended from a demi-god and possess a fraction of his power.
” He chuckles at my shocked expression. “I use it to bond my clients’ bodies with the prosthetics I craft for them, so the limb feels more natural.
” He points to my thigh. “Are you plagued with phantom pains?”
“Rarely, but it does happen.”
He nods. “Have you tried using mirrors?”
“Yeah, I don’t like mirrors, Daedalus.”
He doesn’t push, seeing my discomfort and honoring it instead.
“I didn’t realize any mortals had abilities in this age,” I admit, changing the subject.
Everyone’s heard stories of the demi-gods.
They, like the heroes of old, sparked the deities’ jealousy.
Any offspring between divine and mortal, anyone with power or great skill, was hunted by the rest and eliminated.
But Daedalus isn’t his powerful ancestor. “The gods don’t bother themselves with the diluted few. To them, it’s a speck of the past and nothing more. Wholly unworthy of godly attention.”
To a god, the drop of divinity Daedalus possesses may be nothing. Theirs is oceans deep. But to a mortal – to me – it’s everything.
He says he has little, but he’s graciously given me so much.
Tears fall when he helps me up and I walk easily across the room. Easier than I’ve walked since Ares cleaved the leg from my body, forever changing it. I can’t help but laugh at how incredible this feels. “It’s wonderful!”
He inclines his head with a humble smile.
“How did I get moved up your client list so fast?” I croak, trying to shift the focus off me.
Daedalus waves me off, wiping mist from his own eyes when he thinks I’m not watching. “Bah, you might have made an impression on me when we met. I wish I could work with the speed I had in my youth. It would have been finished far sooner if I was ten years younger.”
I stop testing the limb and glance up at him. “It’s perfect. I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for this.”
I don’t have the gold it would take to buy this or the promises of a goddess.
“I have everything I need and don’t want for anything.
My life is comfortable, Callalie. If you wish to honor my craft, simply use the leg.
I pray it helps you during the other trials and carries you into the games.
Today’s was terrible to watch from afar.
I can’t imagine being subjected to it directly. ”
My hand covers my heart in a gesture of thanks. I don’t deserve this man’s gift, but I appreciate it more than I’ll ever be able to express.
Daedalus inclines his head in reply.
“Wait, do you descend from the Daedalus? Is that why you keep his name?” His resemblance to the skilled architect and craftsman makes so much sense, even down to his specific expertise.
The old man’s face crinkles in delight. “I’m more transparent than I imagined. Despite the direct reference, no one else has drawn the correct conclusion. Most don’t care enough to ask.”
I’m struck speechless. No one asks why he’s so incredible at what he does?
He gestures to my prosthesis. “You’ve naturally taken to it.”
I walk, feeling the might he threaded into the artificial limb.
It weaves from the metal, bands around the skin of my thigh, works its way over my hip, and stretches to my abdominals, until it becomes part of me.
Strengthening me. And in the doorway of my oikos, with the warm sun spilling over my skin and slipping into the room, I lean against the jamb and cry.
The peck of the craftsman’s cane on the floor draws near. A calloused hand falls on my shoulder, his rough thumb brushing my still-chilled skin. “Callalie? Why are you crying?”
His talent doesn’t lie in metal or design. It’s more brilliant than his ingenuity.
“Because you made me feel like me again.”