The Builder's Greed (The Legendary Builder Book 2) Page 13

  “No,” Annabeth said, putting down her box cutter and picking up her chisel and hammer. “Damore says that her skill is far above ours, and maybe it is. Only she is choosing to use the red rock. It is difficult to cut, sure, but that also makes it easy in its own way.” Annabeth’s hand lashed out, slashing into the ice, and as she hit it, little chunks spiraled off like snow, leaving spider-webbing cracks behind. “Ice is unpredictable and difficult. The tiniest imperfection can cause it to fracture badly and ruin your piece.”

  “Exactly! You can’t hope to win in this situation with something like that,” Koshuda exclaimed as Annabeth’s eyes set in determination.

  “That is where you are wrong, honored judge. Allow me to show you my level.” Annabeth launched herself at the ice, hands whipping out to take off chunks of ice in a flurry of ice and snow. Heat beat down on us from overhead. I could see the sweat on Annabeth’s forehead as she moved, and water was beginning to puddle around the base of her frozen block, and yet, I could already see a figure starting to emerge from within, like a butterfly crawling out of a cocoon.

  Annabeth had always been fast, but as more of her sculpture began to take shape, I began to wonder if she was fast enough to actually create an ice sculpture in one hundred degree heat. It seemed insane.

  Fearing the worst, I glanced at the competition. That’s when I realized how vastly different all of their styles were.

  Lante had her skeleton completely covered in clay. As her thumbs kneaded more clay onto the frame, I realized it was supposed to be a fox. Only, she was busily working at the area around the muzzle. She etched fine details into the surface before adding more clay and repeating the process, so before long it was layered with such depth that it made me think of fur ruffled by a stiff spring breeze.

  Madane, by contrast, was hacking away at her block, removing clay instead of adding it, and as she did it, I realized she was sculpting an entire scene. In her block, a family of deer were hidden amongst tall trees. Limbs and leaves splayed out, obscuring some details while exemplifying others to draw the eye to specific points of stunning realness.

  “Oh, wow,” Gabriella said, grabbing my arm and tugging me as she pointed toward Damore’s station. “That… that’s amazing.”

  “What is?” I asked, turning my gaze to see for myself, only as I did, I felt despair sink right into my toes, and my mouth fell open. “Oh, we’re totally fucked.”

  20

  Damore’s sculpture was quite simply alive. That was the only way I could explain it. Sat perched upon a hunk of red stone was a lizard. Its tail curled around the base while its claws clung to the rock, holding it in place as it eyed a butterfly a few inches away, mouth partially open as it readied to strike with its tongue. Every single scale glittered, catching the light and throwing it off in a ripple that conjured the image of a serpent sunning itself in the road, while the subtle movements of its muscles as it hung there captured like stop motion, made me anticipate its next moment.

  The butterfly’s wings lay against its back, proboscis extended toward a flower whose petals practically seemed to dance in the wing.

  I swallowed hard, unable to take my eyes off of it. She had won. There was no other way.

  “Finished,” Damore said, dropping her knife to the table and crossing her arms. “I trust this is satisfactory?”

  “I…” Koshuda trailed off, eyes as big as saucers as she stared at the sculpture. “It’s so cruel, so alive—”

  “Life is cruel. The prettiest do not often survive the predator.” Damore shrugged, her eyes flitting across the arena as my heart fell to the floor. I knew right then that we’d lost. There was no way to beat her, no way to do something like this. It was, quite simply, impossible.

  “Well, that’s hopeless,” Gabriela said next to me, and as I turned to look at her, I saw her glaring at Mammon. Only, if the archangel’s annoyance bothered Mammon, it didn’t show. The princess had a smug grin on her face that made me want to smack the taste out of her mouth. She knew she’d won too, and somehow, that was worse than anything.

  “You may as well stop if this is the extent of your abilities,” Damore said, leaving her station to approach Lante. She sneered as she took in the girl’s fox, which from my estimation was really good. Only, as good as it was, as real as it seemed, it looked like someone had put a kindergartner’s finger-painting next to the Mona Lisa.

  Lante looked like she might say something, only as she looked up from her work, her knife slipped, slicing a huge furrow into the fox’s cheek. In that instant, I saw the determination on her face die away.

  A shriek exploded from her mouth as she dropped the knife and grabbed more clay, intent to repair the cut all the while Damore laughed.

  “Good luck with that,” Damore scoffed, turning away. “I do not think you are skilled enough to repair that with the few minutes remaining.” She moved across the arena and stopped in front of Madane. Then she turned and looked back at Lante. “Never mind, I lied. You can definitely beat this one.”

  Damore’s hand flicked out toward the deer as her eyes swept around the arena before falling upon the head of the Sculptor’s Guild, Freya. “What is this, amateur hour? Is this the best you could find, Freya?” Damore shook her head. “It’s a neat idea, being so bad at your job that you’re good at obfuscating poor technique.” She pointed to a spot beside where my eye had been drawn before. I wouldn’t have noticed it if Damore hadn’t pointed directly at it, but now that I did, I could see the rough edges, the lack of attention to detail.

  “You’re trying to cut corners, aren’t you, Madane? You thought you could create a scene like this, but you have half, no, one-third of the time someone like you would require. Learning that, you sought to draw the eye away from your flaws. This is the coward’s way of sculpting.” She shook her head. “Flaws should accentuate your piece, give it life. Not serve to completely undo your effort.”

  As she spoke, I saw Madane’s hand shake, and then her knife slipped from her grip. As it clattered to the table in front of her, she bent down to examine the spot, and as she did, tears clouded her eyes.

  “It hurts, huh, Madane?” Damore asked, patting the other sculptor lightly on the shoulder. “To see all the flaws in your own work so clearly and to know you are not good enough to fix it, eh? Ah, well. That is why you’re the watchful eye of the guild.” Damore leaned in close until her lips were nearly to Madane’s ear. “But tell me truthfully. Of those sculptures here, which is the worst? Which?”

  Madane’s resolve broke then, and it was like watching the floodgates shatter and seeing a raging river come to sweep away all in its path. Tears flooded her eyes as she dropped her head to the table.

  “Mine,” she whispered, and the anguish in her voice was so strong I actually felt bad for her even if she was the competition. What Damore was doing was wrong and unfair, and it made me hate her because she was so good, she didn’t need to do this. No, this spoke of something dark and twisted inside her, of a need to prove she was better not to just the judges, but to everyone. I’d seen it before. Damore didn’t actually care about winning. No, she cared about letting everyone else know she’d won, and that was an important difference.

  “You should just drop out. Then when we’re graded, you won’t have to stand there and be dismissed.” Damore shrugged. “I bet it will hurt so very much.” She turned and pointed into the crowd. “What will your mother think?” She made a backhanded gesture toward the judges. “Or Freya?” She patted Madane’s hand. “Think of the shame you will bring to them.”

  “You shouldn’t give up,” Annabeth said, her words shattering the spell of doom Damore was weaving. “You should fight and kick and scratch. A real sculptor knows there is no plateau to skill, and that beauty can be subjective. She mocks your technique, but you are not finished. You should finish. Only a coward would walk away, Madane, and you are no such coward. You are tough. You got where you are through hard work and study. You know how to fix what is wrong. You
can do it if you try.”

  “You’re right, Annabeth,” Madane said, wiping her cheeks with the back of one hand before picking up her knife once more. “Thank you.”

  As she lifted it to her piece, Damore snorted and turned her eyes to Annabeth.

  That’s when I saw it.

  The ice had been shattered around the base, so that it resembled sharp tufts of grass, while in the center a single rose reached toward the sky. Sitting perched upon it was a dragonfly, its wings outstretched in perfect crystalline fractals that reflected the light exactly how Koshuda’s did. In fact, as I turned my gaze back to the judge, I found her looking at her own wings, and I realized that somehow the pattern upon Annabeth’s dragonfly matched Koshuda’s exactly.

  Furthermore, the way the ice was melting, served to further highlight the piece, making it seem as though the light was refracting off early morning dew.

  “Finished,” Annabeth said, dropping her chisel to the bench but before she could say more, Damore stepped up to the piece, a slight frown on her face.

  “Okay,” Damore said, turning to look at Annabeth and holding out her hand. “That’s actually very good. Perhaps this is less of a waste of time than I thought. I look forward to our next round, Annabeth.”

  “Assuming you make it, of course,” Annabeth said, taking the offered hand and giving it a shake. “Assuming either of us make it.”

  “Oh please,” Damore said, gesturing at the two other pieces. “Unless you are really bad at emotive sculpting, these two are fighting for last place.” Damore leaned in. “Do not disappoint me, Annabeth. Not after you’ve made me hope this will be a real competition. After all, without true challengers to overcome, what is the point in even trying, eh?”

  I don’t know if Damore saw the impact her words had on Annabeth because she was already turning to walk away as time ended and Koshuda smacked the gong, signaling the end of the round, but I did.

  I saw the edge of her resolve crack, and I knew, deep down, that if she didn’t snap out of it, we were doomed. The thing was, I wasn’t sure what to do, and as I stared at her, trying to will confidence into her through sheer force of will, Gabriella inhaled so sharply I turned toward her.

  “What happened?” I asked as the angel sat there open-mouthed, one hand extended in shock.

  “You didn’t hear?” she said, turning toward me, and I realized that a hush had fallen over the crowd.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head as I looked around in confusion. “What did I miss?”

  “Freya just cast the deciding vote. Madane has been eliminated.” Gabriella took a deep breath. “It was down to her and Lante, and Freya chose Lante over her own apprentice.” Gabriella shuffled slightly. “I’m almost embarrassed for her, given what Freya said.”

  “Oh,” I said, and while I should have paid more attention to what Gabriella said next, I didn’t because a glimmer of hope had awakened in my chest. I had expected Freya to help her protégé in the contest, but if she was already out, it meant Freya truly was impartial.

  I got to my feet and waved at Annabeth to get her attention, and as she turned toward me, I grinned. “Remember, Annabeth. You’re amazing, and I have faith in you.” My grin widened. “And remember something else.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, moving toward me as the Koshuda called for a fifteen-minute intermission while they set up for the next round.

  “When you run from a dragon, you don’t have to be faster than the dragon. You just have to be faster than the other guys.” I pointed across the arena toward Damore. “She may well be a dragon, and maybe she’s better than you at emotive works, but you don’t have to beat her next round. You just have to beat Lante.”

  As I spoke, Annabeth nodded, and I saw confidence return to her features. “You’re right.” This time she actually smiled at me. “If her emotive sculptures are anything like her fox, I think I can beat her.”

  “Good.” I smacked her on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Really. That sculpture you made is amazing.”

  “Yeah, you’re the bee’s knees!” Gabriella chimed in before holding out her bag of popcorn. “Want some? Always makes me feel better when I’m nervous.”

  21

  As Koshuda hit the gong, sounding the end to the second round, I felt myself peering intently at Damore’s sculpture. Like the other sculptors, she’d chosen to work with clay, rendering down a single block in the space of a few seconds, but it wasn’t her techniques or her skill that had me chilled to the core. No, it was her subject.

  Mammon stood upon a mound of bodies, a shattered sword at her feet. One hand held the scales of balance, only they were unbalanced. On one side was a trio of skulls, weighing down the other, empty side. Mammon’s other hand was a defiant fist outstretched toward the sky, while her massive glittering wings were unfurled behind her, giving me the impression of a bird of prey about to launch into the air in search of further victims.

  “Now, each of the contestants will have their chance to explain their piece to the panel of judges.” Koshuda gestured at Damore. “You may begin with your piece.”

  “Thank you.” Damore nodded. “I would like to present The Price of Victory.” Her lips curled into a cruel smile as she turned to look right at me. “In it, the Princess of Greed stands victorious over those foolish enough to stand in her way. She has completely destroyed her enemies, and their deaths have shifted the scales in her favor.”

  I wasn’t sure what she was going for, exactly, but I knew one thing. Staring at that sculpture made me scared in a way I couldn’t explain. It somehow personified how utterly powerless I was to stop Mammon. No, not just me. Everyone. And, as I looked around the arena, I saw others fidgeting and looking away as though the same realization was inevitable.

  The message was clear in everything from Damore herself to the statue. Mammon would win. She would take everything, and there was no use fighting because that would only lead to pain and suffering. Worse, the result would be the same.

  “Well, isn’t that dreary,” Gabriella said, shaking her head. “Mammon sure is pompous, isn’t she?” The archangel stuck out her tongue. “Boo, that sculpture sucks!”

  Her voice seemed to echo across the arena, and it was then I realized it had been nearly silent in the wake of Damore’s description. People turned to look at Gabriella, but she sat there unashamed and making a thumbs down gesture with both hands.

  Across the amphitheater, Mammon bristled, her eyes narrowing on Gabriella, and for a moment, I thought the princess might come over here. Only, before she could, Damore began to laugh.

  “My sculpture sucks?” Damore touched her chest with one hand. “Mine? Your eyes must be as broken as your brain.”

  “Hey, She’s just calling it like it is,” I added, getting to my feet. “Mammon isn’t that pretty, and the lines on her cheeks are all wrong. I mean, she’s right over there, look at her.” I shook my head. “I guess if you meant to convey an emotion, it’d be boredom or disgust. That sculpture has that in spades.” I stuck my tongue out. “Just my opinion though.”

  Mammon bristled on the judge’s panel, but Damore looked like she wanted to rip out my heart with her bare hands.

  “You dare?” Damore said, pointing to her sculpture. “It is the exact likeness of Mammon.”

  “So what you’re saying is that Mammon really is that ugly?” I asked, and as the words left my lips, a collective gasp went through the crowd, immediately followed by whispering that soon turned into full-blown snickers.

  “Of course she is,” Gabriella jeered.

  “That’s enough,” Freya said, turning to Damore as she got to her feet. “Koshuda, please move to the next contestant. This is a civilized contest, and I won’t have it derailed by anyone, even the princess.”

  At her words, Mammon’s face went pale, and she turned to look at Freya. “You dare accuse me?”

  “You know what you did,” Freya said, ignoring the princess as she gestured to Koshuda. “Move along.”


  “Right, okay, sorry,” Koshuda said, nodding so quickly she practically turned into a bobblehead doll. “Next we have Lante. Would you please tell us about your sculpture?”

  “My sculpture is called Rise,” Lante said, and she moved to show it off. In it, a broken, open-mouthed skull lay across the ground while fire rippled all around it. Only plunging up from the depths of the open maw was a flaming bird that practically glittered as it sprang forth from the depths of the dead thanks to the multiple kinds of clay she had used before infusing red gemstones into its plumage.

  “And what emotion are you hoping to conjure with that?” Damore spat, shaking her head. “I don’t even know.”

  “Rise depicts a phoenix rising from the ashes. She knows that even in the darkest day, when it seems there is no chance, there is always a way to move forward and snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.” Lante smiled. “That is what I have brought to us all. A taste for a victory we all can achieve.”

  As I looked at it, I had to admit, I did feel empowered. Sure, the sculpture wasn’t as well done in a classical sense compared to Damore’s, but at the same time, I did feel better looking at it. While Damore’s sculpture had made me feel small, this one made me feel big, like I could somehow win.

  Only, as I looked at it, my gut started to churn with worry. If I had to pick between the two, I’d definitely choose Damore’s as the better of the two, but maybe that didn’t matter. My heart started to pound as my eyes roamed over the piece, searching for flaws both real and imagined. The more I looked, the more I couldn’t keep a single thought from repeating itself over and over again in my mind. What if Annabeth’s sculpture was worse than Lante’s?

  “Thank you, Lante,” Koshuda said, her wings buzzing excitedly. “I think we could all use that kind of pick me up.” She nodded before turning to Annabeth. “Now, for our final contestant. Annabeth, would you like to share your piece?”