Sancia looked at the box — and looked closely at the golden lock set in its center.
<You…want me to use the key to unlock you,> she said.
A soft series of clicks echoed through her mind — and they sounded somewhat skittish to Sancia, like a cave of bats fleeing a beam of light.
<True,> said Valeria.
Sancia watched the box. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking of it as a sarcophagus. The idea of opening up this ancient casket deeply unsettled her.
Should I believe this voice in my head? This thing that was wrought by the Occidentals themselves?
<How does the ritual work?> asked Sancia. <I know it involves a dagger…>
<Is must be done when the world resets,> said Valeria. <At midnight, when the firmament of the world is blind and cannot see, only then can the spiritual transference occur. The dagger is only part of the method. One must mark the body holding the spirit, then mark what you wish to transfer it into. The dagger, the death — it is like the lighting of a fuse, setting off the reaction. Yet they must not try — their reaction would be unending.>
Sancia listened to this carefully. This matched with what she and Clef and Orso had determined — but she still found it difficult to trust this voice in her mind. <What did you do for the Makers?> she asked. <And what did the Makers do?>
<I? I did…> Many clicks. <…very little. As a clerk, I was a…> Click. <…functionary.>
Sancia said nothing.
<The Makers…They made,> said Valeria. <That was their wish. To make and remake the world. They conquered until they ran out of places to conquer. And then, dissatisfied, they used their processes, their tools, to divine the…> Click. <…world behind the world. The vast machinery that makes creation run.>
Sancia remembered the engraving in Orso’s workshop — the chamber at the center of the world. <And they wanted to put their own god in charge of it, didn’t they?>
Valeria was silent.
<Right?> asked Sancia.
<True,> said Valeria quietly.
<What happened?>
Another long silence. <Creation of such an intelligence…Not an easy thing. When one makes a mind, it is in itself a product of the mind that made it. There was too much of themselves in the thing they made. They fell to war, between maker and that which is made. War of a sort…I cannot describe. The words, the terms — I can find none. Their civilization failed, and died, and now only dust remains.>
Sancia shuddered, remembering her vision of the man in the desert, turning out the stars. <My God…>
<Know this,> said Valeria. <The same could be visited upon you — should those fools attempt to duplicate the process the Makers detailed. To make toys from the bones of creation — a mad and dangerous practice.>
<So. You want me to get the key to make sure that doesn’t happen.>
<True.>
<How the hell am I going to do that? I can’t even get out of here!>
<I am editor.>
<Yeah, you’ve made that really clear.>
<I am capable of editing reality, was specifically designed for the formulation and editing of scrivings.>
<You…you what? Oh.> Sancia’s heart jumped. <So…So you can edit the scrivings of my shackles!>
<Possible,> said Valeria. <This will exhaust me, however. I will be unable to assist after this endeavor. So I propose editing something that will make your success far more likely.>
<What?>
<You.>
There was a long silence.
<Huh?> asked Sancia.
<Commands in your plate…poorly wrought,> said Valeria. <Confused. Confusing. Unsure what to reference, unsure how to build relationship between references. I can fix. And make you…editor. Of a kind. And you can then free yourself, and find the key.>
Sancia sat there, stupefied. <W-what? You want to edit the plate in my head?>
<I assumed this was a process you desired. Your commands are…always enabled. Does that make sense?>
<Always enabled?>
<Yes. Access is never closed. You cannot…disengage.>
Sancia realized what she meant. Her insides turned to jelly, and she was so overcome with emotion she could hardly respond.
<You mean…> Sancia swallowed. <You mean you can give me a way to turn it off? To turn it all off?>
<True,> said Valeria. <Engage, disengage. That, and more.>
Sancia closed her eyes, and tears ran down her face.
<Sorrow?> said Valeria. <Why is?>
<I’m…I’m not sad. It’s just…I’ve always wanted this! I’ve wanted this for so, so long. And you’re saying — for sure — that you can give it to me? Right now?>
<True.> Clicks. <For…sure.> More clicks. <I see why this would create joy for you. The scrivings…they confuse thing and things.>
<What do you mean?>
<The scrivings they put into you — they wished to make you an object. A…device. A thing to command. A servant.> More clicks — and these were harsh. <Like…Valeria.>
<A slave?>
<True. A mindless thing. A slave that does not know itself and thus cannot know the violation of being a slave. So they wrote the commands within you—“Be as things!” But they did not understand their commands. Did not define “things” adequately. Which things? The scrivings, as always, chose the easiest interpretation—“things” meant whichever items were closest. Whichever items you touched. Does that make sense?>
A cold disgust filled Sancia. <They wanted to make me a passive item, a tool. A servant without will. But because they wrote it wrong, I can…I can feel items, and…>
<And merge. Become them. Know them. As I said — they wrote the commands poorly. Should have destroyed you.> A series of clicks so fast, they were almost a blur. <Supposition — you survived for the same reason the imperiat can control you.>
<Huh?>
A rapid series of clicks. <The imperiat — not made to control human minds. Minds are…complicated. Impossibly complicated. Such an application was never imagined by the Makers. Imperiat was made to control weapons. Items. Objects. Which you think yourself to be.> Click. <The imperiat works upon you because you still define yourself as an item. That is only reason you can be controlled.>