A Manifold of Bindings (The Scrolls of Azbel Book 2)

by John Mangold

  “How was I to know?” Volo replied to her unspoken accusation. “One moment I was in the middle of a forest, laying down my best ‘Fire God’ imitation, the next I am standing here beside you! I don’t even know where here is!”

  “Suffice to say, we are somewhere that doesn’t react well to fire,” Maluem replied. “Torrez, can you recover this thing?”

  “It’s hard to say, these ‘things’ were never meant to be flown by slates,” Torrez said. “Without my Augments, I barely have control in the first place. Add to that the facts that Volo just burned out a hunk of the starboard controls and that we just struck an outcropping of rock, rupturing the port fuel blivet-”

  “Torrez, are we going to crash?” Shelia interrupted, sensing Maluem’s frustration.

  “Crash? Oh yes. The only question is where,” Torrez replied through gritted teeth.

  “Well, can you make it as far as NuSam?” Maluem asked.

  “I doubt it,” Torrez answered after a loud grunt. “I don’t think we’re even going to make it another three miles if we don’t lose a whole lot of weight fast. Get down into the cargo bay and see if you can’t throw out anything you find.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Shelia volunteered. “There might be something useful down there.”

  “This thing has a downstairs?” Volo muttered in disbelief. “How big is this contraption?”

  “Never mind that,” Maluem replied as she moved down the stairs at the back of the cabin. “Just get moving before this monstrosity remembers only birds are supposed to fly.”

  The Gorgon's lower deck was made up of one large cargo bay, not unlike the galley of a ship. It had many rings and clips along its metal floor and walls that heavy cargo could be secured to. Still, it seemed that either the standard crew had not planned to fly anywhere anytime soon, or they had been exceptionally lazy. Enormous crates full of equipment had been left unsecured, tumbling around freely during the craft’s short flight. The resulting jumble of military equipment and shattered boxes blocked any possible passage past.

  “Volo, do you think you could get over this mess to the back of the cabin?” Shelia yelled over the screeching of the engines.

  “I think so, but why?”

  “I need you to find a metal box attached to the far wall. It will have two buttons, one blue, and the other red. We need to find it fast!”

  “I’m on it,” Volo replied, turning to climb the mass of manmade rubble.

  “Volo, don’t go over, go through,” Maluem advised. “Remember, you are a projection now. This refuse should be no barrier to you.”

  With a look of doubt, Volo edged towards the blockage with his arms outstretched, expecting his hand to meet something substantial. Yet, as his fingers made contact, they vanished within the mass as though entering a dense fog. Slowly, he continued to walk forward until his body disappeared entirely within the mound of equipment.

  “Kulk, this is weird!” Volo yelled back. “It feels like I am trying to walk through a mountain of slush!”

  “Just make sure you walk straight,” Maluem replied. “I don’t know what will happen if you wander through this contraption’s skin to the outside world.”

  “Not a problem, I made it through!” Volo’s muffled voice called from beyond the tangled mass of packages and machinery.

  “Great,” Shelia exclaimed as she wrapped one of the orange-colored tie-down straps about her waist and then tied it into a giant knot. “Now, Maluem, we are going to need to secure ourselves to the Gorgon. This is going to get violent!”

  Maluem looked around frantically, finding one and then another bright orange strap. Tying them tightly around her waist, she turned to Shelia to give her a quick nod.

  “Ok, Volo,” Shelia shouted over the growing protests of the tumultuous machine. “Do you see the metal box I described to you?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “It has a red and a blue disc inset in it, one above the other.”

  “That’s the one!” Shelia shouted. “I need you to hold on to something tightly and press the blue one and hold it down. That will cause the front and rear ramps to open. The resulting wind tunnel effect should blow this garbage out of the back. Once the cargo bay is clear, press and hold the red disc until the ramps close. Got it?”

  “Pressing the blue disc now!” Volo shouted back. There was a strange sound, as though a plug had been pulled from a drain, then the cabin was filled with a thunderous roar of rushing air and tortured machinery. In an instant, all the debris clogging the machine’s belly was drawn as one mass out of the gaping hole that the lowered ramp had left, scattering into the emptiness beyond. Where the floor of the metal machine ended, there was now nothing but morning sky crowning a mass of swirling treetops some few hundred feet below.

  The straps showed their worth immediately, holding the two women in place as titanic forces played about them, striving to drag them to the ramp and toss them out with the refuse. Even with these safety straps in place, Maluem found it necessary to grip one of the beast's support beams to keep any semblance of balance. Volo, for his part, seemed utterly unaffected by the commotion around him, standing next to the ramp controls as though nothing unusual was occurring. It appeared his bonding to the staff had earned him a bit of immunity to the world’s harsh hand.

  Maluem stared in disbelief at the view before her. Other than in a few mountain excursions, she had never seen the world from such a perspective. She could not tell if it was from the dizzying spectacle before her or from the very air around her being swept off through the rear portal of the craft, but it felt as though her heart stopped for just a split pulse. As she stood mesmerized, her ear picked up on a tiny tearing sound close to her head, one that her subconscious told her should be critically important to her, yet she could not place exactly why. The only article she had on her back was…

  Turning her head, she suddenly became aware that the staff casing Torrez had created for her two staffs was floating off her shoulder, its torn strap floating like a streamer behind. Her subconscious and conscious mind suddenly gelled once more into a single, flailing action, desperately grasping at her wayward property. However, her fingertips only lightly brushed its side as her parcel floated out of reach, tumbling off towards the gaping rear exit.

  Her hands acted with minds of their own, shooting to the strap around her waist and untying it on their own accord, Shelia’s frantic protests going unheeded. As the knot slipped free, the suction that had swept the ruined cargo from the machine’s galley now grasped Maluem, violently throwing her to the floor. As she careened across the metal planks, she was vaguely aware of the void she was sliding towards, yet her eyes were locked on the ripped strap dangling behind her rogue satchel. To her amazement, the strap's torn end became entangled in the ramp’s mechanism, causing the casing to sway perilously before the gaping maw.

  With blind determination, Maluem lunged outwards, her hands clamping down upon the case containing both hers and Dorjakt’s staffs. As she held the tube tightly to her chest, Maluem released a sigh of relief that quickly became a scream of terror. Looking down, Maluem found she was dangling from the back of the aircraft, the satchel now her only anchor to the vessel towing her. Considering the shoulder strap securing her safety had failed under a considerably lesser load, this was a moment of terrifying clarity.

  Slowly, Maluem could feel the ramp floating beneath her begin to rise up to meet her. Looking towards the vessel’s interior, she could see that Volo had activated the switch to close the rear ramp. However, she also realized that her legs were currently outside the closing gate’s perimeter. Looking down, she had just enough time to confirm this fact and bring her knees up to her chest before the closing portal pinched them off. With a thud, she and her parcel tumbled to the deck.

  “Well, that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen!” Volo shouted as he rushed to Maluem’s side. “What could be in that bag that was worth your life?”

  “Not my life Volo,” Maluem managed
in a gasp. “Yours. In case you have forgotten, this wayward cocoon contains Dorjakt’s staff along with mine. Mine being the one you are currently bound to. Now, if my staff were to fall a few thousand feet, shattering into millions of pieces across the rugged terrain, what might become of you? I suspect you and mortality might be cruelly reacquainted.”

  “I suppose that wouldn’t be very healthy for me-” Volo agreed.

  “Well, you may find out shortly,” Shelia chimed in from behind him. “Because that looked a lot less than one thousand feet to me. I think we are still going down.”

  Hurrying to the other side of the galley, Shelia reached out to another metal box attached to the wall and pressed a small button centered under an odd round grate centered on the device.

  “Did that do the trick?” Shelia shouted into it.

  “Barely,” Torrez’s voice crackled out of the device, catching both Maluem and Volo off guard. “But we are still losing altitude. I cannot see anywhere that would make a good landing point. I think we are going to have to ditch. Are there any Grav-Chutes down there?”

  Shelia looked about her frantically, as did Maluem and Volo, although neither of them had the slightest clue what they were looking for. After a few failed attempts and a lot of head shaking from Shelia, they discovered a large device that had escaped their collective attention until now. There was now an overly complicated, wheelless luggage trolley squatting in the center of the bay where the pile of refuse had been. Looking back towards Shelia, Maluem detected a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  “No, Grav-Chutes,” Shelia shouted into the box once more. “But we do have a Cargo Sled back here. It must have been buried under the cargo we just dumped. We could overload the lifters enough to give us a slow descent. With some careful balancing and a lot of luck, it might get us to the ground in one piece. Do you think that will work?”

  The Gorgon shuddered once more as though some significant part of it had suddenly decided to be elsewhere.

  “Since we just lost our port stabilizers, I don’t think we have a choice,” Torrez’s voice crackled back through the device. “Get everyone on it and strap yourselves down. I will put the Gorgon on Smart-Pilot. It should hold her steady for fifteen micros at least. We will only get one shot at this, so be ready when I get there.”

  With a nod from Shelia, Maluem and Volo climbed onto the enigmatic machine. Like the Gorgon’s deck, it had tie-down points, so the restraint straps they had used before clipped quickly into place. Shelia moved to the contraption’s front, where a raised dashboard displayed an array of basic controls for the operator. Within a pulse, she had a small hatch open and was turning a small knob as hard as she could.

  “How do you know so much about these machines,” Volo asked Shelia. “I thought you were more of a musician-”

  “When you are married to a Neophyte as long as I have been, you pick up a thing or two,” Shelia interrupted. “Now tie yourselves down good and tight this time!”

  “Perhaps I should hold onto the pair of staffs,” Volo offered. “Your grip has been rather questionable lately.”

  Maluem turned to give him a scathing reply, but it went unheard as Torrez came barreling down the stairs. Hurtling himself over the dashboard's raised controls, he quickly wrapped a tie-down strap around his waist, grabbed a wrench from his belt, and slung it at the control box next to the rear ramp. His aim was remarkably accurate, striking the button perfectly, causing the massive portal to yawn back open. In an instant, the galley was filled with the thunderous rush of air once more.

  “Hold onto your chud makers!” Torrez bellowed as he pulled a red-capped lever sprouting out of the floor next to the sled, causing the latches holding their ride in place to release with a mechanical snap. With a dizzying lurch, their perch appeared to come to a sudden halt as the Gorgon slid out from underneath them. In the blink of an eye, there was only the chilling blast of morning air, the Gorgon’s silhouette as it drifted off on its unguided path to oblivion, and the tree-laden ground rushing up to greet them.

  25.

  Masters and Servants

  Skylla studied her Chamber Maid with a frigid glare. Yet, for all the intensity of her disapproving expression, the woman skittered along, taking no notice of her mistress’s dark humor. So attentive to her preparation duties, the ignorant fool had no way of knowing who the late-night caller was. Had she the slightest inkling of what was about to arrive, she would run screaming off into the night to find a deep, dark hole to hide in.

  Skylla watched the other woman’s scant form sway this way and that as though caught on a breeze generated by the air recyclers. As few augmentations as the wisp had, it was not hard to imagine her slight frame being swept right out the windows and into the night’s void. This thought amused Skylla intensely. The demise of others was one of the only subjects that sparked her imagination these days. It was one of the few diversions she would allow herself given the demands of the Monarchy.

  Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Skylla never fully understood the meaning behind that turn of phrase until the burden became her own. Yet, it was less the responsibilities of her office than the memories of her tortuous path to power that weighed most heavily on her heart. So many deceptions played, so many betrayals suffered, so many graves filled before their proper time. Each appalling choice she had been forced to make dug a ragged trench in her soul, yet there was never time to lick her wounds as there were always more choices to be made. Such was the never-ending demands of power.

  At that thought, Skylla scratched absentmindedly where her latest augmentation met with one of many small scraps of ulcerous flesh left of her organic body. As her mind locked upon what her hand was doing of its own volition, her aggravation blossomed anew. She did not know which vexed her more deeply, the fact that her feeble flesh pestered her so, or that the remnants of her organic form might be rejecting the final phases of her ascension to purity.

  However, what was even more repulsive than being anchored to her corrupted flesh was the possibility another might witness this flaw. For it to become common knowledge that the Royal Auspex had not yet reshaped Queen Skylla into mechanical perfection was something Skylla would not abide. However, glancing across the chamber, she found the mechanism of what she loathed most in the gawking eyes of her idle Chamber Maid.

  “That will do Eris, you may retire to your private quarters,” Skylla commanded, sneering as the girl clumsily averted her gaze. “But do not get too comfortable. I will require your services before the night is out.”

  Skylla displayed a tight grin as she watched Eris bustle from the room. The servant would have to be disposed of, but even such a sordid task could yield pleasure if appropriately executed. But such diversions would have to wait until after their appointed meeting. A visitor as significant as the one due could not be kept waiting while the Empress amused herself with the disposal of common rubbish.

  In a succession of quick glances, Skylla inspected the conference chamber. From the gleam of the gilded rafters above to the mirror polish on the marble floor, not a blemish remained. In a micro, her clockwork eyes touched on even the minutest detail with intense scrutiny. All was indeed prepared as was demanded. She was forced to admit, Eris had completed her assigned tasks most efficiently. It almost saddened Skylla to lose her, almost.

  As she proceeded across the room’s broad expanse, Skylla could not help but admire the reflection of her perfected body on the polished floor. Her royal gown flattered the lines of her crafted legs wonderfully, the dress’ trimming nearly matching the inlay in their lithe composite plating. This invited the viewer’s eyes up along her supple body to the meticulous weaving of synthetic muscle and steel that created her slender neck and shoulders. For the outer world to see, there was not a scrap of corruptible flesh exposed save her face, and that was mercifully covered with a skillfully worked gold mask, obscuring all but her mechanical eyes. As soon as the Royal Auspex could produce a prototype that she approved, she would f
ree herself from the last, fetid vestiges of her hated mortality.

  With the practiced ease that came from a lifetime of training, Skylla twirled across the room in the initial steps of the Vypin Waltz. As she marveled at her own elegance, she could not help but wonder how mere flesh could hope to match such flawless timing, such effortless grace. The unwashed masses had their crude augmentations, but their contrivances were pale shadows of what the mechanical art could achieve. But then again, they were also ignorant of the leash they willingly tied around their own necks, both figuratively and literally. Soon they would all learn the real cost their augments exacted, but by then-

  “Just shy of perfection, my dear,” a rich, deep voice rang out from behind her. “You missed that last step by three micros. Yet, now that I think of it, those words describe much more than your dance technique, would you not agree?”

  Skylla finished her spin to come to a sudden stop facing her husband, Emperor Letifer. Her mechanical eyes held him in their depths with unbridled disdain. She had always heard that ‘hate’ was a strong word, yet it was at times such as these that those four little letters just could not get the job done. An emotion like the one she now experienced called for an invective bringing a bit more bite to the task. She loathed him. Yes, that put the proper tone to her thoughts, its bitter tang leaving a faint smile on her lips. She loathed him, and in doing so, she exacted a bit of decadent pleasure for herself.

  “Perfection, he says,” Skylla repeated to the otherwise empty chamber. “How delightful. It appears the Emperor of Santilis has learned a new word, such a pity that he displays such a wretchedly poor understanding of its definition. I would ask him for a practical demonstration, but I am certain he would fall short.”