No Stone Unturned

by Frank Morin

  "Let's see." Kilian tried to douse her with water.

  Verena lifted her hands toward the wave and increased the release rate on the little stone. The water struck her hands, but then split and tumbled past on both sides, leaving her completely dry.

  "Did you split those waters?"

  He shook his head. "I was completely prepared to soak you for science."

  The little stone was pulsing stronger against her fingers, a slight tingling that spread through her arms and skipped over her skin. "I opened the release rate perhaps twenty percent, and it made me slippery too."

  Kilian swept his hands together, and the waters created a wall between them. Verena didn't need him to tell her what to do. She plunged into the wall of water, leading with the little stone. Its pulsing increased along her skin, and she stepped right through the water, again without getting wet. She felt the waters sliding across her skin, but not clinging. It couldn't seem to get any hold on her.

  "Impressive," Kilian said as she closed the release rate. "I can already think of several applications."

  "Me too," Verena said as possibilities flooded her mind, particularly ways to counter the overwhelming danger of tertiary Petralists. Then she noticed the little rock had shrunk noticeably in her hand. With a flicker of her Builder senses, she confirmed that almost half its power had been spent.

  "It burns through its power store remarkably fast. How much of this do you have?"

  "Not a lot. The vein we can harvest is tiny."

  "So we're not looking at a battlefield-level strategy," Verena said.

  "No," he agreed. "This stone could provide an important advantage, but only in targeted situations."

  "I'll get to work on it right away," she promised. "Get me some more stones to test with."

  "A shipment is on the way. You'll have it within the hour."

  He placed a hand on her shoulder. "We don't have much time, Verena. Study hard, but keep the secret of this stone from everyone. Not even Hamish is to know."

  "Why not? I thought you said he was also getting new orders." She had been planning to rush right over to Hamish's workroom. This new stone might be enough to pull him away from that suit he'd been working on with feverish intensity.

  "He is, but his project is not the same as yours, and I don't need him distracted right now."

  "What project?"

  Kilian smiled. "I don't need you distracted either. Now get to work."

  He snagged another breadstick on the way out.

  "Don't you tell Hamish where you got that," Verena warned.

  "Your secret is safe with me."

  After he left, Verena wondered when she'd learn the next secret, and how many more he alone knew.

  Then she started testing the new stone's abilities in earnest.

  Chapter 12

  "Hello, Hamish."

  "Whoa!" Hamish spun away from his workbench. He had been so engrossed in his work, he hadn't heard the distant door open. Instincts honed from months of daily sword practice kicked in and he dropped into a fighting stance.

  It was just Kilian.

  The two had a running challenge of seeing who could sneak up on the other the most. Kilian was crushing him, so he snapped open the release rate on the piece of chocolate-coated quartzite he'd been sucking on. The little piece of stone erupted out of his mouth with an angry buzzing sound, shedding bits of chocolate as it shot straight at Kilian's face.

  Kilian caught it.

  As if that wasn't enough, he not only snatched the little stone out of the air, but then rotated it and sent it shooting back at Hamish. He made the tricky move look easy, with that cocky half-smile on his face that could be so annoying.

  Not to be outdone, Hamish caught the little stone in his mouth.

  Gagging, he stumbled back against the workbench, that little stone trying its hardest to fly down his throat. He shut the release rate and spat the little stone onto the bench.

  "When did you get back?" Hamish asked casually between coughs.

  Kilian pumped Hamish's hand. "Barely an hour ago. Nice try."

  He looked like he'd been traveling. He must have something important to say because adding another point wasn't important enough to take priority over bathing.

  "Has the war started?"

  "No major skirmishes yet, but it could start any day."

  It felt like the war had been going on for weeks. Everyone rushed about, expressions grim, working at a feverish pace to fill ever-growing orders for more mechanicals. Worse, in the last long line of heavily laden wagons trundling away from the mini-city of the Builder complex, they'd shipped out a large amount of foodstuffs.

  The cooks had assured him there was plenty of food, but they had refused to allow him into the pantries to inspect. He'd survived Alasdair and seen firsthand how war always brought with it food shortages. It felt like starvation was creeping up on the world, but no one else had noticed yet.

  Hamish had tried convincing the cooks that they should actually begin eating double portions at every meal to get ahead of the looming shortages. The head cook might seem like a jolly woman, but she could swing that heavy wooden spoon like a mace.

  He'd try again after he finished testing his new battle suit.

  Hamish hated to think of open fighting between his homeland and his new adopted nation. He loved his work as a Builder, but still felt guilty that he was helping develop mechanicals that would be used against his country.

  He was tempted to sneak a visit to Alasdair. He longed to see his family again. He longed to see Jean more. The constant yearning for her was a weight on his heart, but even if he did slip across the impassable border and risk the dangerous journey to the Carraig, it would be to beg her to come back with him. More than the fact that in Obrion he faced execution for possessing the banned Builder power, only in the Builder compound could he really be himself. Here they explored the limits of creation, celebrating almost every day a new discovery.

  Here they were changing the world.

  It frustrated Hamish that the world was so ungrateful.

  "How are your projects progressing?" Kilian asked, glancing at the workbench where Hamish's greatest invention lay.

  "A little better every day." Hamish was proud of how much he'd accomplished in the precious moments he could snatch between his other duties. Verena and Dierk had helped, but the bulk of the invention bore the stamp of his unique creativity and he was excited to talk about it. But with Kilian, he had to be careful.

  General Wolfram might be the supreme commander of the Grandurian armies, but Kilian led from the shadows. He allowed Wolfram to make the tactical decisions, but he was the undisputed leader of all things arcane. Everyone at the Builder compound ultimately reported to him.

  Kilian was brilliant, but mysterious. He possessed the rare Dawnus gift and wielded his elemental powers with exceptional control. In the battles of Alasdair, he'd shown a strange dichotomy of unmatched battle prowess, but also a surprising depth of charity. He'd saved Connor's younger brother from a falling building, had respected Jean's demands to leave the villagers in peace, and had gifted Hamish his first sword.

  Hamish would follow Kilian and obey his commands, but he did not entirely trust him. Not after Kilian had withheld the truth that Connor had somehow survived after blowing up that mountain. He and Verena had grieved for weeks. Trying to withhold that Captain Ilse's mission was to assassinate Connor in the event that her attempt to recruit him failed hadn't helped build trust either.

  Hamish didn't care about Kilian's obscure warning that Obrion could turn Connor into a devastating force of destruction. Connor was his best friend, and friends helped each other. They didn't assassinate each other. It was a basic matter of trust.

  So Hamish could not yet reveal the deepest secrets of his new suit. Still, there was a lot he could talk about. Hamish lifted the heavy leather jacket, covered with overlapping granite scales. The newest model looked similar to earlier versions, and that was enough for
Kilian to know for the moment.

  "We've proven the stop-bash properties of the jacket are remarkable," Hamish explained. "It can absorb a full-force punch from a Rumbler with minimal damage."

  "Impressive." Kilian fingered a hardened granite leaf. "But that's not all, is it?"

  "That's just the beginning." Hamish pointed out other components spread along the table. "I've got thrusters built in everywhere. I'll out-fly Verena's Swift when I'm done, and I'm developing custom weapons to take the fight to Petralists or any more unclaimed we run into."

  "We're calling them rampagers now," Kilian said.

  "That's a good name." So Kilian had already visited Verena.

  "When will you be ready to do a full test?" Kilian asked.

  "Soon."

  "Good. Verena reported on progress made on the other battlefield mechanicals."

  She knew far more about that than Hamish. In recent days, he'd helped manufacture those mechanicals, but had barely paid attention. All his focus had been on fine-tuning his new battle suit. He couldn't wait to test it. The next time he and Verena dueled in the skies, he'd trounce her.

  Kilian considered the suit. "Once this is operational, do you believe you can duplicate this for others?"

  Part of him wanted to punch Kilian for suggesting he share his invention, but Kilian was preparing for war, so the question was valid. A score of Builders wearing Hamish's invention could change the war.

  "I'm not sure," Hamish admitted. "Some of the components are highly customized to my fighting style. Verena would hate it."

  "She's got the Swift."

  "Wait till you see this in action."

  "The potential is clearly remarkable, but is it repeatable?"

  "I'm not sure any of the other Builders could use it." Most of the Builders were academics. They lacked the fighting training Hamish was taking, lacked the natural flight instincts of Verena, or her ability to think clearly in the middle of a conflict.

  "What of the core jacket?" Kilian asked. "Could we outfit Blades or Wingrunners with these?"

  "That's a good idea. The protection could give them a huge advantage."

  "Think about it," Kilian said. "And consider what other components could be applied to broader application." He gripped Hamish's shoulder. "I'm proud of the work you're doing here, Hamish. You came to us a refugee from a broken village, but you are family now. Good work."

  Hamish might not entirely trust Kilian, but the man inspired loyalty like no one else.

  Then Kilian extracted from a deep pocket of his coat a small leather pouch, similar to ones used to hold granite or basalt powder. "However, that's not the only reason I came here today. Your other duties are suspended. I have a new project for you."

  He dumped a small stone onto the workbench near Hamish's suit.

  Diorite.

  Hamish instantly recognized the salt-and-pepper stone. He'd grown up in Alasdair where diorite was uniquely treasured. The Cutters used long chisels of the precious stone to cut granite blocks from the mountain. Those chisels cut through the hard Alasdair White many times faster than the sharpest steel ever could. Connor's father, Hendry the Ashlar, used a precious, double-headed diorite hammer to process blocks of granite in the Powder House, beating them to dust a hundred times faster than any other hammer ever could.

  Hamish picked up the little piece of diorite and felt for the invisible crack that held its power locked inside. He found it, confirming this was power-grade stone. He licked it, and his tongue tingled with rippling fire. Once he cracked open its power, it would taste more like lightning.

  He'd tasted a diorite stone with its power released, and the memory still thrilled him with fearful excitement. Chisels released only a fraction had cut a foot into solid granite with each blow. Hamish had opened the release rate a tiny bit more for Stuart, and the brawny youth had exploded an entire block of granite with a single strike.

  He had opened wide the release rate on the Ashlar's hammer. The lightning-like power concentrated in that tool had shaken him to the core. It felt like holding an entire storm bottled up in his hands.

  "Wait," Hamish said, eying the little piece of diorite closely. "You didn't take this from Alasdair, did you?"

  "We have sources of diorite in Granadure, although like Obrion, few understand that this is indeed a power grade stone with uniquely destructive properties."

  "Cutters somehow tap into the sealed power of diorite," Hamish said. "And Builders can unlock its power, but are you saying Petralists can establish affinity with it?"

  "Don't ever suggest that to anyone," Kilian warned, his expression grave. "A few have tried, and most end up destroying themselves. It's too dangerous to ingest and control."

  But Builders could. Hamish thought back to the tiny bit of powdered diorite that Dierk had activated and used in the bomb that they fired from the thump driver. That little bit of diorite, mixed with kerosene and some other fuel, created a gigantic explosion.

  Hamish had dreamed about other things he could do with diorite. It looked like he was about to get a chance to test his theories.

  "Be careful with this," Kilian warned, as if reading Hamish's mind. "I want full safeguards on everything. We cannot afford to damage this facility."

  "I'll be careful," Hamish promised as he started tossing the stone from one hand to another, considering possibilities.

  "The danger is severe," Kilian insisted, holding Hamish's gaze.

  "I understand," Hamish assured him. Who else at the Builder compound could better understand the importance of diorite? His village depended on it as a critical tool, and he respected it as a precious heirloom. He'd still blow it up, but he'd do it with the right attitude.

  "Dierk has already done some preliminary research into diorite," Kilian reminded him. "But supplies are tight and the danger is high."

  "We can build even more amazing bombs with this stuff than what he did in Alasdair."

  "Indeed we can. Dierk's already investigating that potential, but I want you to consider other uses for it. The bombs will be effective in helping to manage the battlefield-level strategy, but how can we use it in more subtle ways?"

  Hamish considered the little black and white crystals that looked so innocent, like his brothers always pretended to be just before they got Hamish into trouble. He glanced at Kilian. "This is how you defeated those rampagers, wasn't it?"

  "In part."

  "The other part is the secret, isn't it?" Hamish asked. "That's why you established affinity with this when no one else could. What's the secret?"

  "Don't worry about that. You're not trying to establish affinity with it."

  "But others could," Hamish said, excited by the idea, imagining a whole company of soldiers blowing up rampagers and crashing through anything that got in their way. Then he remembered most of what would get in their way would be other people, Obrioners, his people. He felt a little sick.

  Kilian shook his head. "The danger is still severe, and we cannot afford to lose the men it would take to produce competent diorite Petralists."

  "What are they called?" Hamish interrupted. "Lightning Fists?" He grimaced. That was a terrible name.

  "There is no name for them. There have never been enough of them to need a name. And even if I was willing to sacrifice men to produce such Petralists, the supply is so tiny, we could not field an army wielding diorite."

  "It's scarce in Obrion too," Hamish said, thinking of the astronomical cost for diorite chisels. Multiple generations of Cutter families spent their lives paying for a single chisel.

  "I don't need bigger explosions," Kilian said. "Your mission is to develop ways that we can use diorite on an individual level by opening a small fraction of that explosive power. How can that turn the tide for normal soldiers or give them the advantage if they are set upon by rampagers?"

  Rampagers were downright scary. He'd nearly died in that first encounter, and one of the beasts had destroyed his flying plank. The next time he met them, he would
bring to bear the full might of his new suit, but what of soldiers without that protection?

  "I'll get on it," Hamish promised. "Right after lunch."

  Chapter 13

  Connor retreated a step from the towering presence of Evander, but didn't bother running. He'd seen enough of Evander's powers to know the giant could easily swallow him in the earth. Even had Connor carried slate, his fledgling earth powers would have availed him little.

  "What are you doing down here?" Connor asked instead. He'd only spoken with the giant once, but not long enough to get a true sense of the man.

  In the flickering, multi-colored light of the burning fungus spread across the ribs of that long-dead cathedral, Evander's impassive face looked mysterious and threatening. "Echoes of truth may yet enlighten the dim recesses few have discovered."

  Connor had to think about that for a moment. The giant seemed content to wait for him. The man was huge, towering over seven feet, with shoulders more than twice as broad as Connor's. They strained the limits of his immense, black, leather jacket. That leather smell was appropriate, but Connor also caught a whiff of ink. That was intriguing and made him think of Jean.

  So he said, "I'm looking for my friend Jean. I was worried she was lost down here."

  "The fledgling wanders often from the safety of the nest, but cannot learn to fly without leaping from the tall branches."

  Connor stifled a groan. He loved coming up with convoluted Sentry-speak to irritate the students, but this creepy underground tomb wasn't the best place to hold such a conversation.

  He tried bridling his impatience. It wouldn't help. One had to work through Sentry-speak conversations with care, like picking through the raspberry bushes on Mount Ingram in the autumn. Here, taking a wrong step might hurt a lot more than getting a thorn stuck in his backside.

  "I know you've met her," Connor said. "Do you know where Jean is? I'm worried about her."

  "The nuall that wanders far afield rarely finds success that could have been obtained closer to home."