by Ken Scholes
Isaak’s next question ambushed him. “Is it dangerous?”
He felt his eyebrows raise. “Is what dangerous?”
Isaak lowered his voice. “Dreaming.”
Charles thought about this. “No, not especially. Though not all dreams are pleasant.”
“So were I to have a dream, it would not be harmful?”
“No,” Charles said with another chuckle. “I don’t believe it would.”
Isaak moved toward the door. “Thank you, Father.”
Charles watched him leave. “You’re welcome, Isaak.”
He’d just settled back into work when there was a knock at his door. “Back so soon?” he called out. It didn’t surprise him.
But when the door opened and Rudolfo entered, he was surprised. The lord of the Ninefold Forest rarely put in appearances in his shop. But now, the man walked in, his eyes haunted by the circles of sleeplessness beneath them. The Gypsy Scout behind him took up a position outside the door as Rudolfo closed it. “Forgive my unannounced visit, Arch-Engineer Charles. I have matters to discuss with you.”
Charles put down the wrench he’d been using. “No forgiveness required, Lord Rudolfo. Shall we retire to a more comfortable room for conversation?”
Rudolfo shook his head. “No, I would speak with you here. These are matters of great discretion.”
He looks worried. And he should be, Charles reckoned. In the span of two years he’d inherited a lot of orphans and had taken on a tremendous labor on behalf of the light. And while he did, the Named Lands came apart around him. “You have my ear and my silence, Lord.”
Rudolfo moved to a stool near Charles and sat upon it. He looked out of place in his silk jacket and green turban, surrounded by bits of broken mechanicals and scattered tools. “There is a type of steel so silver that it gives back a perfect reflection. The Marsh King’s axe is made of such a metal. Are you familiar with it?”
Charles nodded. “Firstfall steel. Legend has it that it fell from the moon along with the Moon Wizard and his armies at the end of the Age of the Weeping Czars.”
“Yes. Can you work with this steel?”
Charles paused to think. He could, but it was a rare metal. More rare than gold or platinum. “I could work with it,” he said, “depending upon what you needed it worked into.”
“The metal’s reflective capacity exposes stealth magicks-even those built from blood. We learned this last year during the attack on the Firstborn Feast.” When Rudolfo said the words, Charles saw his eyes darken.
Charles prided himself on anticipating needs and already, he started nodding. “Some kind of device that would take advantage of those properties, then?”
Rudolfo offered a tight smile. “Yes.”
Charles started to wonder why and stopped. We’ve already been breached. It was the fear and doubt upon his face, the sleeplessness in his eyes. “I would need the metal. It’s extremely hard to come by. A handful of the wealthiest families in the Named Lands might have a few pieces of it. There’s more, of course, buried at Windwir.”
“Windwir is out of reach to us now,” Rudolfo said. “But my procurement agents are quietly in place and at your disposal. See Isaak for a fresh code book.”
Charles hesitated, then offered up the truth he wanted to withhold. “This could take time, Lord.”
Rudolfo sighed. “We don’t have time, Charles. Just do your best.”
“I will do my best, Lord.” Already, he was thinking of the design and whether or not lenses could be fashioned using the mirrors to reflect back through them in a type of spectacle that could be worn. He looked to his drawing pad. “While we look for the metal, I’ll give thought to some design specifications.”
Rudolfo stood. “Excellent. Two final things and I’ll leave you to your work.”
Charles waited, taking in the slight man. He’s frightened now, but this will only add fierceness to him later.
“As you know, I am considering the potential of a standing army.”
Yes, Charles thought. He’d been in the room that night, and he’d seen the teeth that consideration had brought to Rudolfo’s soul. Change was certainly the path life took, but it was never as simple as it sounded. “It may become necessary, Lord.”
Rudolfo nodded and looked away. “It may indeed. If it does-and if it has any chance of standing against this Y’Zirite threat to the west-it will need magickal and mechanical assistance.”
Yes. And yet all of the war-making knowledge had been burned out at Windwir. All but what I carry in my head. Charles sighed. “I do not wish to make war engines, Rudolfo.”
Rudolfo’s eyes snapped back onto Charles, and there was a fire suddenly ignited there. “Nor do I, Charles, but I will not lose all that we build here. I will guard it whatever way I must.”
What had they called the Gypsy King? Charles stretched his memory back to the conversations he’d overheard on the return journey from the Blood Temple. Shepherd of the light? But he knew the man meant more than just the library and its mechanicals. He meant the boy, too, who had appeared here in the middle of his life. Charles wasn’t sure what to say. “I will give it thought. Most of what we kept hidden is lost now.”
“Consideration is all I ask,” Rudolfo said. “Work with Lysias and Aedric. I am only interested in protecting the Ninefold Forest.”
Charles could see that on the man’s face. But now, even as he read it there, it vanished, hidden behind a smile. “Thank you for your time, Arch-Engineer.”
Rudolfo moved toward the door. He put his hand on the latch, and Charles remembered something. “Lord Rudolfo?”
He turned. “Yes?”
“There was another matter you wished to discuss with me.”
Rudolfo thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Oh. Yes. I’m. concerned. about Isaak. He’s asking a lot of unusual questions and seems preoccupied. And this matter with the message bird is worrisome.” He paused. “Keep good watch over him, Charles.”
Even Rudolfo’s noticed it. Charles nodded. “I will, Lord.”
Then, Rudolfo slipped from the room and Charles turned to his drawing pad.
He sketched for an hour, laying out specifications for a type of heavy spectacle, then tried a spyglass and a handful of other variants, but his mind kept coming back to his metal child and his ten thousand questions. When Rudolfo had asked after him, he’d seen the concern on his face. It was a type of love, Charles knew, and he wondered at it.
Why do I not feel love for my metal children? He could not answer that question without following more threads backward in time than he could afford in this moment. The Franci certainly could tell him after a few hours upon their analyst benches. They could give him many theories, not the least of which was that they were machines, designed for a purpose and powered by a sunstone, running scripts written by men.
But I have made a machine who wishes he could dream.
And even with that thought, he did not feel anything beyond pride and curiosity. Nothing quite as strong as affection, yet enough for him to do what needed doing for their care and to sometimes enjoy their company.
Perhaps, Charles thought, it was enough for now.
Chapter 7
Jin Li Tam
The courtyard on the south side of the library was a mad press of people as Foresters and refugees alike gathered for the dedication of the west-facing wing.
Jin Li Tam stood between the pillars of the western patio and bounced on her heels to keep Jakob amused while Rudolfo talked quietly with Aedric and Isaak. Jakob had been fussy of late after being so long a quiet baby, but she suspected that his first teeth were coming in.
I will ask Lynnae for teething powders. The girl had spent the last few months working with the River Woman and seemed to have an aptitude for the work. The River Woman herself had referred to her as an apt apprentice at least twice, both times bringing a blush to the girl’s cheeks.
Thinking of Lynnae, she glanced around the front lines of the crowd
to see if she could find her. When she singled her out, standing between the River Woman and her father, Lysias, Jin Li Tam flashed a smile that was quickly returned. Then, she turned back to Rudolfo and the others.
“It’s time, Lord Rudolfo,” Isaak said.
Ahead of them, the crowd built. This first wing was small, but in these times, small victories had to be celebrated as they were achieved. There at the base of the stone steps, wagons of food and wine stood ready for the feast to follow. After eighteen months of construction and a near-constant stream of books flowing from the mechoservitors’ pens, they’d reclaimed some tiny part of what had been lost at Windwir.
And today marks two years.
She stepped to the side of the podium and felt pride as her husband stepped forward. He held a single sheet of scribbled notes in his hand and glanced to her and Jakob as he placed the paper on the flat, wooden surface. Then, he looked to Isaak and Aedric before clearing his voice.
“Two years ago,” he began, “we all watched the sky and lamented that loss of light that was Windwir’s pyre.” He glanced to Isaak again, and Jin saw how carefully he chose his words. “Evil men with terrible intent used the Androfrancines’ knowledge against them, and in doing so, changed our world.”
She heard the timbre in his voice as he projected it over the crowd. Watching them, she could see the rapt attention upon their faces as they listened to their king. They love him, she realized. And she knew he and his family had earned that love over two millennia in this place. She’d seen that love poured out-even extended to her, especially since Jakob’s birth-since she’d first come to the Ninefold Forest nearly two years ago.
She could remember pondering that charismatic Gypsy King and what one of his young Gypsy Scouts had told her in those early days. He always knows the right path to take. and he always takes it.
Not so anymore. She could see the doubt in his eyes, and sometimes, in their late-night murmurings, he would whisper his fears to her while she held him close. And though she did not say it, she felt it, too. The world had changed with the Desolation of Windwir and had kept changing from there.
People were applauding, and Jakob stirred awake in her arms. She felt a stab of guilt and looked up. Had he finished so soon? She looked to him and he appeared to be paused, finger raised to make another comment. She scanned the crowed, glancing again toward Lynnae.
She paused.
Just left of Lynnae stood a young man with close-cropped hair, and in a sea of smiles and clapping, his face was sober and his hands were at his sides. He was staring at the central pillar of the portico.
Rudolfo continued speaking, and she followed the young man’s eyes. Something shimmered there, and she opened her mouth to shout.
The light was white and followed by a hot fist of wind and sound that shattered her ears. Something large and metal and fast impacted her and the world spun as she felt long metal arms encircling her, pulling her and Jakob close as heat billowed around them. She heard cracking as the pillar collapsed and the roof followed. She heard rock hitting metal and bellows rasping. She choked and sobbed.
The dust and smoke settled, and Jakob’s wail rose up to join the screams and cries of the wounded and bereaved.
A reedy voice whispered in her ear. “Safe,” he said. His voice had an odd lilt to it, and she heard popping and grinding deep in his chest cavity.
The world wobbled around her, and she fought its graying, forcing herself to move as best she could, shifting Jakob. “Isaak?” she asked.
But the metal man did not answer.
Neb
Outside the cave, kin-wolves slunk about, casting shadows by the light of a blue-green moon as a warm wind moaned down the canyons of the ruined city. They’d been out since the sun dropped, though they’d not approached as yet. Still, when the wind dipped, he could hear their claws upon the ancient, decimated street.
Odd. They do not howl.
Behind him, the woman stirred, and he turned to face her. Her fever had broken early in the day, telling him that his poultice and powders were doing their work. More and more, she moved and mumbled, her eyes moving behind closed lids. Neb went to her now and drew his canteen, unscrewing the cap.
He’d found three sources of water on the quick scouting runs he’d allowed himself since securing them in the cave. In the morning, he would need to make another run if she kept taking the water.
Placing a hand beneath her head, he lifted it and put the mouth of the canteen against her lower lip. Her lips parted by reflex, and he tipped the water into her mouth. The skin on the back of her neck felt cool and smooth now in his hands.
Her eyes fluttered and opened. They went wide, and he saw that they were a light green. She started to struggle, her mouth opening as she pulled in the breath to shout. When she did, it was a hoarse sound but in a language he did not recognize, and her wrestling was too weak for any kind of effectiveness. He waited, holding the canteen to her mouth once more.
“I can’t understand you,” he said, keeping his voice low and quiet.
Her eyebrows furrowed, bending the scars on her forehead. “Understand?” she asked.
He heard the snuffling outside now and pressed the canteen into her hands. Lifting his thorn rifle, he moved back to the mouth of the cave in time to see a large shadow retreating from the stones he’d piled at the front of the cave. He took aim and squeezed the bulb, listening to the hiss and cough of the thorn as it exited the rifle and closed the distance between them. He could not tell if the poisoned missile clattered off against stone and glass or if it found its mark in the flank of the kin-wolf.
He turned back and saw the woman pulling herself weakly from the blanket. She wasn’t getting far, but the fear on her face was unmistakable. Neb moved slowly toward her, crouching nearby as she tried to pull herself up with trembling arms. Her clothing, wet from sweat, clung to her, and once more, Neb found himself averting his eyes. He thought perhaps the scars upon her arms and neck and face would snare his eyes, but in truth, each line of images pulled toward the curved parts of her he sought to avoid.
Neb swallowed. “You understand Landlish?”
She stopped, her eyes going wide for a moment. She turned to him. “Yes.” She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was hesitant and uncertain. “But. it has been a very long time.”
She settled back now, still eyeing him with suspicion. But when he extended the canteen, she took it and drank from it. He watched as her eyes broke contact with him here and there to take in her surroundings. Each time, he knew she marked some detail.
She is a scout of some kind. Keeping his voice even and low, he asked her the first question that came to mind. “Where are you from?”
“Far away,” she said. “But that doesn’t matter.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you the Abomination?”
The other woman called me that. He did not know how to answer, but the questioning look on his face must have been sufficient. She continued. “The one called Nebios Homeseeker?”
He felt the blood leave his face as the hair on his arms and neck rose. “I’m Neb. How do you know my-?”
She leaned forward, interrupting him, her eyes suddenly wide and wild. “You’re in grave danger. My sisters hunt you even now, and through you, the mechoservitors. You must go.”
Neb blinked, his memory pulling him back to his encounter with the carved kin-raven and the woman in the Wastes who had spoken to him. We see you there as well in your glass cave. He thought of them, magicked and racing across the Wastes, and then he recalled the phial of blood magicks this woman had in her pack. “And what of you?” he asked. “Are you here hunting me as well?” And how is it you can use the magicks and not be killed by their potency?
Their eyes met. “I was not hunting you, though it is what I was sent to do.” She looked away. “I have other matters to attend to.”
He looked to her bandaged shoulder and saw the fresh blood seeping through. “I don’t think you’ll be attending to t
hose matters any time soon.”
Even as he said it, he could see the pain and weariness registering on her face. She settled back into the makeshift bed. “You must leave,” she said again. “My sisters will tend to me.”
Neb glanced toward the mouth of the cave. The kin-wolves had gone quiet, and that meant it was time for him to take up his post. He looked back to the girl. There was urgency in her voice and written into her furrowed brow. “Why would your sisters wish me harm?” Another question dug into him with the sharpness of an Entrolusian cavalry spur. “And why do they call me Abomination?”
“They do,” she said, “because of what you are. But they need to stop the metal dreamers first, and only you can find them.”
“And why are you telling me this?”
Her eyelids drooped, and her voice faltered. “So that you will listen to me and leave while you can.”
She closed her eyes now, and her breathing became heavy. He looked once more to the mouth of the cave, then set himself to changing her dressing and rebandaging her wound. She stirred twice and tried to push him away, but he easily held her in place long enough to finish his work.
Then, he slipped back to the mouth of the cave. He fished the cloth-wrapped icon from his pouch and studied it, careful not to touch it. He had no idea what it was or how it did what it had done, but he did not doubt for a moment that it had shown him one of the mechoservitors who had fled Sanctorum Lux, and that he’d seen Winters, though she looked foreign to him, cleaned and dressed like any other woman in the Named Lands instead of wearing the dirt and ash of her people. The strange carving had even reached beyond the grave to his father Hebda. And he’d seen the women who hunted him, too.
More importantly, they’d seen him. And if this girl spoke the truth, they wanted him to help them find the metal dreamers.
He put the wrapped image away and thought for a moment about pulling out the plain box and the silver crescent that lay within it. The moon was up, and the canticle would be clear. He could taste the code buried in that song, could feel the equations and formulas within the numbers it hid. He knew it lay there, ancient and beguiling, and that somehow the mechoservitors had found a dream within it.
