“It looks good,” Tamerlan said absently. His mind was still working on what he’d just read, and he was barely paying attention as he said, “Maybe add a belt that moves between two pulleys attached to that gear there and that one there. That would mean you could drive the new gear from the motion of the rotary action over here.”
He paused. What had made him say that? But Jhinn was just smiling and nodding encouragingly.
“Good, good,” he said before choosing a wrench from his leather bag and getting back to work.
Tamerlan shook his head. Sometimes it felt like his mind – even his mouth – weren’t his own anymore. It was disconcerting but he’d be more concerned about it if he didn’t have so much already bothering him. He looked back down at the book and at the corner where his hand had been idly sketching with the sharp charcoal Etienne had found for him. He shouldn’t be marking up books. Especially not library books in the rain with a tarp spread over him like a child under the covers.
But there in black and white was her face. Again.
Marielle.
He thought about her so constantly that he drew her face without thinking. He dreamt of her every night. Longing, anguished dreams.
Last night he’d watched her fleeing from an army, only to turn into a tree to hide. The army had lit the tree on fire and the cracks and pops as it burned sounded like her screaming.
Was his obsession with her guilt or was attachment? Or was it something else entirely? He didn’t even know anymore. All he knew was that he needed to get her out.
Two months and she was still in the clock.
Two months and he still hadn’t caught the Legend who put her there – the Grandfather. Even the voices in his head were growing dumbfounded. Every time he was close, the Grandfather slipped away into the shadows.
They’d chased him from tavern to inn to temple in each of the remaining four cities. And they were no closer to catching him now than they’d been when they left the choking smoke of H’yi.
It was hard to chase the Grandfather. They’d lose his trail for weeks, only to suddenly catch wind of him somewhere. Wherever he was caused a flurry of activity among the Timekeepers – his priests – and that was their only hint most of the time. But they’d arrived at the Sun of Light Temple in Xin last time, only to find it empty and a single Timekeeper priest left to stare blankly as they asked their questions.
That was when Etienne had decided to turn to Yan.
“We haven’t tried there yet,” was his weak reasoning.
Tamerlan blinked, his single working eye squinting at the text again. Maybe this time there would be a key in the book. Someone had to know something about how Grandfather Timeless worked. Someone had to have known him before he was a Legend.
His single eye slid along the line of words and he fought against the irrational fear that one eye meant he was missing something – not seeing something right there. He worried that maybe he’d breezed over something because his single eye was too tired – something important.
He blinked and read the last sentence again.
“For what can stop time? No mortal or Legend can quell the passing of the years or the ravaging of them. For what we build up, time tears down. What we birth, time ages. What we delight in is no more and even the ashes of it fade away. But seize wisdom and learn from understanding. Let it open your eyes to truth and let all your paths be guided by it. Look, wisdom opens the gate and understanding the mountain. Look, they have buried insight under the waters and prudence under the rocks.”
He sighed. This whole book read like that. Sure, it talked about time. And yes, he loved to read this kind of text when he wasn’t desperate for answers. He loved to think about wisdom and philosophy and dream about what could be. But right now, this was worse than useless. There was no key here for trapping the Grandfather. And he was going to have to figure out a trap of some kind. All this stalking and hunting wasn’t doing anything. He was always a dozen steps ahead of them.
Tamerlan opened the other book – the one that kept worrying him but that he kept returning to, over and over, again and again. It was a book entitled Prophecies of the Latter Legends and it spoke in a complicated, vague way that should have annoyed him and yet he resonated with it.
“Beware the Howling Dark. The last remains of the shell of humanity, the last derelict flesh of the forgotten mind. Beware when it steals your voice and covers your desires. Beware when it howls, ever echoing down the chambers of the mind until all is forgotten but dusk and dust. Beware. For many have tried but few have succeeded. Many have crossed the final bridge only to discover there is no way back and that they left themselves on the far side of that great river which is death.”
The Howling Dark worried him. It sounded a bit too much like his mind now that the Legends had taken it over. He turned a page, ignoring the drip of the rain and the click of Jhinn’s tools and the rising scent of algae and water lilies as the rain teased it out.
“Do you think we can trap him, Jhinn? How do you trap a Legend?”
“How did they trap Deathless Pirate?”
Tamerlan shivered, thinking back to when they’d seen his avatar floating under the ocean in a metal cage. “I don’t know, but however they did it, it wasn’t very nice.”
Jhinn shrugged. “Then your solution won’t be very nice. Do you think it needs a device? Like the clock? I could try making a clock when I’m done with this gondola.”
A loud thump brought Tamerlan’s head up in time to see Etienne land on the boat. He’d jumped from the bridge above, rain soaking his cloak and dripping dark hair. The half-light of a stormy day drew his face in stark, haggard lines – he always looked haggard now, more with every snatch of news they received in every city. Tamerlan would have almost felt sorry for him except that the worn look of guilt on his face was deserved. They were brothers in shame. Partners in crime. Twins in unabsolved sin.
“You’re not drawing in the margins again?” Etienne asked, snatching the book from Tamerlan’s hands. “Her again! Always her. Clear your mind, Alchemist! You won’t find the Grandfather when you’re daydreaming.” He threw the book back at Tamerlan and Tamerlan barely caught it.
“I have a lead – a hint of where we can find our quarry,” Etienne said grimly. “Strap on your sword and let’s go.”
“Right now?” Tamerlan blinked in surprise as he carefully wrapped the books back up in oilcloth to protect them.
“You want to wait? You haven’t done enough waiting?” He was on edge, his eyes firing and his words snapping out like whips.
Tamerlan looked around them at the boats huddled together under the bridge in the rain – it was easy to forget they were there when the rain muffled the sounds from boat to boat.
Everyone minded their own business in these moments. They were forced together by weather and geography. No need to make more of it than it was. And yet there was anonymity in numbers. In daylight, moving in the canals would bring notice.
“Waiting is better than being caught by the Harbingers,” Tamerlan said. “I’m telling you, they’re following us. I swear I saw the woman – Liandari? – when I was in the market yesterday. Her eyes are sharp.” It had definitely been her. He’d barely given her the slip once she’d caught sight of him.
“You worry too much about them,” Etienne said. But he looked worried, too. It was hard enough to be hunters without being the hunted, too. And at their last stop, the innkeeper had mentioned someone was looking for them – someone with a sharp sword and coin to spend on information. “We need to go before we lose the trail again. Who knows how long he’ll stay this time?”
And that was as true as breathing.
“What will we do when we find him?” Tamerlan asked as he strapped his swords on. “He’ll only slip away again. We need some kind of trap.”
He slipped his rolls of Spices into his sleeve and tried not to think about all the times that the Legend had given them the slip. It was hard to find and catch a Lege
nd. It was worse when he wasn’t bound by time like they were.
“This time will be different,” Etienne muttered. “We don’t have a trap. We don’t have any allies. All we have is surprise.”
Different, Different. Different.
The voices in Tamerlan’s head were in unison this time. They wanted this too. Or maybe that was him. He couldn’t tell one from another anymore. His hands shook in anticipation.
This time, he’d be ready. This time, he’d catch the Grandfather, no matter what he had to do.
3: Inside the Clock
Marielle
THE TICK OF THE UNIVERSE was in her ears – always.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t been watching or that she hadn’t seen. It was that she was seeing everything, all the time.
Because she was time and when you are time, everything is always happening at once inside you – the roll of the seasons as seen from the stars. The life of a man as seen by the burning cosmos. The rise and fall of generations as seen by the mountains looming above.
Everything.
All the time.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t seeing what was happening to her friends. It was just that it was hard to pick out what was happening now instead of thirty years ago. Or thirty years from now. And that made her head ache because the future was blurry – like watching the same person overlaid on a scene a hundred different times and all one hundred of that person were doing slightly different things – or vastly different things. When you were talking about hundreds of variations, it went from incremental to enormous in the blink of an eye.
And that was what she’d been doing.
She’d been blinking.
And with every blink, she tried to get closer to the time when she’d been put in the clock.
To now.
To Marielle.
And what if she was too late – if she forgot who she was? She didn’t dare think about that.
4: The Whisper
Tamerlan
YAN CITY WAS LAID OUT just like Jingen and Xin had been. Just like H’yi. Just like every city of the Dragonblood Plains. But just like the other cities, it had subtleties of its own. Here, the canals were wider and slower moving. Here there were more oxen pulling carts and more people jammed into the streets. Buildings were higher and more crowded and the people in Yan had an obsession with carefully wrought lanterns and woven rugs. They could be seen hanging in any space available or layered one upon the other on the floors of their dwellings. Hawkers sold them faster than hotcakes on the streets. Surely, everyone must have as many as they could afford. And yet more were being sold all the time.
Tamerlan’s single eye scanned the streets, taking in the sellers of chalk hiding under canopies as the rain poured down. Chalk was an important part of the week-long Autumngale Festival. But getting it wet wouldn’t help anything. And who was going to buy it in Yan City where everyone watched the world with hollow eyes?
“Chalk for the festival? Chalk to win the city?” a hawker cried, holding up a stick of chalk as fat as Tamerlan’s thumb.
One of them looked his way and then quickly looked away again. Tamerlan laughed internally. No, he and Etienne did not look like chalk buyers, did they?
He glanced at the other man. As usual, Etienne strode through the city like he owned the place, waving off hawkers like servants. But looking like you owned a place and actually owning it, were two entirely different things.
“News from Xin City,” a crier yelled. “A penny and I will tell you how it has been rebuilt after the fires. Two, and I’ll tell you who holds power there now!”
Etienne waved him off irritably. Etienne probably knew better than the newscrier anyway. He visited Xin City often – and always without Tamerlan. It was one of many reasons why their hunt for the Grandfather had been delayed.
The crier tried a last attempt as they melted into the crowd. “Five pennies and I’ll tell you why H’yi burned to the ground while Xin still stands!”
Like they needed to know. They’d seen the firs themselves. Comparing Xin to H’yi was like comparing a candle to a campfire.
A child hid from the rain against a stone wall as they passed, his clothing ragged, his cheeks gaunt. The huddle of cloth behind him could be a mother, given up hope after being a refugee for months. Or it could be a child seller. Or a dead man. It was impossible to know. So many orphans in the cities now, and so many belonging to families too poor to feed and clothe them – and all of them needed more than Tamerlan could give. Though he tried to help where he could.
He pressed a pair of coins into the child’s hand, sinking to his knee for a moment to whisper, “Get something hot to eat, hmmm?”
The child’s gap-toothed grin made his heart lurch. The boy needed more than a couple of coins. When all this was done and the Grandfather was dealt with, Tamerlan was going to start an orphanage. A place for children who needed more help than a coin could give.
He hurried to catch up to Etienne who caught his eye before raising a single brow. He didn’t hand out coins on the street.
“You only draw attention that way,” he said gruffly – repeating what he said last time. “Better to have given the coins to the newscrier.”
Tamerlan ignored him. Maybe they’d never catch the Grandfather. Maybe they’d never save the cities. But they could do this good thing right now. So, why not do it?
“News! Hear ye all!” a second crier said from the street corner. Here in Yan, they dressed in red so they could be seen easily. If only it were easier to ignore them. They were thick as flies on the troubled city and they never said anything Tamerlan wished they would say. “Lord Fable has declared this year the Year of the Cantonelles! Cantonelle players will be here to play in every inn and city square throughout the Festival!”
Tamerlan clenched his jaw. Cantonelles. They played cantonelles in his home Landhold. They were his father’s favorite music. More evidence of Decebal’s growing hold in Yan showed up on the streets every day and every day Tamerlan clenched his fists tighter and pressed his lips more closely together.
“Dragon cursed cantonelles,” he muttered, but he was distracted. Yan was not a happy city. If his father would stop maneuvering and actually use his power for something good, he could do something about that.
Lines of refugees filled the streets, choking the pathways even here in the Temple District. The palace was offering a daily dole of bread and soup – but only once a day and only to those who agreed to live outside the city walls. They were marked with woven bands of leather around their heads. Anyone wearing the band could receive the dole. And anyone wearing the band wasn’t welcome within the city walls after dark.
Despite the lash of the harsh autumn rain, people waited in long hollow-eyed lines.
And with every look they shot at Tamerlan he shivered. He didn’t have enough coins for all of them. Not even for all the children. Glimpses of them tore his heart to shreds. This wasn’t how they were meant to live. But he was the one who took their homes and stability. He needed to smoke and forget again.
Yes! Forget again! We wait for you. That was Lila Cherrylocks. She sounded hungrier every time she spoke now. And he was sure she was holding out on him – waiting until he caved and smoked again.
And yet he didn’t dare do that. The last time he’d smoked, he’d lost the vision of his eye. And with every day that passed without a puff of the Spice, his hands shook more wildly and the voices grew louder.
Why didn’t Etienne’s hands shake? Was it because he only smoked once?
Or is it because Grandfather Time went free? His body doesn’t crave the return of a Legend who can’t come back to it anymore, Lila suggested. Which is why it can’t hurt you if you only call up the Legends you’ve called before.
An interesting theory. But Tamerlan had no control over which Legends came over the Bridge.
I’m an interesting person.
Half the time he didn’t know if Lila was flirting with him or just being hers
elf.
Both. Of course.
Tamerlan couldn’t look anymore at the small children in line, clinging to adult hands with hollow eyes. Children shouldn’t have to bear the debt of their elders.
He tried to focus on where he and Etienne were going instead. They were nearly in the Temple District. He could see the spires of the Timekeeper’s temples and cathedrals up ahead. The Smudgers wouldn’t be there. They had not returned since the day Tamerlan had released Jingen and they’d fled to the hills north of the Five Cities.
He glanced at one of their temples. Brazier holders were empty outside the gate. People had stolen the bronze bowls from the holders and the way the door hung ajar suggested that the inside had been raided, too.
We’ll help the children tonight, Byron Bronzebow promised. This time, you’ll call me, and we’ll do it right.
Tamerlan’s hand shook as he felt the oil-cloth package in his pocket – the rolls of Spices just waiting to be smoked. Maybe this time he really would call Byron Bronzebow. He and Etienne tried to help the refugees every night – but two people could only do so much. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to call on a Legend to help.
He swallowed, his mouth dry at the thought.
It would be wise. A good idea.
Or maybe not.
He pulled his hand back from his pocket. He felt eyes on the back of his neck, but when he spun to see who was watching him there was no one who stood out from the crowd.
He looked up to the upper rooms and roofs above. Nothing.
He peered down the alleys. Still nothing.
Maybe he was just getting paranoid.
Autumngale Page 2
