The Clockwork God

by Jamie Sedgwick

  “How do you do that?” Kale said at some point.

  “Do what?” Micah said absently, staring at his sketch.

  “How can you draw with both hands? I can’t even draw with one.”

  “I don’t know,” Micah said. “I was the only one in my village with this ability. Then again, I was also the only artist. Perhaps it just takes practice.”

  “Maybe,” said Kale, wishing it was true. He’d have given anything to swing a broadsword left-handed with the same dexterity as his right. No amount of practice would ever change the reality that his right arm was stronger and more agile. “What was your village like?”

  Micah paused in his sketching for a moment, and then quickly resumed before he began to speak:

  “Small. So small, compared to the rest of the world. We lived on the ridge of a mountain in huts and tree houses. We farmed what we could from the land, which wasn’t much. The soil was rocky and infertile. We lived mostly off of wild berries and small game.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  Micah sighed. “Because there was no reason to stay,” he said in a melancholy voice.

  Kale narrowed his eyebrows. “A woman?” he said suspiciously.

  Micah glanced at him, and went back to his sketching. Kale took the silence that followed as a sign that his line of questioning had become too personal. He also assumed it meant he was correct, but he was smart enough to drop the subject.

  “How about that scar?” Micah said, nodding towards the angry red mark on Kale’s cheek. “Is that the work of a jealous husband, or lover?”

  Kale subconsciously reached up to touch the scar. The skin was hard there, callused like the hands of a blacksmith, but still red as if it had happened yesterday. “It was a Vangar spear,” he said.

  “A spear? That looks like a burn to me.”

  “It is. The spear hit a boiler I was standing next to. The pain was so bad I blacked out. I was twelve years old. It was the same year the Vangars killed my family.”

  “I’ve heard stories of them, from the crew. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “So they say,” Kale said distantly. He drew his gaze to the north, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding hills for signs of game, but also for any hint of danger. Kale knew well enough that many wild beasts had natural camouflaging abilities that made them all but invisible until they were within striking distance. He had learned to always be wary. Despite his brazen attitude, Kale had a healthy respect for the dangers of the wilds.

  The two men pressed on, falling silent for a time. After putting a good distance between themselves and the train, Micah put his drawings away. The treetops were still no more than a thin line of green on the horizon.

  “Shall we run?” Kale said. “We’d make better time. If you’re up for it, that is.”

  Micah closed his satchel and broke into a sprint. “Just try to keep up!” he called over his shoulder. Kale laughed and took off after him. It didn’t take long for Kale to realize that Micah may have been small, but he could bound across the steppes like a prairie rabbit. To his surprise, Kale did indeed find himself struggling to keep up. Of course, Kale had a good deal more weight to carry. Not only was he several times the size of his companion, but the broadsword on his back probably weighed as much as Micah. Kale also had the long, poorly balanced musket to contend with. It wasn’t long before Kale was huffing and puffing, trying quite seriously just to keep pace, while Micah sprinted ahead tirelessly. Kale pressed on, not about to be outdone by a man less than half his height.

  They crossed two leagues of rolling hills and scattered patches of snow in this manner, until they finally came within sight of a river lined with weeping willows and birch trees. Beyond, dense evergreens closed in, and the forest grew thick and dark. To the north, a hill swept up towards a smooth plateau.

  “Let’s climb up there,” Micah said, pointing at the plateau. “I can make a quick sketch of the landscape for my map.”

  Kale glanced at the sun. It had passed directly overhead while they were running, and was now beginning its slide toward the horizon. “We won’t make it back to the train before nightfall even if we leave now,” he said. “I guess we’ll be traveling by the stars tonight. All right… we’ll take a quick hike up the hill, but I’m only stopping long enough for a meal.”

  “Agreed,” Micah said happily. “Very wise decision.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because you agree with me! There’s no surer measure of a man’s intellect.” Kale couldn’t help laughing as Micah shouldered his satchel and started the climb. Fortunately, it was a relatively short hike to the top, and in a few minutes, they had approached the summit. Kale stopped short when he noticed a wrought iron fence rising out of the hill ahead. He drew the musket from his shoulder and motioned for Micah to remain silent as they proceeded forth. As they neared the top, they were surprised to see tall stone and marble grave markers rising out of the earth.

  “It’s a graveyard,” Micah said. He turned slowly, scanning the surrounding countryside. “There’s nothing else here. Where did it come from?”

  “It’s old,” Kale observed. “Maybe from before the cataclysm.”

  The place was in a terrible state of disrepair. Many of the stones had toppled over, and the sepulchers had collapsed inward under their own weight. In other places the graves looked sunken, as if the coffins had rotted away to nothing, leaving empty spaces in the earth beneath. The rows of grave markers stretched out across the plateau for several hundred yards, separated here and there by dark pathways overgrown with scrub brush and sage, and terminated by tall, ominous looking crypts.

  “There’s something odd about this place,” Micah said. “It feels haunted.”

  “It’s your imagination,” said Kale. “It’s just a graveyard, that’s all.”

  Kale wouldn’t admit it of course, but he had also noticed something unusual about the place. Not just the fact that it was an ancient ruin or a resting place for the dead, but an eerie sensation that he was being watched. It was as if the ghosts from ages past still lurked in the shadows of those tombs and crypts. He approached the tall wrought iron gates, sword at the ready. The hairs were standing on the back of his neck, but Kale wasn’t about to show a hint of fear. Micah had frozen in his tracks several yards back.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t go in there,” Micah said quietly behind him. “You know, sacred ground and all. Wouldn’t want the uh, the spirits to take offense.”

  Kale was inclined to agree, but his thirst for adventure had a hold of him and it was too late to back down now without looking a coward. “Wait here,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m just taking a quick look around.”

  “Be careful,” Micah said.

  The tall wrought iron gate creaked ominously as Kale pushed through and stepped inside. A forest of headstones and ancient, decaying statues rose up before him. All around, he saw signs of rot and neglect. Bits and pieces of ancient text appeared here and there on the stones, but they were worn beyond legibility and many were covered in the moss and the overgrowth of centuries. He heard the sound of his companion’s footsteps retreating to the edge of the plateau, and a grim smile came to his lips. He pressed on.

  A tall statue of a woman appeared up ahead. She wore long robes and had fine, straight hair that fell over her worn features. Her neck bent forward so that her face seemed to frown down over those who passed by on the trail beneath her. Kale felt a strange sadness as he glanced up at her face. He couldn’t help but think the statue had been modeled after a real woman; a woman who had long since succumbed to death’s dark grasp. There was a sorrow in her face so real and tangible that Kale was sure the woman had lived a hard life, and lost everyone she loved. It almost seemed that if he stared long enough, the stone might come to life and begin weeping.

  He slipped past, telling himself it was all his imagination. Kale pushed his way through the scrub brush and eventually came to a tall crypt covered with ivy and moss. Grotesque, dem
onic faces leered down at him from atop the marble pillars, and recessed beams framed the heavy iron doors. The doors stood partially open, and Kale noted the broken sections of iron chain lying scattered on the ground before them.

  He stood there a moment, gathering his courage, feeling the weight of the musket in his hands. The thought flashed through his mind that this building may have been turned into a lair by some wild and dangerous creature. Kale’s only companion was beyond shouting distance, and would be of no help in a dire situation. By the time the crew of the Iron Horse learned of his fate, it would already be too late. It would be foolhardy to venture into such a place under those conditions.

  “Foolhardy indeed,” Kale murmured as he stepped up to the threshold and shouldered the door open wide enough to allow him entrance.

  Chapter 3

  Micah didn’t like Kale leaving him alone in that place. He could sense evil spirits and wandering ghosts of the dead all around him. Every gust of the cold north wind sent a chill down his spine, and he started at the sounds of quivering branches and leaves blowing across the tombs. Still, it was better to be there, outside the graveyard, than joining his companion on the mad quest into the tombs.

  Micah and his kind had a healthy respect for the dead, and for all the wandering spirits of the world. Unlike humans and Tal’mar, who believed the spirits of the dead simply passed on to another world, Micah’s race believed their ghosts remained to wander the world until they found the chance to be born again into a new mortal flesh. Disrespecting such creatures and their resting places was taboo of the highest order. So Micah wandered back to the edge of the plateau to wait, restlessly watching Kale delve deeper and deeper into that ghostly cemetery. When it became apparent that Kale wasn’t going to return right away, Micah finally remembered the reason he’d climbed the hill in the first place. He settled down cross-legged on the ground, facing north with his back to the creepy graveyard, and opened his satchel. He produced several good quality parchments and began sketching the layout of the land along the railroad tracks, all the way up to the river and into the woods.

  Micah’s work absorbed him, and a few minutes later he had almost completely forgotten where he was. Kale was but a distant thought in the back of his mind. It was the lines that drew him in. Micah couldn’t help being absorbed by them. He saw the way they formed the landscape, the way the river cut through the earth and the trees thrust up toward the heavens. He saw the shadows stretching out across blades of grass…

  Micah heard a noise behind him. He snapped his head around, staring into the shadowy corners of the cemetery’s undergrowth. He noticed suddenly that it was getting dark, and wondered how long he’d been drawing. It couldn’t have been that long. He was only on his third sketch. He scanned the area, searching for any sign of movement, straining to hear another noise.

  “Kale?” he said quietly. “Is that you?”

  No response, other than a slight rustle of leaves in the breeze.

  Micah rose to his feet and glanced at the sky. He noticed with some trepidation that the sun had moved halfway down towards the horizon. Already, shadows were growing long. He hastily rolled up his drawings and tucked them back in his satchel. He settled back down on the ground, this time facing the eerie necropolis.

  Micah stared into the shadows for a while, watching and waiting, desperately hoping Kale would come walking out with that stupid grin on his face and say something like, “Did I scare you?” When that didn’t happen, Micah once again turned to the only thing that could settle the anxiousness in the pit of his belly. He produced a fresh parchment and began sketching the graveyard.

  Micah’s sharp eyes gathered the angles and shadows, and the rugged, tilting lines of the tombstones. He hastily sketched out the tall, rectangular shapes looming over him and then captured the pieces of grave markers lying broken on the ground. He sketched in the ghastly faces carved into the crypts and sepulchers, and then began working on the ivy and scrub brush, and the nearly invisible pathways leading through the maze of tombs.

  The distant ringing sound of steel on stone sent a chill crawling up his spine. Micah rose to his feet, staring into the lengthening shadows. He heard a human outcry in the distance, followed by the sound of something large and powerful tearing through the underbrush. Up ahead, the branches shook and rattled on the trail.

  Micah took an unconscious step back, and stumbled as he tripped over his satchel. He fell backwards, landing hard on his rump. At that very moment, Kale burst out of the bushes.

  “Run!” he shouted, his eyes wild with panic. “Run for your life!”

  Kale’s face was white as a sheet. He flew out through the cemetery gates and past Micah, waving his sword wildly in the air with both hands. The musket was nowhere to be seen.

  Micah struggled to his feet and scrambled to gather the maps and parchments that had spilled out of his bag. Frantically, he shoved the papers back inside. He turned to run after Kale, but then paused. Somehow, curiosity got the best of him. Micah turned and squinted into the darkness under the brush around the tombs, wondering what manner of thing might have so frightened his heroic companion. He saw nothing. No movement, no flashes of light or color. He didn’t hear anything either, except for the distant footfalls of Kale’s boots as he went charging down the hillside.

  A distant moaning sound echoed through the graveyard. It was like the sound of a tree swaying in the night, or the wind moaning through the eaves. Was it his imagination? Micah couldn’t tell. The sound was so faint, so ethereal… The branches rustled slightly, but the movement was hardly noticeable. Certainly it was no more than a breeze.

  Was that what had frightened Kale so? Micah thought. A breeze in the branches? A smile swept over Micah’s features, and he took a step closer. He heard the moan again, soft and distant, and he laughed.

  “Kale!” he called over his shoulder. “You fool, you’ve run away from a breeze! Get back here!”

  He took a step towards the gate, reaching up to touch the cold wrought iron bars. As he did, a shape stirred in the brush. Suddenly, a tall humanlike creature burst out of the foliage and came lurching towards him. Micah’s jaw dropped open. His eyes bulged and his heart hammered in his chest. He froze, one hand still clinging to the gate, the other desperately wringing the strap of his leather satchel at his shoulder. Terrified as he was, Micah couldn’t move. A panicked cry slid from his lips, an attempt to scream that fizzled into little more than a whimper.

  A few yards away, the lumbering creature caught sight of him and headed directly for Micah. Behind it came another, and then another. They were hideous, more like corpses than humans, with rotting flesh and empty eye sockets. Their clothes were worn and disheveled, as if they had been rotting in those crypts for decades, and parts of their bodies had rotted away to the bone.

  A heavy hand thumped down on Micah’s shoulder and a terrified “squeak!” erupted from his lips. He slapped at his opponent, but Kale caught him by the wrists and spun the smaller man around to face him.

  “I. Said. Run!” Kale shouted at him. He lifted Micah from the ground and tossed the diminutive man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Micah could do little more than cling desperately to his satchel as Kale took off at a sprint down the hill. They flew to the base of the plateau, dashing into the shelter of the willows along the riverbank.

  Kale paused there to catch his breath and return his companion to the earth. As one, they turned to stare back towards the hill. In the distance, they saw dark silhouettes of human corpses lurching down the slope.

  “Devils! They’re not stopping,” Micah said breathlessly. “We have to run.”

  Kale spun around, surveying the river.

  “It’s too wide to cross here. And with our luck, those things can probably swim.”

  “Up there,” Micah said, pointing in the direction of the railroad tracks. “I think I see a bridge.” Kale squinted into the shadows, nodding silently.

  “All right then, let’s move.
They’re bound to lose our trail eventually.”

  They took off at a run, bounding through the brush and undergrowth, leaping fallen trees and branches. Micah easily paced his companion in this terrain. He was quite adept at running and leaping through the forest. Shortly, they reached the area where the railroad tracks plunged into the woods. There they found a train bridge with steel girders and trusses, and alongside it a wooden footbridge just wide enough for a wagon. The companions wasted no time crossing the footbridge. They went racing down the road beyond, into the shadows under the dense forest canopy, not even pausing to look back.

  By the time they had run out of breath, the forest had closed in around them and the railroad tracks had disappeared somewhere off to their left. Kale slowed to a jog and then stopped. He found a good-sized stump alongside the road and thumped down, his massive chest heaving, streams of sweat running down his face. Micah leaned up against the stump next to him, pressing his forehead against the cool, damp, moss-covered wood.

  “Think they’re gone?” Micah said breathlessly, his voice muffled by the moss.

  Kale had his eyes fixed on the road, and he didn’t blink as he responded. “If we haven’t lost them by now, we never will.”

  “Pleasant thought.” Micah pushed away from the stump and walked to the center of the road. He settled down on the ground, staring back the way had come. “Do you think we should go back?”

  That was enough to draw Kale’s gaze back to his companion. He stared at Micah a moment, pondering the question. “I’m not going back there until daylight,” he said. “Maybe not even then.”

  Micah nodded, tilting his head to the side. “Then it seems we have two choices. We can make camp for the night, or keep walking… the other way. We might eventually cross the tracks again. We can wait for the Horse there.”

  Kale pulled his gaze away from Micah to stare down the narrow road. A thought occurred to him.

  “This is a traveled road,” he said absently.