by Beth Cato
Medicians had been part of this creation; Balthazar Cody’s interest in magic now made perfect sense. It was all part of his hobby, his business. That was evident in the extravagant circle in the floor and the manner of the creature’s melding. As much as Octavia loved Leaf, she wondered at the cruelty behind his creation—how could the Lady be part of this?
Octavia walked forward, hand extended as if she offered a carrot to a horse. “Hello there, little one who’s not so little,” she said. The long ears trembled.
“Miss Leander!” Alonzo’s voice rose in alarm. She knew his elevated heartbeat, the readiness of his muscles. His hand ready to grab a Gadsden that’s not there.
“It’s okay. She’s not going to hurt me.” The feminine pronoun felt appropriate, though the creature was truly neuter in gender.
“My God.” Mr. Cody gasped. “Look at how it’s responding to her.”
“And how should she be responding?” Octavia kept her gaze on the chimera.
“By now, anyone else would have been pummeled into the ground.”
Throughout the hangar, all other work on mechas had stopped. The engineers congregated behind Mr. Cody and Alonzo. Their songs formed a wall of excitement.
“Mr. Cody,” said Alonzo. “Your ‘little birds.’ Your gremlins. They have told you about us?”
“Yes. My first chimeras use a human voice box. They act as translators for other gremlins. They do like to gossip. Word spread of a medician, a worker of the Tree, who had offered unusual kindness to gremlins. That they should all be on the lookout for her in order to offer any possible aid.” Mr. Cody said this low enough for just Alonzo and Octavia to hear, not the other workers. “I have never heard of them regarding someone like that before.”
“You cannot communicate with this new mechanical creature?” asked Alonzo.
“Not for lack of effort. This chimera is sullen, angry. It doesn’t want to speak to me.”
The black nose of the gremlin snuffled at Octavia. A few strands of hair loosened from her updo and tickled at her cheeks as the headband pushed back to her shoulders. So close, the creature reeked of metal, wild game, mustiness, and enchanted aether. An aether magus has worked on this as well—the wings, I imagine. She tugged off a glove and tucked it into her satchel. Shushing to comfort the chimera, Octavia rested a hand against the wrinkled green skin of the creature’s face.
And promptly dropped into pulsing black nothingness.
She knew the gremlin’s despair by the way the emotion manifested throughout the body—sluggishness, lethargy, a reaction she’d seen with any man kept in chains for a time. The creature’s scars were recent, the memory of pain still vivid within the body, the way a flash of light sears vision in the darkness. The muscles—she had been chained here for weeks. The ache to move, to fly—though she can’t fly far, even magicked. The weight is too much.
Mr. Cody spoke in the background but his voice was an indecipherable roar, as if Octavia heard him while submersed underwater. The chimera’s three hearts ticked faster. The gremlin hates him. She knows Mr. Cody is the cause of all this pain.
Through the creature’s muscle memory, Octavia felt jolts of electricity that left flesh singed as each heart sparked to life again. Once life existed, that’s when the medician stepped in. Patients must always acquiesce for a healing to occur. The gremlin, confused as she was, acquiesced—anything to stop the pain. The Lady then acted with mercy.
Octavia opened her eyes. Hot tears streamed down her face. “I am so sorry.”
The chimera trilled and rubbed her face against Octavia as if to comfort her. Octavia laughed as she stumbled back a step.
“Will you look at that!” said Mr. Cody. “It’s like an oversize kitten with her. Now we just need to channel the anger it has shown before and I’ll win my bout. It’s all about proper direction.”
The heartbeats roared. Rage. Hatred. Those were already channeled—toward Mr. Cody. Octavia turned to face him, hating him just as much. A peculiar heat poured from her chest and into her extremities. As it flowed over her bloodletting arm, the pain of a thousand zinging needles raced to her brain. She screamed and fell to her knees. Black spots swarmed over her vision.
Body heat. Strong arms. The brass-filled song. Alonzo. She pressed her face deeper into his chest. His touch felt so good, so right. She breathed him in. That cinnamon scent had returned, reminding her of pampria leaves and Frengian pastries, all the finest things in life.
She blinked several times before her eyes managed to stay open. “What happened?”
“I know not.” His broad hand cupped her cheek.
“Is she all right?” asked Mr. Cody. The chimera trilled low. No, not a trill. A growl.
Lady! I felt like I could have killed Mr. Cody with my glare alone, and the wrongness of wanting, craving, his death struck me in a backlash.
What is happening to me?
“I’m okay,” she called, her voice hoarse.
Alonzo’s brow furrowed. “I know this power of yours comes through the Lady. I worry that she forgets you are human. A copper wire can be overloaded by a current.”
Octavia nodded, unsure of what to say. A dark shadow loomed over them. The chimera’s massive catlike nose snuffled over Alonzo as he helped her to sit up. Mr. Cody still stood beyond the circle and the reach of the chains. Behind him, the engineers made slashing motions across their chests, their gazes on her troubled. They know something has changed about the creature and they’re blaming me, my magic. Tamarans aren’t that different from Caskentians, really. Fear and ignorance are still there. A few more years of education hasn’t changed much.
“Whatever you did, Miss Leander, I am in awe!” Mr. Cody practically crowed in delight. “The chimera looks functional. You do have a profound connection with my constructs, both little and big.”
Constructs. That makes them sound so disposable, like children’s toys to be battered and then thrown in the trash. Even “chimera” is a better term.
The creature’s name occurred to her then: Chi.
There I go, naming things again. At least my horse was spared.
She glared at Mr. Cody. “This construct, as you put it, has been restrained far too long. It’s easy to see she’s in pain.”
“That was a better option than killing her and wasting years of effort.” Mr. Cody straightened his cravat. “Well! You have already fulfilled the first part of the deal, and before I properly proposed it.”
Alonzo grimaced as Chi nuzzled his thick queue of hair. “Let us not dither further, then. What are the terms of our agreement?”
“I will grant you access to my private library for your search. In turn, Miss Leander will ensure I have a healthy, functional mecha for the bout. Mr. Garret, you will be the pilot. I’m not so foolish as to order you to win, though I do expect full participation in the battle. I’m not a gambler in that sense.”
Alonzo tilted his head to one side. “This is an exhibition.”
A sparkle lit Mr. Cody’s eyes. “Yes. No one has brought in a biological blend before. It’s enough to make a proper show and survive.”
Survive. Mr. Cody’s callous abuse of magic and life made Octavia feel filthy in his very presence. He’ll use me. He’ll use Alonzo. He’ll use his chimera. He’s already playing a game of Warriors, and the bout hasn’t even begun.
“I don’t like this in the slightest.” She met Mr. Cody’s gaze levelly. “The very idea of the Arena sets me on edge. I’ve seen war. It’s not a game. And you would throw Mr. Garret into the thick of that, and on a living creature that’s had no say in the matter.”
“Of course it’s had no say. Do you ask horses if they want to join the cavalry?” Mr. Cody looked genuinely puzzled.
The man could speak with some of his gremlins, but he didn’t comprehend their sentience. Or he doesn’t care. Leaf had been bright
enough to learn dozens of words within a span of hours, and he was a mere baby. Chi had all the more potential. If she survives.
“Octavia.” Alonzo’s voice lowered to a husky whisper. “I understand well the reasons for your objections. There is inherent risk here. However, Cody has acquired the southern nations’ knowledge about your art. If we do not agree, I fear we will have no other recourse.”
“You would give up that quickly? We’ve been here for all of a day!”
“Long enough to gain a feel for our odds of success. Remember, survival is our primary goal, not the Lady. Judging by how we already encountered a Dagger by sheer accident, ’tis not prudent to stay here for any length of time.”
“You speak about survival and this Arena bout together. It doesn’t make sense.”
“People do die in these matches, but ’tis not a gladiatorial fight. ’Tis more about strategy in reaching the top. Death is not the intent.”
“Ah yes, and that makes it all fine and dandy.” She struggled to keep her trembling voice at a low volume. “You keep reminding me that I can’t heal people here, but if you’re in the Arena, if you’re injured . . .”
The previous day had been hard enough, separated on train cars with no idea how to reunite, but the thought of continuing alone caused her chest to squeeze in a vise of terror. No, not simply because of the mission to find the Lady, or because I rely on his skills to survive against Caskentia and the Waste.
Alonzo, you can’t leave me alone. Octavia couldn’t say the words. They clogged in her throat, thick as logs.
He looked past her to the chimera. “I know your beastie on the airship was far brighter than one would think. This large beastie here—how much does he—she—understand?”
“A great deal, I think. Just talk to her the way I talked to Leaf. She’ll show you if she comprehends. I named her Chi, by the way.”
“Chi. Of course you did.” He shook his head, smiling. “Very well.” And like that, he vaulted up the side of Chi. His sore ribs didn’t slow him, even as his song warbled at the abrupt movement. It was to Alonzo’s benefit that the chimera was as surprised as everyone else. She froze in place, black eyes unblinking. Between the green wrinkled flesh and copper plating, Alonzo had abundant handholds. It took a matter of seconds for him to reach Chi’s back and nestle in at the base of her wings.
Octavia sensed Chi’s rising alarm and stood, arms extended. “Shush, Chi, shush. It’s all right. You’re strong. You can be ridden. Do you have memories of the time before you were melded? Of seeing people on horseback? It doesn’t hurt horses to be sat upon. There. Relax.” The heartbeats calmed, though the ears still twitched.
Though what Mr. Cody has in mind may very well hurt. Oh Lady.
“Miss Leander.” Alonzo leaned over to see her. “I have broken green horses before. We will learn together.” He stroked the chimera’s short neck. Chi chirped—a pleasant sound.
“Have you trained a war-horse in two days?” Octavia hissed.
“No, but this is no mere war-horse. Do you understand me, beastie? Can you flare out your wings?”
With a metallic snap, the wings extended fully. They almost reached the sides of the inlaid circle. From base to wing tip, they had to be twenty feet in length. Beautiful, and a fine target.
“Magnificent!” cried Mr. Cody, applauding. “This will be the debut of the year!”
Frustrated, disgusted, and relieved all at once, Octavia backed away.
“Mr. Garret, we have a full training course where you can teach the chimera how to navigate the Warriors’ mountain. I will show you that in a moment. Boys, go get the saddle and reins. Let’s do this properly.” Mr. Cody eagerly motioned Octavia closer and whispered, “Miss Leander, I know time is essential, Daggers and all. My clerk can show you upstairs to the library.”
She looked at Alonzo. She wanted to linger within range of his body’s song to make sure he stayed safe; at the same time, she ached to flee for fear of what might happen, what she might see, what she might be helpless to repair. If I have to use another leaf on that man, I’ll revive him just so I can throttle him.
Then there was Chi, who had already suffered so much. Octavia knew she could tend to the chimera without a circle, though it worried her to think of how such an effort would tax her.
This deal with Balthazar Cody needed to be over and done with for all of their sakes. “Promise me that if Mr. Garret or the chimera is injured, you’ll fetch me immediately.”
“I can do that, absolutely. I also keep doctors on staff down here at all times.”
“Very well,” she said, though it was anything but. “Please show me to your library.”
CHAPTER 6
Octavia had never thought it was possible to grow weary of a library, but after a full day skimming through Mr. Cody’s volumes, she had reached the threshold of being so. The man possessed at least fifty books solely about the Lady and the Tree, and hundreds more on the full spectrum of magic and magi.
“Fiddlesticks,” she muttered, rubbing one forearm and then the other.
The same facts about the Lady repeated time and again, circling like a flying-horse carousel. The Lady was rooted somewhere in the Dallows. She was once a grieving mother. Stories first referenced her about seven hundred years ago, but there were very few books older than that on any subject matter. Each of Cody’s books on magi observed that the Tree had potent healing properties. A few stated the existence of several such Trees around the world, though the number ranged from three to seven. How that number came about at all was a puzzle, as it was universally accepted that the Trees used magic to veil themselves.
Most of the books were over a century in age and published within Mercia or the southern nations. She was surprised by statistics that made medicians sound much more common then—numbering in thousands, not a scant few hundred. Why had the number of healing magi dropped so? In the southern nations, she could see young medicians being repressed so that they never trained to fulfill their potential. In Caskentia, perhaps, many were dying of wounds, malnutrition, or other effects of the war. Five girls had died during her ten years at the academy, after all.
Octavia scribbled notes and questions as she read. Why would a Tree suddenly become visible, as the Lady had during King Kethan’s youth? Why could the Wasters find it by foot now? How were they getting past the wyrms and threems that were said to defend the Tree? If these Trees produced one seed in their lifetimes, this suggested that their lives were limited to a finite number of years, but Miss Percival had always said that the Lady’s Tree was immortal. Not that those teachings could be trusted anymore. Octavia had learned the hard way that the Lady defied expectations.
The data on medicians was just as redundant and useless. After seeing the same pencil notations across several books, she could only surmise they were in Mr. Cody’s hand. He had circled passages that described how to build effective circles into floors or portable surfaces, the peculiar need to bloodlet, even the odds on medician skills being passed down from one generation to the next—a subject that led to very diverse conclusions.
Considering how he’s made gremlins, it’s vexing to think of the man searching for a hereditary trait for medicians. My own experience would discourage him, at least. My mother doctored, but I don’t know of anyone else in my family with the knack. Miss Percival once said that it just seemed to happen to some girls and boys, as though we sniffed the right flower.
Reading about bloodletting made her more conscious of the continued problem she was having with her arms. The blemish around her incision had grown a deeper brown, the texture scaly. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, and she had seen a great deal. It didn’t hurt, really—it itched as though the skin stretched. Her other forearm now featured a growing patch of brown of its own.
When she had set herself in a circle and asked the Lady to
intercede, nothing had happened.
The Lady’s apparent denial of her request perturbed her. I know she disapproves of what the Wasters are doing, marketing her bark as a tea. So why won’t she show us a direct route to the Tree so that we may stop them? And this condition on my skin is definitely not normal, yet pampria didn’t even absorb into my body, as if everything were perfectly well. Nothing makes sense.
I need answers, and instead, the questions are piling up like autumn leaves.
Something clattered against the window. Octavia jumped in her seat and gasped, her hand instinctively reaching to where she had once kept the capsicum flute. Her fingers found only the cloth of her apron and the nubs of the buttons beneath. She pivoted in her seat.
Outside, a gremlin pressed against the glass, wings spread wide. She laughed. The chair squealed on tile as she pushed it back.
“Hello there, little one!”
The gremlin trilled. It was far larger than Leaf—perhaps the size of a bulldog—with a slight yellow cast to its skin.
“I hear you and your kin like to gossip. Have you heard about the gremlin I named Leaf? He has a bent fork on his arm.” She pointed near her armpit and formed a circle with her fingers. “I hope that he’s well.”
With a squawk, the gremlin pushed off the glass. The small body spiraled downward. No clouds blocked the view today. She could see straight down to the plaza and the broad stained-glass dome of the arena. Airships docked at spires set at points along the roof. Tall cranes loomed, lifting pallets of goods to the dirigibles. Far across the way, the terminal building was a mutant octopus along whose tentacles trains moved. The space in between writhed with activity. Lorries and cabriolets kept to their neat paths like black ants.
