Weeds Among Stone (Jura City Book 1)

by Douglas Milewski

  “The drifter can’t come in here,” said Gamstadt, “He’ll have to stay outside.”

  “He’s my protector,” said Strikke.

  “He’s not a dwarf. He can’t be your protector.”

  “That’s not a law.”

  “It’s a tradition.”

  “It’s happenstance.”

  “I’m the Lord Protector. My word is final. No drifter.”

  “I appeal to the Eighth Rod.”

  They both looked to Maran. Gamstadt folded his arms and waited. “She gets to appeal this. That’s the law.”

  Maran wanted to say “yes” right away, but she knew that she needed to use this opportunity. “How did you get Osei to work for you?” asked Maran.

  Strikke patted the boatman. “I needed a protector fast. All the trustworthy protectors were busy, so I asked Altyn and she pointed me to him. When I get elected, I’ll get a proper one.”

  Osei laughed. “I was the only one willing to stand up to the Ironmongers. Imagine me, a river man, walking behind a Kurfurstin. What an honor to my people. So we talked and she made me an offer that I could not refuse.”

  “What was your deal?”

  Strikke rolled her eyes. “If I’m elected, I will make him a new set of clothes, including a fur coat for winter.”

  Maran thought that a sensible bargain, but not one that she could use. She thought for a bit. “I want Union rules to apply to anyone hired by the Ironmongers.”

  Strikke put her hands on her hips, “Baby doll, I thought that we were friends.”

  “I made some promises that I want to keep. It’s a small thing. It should be nothing to you.”

  “All right, but it’s not a small thing. The masters will have my head for this. Farm girl, you sure learn fast.”

  “I had to. It was trial by fire. Lord Protector, I approve. The Eighth Rod approves. Is that official enough?”

  Gamstadt walked back onto the balcony and rang his rod. “Meister Strikke petitions to run for Kurfurstin. I have examined the Iron Book and found her name well written and in good standing. Let it be known that Meister Strikke is worthy in the eye of the Iron Duke.”

  Scattered cheers and grumbles came from below.

  Before Strikke could leave the room, feet pounded up the corridor. Jasper and a handful of guild masters stomped into the room. They spread out like jackals, ready to make a kill.

  Jasper waved his hand in an ending motion. “I’ve had enough of this mockery. Strikke has apprenticed herself to elves with dwarven gold. Now her protector is a drifter. I am done with this. By my authority as a Kommissar, I declare her candidacy void!”

  Lord Protector Gamstadt bounced his iron bar, repeatedly, clearly irate. “This is internal guild politics. Kommissars may not meddle. They Kommissars are powerless here. Once the election is begun, only murder and blasphemy are illegal, and I am the sole judge of that. Stand down and let this election continue. I have ruled!”

  Lord Jasper turned to the guild masters with great drama. “It’s the Loam sorceress! We’ve all heard the rumors! Strikke has employed this sorceress who killed the Missus. Do not stand for this.” Voices from the meister echoed the accusation.

  Gamstadt shook his head with violent frustration, continuing to ring his bar against the floor. “Steingraf Jasper, you lay capital accusations against your own sister. I remind you of your oaths. Mind the laws that you invoke. If invoked, they must be invoked to their fullest extend. By law, the accused may defend herself without interruption. If you interrupt, I will have you bound and gagged. Do you agree?”

  The witnessing guild masters nodded in agreement. “That’s the law.” The other guild masters nodded as well.

  The Steingraf, seeing his support slacken in the face of tradition, stepped back. “That is the law.”

  “Meister Strikke, it is now your right to respond. Defend yourself.”

  Strikke grabbed her mother’s cane from the conference table, raising that cane high in the air, as if the Duke himself loomed.

  “The Iron Duke is my master. I do not fear witches!” She slammed the cane onto the table.

  A few voices growled, but other voices echoed in agreement.

  “I am an Ironmonger. I am strong. Iron fells trees! Iron hews flesh! Iron splits stones! Iron kills dragons!”

  Strikke slammed the cane again.

  “Tremble before my might and know the terror of my voice. We shall be powerful and our enemies shall feel our retribution. The drifters, they shall tremble. The Loam, they shall tremble. All shall tremble except for the Malachines, the faithless Oathbreakers – THEY – SHALL – DIE!”

  Strikke won the election. She gloated about it all afternoon.

  “Jasper is good at making people feel powerless, but what the meisters really needed was someone to tell them how great they are.”

  Osei stood against all challengers, injuring no one, but receiving multiple cracked ribs and innumerable bruises for his troubles. “That’s what I got for keeping the Vow,” he confessed.

  With the election settled, Maran wasted no time in throwing herself back into her work.

  Conclusions

  Now it was time to see the Iron Duke again.

  How to get back this time? Maran took out the opium that the Missus still had, considering it. Her heart felt empty. Opium was not the only way across the divide. She had proven that. If she was to cross that divide, she must find a Loam way.

  Opium brought elation. What else brought elation? What made her lose herself? Where did joy and love mix?

  Maran remembered Kirim. She remembered dancing for Kirim in the throes of love. Afterwards, she collapsed in exhaustion and utter delight, floating as he brushed her hair.

  Dance. Maran would dance again. She would dance for Kirim.

  Maran returned to the foundry building. The guards stepped aside, opening the door. “Ma’am,” they saluted.

  Maran nearly lost her composure at that point. Who would salute a Loam? How could they salute a Loam? If all this was necessary to make an Ironmonger treated a Loam with respect, then she had accomplished a generation’s work.

  Inside the foundry, before the Womb, Maran took out Kirim’s riq, ringing it a few times, finding the rhythm. She wordlessly sang the melody, moving her feet, finding the dance. She imagined Kirim watching her, wanting her. She wanted Kirim in return, and she danced, her feet moving on the iron floor. How long she danced, how long she spun, she didn't know, for joy overcame her, the cares of her world disappearing. Blood throbbed in her temples bringing lights to her eyes, and when she ended her song, she felt herself collapse onto the floor, floating.

  The light resolved itself. It was the Iron Duke’s eye blazing at her. Reflexively, she covered her eyes with her arm, unable to face his stare.

  “Have you nothing better to offer than your soul? Have you found nothing else?”

  Maran put some of her thoughts into words, and hoped that her argument sounded convincing. The only thing that she could do was walk out, so she had to make her case on that. “My Duke, how do your people know what to do? How do they know your will?”

  “I tell you, and you tell them.”

  “Why should I tell them?”

  “Because it is my will.”

  “I am not of your guild. I am not sworn to you. I took no oaths. Why should I do as you say?”

  “I see. If you do not do as I say, I shall burn you in my forge, and you shall never know peace.”

  “If you burn my soul, then you would have no Eighth Rod. Your people will be lost, my Duke. If we are to work together, we must come to an agreement. I can work for you. I can swear a vow, but my people do not prefer vows. If I am to work for you, I seek a boon. Give me a token. It is a small thing. You have many souls. I only seek one. If you give me one soul, I will deliver your words to your people.”

  Steam blew forth from the god’s head. “ I know your game. I would never give the least drop of slag to HER, but if I give it to you, then you may d
o as you will.”

  The Iron Duke punched through the building’s wall, grabbing Forsythe’s soul, ripping her from the iron spike. The Missus responded with an unbearable wail. The Iron Duke flung the soul out his front door, watching it bounce down the iron road.

  “There is my trinket. Take her to your Mistress and be done with this. The sooner she is gone, the better.”

  “I thank you, my Duke. May I leave?”

  The god waved her away.

  Remembering how the Reckoners reacted to her earlier, Maran pulled down the veil from her hat, covering her face, slowly approaching the figure of Forsythe searching for her missing eye.

  “Ma’am,” Maran said as she approached. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Betrayed. I was betrayed,” Forsythe wailed. “Where am I? Where shall I go? Who will have me?” Her soul seemed utterly confused, unable to orient itself.

  “I will help you, ma’am. You're a quality woman, I can tell. I know a good place you can go. ”

  Something in that sentence caught Forsythe’s imagination. “Yes, I am a woman of quality. I am your better. You should help your betters. Take me there.”

  “Follow me, ma’am.”

  Taking the old woman by the arm, Maran lead Forsythe by the bridge, around Jack’s shack, and down the road down to the boats. The ashen people there looked despondently upon them. On closer inspection, Maran realized that they were elves of some sort. How had elves arrived here in the dwarven afterworld? Perhaps they had been there since antiquity, never finding their way home to their crow-covered trees.

  “Who are they?” Maran asked.

  “They are crows. They are clever. They are tricky. They are defiant. Offer your hand, and they peck it.”

  In caution, Maran avoided the crows, bringing the Missus to the boat house. Maran found one boat that looked solid, along with several oars scattered in the tall grass.

  “These are good boats, ma’am, they are made of metal. They'll not sink. We need to take one onto the river. Will you trust me?”

  “I trust you,” Forsythe echoed absently.

  Maran untied the rope from the little dock, letting the boat drift out onto the river. She shipped the oars, awkwardly turning the boat about. Rowing along the shore, Maran realized that the river no longer frightened her. In fact, she rather enjoyed the gentle splashing from the oars. Taking a little more courage, she looked about. The spirits on the bank waved. Turtles swam by, belching black smoke and steam. The bright sun dazzled her eyes. Soon the waters grew perfectly still. The shores had become ridges. Maran put up her oars, and the boat traveled on its own, coming to rest at a small island in a large lake. They were on the Lake of Souls.

  Once again, Maran stared down the infinity that was that entrance. Once again, she walked down the constricted passage into the Womb of the World. When the Mother of Storms spoke, her voice ripped through the world.

  “Too long have you been absent, Forsythe Saargi. Why is this so?”

  The Missus returned to herself. No longer was she confused. She stood straight, staring back at the ancient goddess. “I had you beat, Storm-bringer. You could not collect my soul. I had you beat.”

  “Did you?” questioned the Ancient One.

  “You had to send a Loam to do your work! You couldn't do it yourself!”

  “Does the method matter?”

  “Ha, it's time to collect and I have nothing let. You can collect nothing from me.”

  “Are you so sure that you have not paid the price? Who among your children will honor you? Who will place your ashes in an urn of gold? Who will invoke your name among their ancestors? Who will see you reforged in the Iron Mountain? No, I collect nothing from you for you have gained nothing. Not one day was added to your mortal life. Without this deal, you would still have found that vodie and still learned the same things, but you would have suffered far less. The deceit was complete. We both gave nothing.”

  The Missus glowed red with rage. “No! No! You lie! You told me to do this! You are the god! You make deals!”

  “Then make a deal with me. Make a real deal. Make a deal that you will pay for.”

  “I am dead. There is nothing that I could want but life.”

  “You may want nothing, but what of your children? What of your guild? What of your Union? Can you think of nothing? Are you so shallow that even in death you cannot give?”

  “I gave everything to them, and they spurned me. They deserve nothing. They are not worthy of their father’s name. What do I care for them?”

  “Then I can take nothing from you, for you have already taken the best of yourself and thrown that away. What remains is hollow: an iron maiden, the empty torture. And like an iron maiden, your eyes look ever outward. You do not see how hollow you are.”

  “Is that it? Is that to be my just punishment?”

  “I do not punish. I deal. In the end, everyone receives the same deal. Pauper or Emperor, saint or sinner, god or sacrifice, death is the one and only price for life. Some will be reborn. You will not.”

  The Missus screamed. She dried and blackened, her lips pulling back from her teeth. Her eye dried in her socket. She grew until she was as tall as an ogre, yet remained dead and decrepit.

  The Mother of Storms spoke. “You shall be one of my hags. You shall now make deals for me, keeping nothing for yourself. Go onto the mountain and feel what eternal life is.”

  As the Missus shambled from the room, Maran found her courage again.

  “What of me?” Maran asked.

  “You mean to ask, why you? Why did I pick you among all others? It had to be somebody, and you were there. If not for My touch, you would have lived a good life, filled with good work, and you would have ever struggled against the impossible. Then I intervened, and the natural course of your life changed. Your path now intersects many different paths, and you will live a hard life, filled with life and death.”

  Feeling something heavy in her hand. Maran looked down to see a bleeding heart, still spasming with life.

  The Mother of Storms touched her cheek. “Child, why do you carry your bleeding heart in your hand? I think it is time that you put it back where it belongs.” The goddess took the heart from Maran’s hand, placing it into the empty box in Maran’s chest. In that moment, for the first time in a long time, the numbness left.

  “What …”

  “Your boon has arrived. Begone. Leave this place until you return.”

  Maran felt the cave receding before her, pushing her out, placing her at the mouth of the cave.

  By the waters, Kirim approached Maran, her heart leaping and burning. Heedlessly, she threw her arms about him. Somehow, the goddess had rescued Kirim from his endless fate in the Steel City and brought him here. In those endless moments, Maran knew that this was the one thing that she truly most wanted out of all possible things that she could want.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  “Has it been so long?” Kirim asked. “It was just a dream, I think. This wasp kept attacking me, so I fought it off, but I fell down a long way where some dogs attacked me. I dropped my halberd, I think. Have you seen it?”

  “You didn’t need it any more.”

  Kirim stepped back and looked around. “This place is so real,” he said, “But I know that I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming and awake and not dreaming at all. And I think that I know this place. I’ve been here before. It's familiar. Or was I here? Your mother used to tell the tales and I never quite believed them. I never thought that there could be such a strange lake amid mountains, yet here I am, surrounded by water and I don’t have a boat. How did I even get here?”

  Maran fell silent. She didn't know how to answer the question.

  Kirim saw the truth in her eyes. “So I am here. I don’t have many options, do I? I can walk through that cave and make a deal, or I can wade into those waters and sleep. To be honest, I don’t know which I fear more.”

  “Maybe there is another way?”

  “No. T
here are some things that I won't do, so I had best prepare.” Kirim took off his helmet, flinging it into the lake with great ceremony. He then removed his belt and sword, tossing them in. Piece by piece, he removed his armor. They took turns throwing the pieces into the lake.

  “I don’t need those any more. They're eternal strife. I'm glad to cast them away.”

  “Is it time for you? Will you take the Vow?”

  “Yes, it's time. If not now, then never, and I could never face never.” Kirim knelt, then prayed, “White Lady, I say this to you. I have put down my arms. I swear to be a peaceful man. I swear that this intent is of my heart and not merely words to please your ear. This vow I shall keep with mindful attention.”

  Maran stood there, feeling no wind.

  “Will you join me?” asked Kirim.

  Maran shook her head. “I wish that I could. I can’t. I am damned. You are ordinary. I envy you. You can only harm someone with your own hands. My fate or destiny or doom or whatever else you want to call it damns me. I have met the Mother of Storms. I treat with Ironmongers. I talk to the dead. I cannot take the vow. How could I keep it?”

  Kirim stood deliberately, then embraced his wife. “I didn't know. I hope that I didn't cause that.”

  “I am so sorry. I wish that I had never sent you up.”

  Looking Maran in the eye, Kirim stated firmly, “Don’t think that. I went up that rock by myself. Somebody had to do that. It was dangerous. I made my mistake. Now I have to pay for that mistake.”

  Knowing what else Kirim intended, Maran let go her tears. For her husband, she could cry.

  Kirim wiped the tears. “One day you'll join me, and we'll sleep together again. Live for a long time, my wife. Don’t die.”

  Maran took his hand. She cried onto it.

  “I love you,” Kirim concluded. “I only wish that I could say that better.”

  With will beyond will, Maran let go of Kirim, letting him step back into the waters.

  Turning, Kirim waded in, throwing himself into the bottomless waters, sinking as stone to its sleeping depths. In a moment, the waters closed and were still.