For over an hour, the half-finished letter stared up at me. Mocking. All that empty space. I tried fiddling with two trinket bracelets I'd made for my daughters, but the armlets had been complete for weeks.
I glanced around the room. Hundreds of well-worn tools for inventing and repairing old gadgets hung lonely and unused on every square inch of the walls. But I couldn't think of a project I cared to work on at the moment.
Terillium the Great, I thought.
I couldn't help but laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. There was nothing I couldn't do. Nothing. Except finish a letter. The most powerful man in the world—correction—I used to be the most powerful man in the world. Now I was second. My old comrade, Cevo, would take great pleasure rubbing that fact in.
But Cevo was one of the reasons I had to be so careful. I couldn't afford to make any mistakes, not at this stage in the game.
I read the letter again—the results of the test on Evan—all eight words of it, if you counted the sender's initials as a word. It had arrived that afternoon, the old-fashioned way, tied to the foot of a pigeon. It confirmed nearly everything I guessed about the boy. Normally, I would have been pleased with my own genius for guessing correctly.
But I couldn't remember ever feeling so disappointed.
It had been many years since I had seen the boy. I risked much in hiding him. Perhaps I was less cynical in those days. Or maybe more foolish. Either way, I now found myself with a full-grown mess on my hands. I had hoped the boy would be an asset to me someday—I would have savored the challenge.
Despite how dangerous Evan had become, the decision came down to what was best for me or what was best for everyone else.
Picking up my daughters' bracelets again, I pictured their faces. They would be taller now. More than anything I missed their smiles.
I set the bracelets back down. I couldn't be selfish. This decision was much bigger than my family. And I must keep the boy out of Cevo's grasping hands.
The time for stalling was over.
Finally decided, I finished the draft quickly, then pulled out a small leather book from my coat and copied the letter onto the book's first blank page. I had only ever used the book for one other transmission, but until today there was no news to share.
I looked at the clock. 10:40 pm. What was I going to do with the rest of the night?
I crumpled the draft and turned it to flame with a flick of my finger, happy to see the end of it. As the paper chemically transformed into heat and smoke, I thought of Evan's mother lying in my arms. Her last few breaths.
Always the faces.
They haunted me, crawling out of the abyss at times like this. I clenched my eyes tight and buried her back where she came from—the damp, black dungeons of my mind.
When I opened my eyes, I found the letter was nearly ash. I stood abruptly, the chair screeching on the wide plank flooring. Folding the book, I stuffed it deep in the long pockets of my worn, leather pea coat and cleared my desk. The message had been sent.
I felt better, I had made the right decision. The selfless decision. Deciding someone's fate, or even the fate of a whole host of people, is always this way. Going back and forth, weighing the consequences, calculating the moral cost. Even when the price is high, the agony all but disappears after the decision has been made.
Smiling widely, I thought of my daughters running up the plank to see me. Were they still young enough to run?
I returned to my bedchamber; perhaps I would take up Un Voyage en Ballon again. At least three hours until the crew began to stir and nothing else in the wide world to do but read.
If the winds favored us, we would be at dock in a few days. I would finally be home. From the way my stomach was turning, I knew those two days were going to feel like a month.
CHAPTER TEN
Evan
Tuesday
2:41 am
I reached my hand into the fire, but it was too hot. If only Henri was with me, she could have gotten it out so easily.
The book continued to burn and the page with the writing was now on fire. I saw an overflowing bucket of water across the room, where I kept it under a leak in the ceiling. I limped to it, but it was too heavy to lift. I dumped some water out and managed to drag it to the fire.
The writing was all but burned away. I lifted the bucket, but it was still too heavy, and I couldn't get it high enough.
I poured more water out. Now there was less than half left, hardly enough to make a difference with such a huge fire. I got it up as high as my shoulder, the cuts on my back smoldering with pain as my skin stretched, and emptied it right on top of the book. A wave of steam billowed into my face and, when it cleared, I saw that the fire directly around the book had gone out. At least for the moment.
The problem was, the flames between me and the book were just as high as ever. I watched for a break, but there was no pattern to the blaze. I gritted my teeth and reached in, hoping to grab it before I was too badly burned. The pain was worse than I expected, but I willed myself to reach further. I got within a few inches of the book before my self-preservation instincts overrode my will power. As my arm jerked back, I realized my shirt had caught fire.
It spread quickly up my sleeve, and before I could get the shirt off, the flames reached my face. I yelled in agony as I tore the thin shirt in two and flung it to the ground.
It was my only shirt, and now it was ruined. I stomped at the flames but realized I was wasting valuable seconds when the book was almost gone. I took a step towards the fire with my bad leg, but the pain overcame me and I fell to the ground.
I rolled onto my stomach and pulled myself to the fire with my hands, dragging my bad leg behind me. I was about to reach into the flames again when a huge log fell on top of the book. The whole fire burst even higher.
I collapsed. It was useless. I would never see what was in that letter. I stared at the book through the flames and cursed.
Too tired to drag myself back to my bed, I shut my eyes to fall asleep right there, clutching my burned hand to my chest. If I had left my hand in the fire even a moment longer I might have lost the use of those fingers forever, but it still hurt enough to make me nauseous. I could hear the fire's angry roar more clearly with my eyes shut. It was screaming inside my head. In my mind, I still saw the book, fully intact, sitting in the middle of the fire.
I imagined reaching out with my unburned hand to pluck it from the flames. As I played the scene out in my mind, I was surprised to find that my hand felt hot. I opened my eyes and saw that I really was reaching towards the flames. My hand was close enough to feel the fire, but not close enough to burn. I closed my eyes again and imagined closing my fingers around the book. I cracked one eye open and saw that my hand was closed, but not all the way shut—as if I was holding something invisible between my fingers.
The fire settled and the log that fell on top of the book a few moments ago rolled backward.
I closed my eyes once more and imagined lifting the book with my closed hand. This time I opened both eyes wide.
The book wobbled, then lifted into the air.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Evan
Tuesday
2:46 am
The book was floating in the air, above the fire. I tried not to breathe; afraid it would drop back into the flames if I moved a muscle. I was lying on the floor, my hand hovering a few inches above the hearth. It was growing heavy, much faster than I would have expected. I realized I wouldn't be able to hold it much longer.
I pulled my hand slowly towards my chest. The book quivered and started to drop, but I jerked my hand back out and the book stabilized. A fly the size of my thumb buzzed passed my ear and landed on my arm. I didn't dare brush it away.
I tried again, this time with my palm up, I pulled my hand out of the fire. The book didn't immediately drop, but actually began floating towards me.
My hand was cramping and the book was moving impossibly slow. I flexed my thumb just
enough to alleviate the pain, but the book quivered again and almost dropped. I put my thumb back where it was and tried to bear the pain. It seemed to take hours, but the book was almost beyond the fireplace.
Sweat was rolling down my face and into my eyes. I wanted to wipe it away, but I resisted. At the last moment, my hand couldn't take the cramping anymore and my fingers reflexively clenched wide open. The book fell. But it had come out just far enough and landed barely beyond the flames' reach.
I crawled forward, clenched the smoking book in my hand, and pulled it away from the fire as quickly as I could. Then I sat.
I didn't open the book right away; my heart was thumping like a clanker. At first, it was too hot to touch and I was catching my breath. Then I was stalling. I didn't want to see what I feared was true—that the new letter was too burned to read.
But finally, after waiting so long I started to feel foolish, I opened the leather cover slowly.
Most of the page was missing and what was still there was charred black. Then I looked closer. There were a few words still showing, and I realized I could see some of the other words in places where the paper was less charred. Most of it still didn't make any sense, but I made out a few words of one line at least.
... execute the boy ...
It was a message.
I started to put it all together in my mind, piece by piece.
The book must be some way to communicate with my uncle. If sapience was real, and I knew it was now, then the book must be powered by sapience itself.
Terillium was sending a letter. Intended for my uncle. And Terillium, the man I guessed was my father, was telling him to execute someone.
Or was he telling my uncle not to execute the boy?
There was no way to know without the rest of the letter.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Evan
Tuesday
5:31 am
I fell asleep in my elusian, still clutching the burnt remains of the book. I had wrapped it in paper to protect it from further damage, hoping Terillium would write another letter someday.
When I woke, it was nearly dawn. I sat up abruptly.
The night before rushed back to me. I had used real sapience to pull the book from the fire.
I was a sapient.
I thought about it for a long while, trying to let it sink in. My body was shaking, but my hands were as steady as ever. It was like half of me was resigned to what I would become while the other half was fighting for it's life. But could I fight it? There was no question about whether the book was right about me now. I was really going to become a monster.
Only, I thought it wasn't supposed to start happening for almost a year. The book said 355 days.
I looked at the paper wrapped book in my hands. It was getting lighter outside. Perhaps I could read more of the burned letter now.
I tore the wrapping open, but then stopped. My hand burned with pain, but I ignored it. Did I really want to read it? What if it was even worse than I expected?
Gritting my teeth, I pulled the rest of the wrapping away and felt the hairs stand up on my arm. The book wasn't burned. It was in the same perfect condition it had always been in. I flipped through the pages. Each one was perfectly white. I turned to the front page. The letter I ripped out was even there. It was like the night before had never happened.
What if it hadn't happened? Was it all a dream? Had I never thrown it in the fire at all? Had I not used sapience to pull it from the fire?
Then I remembered the second letter. I flipped to the third page, where the letter had appeared the night before. Nothing was there.
It had all been a dream. I sighed with relief and felt my shoulders relax a little.
But then I saw my shirt on the floor, burned, still damp from the water. I reached out for it, but remembered the searing pain in my hand. I had been burned. I flipped the book open again and counted from the front to the third page. This time, I found writing.
The new letter.
I counted the pages again and realized two pages were stuck together. When I pulled them apart I found the new letter. All of it.Spelled out as clear as Daemanhur's 759 glass windows. I shut the book and it made a clapping sound.
I thought back to the partial line I read last night and shut the book.
... execute the boy ...
Was I sure I wanted to know the rest of that line?
I had to.
I slowly opened it again and began to read.
Ẋry Mazol,
I received the results of the test regarding Evan Burl today. The news is far worse than I imagined possible. I fear for the safety of everyone living at Daemanhur Castle.
Then it came to the line I only had part of last night...
You must execute the boy as soon as possible.
I stopped and read it again, my face numb. It was what I feared. I stared at the fire stoker, my eyes slightly out of focus. Finally, I forced myself to read on.
Do not delay under any circumstance, or you may pay with your life.
If you have any problem with him, write directly and I will send help.
Good luck little brother,
Terillium
PS, Do not under any circumstance go to Cevo for help. I fear he would ignore my order and try and turn the boy for good. As I mentioned earlier, this is impossible.
Evan Burl is a monster. There is nothing you or Cevo or anyone else can do to change that.
I let the book fall from my hands and just stared at the stonework in front of me for a moment. As I slowly started to get over the shock, my mind began working again and I tried to piece it together.
Terillium and Mazol were brothers.
If Mazol was my uncle, Terillium really was...
My father.
A father who had ordered my execution.
And now Mazol would never see that letter. I smiled at my luck for stealing the book from Mazol. Perhaps things weren't as bad as I thought.
Unless the book in my hand wasn't the only copy. What if my uncle had another? I shook my head. Impossible. This book didn't seem like the kind of thing that someone would make copies of. For one thing, what if one got in the wrong hands? Plus, it seemed unlikely that even a powerful man could create a sapient book so easily that they could afford to make extra copies.
My uncle didn't have another copy at the very least. He went crazy when he discovered the book was missing. Even now, years later, he still questions me about it from time to time. I'm sure he knows I have it, but he hasn't gotten me to admit anything, and I never will.
So Terillium, my father, had ordered my execution. But Mazol wasn't going to get the message because I had the only copy. I was safe. I had a sick, evil family. But I was safe.
Or was I? What if Terillium found out I was still alive. Then he would wonder why Mazol hadn't done me in, and he might come after me himself.
It was hard to think of a scenario that didn't end up with me buried in the courtyard.
What if I could find this man Cevo? Maybe Marcus could help me get a letter to him? Somehow, that didn't seem likely. I'm sure Marcus would just laugh me off like he did with half the stuff I read in the natural history books. And even if I got a letter to Cevo, I'd still have to run away to find him.
That left.... was there another option?
I thought and thought and thought. At first I didn't even realize it was happening, but a new idea was forming in my mind.
Maybe I could learn to use sapience on my own. If I could move things like the book with it, maybe I could learn to do other stuff too. Even protect myself. Even take control of Daemanhur from Mazol and Yesler and Ballard.
The more I thought about it the more I liked it.
I looked around the elusian. It was a large room. Well away from the occupied wings of the castle. A perfect place to practice sapience. And if it came to it, I could always run away later and find Cevo if I had too. Having some sapience for protection would go a long way to helping
me survive the jungles too.
Maybe I could even use sapience to get my father back. I'd prove to him I could use sapience and not go evil. Then he wouldn't need to kill me anymore. Maybe he'd even learn to love me.
It was perfect.
I had 355 days until I turned into the monster Terillium was sure I would become. There was enough time to get rid of the warts and set up Henri to run the orphanage before I had to disappear. I didn't want them to ever see what I would become, not if half of what Terillium said was true.
Then I began to have a sinking feeling in my gut. There was something wrong with this plan. Should I be giving in so easily? Shouldn't I be able to resist becoming a sapient? If I didn't use sapience, would I not become a monster? I wished I had someone to ask which was the right choice. I hated that I even had to decide. Why couldn't I just be a normal boy, with a normal family?
I had almost completely changed my mind about my plan. It was too dangerous, and I didn't want to leave Henri and Pearl and the others. I looked over the first letter again, hoping for some other sign or clue to help me decide. When I got to the number of days before the Falling I stopped.
My chest was pounding as I read it again.
3 days, 17 hours, 13 minutes until the Falling.
That couldn't be right. It was supposed to say 355 days. Not 3 days.
Then I realized what had happened. I had learned to use sapience early. I wasn't supposed to figure it out for almost another year. I accelerated the transformation. Now I only had three days left. It wasn't enough time. I didn't even know how to use sapience. I had barely pulled a book from a fire. How was I supposed to overthrow Mazol and Yesler and Ballard?
Through the windows, I noticed the night sky. The stars were all but gone. It was almost dawn.
Evan Burl and the Falling Page 7
