Forge of the Jadugar

by Russ Linton

  "You can't continue to protect me."

  "You're right. I can't. You aren't the infant who snuggled beneath my beard or the precocious toddler who chanted mantras as you rode in my turned-down hood." Mud streaked Izhar's cheeks, and he sniffed. Sidge felt his thorax contract and shudder. "My faith may be broken, but I would rebuild the Temple, brick by brick if only for you."

  Sidge clamped his mandibles and nodded. "Then let's do this the right way. Together."

  They pulled close, foreheads touching. He wrapped his mentor with all four arms, his antennae, and made him the only focus. For a long moment, neither could move. His mentor, his father, had forgiven him or in truth, never been angry.

  Behind them, Chuman watched with eyes which sought to memorize every moment. The metal-boned man lumbered toward them. "He should stay. We cannot make him stay."

  "He will do nothing of the sort," said Sidge, clearing his throat. He rose and helped Izhar off the ground, coming to the realization of the oddness of the giant's final statement. "And we won't try."

  A silence stretched between the three of them, broken only when Chuman lowered his head and moved toward the slab. Mystery upon mystery, twice he'd tried to ask Chuman what he was and gotten riddles. A tool of the Jadugar for a lost purpose was his best guess, but they'd soon see for themselves.

  "Since my Master has placed his faith in you, maybe you can tell me the meaning of the Attarah's true path, Chuman," said Izhar.

  "I can only follow it," grunted the Jadugar-forged as he bent and gripped two sides of the thick slab.

  "You must know why you perform these duties," said Sidge.

  "I thought I knew before this moment." Chuman went slack in his work. When he spoke, he spoke as a man, not an empty soul. "Others wait for us. They may know."

  "Others?" asked Izhar.

  "Yes," realization creased the giant's brow and burned inside his eyes. Half-bent he stared out toward the mountains. "Brothers. Not the gray robes. When the Jadugar made me, there were others."

  "How many?" asked Sidge.

  "Three and countless more. All made the sacrifice to work where no mortal could tread."

  The giant grasped the slab on both ends. Knee-height and no wider than a normal man's span, the hunk of treestone appeared shrunken next to him. Whatever rod or chain which hid under Chuman's skin, tightened.

  They'd seen beneath the flesh and knew what was there to be inhuman. The flexing muscles appeared real enough, and the desire in the being's muddy eyes began to match that disguise. As Chuman pulled, the earth itself shuddered.

  Wooden mask continuing to crumble, Chuman grimaced under the strain. Pain and longing shrouded his face as feathered veins pressed against his skin. With a final pull, the slab uprooted from the earth. He staggered, then swiveled and pressed it into the tree's wound. All sound ceased.

  Sidge stepped away, his eyes watching the dawn creep across the foggy lowlands. He took in the wild reflection in Chuman's eyes and Izhar's growing sense of wonder.

  In the west, the moon was set to disappear behind the peaks. To the east, the first signs of the sun tinged the sky blood-red. Day or night, the irrelevance of either suddenly struck him.

  What did the condition of the sky matter?

  Or the message of the Dragon?

  Events that had transpired before or would pass after?

  He felt drugged. On the edge of a thornsap sleep which he knew would not fully claim him.

  Izhar's eyes grew wide. The thought of returning to his side crossed Sidge's addled mind, but he was entranced by the twilight. With an unobstructed view, he could see both horizons and the light racing to meet the retreating darkness.

  Dawn's golden sliver halted its march across the swamps. A swollen moon balanced on the edge of the world's teeth. The hill occupied the absolute middle of an unchanging sky, positioned at its perfectly balanced fulcrum.

  Izhar spun, head back, hands thrust out, searching for his own balance. Sidge gaped at the alien horizon encircling them.

  The heavens had frozen.

  CHAPTER XIX

  Moon above like a hole worn in the blanket of night, Kaaliya continued through the side streets and alleyways. The planks of the platform city grew more weathered, and the stink of rotting fish plugged her nose. Wet, gritty air coated her. Rounding the corner of a shuttered warehouse, she arrived at the docks. The calming rush of the sea called but she ignored it and headed for where the timber wall around Stronghold marched out into the ocean.

  Taller than most of the buildings in the city, even with their elevated porticos and pointed spires, the wall was made of the same treestone timbers which supported the city. They towered over the masts of the larger junks and dwarfed the smaller skiffs. An eventful detour but she'd finally made it.

  Kaaliya knew her route along the veins and crevices of the stony face. The ledges tended to run vertically making for more of a challenge, which was good. She wedged a boot then her hands into a channel and started to climb.

  By the time she reached the top, the moon hung low in the western sky. She'd chased it as she climbed, keeping it visible right on the cusp of the enormous city wall. As difficult as the ascent had been, the trickiest part came with summiting the top.

  The treestone trunks had been cut clean leaving a rim of rocky bark and a glassy, smooth heartstone interior. No handholds existed on the sheer surface and to further complicate things, the wall, and each timber, had a definitive slope toward the sea. Sweaty palms and smooth heartstone could be a deadly combination perched so high above the city.

  She'd made the climb many times before. On her first attempt, she'd had a moment of panic when she crested the wall and saw the polished surface like wet ice. What else should she have expected? Climbing back down didn't cross her mind so she'd struggled with various techniques until, exhausted, she hauled herself over the edge by her fingertips with her legs somewhere ahead of her.

  This time, Kaaliya managed to mount the edge with a bit more grace. She rolled to the center and flattened, letting her sweat pool around her and the night air prickle her exposed skin. After her heart calmed and breathing quieted, she sighed. This hadn't been her first bit of exercise for the night.

  One could stop a room full of men with a knife at a man's privates, she mused. An army even. She hadn't seriously injured either of the militiamen. Their wounds would heal, maybe not their pride.

  She hadn't come all this way to be distracted by more men. She'd made the climb to sort out her thoughts and take in the magnificent view. Perhaps the upper chambers of the Attarah's palace could offer something comparable, but she had yet to visit those rooms.

  Sheared wall timbers stair-stepped into the sea. Crimson tinged the sky. Soon the heartstone cores would light, translucent, their unique collection of colors unlocked by the rays of the sun. Skiffs transited the harbor. Those on board would be chasing the fish which fed early or checking traps left during the night. The larger junks would wake with the dawn, their decks a flutter of sailcloth and rope with shadowy suggestions of sailors onboard.

  A familiar profile graced the docks. The Night Cutter, a daringly fabulous vessel amid the bleached boards and un-dyed sails. Her old friend, Captain Baladeva had returned to port. Last time they'd spoken was before she'd become a courtesan, or at least before she'd convinced others of her lie. She'd almost convinced herself.

  She could be on his ship within the hour. The destination didn't matter. Her traveling clothes, her knife, she needed little else. Laying low for a while might be the most prudent thing to do. Surely word would spread about her dealings with the militia though she didn't think they could identify her. No matter, for now she'd enjoy the coming dawn from this secret vista fit for nobles. The Attarah. A Jadugar, perhaps. Or a winged Ek'kiru.

  Of all the thoughts wrestling within her mind, memories of her traveling companion were the most unexpected. Sidge, the innocent bugman and his glorious wings. He could've soared to the top of the wall and shared
this view with ease.

  Even the blunt matron, Firetongue, wouldn't find the climb a challenge. A casual stroll would be all the effort required.

  Adaptable, powerful, why did they both choose to serve others? For Firetongue and her kind, it seemed nothing more than curiosity, though a deeper pull drew them here. And Sidge had been born to his role in the temple, yet she saw no reason for him to accept it or the awkward position she'd put him in with Chakor as his raksha. Did Sidge know that? Did he know you could escape what you were born to?

  Did she?

  She looked toward the palace grounds, the top tiers of the Attarah's house visible above the tallest buildings. The crowning silver moonstrider had become a burning point as the sun crept above the waves.

  Staying meant ignoring the call of the sea and the road. Chakor had done his best to convince her. He'd at least tried to show her the mysteries left to explore in the Jadugar's role. At the same time, so much had been lost to his foolishness. If she accepted, she would wear the meaningless title of an apprentice to forgotten knowledge, and end her days sitting like the old man, Taj, staring out to sea. The view could almost convince her it was a worthwhile pursuit.

  Then there was what to do about Chakor himself.

  Gods. What an imbecile.

  Ignoring Taj's tutelage, melting down precious artifacts, what could he have been thinking? She recalled the table in the forge. A rod roughly the size of a forearm and a face had been there. Maybe a statue. She'd have to have another look.

  Storms banded the horizon, peaking the smooth line of the sea. She tried to gauge the distance. If Sidge or Izhar were here, they could probably identify the clouds' type or potential threat to the city. Stormpriests knew the sky.

  After years of travel, she could read many of those signs too. The storm brewed far enough out she wouldn't need to worry about getting caught on the wall in it. Still, she'd need to descend earlier than planned.

  Yet the clouds themselves…

  Trying to find their true shape, she looked directly into the young light of dawn where the front bisected the sun. Tall and dark with oddly crisp edges, light didn't escape that thick line. The upper reaches were like teeth sunk into a red boil of flesh. Vasheru's Fire didn't flash between them.

  She closed her eyes and watched the images against her eyelids. The afterimage of the clouds and the sun remained, shifted and reversed. Clouds glowed, and the sun turned black.

  These weren't clouds. The images of the mural in the Kolime and the one in the Mutri temple in the Pit were writ large across the sun.

  She opened her eyes and shielded them. Dawn had been stoked into a forge fire and soon became the glaring point the silver moonstrider had been. Jagged lines broke the horizon.

  Shouts rose from the harbor and not the typical calls of the captains or taskmasters trying to rouse a drunken crew. These were shouts of alarm. Men, whose lives depended on knowing the weather, called out in terror from the masts and decks. She wasn't the only one who'd seen it.

  Any sailor long at sea would know the sight instantly. Most would welcome it, yet the cries from the dock suggested frantic terror or bewilderment. One drunken cry, somehow not sobered by what he witnessed called out merrily.

  "Land ho!"

  ***

  Kaaliya's descent went quickly and unnoticed. Crowds gathered at the docks and filled balconies and windows. Rooftop porticos sprouted curious faces which joined the older buildings' elaborate sculptures in their eternal vigil. Every eye in Stronghold faced the rising sun.

  "Those are clouds, you fool!" cried one.

  "Where are those damn priests when you need them?" called another.

  While she had a certain lack of need for sleep, the past few nights had been long and stressful. Her muscles ached to the bone from her climb and her thoughts were clouded, but she knew what she'd seen—land. Land where there had never been land before.

  She pushed her way through the press of bodies and headed for the docks. A brief exchange with Captain Baladeva, an incredulous look and a barking laugh from him, then she raced back into the city angling for the alleyways where she could move more freely. Militia were out in force but they, too, stared skyward.

  When she'd left Chakor's estate, she didn't know if she'd be going back. Now she knew. She had a plan. It involved both finding herself sleeping on the deck of Baladeva's ship before nightfall and seeing the inside of the forge once again.

  As far as anyone knew, the eastern sea stretched to the end of the world. Nothing lay there but the boiling sun and madness. Ships that set sail to explore rarely returned.

  Old Jai had once told her a story about an Attarah who'd commanded a small fleet to sail to the sun and scoop its fire from the waters. He'd sent his best men and the most accomplished sailors. His ship had returned in one piece.

  A handful of the crew remained, but they'd lost their battle with the sun. They'd returned with their flesh raw and flaking, their lips scaled with dead skin and salt. Heat, some say, had boiled their brains inside their heads and burned away not just their memories of the ordeal but their humanity. None could say what really happened but the long-handled iron ladle built by the Jadugar for the occasion was warped and the runed ceremonial pot, empty.

  Chakor, their only Jadugar, should give those tales more respect after this if he had any sense. Izhar would have known the commoner's legend that graced their skyline. The Pamanites.

  She smiled, imagining Sidge's struggle trying to hide his exasperation with his old Master's obsession. How could the bugman prove the old goat wrong now? Gods! He could take to the skies and visit them himself. Wings—not a thing to hide under musty old robes.

  She reached Chakor's estate and ascended the steps to the onion-domed vestibule. Two crimson guards stood dwarfed by the supporting pillars. They faced each other with spears held in loose grips and talked animatedly.

  "Is Lord Chakor present?" she asked. They started but didn't snap to attention.

  "Not presently, Mistress Kaaliya," one of them answered. She halted and smiled, waving her hand to tease more information out of him. When he hesitated, the second broke in.

  "He's been summoned by the Attarah, Mistress." His eyes wandered to the east where the building blocked any view of the horizon. "You've no doubt heard…"

  "Heard. Seen." She swept past them, not bothering to remove her boots. The guards had grown accustomed to her coming and going in her traveling clothes. Leather breeches and loose shirts were a northern man's garb and precisely why she wore them. Men or women often couldn't see past the clothing, and she was left alone on the road, no one demanding to know where her husband may be like the poor old woman in the alley. However, to gain entrance to the palace she would need to dress the part.

  Her boots clomped on the marble tile, a shallow ripple of sound mingling with the fading conversation of the guards. There didn't appear to be many servants left behind. The bulk of Chakor's guard must have provided his escort as well, leaving empty halls like they once had been under the former Jadugar.

  Wandering the same dead space, trapped by tradition, had to be a fate worse than death. No wonder Taj's heart gave out. He'd died of boredom.

  But after being inspired by his new pupils, he'd found himself close to death and then tried to end his own life. Why? So many lost stories.

  "They cannot be lost forever," Kaaliya muttered, and she stalked faster through the halls.

  Lost secrets and grandeur had made for an empty house during Taj's tenure. The guards hadn't been necessary. Lord Chakor's ability to create bronze, silver, and gold ingots out of thin air had awakened interest, driving rivals and spies to attempt to steal these "mysteries".

  Riches, women, festivals—Chakor had taken the vanity of this rotted high society to a whole new level. He'd crafted a lie and tricked them all. He'd restored the mystery of his newly acquired position only to exploit it, then he'd told a whore he'd give her everything. She'd soon see exactly how sincere he was.
/>
  Kaaliya passed the main courtyard, and the open space drew her eye eastward as though she could catch a glimpse of the strange sky. Tracing the roofline, she saw a figure seated atop the far dome. She jogged into the courtyard.

  "Hello, Firetongue," she called. The Ek'kiru didn't respond.

  Kaaliya examined the pillars, a nearby bench, and a pane of intricate lattice work. With a solid jump from the bench, she grabbed hold of the lattice and hoisted herself up. It was almost too much. Her muscles burned with each pull.

  She scrambled to the top and managed to scale several tiers before she stopped at the base of the dome. A sheer face bulbed outward and made the climb, for her, impossible.

  "Hello," she called again.

  The Ek'kiru stood at the peak, grasping a lightning bolt spire. She swiveled her head without turning her body. "Mistress Kaaliya."

  From where she perched, Kaaliya couldn't see below the risen sun. "Grant me some of your long-lived wisdom, Mother," she said. "What is it you see? Beings of legend come from across the endless ocean?"

  Firetongue kept her head canted, vision split between the far horizon and Kaaliya. "I see a light that dances out of step with all the others."

  Kaaliya squinted into the sun. "Is it infuriating?"

  Firetongue shook her head before descending to join her. "No. Frightening."

  CHAPTER XX

  "So Ek'kiru don't share stories?" Kaaliya asked as they walked toward the ramp leading into the stables beneath the palace. She eyed the crowded yard filled with empty carriages and palanquins. Every royal house was represented. "No history of your people at all?"

  "You misunderstand," Firetongue replied without slowing. "We don't tell stories. We wear who we are and have ever been."

  Without thinking, Kaaliya grabbed the matron's arm. The Ek'kiru stopped, but her head pivoted in a near complete arc, and her mandibles twitched. Kaaliya withdrew her limb while it remained attached.