Sight Beyond Epik Sight: A Steampunk Fantasy Romp (Epik Fantasy Book 3)

by William Tyler Davis

  They looked like an army of the dead marching through the snow. And perhaps they were the walking dead11 in some ways. Todder felt dead inside. Even his small spark of life, his caged bird feeling, wasn’t sparking like it used to—his resistance or whatever it was to the Grand Sovereign’s spell was dwindling.

  His group split from the one ahead. They stayed on the track. Up ahead it was broken, the ground marred with divots, the steel rails twisted and out of line.

  Todder’s group trudged into the snow.

  The train looked mostly intact, although some carriages were wrecked beyond repair. The heavy engine lay on its side before him, without a ding on its chimney, without a single scar on its finish, all of the pistons and cylinders, its crankshaft and whistle pristine and precisely in place.

  Troops lined up on either side and began to rock the beast.

  It was only then that Todder saw the man off in the distance.

  This one wasn’t like him or the others. He had all of his faculties. In fact, he had something more. Something like the train engine. It was a metal carriage on four wheels. There was no chimney, but it puffed smoke from its rear.

  The man stood beside the vehicle, surveying the progress of the troops. He watched as they righted the steam engine and pushed it back toward the track, where its wheels found rail once again.

  Pretty soon it would all be fixed.

  Todder’s body moved to the next carriage. He kept his eyes on the man the best he could between heaving and shoving. The man reminded Todder of a man who used to come by his granny’s farm. A man that would tousle Todder’s hair and act as if they were the best of friends. It had given Todder the heebie jeebies at the time.

  And the better the view Todder got, the more certain he was the two men were one and the same.

  Todder remembered back to those days… The man with a stutter. But despite his halting speech, there was an air about him, a sort of smugness, much like the Grand Sovereign’s… only different.

  Todder’d never liked smug people. Come to that, his granny hadn’t either. But she grinned and enjoyed the company when this man had come around. Well, maybe not the grinning part—Granny wasn’t much for grins, or smiles of any kind, for that matter. But she, too, had put on a show for the man.

  What was his name? His real one? Todder wondered.

  It had been a long while since Todder last thought of his old gran and doing so stirred something, something small but lifting to the soul.

  Todder worked the carriage back to the rail. Shoving it forward, Todder’s hands splayed out in front of him, fingers spread apart like he was a street performer about to stab a knife between them. And without trying, without meaning to do it at all, Todder moved his pinky finger a fraction—lucky for his finger there was no knife in its path.

  He smiled on the inside.

  Donald, he thought. No, no… it wasn’t that. Doland! The old man’s name was Doland.

  Not so far away, Trace was but a shadow where no shadow should be—a dark blotch against the snowy white ground. He wove around the train, carefully examining the contents of each carriage. Then he made a note for Epik on Captain Todder’s condition, or lack thereof.

  The old captain was withered but no-so-thin. And unlike most of the others, there was gleam in Todder’s eyes—a faint one but noticeable, nonetheless.

  Trace retreated down the track a ways. It took them what seemed like no time at all to repair the train. And in another spurt of no time, they had it moving… But what truly held his attention was the tech mage—a wrinkled old man who had thundered out to the spot on a vehicle built for all terrains12.

  The mage kept a watchful eye on the proceedings with the train. The train, Trace thought, was his baby. It was apparent in the way the man grimaced and groaned with every sound of metal against metal and with each rocking motion as carriage after carriage was flipped.

  But the mage smiled tenderly when steam began to pour from the chimney of the engine. His smile grew broader when he heard the squeal of metal on rail, the chugging, and the clacking. And, of course, the whistle.

  The Train Kept A-Rollin’ on toward the mountains. Trace watched until it was out of sight.

  17

  Tender is the Night

  Testing, testing… One. Two. Two… Gerdy, are you there? Can you hear me? Epik’s voice was a whisper deep in the back of Gerdy’s mind.

  I’m usually here in my own mind. Well, except on Sundays when I go out for tea, but—

  Right, I just meant—

  Epik, I know what you meant. Why are you whispering?

  Oh, does it come across like a whisper? Sorry, I’m just trying to get it right this time.

  What do you mean, right this time? Gerdy asked. I wondered what happened last time… Why’d you hang up?

  Well, he hesitated, last time I made a mistake… I bound my feelings for you—our, uh, friendship with the magic.

  And?

  And that put my soul—our souls—in danger. Or something like that.

  Oh. Gerdy gathered her thoughts. Well, if you can’t do it right. Then… Then I’ll just have to figure out another way, she tried to think to herself.

  Not that Gerdy thought she could perform such a feat. But she’d used the magic before. She was just uneasy, ashamed she’d told the Grand Sovereign she would help lure Epik here. And really, she wanted confirmation that by doing this training, she wasn’t doing just that.

  That’s not it, Epik thought hastily. Like I said, I’m doing it right this time—only projecting my thoughts.

  Oh, well, if you say so, she trailed off. Epik, she thought, if you’re in danger, we should—

  Somehow Epik conveyed a flustered sigh. Listen. There’s a way to test, Epik sent. Did your foot move just then?

  That was you last time? I wondered. And no, it stayed put.

  Then my soul isn’t there.

  Good, she was relieved. So teach me about magic. I’ve got all the time in the world.

  You might, but I’m not sure about the rest of us. It was Epik’s turn to be sarcastic. Gerdy could feel it.

  All Gerdy really needed was to understand how magic worked. Then she could find a way out—for her and for Myra. She just needed to learn a spell or two or ten.

  Epik did the telepathic equivalent of clearing his throat, maybe it was just clearing his mind.

  So, you’re going to need a dark, cold place to gather your thoughts.

  Check, Gerdy answered.

  Oh, right… Next, you need to let go of your emotions. Store them away somewhere. All of them—even the ones for Myra.

  Epik, Gerdy thought, I know this is off track. It’s just Myra… You don’t happen to know anything about dreams, do you?

  Yeah, Epik admitted, I do.

  Again Gerdy had dreamed, and again there was a castle on a hill—and not Myra’s castle.

  Gerdy wasn’t welcome there. The guards outside it made that part clear. But being unwelcome had never stopped Gerdy before, and it wasn’t going to stop her now.

  She drew her wand—that was new—and strode forward to meet this enemy head on.

  Jolted awake, cold, and in need of a pee, Gerdy had been on the cusp—the cusp of getting through to her unconscious self.

  It’s a dream, she’d told herself before waking.

  But as Epik mentioned to her, the unconscious self doesn’t want to be told that type of thing. It wants to believe everything it sees is real, wants to fight through the quest, not around it.

  Gerdy breathed in the cold air. She barely noticed hurried footsteps in the hallway outside her cell. She didn’t hear the heaving sobs of another woman. Instead she squeezed her eyes closed, hoping to go back to the dream, back to save Myra—believing that was the key to everything. They were shared dreams, weren’t they? So, the key to waking her love was somewhere in that castle.

  But sleep was a fickle friend, one who never comes in a timely manner when its most inconvenient.

  The cell
door clanked open, and Wallack flung someone inside with her. Whoever it was tripped in the dark over Gerdy’s ankle.

  They fell like a lump to the floor.

  “Your new cellmate,” Wallack’s usual bark took on a mischievous tone, “if memory serves, I’m guessing you’ll get on nicely.” He laughed nastily and slammed the door shut.

  Wallack’s footsteps faded into nothing.

  Gerdy rubbed her ankle with one hand and peered into the darkness at the person curled up on the ground.

  The girl’s head was bent down, but when her eyes flicked upward, there was no mistaking who it was. Those calculating yellow eyes were unforgettable.

  Catarina.

  Only the eyes didn’t seem to be calculating, not just yet.

  “What are you doing here?” Gerdy asked, her voice strained.

  “Do… Do we know each other?” Catarina took a long hard look at Gerdy, studying the part dwarf girl’s features.

  Catarina looked at Gerdy as if it was the first time they’d met—much better than the first time they’d met actually. On that day, they immediately discovered a mutual distaste for the other.

  “We do know each other,” Gerdy said. “Or, I know you. Your name is Catarina, is it not?”

  “It is,” Catarina said apprehensively, “but I do not know your name. My friends, my sister, call me Cat. If we know each other, as you say we do, you can do the same.”

  Gerdy couldn’t help but laugh. What was she trying to pull? “Oh, we’re friends now, are we? Listen, if you’re here to get something out of me, then just do it. I don’t have time for games. Well, I have time, but not for—”

  “We’re not friends?” There was surprise in Catarina’s tone, like she was friends with anyone she met.

  “Not really,” Gerdy said.

  Catarina stood, examining the bars and the rocky walls. “Well, while we’re locked in a cell, I agree we probably have lots of time. And I’m not playing a game.” She shook the bars. “Tell me how you know me.” It wasn’t a question. And Catarina smiled in an expectant way, waiting for Gerdy to reveal her own name.

  “Myra,” Gerdy said. “My name is Myra.”

  She looked for any sign that Catarina knew her words were a lie. But the girl didn’t waver and her yellow eyes revealed nothing.

  “Myra,” she repeated. “How do you know me?”

  “I could ask you how you don’t know me,” Gerdy scoffed, “but I bet we’d get nowhere fast. Let’s just say there was a time when we both lived up there in the castle. Truthfully, you don’t remember?”

  “I have no memory of that.” Catarina shook her head. “But things have felt off. Out of place. My thoughts, they come, and they go. Sometimes I just sit, and I don’t know for how long—like my mind, it just takes a break.”

  Gerdy repressed a smile. Either Catarina was really good at deception—which Gerdy thought she might be—or she was telling the truth, which Gerdy also thought was possible.

  “Did you know my sister, too?” Catarina asked.

  “Sort of.”

  “And do you know where she is?”

  “No.” It wasn’t a lie. Not really.

  “Me neither.” Catarina sighed.

  A moment later, sobs echoed through the cell.

  “What are you doing here?” Gerdy asked again, flustered. A crying fit, this had to be a show. “Really. Did he send you down here? Does he think I know where your sister is? Is that it?”

  “No… no…” Catarina sobbed. “The man up there, the king or whatever, he wants my magic. He said he’s done with me.”

  “And you didn’t give it to him?” It sounded like an accusation, she knew, but she couldn’t stop it. Word vomit, her father used to call it.

  “No, of course not. My mother raised me to know better. Magic is the one thing I have that’s worth anything.”

  That’s probably true.

  “So what do you remember?” she asked. “I mean, at what point does your mind start to, um, take a break? You remember your mother. What about your father?”

  Catarina sat back down and leaned against the cold wall. She didn’t look at Gerdy as she spoke, but instead, seemed to draw the memories from a hidden place. It took effort.

  “I remember… I remember growing up,” she said. “My mother and my sister, we used to cook together. Every night. My mother taught Kavya and me every little thing. Boiling water, it didn’t matter, my mother knew the precise way to do it. And yes, there’s a wrong way to boil water.

  “‘No shortcuts,’ my mother used to say. My father and my brother were there too. We fed them hearty meals every night.

  “And then they were gone. They went to fight some battle with the rest of the men from the village. They didn’t come back, none of the men did. What did come back to our village were soldiers of the other army—a real army, clad in green. I remember how much they stank. They smelled like alcohol, and like dung and blood.

  “They took us, Kavya and me—all the young. Left the mothers at home. My mother was crying.”

  Gerdy was wrapped in the story. And she wasn’t shedding just one tear, but two streaked down her cheeks.

  Catarina’s voice choked up.

  “Kavya and I were together on a boat, but they separated us when we came ashore. I remember a man, not that one up in the castle,” Catarina pointed, “but a younger one—his face comes into my memory like a flash of lightning. I remember nothing more.”

  Gerdy knew she could probably fill in some blanks, but she chose not to—for now.

  “I’m so sorry,” she heard herself say. And she meant it.

  18

  Twilight

  Brendan and the crew returned to the barn after another day of working on the airship. He took little solace in knowing that one day the ship would be repaired. But that day was in the future somewhere13.

  Nearly half of the ship was damaged beyond any hope. When they did eventually set sail, she might be half the size she once was. And Brendan was still without a name for her.

  The barn offered little creature comforts. They made do with the hammocks from the ship, stringing two between each stall. Amber preferred to sleep on the hay.

  The crew already had a fire going, playing tricks with the light, casting shadows along the wall and the barn roof. Causeway had found a deck of cards amongst the wreckage. He and Amber played hands of Diamond Heist against Gussow and Torres. They stopped mid-hand to greet their skipper who leered behind watching, then Amber won the trick.

  Brendan felt the uncomfortable feeling of being unwanted. His crew needed rest. And around him, they were always switched on, ready to take orders. He retreated close to the barn doors and began to watch the sky Fade to Black.

  At least the witches were hospitable, fetching warm food and tea for supper each night. Their cackles were light and pleasant, hardly any cynicism at all. Probably because the one had eyes for Eddis, and the old man was helping rebuild the ship. Well, sort of.

  The girl Millie and the twins were some help. It was Epik who had been missing the past few days.

  So, when the halfling came out toward the barn, accompanied by Millie and Eddis, it truly was a surprise. The old man held a piece of parchment. He smiled as if about to speak. But Epik started, “I’m sorry to hear about the ship,” he said. “Millie told me what state it’s in.”

  “It’s all right.” Brendan shrugged through the lie. “We’ll get her shipshape, no problem.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Epik agreed.

  The sun was setting on the horizon, only a faint glimmer of orange light peaked over the trace of purple mountains.

  “If only there were more trees around,” Brendan said.

  “We could find lumber in the city,” Millie offered.

  “Maybe,” Epik said.

  “Lumber?” Eddis chomped at the bit. “I told you I had a better idea.”

  Eddis unfurled the piece of parchment. The drawing on it was oddly familiar. It was both quite sim
ilar and completely different from the faded scrap of a drawing Brendan had shown Anhog and Rusty back in Dune All-En. Eddis had worked in much more detail. The geometry was laid out, the fins precisely measured. Most of the airship the old man had drawn was the dirigible itself.

  Brendan couldn’t help but laugh.

  “She’d never fly with those mechanical parts. She barely goes as it is… Or went. That’s the main problem—we weren’t maneuverable enough to face a wraith.”

  “Oh, but I can make a mythraluminum ship fly.” The old man puffed his chest out. “Can make it maneuverable as well.”

  “Is everyone around here crazy?” Brendan asked.

  “We’re all a bit crazy,” Epik said, smiling. “Everyone, in their own way.”

  Brendan took the parchment, and when he did, a jolt ran through his arm—a sort of tingle. He felt a buzzing in the back of his mind, a very familiar feeling. The same one he’d felt when he’d made his first attempt at architecting the airship.

  Now, somehow, he saw Eddis’s drawing in a whole new light.

  “This could work,” he exclaimed with amazement. “This could really work.” Brendan’s lips curved in its first smile in ages. “It’s brilliant.”

  Epik grinned back. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

  “There’s only the one slight problem,” Millie said.

  “We don’t have any mythraluminum.” Brendan returned the paper to Eddis. The spark of whatever it was left instantly.

  “There’s none here, but in the city we’ll get some, no problem.”

  “No, Millie,” Eddis scratched the scruff of his chin. “There hasn’t been any mythraluminum there in some time. I started to recycle it, scrapping old projects and building anew.”

  “See, there ya have it,” Brendan said sourly. “We’ll have to finish it some other way.”

  It’ll only take another year, he thought.

  But Eddis was still smiling. He knew something Brendan didn’t. Epik and Millie both were smiling, too. They were all in on it, like this conversation was planned ahead of time.