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

by William Tyler Davis

  “Not so fast, my friend,” Epik said with a gleam like sunshine in his eye. Then Brendan realized it was sunshine, the last ray of which ducked behind the mountains. “Trace,” Epik pointed to the wall, “just told me there’s metal on that train—and he said they’ve got it moving again.”

  “Well, isn’t this like a chicken or the egg problem?” Brendan sighed. “How are we supposed to take out the train without an airship?”

  Epik point out a hand. “We don’t have to take out the train to take what’s inside it.”

  Eddis looked down at the halfling. “Right, and you thought I was crazy. This is the real crazy bit. Tell him what you’re thinking, Epik.”

  But Millie’s couldn’t hold it in any longer. “We steal from a moving train,” she said confidently.

  “I think we can.” Epik smiled broader.

  “I know we can,” Millie confirmed. “We just need—”

  “Trace will figure out its schedule for us.”

  “Perfect.” Millie nodded.

  “Trace? Who is this Trace?” Again, Brendan felt left out. He threw his hands in the air. They really were crazy. “And why isn’t he here helping?” he asked.

  Epik, Millie, and Eddis all turned to the wall expectantly.

  “I am here,” the shadow standing there agreed.

  19

  The Once and Current King

  It had finally come time for Epik to do something he dreaded. He’d put this off as long as possible, wrestling with the notion that he could get away without doing it.

  And for a long while, he had. He’d used Trace as an in-between—a way of speaking to his father without actually speaking to his father. The shadow was a crutch, really. And not really a nice one, like the wizard staffs from Gabby’s shop, more like those hobbling sticks the beggars in Primary Park used to crack unwary pedestrians about the shins and beg for change.

  Then, of course, Epik wrestled with another notion—that his father, the king of Dune All-En, should contact him first. Shouldn’t he? Why did Epik have to initiate contact?

  Then he realized why… Because he was the one in need—of answers.

  Epik pictured Epiman alone in his throne room, there at his desk scribbling on parchment. The tricky part was figuring out what his father might be thinking of—Myra, the war, himself, the Grand Sovereign? Epik could take his pick, almost anything would suffice. But the competitive part of Epik wanted to be right.

  The future, Epik decided. It was a bit broad, but there was a truth to it. Epiman was always one step ahead, even a step ahead of his father, the Grand Sovereign. Things in King’s Way would not have gone as well had Epiman not plotted every move, down to Captain Todder losing his assigned scroll.

  Epik reached out.

  Father? he thought. Can you hear me?

  Epik felt something small, something like a smile, then he heard, I was wondering when you’d call.

  The voice sounded a bit like King Epiman—the adroit businessman who was introduced to Epik in the Rotten Apple pub. But really, it sounded more like Gabby, the bumbling inept wizard who, if memory served, Epik had met the very same night.

  Epik wondered why his father sounded that way.

  I sound how you want me to sound, his father replied. Your mind filters the thoughts, much like but completely unlike the process that takes waves through your ears to make audible sound. Instead of putting a voice with a face, it’s putting a thought with a sound—one of your own choosing.

  And I choose to hear you as mix of Gabby and yourself?

  It seems so. Though we both know Gabby is a part of me—a big part.

  Can I ask, Epik asked, how do you hear me?

  Another smile filtered through. I hear you as all fathers hear their grown children. I hear a child.

  Oh…

  I assume you have a reason for contacting me?

  Yes, a few, Epik thought. First, did you gift Brendan with magic or did he come by it on his own?

  Ah, you’re really beginning to understand, aren’t you? I did gift Admiral Sands with those powers. I saw potential. Don’t you?

  Yeah… I do.

  And Myra? Does she have magic?

  Oh, most definitely.

  Did you try to coax it out, like you did mine?

  Definitely not. You know Myra, Epiman’s voice was dismayed by the idea. Would you entrust her with magic if it wasn’t the right time? No, I had to hide her magic away, much like You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away. I feel it—you’re putting your friends in grave danger.

  I don’t mean to.

  There’s a time and place for everything. And now is the time to focus on magic.

  Which brought Epik back to the here and the now. How do you know when it’s the right time?

  It’s complicated.

  Try me!

  I said it’s complicated, meaning I’m not even sure. It’s a gift, like your vanishing—a gift I try to use for the greater good.

  The greater good? Epik repeated. I’m not even sure I’m on the right side. You and the Grand Sovereign, you’ve both done terrible things.

  There’s a difference. Epiman’s voice was smooth as silk. Most of the awful things I did, I did to you, not the entire population.

  It was true, in a way. Mostly true.

  What about the trolls and the war? All those people died for no reason…

  Epik, people die for no reason every single day. But what I did had purpose. Yes, it was misguided in places. There are consequences for every action, chains of events where one misdeed can alter a future. Things I should’ve foreseen but didn’t.

  And now you want me to trust you?

  No, Epiman said. It’s not me I want you to trust…

  20

  The Lies of Gertrude

  It’s me again. Epik’s voice rang like a bell in Gerdy’s mind. It startled her and she jumped from the craggy floor, her back aching, and peered around the cell.

  Catarina slept in the corner of the room, breathing in a steady rhythm.

  You again? Hmm… Gerdy mocked. You’re going to have to be more specific.

  Uh, it’s Epik?

  Of course it is. Who else’s voice do you think I hear in my head?

  Oh, right… Sorry. Were you asleep? I was afraid you were asleep.

  No, I wasn’t asleep. But you’re right about the dreams. It’s like as soon as I know, as soon as I’m sure that it’s a dream, I wake up.

  Yeah, Epik thought. I understand. I have this one with a dragon—it was almost every night for weeks before we started talking. It felt so real…

  That’s the thing—these dreams don’t feel real. It’s like they’re meant for me to know they’re not real.

  Well, there might be an answer for that, Epik thought. His glum tone found its way into Gerdy’s head. My father—our father—hid Myra’s magic from her somehow. Maybe in her dreams the magic tries to find its way out.

  That sounds like him. I never really liked Epiman. Funny, I always did like Gabby better.

  Yeah, join the club.

  You don’t happen to know—

  No, Epik cut her off. He wouldn’t say. Listen, Gerdy, he said, Kavya just fell asleep. If we’re going to do a lesson, we need to get to it.

  Gerdy felt a pang in her belly. She glanced at Catarina. The girl’s pointed features reminded her so much of Myra. And she looked peaceful with her eyes closed.

  It was only when those eyes opened that what’d she’d done, the pain she’d put Gerdy through, stung like fire.

  How is she? Kavya that is? Gerdy asked.

  Oh, she’s well, I guess. She’s learning to use magic, like you. I guess she never had it growing up—only her sister did. It’s all new to her. The kids even got her up on a broom the other day.

  You have brooms—like, flying brooms?

  We do. There was a smile in Epik’s thought, Gerdy could feel it. But it wasn’t about the broom. No, it was more to do with seeing Kavya on one.

  Are you sur
e you aren’t spirit casting again? she asked him.

  Pretty sure. Why?

  No reason…

  Speaking of brooms, he said, we’re planning something—something crazy.

  Epik, I said not to try to save me.

  No, it’s not that. It’s something crazier, even. I can’t say. Anyway, are you ready for your lesson?

  I guess, Gerdy thought. But she perked up, a question on her mind. But can I—can I ask you a question first? Maybe more than one.

  Anything.

  Epik was smiling again, but this time it wasn’t a stretch to feel it. All she had to do was picture the halfling. He had worn a smile so often.

  Gerdy wavered. She tried to find the right words but was careful not to give anything away.

  Kavya’s sister, she thought, what happened to her? Did you do something before you left?

  I did. Epik’s thoughts took on another tone entirely. Shame. Sorry, he said, it’s just Kavya’s still a bit raw about it. Ya know? But honestly, I couldn’t see any other way.

  What did you do? Gerdy urged.

  I, uh, I sort of broke her down. I took her will, her motivation, away.

  That doesn’t sound so bad.

  No. No, it doesn’t when I say it like that. But what I’ve—what we’ve learned here, with the witches, is that everything in you is tied to something else. Magic is tied to emotion. Emotions are tied to memories, to people, to places. Whatever I did, I broke a part of her. A big one.

  A bad part, thought Gerdy. An evil one.

  I don’t disagree. It’s just, she may never recover. This next part seemed hard for Epik. You don’t know what the Grand Sovereign has done with her, do you? Kavya would really like some peace of mind. I guess I would, too. Maybe he even put her back together somehow. She could probably find us if he did.

  No, Gerdy thought quickly—too quickly. I mean, I don’t know what’s happened to her.

  Sure, Epik’s tone faltered, of course you don’t.

  Gerdy thought she felt something else in Epik’s thoughts, something hard to place.

  Let’s get started, she thought.

  Right. Let’s…

  Catarina turned in her sleep. Her hair flipped over her face—just the way Myra’s golden hair did. Gerdy remembered those nights in Dune All-En they’d spent together. Those nights she’d wasted. It had been so long since she had seen Myra’s face.

  Epik? Gerdy asked. Do you think you could teach me how to do this… I mean how to speak in someone’s mind?

  Epik couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Gerdy had just lied to him. Though he couldn’t figure out what she’d lied about or why. Gerdy knew something. But what?

  Does she know where Catarina is?

  But Gerdy would tell him if Kavya’s sister was after them, wouldn’t she?

  Surely, he thought.

  So what was Gerdy lying about?

  Epik snuck back down the hall and into the bedroom. The fire crackled softly, barely aglow. It gave little warmth to the room. Quiet as a mouse— quieter really, Epik lifted the covers and crawled inside.

  Epik turned over the problem in his head. What else was there to lie about? Nothing, really…

  Then a hand, as cold as ice, touched Epik’s back. “Where were you?” Kavya asked.

  “Bathroom,” Epik said.

  “Liar,” Kavya teased. “What did Gerdy say?”

  Epik turned over and curled into Kavya’s embrace. They fit like different size spoons placed against one another in the kitchen drawer.

  “Why are your hands always so cold?” he asked. “Did you warm them in the snow?”

  “My mother used to say cold hands, warm heart, or vice-versa. Cat always had warm hands.” She laughed a little, then sighed.

  “If I tell you something,” Epik implored, “do you promise not to read into it? Or, at least, not too much?”

  “You know I won’t make that promise. I read into everything—is what I do.”

  “It’s what you do,” Epik corrected.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Epik smiled. Kavya’s accent was hardly noticeable to his ears anymore. He took a deep breath, readied for more questions, for Kavya to almost immediately read into it, and said, “I think Gerdy might know where Catarina is.”

  21

  The Hunger Pains

  Gray mist formed a barrier around the camp barracks confining them much as the inhabitants of the camp were trapped inside of themselves.

  When Todder woke, he found he no longer had control of anything, nothing aside from his brain. His eyes no longer moved on his command and his pinky was as stubborn as a mule, or a dachshund, or some mutant hybrid of both.

  Todder thought of all the years he’d spent wasting the use of his limbs leaning his chair against the city wall in Dune All-En. If he ever got control back, he promised to never waste them again. It was a lie, of course, but a small one.

  Trudging through the snow, his body went through the food line. He was handed a bowl of gruel and shuffled to a corner to eat it alone. The troops were never positioned in such a way as to face one another, at least, not for long.

  Unfortunately, he was still able to taste the slop. Unable to clench his jaw or shut his lips in protest, the signals to vomit were never processed. He just endured. And he lived to work another day. Which also meant he had to eat another day. The slop tasted like all the essential vitamins needed to live. Mixed but not blended, it was chewy but with no real indication of what it was he was chewing. It could’ve been shoe leather in gravy for all he could tell.

  Todder waited for his body to lumber on to the next task. Since setting the train back on track, so too was his schedule.

  He knew the routine. Next was a jaunt outside to the sparse wood. In theory, he cringed at the muck his boots trod on. The snow was trampled, and what wasn’t had a yellow cast. In practice, his body had no such qualms. It did its business, the same as everyone else.

  He wondered what was going on in the other soldiers’ minds. No one was there on his own accord. No one except the old man he’d seen days ago.

  Doland Knuth, he remembered. An old friend of his granny—conjugal old friends. Growing up, Todder had never known who his grandfather was, but he had suspicions. And that man was atop the list.

  But the stuttering old man only stopped by on occasion. When he did, it always left his gran in a right foul state. She’d go on for hours, and somehow Todder’s father would come up. And Todder was too much like his father who had gone and gotten himself killed. So the whole situation usually turned on him. His gran’d set out to make sure Todder wasn’t able to follow those dead footsteps. She’d all but wiped the memory of both his parents from his brain.

  And since that time, Todder’s brain hadn’t worked all that well. It forgot what most knew and remembered what most would not. It was funny to be stuck inside it like he was. But not funny ha ha.

  Todder’s eyes began to work again. He was able to avert them from a soldier whose body was on a similar task.

  When finished, it was time to work, which was easy because his body did the heavy lifting. All Todder had to do was negotiate the aches and pains that came along.

  Day in and day out, they unloaded train carriages on one side of the warehouse, and later they loaded carriages on the other side. One by one, not fast, not slow, but steady.

  His body stopped at the yawning warehouse doors and stomped the snow from his boots. The sound of the morning train click-clacking along pulsed in Todder’s ears and its brakes began to squeal. It was times like these he was thankful for hearing loss.

  Todder mentally prepared himself to join the line of shuffling laborers. The overnight train was loaded and being readied to depart. Todder could just make out the men on its platform doing whatever it was they did—and what that was, he wasn’t sure.

  With the use of his eyes restored, he strained to see the platform. One man, an older fellow with gray hair, as thin and lanky as any man Tod
der had ever seen, fell over. He just fwumpped down and didn’t move again.

  Todder’s body, which had begun to move in its usual routine, suddenly didn’t. Some other force willed him away. He veered toward the overnight train, casually stepping over the body.

  And before Todder knew what was what, he was on the train. It whistled and began to move as if pushed in an uneven rhythm—a log-a-rhythm. The pulses of movement got faster until the train was moving steadily and the warehouse was out of sight.

  22

  The Short Journey in the Dark

  Wind ripped across Brendan’s face. What had been a constant on the airship now felt new. It reddened his cheeks and made them raw.

  Maybe when this is all said and done, Brendan thought, I’ll make a balm or stick or something to prevent this chapping.

  But the wind was only the first of his problems. It was colder than cold. The scarf and the wool hat he’d stuffed his protuberant ears into were no match for the icy chill. Even the hairs on Brendan’s arm, underneath the cloak, were on end.

  Though that wasn’t necessarily because of the chill. The tingling sensation in the back of Brendan’s mind was unceasing.

  The white of the snow blurred beneath them. Brendan pondered burying his face into Millie’s back for warmth but thought better of it. He was already embarrassed enough, having to ride pillion behind the girl on the broom.

  She was, however, an excellent flyer. Only the twins were better. They raced ahead. One carried Sergeant Causeway and the other Corporal Shank. Behind Brendan was Epik, with Amber tucked in close. The halfling struggled to keep up. They’d run out of brooms, and he used a spell to allow Buster to fly. Buster had not approved. The pony whinnied and kicked, fought the spell with all of his stubborn outrage until Epik eased his spirit by essentially turning him into one. Now they appeared to be floating magically on the wind—there was no horse in sight.