by Ann Hunter
Contents
Copyright
Other Works
TickTock
EPILOGUE
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
EPILOGUE
Fan Ann
About the Author
ASHES
Ann Hunter
~*~
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this novel are either fictitious or used fictitiously.
Published in 2016 by Aisling House, LLC/P. Gerschler. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher.
Ashes / By Ann Hunter
Don’t miss Ann’s other works
Crowns of the Twelve:
Moonlight
The Subtle Beauty
Fallen
A Piece of Sky
~*~
North Oak:
Born to Run
Yearling
Morning Glory
To Bottle Lightning (coming soon)
http://amazon.com/author/annhunter
Live the life you choose.
The clock is ticking…
EPILOGUE
Two burly guards dragged a round older man in a blue waist coat and powdered wig into the courtroom. He struggled against them, the chains clinking around his ankles as he cried out, “What is my crime? I’ve done nothing!”
The guards flung him toward the bar. The judge looked down his long eagle nose over wiry spectacles. His black robes shined in the light streaming through a tall window to the left, periwig perfectly seated atop his head. A clock of many and various gears ticked loudly on the wall behind him.
The shackled man looked around wildly and swallowed. His breath raced. The clock’s pendulum swung ominously.
At last the judge spoke. “Lord Robert Tremaine, you stand here accused of high treason and co-conspirator to the assassination of His Royal Highness Prince Andrew, Chief Executive Officer of The Corporation. How do you plead?”
Lord Tremaine’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. He choked on the words. “Assasin— ? No. That’s not possible. I was not here when that happened.”
“That does not mean you are not a co-conspirator. Answer the question.”
Robert Tremaine swallowed the lump in his throat. Sweat trickled down his furrowed brow. His chains clinked softly, and he looked down at them. “I do not understand.”
“Answer the question,” the judge demanded, each word louder than the previous.
Robert shook his head slowly.
The judge smacked his gavel and gave the order for the guards to remove the accused. Robert’s heart pounded. “Wait! Please. You and I were lads together. We were friends. Show mercy!”
“I am merely a speaker for Time, Lord Tremaine. Time knows not mercy.” The judge rose slowly. “We are all Time’s subjects, and time bids be gone.” He looked to the guards and waved them on. “The dungeon.”
“No!” Robert yelled. “I beg you!”
The guards marched on. The halls grew darker until they wound down a dark stone staircase. Robert turned and plodded compliantly. A tear slipped down his wrinkled, ruddy cheek.
Torchlight reached from the floor below, dancing on the cold wall. Standing water and human waste putrefied the air. A fat, black rat squeaked by. Robert’s skin crawled momentarily.
The unflinching guards led him to a cell at the farthest end of the prison, isolated from the others. A heavy door with a single, small grill at eye level, was the only entrance.
Robert’s lips trembled. “Isolation? But why? I’m innocent. I’ve done nothing.”
The guards remained silent as they shook out a large iron ring fat with keys and opened the door. They escorted him inside and removed his shackles.
He stood in the light of a single window that showed only blue sky, and rubbed his wrists sorely.
The door groaned shut with a formidable finality.
“Well look who the cat dragged in.”
Robert jumped at the voice and turned. He squinted into the shadows.
A silhouette of a woman sat in the corner. She rose slowly and moved toward the light. Her hair was bedraggled and she wore only prison rags of burlap and chains. She was lean and pale. “Of all the people who could be thrown in to this place with me, the last I expected was Lord Robert Tremaine.”
“You know me?”
The woman into the light fully. She was half Robert’s age, barely into her twenties at best. “I used to. Once upon a time.” Her eyes settled on his. It was clear she had been in this cell for a long time as her pupils had gone gray from low use. “Then you left me to make your fortune, and I have not seen you since.”
Robert squinted and cocked his head to the side until a horrified realization came over him. “Rebecca?”
“Hello, father.”
“What… how…?”
“I imagine they brought you up on charges of co-conspiracy to kill the prince. This is my fault.”
Robert reached out to his daughter and gripped her shoulders. His words came in a strained breath. “What have you done?”
“I killed Prince Andrew, and you created me. Therefore, you are a co-conspirator. Guilty by association.”
Rebecca moved to the small window. “They put me in here because they believe I am a danger to society, and to myself. Funny how they put you in here as well.” She looked over her shoulder. “I wonder what they wish to happen to you.”
“Why, Rebecca? Why would you do such a thing? My girl… my little girl.”
Rebecca gazed down at her copper shackles, adorned with the carvings of gears and cogs and numbers to remind her that her penalty was the severest of all. In their world, time was unforgiving. Time was all. Life in prison was a sentence worse than death. “Shall I tell you the tale, father?”
Tears streamed down Lord Robert’s face. “Why, Rebecca? Why, why, WHY?” He wiped the offending tears away and tried to compose himself. “Tell me… but first I must know. Was it worth it?”
Rebecca looked up at the clear, blue sky. A smile crept upon her face.
I
“But soon Maker Khronos, who accomplishes all, will pass the doors of this house, and then all of the pollution will be expelled from the hearth by cleansing rites that driiiiiive out ca-lamity.” The preacher dabbed his brow, then raised his hands towards the rafters of the church. “The dice of fortune will turn as they fall and lie with faces all lovely to behold, favorably disposed to whoever stays in our house.”
Twelve–year-old Rebecca looked at her mother, Lilly, who fanned her self and nodded with a fervent “Amen.”
“Join me now, brothers and sisters, in prayer. Let us cry out to Maker Khronos, that he may come swiftly and end the wickedness of King Andrus.”
Rebecca looked at her father, Lord Robert Tremaine who bowed his head. She leaned in and whispered “Why is the king wicked, father?”
Robert shushed her.
She crossed her arms and slumped down in the wooden pew. Even with all the windows and doors wide open, the air was stifling. She grimaced up at the golden clock above the altar. The pendulum seemed to swing unusually slow.
Rebecca sighed and wiggled, pushing herself upright and leaning against her knees with her head in her hands. Her foot pumped up and down with nervous energy. Soon she felt an elbow in her ribs, sent by her mother.
“The poison is upon us, my brothers and sisters. The King means to make himself supreme rul
er with this new proclamation he has sent out. He now calls himself the Supreme Chief Executive Officer of The Corporation, but no one, save for Maker Khronos, can change who they are. Time is of the essence. From the moment we are born, it is our mission to find our place in The Great Wheel. For we are all but gears in the clockwork of time. Maker Khronos knows where we belong, and we must work together to make our world exactly right.”
The preacher shook his head and swayed back and forth for a long moment before pounding his fist on the pulpit. Rebecca jumped at the sudden noise.
“King Andrus would be the wrench in The Great Wheel. The wrench that destroys the gear, that grinds down our cogs and strips us of our springs and bolts. His factory is snuffing out the sun. Stand high enough and you can see it for miles.” The preacher looked down again and pursed his lips with a dry swallow. “While it is unlawful to willfully rebel, we must do what we can to prevent the poison from reaching our village. Let us cry out to Maker Khronos once more!”
Rebecca fell back against the pew with a soft groan, scrunching up her face as the congregation mechanically repeated the prayers of Khronos. Her father locked a fierce eye on her until they rose for the closing hymn.
Rebecca tipped her head back in the sunlight and fresh air. A breeze fluttered her brown hair. Birds chirped merrily to the music of the rustling leaves. She had beaten the rest of the congregation out of the chapel. They filed out behind her and climbed in to their clockwork buggies and carriages that glistened in the sun.
Preacher stopped her parents for a moment by the door and spoke in a low voice. She could not make out what he was saying, but she was sure it was some thing about her behavior.
No matter how impassioned he seemed during sermon, Rebecca just knew his eyes were on her with a certain level of… concern. That would be the diplomatic term she was sure he would use, but what he was probably wondering is why she struggled so much every time the congregation gathered.
The answer was simple. It was boring. It made her head hurt.
Her father had taught her that to sit idly was a sin against Maker Khronos. Yet that was exactly what was expected of all who gathered in that awful little white church. She could not help but stare at the golden clock. Its heavy tick-tocks practically screaming at her. Sitting. Idling. While Preacher carried on about The Corporation and how the black air it belched was coming to destroy them. The Corporation was miles away. Their little town had been peaceful for centuries. Maker Khronos would not allow such a thing, would He?
Rebecca glanced over her shoulder at her mother and father who nodded gravely to whatever Preacher was carrying on about. All she had learned from her parents and Preacher was that Maker Khronos was just. She would not say she had any love for Him, but certainly respect was in order. And just because she respected the deity, did not mean she had any respect for the politics surrounding Him.
She sighed. How could she ever express to her parents her belief that religion did not equal a relationship with Khronos?
Before they said their final farewells to Preacher for the afternoon, Rebecca climbed into their clockwork carriage. She ran her hand over the red velvet seats lovingly. Her father had made the entire device by himself. In fact, most of the buggies and carriages were made by her father or the parts he created.
It was a clean way to travel. Their carriage was a dark, polished copper, and it practically purred when it moved. It was stately without being too brash. She leaned against the seat as her parents got in. She could feel her father’s eyes upon her.
“We need to talk tonight, Rebecca. Preacher is—”
“Concerned,” Rebecca said without looking at him. It was not the first time she’d heard it.
Robert’s brown mustache twitched. He turned forward and started the carriage toward home.
Rebecca sat on a bench in her father’s forge. She held a small pair of tongs while her father hammered away on a large, half molten gear. The fire of the forge illuminated the room with a soft orange glow and cast long shadows on the wall. Around the room were various clocks all ticking softly to the sound of the dancing flame.
Her father placed the molten half of the gear into a bucket of water until the light turned gray, then removed it and placed it back on the bench for more hammering. When it was perfect, he carefully placed it in a large barrel full of other gears to polish later.
Rebecca followed her father across the room with her eyes. He took another gear from the forge, smoldering like the sun, and brought it back to the bench. Orange sparks popped off of it as he hammered. She liked how she could see the glow of the gear and cogs in his black goggles, the way dirty smudges framed them, and the beads of sweat that formed along his brow. He placed the piece he’d been working on in the bucket of water, and hammered the other side.
“Father?”
“Mmm?” he grunted between clangs.
“What did Preacher say?”
The gear hissed as Robert plunged its orange head into the water. “He is concerned you do not understand The Great Wheel, or that Maker Khronos has a plan for each of us.”
“I do not think Preacher comprehends that moving within The Great Wheel does not need to involve sitting in a hot church for hours.”
“It pleases The Maker.”
Rebecca turned the tongs back and forth in her hands. “Does it?”
Robert pushed his goggles up on his forehead and wiped away the sweat on his brow with the back of his gloved fist. His lip turned inward and his jaw wiggled side to side. He was quiet a long time. “Gears and cogs are the center of our lives. You do know that, right? Without them we would not be able to precisely measure time. Gears and cogs make our entire world move. They are a driving force in our appliances, our transportation, everything. I make an honorable living creating gears and cogs and tinkering and selling my wares. You could say gears and cogs even provide our home. But what is really interesting about gears and cogs is the way they work.”
He leaned back on his heels and then motioned Rebecca over to the barrel of unpolished gears and cogs. He pulled out the most recently finished one and held it up. “Gears make The Great Wheel go round.”
Rebecca blew a stray strand of hair away from her face.
“They are the driving force,” he continued. “The life blood. Maker Khronos made the first cog and gear, The Great Wheel, and then showed man the way to move it. We are the cogs, Rebecca.” Robert held a cog in the air, tilting it toward the various ticking gears, cogs, and clocks in the room until it fit in an open space. He turned it slowly. “Cogs are unique in that each and every piece, no matter how big or small, has a very important part to play in The Great Wheel. They must work together, fit together, in such a way. Harmoniously. Elsewise the Wheel will struggle.”
He moved closer to the gears and cogs on the wall and pulled a wrench from his work belt beneath his smith’s smock. He jammed the wrench in between a pair and Rebecca watched as all the cogs and gears ground to a halt. The clocks stopped ticking. The room grew silent. Even the forge died a little. “One little wrench in the works and our world stops moving. Do you see now?”
She stared.
“The wrench must be removed in order for the gears and cogs to continue turning in peace.” Robert removed the wrench and the gears and cogs began ticking again. The fire roared back to life full force. Pendulums on the clocks swayed back and forth once more.
“It is vital that every one know their place in the world so that The Great Wheel can continue moving with one accord,” he said as he took out a ladder in order to climb up and precisely adjust the clocks to his pocket watch, set to Khronos’ time. “One only has so much time to figure out who they are and what they are meant to do. Time is precious, Rebecca, and so is every cog and gear.”
Rebecca watched the tedious task of clock resetting. She looked at the ground and felt a little hollow inside. “When did you know, father?”
“Know?”
“Your place in The Great Wheel.�
��
He glanced at his pocket watch, then back up to the clock he was looking at. “When I was eight.”
“When you were eight?” she looked up quickly, incredulously.
“When I was eight.”
“But… how?”
“I was in the city with my father on my eighth name day when we walked in to a clock smith’s shop. I watched the clock maker carefully place tiny, intricate cogs inside of a pocket watch. I could not look away. It was as though an external force demanded I never looked away again. My fingers itched with a burning desire to know how all of those tiny cogs and gears fit inside and worked together. And then the clock smith glanced up at me with a knowing smile. He shut the back of the watch and pushed it across the counter to me. My name was engraved on that watch. That’s when I knew.”
Rebecca leaned against a post that helped support the pitched roof. She crossed her arms in dismay. Her father had been eight when Maker Khronos called to him. Here she was already twelve and had felt nothing. Heard nothing. She frowned and bit her lower lip.
Her father climbed down from the ladder and put it away. “To sit idly by and merely watch The Great Wheel turn is to sin against Maker Khronos. It is a waste of life. To search until you find your calling is time well spent. That is what Preacher fears you do not understand. Time spent in church is time spent listening for the call. For direction. It steadies the spirit so that we may listen.”
Robert took a rag from his work bench and wiped all the grime from the day’s work from his hands. “All this damnable ticking can either drive you mad or soothe your soul.”
“Depends on the day,” Rebecca snickered.
Robert laughed and nodded. “I’ll give you that. Knowing your place is reassuring. Hearing the ticking without knowing can only drive one mad. It reminds us that we are losing time fulfilling our true purpose.”
“What if a cog is frozen stiff from knowing that?”
