The Machine God (The Drifting Isle Chronicles)

by MeiLin Miranda

  Deviatka scrambled on hands and knees, searching through the debris for the scattered papers. The Vatterbroch manuscript had vanished beneath a pile of rubble; the Bone Lyre had skidded to a stop between the two men. "I haven't finished, Ollie, make her stop before she kills us!" Boom went Alleine's fist against the growing crater's bottom. He got down on all fours and crawled away from the ever-widening hole. "Yes, that's right, help me find the last spell," cried Deviatka, "I'll take care of you, maybe get the University of Jero to take you back!"

  Jero? Why would Adewole wish to go back there? Risenton, even with its cold and its poverty, contained everything he'd ever really wanted. It didn't matter now. A great crack sounded from the crater; a strong wind gusted upwards; weak, early morning sunlight shafted onto the ceiling. Alleine had broken through.

  The floor crumbled in earnest, opening to the wind clutching at the crater's edges. Deviatka stuffed manuscript papers into his shirt and scrabbled toward the Bone Lyre. The island shook again, sending him rolling toward the pit. A chunk of the ceiling fell, crushing Deviatka's leg; his screams pierced the roaring wind, but he seized one arm of the Lyre just as Adewole grabbed the other, the Duet pendant's crystals tangling in his fingers.

  The floor started to collapse; the boulder atop Deviatka's leg slid down into the open air, Deviatka close behind. The Bone Lyre alone kept him from falling. The rushing wind billowed his jacket over his head like a sail; it sucked pages and pages of the Vatterbroch translation into the open air to rain down on the city. "Pull me up!" shrieked Deviatka, the whites of his eyes showing all round. Adewole looped his free arm around a rock and tried to pull them both back into the cavern. The rock gave way, and the two men fell through the hole in the island.

  Adewole lost his grip on the Bone Lyre; the Duet came away from it, tangled in his fingers. Karl Deviatka screamed as he fell, still clutching the Lyre, spittle stringing across his gaping mouth. It didn't matter, thought Adewole. They would both die. Maybe they'd hit Lake Sherrat and the Lyre would be lost. Without the translations, no one would know how to use it anyway. He closed his eyes, until a sharp jerk stopped his fall.

  Adewole hung in the air. Nothing held him up as far as he could see; he floated like a cloud. Below him, Karl Deviatka diminished, spiraling down to the ground a mile below. Beside him hovered the Machine God. "You come down with me, Ollie," said Alleine, "I don't want you getting hurt."

  "You do not go down, either!" he shouted, thinking of Major Berger. "Alleine, put us back on the island. The bad man is dead, he cannot hurt you any more, but if you go down, someone else might hurt you."

  Alleine bobbed in the air, uncertain. "I could go back to sleep."

  "Not down below. The Black Spring--remember? The Black Spring is down below."

  The metal body shuddered. Though its face never changed, everything in its movements spoke to the fragile girl inside, tentative, frightened, oddly graceful. "Not the Black Spring."

  "Then put us back on the island. Please."

  The Machine God took him in its left arm and gathered him close to the red heart pulsing in its cold metallic chest; they rose, cresting Risenton's edge. They floated more like balloons than birds, high above the green and gray island below them. People ran from their houses, pointing up at the sky. Some fell to their knees, others clutched children. Faint screams reached them. What peace would there be for Alleine, here or anywhere? Once they set down on Risenton again, it would be just like the last time. The people would curse her, tear her machine body apart, and imprison her back in the shrine. He couldn't stop them; they were rightfully afraid. And then there were the Eisenstadters. She might defend herself--keep eating ichor and fight for her existence--but it would be a never-ending battle.

  Inside his jacket pocket, close to his heart, the copied spell to undo what Vatterbroch had done was tucked into his wallet, written on a slip of paper. It would free Alleine--but it might trap him inside the Machine God in her place. It might not work at all; he'd lost the Bone Lyre. "Listen now, Alleine," he said, "I must tell you something."

  "Will you stay with me until I fall back asleep?" she interrupted, "will you tell people I didn't mean it?"

  "I will do all that, yes, dear child, but listen." Adewole took a long, cold, shaky breath. "Recall you asked me to find a spell to help you."

  "You can make the pain stop, or just let me out? I think I want out more than anything, Ollie, it hurts so bad in here and I keep doing the wrong thing. I don't mind now if I die. I just wanna see my Mam again."

  "I cannot ease your pain, but I may be able to release you." So much would be lost with Alleine--irretrievable history. They had just scratched the surface. "If you wish to live there are other ways. You may find a place to hide and go back to sleep."

  "But someone might find me and wake me up again. What's the other way?"

  "Keep eating ichor, and fight for your right to exist."

  "I can't do that, either. I dunno if I should exist. Not like this."

  As they spoke, they toured the island, floating above it; the Machine God's face remained impassive, but Adewole sensed Alleine's wonder and excitement as she took in the thing she had accidentally created. "I made this?" she said, her voice reverberating through the metal beside his ear.

  "Yes."

  "T'is pretty."

  "Yes."

  "There are people down there." She paused. "I don't like fighting. I want you to do the other."

  Adewole's throat constricted. "Let me show you something first." They had circled the entire island and returned to the forest near the Ossuary. Ofira flew up to meet them, two members of the parliament of owls escorting her. Just what he'd wished for.

  "Learnèd 'un, do that be the summat grand the bad 'un took from you?" said the owl.

  "Ofira, my dear, this is my friend Alleine. She is the one who gave the feathered 'uns thought and speech."

  Ofira and her owls flew in slow circles around the Machine God. "We are born so, no one makes us so."

  "Some geese gabble and some speak, yes?"

  "Fewer every year," allowed Ofira, "but gabbling geese are stupid. They get et."

  "Long ago, longer than you can recite your lineage, Volekiller Daughter of Mouseterror, all feathered 'uns were like the gabbling geese. None spoke, until Alleine. She loved birds so much she gave you this gift a thousand years ago."

  Ofira replied she had no idea how long that was. "Can she speak for herself and let us judge?"

  "She cannot understand you. Alleine," he said, switching languages, "this is my friend Ofira and two of her kin. I named her after my sister. She is a descendent of the birds you gave understanding to when you helped Birdie, though she does not believe me entirely."

  The Machine God's truncated arm rose. "Are they tired? They can come sit on me." Adewole repeated the invitation. The three owls hesitated until, with Adewole's assurance, Ofira perched on the arm. The other two joined her. "Oh, they're so pretty," gasped Alleine. "I don't know what they say, but they talk like Birdie! I love Birdie so much. I miss her."

  "What did Birdie look like?" said Adewole.

  Alleine floated silently; the Machine God's eyes did not move, but Adewole swore Alleine studied them. "Can I have a feather? I'll give it back."

  "I have a bad 'un," said an owl. The bird raised its wing. "There. Don't know what I'd do with that do she give that back, though."

  Moving carefully, the Machine God brought Adewole closer to the birds. He slipped his fingers through the soft feathers, warm from the owl's body, until he found the loose wing feather and gently plucked it. "Will this do?" he asked Alleine.

  "Mm-hm. Lemme think."

  An invisible hand slipped the feather from Adewole's fingers, to hang in the air. What had Deviatka said? Alleine couldn't turn lead into gold, couldn't create something from nothing, but she could manipulate things--even beings--as long as they remained essentially what they were. The feather split into many smaller feathers. They turned color from an owl
's tawny brown to a gray and black; the smallest feathers turned iridescent. They rearranged themselves until a miniature, hollow feather shell of a pigeon floated in the air before them. "That's what Birdie showed me she looked like." Alleine let her dead friend's feathered ghost hang in the air for a silent minute before the feathers flew apart and formed back into the original single pin feather. It floated back to its owner, who raised her wing; the feather carefully slotted itself back where it belonged, no longer a "bad 'un." Owls often looked somewhat astonished, but by the way they clacked their beaks Adewole thought they might be astonished this time. "We believe you," said Ofira.

  "Do me a favor then, Ofira my dear," said Adewole, "and bring as many birds to us as you can, all kinds. I want Alleine to see them. Can you do this?"

  "Feathered 'uns listen to owls. They don't always do as we ask 'em, but for this they will." The three owls flew away.

  By now, Adewole was shivering again. He asked Alleine to put them down near the Ossuary's entrance. "I must find my other kikois. I don't want to leave you, but I am chilled through."

  "Oh, are you cold?" said Alleine. The air around them grew warm, warmer, until it grew so hot Adewole begged her to stop. "I'm sorry," she murmured in misery as the temperature dropped to bearable, "I try to be good, and I just can't be."

  Frustration and anger constricted Adewole's throat, not at the child but at the men who'd made her what she was. "You are the best girl in the world."

  "No, I'm not. I let the new Master die on purpose, Ollie. I coulda caught him, but I didn't."

  "You are the best girl in the world," he repeated, patting the metal arm around his chest.

  Birds began arriving. A small flock of sparrows the same dun color as the café sparrows who harassed Adewole for crumbs arrived first, twittering cheerfully. Geese, songbirds, hawks, pigeons, owls, doves, swans, a solitary eagle, and birds whose names Adewole did not know circled around Alleine as she laughed in delight. They perched on her arm, her fingers, her shoulders, her head, and they all talked at once. Adewole didn't know much about birds, but he reckoned he'd never see a gathering like this ever again in his life. "What do you want us for?" screeched Ofira.

  "I just wanted her to see you all," said Adewole.

  "Thass fine, learnèd 'un, but t'unfeathered 'uns are frightened. We hear they come soon. You best be elsewhere." She swiveled her head toward the east. Three autogyros approached.

  "Oh, no, not now!" said Adewole. "Ofira, can your people distract the autogyros? We need time. Do not put anyone in danger, but see if you can divert them." The owl flew off, calling to the other birds. As word spread, the flocks and singletons tacked to follow her. They met the aircraft just a few hundred yards away and circled in a clogging cloud. Some of the sparrows got too close. Blood and feathers sprayed as a gyro's rotors sucked them in. It sputtered but stayed aloft. Alleine cried out, and all three machines stopped dead in the air, engines whining but rotors still; they wheeled toward the ground like injured birds. "Alleine, no, keep them aloft--there are people in them, good people," shouted Adewole.

  "They hurt birds," she shouted back. She slowed the three autogyros' fall, but too late; they plummeted from sight.

  They must have hit the ground hard. Adewole groaned and hid his face in his hands. "Merciful Chano. May they be spared."

  "I didn't know they was gonna fall like that, I just wanted them to stop," said Alleine, miserable tears in her voice. "I let that man die, but I just wanted to stop those flying things, not kill people, even if they hurt birds. I just wanted them to stop."

  "You did not mean it any more than you meant to raise the island in the first place." Those three gyros came from East Camp. Camp Turnip was closer but likely didn't have anyone ready to fly. They'd have someone in the air soon enough, especially after this disaster. He had little time before Major Berger's people arrived and shot a needle into him, and once he started the spell Alleine could not help him. He hoped they'd use an anesthetic needle, not a poison one. "Put us down," he said.

  Alleine landed near the Ossuary's entrance. "They're gonna come for us, huh?"

  "I fear so."

  "I don't want them to hurt you, Ollie, and if I'm still here they're gonna. I don't want to hurt anyone, but if they hurt you I couldn't stand it." Alleine's prison was level with his eyes; its red light fluttered in distress. "You said you was gonna help. Do it before someone gets hurt again. You gotta let me go, Ollie."

  "I do not know if I can, but I will try."

  The Machine God nodded its head. "Thank you," said Alleine. "So what do we do now?"

  "I suppose we say goodbye," Adewole said past the increasing tightness in his chest.

  Alleine bent the Machine God down and placed its one, gentle hand on Adewole's head. "You been real nice to me, Ollie. Please don't forget me."

  "Oh, child, how could I?" said Adewole. He burst into exhausted tears.

  "Don't cry," soothed Alleine, "I'm already dead, ain't I? You're just sending me off to my Mam is all. It'll be better for everyone. I won't hurt any more. I want to go." Adewole thought of his own mother dead these seven years, his darling little sister, the three gyros' crewmen, the tens of thousands who'd died in the Rising of Cherholtz. His tears came faster, but he couldn't cry and sing at the same time; he mopped his eyes, stuffed down his sobs, and stuffed his handkerchief back in his trousers pocket. He never wanted to kill anyone, but the girl was right: she was already dead.

  He considered an eternity trapped inside the God. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt him as it did her. He might do a great deal of good, but in the end he knew he lacked the wisdom to wield its power well. He would fly to a remote spot far from the Black Spring--far from anyone--hide himself and go to sleep. With luck, he'd sleep till the end of time.

  Then again, it might all be moot. The spell might not work without the Lyre. He told her so, and added, "If it does not work, I will stay with you. We will find a place to hide, and I will stay with you until you fall asleep. Then I will work to make sure no one may awaken you again." Alleine nodded the God's enormous head. Should he tell her what might happen to him? No.

  Adewole still clutched the Duet in one frozen hand. He put it in his coat pocket, flexed his cramped fingers and fished the spell out of his wallet. His legs decided they'd finished work for the day, and he eased himself down before they gave out completely, his cold muscles complaining like an old man's. "If I do this wrong, I do not know what will happen. Nothing at all might happen, or I might make it worse. Do you still wish me to try?"

  "It can't get no worse," said Alleine. She dropped the Machine God's body into a clanking heap beside him; the ground shook.

  It might for me, thought Adewole. He picked up the music and sang the first long, sustained note. His deep voice vibrated against the Machine God's body, and it shuddered. "I feel something," said Alleine.

  "I am surprised, quite frankly." A sudden heat sprang up in his coat pocket; he pulled out the Duet. Its black crystals pulsed. Perhaps he didn't need the Lyre after all. "Does it hurt?"

  "It kinda feels like bees are inside me. Keep going."

  Adewole draped the Duet's chain around his neck and sang in earnest. He sang the old words that, unlike Karl, he understood. Vatterbroch's spells had conjured power, dominance, force and compulsion, and had ground against the mind; this song rang like a calm bell, rippling through the God and Adewole both. The Bone Lyre's absence turned the curse into a blessing as the Duet amplified the power of Adewole's voice. Now the song spoke of release, gratitude, peace, freedom; its words changed on their own as Adewole sang them. Alleine laid the Machine God's body down beside him and let out a long sigh. The red mist Deviatka had stuffed into the body seeped out, coalescing in a soft, eddying pool above it.

  He fell into a trance as the song went on and on. The red mist picked up speed as it drained from the odd-metal form. It shifted from a flock of birds to a little girl dancing in the air and back, again and again, far different from the agitated whi
rlpool Deviatka had created. A whirring entered his consciousness; was it a secondary tone from the music? The wind? No--autogyros, coming from Camp Turnip in the north. They'd be in shooting range any moment, and Adewole had no illusions. They'd shoot him on sight.

  A thin red string held Alleine's spirit to the Machine God now; she would be no help to him. He kept singing. Almost done, almost--

  A needle hit Adewole's left shoulder; numbness creeped down his arm. Anesthetic, not poison. Berger always did like him. Another needle, this time in his left thigh, but on he sang. Another needle embedded itself in the folds of his kikoi; the coat underneath kept it from hitting his neck. Alleine laughed now, the red mist almost emptied from the Machine God's heart. The sedative crept over him; as hurt, sick and exhausted as he already was, he'd pass out soon. He sang faster, letting the music carry him as his muscles failed one by one.

  The spell's last words escaped his lips. "Goodbye, Ollie," whispered Alleine's voice. The heart emptied; the red mist dissolved into the air. No longer enchanted, the Machine God's odd-metal body lost its lustrous patterning. The manuscript lay under tons of rock, and its translations were scattered on the wind. The Lyre was lost. Alleine was free, and the God was forever dead.

  Adewole could no longer hold himself up, and he slumped to the ground. The autogyros landed. Their engines sent reverberations through the ground into Adewole's numb body as he drifted away. What would Minister Faber do to him? It doesn't matter, whispered the anesthetic, and he surrendered to chemical sleep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Doctor Ansel set an armed guard over Adewole's room in Founder's Hospital this time, a chamber set up more like a tiny study than a sickroom, but with round the clock nursing and enforced rest periods. "Oladel, my friend, you've stepped in it," he said, "and not just with the brass." He launched into a scolding featuring variations on the theme you could have been killed, you crazy Jerian.

  Adewole shrugged. "Siegfried, it does not matter any more. I have no intention of escaping. I did what I had to do, and there is an end to it. I shall stay here until you tell me I may go."