Gossimer agreed, though, now, above the crystal blue waters off the western coast of Grubbenbrut, feeling the forgotten sensation of warmth, Gossimer found it difficult to push the memory of Elenor away. She was sweet, charming and witty; beautiful, smart and daring. Her tenacious spirit was infectious. In many ways, it was what he missed most about her.
He stepped over a melting pile of snow, carefully though so as not to slip on the slick deck. A small flock of sea birds sat upon the gangway that ran beneath the giant bladder full of air. They squawked and cawed at one another, as if they told some secret jest. It was a welcome sound, despite how grating their calls were on the ears.
Gossimer found a relatively dry spot along the starboard side of the ship. He rested his elbows upon the guardrail, letting his face bask in the sunlight. After being under clouds of snow for so long, Gossimer had forgotten how wonderful the suns kiss felt upon the cheeks.
He couldn’t help but smile.
Reaching into the breast pocket of his olive uniform, Gossimer retrieved his tin of tobacco. Taking a thin paper he set about fixing himself an overstuffed cigarette. The scent of the fresh leaf was intoxicating; it was a smell he had yearned for throughout the worst of journey. He took several weighty pinches of the finely chopped leaf, placing it carefully down the length of the paper. With practiced ease Gossimer closed the tin with one hand before sealing the paper with a quick lick.
Replacing the tin back into his pocket, Gossimer dug out a box of matches from his trousers. He slid the fat cigarette between his parted lips as he struck a match against the rough wood of the guardrail. It took three, deep drags for him to get the smoke lit properly. His mouth filled with the sweet, aromatic smoke of the Valvian weed. His body relaxed as he took another drag from the long awaited cigarette.
Out beyond the curling blue smoke from his lips was the coastline of the southern province of Grubbenbrut. The shore was lively with white sand that shone like crystals in the sun. Beyond the beach tall, twisting trees similar to those found on Driftwood Isle rose like a fortified wall. Somewhere past all the trees, Gossimer knew the marshes began, as did the famous marsh towns of the bog men.
Gossimer had never seen these towns in person and he hoped one day he would get the chance to traverse the rickety boardwalks that served as sidewalks and thoroughfares for the denizens of these towns. He wanted to hear the croaking frogs, hissing alligators, and paddle the murky bayous in a long boat. Taking a deep drag from his cigarette Gossimer decided he would visit the marshy province with Elenor once the war was won.
But what if I don’t come back?
Gossimer had never prepared himself for the reality the he might not make it back from the front. He never considered the very real risk of death. Somehow, staring out across the crystalline waters below to the far off land to the east, the realization struck him. It was a terrible thought, worrisome and suffocating. Panic clutched his heart once more. s His world teetered and tottered as a wild swoon overtook his senses. Gossimer tossed his unfinished cigarette over the edge of the rail and bowled his way through a group of men coming out on deck.
He nearly lost his footing as he descended the rickety stair, for his panic was enveloping him with its deadly, bladed hooks. Gossimer bumped into the shoulder of a thin man as he bullied his way through the narrow corridors of The Flying Tesla. He needed to escape. He couldn’t stay here amongst a ship of doomed men. Gossimer wanted to live, not die on some foreign soil for a cause that never really concerned him.
Men were hollering after him, upset with his crass behaviour. Gossimer sped past the compartment he had been assigned. He stumbled over a pile of standard issue rifles to the jeering of his bunkmates. In his haste he knocked over a crate of ammunition, spilling golden bullets over the deck. Onward he pushed, shrugging off hands that tried to stop him. He searched for the one place he could be left alone, and, oddly enough, it was the one place he never thought he would want to be.
The cargo hold was huge, yawning, and black. The only light came from the soft blue glow of a dozen humming cortexes. Gossimer steadied himself as the sightless eyes of a dozen eight foot tall machines turned their golden masked heads towards him. Amongst the assembled, there was one faceplate he recognized and it was that one Gossimer sought.
“Greetings Ser Gossimer.” The electric voice said as Gossimer approached.
Gossimer looked up into the glowing sockets of Nine’s warrior mask. Somehow he found comfort in the orbless eyes of this towering contraption.
“The one called Nine senses something is amiss.” The machine said.
“There is.” Gossimer admitted. “We’re almost over Grubbenbrut.”
“What is amiss with that?” Nine cocked its head to one side, mimicking a curious bird.
“Nothing is.” Gossimer said. He sighed, hanging his head low. “It just means we’re closer to Pozo, which means we are closer to war.”
“Ser Gossimer is afraid of war.” It was a statement more than a question.
“Yes.” Gossimer sat on the floor beside the construct. He did not want the great machine to see the fear in his eyes. “I don’t want to fall in battle.”
“If Ser Gossimer falls in battle than he must visit the mechanic.” Nine said. “Then Ser Gossimer will be fit again.”
“No, Nine.” Tears welled in Gossimer’s eyes, whether from fear or the sweet naivety of his only friend. “If I fall in battle, I won’t be coming back. I will be…I will be dead.”
“The one called Nine does not understand.”
“Dead.” Gossimer repeated. “Its like what happens when your cortex ruptures. We can’t repair that. You just stop…being.”
Silence filled the hold. Gossimer wiped the moisture from his eyes, sniffing as he did so. A heavy, cold hand came to rest on his shoulder. Gossimer looked up at Nine, surprised by such an out of character showing of affection.
“The one called Nine will keep Ser Gossimer safe.” Nine turned its head, capturing Gossimer’s gaze with its eyeless sockets. “The one called Nine will not let Ser Gossimer’s cortex rupture.”
A sad, weak smile played Gossimer’s lips. He placed his hand upon the cold steel fingers that weighed on his shoulder, grateful for the companionship.
Hard packed earth followed a consistent downward slope. Despite being a girl of eight, she still had to stoop under the arched roof of the moss-covered tunnel. The orange and yellow glow of a distant lantern beckoned Katherine Margoux. The sweet air tugged her skirts with phantom fingers, trying to withhold her from her desired destination. Yet on she pressed.
When she learned her family had acquired a very special steward, a boy who recently became attuned to pyrokinetics, Katherine simply had to see him. Like many children born to Valvian nobility, she had never seen a kinetic outside of textbooks. Three days ago, she had learnt this boy would be coming to stay and serve the Margoux family for twenty years. Katherine did not care why, but her intrigue had been sparked – even more so when she learnt her mother hired a private pyrokinetic tutor for the boy. It was a strange act of kindness for a lowly steward.
Now she traversed one of the many hidden passages of the manor, heading down to the cellar where the boy would be staying. She bit her lip, curious to know if he would be working his magic, either on his own or with the tutor. The anticipation bubbled in her little stomach, edging her steps with a gleeful gait.
Her father had often regaled Katherine and her brother with tales of the wonderful art and majesty of the kinetic people’s gifts. The excitement in his tone was contagious, causing Katherine’s own intrigue to grow as much as his. Perhaps it was the desire to share a magical tale of her own with her absent father that drove her deeper down the low tunnel; or, perhaps, she was simply driven by the natural, baser instinct of a curious child.
After what felt like a terribly long journey, Katherine finally reached the end of the tunnel. Taking a moment to gather herself, she poked her head out into the space beyond. Much to her disap
pointment, the boy was not making fire dragons, or flickering embers, or even twirling pillars of fire. Nor was he hard at work with his lessons. The boy simply sat upon a low cot, head hung low. Though Katherine couldn’t hear him, she could tell he was weeping by the way his shoulders shuddered.
“Boy, don’t cry.” She blurted, leaving the tunnel behind. The curiously large lenses the boy wore slid down his face as he jerked at the sudden disturbance.
“I’m not cryin’!” He protested, wiping the tears from his shallow cheeks and readjusting his lenses.
“Then what are you doing?” she asked.
“It’s none o’ yer concern.” The boy replied.
“What’s your name boy?” Katherine inquired, taking a few steps towards him.
“Don’t matter.” He watched Katherine’s every step with a nervous gleam in his eye. It was obvious to Katherine he tried to intimidate her into coming no further, but this boy did not know Katherine Margoux. If anything, his stare only stirred defiance in Katherine, making her cross the space the more quickly.
“Surely it matters,” she declared. “Why else would I ask?”
The young Margoux came to a stop, standing over the seated boy. Being born into a noble family, Katherine had always been well kept and fed. Seeing this thin, haggard urchin with funny lenses sitting here in her house only served to arose her curiosity.
“Why are you so thin boy?” She asked. Don’t you eat?”
“Don’t call me boy.” He spat. “M’ name is Garius – Garius Syrah if it please ye. An’ I eat fine an’ well…when I can.”
“What do you mean when you can?” Katherine sat down beside Garius. “Doesn’t your chef make your food every night?”
“M’family don’t have a chef.” Garius said, shying away from Katherine. “Me mum cooks what food we ‘ave an’ if we gots nothin’ to cook, we mozy ov’r to the kitchens. ‘Tis that way fer all salters.”
“Oh.” Katherine didn’t know what to say. She had never known a life outside her manse, nor the hardships the working class people of Wynne struggled with on a daily basis.
It was hard for her to gauge Garius’ emotions. On one hand he seemed proud of his upbringing, yet there also seemed to be underlying tones of sadness and embarrassment. Instead of feigning forced conversation, Katherine gave the boy a quick goodnight and scampered off to her bed.
And so the days went on like this. Every night Katherine would slip down the hidden cellar tunnel to visit the awkward kinetic bound to serve her family. Katherine learnt much and more of Garius’ home, the Syntaran city Malefosse. He told her the functions of the salt families, the rift between the rich and the poor. Many nights she would aid the young kinetic with his lessons, providing him tenderness his private tutor did not display. Over time his rough salter’s dialect improved and often surpassed those born to nobility. It seemed to her, even at this young age, Garius’ mind hungered for more knowledge; there was no satiating the boy’s inquisitive nature. In those days, he showed temperance and kindness to her, and even other Valvian children. In those days he was a sweet boy.
Her thoughts never turned to how her family came to acquire Garius. With her father long gone to do diplomatic work in Syntar, she merely assumed he had come across the child and, wanting more for him, sent him back to his estate and family. It didn’t even cross her mind why the boy had been sent to the manor as opposed to the College of Kinetics on Driftwood Isle in the south. Perhaps she should have, for the truth was far worse than she could ever imagine.
It was Yule time. Katherine and, her dear brother Frederick, sat down at the family’s table, which had been set with a wonderful Yuletide feast. Her mother stood beside father’s chair at the head of the table – a space left long vacant as his duties in Syntar did not give him much time to travel home. Or so Katherine and Frederick were led to believe.
“Children,” her mother’s voice was soft, angelic almost. “There is a truth I have kept from you, and it is time I share it with you.”
Katherine and her brother exchanged looks, curious to what it could be.
“Your dearest father,” Mother Margoux began, “is no longer with us. Del Morte saw fit to take him from us.”
Silence filled the dinning hall. Even the crackle from the hearth seemed to silence itself at their mother’s revelation. Outside snow fell in a slow dance, as if mourning the loss of the head of the family as well.
“When?” Frederick asked, breaking the silence. “How?”
“It…”their mother sighed, clearly distraught. “Your father was taken from us three years past.”
Katherine’s heard swelled in agony. She did not know whether to cry for her father, or to burst out in anger at her mother for hiding this terrible news for so long. So she did not cry at all. Her brother, however, did not contain himself quite so well.
“Three years ago?” His tone held a sharp edge. “Why have you not told us?”
“I couldn’t,” their mother admitted. “You were both too young.”
In some ways, Katherine pitied her mother, despite her own anger. Katherine knew their mother meant well, wanting to save the agony of a lost father from them for as long as possible. But, Frederick did not seem so compassionate. His face was red in anger and anguish.
“How?” He insisted. “How did my father die?”
“In Malefosse.” Their mother swallowed hard, as if there was some greater truth yet to be revealed. “The details have long been disputed, and even I question the truth. But, it would seem he was taken by a force outside of man’s control.”
“How can that be mother?” Katherine asked.
“There was a…a large blast at the Valvian embassy. Your father was at the center of it.”
“Radicalists.” Frederick declared.
“So I thought at first,” their mother admitted. “Until the courts told me otherwise. The blast was the work of a kinetic.” She licked her lips, anxious to continue. “As you both have learnt in your studies, a kinetic falls into a deep sleep when their body goes to attune itself to whatever element of nature the person will be able to manipulate. However, it would seem that if the sleeping body is…physically distressed by outside threats, their element will protect them.”
Katherine’s mind churned over the details, slow and deliberate. She was beginning to understand things now. It had been three years since the Margoux family acquired a newly attuned pyrokinetic who was to serve the family for twenty years. Three years ago, Katherine befriended a scared, thin boy from Malefosse.
“Garius,” she whispered in startled realization. Her mother nodded in sad agreement as Frederick cursed and stormed out of the room.
And Katherine finally wept.
*
When her tears stopped flowing, Katherine raised her head. Garius was smiling at her with the first signs of a beard growing around his parted lips. Not a thick, coarse beard of men in their prime, but the soft, light kind of teen aged boys. He smiled from under his ornate pyrokinetic lenses, the ones mother had gotten him for his name day. The setting sun caught the crystal lenses, sending a beautiful stream of multi-faceted colour over his cheeks. His hair was mussy, tangled with twigs and leaves.
Katherine wiped the tears from her eyes, returning the genial smile. There was something about Garius Syrah that, no matter how rotten her mood, he could manage to bring a smile to her face.
“Don’t cry m’lady.” His voice was charming, much the same as his face, and as jovial as his smile.
“I can’t help it.” She sniffed. “Frederick is a beast.”
“He’s your brother.” Garius paused, lost in an apparent troubled thought, though he still smiled. “Of course you’ll find him beastly.”
Katherine gave the kinetic an incredulous look. She picked a nearby daffodil of vibrant yellow. “You don’t know him the way I do Garius.” Katherine raised the flower to her nose, twirling it between her finger and thumb, inhaling the sweet odor.
“Oh, I am not so sure
about that.” Garius said. If Katherine had paid attention, she would have noted a hidden resentment in the boy’s tone and the disappearance of his smile.
“Of course. You know everything Garius Syrah.” She rolled her eyes as she tossed the flower into a nearby bush.
“Might be I do.” His broad smile returned.
“I doubt that, very much.” Katherine said, revealing the nape of her neck by tossing her thick, brown hair over her shoulder. As the two childhood friends came into early adulthood, she found herself drawn to the handsome, family steward. Every now and then she would find subtle ways to tease him – to make his inner fire rise for her.
“I’ll prove it.” He said stubbornly. “I’ll tell you what you are thinking.”
Katherine raised an eyebrow at his proclamation.
“I will.” Garius insisted. “Close your eyes.”
“Fine.” With an annoyed sigh, she closed both her eyes
The clearing they sat in grew quiet. The chirping birds ceased their song and the crickets seemed to disappear as well. Even the gentle breeze seemed to dissipate in anticipation. The moment was perfectly still as the setting sun beat on Katherine’s back. Impatience mounted as nothing happened.
Without warning, a wet something pressed itself onto her lips. Katherine pushed the assailant back, startled by the sudden sensation. She opened her eyes and looked at the sprawled form of Garius, laughing gaily on the grass.
“You little piece of jabber dung!” Katherine pounced the prone boy, pummeling him with a barrage of weak fists. This only fueled his laughter.
“I’m going to kill you!” She hissed, red faced with embarrassment as he caught both of her wrists.
Using all his strength, the boy tussled Katherine to the ground, pinning her beneath him.
“Admit it,” he said from behind his darling smile, “you liked it.”
Katherine lay there, huffing and puffing with anger. She knew he was right. There were many nights she lay awake, thinking of the handsome kinetic who lived in her family’s cellar. She knew her longing was ill placed, for he was a steward and she nobility. Even though he had inadvertently killed her father, Katherine did not seem to let it dampen her longing or friendship with him, unlike her brother Frederick. Her brother simply could not understand or acknowledge the event surrounding her father’s death was in no one’s control, especially Garius’.
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