Construct

by Luke Matthews

  “NOOO!” Atherton bolted across the room, racing to his fallen apprentice. Malthoranic turned his attention back to Samuel, who had managed to free his arm and torso. The construct clouted Samuel hard in the face, slamming his head back to the table. With one hand, the construct pinned Samuel down by the neck while using his other to ward off Samuel’s attempts to free himself. There was another whump in the air, this time louder and inside the room. Something struck the back of Malthoranic’s head and a splintered plank of wood flew over Samuel, landing with a clatter in the corner.

  “Um…” Kaleb said, stepping back, holding the broken end of the plank. “Sorry, Samuel, but I think I just pissed it off.”

  Samuel struck at the construct’s arm, trying to free himself from its grip. With his legs still strapped down, he couldn’t get much force behind the blows. “Just cut my legs free!” he yelled to Kaleb.

  Kaleb drew a knife from his belt and moved around the table, cutting the strap at Samuel’s ankle. Malthoranic swung his free hand to strike Kaleb and missed. Kaleb moved swiftly, freeing Samuel’s leg. Samuel twisted and struck Malthoranic in the back with his knee. He followed with a blow to Malthoranic’s head that knocked the construct just off balance enough for his grip to falter. Malthoranic stumbled backward and Kaleb lunged, cutting the last two straps around Samuel’s other leg.

  Samuel slipped away, Malthoranic’s crushing, two-handed blow splintering the table where Samuel’s head had been. Samuel rolled off onto his feet and ducked another swing. Rebounding, he grabbed Malthoranic by the neck. The construct took another swing, which Samuel caught with his free hand. Samuel’s fingers dug into the construct’s neck, crushing the plates where it attached to the jawline. There was no doubt in Samuel’s mind he was stronger than this mindless hulk.

  “I’m sorry,” Samuel said. With one great pull he ripped Malthoranic’s arm free and released his neck. As he staggered, Samuel grabbed the severed arm at the wrist and took a mighty swing into the side of the construct’s head, tearing it away and flinging it into the workbench with a crash. The remains of Malthoranic tried to take a step, stumbled into the worktable, and fell to the floor motionless. Samuel dropped the severed arm and stared down at the construct he’d just destroyed. He didn’t know if Malthoranic could even understand what was happening, but hoped with all his being he could not.

  Samuel pulled Michael’s tools from the opening in his shoulder and laid them on the workbench. Kaleb leaned against the foot of the table, his head bowed. Ragged sobs echoed from the corner of the room where Atherton, on his knees, clutched Michael’s lifeless body to his chest. Samuel had liked Michael, and his inability to cry for the loss didn’t make it any less painful.

  He stepped forward and placed a hand on Kaleb’s shoulder. Kaleb didn’t turn, but Samuel felt he was coiled like a spring. His face was wet with tears. At his chest, he held his dagger in a white-knuckled grip. Samuel understood the sentiment. “This isn’t the time, Kaleb,” he said.

  Kaleb’s muscles unclenched, and he lowered his head, taking a deep breath. He sheathed the knife and turned to Samuel, his eyes still lowered. “Why would he do this?” Kaleb’s expression had shifted from fury to anguish. He looked up at Samuel. “Why?”

  “I couldn’t even begin to know, Kaleb.” Samuel said, remembering the look of hatred on Atherton’s face only moments before. “I have no idea what’s going on.”

  Kaleb nodded. “We, ah…” He cleared his throat. “We need to get out of here. The guard will be here any minute after this racket, and we need to be gone.” Samuel nodded.

  The two of them headed for the door, but Samuel stopped Kaleb, turning back toward Atherton. “Do you think we should—” He wasn’t even sure how to finish the sentence.

  Kaleb’s face hardened again. “No. Leave him. Let him live with what he’s done.” He heaved open the iron door, and Samuel followed him into the front room. Two working arms made donning his cloak easier, and while they walked through the shop, he checked to make sure the serpent ring was still in the pocket. Samuel stepped out into the alleyway and Kaleb shut the door, holding onto the doorknob for an extra few seconds as his jaw worked and he took shallow breaths. Samuel dared not speak or interrupt. It was dark out and it had started to pour, rainwater draining off of the front of Kaleb’s face as Samuel watched him try to reconcile all he had just seen.

  Kaleb nodded to himself, then looked up at Samuel, his eyes red. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  Kaleb led them through the winding back alleys of Morrelton. The wind whistled between the buildings, driving the rain into their faces as they tromped through thickening mud. Samuel wasn’t sure where Kaleb led and just tried to keep pace, never questioning. They moved as quietly as they could, stopping at every intersection so Kaleb could be assured they wouldn’t run into any guardsmen. Samuel heard the sound of the stream; they’d have to move to the main street to cross it. Before they reached the water, Kaleb led them into an even smaller alleyway, ducking into an alcove. Overhanging eaves on either side covered each of them from rain, but the runoff from both formed a waterfall between them.

  “You need to tell me what happened, Samuel,” he said, looking up at the construct. “Atherton’s not exactly a saint, but a turn like this is… What happened?”

  “I…” Samuel wasn’t sure how to phrase it, “…blacked out. Michael”—Samuel had to pause, images he no longer wished to see burning themselves into his memory—“Michael said I fell over in the middle of our conversation. He called Atherton and they hauled me into the workroom, and then Atherton…he turned on Michael, yelling at him to leave. Michael didn’t know what was going on.”

  Kaleb shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I,” Samuel said. “They couldn’t know what I saw…”

  Kaleb’s look was understandably questioning.

  “I… I don’t know what it was, Kaleb. It was like…I think maybe I was seeing…memories. But I’m not sure. It was a flash of random images—thousands of them, all at once. Some of them felt like memories, but some…”

  “What, Samuel?” Kaleb pressed, somewhere between inquisitive and angry.

  “Some felt…like visions. Like I was seeing the future.”

  “That’s impossible, Samuel.”

  “I saw my own death, Kaleb.” Samuel said. “I saw a blond man with silver eyes standing over me as he destroyed me.”

  Kaleb shook his head, leaning against the wall of the alcove and sliding to the ground. “I don’t know what you saw, Samuel, but you’re still standing here. Whatever it was, it wasn’t your death. And it wasn’t the future. Maybe your memories are starting to come back to you. But that doesn’t explain anything that happened back there.” He dropped his head to his hands.

  “Atherton… He was livid. He kept saying he wouldn’t let me ruin him. That he was going to turn me over to someone.”

  Kaleb’s only response was to shake his head, looking at the ground as he rummaged through his thoughts. He splashed his face in the streaming water and stood up straight. “Come on, Samuel.” He said, heading out into the alleyway. “We need to get out of here.”

  Samuel followed, more confused now than before, but he understood the need to leave this place. Their path wound through the unseen spaces of Morrelton, avoiding main streets and open spaces at all costs. After an interminable silence, Samuel had to speak. “Kaleb, do you know what Atherton was talking about?”

  Kaleb shook his head, but kept moving. “No. It doesn’t even make sense. I don’t know why Atherton would act like this.”

  “Could he be in some sort of trouble?” Samuel asked.

  “Atherton doesn’t get into trouble anymore.” Kaleb said. “And even if he were, he wouldn’t be for long.”

  “Maybe he owed someone?” Samuel said. “Maybe he was trying to…”

  He cut himself off as Kaleb came to a sudden stop and held up his hand, warning Samuel to
back up. “Damnit,” he whispered. “Backbackback!” Kaleb waved his hands, pushing Samuel back down the alleyway. Samuel turned, but stopped in his tracks as two men, dressed in black leather baldrics with smallswords in hand, stepped out from the intersecting alley and blocked their way. Kaleb and Samuel turned to go forward again, but three more men stood before them. The closest, a giant of a man, rested his hands atop a long, angry-looking mace whose head sat in the mud between his feet. Cort grinned down at them, the rainwater streaming down from his bald head to drip off of the end of his thick, oft-broken nose. “Well, well. Looky wha’ we found, boys!” he said through a thick accent.

  Kaleb stood straight, throwing a quick look over his shoulder. “Keep an eye on those two, would ya, Samuel?” Samuel turned to spy the two blocking their rear exit.

  “Got yourself a new ladyfriend, I see!” Cort said, to the stolid chuckles of his crew.

  “I see your sense of humor hasn’t changed.” Kaleb said.

  Cort’s demeanor hardened. “You got som’fin o’ mine, my friend,” he said. “An’ I intend to get it back from ya. You c’n hand it over, or I c’n take it from ya.” His smile darkened. “Please, cully, make me take it from ya…”

  “Well now, Cort,” Kaleb said between breaths. “You were pretty much gonna do that, no matter what, now weren’t you.”

  Cort laughed. It almost sounded genuine. “Maybe you know me be’er than I thought.” The smile disappeared from his face. “No one makes me look like a fool, Jacob, especially not you.”

  Jacob? Samuel looked at Kaleb, but Kaleb was too preoccupied with watching Cort to return the glance. He caught movement out of the corner of his vision and saw the two men behind them had begun a cautious advance.

  “You do a fine job of making yourself look like a fool, Cort.”

  Cort lunged. Kaleb sidestepped as Cort’s mace came crashing into the mud behind Samuel’s feet, forcing Samuel to step toward the two advancing thugs. He had no intention of hurting these men. For all he knew, they might have a legitimate gripe against Kaleb—Jacob?

  The first one took a wild swing with his smallsword, missing his target as Samuel stepped in and pushed him back into the other. His sword left his grip as the two men bounced off the alley wall and tumbled into the mud, rolling on top of one another.

  Kaleb ducked under another swing. This time Cort’s mace crashed into the alley wall. Kaleb kicked the haft of the mace, flinging it from Cort’s hand and tossing him off balance. From behind Cort there was a deafening crack that echoed through the close quarters, and a piece of the wall near Samuel’s head exploded outward, showering him in splinters. A sharp, smoky odor filled the alley. Cort turned and slapped something out of his lackey’s hand that clattered off the wall and into the mud.

  “No guns, you moron!” Cort growled. The goon retreated a step under Cort’s menace. “Do you want to get us all executed?”

  Samuel felt something pulling at him, a faint tugging at the corners of his consciousness. He saw Kaleb take in a deep breath and make a wide circular motion with his hands before drawing them in toward his chest. A disturbance wavered in the air around him, materializing in glittering blue light that flowed toward his hands. Cort’s attention snapped back to them and strode toward Kaleb, meaning to put an immediate end to the fight.

  Kaleb thrust his hands forward. The light was doused then, with a bright flash, a concentrated blast of air struck from his outstretched hands. Cort raised an arm and, though he staggered, the full force of the blast seemed to slide around him. His two companions were flung back into the alley, one landing with a slap in the mud more than thirty feet away, the other striking an eave and landing heavily on a barrel.

  “Nice parlor trick,” Cort said. “But ya need somethin’ a lot heavier to knock me down!”

  Samuel, at first startled by the report of the pistol and then transfixed by Kaleb’s display, cost himself precious seconds versus his two opponents. The two recovered, splitting to either side of the alley and rushing him. One of them thrust his sword and forced Samuel to dodge, the other stepped in and struck Samuel in the side with something that sent a wave of shock through his entire body and caused his legs to wobble underneath him. He struck Samuel again on the shoulder with a sound like a pocket of sap exploding on a burning log. The blow was more intense this time, driving Samuel to his hands in the mud. The sensation frightened him and ignited his anger.

  “No!” Kaleb yelled. Samuel was buffeted by another blast of air that took his attackers off their feet, but didn’t stun them for long. “It’s a mafi-stick, Samuel! Don’t let him hit you with it again or they’ll kill you!” He barely got the words out before Cort’s fist slammed into his jaw, staggering him into the wall.

  Samuel regained his feet just as the two men mounted another charge. The first came with his sword and Samuel put up his arm to block the blow straight on, the blade shattering on the metal of his forearm. In spite of the ineffectual attack, Samuel felt enraged. The ruffian with the mafi-stick charged, but the stick was short, giving Samuel an advantage in reach. He dodged the first swing but the thug’s second connected with his thigh and he staggered. The shockwave was intense, but localized to his leg this time.

  The goon went for the kill, taking another swing straight at Samuel’s head. Samuel caught the blow in mid-flight and twisted his attacker’s wrist, turning the man’s elbow backward with a crunch. The mafi-stick dropped into the mud. He stood, still holding the screaming man’s damaged arm, and turned on the second. With less effort than he thought it would take, he swung the first man around, flinging him into the second and sending them both crashing into the wall. This time, neither of them got up.

  “Samuel!” The word was almost unintelligible, a croaking sound from somewhere beneath and behind him. Samuel turned and saw Cort straddling Kaleb, the bald giant’s face twisted in rage and his huge hands wrapped around Kaleb’s neck. Kaleb’s head sunk into the mud and his eyes rolled back into his head. He pounded at Cort’s thick forearms with no effect. The rain beat down on them as Kaleb’s face turned bright red, then a nasty shade of purple.

  Without thinking, Samuel took off at a run, covering the distance in four strides. He hauled back with his hips and kicked Cort square in the side. The crack echoed through the alleyway as the bald giant’s ribcage buckled. The kick lifted Cort into the air and he slammed into the ground in a plume of muddy water, sliding a full ten feet before coming to rest. He let out a single loud, ragged cough, spewing blood over his face and neck before settling onto his back, unmoving.

  Kaleb pulled himself up out of the mud, sliding back and leaning against the alley wall, coughing and sputtering for breath. Samuel looked down the alleyway at the man he’d just struck as the rain pelted his face, mixing with blood and saliva. He turned to the hacking Kaleb and found his anger had not subsided—only found a new target. He knelt down, waiting for Kaleb to catch his breath.

  “Thank…” Kaleb coughed, not quite ready to speak. “Thank you,” he said in a whisper like shifting gravel.

  Samuel was still furious, unsure which question to ask first. “What’s a mafi-stick?”

  Kaleb was panting, speaking between breaths. “It’s used for…taking down…unruly constructs.” He paused and composed himself a little better. “A few hits and it just shocks you—immobilizes you. Enough in a row, in the right spots, and it’ll drain your core, leave you mindless.”

  Samuel nodded and reconciled his actions in his mind as justifiable self-defense. “What did Cort want from you?”

  “I…I don’t know,” Kaleb replied.

  Samuel’s tone turned to an angry growl. “Don’t lie to me.”

  Kaleb looked like Samuel had slapped him across the face. “A trinket, nothing more,” he said. “Something they were hired to guard.”

  “Something you stole.”

  “Retrieved.” Kaleb’s tone was defensive now.

  “What did Cort call you just then?”

  Kaleb�
�s defensiveness melted away, the question catching him off guard. His jaw clenched and unclenched, but he didn’t answer.

  “Damnit, Kaleb,” Samuel said, pushing himself to his feet. Kaleb stared up at him from the ground, one hand rubbing his throat. Even though Samuel wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to his next question, he still asked it. “Is Kaleb even your real name?”

  Kaleb’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He turned his eyes away, and Samuel got his first taste of true disappointment. The rain continued to beat down on the two of them in a back alley in Morrelton, one at a loss for words and the other suddenly unsure what to do next. Samuel shook his head, overcome by the realization he had no idea who the man in front of him really was. The thief’s eyes dropped to his hands as he attempted to wipe some of the mud clean using the pouring rainwater.

  “It’s only been a few days, Samuel,” he said without looking up. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

  “That’s your reasoning?” Samuel replied, astonished. “Your reasoning for lying to me this whole way? I just killed someone for you, and I don’t even know your real name!”

  “Don’t put this all on me, Samuel.”

  “Where should I put it, then?” Samuel asked. “These men were after you. For something you stole. And you put me right in the middle of it!”

  “You made that choice yourself!” the thief yelled, glaring at Samuel under an angry brow. “I didn’t force you into anything! You came along of your own accord. You can try to lay as much of tonight off on me as you want, but you bear just as much responsibility for Cort and Michael’s deaths as I do.”

  The mention of Michael’s name staggered Samuel. He took a step back, hovering somewhere between shocked and infuriated. The comment dug deep, pointing out how little he even knew of himself, much less of the stranger sitting across from him. How much responsibility would he have to bear for Michael’s loss? And how long would the weight of it bear down on him before he could even provide a framework to make sense of it? The confusion and anxiety of the last several days barely held a candle to the swirl of emotions and questions produced by the last several hours.