“What the fuck is that?” Bales said.
Colton felt his anger rise, but with it the familiar exhilaration that accompanied the beginning of a hunt. A malevolent smile turned the corner of his mouth. “A hole big enough for a construct to fit through.”
Bales looked at him wide eyed. “Oh, no. No no no.” He turned and started walking away, exasperated. “This doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
Colton turned, but did not follow. “What?”
Bales swung around, glaring at Colton through the rain. “Why does it matter if there’s an escape hatch? We know Ferron didn’t get out”—he thrust his finger in the direction of a wall that no longer existed—“and Esiphilicus melted to slag right over there. You’ve got a bottle full of khet for our troubles with him.”
Colton’s unnerving smile faded.
“So,” Bales continued, “let’s say something or someone did escape the fire. At worst, it was another random construct and of no concern to us.”
Colton took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder at Bales. “No concern?” Colton said. “At best, whatever escaped this fire is a witness. Taeman might not be the most honest of businessmen, but he doesn’t lie to me. He’s too familiar with the consequences. Whatever prize it was he lost said it came from this place, and now we know how.”
Bales ground his teeth together and said nothing. Colton could see his mind working, trying to find any angle that didn’t result in pursuit. When it was clear he couldn’t, he slammed his tricorne back on his head and stormed away from the burned-out shop without a word.
“If you’re going to sulk, find us some horses while you’re at it, would you?” Colton said behind him, returning his gaze to the mouth of the hole. His smile returned.
• • • • •
Samuel found no solace in being right. He trekked through most of the night, following a trail made visible only by his unique vision. As dawn broke, however, ease turned to frustration as the increasing light of day made the trail blend into the surrounding undergrowth. Whoever used the trail on a regular basis must have known the landmarks that would guide them, otherwise they’d end up wandering aimlessly through the forest.
Dawn’s awakening brought with it a cacophony of sound, from the simple swish of the wind through the branches to the calls of any number of forest animals as they went about their daily business. Squirrels leapt around the high branches and small birds flitted about the undergrowth, hunting for bugs. The forest here teemed with wildlife, more so than the forests along the road to Morrelton. At one point, Samuel spotted an elk between the trees in the distance, but his crashing traversal of the disappearing trail scared it off.
Around midday his luck turned and the trail widened into a track Samuel could see without effort, giving him no choice but to follow. He made better time, and not having to push between close bushes and branches allowed him to take in the sounds of the forest as he walked late into the day.
It was beautiful here, in a different way than what he’d experienced so far. While Morrelton was a testament to the inhabitants’ attempts to live in harmony with the nature around them, it was still a town, and the people there still outsiders to the forest. Here, this far away from the mountain road, the forest seemed unspoiled, a place so untouched by man where wildlife could rule freely.
As Samuel contemplated the nature around him, he noticed a change. The once prevalent sounds of animals died down to almost nothing. Birds no longer chirped; squirrels no longer filled the air with their raspy, clicking cries. He stopped, peering into the trees under the flat light of the grey sky. In all directions, the forest was devoid of movement other than blurry shadows as they played along the surface of the undergrowth, moving in time with the swaying of treetops in the breeze.
He’d only taken a single step before he stopped, almost stepping on a creature in his path. The large rodent stood with its forepaws off the ground, sniffing at the air in Samuel’s direction. Its whiskers twitched back and forth as it balanced on stout hind legs and a short, flat tail. Samuel thought it was rather cute and wondered what kind of relationship it must have with the people who normally traveled this trail that it would be so bold in its approach.
Something struck Samuel on the shoulder, just hard enough to disrupt his balance, and weight bore down behind his neck. The little animal in the trail laid its ears back and chattered in anger before darting into the bushes. Samuel felt something slip under his arm and wrap around his chest—a long, furless tail. He swooned, dropping to his knees. His hand found something sitting on his shoulder beside his neck, clamped into his cloak. He grabbed hard and tried to pull it off, and came away with a fistful of blue feathers.
Panic engulfed him as he tried to pull the siphil free. He knew it couldn’t kill him, but he wasn’t about to let it knock him unconscious. The creature dug one talon into his shoulder and the other grasped for purchase on the other side of his neck. He swooned again, almost the exact weakening sensation he’d felt while trying to escape the fire in Winston. He couldn’t get a solid grip, only managing to tear out feathers and unable to find any vulnerable spots that would make the siphil release its hold. With his strength waning, he failed to tear away the creature’s tail.
His vision wavered just as he regained his feet. Before blindness could set in, he headed for the nearest tree at a dead run. Lowering his head and his shoulders, he moved as though to tackle the tree right out of the ground. His shoulder slammed into the trunk with a wet crunch, shaking loose a rain of needles as his strength and senses slammed back into his body. The tail around his midsection slackened, and the siphil fell away into the undergrowth.
The eyeless creature lay on its back at the edge of the trail, working a four-pointed beak-like mouth open and closed as it grasped at the last moments of life. Samuel stood forward and unclasped his cloak, swinging it off of his shoulders to survey the damage. There was a large hole at the base of the hood and the top was covered in translucent yellow goo. Samuel was contemplating how to clean away the slime when a flash of blue feathers tore the cloak from his hands.
A second siphil hit the ground, rolling into the path and turning over to balance on the two talon appendages, using its tail as the third leg of the tripod. The feathers on its back flared and it made a screeching hiss, striking several times at the fallen cloak before realizing it was empty and turning its attention toward Samuel. Samuel backed away on the trail and the siphil followed him, still hissing but cautious now of its prey. The thing reared onto its tail, exposing the four pointed beak beneath. The siphil belted out three screeching barks, then returned to the hissing sound. It filled the forest and sounded like it was coming from all around him.
And it was. At least six more siphils hung above him over the trail, dangling from branches by their tails and hissing in concert with the one on the ground. Samuel panicked, and didn’t wait around to find out how many more were out of sight, taking off down the path at a sprint. The one on the ground leapt at him as he passed, sailing over his shoulder into the bushes. It recovered and slid out into the path in front of him. He stepped hard in the middle of it. Blood and yellow slime splattered the trail as Samuel crushed the creature under his weight, barely losing step. Behind him, he could hear the barking of the other siphils over the swishing of tree branches as they followed through the canopy. The screeching cries were being answered from further off in the forest; more would be on the way. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder for fear of seeing what kind of trouble he was in. One of these things might not be able to destroy him on its own, but he had no idea what an entire pack could do.
He felt another jolt on his shoulder and he stumbled forward but kept his balance, a siphil bouncing in front of him as it failed to find a solid grip. As it skittered to a stop, Samuel kicked it aside and into a tree. More and more dropped from the canopy, just missing him in his flight. The trail narrowed again, brush and ferns slapping against his arms and legs as he ran.
His balance almost failed him twice as his feet found roots and vines that crept across the narrow trail. His flight was not subtle or quiet, and after a while all he heard were the sounds of branches scraping and cracking against his metal plates. It dawned on him the sounds had changed again. He heard only his own clumsiness, so he dared a look over his shoulder.
Almost all the siphils were gone, and those he could still see had stopped their pursuit, dispersing into the trees. He pulled to a stop and looked back, glancing upward first and staying on his guard for a sneak attack. The siphils’ retreat appeared genuine, but even that put Samuel on edge, wondering why they had lost interest. Or worse, what had driven them off? Samuel was relieved to find he hadn’t lost the trail in his panic.
Soon, the sounds of the forest returned, dominated by the chittering din of nocturnal bugs as darkness descended. Night fell as the trail continued to narrow and Samuel hoped tracking it would be as easy as the previous night. Again, he stopped and waited while twilight passed, the failing light leaving him with an awkward mix of color and monotone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
* * *
As the greens and browns of the forest bleached to monochrome, Samuel noticed the same flickering glow he’d seen on the plains under the light of the moon and stars. A clear sky meant additional moonlight, even this deep in the forest. The glow, however, seemed to be localized to an area about a hundred yards off the trail, and the rest of the forest around him was still just varying shades of grey. Maybe there’s a break in the clouds and moonlight’s only hitting that one spot. For several minutes he watched. The glow never moved, faded, or changed location.
The undergrowth pressed in on him after he left the trail to investigate, vines tangling at his feet and branches blocking his path. He pressed forward with a clatter, sweeping the foliage out of his way as he approached. The light that had drawn him from the path took on a different cast. The forest wavered in his vision like a mirage, and minute points of bright light that shone blue even in his night vision rose from the ground and danced into the sky like sparks from a campfire. At the edge of the distortion, the undergrowth fell away to form a small clearing where nothing but grass and wildflowers grew.
The foliage inside the light popped with color in Samuel’s vision. The wildflowers in the clearing were open and turned upward, as though drinking in light from the noonday sun. Samuel moved around the periphery of the clearing and a faint reflection moved with him, ghosting in the surface of the light. Across the clearing, behind his reflection, a dark shape moved silently behind a tree, the grey leaves at waist level shivering back into place.
Samuel had flinched when he saw the movement, but hoped whoever spied on him had not seen it. He continued to move around the light, acting as though he studied it while he moved toward the tree where the shadow hid. The moment he approached, he lunged into the brush where he’d seen the movement…and found nothing. No one hid behind the tree, and no evidence of the spy could be found. No broken branches, bent leaves, or footprints. As out of sorts as Samuel had been, he chalked it up to a figment of his imagination.
Samuel turned his attention back to the clearing. A pine cone tossed into the center of the circle disturbed the swirling sparks and shone in color inside the light, but produced no other effect. Pushing his arm through the light produced similar results. Samuel grew frustrated with how much time he’d spent on his investigation. As beautiful as the lights were, and strange in how they affected his vision, they seemed harmless and he decided to move along. He found the path again and threw the dancing lights one last lingering glance before heading on his way.
The path skirted around a rise in the forest floor to his right, which made his direction easier to decide, even if the path wasn’t clearly visible. The gentle rise gave way to jagged rocks as he walked, becoming a high stone wall jutting out of the forest floor. The path wound closer and closer to the outcropping until it met with the wall at a pile of fallen stones.
A draft blew his way from deeper in the forest, bringing with it a hint of the familiar smell of smoke. A wood fire meant one of only two things: either the forest was burning, or there were people nearby. He couldn’t imagine bandits this deep in the wilderness, and his hopes soared that he’d found what Michael led him toward. Skirting the rock wall, he took the path of least resistance first, hoping whatever he was to find would be down here and not up on top.
More blue lights came into view as he rounded the corner, the same as in the clearing, but this time running in a straight line away from the rock wall into the trees. On the other side of the wall, the color returned. The path veered away from the outcrop and through the wall of light, widening into another clearing. A wispy trail of smoke curled into the sky from the stone chimney of a small cabin. Faint light flickered behind small, round windows beneath a rough shingled roof. The heavy front door was painted dark blue with a carved symbol Samuel didn’t recognize.
After days of trudging through the forest, Samuel was elated to have found his destination, but was unsure of how to approach it. If it was the homestead of an adept, like Michael said, Samuel would tread dangerous ground by stumbling up onto it in the dead of night. There was no way around it, but he didn’t want to just wait out in the forest until morning, so he started down the trail. His anxiety had him almost jogging when he reached the dancing lights, and he slammed headlong into them, bouncing off and landing unceremoniously on his back in the trail.
“You can’t pass through it, construct.” The voice came from somewhere to his right, above him. “You’re not even supposed to be able to see it.”
Samuel stirred and tried to stand.
“Stay down where you are, if you please,” the voice said. It was male, and younger, probably about Michael’s age.
“All right,” Samuel said, remaining seated as he looked for the source of the voice. “To whom am I speaking?”
“You’re not in any position to ask questions.” Samuel began to zero in on the direction of the voice, and hoped he would keep talking. “Few know of this place, and all of them know me. You are not amongst them.”
“This is true,” Samuel said. “I was told of this place in Morrelton.”
“Whatever you seek here, you won’t find it.” Samuel spotted the speaker, crouched on a ledge about thirty feet up the rock wall, next to where it intersected the lights. He wore tight clothing and a leather vest from under which a hood sprouted, keeping his face hidden. “Turn and leave. You will find no friends here.”
Samuel looked directly at him. “I certainly hope that’s not the case. I am in desperate need of some friends right now.” Samuel moved to stand, but hard brown roots sprang up to entangle his hands and feet, working their way up over his upper legs to pin him down.
“Either you leave this place,” the boy on the ledge said, “or be buried here forever.” The roots tightened around Samuel. The soil beneath his feet loosened and his heels sank in deep.
“This is unnecessary,” Samuel said, trying to remain calm. “I’m only looking for some answers, and I mean no one here harm.” The roots stopped pulling at his feet. “I’ll leave if you demand it, but I would instead ask for your help. Please.”
The tension slackened and the roots retreated into the trail. “I cannot help you. If you are truthful that you mean no harm, then…”
He stopped talking as the front door of the cabin swung open. An old man, short and wiry, stood in the doorway in a nightrobe, holding up a bright candle. His face was gaunt, the thin remnants of his white hair standing from his head. Shadowed eyes searched the darkness from beneath bushy grey eyebrows.
“Come back inside, my boy.” The man’s voice was powerful and deep, in stark contrast with his appearance. “Come back in out of the cold, and bring the construct in with you.”
The old man’s command was met with a frustrated sigh. The boy stepped off the ledge, dropping thirty feet straight down and landing without a sound, bending his knees as if he�
��d only dropped a few inches. He walked toward the cabin, his eyes never diverting from Samuel. “Are you sure that’s wise? We don’t even know…”
“Of course it’s wise!” the old man said. “I said it! Now do as you’re told and bring him inside.”
“Yes, sir,” the boy said. He pulled back his hood to reveal close-cropped hair and a stern face. “Come on, get up,” he said. Samuel stood. The boy raised his hand to the wavering light, and the rising sparkles split around a narrow opening. Without a word, the boy gestured for Samuel to step through. As he did, the color drained from the world once again, save for the auras of light from the old man’s lamp and the windows. He turned back as the boy stepped through and closed the gap, noting the forest to the other side of the lights was now bathed in color.
“Are you going to stand there all night?” When Samuel looked back, the old man had retreated into the cabin and the boy was halfway down the trail. He stared back at Samuel with his arms crossed and an exasperated look on his face. If Samuel could have smiled, he would have delighted in frustrating the boy even more with his grin.
• • • • •
By the time they reached Morrelton, Colton and Bales were tired and saddle sore. They had stopped to camp one night along the way to save the horses, and Colton was thankful Bales hadn’t insisted they keep moving through the night. Now that they were in town, Colton’s only imperative was to find a comfortable bed and recuperate. Vials of Drift could only get a man so far, especially when he didn’t have the time or means to properly distill it. A time came when real rest was required.
Colton glowered at the forest town, his face bent in a thin scowl. The people of Morrelton were nature-loving dirt-mongers, and their town little more than a commune for those unable to adjust to life in the real world. The buildings here were standing contradictions—twisted shapes built to coexist with the flora, but still constructed of materials harvested from the surrounding forest—that illustrated the townsfolk’s unreasonable views on natural balance. The streets and alleys meandered like the minds of the town’s builders, showing little thought to direction or efficiency. There was no symmetry to this place, and that disgusted Colton.
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