Samuel placed a finger atop the spine to tilt the book out of its place, but it wouldn’t move. Applying more pressure yielded no results, not even creasing the leather or denting the spine of the book. It simply would not budge. He moved back down the shelf, testing random books along his route, and all of them stuck in place. No physical binding held them, but now he understood why the shelves could run at odd angles and even up onto the ceiling without worry. The old man must have some way to unlock the volumes, but Samuel wouldn’t find out until morning.
The fire had died down to one small flame amongst a pile of glowing grey and orange embers. Samuel found the firelight comforting, and moved to add a log to the fire. Before he reached the circle of cushions, a long, bronze arm tipped in a two-pronged iron claw swung down from beneath the mantelpiece. The claw dipped into the woodpile, plucking a medium-sized log off the top and placing it in the fireplace, prodded around in the coals to stoke the fire to life, then folded itself back up under the mantle. Samuel sat down again on the plush blue rug, taking in every detail of the small room while he waited for its owners, the people who might just be able to help him discover who he was, to awaken. This was a wondrous little cabin in the woods.
CHAPTER TWENTY
* * *
Cool blue light filtered in through the small round windows, offering Samuel a different view of the room than he’d had all night. As the morning grew brighter, the deep hue of the bookshelves lent a warmth to the cabin’s colors as the flickering light of the fire was replaced by sunlight. In anticipation of the morning, the bronze arm loaded several extra pieces of firewood into the fireplace, stoking up a large, warm fire.
Not long after, a girl, a bit younger than the boy Samuel met the previous night, emerged from the back hallway in deerskin slippers. Her chestnut hair had been recently brushed and flowed down into the open hood of her long, forest green robe, which was cinched around the waist with a thin leather belt. Inquisitive blue eyes spied Samuel from above freckled red cheeks, betraying not even the slightest hint of fear. She smiled, bounded into the room, and plopped down on a small pile of cushions facing the construct, taking one into her arms.
“Hello! What’s your name?” she said, a hint of wonder in her voice.
Samuel was struck by her friendly and genuine nature, an approach that put him at ease. “I’m Samuel,” he replied. “What’s yours?”
“I’m Eriane. I like your voice.”
Samuel laughed, which seemed to catch her by surprise. “Thank you, Eriane. Yours is pretty, as well.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call your voice pretty, really,” she said, blushing. “It’s just…”
“Different from other constructs?”
She smiled again. “Yeah. I guess you’ve heard that a couple times?”
“A few. So, where are the other two?” Samuel asked.
“Oh, I’m always up and about before either of them,” she said. “Master Mane will probably be up soon, and he’ll have to kick Pare awake after how late he was up last night.”
“Well, would you do me the honor of introducing me?”
“Of course,” she beamed, tilting her head in mock propriety.
Samuel felt a wave of elation run through him at hearing her mention Pare, the name he had been given by Michael. There had been little question upon finding the cabin that it was the right place, but over the course of his night alone a sliver of doubt and fear wormed its way into his mind. Knowing he landed in the right spot gave him more hope than he’d had since the thief took him to Atherton’s shop. All he could hope, now, was this encounter turned out better than the last.
A deluge of questions came to Samuel’s mind, but he was enjoying his light conversation with Eriane. There would be plenty of time to pose the more difficult queries to Mane later on. “So, what’s so special about my voice?”
“I dunno. It’s just…smoother than other constructs I’m used to. Icariascus always sounds so tinny, and most of the ones I’ve met in Morrelton have this weird vibrating sound, like they’re always gargling something. Your voice is…well, it kinda sounds more like a normal person’s voice.”
“Icariascus?” Samuel asked, focused on the name.
“Oh, that’s our construct,” Eriane answered. “He’s in back, but I’m sure you’ll meet him soon.”
“Eriane!” The voice of the boy from the previous night startled them out of their conversation. Pare stood at the hallway entrance in a similar robe to Eriane’s, but his was a deep brown and belted with a wide, leather band. Tall, meticulously maintained leather boots emerged from beneath the hem. “Back away from it right now,” he barked.
“Well, well, well,” Eriane said, peering at him over her shoulder, “look who’s awake before the crack of midday!”
Pare took a step forward. “I’m not kidding around with you, Eri. This thing is dangerous.”
“Oh, Pare, settle down,” she said with a dismissive wave. “Samuel’s not dangerous. Besides, you know the house would take care of me if he tried anything anyway.” Samuel couldn’t help but wonder just how deep the cabin’s capabilities ran.
Pare moved to Eriane’s side. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet, causing her to drop her cushion. “Pare! Ow!” she said. There was a spark and a dull flash that caught Pare off guard, flinging away his grip on her arm and bouncing him backward.
“That was really good,” he said, distractedly rubbing his hand with the opposite thumb. After a pause, he came back to himself. “You can’t just rely on the house all the time. Use your head!”
Eriane glowered at him. “Would you calm down? Do you honestly think Master Mane would let him in here if he were dangerous?”
“Well,” Pare stammered.
She didn’t let him continue. “That’s what I thought.” He glared at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, then turned back to Samuel. “Pare, I’d like you to meet Samuel.” Samuel made his way to his feet. “Samuel, this is Pariadnus Jameson. But you can call him Pare.” Samuel held out his hand for Pare to shake.
The boy turned his gaze on Samuel and crossed his arms, ignoring the gesture. “Only my friends call me Pare.” He crossed the room and sat on the stool by the worktable.
Eriane turned back to Samuel and sighed. “Oh, ignore him.” She said in a conspiratorial tone. “He’s all bluster, and sometimes he takes things too seriously.” She raised her voice on the last half of her sentence, goading Pare.
“Yeah, well you could learn a lesson about taking anything seriously!” He picked up something small off the desk and threw it at her, but she waved her hand and deflected it with a flash about a foot in front of her. Pare's eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms.
Eriane smiled at Samuel, then retook her seat on the stack of cushions.
Master Mane’s voice came from the hallway opening. “That’ll be enough of that, you two.” His hair was combed and he wore fresh robes rather than nightclothes, almost making him look civilized. Samuel now saw a thinning grey goatee adorned the tip of his chin, and his eyes were dark brown, almost black. “This fellow,” he gestured to Samuel, “is our guest, and we will treat him as such. In fact, he specifically sought us out, am I right?”
Samuel nodded. “Yes, sir. I was hoping to find someone who can help me.”
“Ah, yes,” Mane replied, moving over next to Pare and leaning back against the worktable. “But you must not have come here on your own accord. Very few know of this place, and those who do will not tell of it lightly.” Mane raised an inquisitive eyebrow, Pare shot Samuel a threatening look, and Eriane’s bright eyes were questioning above her little smile.
Samuel nodded. “I was told to come here by an artificer’s apprentice.”
Pare’s posture changed, his curiosity obviously piqued by Samuel’s claim. For a moment, he looked as though he would speak, but then he sat back and deferred to Mane.
“What was the artificer’s name?” Mane asked.
“Atherton,” Samu
el answered. Pare straightened, almost shooting out of his seat. For the first time since he’d arrived the hint of a smile touched Pare’s lips, and in that expectant moment, Samuel was crushed. He knew the conversation that was to follow.
Mane moved to walk behind the work table, speaking as his back was turned. “How are Atherton and Michael doing these days?” He asked. Samuel felt Mane already knew his reply, and had elicited a direct answer on purpose.
Samuel hesitated. Pare’s smile faded and the color drained from his face, his expression now angered concern. Samuel’s posture deflated and he could not maintain Pare’s gaze. With great effort, Samuel formed the words. “Michael’s dead.”
“What?” Eriane’s scream careened into Samuel’s head like the blow of an axe.
Pare shot to his feet. “I told you he was dangerous!” His hands came up beside his hips, palms toward Samuel. His fingers sparked with blue power and Samuel was forced to a standing position by some invisible force. Pare’s hands pulled back, the power pulsating and drawing inward toward them.
Eriane’s shocked expression tore at Samuel when tears welled up in her eyes. As he lifted upward, she broke her tortured stare and turned on Pare. “Pare! Put him down!”
Samuel couldn’t move. His arms were pinned to his sides and his feet left the floor, if only by a few inches. Pare advanced on him. “What happened?” he yelled at Samuel.
Mane, the picture of calm, walked up and placed a hand on Pare’s shoulder. “Put him down, Pare.” His voice was gentle. “And please, do so lightly. I’d prefer to not have to repair the floor.”
Pare’s jaw worked back and forth, setting his teeth to grinding. There was a moment where no one in the room moved; Samuel floated, helpless as Pare held him in stasis with his muscles clenched and hands in claw shapes at his hips. Mane tightened his grip on Pare’s shoulder, but maintained his calm expression. Tears broke free of Eriane’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
All these people knew Michael, in a much deeper way than Samuel had been allowed in the short time they’d shared. As profound an effect as the boy’s death had on Samuel, he couldn’t even imagine how the people in this room must have felt upon hearing the news. Pare’s fingers loosened and Samuel was lowered to the floor, regaining his feet. Eriane moved around between him and Pare, swiping her cheeks dry and looking at him with a pained question in her eyes.
Samuel sat and recounted his time in Morrelton to the detail, beginning with a short synopsis of his time with the thief, whom he refused to refer to by either name. He wasn’t sure if these three knew of him, but they didn’t press for more information on that front, focused as they were on hearing about Michael’s fate. He told of his time at Atherton’s shop and of his blackout, skirting the details of his visions. At last he spoke of Atherton’s reaction and Michael’s actions leading up to that one terrible moment.
“Michael is a hero,” he said. Eriane held a hand over her mouth as she wept. Tears even streamed down Pare’s stony visage. “To me, at least. He fixed my arm.” Samuel moved his repaired shoulder to illustrate. “And I have no doubt what he did saved me. I don’t know what Atherton had planned. I’m afraid even to speculate.” His story told, he sat silent, his head bowed.
Pare was the first to break the silence. “So my friend died so some random canner could keep walking.” Samuel looked up, greeted with open contempt. Pare stormed out of the room.
Eriane watched him leave, then sniffled and turned her red eyes back on Samuel. Her hand came away from her face long enough for her to utter a quiet, “But…”, and then she, too, ran from the room. A tall, thin construct had entered and raised his hand as though to gain the attention of the two as they pushed passed him, but did not speak in time.
“Master Mane?” the construct said, turning back to the old man.
“It’s all right, Icariascus,” Mane said. “Just leave them be for now.” He approached Samuel and placed a hand on the side of his head. “It will take them some time, Samuel. They were all friends, and spent time together whenever Pare and Eri had occasion to go to Morrelton.”
“I’m sorry,” was all Samuel could manage.
“What you’ve gone through is unfortunate. Death is never an easy thing to deal with.”
“Shouldn’t make any difference to me,” Samuel snapped. “I mean, I’m not supposed to have emotions, right?”
Mane took in a long breath, then moved back to sit on the stool where Pare had been seated. “Well, you’re not exactly a normal construct, now, are you?”
Samuel looked up at him. “That’s the question I’m trying to find the answer to.”
“And why should we help you find that answer?” Mane asked.
Samuel took a moment to contemplate his reply. “A week ago, I would have said I don’t have a good answer to that question. I’m just a lost construct with nothing to offer you for your help. I see, now, something more important is going on. Death has followed me from the moment I awoke, and if I can’t find out who—or what—I am, I’m powerless to stop whatever it is that’s coming for me. Before, it was all about figuring out who I was. Now? I…I don’t want Michael’s death to be meaningless.”
A small smile crossed Mane’s face. “Good answer,” he said, standing. “I’m willing to help you, Samuel. But to do so, you need to tell me the parts of your story you left out.”
Samuel knew better than to try and lie to this man, or omit anything further. “My blackout wasn’t passive. It came with a rush of visions—memories, I think. The problem is they’re…incomplete. There’s no discernible order to them, and they all seem jumbled. Unconnected.”
“Hm,” Mane said, stroking his goatee with his thumb and forefinger. “I have to wonder if there’s been damage to your core that segregated your memories. Strange things can happen to a construct when their core is tampered with.”
“Could that sort of tampering have given me…emotions? Could someone have been trying for that result?” Samuel asked.
Mane scratched his head and leaned back in his chair. “Anything’s possible, Samuel. I know one thing; someone’s been tampering with you in ways I can’t even begin to hypothesize yet, not without knowing more about where you came from. Instilling emotion into a construct has been a tempting and dangerous goal for artificers for centuries. It’s not something one attempts lightly, or without thought of the consequences.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, think about it for a minute,” Mane said, exasperated. “Emotion is the heart of conflict. If feelings were never injected into disagreements, do you think we’d ever have arguments? Or fights? Or wars? The majority of artificers strongly disagree with the idea of even trying to infuse emotion into an artificial being, believing emotion is a gift of nature, not to be tampered with. The potential for disaster is too great.”
Mane paused and took a deep breath. “What good would artificial beings be as servants and workers if what little independent thought they’re imbued with was also colored by emotions? Without feelings, the concepts of freedom and individuality are rendered moot, which is exactly what people want out of a construct. Your apparent feelings are unique, Samuel, and of much more interest to me than your origins.”
“Both weigh equally for me, Master Mane,” Samuel said. “My emotions may be unique, but it’s my history that puts me in danger.”
“Very true,” the old man responded. “And don’t call me Master. You’re not my apprentice. Mane will do fine.”
“All right,” Samuel said. “What comes next, then?”
“First and foremost,” Mane replied, “We must allow Pare and Eri time to grieve, and I have work to do if I’m to convince them you’re not to blame.”
Samuel looked down at his hands. “Who’s to say I’m not?”
“Oh, rubbish,” Mane said. “The person responsible for Michael’s death was Atherton, and no one else. That man’s been an erratic mess for as long as I’ve known him. I can’t even begin to wonder what wou
ld have driven him to do what he did, but one can never tell with someone as unpredictable as him. I’ll have no more of your self-pity, whether it be real or affected.”
Samuel nodded, but did not reply.
“Now, this thief you spoke of.” Caught off guard, Samuel snapped his head upward. Mane smiled. “Ah, you thought I wasn’t paying attention, eh? Or I’d just let it go? Things don’t slip by me as easily as the other two, Samuel, and you’d be wise to remember that.”
“You have to understand,” Samuel said, “I’m not trying to deceive you. I’m just—wary.”
“And rightly so,” Mane replied. “But if you’re going to ask for my help, then I will ask for yours in return. You cannot afford secrets right now, and the more I know, the more I’ll be able to help you.”
“You’re right,” Samuel said.
“Of course I am. Now, I have to assume this thief you spoke of was Jacob Tensley?” Mane asked.
A flash of anger ran through Samuel at once again hearing the thief’s real name. “The name he gave me was Kaleb, but I only discovered this other name just before we parted ways. I don’t know his last name.”
“Yes, that’s him. Kaleb is a name he goes by sometimes.” Samuel looked away, stifling an angry retort. “You mustn’t hold it against him, Samuel,” Mane said. “Men like Jacob spend most of their lives protecting themselves, and almost always at the cost of genuine relationships. The name Kaleb is as real to him as his given name, and probably used more often. It’s nothing more than a defense mechanism.”
Samuel thought about Mane’s words, but they didn’t lessen his anger. “Perhaps. But that is a discussion for another day.” The name wasn’t the only issue he had with the thief, it just served as an easy focal point for the entirety of his deception.
“Very well.” Mane let it drop. “Tell me about what you saw in the forest, after you evaded the siphils.”
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