“How did you…?”
“Pare tracked you most of your way through the forest,” Mane said with a sly grin. “He said he got lucky at the clearing; he’d thought you’d made him out. It’s that clearing I wish to know more about. What did you see there?”
Samuel thought back. “It was a ring of light. This blue, wavering wall of light that shimmered with sparks. Aside from altering my vision somewhat, it seemed pretty but harmless.”
Mane’s eyebrow went up again. “Interesting. I’ll need to work on that one, then.”
“What do you mean?” Samuel asked.
“That clearing contains a powerful illusion,” Mane said, leaning back in his chair. “Quite an ingenious one, if I do say so myself. I set it up as a deterrent for anyone looking for this place. Anyone looking into that clearing will see whatever will make them give up their search. I’ve found many people will see the image of a burned out husk of a cabin, complete with charred remains. It serves well to keep out unwanted trespassers.”
“And what about the one just outside here?” Samuel asked.
“Ah!” The sorcerer flashed a proud smile. “That one’s even more complex. Anyone looking this way will see, hear, and smell empty forest. If they wander too close, the illusion gently redirects them, causing them to walk completely around without ever thinking they’ve gone off course.” He leaned forward, glaring at Samuel. “You, on the other hand, just trundled right into it. I’m glad I put up the bump field as a failsafe.”
“It looked the same as the one in the clearing to me,” Samuel said. “I thought I could just walk through it.”
Mane snorted and shook his head. “It’s baffling, is what it is! Those illusions are masterworks, and all you see is pretty lights. Well, you can rest assured if there were nothing else at all interesting about you, that alone would get my blood boiling enough to help you figure out what you are!”
• • • • •
Samuel’s conversation with Mane became more sparse as day wore on into evening. Samuel learned how the books were removed from the shelves when Mane snapped his fingers and a small object floated down from somewhere near the ceiling. It was constructed of wood and bronze, with a round central core about the size of a clenched fist. Two flat, wooden panels, about a hand’s breadth square and extremely thin, flared to its sides like wings, attached to the central core by metal connectors. It hovered before Mane and, upon receiving instruction, floated off toward the wall near the hallway entrance The flat panels rotated around in front of it as it moved. Approaching a bookshelf, the panels slipped neatly between books and enclosed one between them. It drew the book off the shelf, turning it flat and carrying it back to Mane. Mane took the book and waved his hand, and the little librarian floated back toward the ceiling, taking up a central position in a little rack where it rested until called for.
Mane spent much of the day poring over book after book, pulled for him by his tireless little flying construct, which he called Reet, a nickname for retriever given to it by Eriane. It seemed Reet was in constant motion that day, and Mane’s search for information had been met with varying success.
Samuel described his visions, but Mane stopped him after he described at least four that involved his own death. Samuel told him these supposed premonitions were woven between other, more mundane scenes as well as potent images that did not involve his own death, but always some spectacular experience or extraordinary event. Mane listened carefully and uttered the occasional “Mmm…” or “Uh-huh…” or “Ah…mmm…” but offered no helpful advice, stating only that he didn’t want to speculate until he could find something more substantial.
Icariascus wandered in and out of the room, speaking in low tones to Mane and shuffling back to the rear of the cabin, offering Samuel only perfunctory acknowledgment. Samuel did not see either Pare or Eriane for the remainder of the day, although he wished he could talk to them and offer some form of consolation. Mane suggested he give them time, let them approach at their own pace.
“You must understand, Samuel,” he said, “both of these children have experienced profound loss in their lives. Why else would the two of them be living out here, learning from some grey-haired forest hermit? Neither of them expected to go through that kind of pain again so soon. They’ll come around, in time.”
When Samuel asked what had happened to the two of them, Mane would not answer. “That’s not my place,” he said. “That is a question for you to ask them, if circumstances allow, and for them to answer, if they feel it is right.”
There was little other conversation to fill Samuel’s time as the evening wore on. He spent much of the day observing Mane’s reactions as he read and watching the fireplace contraption drop logs into the fire. Stacks of books covered every open space on Mane’s worktable, all of which he seemed to be keeping for reference. After hours of poring over a particularly old and dusty volume, Mane pushed himself back from his table, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes. With a grunt he hauled himself out of his chair, reaching his arms up into the air in a stretch that arched his back, causing it to pop several times.
“Well, Samuel,” he said, “I’m going cross-eyed. I think these old peepers have had enough for the day, and my head’s starting to hurt from translating some of these texts.” Samuel must have been visibly disappointed, which caused Mane to step over to place a hand on his shoulder. “I’m making some progress, but this will take time. Making any coherent sense out of these spotty texts is about as easy as you making sense of all those jumbled memories banging around in your mind.” He patted Samuel’s shoulder and turned to leave. “But we have plenty of time, and you’re safe here.”
Samuel nodded. “Is there anything you can tell me tonight?”
“Nothing solid. If I thought I’d found anything worth pinning your hopes on, you can believe I would have told you by now.” Mane turned to leave. “If you like, you can feel free to read the volume on the worktable. It is one of the rarest in my collection. It’s a little archaic, but the tongue is common enough I’m sure you’ll be able to muddle out an understanding.” The old man disappeared into the back of the cabin, and Samuel was left alone for another night. At least this time he’d have something to read.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
* * *
The dim light of an overcast morning did little to brighten the cabin’s main room. Icariascus emerged first, long before Samuel expected any of the other three to be out of bed. The old construct had a smaller build than Samuel, taller and more wiry. A short, thin slit indicated a mouth in an otherwise featureless plate, toward the bottom of a noseless face with large, round eyes. The construct shuffled over to where Samuel stood at the worktable.
“Good morning, sir.” Icariascus’s voice sounded thin and reedy, with a tinge of an unrecognizable accent.
Samuel was surprised by the greeting; Icariascus hadn’t spoken to him since he arrived. “Good morning, Icariascus.”
Icariascus nodded a friendly affirmation. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Samuel replied.
“Are you”—the thin construct paused, almost as though he were afraid to continue—“independent?”
Samuel considered how to answer the question. “To the best of my knowledge I am. If I’m not, I have not yet found my master.”
“Oh.” Icariascus nodded and looked down at the table full of books. “You cannot feel a link?”
“I cannot,” Samuel replied. “But I wouldn’t know the feeling even if I could.”
“You would know,” Icariascus said. “The link to your master is a driving imperative that begins to override all other thought the further from them you are.”
“Are you linked to someone, Icariascus?” Samuel asked.
“Not anymore,” Icariascus said. “At one time I was, but it is my choice to stay with Mane and the children. They do not feel the need for that level of…control.”
“Then you are also independent,” S
amuel said.
“Not as independent as one may think.” Icariascus said. “In some ways independence is a blessing for a construct. But be warned, there are some who would just as soon have you imprisoned or destroyed as allow you to remain free. There are places in the world not as accepting as Morrelton, places where independent constructs are viewed as a threat to the peace. Be mindful with whom you share your independence.”
Samuel understood much of the fear and paranoia toward constructs. The book which Mane had given him to read detailed a five-year war with constructs that ravaged the countryside generations prior. Constructs had become so common almost every family and business had them working as laborers. Advancements in the technology had begun to produce constructs of many different shapes and sizes, specialized for different tasks. In a single, coordinated stroke, indentured constructs across the continent turned against their masters, killing a great many wealthy and powerful people and igniting the conflict. By the end of the war, the cities of Cyril and Balefor were almost razed to the ground, but the constructs were overrun, their numbers having dwindled to less than a tenth of their former strength. Many people still harbored an inherent distrust of constructs, even generations after the war.
“I’ll make sure to be careful about what I say in public, then,” Samuel said.
Icariascus nodded and walked away, pausing before he left the room. “I know of none better than Mane to help you find the answers you seek. You were right to come here.”
“Let’s hope so, Icariascus,” Samuel said. The other construct disappeared into the darkened hallway. Samuel looked down at the book he’d been reading all night and absently touched the edges of the pages, causing the page-turner to flip them back and forth. Would the knowledge he gained from coming here warrant endangering three peoples’ lives?
“He’s right, you know.” Mane’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. The old man’s smile presented a wild visage under the disheveled white mess atop his head. His simple brown robes looked as though he may have slept in them. “I might not be a storehouse of knowledge, but my collection”—he gestured to the books around the room—“isn’t one to sneeze at.”
Samuel nodded. “It’s not the answers that worry me,” he said.
“Our safety isn’t in question, Samuel,” Mane said. “We’ll know if anyone’s coming before they even reach the Bleeding Pine. Besides, I’m a crafty old codger.” A new grin, wilder than the first. “Anyway… Find anything in that book that I missed?”
Samuel shook his head. “Nothing pertinent. Plenty of interesting history, but I can’t connect any of it.”
Mane raised an eyebrow. “Well, that didn’t work.”
“What?” Samuel asked.
“I was hoping you’d do the research for me!” He chuckled to himself. “I figured maybe you’d spend the night getting through this book and find something in short order.”
“Nothing but more curiosity,” Samuel said. “I’m interested in the linking process. How does it work? How was it developed?”
Mane plopped down, tipping his chair back onto its rear legs and propping himself back with a foot against his worktable. He reached up and began stroking his beard. “It’s a process of linking a person’s khet to that of the construct. With a little spice thrown in, of course. It’s a bit like a process once used to link constructs to each other, so they all respond to the same commands or are able to work together on a task with a sort of hive mind. The process to link to a human is more delicate, because you only want the link to work one way.”
Samuel was focused on the past-tense of the phrase. “Do they not link constructs anymore?”
“Oh, no,” Mane said. “Many think a link like that was used to coordinate the assassinations that sparked the war. Since then, linking constructs has been illegal. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, of course, but it’s generally frowned upon.”
Samuel nodded. “Icariascus says I’d feel any link that might be bound to me. Is that always true?”
“Always true,” Mane replied, dropping the front legs of his chair back to the floor. “A true link has to be tethered directly into a construct’s core. You’d know it, even if you were linked to another construct.” He raised an eyebrow. “I trust you’d tell me if you felt something?”
“Of course,” Samuel replied. “So, I’m not linked to anyone or any…thing. But I still can’t make sense of the memories that have been coming back to me.”
“I’ve been mulling that one over,” Mane said, “and the only explanation I can think of is something happened to cause your core to fragment.”
“I was told a cracked core would explode.” Samuel said.
“No, no, no,” Mane said. “Fragmentation isn’t physical, and it usually only happens during the creation of a core. Something goes wrong and jumbles everything about; makes the core useless. If it happens to a core after it’s been imbued, any number of things happen to the construct, but they’re never as…lucid as you.”
“How does it happen?” Samuel asked.
Mane leaned back, shaking his head. “There’s no real rhyme or reason to it. In most cases, the core’s damaged and should have exploded or dissipated, but instead it fragments. In the few cases I’ve heard of, the effects range from rendering the construct mindless to splitting their mind apart. It’s about as close to insanity as you’d ever see in an artificial being. Your case? Well, I’m not even sure that’s what we’re dealing with here.”
Samuel grew frustrated with Mane’s hedging. Mane continued before he could speak, as though sensing his impatience. “Your mind is intact. You’re capable of rational thought, you can make your own decisions. You’ve even retained all your basic skills and a good chunk of your ingrained knowledge. The only thing that’s been tampered with are your memories, and I’d venture these visions you’ve been having are actually vestigial memories not caught by the wipe. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone was trying to tamper with your memories or erase them without doing a complete wipe, and something went wrong.”
“So that could be why they’re so incoherent?”
“It’s the best theory I’ve got so far, but it’s just a theory. Fragmentation is rare,” Mane said. “And that’s putting it lightly. Most constructs whose cores fragment just shut down, or fall apart. Not literally, mind you. Well, sometimes, but…” He shook his head and made one of his dismissive waves. “I don’t have a complete answer to that question just yet.” The words Mane said didn’t match his mischievous expression. He reached into a pocket on his robe. “But I would reckon it has something to do with this.” His hand emerged with the serpent ring resting on his palm.
Only then did Samuel remember the fight with the siphils, and how he had discarded his cloak in his flight. He was hit with a rush of frustration at how easily he had forgotten the ring and left it behind with the cloak. When his wave of anger at himself subsided, curiosity about how Mane had acquired the ring quickly followed. “How did you…?”
“Pare,” Mane said. “After you fled, he searched the cloak and brought me the ring.”
“How did he escape the siphils?” Samuel asked, shocked Pare would have braved such a situation.
“He’s very adept,” Mane said. “Siphils aren’t much of a danger to him anymore, which is why we bait them into the area.”
It shouldn’t have surprised Samuel the siphils were laid as a trap, but it still did. He wondered how many people may have been caught on that trail by that pack. More and more, Samuel wondered what it was about this old man that warranted so many protections and failsafes.
Samuel gestured toward the ring. “What is it, then?”
Mane grinned. “That’s the really exciting part!” he said. “But before I tell you what it is, you have to tell me where you got it.”
Samuel was more than a little frustrated with the stalling, but knew there was no way around it. “I pulled it from…” He hesitated, but remembered his promise of honesty. �
��From the hand of a dead man in the room where I awoke. In Winston. What is it?”
Mane was nodding, looking down at the ring and mumbling, “Ferron, you sly little bastard,” to himself. He looked up at Samuel and held up the ring. “This, my friend, is one of the four Rings of Lorrem.” A smug smile crossed his face and he leaned back, unaware what he’d said meant nothing to Samuel.
“Or a forgery.” Both of them turned to see Pare entering the room. He wore tight-fitting forest clothes and a wide belt, pulling on a pair of long-gauntleted leather gloves. “Meant to distract us.” Pare looked at Samuel, the anger in his eyes slipping just a little bit before he turned to Mane as he walked toward the front door. “I’m going out.”
“Back before dark, Pare,” Mane said, with a tone that meant they’d had this discussion many times before.
Pare didn’t respond. Samuel looked after him and wanted to say something, but couldn’t form the words before the young man slammed the front door behind him.
Mane looked back, tilting his head toward the exit. “Headstrong, that one. Hard to convince of anything once his mind’s made up.” His mischievous grin returned. “Which is why it’s so much fun to prove him wrong.”
Mane had begun fiddling with the ring, which was still the primary focus of Samuel’s attention. “Rings of Lorrem?” he asked.
Mane snapped out of his bemusement. “Of course, of course. The Rings of Lorrem were a set of four, purportedly forged by a powerful artificer after whom they were named many generations ago.”
“What do they do?”
Mane tipped his head back and forth in that it’s complicated sort of way. “No one really knows, to be honest. There are hundreds of rumors and theories about their properties, but no one’s ever been able to say definitively what their use is.”
“How do you even know they actually exist?” Samuel asked.
“Well, because two of the four are on display in the Central Museum in Balefor,” Mane replied. “No one was ever able to unlock their secrets, so they were put on display as simple artifacts. The placard on the display says the other two rings were lost. It looks, my friend, like one of them’s been found.”
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