Construct

by Luke Matthews

  “What does bear’s house mean?”

  Atherton turned his head, looking at Colton as though he’d spoken a foreign language. Colton pulled him forward by his shirt, then thumped him hard back against the tree. Atherton coughed. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s what Michael said when I asked him where Kaleb and Samuel had gone. What does it mean?”

  Atherton turned his head, silently mouthing the phrase bear’s house over and over. The old man looked more confused by the second, and Colton’s anger was coming to a boil. Colton let out a frustrated scream, using Atherton to lever himself to his feet. He paced back and forth at the foot of the grave with a hand on his forehead, trying to work it out.

  “A cave, maybe?” Bales offered. “Bears live in caves.”

  Colton didn’t stop pacing. “Maybe, I suppose. Doesn’t help us, though. These hills are littered with caves. They could be holed up anywhere.” His pacing slowed and finally stopped. He stood with his hands on his hips and his head tilted back, eyes closed as he searched to make any sense of what Michael had told him. If Atherton didn’t even know, they were back at square one. “Fuck!”

  Colton’s scream died in the branches. Silence enveloped them; not even the wind rustled the trees. Finally, Atherton’s weak voice floated over the night air. “Pare’s house.”

  Colton and Bales both snapped their heads to look at the old man. “What did you say?” they said in unison.

  Atherton coughed up a chuckle and looked at Colton, his contempt laid bare. “Pare’s house. One of Michael’s friends. Apprentices with this crazy old hermit who lives somewhere northeast of here.” He let out a weak laugh and grinned knowingly. “You’ll never find it. No one ever has. That old coot might be crazy, but he’s powerful. More powerful than ten of you. You could spend the rest of your life searching and never find it, and you’d be ten feet away.”

  Colton looked down at him, his face so devoid of humor the grin drained from Atherton’s face. “Where do I start?”

  “Why should I tell you now?” Atherton spat back.

  Colton placed his hands on his knees and leaned down, his lip twisted in an enraged sneer. “Climb into the grave.” He said, through gritted teeth.

  Atherton’s jaw clenched hard and his eyes went wide. There was a half-second of pause before he struggled to his feet and walked over to the hole, climbing down to stand across Michael’s still-open coffin. He looked up at Colton standing over him, and the last of his tears flooded out of his eyes before they went dry. He couldn’t even blink.

  “You know,” Colton said. “I could make you tell me whatever it is you do know just by asking you the question again right now.” He leaned over the edge of the grave. “But you’ve gone and pissed me off. Lay down.” Atherton laid down on his back atop Michael, holding his head up to stare at Colton at the edge hole. Colton released his control just enough to allow Atherton to speak freely.

  “The Bleeding Pine!” Atherton screamed. “Go to the Bleeding Pine, up the east road into the foothills! That’s all I know, I swear… Please.”

  Colton stood up straight, shaking his head. “There was a time, Atherton—albeit brief—when I thought of you as strong.”

  “Please…” Atherton pleaded. “I’ve told you what I know. Please let me out of here.”

  Colton paid him no heed. “You’re nothing but a betrayer, really. So easily you will turn on those who put their faith in you. Twice now you’ve betrayed your beloved apprentice’s trust, even in death, and now you betray his friends. And for what? What’s left for you?”

  Atherton, his body rigid, cried in tearless sobs. “Please…”

  “Stop blubbering,” Colton said. Atherton’s mouth snapped shut and his eyes grew large. His body went limp and his head came to rest in the coffin next to Michael’s. Colton bent down and picked up the shovels, tossing one to Bales, who caught it with an unsettling smile. The two of them scooped up shovelfuls of fresh dirt. “I don’t claim to be a good man, but at least I’m loyal.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  * * *

  It had taken an entire night for Samuel’s thoughts to settle, slotting as many of his new memories into some rough timeline as was possible. So much of the imagery was just random, with no context or defining characteristics to identify a time and place. Unable to place them into any sort of timeline or associate them with his current knowledge, he was engaged in a constant—and exhausting—battle to compartmentalize them in such a way they wouldn’t interfere with his ability to engage in normal, rational thought. If there were anything that could drive him to madness it might be this.

  For several days he fought, alone at night in the front room of Mane’s cabin, long after everyone had gone to bed. The manual process of organizing his memories frequently sent him into miniature blackouts, so he’d spend the nights attempting to work himself back to normality while Mane and his charges rested, leaving himself lucid for questions during the day.

  It was upon waking from these blackouts he missed their company. Especially Eriane’s, who seemed to be the only empathetic one of the group. Mane could not be blamed for his distance; it was his mind that Samuel was taxing for answers. Even Pare had softened some, using the questioning and research not only to occupy his mind, but also to force himself to interact with Samuel in some way other than anger. Samuel suspected Mane had some hand in directing Pare’s actions.

  So many questions had been raised by his most recent flash of memories. There was no way of knowing how close his pursuers were, or even if they were still pursuing him. Besides, would they even be able to find him, buried out here in the wilderness behind protective barriers so complex?

  The face of the silver-eyed man intruded on Samuel’s every thought. He was an enigma on his own, surrounded by questions that had begun to supersede Samuel’s own search for purpose. Why was he after Samuel? What did Samuel know—or worse, what had he done—to draw this kind of attention? Images of the murdered woman lurked behind every question, every thought. What was the link between the murder and his fugitive flight?

  • • • • •

  Pare and Eri were up early one morning, diving right into the investigation. Mane hadn’t emerged yet so Pare sat behind the worktable, poring over books and asking Samuel the occasional question. Eri’s approach was more compassionate, wondering how Samuel was feeling and if his mind had settled. As focused as Samuel was on figuring himself out, he was comforted there was someone who cared more about his well-being than the mystery at hand. It was a quiet moment, with Pare buried in a book and Eriane lounging on the cushions by the fire, when Mane entered the room.

  “Look who’s up!” he said to the kids with a smirk. “What terrible fate has befallen the world to get you two out of bed so early?” Eriane laughed and Pare just shook his head, returning to his book. “Have you been out to practice yet, Eriane?”

  “No, sir,” Eriane said. “But it’s early, I still have plenty of time today.”

  “Let’s get you dressed and out to practice,” Mane replied. “Early to rise just means you’ve got more time for study.”

  “Yes, sir,” Eriane said, rising from her pillows. “But if you find out anything at all about Samuel, you’ll come get me right away, right?” Samuel wished he could smile.

  Mane chuckled. “Of course. Now run along with you; go get dressed.”

  Eriane made her way back to her room. Pare took a deep breath and closed the book he was searching, rubbing his eyes. “I think I’ll join her,” he said, standing.

  Mane waved his hand. “No, Pare. I need your help today.”

  Pare’s surprise melted into confusion. “Um, okay.”

  “What’s this?” Mane said in mock astonishment, moving over to his desk. “I thought you’d relish the opportunity to help me investigate.”

  Pare shrugged. “It’s fine, but Eri and I haven’t practiced together in quite a while.”

  “Well, Pare, that’s partially by my desi
gn.” Mane put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I think Eri’s close to a breakthrough, and she needs some time to work it out on her own.”

  “Really?” Pare asked. Samuel thought he heard a hint of genuine excitement seep through. “What’s she onto?”

  “Now, now, Pariadnus. You know better than to ask that question. That’s for her to tell us, is it not?”

  Pare was crestfallen, rubbing one thumb into the opposite palm. “I think I could help her,” he said to his hands.

  Mane plopped down into his chair. “You remember what it was like at that point, don’t you, Pare? The last thing you wanted was my interference, and I think she’s feeling the same way about both of us right now.”

  Pare nodded and took a seat next to the desk. He took a deep breath. “What are we looking for?”

  “Boring things,” Mane replied, handing Pare a thick, leatherbound volume with two stripes of horizontal piping wrapping around the cover. Pare split his book toward the beginning and set it on the desk, leaning forward onto his elbows.

  Icariascus emerged from the back, wandering across the room and fiddling with something in the corner Samuel couldn’t see. Eriane followed a moment later, dressed in tight-fitting leggings and tall boots. Samuel caught a glimpse of a leather vest over her usual tunic as she tied up the front of a long, hooded cloak.

  “A little overdressed?” Pare shot over at her.

  Eriane flushed. “It’s cold outside, Pare,” she said, annoyed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s autumn, and we live close to the mountains.” Mane chuckled.

  Pare leaned back into his book, rebuffed. “I was only kidding.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m just being prepared, like you always tell me. I’m surprised there isn’t already snow.” She moved over to give Mane a brief embrace before heading for the door. “I’ll be back before dark!” she said over her shoulder as she left.

  Samuel turned back to Mane. “How can I help?”

  “Actually,” Mane replied, “You can’t. You’ve been cooped up in here for days, and I think you need to get out of the cabin for a bit. I’m sending you to gather some firewood with Icariascus, today.”

  “Sir?” Icariascus replied, and stood unmoving for a moment before nodding his head. He and Samuel both spied the stack of firewood already gathered by the fireplace. “Yes, sir,” Icariascus said, leaving his task in the corner behind to cross the room. “Please come with me, Samuel,” he said as he passed. Samuel stood, noting both Pare and Mane watched him from the desk. Nodding toward them, he turned to follow Icariascus.

  The morning sky flared bright white. Dense fog loitered amongst the forest trees, cutting visibility to only a few feet. The sunlight was diffused through the cloud layer and fog into a pervasive glow that made the day feel even brighter than it actually was, an effect helped by the light blue shimmer of the illusory wall.

  Icariascus moved around the side of the cabin without waiting for Samuel. The thin construct’s movements were stiffer than Samuel’s, but he suspected Icariascus might be more limber if the need arose. His design was simpler and his joints uncluttered, which would allow a wider range of motion, at least it seemed to Samuel, than the clunky plates around his own joints. He rotated his once-broken shoulder, looking at the final repairs Mane had done a few days before. Perhaps not Atherton’s quality of workmanship, but he’d done a fine job and Samuel was grateful not to see a gaping hole there.

  The two constructs walked quite a distance into the woods, along a well-worn trail that cut a straight path through the undergrowth and between the tall fir trees. “If we were to walk quite some distance, this trail would take us east and to the river,” Icariascus said, acting the tour guide as they moved through the forest. “We won’t be going that far today.”

  They continued to walk, and Samuel realized Icariascus knew they’d been sent on a wild goose chase as well, expelled from the cabin so Samuel could get outdoors and Mane could concentrate uninterrupted. There was plenty of firewood to gather, yet they gathered none. Samuel was the first to speak.

  “Icariascus?” he said. The smaller construct paused and turned to face him. “How old are you?”

  Icariascus started to turn away and looked back in a stuttering motion, then continued to walk. “I…I don’t actually know,” he replied. “We believe I’ve undergone at least one complete wipe, so I do not remember my origins, and we cannot determine my construction date. From my design, the best we can surmise is that I’m between one hundred and one hundred-fifty years old.”

  Samuel was staggered, as that put Icariascus at almost fifty years older than him. “Michael thought I might be about one hundred, but didn’t know for sure.”

  Icariascus gave Samuel an appraising look. “Your design is much older than that,” he said. “Older than me.” There was no hesitation or question in his voice.

  Samuel stopped in his tracks. “How do you know?” he asked.

  Icariascus stopped and turned. “The wear to your frame. Your joint design and plate design are somewhat…archaic.” He stepped forward, rapping a finger on one of Samuel’s shoulder plates. It made a solid sound, almost no ringing echo. “It’s been a long while since an artificer designed an armored construct.” He rapped his own chest and it produced a hollow ring. “Most constructs are built lighter, more agile. We become easier to transport…easier to manage. I won’t break Mane’s floor if I fall.”

  Was that a joke? Samuel couldn’t tell if Icariascus was being earnest or sarcastic.

  “So, I’m older than you,” Samuel said, mulling over how this revelation expanded what little frame of reference he had for his returning memories. The images and feelings he was recovering could be just from his last wipe, or from hundreds of years of experience. The breadth of his experiences could be even wider than he thought, which might explain why he was having so much trouble organizing them. And how long had he been followed by the man with silver eyes? What had triggered— A sharp, loud crack snapped him back to reality, but there was something odd about it. He listened for a moment and heard no echo, and wondered if what he’d heard was real.

  “It’s not that surprising, you know,” Icariascus said. “Constructs have been around for…”

  Samuel held up a hand to stop him as he listened. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” Icariascus asked.

  “A sound…loud.” Samuel said, listening.

  Icariascus looked around, then shook his head. “I’ve heard nothing, Samuel…” Another crack hurtled into Samuel’s hearing, again with no echo. “There!” Samuel said, almost yelling. The forest seemed undisturbed by the sound, but Samuel recognized it, even without the echo.

  He jerked his attention back to Icariascus, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Where does Eriane practice?” he said, his tone sharp.

  “Her favorite spot is in a depression at the base of one of the knolls near the river,” Icariascus said.

  “Where? What direction?”

  Icariascus looked at his surroundings, then raised a hand. “That way…” he said, pointing.

  Right in the direction of another crack. Samuel was already running.

  “I don’t hear anything, Samuel. Where are you going?” Samuel was already at the edge of the clearing.

  “Something’s wrong! I think Eriane’s in danger!” he yelled over his shoulder, just before crashing through the brush at the treeline and bolting into the forest.

  “In danger? But Samuel—” Icariascus said, but Samuel didn’t hear the rest. He ran as fast as his legs and eyes would allow, taking no heed of the underbrush that tried to tangle his feet or the branches that whipped his head and shoulders. He had little care for stealth, and was stirring up quite a commotion with the local wildlife on an otherwise quiet autumn morning. He stumbled, pushing off of a large pine to keep himself upright as the ground began a gentle downward slope he hoped would lead to the depression Icariascus mentioned.

  Another crack, louder and clo
ser. He’d heard this sound before, but only once—in the alleyway in Morrelton where he had defended himself against Cort and his men. Gunfire.

  Samuel feared what he’d encounter when he reached Eriane, and only hoped he could get there in time. The treeline vanished and he exploded into a clearing across from the cliff face. In front of him was a dome of energy, perhaps fifty feet in diameter and perfectly round, a cascade of sparks and blue light slicing through the forest and surrounding trees, intersecting a small stony rise on one edge.

  Eriane, at its center, turned quickly with an astonished look. In that same moment another loud bang took Samuel by surprise, a bright orange flash lighting the side of Eriane’s face, stopping him dead in his tracks. Something struck the rock face just above the dome with a loud zipping sound and the branch of a tree just over his shoulder exploded in splinters. A flock of birds crashed through the higher branches and into the air.

  A moment later Icariascus burst from the treeline to Samuel’s right and stopped as well. Samuel watched as the look of surprise drained from Eriane’s face and was replaced by fear, tears welling up in her eyes. She moved to her cloak, which was piled on the ground a short distance from her feet, and stowed something under it. Samuel could still see the curved side of a wooden handle with an ornate brass cap. She then snatched up something from the ground, and the dome of light disappeared. The young girl, now full of rage, stormed toward Samuel.

  “What are you doing!” she yelled. “You scared me half to death! Someone could have been hurt!”

  “I…” Samuel stammered, “I…heard something. I thought you were in danger.”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” She stopped about ten feet from Samuel, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to one hip, her jaw clenched.

  It was Icariascus who broke the silence. “What were you doing, Eri?”

  Her eyes shot over to the other construct, who was now approaching them both. “Practicing, Icariascus, what do you think I was doing?”