“You are my last hope.” Samuel said, his desperation unmasked. “I have nowhere left to turn.”
“My work here,” Acthemenius said, gesturing to his dim workshop, “has moved beyond you, whoever you are. I look now only to the future. I no longer have time for the past.” He began fiddling with something Samuel could not see.
Samuel stood, defeated, at a loss for what he had left to say. Acthemenius walked back to his bench and sat, readjusting the lamp to provide more light for his work. Talecronelum’s shoulders dropped and he shook his head.
“Someone’s trying to destroy me.” Samuel said. “I’m being followed. My future depends on finding out why.” Nothing. Not so much as a twitch or turn from Acthemenius. “If you know half of what you’re rumored to know, you’re the only one who might be able to help me.”
Nothing. Acthemenius remained steadfastly attentive to his work. Samuel had been shut out, his last chance at finding out who he was dying out in a dingy cave in Kelef. Defeated, he turned toward the door, and Talecronelum followed. As he reached the exit he paused, finding one last thought he hoped might turn the tide of the discussion. He turned back toward Acthemenius.
“Someone tried to use one of the Rings of Lorrem on me.”
The sounds of Acthemenius’s tinkering halted. A hand reached up to push aside the work lamp, and the ancient construct turned once again to face Samuel. They stared at one another long enough to make Samuel uncomfortable, but he remained silent.
Acthemenius gestured to a stone slab at his side. “Sit,” he said. “Tell me everything.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
* * *
As they exited the Grotto, Eriane wondered how they’d ever get back to the square without Samuel’s bulk to deter brigands. Malevolent eyes followed their every movement from the dark alleys of the cavern. Pare increased the pace of their flight when more than one seedy-looking denizen made a point to exit the shadows as they passed and fall in step behind them. Their pursuers did not give chase, exactly, but were a constant presence just over their shoulder. She dared not look back until they were at the mouth of the bridge. Some few dark figures lingered at the edge of the moonlight as many others faded back into the darkness of the Grotto.
Breathing the fresh, frozen air of the open city calmed Eriane’s nerves. Morning was not far off. It hadn’t felt like they’d been gone so long, but it made sense when Eriane put her mind to it. Impending sunrise brought with it a double-edged sword: Sorrell and Jacob would discover their absence and soon be in pursuit, but morning’s light would also bring access to the city library—the one place they might be able to find some answers about Samuel’s origins.
The city streets were still deserted, the only footprints across the snowy bridge their own. It wasn’t long before they reached the stairwell leading to the terrace upon which the library stood and they ascended without another person in sight. At the base of the wide marble stairs that formed the front of the building, Eriane halted, stupefied by its massive façade. She had spent her entire life in small towns or Mane’s cabin, and the sight of such a building awed her more than anything she’d ever seen.
“Come on,” Pare said, breaking the trance. “We’d better find a way inside.”
“What do you mean?” Eriane asked. “You don’t mean to break in, do you?”
“Have you got a better idea?” Pare asked.
“It’ll open soon enough.”
“We don’t have that kind of time, Eri.”
“Do you really think you’ll be able to get in there?” Eriane asked, incredulous. “Do you honestly think just because there are no people around, a place like this is unprotected?”
“Yeah, I guess you’ve got a point,” Pare said. He took a deep breath, then turned toward the building anyway. “Let’s at least go see if anyone’s inside.”
Eriane nodded. The two of them made their way up the steps to the large double doors in the center of the building. Pare reached out and tried the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. Eriane crinkled her brow at him.
“Hey, it was worth a try!” he said. Pare looked both ways along the building gesturing to the windows along the front. “Okay, you go that way, and I’ll look over here.”
The two of them split up, peering into the library’s frost-covered windows. There was very little light inside, and Eriane couldn’t see much beyond the tall stacks lining the front of the building nearest to where she stood. Even those few shelves contained more books than Eriane had ever seen, making Mane’s collection seem puny by comparison. At the third window there was an opening with no shelves, and she glimpsed into the wide interior of the building.
At some point, Eriane’s amazement took a subtle shift into dread. How could they possibly hope to find anything in this gargantuan horde of volumes? She saw at least four levels of balconied walkways overlooking the open main floor. Rows and rows of books vanished into the darkness to the rear of the enormous room. Even Mane’s collection would have been daunting without the extensive constructions to help them search and Reet to pull and replace books. What could they ever expect to find in the amount of time they had left?
Pare made a noise, waving Eriane over to his window. With one last look inside her heart sank, and she broke away to join him. “Pare, how are we ever going to find anything in here?”
A twinkle of a grin broke across Pare’s face, and he pointed at the window for Eriane to look. Inside was another break in the bookshelves, looking out onto rows of study desks in an open lobby. Toward the middle of the pack, the halo of a low light cut through the darkness, illuminating the head and shoulders of someone hunched over a desk. “There’s someone here!” Eriane exclaimed, quite before she’d realized she’d done it.
“Just wait,” Pare said. “Watch for a minute.”
Eriane returned her attention to the studying figure, who seemed to be flipping through several volumes simultaneously. Another movement high in the room startled her, and then delighted her when she identified it. A tiny round shape, clutching a book from one of the higher terraces, zipped down through the air toward the seated figure, depositing the book at the adjacent desk, then picked up another, discarded book and zipped back away into the darkness. It seemed the library of Kelef had its very own Reet. Eriane felt a wide grin work its way onto her cold-numbed face.
“Let’s get his attention!” she said.
Pare held up a hand. “And say what, exactly?”
“Don’t worry, Pare,” Eriane said with a wry smile. “I can take care of this one.” Before he could respond, she turned and rapped lightly on the window. When the hunched figure inside failed to respond, she rapped a little harder.
It was apparent she had startled him, as he jerked upward in his seat so fast he knocked over a pile of books sitting near his elbow. The bearded figure fumbled about on the desk for a moment and found a pair of round-rimmed glasses, which he used to peer out the window. After a moment of confusion he stood and headed in the direction of the front door.
“Just play along, okay?” Eriane said as she and Pare scuttled over to the door.
“What are you going to say?” Pare asked in a forced whisper.
“Just follow my lead. I’m going to tell him we’re—” Just then, the door creaked open and a grey-haired, bespectacled head poked out at them.
“What in blazes are you two doing out here at this time of the morning?” he said.
“I’m SO sorry to bother you, sir,” Eriane said, employing an affectation that made her sound far more girlish than she actually was. “I know it’s early, but is there any way you can let us in?”
The old man huffed, making his displeasure known. “I can not,” he said, putting extra emphasis on the final word.
“But sir, please,” Eriane pleaded. “We’ve both got papers due tomorrow and we haven’t studied…”
“Well perhaps two young…”—the old man stuttered and huffed again—“…lovebirds like yourselves should figure
out your… priorities!”
“Ew!” Eriane said. “He’s my brother!”
“Yes sir,” Pare chimed in. “Our father will be very cross with us if he finds us being lax on our homework again.”
“And we don’t want to make him cross.” Eriane flashed a convincing look of fear, one that spoke of a deeper dread than a simple chastising.
The old man huffed again and sniffled in the cold night air, staring them down as if attempting to read straight into their souls. “Oh…”—another huff—“…all right then. But you will be quiet and respectful, and you will not disturb me while I work! And when the doors open this morning, you will act as though you only just arrived. And stop calling me sir! My name is Harven. Am I clear?”
“Absolutely, s- Harven,” Pare said, nodding and giving the librarian an apologetic look as he moved into the library. Eriane emitted a lilting giggle and jumped up to kiss Harven on the cheek before bolting past him through the door. The old man huffed once again at no one, closing and locking the door behind them.
Frescoed ceilings soared sixty feet above the library’s polished marble floor, supported by columns of the same gleaming stone. An inlay of granite, in an array of types and colors, covered the entire expanse of the central lobby floor, depicting an open book whose pages showed a crimson heart on the left and a silver star on the right. The book stacks on the main floor stood some thirty feet high. Moveable ladders at the ends of each row looked like they had fallen into disuse, and Eriane was sure the little Reet helping the old man had something to do with that.
Inside, there were six stories of balconies and further stacks, each level built of a different color of granite or marble. To their left and right were extensive rows of study desks, each with its own lamp and chair. A short pedestal at the back of each desk supported a small metal sphere. The fact that they were hundreds of retrievers took a moment to sink in, and when it did she felt a lump in her throat at the sudden memory of her master and surrogate father, hunched over his little reading desk by the deep round window, his absentminded commands sending Reet whooshing through the cabin for this book or that to help in his studies.
“Well, go on now!” Harven said, his voice a stern whisper. Only then did the two of them realize they’d been immobile, mouths agape at the sight of the Kelef Library. “I haven’t seen you two in here before. Do you know how to use—”
“Yes!” Eriane interrupted, hoping the catch in her voice wasn’t all too clear. “We’ve used them before.”
Harven nodded and started back toward his desk. “Well, on you go then. And try not to get me into trouble.”
“Um…Harven?” Pare asked.
Harven stopped. “Mmm?”
“Where should we start if we’re doing research on Chroniclers?”
The old man’s bushy eyebrows raised, but he answered the question without another word. “Construct History is on the second terrace north. Be on your way, now.”
“Thank you,” Pare said. “Come on, Eri, let’s go.”
Eriane was already halfway to the stairs before he’d even finished the sentence.
CHAPTER FORTY
* * *
“You were…Aesamaelus was my friend.” Acthemenius said. “I’ve known you for over five hundred years.”
The implications of Acthemenius’s revelation swirled in Samuel’s thoughts. “How is that even possible?”
Acthemenius belted out a mirthless laugh. “Because that’s what we were designed for!” he said. He stepped around Samuel to a workbench that looked long disused. Reaching into a wall cubby above the table he withdrew a small bundle, an item slightly larger than a foot square wrapped in oilcloth, and returned to hand it to Samuel. “We Chroniclers were meant for more than simple servitude.” Samuel detected more than a hint of bitterness in the statement.
Samuel carefully withdrew the folds of oilcloth to reveal a thick bronze plate, designed to fit just below a construct’s shoulder. Light tarnish discolored the surface of the metal that was otherwise in fine shape. What Samuel saw in the surface of the plate stunned him into a long silence: an ornate engraving that read, simply, ACTHEMENIUS.
Finding his voice seemed to take Samuel an eternity. “What were we meant for, then?” Samuel asked.
Acthemenius stood above him and shook his head. “Damn that Ferron. Once a fool, always a fool.” He raised a hand to his head. “Does the name not reveal our purpose to you, Samuel?” Another resentful laugh. “Of course not, of course not. You’re only a child.”
Samuel wasn’t sure whether interrupting Acthemenius’s rant would gain him any benefit, so he remained silent.
“It’s bad enough to core wipe a useful, normal construct. I can’t even begin to divine his purpose for wiping a Chronicler.” Acthemenius mumbled, his voice rising as he spoke. “He’s one of the few who should have known better.” He turned, tapping the side of his head with two fingers. “Think for a moment, Aesama… Samuel. Think about our name, and what it may imply.”
Ever since Samuel had heard the term Chronicler, he wondered at its meaning. Having the time now to mull it over, he had come to the conclusion they were some sort of record-keeping constructs, little more than a way to store information. He still failed to understand the importance of that fact.
“Do you still not see?” Acthemenius said. “Other constructs…normal constructs…have almost the exact same capacity for memory as a person. Their recall is more accurate, but there is only a finite amount of things a normal construct can retain. A Chronicler, however…”
“Can retain an infinite amount of information?”
Acthemenius laughed. “Infinite may be a bit overzealous, but…” He leaned over Samuel, pushing his face in close. “I remember…everything. Every nuance, every detail. And I will remember for all eternity. Every. Moment.” He punctuated each word with a ringing tap to the side of his head. “Every war. Every cataclysm. Every act of pettiness, of jealousy, of hatred. Every drop of blood on every blade of grass on every field of battle.”
Samuel thought back. Everything was there. The fire, the tunnel beneath Winston, Taeman’s caravan, the journey to Morrelton, Atherton and Michael and Mane. All of it in vivid, flawless detail. Samuel hadn’t even realized how fresh it all still seemed in his mind, and how much of it he could extract with very little effort.
“We see all and remember without error,” Acthemenius continued, returning to his seat. “We were, as our benevolent makers ordained, ‘Designed to be the perfect historians. Possessed of an individual perspective, a single point of view, but untainted by the bias of emotion’. We were to be the world’s storytellers; the embodiment of a flawless, undying record of all we had witnessed.” Acthemenius paused, looking to Samuel as if waiting.
Samuel nodded, unsure of how to respond and wary of Acthemenius’s agitation. He needed answers, though, so he pressed on. “Untainted by the bias of emotion…”
Acthemenius scoffed, and leaned his elbows on his knees. “There were only a few. A few of us gifted with the ability to feel. We thought it a gift.” He lowered his eyes and shook his head. “A gift.”
Samuel stared down at the engraved plate in his hands. “Why can I see the memories of other constructs?”
Acthemenius’s head remained bowed. “It was a failsafe, meant to ensure the integrity of our…”—a chuckle—“chronicle. We are connected, one and all. If one is destroyed, its experience is passed to the rest.”
It all came crashing together. Every single construct who had been destroyed in the pursuit of Samuel’s knowledge had passed their memories along that link to Samuel. The images he’d been seeing were real memories, and now he knew that somewhere, buried amongst all of them, was the key to finding out why they had all become targets. Samuel tried to take it all in, to figure out his place in all of it, tearing his eyes away from the plate and returning them to Acthemenius. “I believe whoever is following me has some way to track Chroniclers. To find us. If you say a destroyed Ch
ronicler’s knowledge is passed to all others, that means you have the memories of the recently destroyed just like me, right?”
Acthemenius raised his gaze to Samuel, and nodded.
“How… Then why haven’t you…any of you…done something about this? These men have left a trail of destroyed Chroniclers and dead people in their wake, and no one has done a damned thing about it!”
“You…you still don’t understand…”
Samuel stood. “What would you have me understand? That you are clearly, in spite of rumor, measured and intelligent, and would rather play at insanity than act? That you are too frightened or too lazy to use the knowledge you have gained? People have died and you sit on your hands doing—”
With surprising speed Acthemenius was on his feet and clouted Samuel across the face with enough force to knock him to the floor. “How dare you speak to me in that tone!” he yelled. “You have perhaps weeks of memories, and you have the gall to impugn centuries of knowledge? Every sight, sound, and detail from five hundred years and countless lost Chroniclers. Perhaps you will not again question the structure of my sanity, or why I don’t act on every single, solitary image that enters my consciousness.”
Samuel stammered. “I didn’t…”
“No, you did not,” Acthemenius snapped. “Our…flawed design was devised by men. Men with limited foresight, and power they did not understand.” Acthemenius waved his hand about, his voice laden with disgust. “Centuries of collected knowledge with little thought on how to organize or retrieve it. That is the end to which I work here.”
He made a gesture to the surrounding workshop. “At first, I was trying to find a way to allow a Chronicler to organize their memories in some way to relieve the…pressure…of it. Fruitless.” He made a dismissive wave. “The design was a fluke in the first place, so attempting to temper a harnessed accident with logic was an infuriating failure. Now? All I can hope is to find a way to expel it without destroying the essence of the individual.”
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