Construct

by Luke Matthews

  Bezeltania tries to rise, but cannot move. He lay paralyzed in the coagulating gore, unable to tear his eyes away from the grisly scene laid out before him. The Queen Consort murdered, a woman he’d seen alive and scared mere hours before. And now he’s set up to take the fall.

  He’s not sure how long he lay paralyzed before a noise draws his attention, someone at the door. Thoughts of the consequences of being found here, framed for murder, begin to erode his paralysis. The men give up the front and arrive at the kitchen door, so close to where he lay.

  His fingers twitch. Knocks at the door become more insistent, the urgent calls of the men outside unintelligible. Willing himself mobile he manages to roll, still burdened with agonizing weakness. As he gains his feet, the knocks at the door transform into crashes, and the door bursts inward.

  The men rush in. Their eyes fall to the Queen Consort’s body and return to him, filled with fire. Raising his hands to protest his innocence, his voice fails him. Something strikes his shoulder, a ripple of weakness crashing through to his feet, driving him to his knees. Fires of hatred burn bright in their eyes as they continue hitting him, each strike of their mafi-sticks carrying more than just impact; sapping his energy—his life—away.

  His face comes to rest in a cool, sticky pool of drying blood. Once again he sees Heliah’s face, her eyes still open as though pleading with him for help, just as she had in the last moments of her life. The voice of the killer, louder now and strained, drifts into his hearing as his senses fail him, screaming “No, you idiots, don’t—”

  Another strike; everything is gone.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  * * *

  Eriane slapped another book shut and pushed it away, flopping back in her chair with a hand up to rub her eyes. They’d found a row of study desks on the second level and began employing the retrievers, who were off on another mission through the gargantuan library. History texts of all shapes and sizes were piled on the desks around them. “This is pointless,” Eriane said.

  “They all say the same thing!” Pare said, exasperated. “I mean, they couch it in different languages or give a different angle on the history, but they all just regurgitate the same crap.”

  “How can something like this exist,” Eriane said. “And have no history? I mean, they were built to be historians, right? Then why isn’t there any writing about them?”

  Pare shut his book, as well. One of the retrievers returned and set a book down next to him, and he waved it into a sconce where it would await instruction. “I don’t know. I mean, the Great War was ages ago… How reliable were the historians then? Besides, the constructs were on the losing side of that war.” He gestured to the books around them. “Who knows how reliable any of this information really is.”

  Eriane flipped a page back and forth in one of the open books on her desk and rubbed her temple. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept. Sifting through history books wasn’t conducive to maintaining an adrenaline rush, and she was starting to crash. Any assurance their library trip was of any help to Samuel was slipping away.

  “Wait,” she said, snapping her fingers. Pare looked up at her from another book. “What if… What if we’re looking in the wrong place?”

  “What do you mean?” Pare said.

  “You’ve made the point that these history texts might be sort of… well… biased, right?” Pare nodded. “But what about the myths?” Pare’s look was equal parts inquisitive and dubious.

  “I’m not sure how that’s going to help,” he replied.

  “Think about it, Pare,” Eriane said. “Mane had tons of mythology books in his collection. He always used to say myths are, at some level, always based in truth, right? They may seem fantastic now, but at some point something really happened that triggered the story.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still just stories. People make things up to explain the stuff they can’t understand. It’s a waste of time.”

  Eriane couldn’t hide her annoyance. “And what we’re doing right now isn’t? Come on, Pare, do you have a better idea?”

  Pare took a breath as though he was about to reply, but blew it out instead and shook his head. “No, not really,” he said. “I guess we’ve got nothing to lose at this point.”

  Eriane ran to the edge, almost knocking over her chair as she stood. Leaning over the railing, she yelled down into the main chamber. “Harven!”

  Harven started, and Eriane wasn’t sure if she’d just caught him by surprise or woken him up. “Quiet DOWN!” Harven shushed.

  “Harven, where is the mythology section?” Eriane asked.

  The old man gave one of his now-familiar huffs. “Fourth floor north! The next time you need to ask me a question you come down here and do it like a civilized person!” He shook his head and went back to his study-sleeping.

  “Thank you!” Eriane blurted, before bolting back to Pare. Running down the line of desks, she activated every retriever on the row, mumbling commands to each one. Some of them swooped up the books already in their possession, others zipped out into the open air and upward toward the fourth floor balcony. Within minutes, all but a few of their history texts had been returned and the retrievers had brought a stack of books on mythology surrounding constructs and the Great War.

  The little constructs brought them volume upon volume of fairy tales and poems and epics about early constructs. Eriane dove in, her energy for research renewed. The myth of artificial people, she found, wound back much further into history than the reality of it. But even with her second wind, Eriane couldn’t focus. Although she loved reading stories of artificial beings as children’s toys, or housing the souls of the departed, or terrorizing villages, the information just wasn’t very useful. She couldn’t tell if her exhaustion was affecting her search or if the information she wanted just wasn’t there. Worry and anger crept in, and she began to wonder why they’d been sent here at all.

  Did Samuel actually believe the library might hold some long-lost key to his existence, or was he trying to get rid of them? Samuel had been trying to separate himself from them ever since the fight at Mane’s cabin, and now maybe he’d found a way to do it. Damn him! Exhaustion took over, and she laid her head down on her arm.

  “Um, Eri?” Pare’s voice was quiet, but something about it caught her attention and she raised her head. “Take a look.” he said, sliding a book over to her.

  An ancient illustration showed four constructs, laid down on tables in a cross pattern with their heads toward one another. Standing over them were four serious-looking men in arcane robes, each with distinct features but all of them very old. Each man had his hand on the chest of one of the dormant constructs.

  “Read here,” Pare said, tapping his finger on a passage opposite the drawing. As she read, her heart crept into her throat. Her energy returned and she was overcome with excitement and fear.

  “This can’t be real,” she said.

  “Maybe not,” Pare replied. “But you said it yourself: myths are based in truth. Maybe…” He hesitated, as though what he was about to say were difficult, “Maybe this is one of them.”

  “Let’s go,” Eriane said. Both of them bolted upright and Pare grabbed the book they’d been looking at and began to stuff it into his pack. “Wait…you can’t take it with you.”

  “Why not?” Pare asked.

  “Remember?” Eriane replied. “Big library? Protections? Do you think they’d let just anyone walk out of here with one of their books? We can’t afford to draw any more attention to ourselves.”

  Pare nodded, taking the book out and setting it on the table. He flipped it open and leafed to the page where they’d found the drawing. He flipped forward and back a couple of pages in either direction, then coughed loudly, shielding the sound of tearing the entire block of pages out of the book. Eriane put her hand over her mouth in shock, but when he shrugged at her and stuffed the pages into his pack, she let out a quiet laugh into her palm.

  “We have to
get back to the Grotto.” Pare said.

  The two of them jogged as quickly as their weary bodies would carry them, down the stairs and into the main hall. A few patrons now sat at desks on the main floor; the library must have opened while they worked. “Thank you, Harven!” They yelled in unison as they trundled by, and he let out a hefty scoff as they bolted out the front door.

  • • • • •

  “So where’s your puffy-faced breaker friend?” Jacob asked. The question had been bouncing around in his brain ever since they’d left the mansion, and now that they were strolling down the empty streets of Kelef in the burgeoning morning light, he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

  “Around, somewhere,” came Colton’s noncommittal reply. “When we come to a place like this, I can’t always keep him under my thumb.”

  “Are you sure I shouldn’t bring a few more hands on for this?” Sorrell asked. Colton had insisted Sorrell accompany them to the Grotto, and Jacob took what little pleasure he could from Sorrell’s discomfort. Every one of Sorrell’s attempts to bow out of the trek was met with further coldness from Colton, so he took the tack of trying to recruit more help he could hide behind if things went sour. Jacob was beginning to remember why he broke ties with Sorrell in the first place.

  “I have no need of your sellswords, Sorrell,” Colton replied. “We’ll have all the help we need by the time we get where we’re going.”

  Jacob wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it. The further they walked, the more trapped he felt. His options were thinning, and he didn’t see a reasonable way out. At least not for all of them. Maybe it’s time to just cut and run? The moment the thought crossed his mind, Jacob felt the pangs of something he hadn’t dealt with in a great many years: responsibility.

  All of his life, Jacob planned three steps ahead. He lived with a contingency for every situation, as long as he was the only one involved. For the first time in a long time, he’d put himself into a situation where he felt responsible for someone else’s welfare. From the moment he saw Samuel, Jacob knew there was something special about him, and that’s what had drawn him in. That force had been so powerful his planning gave way to spontaneity. Then, the moment things went bad at Atherton’s, any chance of forming a plan fell to pieces.

  He’d done the one thing he told himself never to do: put himself right into the middle of another person’s drama. The real problem, though, wasn’t that he was involved, it was that he was invested. Whatever was going on was bigger than just Samuel, or Mane, or Atherton, or any of them, and now Jacob was driven not just by feeling responsible for what was happening to Samuel and the kids, but by one driving question that hammered at his mind: Why?

  “Not thinking of stepping out on us, are you?”

  Jacob was shaken from his thoughts by the shiver Colton’s voice sent through his body. He had drifted behind Sorrell and Colton in his daze, and they had stopped to ensure his continued participation. Something else was sawing at Jacob’s thoughts, but it felt like someone pounding at a locked door, unable to get through. He locked eyes with Colton.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of my head.” Jacob could only hope it sounded as intimidating as he’d meant it.

  “Just checking,” Colton said before turning back to their path. Jacob silently thanked Pare for the mental shield. “I’m sure Bales will want to have…words with your friend—Pare, is it?—after their encounter at the switchbacks.”

  “No doubt,” Jacob responded.

  “How much further?” Colton asked Sorrell, his impatience showing through his calm exterior.

  “It’s a bit of a walk,” Sorrell said. The merchant had begun to sweat, even in the cold morning air. “All the way to the end of the canyon and across the last bridge. Are you sure you—hk—” Sorrell’s words were cut off in a strangled gasp. Colton turned and beckoned them to follow. Jacob still had no idea what his next move was, but now he at least knew his time limit.

  • • • • •

  Eriane crashed right into Pare’s back as they descended the stairs to the lower terrace. She was about to yell at him for the sudden stop when he shoved her back into the stairwell and thrust his hand over her mouth. He pushed them into the shadows of a small alcove, his face so close to hers all she could see was the widening fear in his eyes. He released his hold on her mouth and put a finger to his lips. It was only seconds before she heard footsteps crunching in the still-falling snow and the voices that followed them.

  It didn’t take long for Eriane to pick out Sorrell’s voice. She faintly recognized a second voice, and it made her skin crawl. She could feel Pare's heartbeat, fast and shallow, through his chest. With the way they were crammed into their hiding spot, she couldn’t lean out far enough to see, so she mouthed Who? Pare, pointed at his eyes and drew a line across his cheek: the silver-eyed man. Her heart sped up in time with Pare’s.

  Anger burned away her fear the moment she heard Jacob’s voice. Pare must have heard it too, because when she pushed against him to get free, he shoved her back into the alcove and covered her mouth again. Her pistols dug into her back, amping up her frustration. Pare shook his head, an emphatic NO.

  Jacob’s presence with Sorrell and the silver-eyed man cemented his betrayal. She wanted nothing more than to step out into the street and see to it he never betrayed anyone again. Even through her anger, she could see how shaken Pare was and understood that, once again, this would not be the time. It wasn’t long before the party had passed by and Pare let up on his hold. The two of them crept out of the alcove.

  “Why?” Eriane asked in an angry whisper. “We could have ended this! You and me!”

  “No, we couldn’t Eri,” Pare said. “You saw the things he did in the pass, how powerful he is. He’s too dangerous for us.”

  “We had them by surprise!” Eriane argued. “And I have m…”

  Pare gave her a suspicious look. “You have what?”

  “A couple of tricks up my sleeve,” Eriane recovered. “We could have helped.”

  “And likely died in the process,” Pare said. “And I don’t intend to die tonight, Eriane, especially not for this.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Eriane asked.

  Pare shook his head. “Nothing. I just don’t want us to go and get ourselves killed, okay?”

  Eriane let it go, but something about what he’d said didn’t sit right. “Okay, fine. What are we supposed to do now, genius?”

  Pare grabbed her hand and pulled her out across the street and down into the next stairwell, leading to the lower terrace. “We need to get to the Grotto before them. We need to warn Samuel and hopefully we can all get out of here in one piece.”

  “What, so we can just keep running?” Eriane asked as they hurried up the street to the mouth of the nearest bridge.

  Pare stopped them and grabbed her hard by the arm. “Yes, Eri!” He managed to keep his voice down, but she could tell he wanted to yell. “This is beyond us! That man up there could – and would – kill us without a second thought. We don’t even know where his breaker friend is, and he was good enough to get all the way through my defenses from half a mile away. I don’t even want to think what he’s capable of up close. So look – I’m not going to just leave Samuel to the wolves, because I know you care for him, but once we get to him we need to run.”

  Eriane ground her teeth, more out of frustration than anger. She was sick and tired of running, but Pare’s words—his logic—were starting to sink in. “What if…”

  “What, Eri? What if what?”

  “What if Jacob was right?” Eriane said. “What if we had a gun? Even the playing field. And we could catch them by surpr—”

  “Stop,” Pare said. She regretted her words the moment she saw his face. The range of pain, anger, and betrayal that passed behind his eyes tore at her, wrenching in her gut. “Jacob at least had the excuse of not knowing me, but you don’t have that leeway.” He shook his head and stal
ked away.

  It took her some effort to catch up. “Look, Pare, I—”

  “Don’t, Eriane,” Pare said without looking at her. “I thought you understood.”

  “I do!”

  “Do you? Then maybe it’s not you. You’re just a kid. Maybe it’s Jacob’s influence, I don’t know.” Pare stopped one more time. “You don’t know the depth of what you’re suggesting. It’s something you don’t walk away from. Something that haunts you every waking moment of your life, that bores into your soul and eats you away from the inside out. You can’t know.”

  This was an argument Eriane knew she couldn’t win. “Look, I’m sorry I even said anything, okay?” Pare didn’t respond. Eriane realized she was panting with effort, and even Pare was moving slower than she knew they needed to. They were halfway across the low bridge at a brisk jog, but there was still a long way to go. The thought of the silver-eyed man getting to Samuel first, though, was enough to drive her through the pain. She picked up her pace and tapped Pare on the arm as she passed him by.

  “Come on, Pare,” Eriane said. “We’re going to have to get a move on if we want to beat them to the Grotto.” Pare nodded a weary assent and picked up speed to match her.

  The lower path was straight and mostly downhill, but as they approached Kelef's downward end, Pare slowed their pace. The final bridge arched overhead, intersecting the terrace above them, and Eriane could see the gaping entrance to the Grotto looming behind it. They crept under the archway, stopping near the top of the stairwell that led up to the next level. Pare peeked over the wall and, satisfied their way was clear, ushered the two of them forward, keeping a watchful eye on their tail.

  Eriane took a deep breath and looked back out of the Grotto’s entrance. The morning suns were glinting off of the few mountaintops she could see, but even at their height the sunlight wouldn’t penetrate very deep into the cavern. She noted there weren’t any footprints in the newly-fallen snow other than their own, and gestured to Pare. “Look, Pare. We must have beaten them here.”