Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  “What’s the delay, Softback?” one of the women called from the other side of the cart. Her partner was already ascending the rickety wooden structure that lead to the chains which secured the steering beam for their nysk. Keltin realized with sudden embarrassment that Garam was waiting for him to climb into position on this side of the cart. He knew better than to apologize to the Handler—that only lead to an increased punishment later. Instead, Keltin sped up to the platform where the great holding chains waited for him.

  The task of the Handlers on the ground required far greater skill than the task of operating the set of chains that lowered the cart into place; controlling the chains, however, demanded a much higher level of physical involvement from the Handlers on either platform. As soon as Keltin was in place, he took hold of a long loop of chain that was comprised of much smaller links than those supporting the cart and readied himself for Garam’s command.

  “Down!” Garam and the woman Handler on the ground shouted in unison.

  “Lowering!” Keltin and the Handler on the other platform replied, and as the word was spoken they both began pulling furiously on their long, thin loops of chain. Keltin glanced up at the strange mechanism as he worked, but he still could not discern how this assembly made the task of lowering something as heavy as a cart feel relatively easy. Somehow, through the interaction of several large gears enmeshed with many smaller ones, the rapid movement of the thin chain translated into very slow movement of the massive chain that held each steering beam. The design was so intricate, the effect so profound, that Keltin was certain this device could only be the work of the Venerates.

  Just as the muscles in Keltin’s arms and back began to burn from exertion, he heard Garam give the command to hold. Keltin responded with “Holding,” then leaned back onto his heels and gripped the far side of the thin chain to prevent the cart from lowering any farther. Despite the light weight of the smaller chain, its momentum threatened to lift Keltin off of the platform each time he brought the mechanism to a sudden stop. Trying to ignore the burning in his palms, Keltin was relieved that at least this this time his feet remained in contact with the boards below.

  With the cart’s beams suspended just above the guiding pins, Keltin watched as Garam applied several light tugs on the rope. Each time he pulled, he studied where the nysk moved before taking a few steps and tugging again. At last, he was satisfied with the alignment and waited for the other Handler on the ground to indicate the same. When her steering beam was ready, they issued the next order.

  “Down and hold!” they shouted.

  “Lowering!” Keltin and the other Handler replied. Then, after one forceful pull of the thin chain, “Holding!”

  The process repeated three more times as the Handlers on the ground watched for the instant the guiding pins were seated into the wooden steering beams. Keltin heard the large support chains go slack when the beams were finally in place, but he knew not to let go of the thin chain yet.

  “Down and hold!” the ground Handlers called a final time.

  “Lowering!” Keltin responded with a pull on the chain, then, “Holding!”

  With the pins partially driven into the steering beams, the guide ropes could be safely removed without fear of losing control of either nysk or the cart itself. After quickly casting aside the ropes, the ground Handlers each retrieved a large wooden mallet from the floor of the stall. There was enough slack in the support chains now for Garam and the other Handler to force the beams down until the guiding pins were fully seated. To do this, they struck the top of the steering beams soundly with their wooden mallets in an alternating rhythm. The final blow sounded with a dull thud as the wood of the beam made contact with the plate of the nysk’s shell, thus signaling a proper fit.

  The woman Handler on the ground inspected the two beams and patted the shell of each nysk comfortingly as she circled the cart. Finding no faults, she climbed into position in the cart and took hold of the two guiding posts.

  “Full down!” she called.

  “Lowering!” Keltin and the other Handler replied as they pulled once again. The enormous hooks that kept the steering beams in place came loose slowly and dropped to floor of the stall with a clatter. The cart and its two nysks were now free from the chains of the stall, and as such they were under the full control of the Handler. Her partner climbed into the cart as well before they eased the nysks forward and out of the stall.

  “Keep trying, Softback,” the Handler guiding the cart called over her shoulder. “Perhaps one day you’ll learn how to do it right.” She and the other woman laughed as they sped away to the mouth of Tamer’s Canyon, leaving Keltin alone in the stall with Garam.

  “You know the process well,” Garam said, still holding the large mallet, “but you are far too easily distracted. I cautioned you once about staring at women; consider this your second warning. If I find you eyeing any of them again, it’ll be straight to the Chant Leader for you, no matter what Calling it is.”

  “Yes Handler,” Keltin replied, still confused by the strange dynamic of the situation and by female workers in general. Garam’s stern expression softened when he noticed that Keltin seemed genuinely perplexed and regretful of the failure.

  “It’s not entirely your fault,” Handler Garam sighed. “No one talks about it—I can’t believe I’m even talking about it—but at one time or another we have all suffered from the same affliction you’re experiencing right now. Some people think it’s a test devised by the Venerates themselves to study our honor. Other people say it’s a curse for not repenting fully for our past sins. Whatever the cause, just know that the thoughts you may be having in the presence of women are wicked and will only lead you further away from the favor of the Venerates.”

  Keltin stared blankly at the ground, but nodded in feigned understanding in the hope that Garam would let the awkward conversation come to an end. None of the things the Handler described made any sense to Keltin, and he certainly didn’t feel like his thoughts were focused on anything wicked. He glanced up at Garam, whose look of concern only fueled Keltin’s growing frustration. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong! his mind shouted. The Handler opened his mouth as he searched for more to say, but a strange noise silenced any words that might have been spoken. It was a cart rapidly approaching, but there was an unusual scraping clatter mixed with the normal sound of the cart gliding across the sand.

  Keltin and Garam walked to the forward edge of the cart stall and peered towards the entrance of the canyon. As expected, they spotted a cart speeding towards the row of stalls, but something was terribly wrong. Only one nysk pulled the cart forward, leaving the other broken steering beam to drag awkwardly through the sand. The beast strained from the added resistance, its eyes bulging from beneath its head plate. There was no one Keltin could see at the guiding posts, so this cart was being entirely controlled by the exhausted nysk. Shouts from other teams of Handlers near the mouth of Tamer’s Canyon followed the broken cart as they watched it speed past.

  “Get a guide rope NOW!” Garam shouted as he rushed out into the cart’s path. Keltin lifted the stout rope and raced after the Handler into the center of the canyon.

  “Throw an end here and stay put,” Garam called, and Keltin tossed one end of the rope to him. Now both of them were directly in the nysk’s path; the creature saw them, but did not slow by even a fraction. Garam moved away from Keltin, stretching the rope taught above the sand, and suddenly Keltin knew what the Handler intended to do.

  “Remember: we’re guiding the nysk, not the other way around,” Garam shouted as the cart hurtled closer. Keltin gripped the rope as tightly as he could and watched the crazed nysk’s every movement as it approached. There was a final moment in which Keltin saw Handler Garam stoop low to avoid the steering beam as it passed over his head, then Keltin felt a rush of wind as the runaway nysk careened past. The ground suddenly fell away beneath his feet as the rope yanked him into the air, and for an instant he was weightless.


  Coarse sand quickly reminded Keltin once again just how tender his back currently was. Now, instead of the momentary pain that came from falling to the floor of the canyon, he could feel new gashes forming as he was being dragged behind the nysk. Desperate for relief, Keltin struggled against the rope and managed to spin to his stomach. This ended the searing pain for his back, but now he was blinded and choked by the wall of sand as it slammed against his face.

  With his primary senses useless, Keltin relied solely on touch to pull himself slowly up the rope to try to escape the stinging sand. Determination quickly gave way to anger as each handhold seemed to only fling more grit into his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Keltin bared his teeth and yelled with fury as he forced his raw hands to move faster and faster up the rope. After what felt like an eternity, he at last felt his upper body elevating away from the canyon floor. The first sense to return once free of the sand was the ability to hear, and Keltin realized that Garam was shouting something desperately from the other side of the nysk.

  “Dig your heels in!” the Handler repeated from his position at the other end of the rope. Keltin blinked through the crust of sand and tears that lined his eyelids and found Garam leaning back rigidly with his feet pressing hard into the sand. Keltin stumbled as he tried to imitate the stance—the sand was still moving so fast! After two attempts that ended with sliding on his knees for several strides, Keltin stood upright and felt the pressure of the sand move to the soles of his feet.

  “Good!” Garam shouted. “Now lean towards me!” Keltin hesitated, fearful that he would lose his balance, but a swift tug on the rope from Garam forced him into motion. In a mixture of gliding, hopping, and flailing, Keltin moved across the sand until he stood alongside the Handler. The nysk’s right tendril swept back and forth across the sand directly in front of Garam, but he did not even seem to notice. In spite of the pain and terror of the situation, the Handler was actually laughing when Keltin reached him.

  “Lean back more, and pull when I tell you to,” Garam said, still smiling excitedly. “Pull!”

  Together, they strained against the guide rope that had wedged itself tightly between the steering beam and the nysk’s backplate. Keltin felt a gradual shift in momentum as the creature and the ruined cart began to slow and turn right. The row of cart stalls rushed past the left side of the nysk, barely escaping the end of its thrashing tendril.

  “Keep at it!” Garam called as the cart shifted back to the middle of the canyon. The far wall came into view as they continued to turn, but the speed of the cart had diminished enough that Keltin was confident they wouldn’t collide with the wall of stone. After a few more moments pulling back against the rope, the cart faced the entrance of Tamer’s Canyon and finally slid to a stop. A small group of Handlers and Protectors rushed towards Keltin and Garam to assist as soon as the cart was still.

  “Kingdom be found!” Keltin heard the first Handler to arrive shout. “Garam, I’ve never seen anything like that!”

  “Check the cart!” a Protector called from farther back in the canyon.

  “I’ll take that,” another Handler said softly as he gripped Keltin’s end of the guide rope. Keltin nodded in stunned silence and finally released the massive rope, revealing a long red stain where he had been holding. His hands were blistered and bleeding after such punishment from the rope’s friction when mixed with the harsh sand, but the pain hadn’t registered in Keltin’s mind until the moment he let go. Now his palms throbbed in time with his racing heart as he stumbled in a daze towards the broken cart. In the chaos, he didn’t know where else to go.

  Keltin climbed up onto the main platform, and he immediately recognized the layout. This was one of the Vessel Guard’s carts, though it was difficult to be sure given the extensive damage. Splinters held the right steering beam together, that was the most obvious sign that this cart had suffered greatly on its journey. What troubled Keltin more, though, were the charred sections of the walls, the floor, and even a portion of the left steering beam. The smell of burnt wood permeated the air, but hints of another sweet sort of burning smell baffled him. Then Keltin found the first of the cart’s occupants.

  “Over here!” Keltin tried to say, but instead he coughed out a mouthful of sand. He spat the grit from between his teeth over the edge of the cart and shouted again, this time able to produce the words he sought. Clinging to the guiding post of the useless right steering beam was a man wearing the unmistakable red cloak of a Vessel Guard. Keltin’s stomach turned when he realized the sickly-sweet burning smell emanated from the charred remains of this man’s right leg. Worse yet, the injured Vessel Guard was conscious and muttering quietly as his badly burnt face stared at the blackened floor with eyes that would never blink again. Keltin recoiled from the horrific scene and backed into one of the Protectors who had finally reached the cart.

  “Move!” the man ordered, and Keltin toppled to the side of the cart while trying not to be sick. The Protector knelt beside the Vessel Guard. “Cast me! It’s Eredun!” he called over his shoulder as another Protector boarded the cart.

  “That’s not possible,” the other black-cloaked man responded as he dashed closer, but then his eyes grew large when he, too, recognized the injured Vessel Guard’s face. “We need to get him to the Draeden. Now.” Without another word, the two Protectors lifted Eredun up from the floor of the cart and towards the canyon. His muttering grew louder the instant he was moved, but upon leaving the cart the Vessel Guard began screaming the phrase he had clung to throughout his unimaginable pain.

  “THEY FOUND US! THEY FOUND US!” his warning echoed against the walls of Tamer’s Canyon, leaving a terrified stillness behind it as the Protectors carried Eredun away. Keltin shuddered, then found that he could finally focus on the events now unfolding around him. Three Handlers, including Garam, stood near the front of the cart gripping the burnt edges of a large nysk backplate that Keltin hadn’t noticed earlier. The plate rested against the front wall of the cart at a strange angle, and when the Handlers flipped it aside Keltin understood why. Behind the protection of the plate lay two more occupants of the ravaged cart, both unconscious but still breathing.

  One was a man who looked to be within a few turnings of Keltin’s age, with dark hair and skin that spoke of long days spent in the sun. He was clearly a Fieldsman or Woodsman, though Keltin did not know him. Strangely, the man wore a tattered version of the nightclothes that were common in Aldhagen, as though he had been abruptly cast out during Reflection or perhaps as he slept. The other occupant was a veiled woman with dark hair that Keltin had worried he would never see again.

  “Aemetta!” he exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes as he rushed to her side.

  “You know this woman?” Garam asked quietly. Keltin felt a sudden panic as the three Handlers studied him carefully. He abruptly let go of Aemetta’s hand and backed away, leaving her palm stained with his blood.

  “I—yes. We were cast out together,” Keltin stammered. Garam regarded him with a dangerous stare; Keltin knew there would be many questions about this later.

  “Help Handler Filstan carry him to the healing quarters,” Garam said, pointing to the unconscious man. “Then get those burns on your hands treated while you’re there.”

  “Yes Handler,” Keltin replied hurriedly as he hooked his arms under the shoulders of the man from Aldhagen. When Filstan had a grip on the man’s legs, they backed off of the cart together. Keltin risked one final look back to Aemetta as Garam and the other Handler lifted her. Just like the man from Aldhagen, she appeared unharmed besides being unconscious, which was miraculous considering the state of the cart and its Vessel Guard. Keltin prayed that the other women cast with him from Locboran had fared as well as Aemetta. They’re all still alive, he reassured himself. This proves it.

  It was a long walk to the healing quarters from the far end of Tamer’s Canyon, especially when Keltin was already exhausted, but he refused to complain. Handler Filstan said nothing, except
to correct Keltin when he misplaced an occasional step and jostled the man from Aldhagen. Filstan’s face appeared to be permanently frozen in a look of disgust, especially any time he looked at Keltin. After a rock in the path nearly sent Keltin to his knees, he felt the man from Aldhagen shift his head from side to side. The man winced and forced his eyelids partially open before parting his chapped lips.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a rasping cough of a voice.

  “My name is Keltin. You made it to Dism Slyde. You’re safe now.”

  “Peace and honor, Keltin,” the man whispered as he drifted back into unconsciousness. “My name is Silax.”

  16

  Wyand stared blankly at the rocks and trees as they rushed past, trying and failing to think about anything other than food. Four days, he thought. I haven’t eaten in four days. The pain in his empty stomach had spread to his head just after being placed into the belly cage beneath the scrid; at first, he was able to ignore his aching head by focusing on the exhilaration that came from racing through the ever-changing landscape of forests, fields, mountains, and valleys. After two full days of travel, though, the continuous swaying motion that accompanied the animal’s movement had grown to be a constant source of nausea for Wyand, overpowering any joy that might have come from observing the sights beyond the cage. He clutched the stone in his waist pocket, hoping for at least a small amount of comfort, but none came.

  Wyand’s tired eyes noticed movement in the treetops ahead—the two Sentinels were returning to the main group once again. Wyand sighed. This meant it was time for another brief pause in the journey so that the scrid could rest and feed on the sap of the Spineleaf tree. It was also a time for the rest of the group, including Halwen and the Unwoven, to stretch and eat after so many hours in transit. Not Wyand, though. Wyand would remain in the belly cage, just as he had since the journey began. At best, the Cynmeren would ignore him; at worst, they would come by and kick him through the slats of the cage, calling him weak and a “Two-knot,” whatever that meant.