by J. B. Garner
Tearing my gaze away from the view below was difficult, but necessary. I wanted to see the Bard coming, wanted to attach a concrete sighting to the vague visions that still plagued my memory. More pragmatically, I wanted to be ready in case there was some unforeseen danger.
My vigilance did not go unrewarded. Almost to the moment the first bell of midnight rang out, a glint of silver to the north caught my eye, near the ceiling of the layer. That glint grew ever larger, following the course of the river, and turned into a more discernible shape. By the time the final bell had been struck, I could get a clear look at the Silver Bard for the first time.
In truth, the Bard's appearance matched, if not surpassed, every half-remembered image in my brain. Though of only average height, the golem was expertly constructed not of silver, but silver-steel. Every inch was perfectly sculpted, matching the figure of a Celestine woman in the simple attire of a musician. Though obviously of Myan descent, the large, feathered wings, ears tufted with feathers, and halo, hovering under its own power above the brow, attested to the otherworldly intent the sculptor wished to convey. That otherworldliness was overwhelmed only by the unmatchable beauty of the Bard's form. It was a beauty that surpassed simple art; it was a beauty that touched something deep inside of me.
Awe-struck and light-headed, I did nothing but stand there, jaw hanging open, as the Bard landed with a final beat of her wings on the balcony of the Torch. Eyes of pure silver searched mine and, after that moment of shared silence, she said, in the cadence of a song or poem, “On this, the cusp of days, do I bid welcome to you, brave Watcher of the ways, here to find her path so true.”
There was something so similar about the sound of the Bard's voice beyond its rich, lovely tones. “I only hope I do find that path.” Instinct taking hold, I found myself taking a hold of the golem's right hand and bringing it to my lips. The silver-steel was smooth but far warmer than I would have expected. “Junior Inspector Vela Redmane at your service.”
The Bard tilted her head inscrutably, but there was what I thought could be a smile on those perfect lips. “Your body is well, for that I am grateful. The Lady did mend it, as she was able.” The Bard opened her arms wide and I could see that a lyre, also of the same silver-steel as her body, hung by a leather strap around her shoulders, as well as a quiver of arrows off her hip. “Heart of courage, hair of fire, what can I do for you with my lyre?”
I was finding it hard to concentrate. The fluidity of movement was unlike any golem I had seen before; it was like watching mercury flow in the form of a woman. The voice, the face, the figure, it seemed so damnably familiar to me, but of such impossible perfection that I thought I must be mistaken. Forcing myself to think, I found my tongue, normally so glib, and shook it back to functionality.
“Bard, ma'am, you must tell me. Did you have anything to do with the death of Qi Foi, a Myan man, two nights ago?” Perhaps a direct question would produce a direct answer.
“The Brothers Foi, men of dread deed, think Folk their toy, and justice should pay heed. Still, to kill a man, to stay his hand, would be a horrible demand. To deny his choice, and silence his voice? This much is blasphemy to you as well as me.” The golem's expression alone seemed to scold me for the very notion.
“Yes, I know. To take a life is the ultimate offense, the deprivation of a Folk's choice, of free will.” I pointed down over the Ward below, towards the twinkling light I knew to be the Mermaid's Scale. “But no matter what we believe, a man's life was taken. Regardless of whether he was a good man or not, he deserves justice.” My every sense strained to try to read this alien thing before me. “The next night, you came to rescue myself and a fine woman, Christabelle, from more of the Foi. Why? Did any of them die that night?”
The Bard's gaze followed each of my motions, almost as if entranced. “The song of despair rises ever stronger, drawing me down, down into the City. To cleanse that song, to bring hope even higher, I wish to bring purity and joy here to the City.” She clasped her hands together in front of her chest, almost as if in prayer. “But gardens cannot grow in blood, so your beautiful life I did spare, as well as that of the monster's brood, as I stole you both into the air.”
Though the true meaning of each statement, weaving more and more into a song with each passing word, was hard to divine; there was the simplistic tone of innocence. Many would say that it is impossible for a golem to lie without specific instruction. Was that the case here? It certainly felt like the truth, if an inscrutable one.
“If this is all true, how did Qi Foi know one of your songs? I couldn't find them in the Nymian hymnals and I know they don't come from the Garden.”
“My songs come from my heart, which beats in time though apart with another, half-of-mine, so perhaps Qi heard this sister's chime?”
“What? There's another like you? Your hearts are linked?” I had a feeling that clarification was not going to come, but I had to try. “Could this sister have killed Qi?”
“There is another, this is true, but she is more like you. Body of flesh, hair and bone, but with a heart half-of-stone.” The Bard stepped toward me and that warmth came over me again. That silver skin almost glowed with light. “But could she kill? Deprive another of their will? I do not think it is in her power to work such crimes despite her glower.”
“I want to believe you, believe that, but while you might never stray from your purpose, we Folk are forever tempted away from the path of purity. If this sister of which you speak is flesh and blood like me, then she is as fallible as I am.”
“Mayhap what you say is right, that the Lady could stray from the light, but do not betray your soul so bold, for you will always stand up for hope foretold.” Two more steps forward and the Bard was no more than a foot away from me.
A part of me marveled at myself as my body flushed and my breath felt haggard. Just hours before I had beheld such beauty, felt such passion. Now I saw and felt it’s equal. Was this some grand betrayal towards Milady or was this simply to be expected in the face of such purity and artistry? Was it even fair to compare the two?
“Then you” - I was fairly stumbling over my words - “you must help me. Tell me who this sister is, even if there's only a small chance she's responsible.” I shook my head in a vain effort to keep it clear. “You sing of beauty and truth, of Nym and Myrien. If you believe those things, if you are capable of that belief, you know it is your duty to help.”
If a face of silver and steel could be said to soften, the Bard's did just that. The large, silvery orbs that served as eyes seemed to pierce right through me. With that inhuman fluidity, the Silver Bard caressed my face with both hands, the metal shockingly gentle for its hardness, and then kissed me.
For most of my life, I have been the forward one, the driving force of the relationships I have been in, from serious loves to quick affairs of passion. At that moment, though, I was overrun, my defenses shattered, and I prepared to surrender on the spot to whatever ideas entered the unknowable spirit behind the Bard's facade. Stricken would be a proper term, as proper as to use it to describe my feelings at that moment for Milady.
That singular moment ended as the Bard broke contact, but only by an inch or two. We hovered close, noses practically touching, the heat shimmering in the air around us. “Brave Redmane, guardian of the song, know my path is yours all along, but the name you seek is one I cannot speak. Though my will is free, I am not like thee. Strictures and laws, they hold me like claws. Still, as much as I am able, your way I will enable.”
I never thought I could feel like this about a golem, but this was not like any golem I had ever seen. “I cannot even pretend to understand right now, but I … I think I love you.” I automatically planted a quick kiss on those silver lips, hungry for that strange taste of warm metal. “But I love another as well. And my Duty. What am I doing here?”
“Be strong and be true, Vela Redmane, to those who love you. In Myrien's Garden, if you follow the path, you will know what to do to evad
e her wrath.” The Bard stepped away, an expression of pure love etched on eternal silver. “The song of despair is at the heart of your journey. Follow the chain of evil if you wish to hurry. At the end of the line, there is a path to the crime.” Her wings began to unfurl, signaling a departure as grand as the entrance.
“No!” I cried. “You can't go yet. If you know where this is going, why can't you tell me? Lives are at stake here!”
The Bard stopped cold for a moment, eyes closing, and I feared as if I had forced her to break some protocol vital to her animation. Finally, that beautiful voice returned, but somber, grounded. “If only it was in my power, to bring this to a halt this hour, but if you have paid heed, you know that is an impossible deed. There are things I cannot do, though my half-heart's love binds me to you.”
Just as Milady was fractured in some vital way, so was the inhuman yet feeling golem before me. My heart sang out all the same and I wanted to embrace her once more. I would have done so if the Bard had not taken wing at this point, beating the air with powerful strokes.
“Find the chain and break it!” the Bard sang out. “Start down the path you know and solve crimes both past and present!”
Before I could shout a last question, a last bid for clarity, the Silver Bard's wings flared and flapped, sending the golem flashing off into the night. I was left there, confused, lost, and yearning. I suppose, in retrospect, I was due for a moment like that, a repayment for the times I had left others wanting as I left out the door.
From the notes of Lady Alysa Hsu, 16 Octavian 736 PC:
Rose from my bed shortly after Redmane left. I knew in some respects what was to come, but had to know more. Felt another twinge of guilt at using the listening crystal, but too much at stake now. I needed to know everything that happened at every step. After all, meeting the Bard in person can be a sensory overload, especially for passionate types like Vela.
Listening to the whole affair, I felt no need for records, the words burned into my mind indelibly. It was not entirely unexpected. Fortunate that the Bard was distracted and did not find the enchantment on Vela's stone. It is for Redmane's protection, after all.
I was unsure of how to feel now. Feeling after so long is hard to understand, and now the feelings were very complicated. However, certain that in the end Vela will make the right choice. I must have confidence in this, must make sure to call upon her tonight if she does not return here.
Only five days to prepare for the ritual for Father. I must get to work.
From Isaac's Primer on Divinities by Isaac Yore, Olden philosopher:
Nita the Skilled, the god of life and hard work, presents another interesting point of study for a divinities scholar. Nita is what is called a 'living god', a mortal Folk that, while having an unnaturally long life and extensive supernatural power over his portfolio, will one day expire, that portfolio passing through unknown means to another worthy successor. Nita is the twelfth of the Skilled in post-Collapse history, for example. It is especially fascinating to see that Nita represents a primal concept (life itself) yet is confined to the mortal realm.
From the journal of Inspector Vela Redmane, 16 Octavian 736 PC:
It took several long, cold showers and a few smoked cigarillos before I could manage a few brief hours of sleep in the bed of my loft. Dreams and nightmares warred for supremacy during that brief time, and I woke feeling tired but filled with a surprising clarity of thought. It was almost eight bells in the morn by the time I had ingested enough sausage, egg, and coffee to become fully mobile.
It seemed most prudent to follow the Silver Bard's veiled directions. To follow the chain of evil, after how she referred to the Brothers, would point me to search for clues among the elder of their little organization. Ruji had been at Christabelle's chambers. Could he be alive after the fire? Seeing Kraatz was all the more important now.
Though I felt I was avoiding Feathers' office the entire morning, I felt it wiser to make my personal report backed by something more concrete than the mystical stanzas of the Bard or my own leaps of deduction. Following that tack, I made another stop by Sandwar's Butchery, spending the last few silver pins in my coin purse to brighten the morning of my favorite Chief Surgeon.
Though a full day had passed, Hoorsin's work area still stank of burnt flesh backed by a hint of sulphur. Kraatz looked up from the parchment he was penning and his scowl turned into a smile as he saw the bundle in my hands.
“Good morning, Kraatz. Hopefully you haven't had breakfast yet, have you?”
“Ah, Vela, my favorite inspector!” His smile broadened as he cleared the parchment and a charred Myan's jawbone off of his desk. “Never mind him. He was so blasted by sorcerous fire that there wasn't a scrap of dead flesh to rot.”
“I don't know if the Chief Inspector sent along my report,” I said as I laid down the cheese-cloth bundle, “but there was an altercation at that fire I was involved in. Well, before the fire.”
As I sat down opposite him, Hoorsin nodded, his claws working deftly at the wrapper. “I received a copy with the morning reports.” He frowned, whiskers twitching. “Vela, we're friends, right?”
I matched his frown. Kraatz was being serious, which was never good. “Of course we are.”
“You need to watch yourself.” He continued to fuss over the bundle, finally freeing the slab of cheese, summer sausage, and flask of coffee from their prison. “Verdigan is a Nitan, which means he'll give you plenty of leeway, but if you don't produce results in a reasonable amount of time, well … “
“I didn't know that,” I admitted. “If it is hard work and success he wants, I can give him that.”
“I've known you since you've pounded cobblestones. I know you can step up.” Kraatz chopped up the sausage into neat medallions. “But this isn't a normal case. Mixed up with sorcery and golems and the most vicious gang of the Second Ward? This is something that would confound a seasoned veteran.”
I knew he meant well, but my hackles bristled at what he was implying. “Don't step down that path. I will catch this killer and show both Blackfoot and Feathers I deserve my rank.” Standing abruptly, the feet of my chair made a horrid screech against the stone floors. “If you're done casting doubt on my ability -”
Kraatz must have realized his error and raised his hands defensively. “Vela, don't get angry! I simply don't want the one beautiful thing to grace my door regularly and the only one who appreciates the fine cuts of meat at Sandwar's as much as I to be thrown out of my life.”
I let out a sharp sigh. “I'm sorry. I know your motives are pure.” Taking off my hat, I ran my claws through my hair. “You are right about this case. There is much danger afoot, but I know I can handle it.”
“I hope you can.” Kraatz put down his knife and picked up the parchment. “I was about to send this off to Central. It's the report on our four skeletons.”
“Four?” Though still a bit addled from the heavy blow to my skull, my memories were clear enough that I distinctly remembered there had been five assailants, three Runners plus Ruji and his thug.
“My eyes are weak but I don't stutter,” Kraatz chuckled, “at least not until I'm deep in my cups!” He pulled the stopper from his coffee. “It's all there in the report.”
I nodded and gave it a read.
Excerpt from Chief Surgeon Kraatz Hoorsin's report on Fire Victims OC2-1736 through 1739:
While it is difficult to pinpoint the exact cause of death with the intense heat present at the crime scene, studying the charred bones does reveal that there were no apparent breaks or significant skeletal damage. Also, of the four recovered sets of bones, I can positively identify three of the victims as Ratiri and one as Myan, all males. What ultimately confounds me is that the heat required to cause such damage to the Folk body, generated in the time inferred by the multiple eyewitnesses, is impossible outside of powerful sorcery. My recommendation is to forward this report and the remains to the Sorcererum for further investigation.
Continued from the journal of Inspector Vela Redmane, 16 Octavian 736 PC:
“Only one Myan,” I told myself. “That means there's a witness, a link.”
Kraatz had just finished draining his flask. “I take it you have no clue as to the source of the fire yourself?”
“When I first read about it, I assumed that it had been some alchemical accident, some concoction left unattended during the fight.” I put the report back down on his desk. “After some thought and reading your report, I am now inclined to think that someone is cleaning up, eliminating witnesses and evidence. Why else use such a targeted and powerful evocation?”
Kraatz neatly stacked alternating layers of meat and cheese into a makeshift sandwich. “Then you had best be on your way. If you're right, that one escaping Brother is going to die and who knows how many others will be in the crossfire?” He smirked. “Did you see how I used 'fire' there? Oh, my wit knows no bounds.”
I could only shake my head. “You wonder why you are still a bachelor, do you?”
“It's only because you have yet to see my greater charms, sweet Vela.”
The words were meant in jest, but they set off a hollow echo in my conflicted heart. “You can do better than me, my friend. Trust me, my reputation is fairly earned.”
“Please!” he snorted. “Just because your average lockstep-following Inammi has no grasp of the finer points of Myrienite principle doesn't mean you are some horrible temptress.” His voice mellowed as he chewed slowly on his meal. “What you are is a woman of passion. Many passions, true, but among those passions is being a good and honorable Watcher. You're twice the person Hors is and don't let anyone tell you different!”