by Eve Langlais
“They are just excited by our return.” And what did she mean so many voices? Since he’d taken the gears unto himself, he heard only the one in his head. Perhaps her upgrade gave her an ability he didn’t have?
You need more parts. Only by upgrading can you achieve true greatness.
But which ones to choose? He remembered the voice telling him the gears would eventually run out. Which meant he had to ensure he got the best of the best first.
It took him several days to select them. Days where he and Onaria explored the temple. Found living quarters fit for a king and his queen with a bed that they used several times, along with the ancient bathing chamber.
When he wasn’t busy pleasuring her, he explored. The treasures he encountered whispered to him. All of them begging to be joined with his flesh. But he fine-tuned them down to a select bunch.
He laid them out on the altar in preparation. Onaria clasped her hands and paced.
“I don’t understand why you need more of them.”
“Because I must be strong if I am to lead.”
“You already are strong.” She paused by his side. “Look at what you’ve accomplished. You did the impossible.”
“My work isn’t done. Lorhj will be meeting me soon with those he’s gathered. I must be ready, or would you rather I let them die?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Of course not. I just worry that having so many of those gears inside will change you.”
“Isn’t that the whole point?”
“I’m not talking about your body, but your mind, who you are. These voices…they have their own agenda.”
“They do. Survival. Which is exactly what I want. What we”—he pointed between them—“want for us, others, and our child.”
“I don’t want any more of those machine parts. One is quite enough, thank you.” She hugged her body.
“That is your choice. Like this is my choice.” He lifted the first gears he’d chosen to insert. A pair that would give him great strength. He gritted his teeth rather than flinch as he sliced his arms on both sides, feeling the blood run.
He held up the gears over the altar and murmured. “Thank you, Mecha Gods, for the bounty you give me.” He then pressed the gears over his wounds.
The pain proved less and less with each upgrade. He felt himself better, stronger, sturdier, even more clear-minded.
Looking upon his wife, he could so easily see her frailty, her uncertainty of spirit. How easily he could fix it if she would just let him upgrade her faulty fleshy parts for metal.
Soon. Perhaps after the child was born.
In the meantime, his flock awaited. He packed a large knapsack full of gears, but not all of them. He’d kept back some very special ones. He also had plans to excavate because the lower levels of the temple had suffered a collapse. They’d have to dig carefully to find what had survived.
Onaria, despite her misgivings, came with him dressed in a filmy white gown that he’d found hanging in a wardrobe, the material resistant not only to aging but dirt as well. She presented as an ethereal goddess and he as her consort in the tunic of black threaded with silver he’d found. The pants underneath tucked into boots unlike any he’d ever seen. The toes of them polished to mirror-like quality.
Together they traversed the tunnel to the fourth valley. He’d given Lorhj directions for them to camp by the river not far from where Niimmo fell. Rather than stride into their midst, he chose instead to appear at the top of the waterfall that fed into the river.
His appearance was quickly noticed, and a cry went out. “There’s someone there!”
As people gathered and pointed, the sun chose that moment to peek above the mountains, illuminating him. The timing couldn’t have been better.
“He glows.”
Hearing them murmur, he stepped close to the edge of the rock and raised a hand. Nothing more, yet they silenced. In that quiet, where only the gurgle of falling water could be heard, he spoke, the cog in his throat amplifying the sound. “Citizens of a dying world, you have been brought here for a second chance.”
A statement that was met with more than a few coughs, and a snort of derision. “Who are you?”
He’d expected their doubt. “I am just a man like many of you. I, too, once lived on the other side of the mountain. A victim of the follies of our government.”
“Doubt that. You ain’t coughing.”
“But I was. And so was my wife.” He beckoned Onaria to come forth, and the murmurs below the waterfall grew. “We were saved.
“By who?
He didn’t need to reply, for the first of his acolytes, Lorhj, stepped forward and said, “The Mecha Gods saved us.”
“There aren’t any gods.”
Jool fixed the naysayer with a look and smiled. “The non-believers can walk away right now.” A few went to move, and he kept talking. “Maybe you’ll survive for a little while. After all, there is food and water. Even fresh air.” He lifted his head and took a deep breath then deepened his voice. “But it won’t rid you of the tickle in your lungs. The tumors growing under your skin. You’ll die.” Everyone stared at him.
“How do we know what you claim is true?” A different voice, a woman with blonde hair tied back, her expression gaunt, but also slightly hopeful.
“I could be lying.” Jool shrugged. “But to what purpose? To those who believe and want to try something new, I’m offering a chance to live. Who will join me?”
The sickest among them staggered forth. A woman, who would be young if not for the illness aging her, came first. Her screams when the cog set had a few people heading for the woods, but the majority stayed and saw when she rose from the ground, beaming. Crying.
The young woman threw herself at Jool’s feet and blubbered. “I’m saved!”
There was a line for gears after that.
In the end, he had enough only for the sickest. Everyone wanted a cog. Especially once they saw the results.
“I’ll return with more so all of you might be blessed with the metal,” he said, standing before the refuges that would form a new world.
Lorhj’s niece stepped forward, her lovely voice soft and yet loud enough to be heard by all as she sang, “Glory be to the Mecha Gods and their prophet.”
“Glory to the prophet and his wife,” shouted another.
They bowed to him. A simple scholar now thrust into a role of greatness. A leader.
For a new world.
A new beginning.
And this time none shall stop us.
19
Life in the temple proved surreal at times. Onaria still had a hard time grasping the change of pace in her life.
Overnight, she’d become a person of importance. The prophet’s wife. It meant all kinds of bowing and scraping as people curried her favor.
As they should. The lesser gears recognize those of us who came first. The ones with the strongest spirit.
But she didn’t want to be worshipped. There were many times when she wished they were back on her aunt’s farm, just the two of them, snuggling in bed, making love.
Not that Jool didn’t love her or spend time with her. He did. He was, after all, her husband, the father of her burgeoning child. Yet he was different. All that responsibility—or was it the gears?— turned him into a man she barely recognized.
The scholar she’d fallen in love with became…a powerful stranger. One that she feared as much as she lusted after.
It wasn’t as if he were cruel. On the contrary, his kindness and wisdom were renowned. His courage without compare. He often led the parties over the mountains into new territories, seeking out those who managed to survive.
But there were also rumors of his ruthlessness with those he considered unworthy. He made an example of the bandits and those who preyed on others. Or so she’d heard in hushed whispers of admiration.
When she asked Jool about it, he explained it as simply doing what had to be done.
Not everyone deserves to be
blessed. Words he said, an echo of the voice within. So who truly spoke them?
The changes in him also proved to be physical since he’d taken those extra gears. A few inches in height at least. His body a finely muscled thing. His mind sharp. He’d adopted a commanding air with those who looked up to him. Took and didn’t ask. Just like he became secretive about so many things. But despite it all, his passion for her never faded. No matter what he thought or did during the day, at night, when he took her to bed, the sex proved intense. His declarations of love heartfelt.
The rounder her body became, the more he wanted her. She had every reason in the world to be happy, and yet something inside her nagged. And she didn’t just mean her instincts.
The voice of her cog kept chiming in. When it wasn’t sulking about the fact she didn’t want any of its friends to join it.
Then there were her dreams. Dreams of a male crying as he sealed his friends in a strange material and placed them in crypts in the temple. She dreamed of a clock ticking, its mechanism winding down, and then nothing… A nightmare that woke her with a cry soothed only by Jool’s touch and promise that she was safe.
She truly was. The danger to her life had lifted. The future looked rosy.
As time passed, the area around the temple began to change, as those Jool brought back from his trips formed a community in the jungle They’d long ago cleared out the mecha monsters. Perversions he’d called them. She didn’t disagree.
A society formed, which meant rules. Rules Jool decided. The basics to start with: no stealing, no killing, and—the most controversial one—no child could take a gear. Which led to tears by parents who arrived with sickly children. But he held steadfast.
Instead of giving the children gears, they ground down into fine powder the broken bits they’d found in heaps all around the temple. The concoction managed to, if not cure them, give them a fighting chance to make it to an age deemed appropriate for an upgrade.
According to Jool, once a body took a cog, their natural aging stopped.
“Are you saying we’re immortal?” she’d asked as he explained.
“That will depend on the gears you find. Some of them are of better construct than others. But extended longevity is a given. As is good health.”
“So you won’t put one in the baby when it’s born?” she asked, a hand over her belly.
“Not until our child reaches the right age.”
“Promise?” She hoped that, by then, there would be no need for the parasitic metal.
“You have my word,” he swore.
Yet, there was something in his eyes that told her he would do whatever he liked, because he’d begun believing the hype bandied about among those he saved. They called him the mecha prophet. The one who knew the word of their gods.
And Jool didn’t correct them. On the contrary, he began writing down the principles the voices whispered. A bible for his believers.
At seven months, and waddling, she left the temple and her husband, who was arguing with Notti as they made headway in translating the words left behind. The voices weren’t so good at reading it turned out.
Or was that a lie? She had to wonder at times if the cogs knew something and tried to keep it hidden.
“I’m going for a walk,” she said, kissing her husband’s cheek as she passed by.
“Take a guard with you,” he said, lifting his gaze from the parchment he scribbled on long enough to catch hers.
“I always do.” Mostly because she didn’t have a choice over the shadows at her back. Jool insisted on it, claiming, as the wife of the prophet, she needed guarding.
As if anyone would hurt her. They tended to bow whenever she walked by. Offered her presents, mostly of food. And if she refused, their faces became crestfallen before they threw themselves prostrate, asking her to forgive their trespass. Disconcerting to say the least.
After walking past the line of houses that had sprung up in the shadow of the temple, she entered the forest. Sections of it had been shaved to the ground, the wood used for building. The cleared spots were part of the plan for gardens.
Worthy and noble endeavors, and yet she couldn’t help but shiver as she passed the well-behaved citizens of Mecha City. A dumb name, and yet since the valley lacked one, it stuck.
She hated it. Disliked the temple with those eerie voices that wouldn’t let her be. The way Jool changed. Everything irritated.
You don’t hate everything.
She rested her hand on her belly.
You should be more grateful. If not for the temple and the treasures left behind, you would have never lived to see your child born.
The presence inside her chose to be smug about it. It showed way too much interest in the baby. Nudging her to eat the right things. Constantly cajoling her into taking more cogs.
She refused. She had no idea what effect that sentience inside her would have on the fetus.
Other women who’d gotten pregnant didn’t seem bothered by it. Did they not care about the thing they shared their body with? Then again, not many of them heard the voice. Jool claimed it was because only a chosen few were blessed. For example, only she, Jool, and three others could actually activate the door to enter the temple. Something in their blood that the lock in the portal recognized.
Did this mean they were descended from gods as Jool surmised?
She certainly didn’t feel godly with her giant, bobbing belly.
Entering the woods, she realized she was alone. A glance over her shoulder showed the guard distracted by a pretty young lady who twirled her hair as she flirted with him.
Hoping for some privacy, Onaria hurried her steps. Until they built more homes, the temple provided shelter for many. Every time she left the bedroom she was assailed by questions and people. Everywhere she turned. Having left the city behind, she’d gotten used to quiet spaces. She missed the days when not everyone wanted to touch her and her belly.
Leaving behind the razed ground, she slipped under the canopy of trees, tall sentinels that filtered the sunlight and immediately filled her with a sense of calm. She let the silence of the woods envelope her. She didn’t fear anything in the forest. The dagger by her side would serve her if a beast attacked, and her inner voice would warn her long before that happened.
Would I?
If she died, the cog would die with her.
Are you sure of that?
At times she was tempted to find out. She walked along a well-worn path to the stream that ran through the forest, the waters crisp and fresh. Kneeling down, she scooped some in her hands and drank until her thirst was quenched. Only when she rose did she see him standing on the other bank.
A man of dark complexion, now wearing a patch over one eye, sporting a bow with an arrow notched in her direction.
“You’re dead” she exclaimed.
His lips pressed into a tight line. “Almost dead. The waters carried me into a dark, dark place.”
“Have you returned because you’ve seen by now the good that’s being done? The people Jool has saved?” Despite her own misgivings, she defended her husband and their right to live.
“Don’t talk,” he growled, lifting his bow.
“Why?” Then she realized why. Her hand went to her very pregnant belly. “Don’t shoot. Please. Even if you’re angry with me, you can’t kill an innocent child.”
“I’m doing it a favor. For you are unclean.” He let go of the string, and the arrow flew true.
It struck her in the heart, and with every breath she leaked, she knew she died. Worse, she could feel the child in her panicking. The voice within screaming.
Save us!
20
Head bent over yet another map, Jool’s heard her cry.
“Onaria!” Without a word to anyone, he sprinted from the temple, his feet light, his pace fast with all the cogs he’d taken. None could keep up as he tore past the builders setting logs in place.
His wife hadn’t cried out again, but that one
pulsing note of fear guided him. He ran for the river and saw her lying on the ground, an arrow rising from her chest.
Across on the other shore, Niimmo nocked another.
“No!” Jool screamed, the word reverberating, making the branches in the trees shiver.
The second missile fired, aiming for the most prominent thing on his wife.
The baby.
Jool proved faster, diving and snatching the arrow mid air. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it. It struck true, passing clean through Niimmo and thudding into the tree behind him.
Stalking past his wife, Jool noted she still breathed. But so did his enemy. He heaved in harsh breaths on the shore of the river.
Kill him. He is not worthy.
“Jool.” Her voice stopped him before he would have waded into the river to finish Niimmo off.
Turning, Jool dropped to his knees and cradled his wife in his arms. “Onaria.” He eyed the shaft in her heart and knew to pull it would kill her.
Instead, he lifted her and began to run back to the temple. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and she muttered, “Remember I always loved you.”
“Don’t talk. Save your strength. We aren’t far from the temple.” And close to the help he needed.
“Can’t help me.” Her claim emerged soft and weak.
“I know just the perfect gear to fix this.”
“No,” she protested. “I don’t want another cog. Save the baby.”
“I’ll save you both.” The panic within would allow him to do no less.
“No. No.” She began to thrash in his grip, the heated wetness of her blood soaking his tunic. He carried her right into the temple and laid her limp form on the altar.
She’d lost consciousness, and so much blood.
Hurry.
He ran for his room and the chest of special gears he kept hidden. He’d been hoarding them for the day she changed her mind and his child came of age.
Onaria still steadfastly refused any more upgrades. Yet that didn’t stop him from choosing a large bronze-hued cog. When he returned to the temple proper, she lay as if dead, her chest not rising, her arm dangling off the side.