by Ken Scholes
Jin Li Tam looked into the dim-lit room, suppressing the strong impulse to gasp at what she saw. She’d certainly seen violence-she’d given as much as she’d received. It had never felt right, but she’d learned from her father that feelings were simply the body’s way of assuring its survival and should be subject to the rule of the higher mind. She’d assumed all violence should feel wrong. But there was a wrongness to what she saw now that turned her stomach over and broke her heart.
He’d been a man once, she knew, strapped to an altar designed to serve also as a cutting table. Now, he was a red mass of twitching, raw meat. His skin, freshly cut in the symbols of House Y’Zir, had been peeled away bit by bit. Sluggish streams of blood crept toward the catchers. The man wept quietly.
Ria approached, leaned in and whispered to him. “I am back, Jarvis.”
A red mouth opened, flashing bloody teeth. “Oh my queen,” the man said.
“I’ve brought Lady Jin Li Tam, the woman you tried to murder.” She looked to Jin. “We took Jarvis off the Delta. One of our priests in Turam hosted him for a few weeks and prepared him for us. He arrived yesterday and has been most forthcoming.”
The man rolled his eyes, blinking more tears and sniffling. “I am mortified by my sin, Lady Tam,” he said.
Ria continued. “Jarvis is a former Androfrancine engineer and was one of Esarov’s lieutenants in the civil war. He was hired to create an explosive that could be magicked, and to train a team of former Delta Scouts to detonate it.”
Jin Li Tam looked at him and tried find rage for him. She could not, and it bothered her. Instead, she felt curiosity and the question slipped out. “Why?”
“Yes,” Ria said. “Tell her why.”
He sobbed. “I was paid to do it. I did not realize who you were, Great Mother.”
Jin Li Tam forced herself to meet his eyes. “Who paid you?”
“I did not meet him. It was arranged through Governor Rothmir’s offices.”
Rothmir. She recognized the name and suspected it was someone she’d met during her years as Sethbert’s consort, doing her father’s work. She looked at Ria. “Was Erlund involved in this?”
She shook her head. “We do not think so. A landed nobleman on the Emerald Coast.” She smiled. “He’s been sent for.”
“I am mortified by my sin,” the man said again.
She looked at him and tried again to find anger but could not. How is it that I pity this man? He had tried to kill Jakob.
Ria examined the knives that were laid out upon a black velvet cloth. She lifted one and held it up to the light. “We’ve learned all we can learn from Jarvis, and he’s ready to pay for his sin.” She extended the knife to Jin. “I wanted you to have this opportunity,” she said.
Jin Li Tam blinked. “You want me to kill him?”
Ria nodded. “Of course. He participated in a plot to murder your family.” She bent over him, stroking his bloody cheek. “You’re ready, yes, Jarvis?”
“I am ready, my queen.”
Again, Ria extended the blade, and Jin Li Tam understood the intersection she now faced. The choice she made here had significance beyond her feelings, and she willed herself to be, just for this moment, her father’s daughter. This was a test, an opportunity to build trust.
Do not think. Do what must be done. Jin hesitated, then took the knife. She turned and bent over him. “You should not have tried to harm my family,” she said in a low voice.
Then she did what needed doing.
When she was finished, she washed his blood from her hands in a silver basin they brought to her. She did so with her back turned and swallowed at the tears that threatened her.
Putting her coat back on, she followed Ria back to the lodge in silence, and when she took Jakob from Lynnae’s arms, she crushed him to herself and stifled her sob in his blankets.
We are all mortified by our sins from time to time, she thought.
Chapter 15
Rudolfo
Rudolfo paced the command tent and tried to force his anger into something he could manage. Outside, a break in the snow gave shivering recruits time to establish their somewhat more permanent quarters with timber felled by a group of loggers arrived out of Paramo, seat of the Third Forest Manor. It wasn’t optimal work for the front end of winter, but Lysias had maintained that war did not wait for weather and neither should an army in training. So now, the sounds of saws and hammers filled the morning air.
And now, the last major wagonload of supplies from the Seventh Forest Manor was arriving. Future supplies would trickle in much more slowly now, though already crews of recruits were dispatched to drag heavy plows over the wagon trails to try to keep them clear.
Rudolfo stopped his pacing and forced himself to breathe.
It had been bad enough sending his wife and child into Ria’s lands. Now he had word from Charles that he and Isaak made their way north with that last wagon train to follow the mechoservitors into the ground, and the thought that the most lethal weapon in the known world might stroll casually into Ria’s hands raised a panic in him that his mind could only translate into rage.
I cannot let him leave. Isaak carried Y’Zir’s Seven Cacophonic Deaths in his memory scrolls-a weapon that could leave the Named Lands desolate if the wrong hands were to lay hold of that spell. For Isaak to so suddenly and without a word make this decision and abandon his work in the library was an ambush Rudolfo had not expected, and everything within him whistled third alarm to this new development. And yet, how could Rudolfo stop his friend?
By forbidding it, he thought.
He heard footsteps approaching and listened for the low whistle at his tent flap. When it came, he returned it and a breathless lieutenant entered. “The caravan is here, General.”
Rudolfo nodded. “Very well. Send Charles in first once they’ve been assigned quarters.”
He forced himself to sit at his cluttered table, forced himself to sip at the lukewarm firespice that he’d barely touched, feeling the heat of it as it traced its way down his throat and into his stomach. He’d found himself spending more time with the stronger liquor of late, less interested in the fruit wines that had been his preference for so long before. He told himself it was the cold, but he knew it wasn’t. It was the dulling of an edge that had become too sharp for him, and an easy way to find sleep at the end of a long day spent worrying.
He reread Jin’s coded message about the bird station and what they had gathered so far about the conspiracy on the Delta. He’d conferred with Lysias about the man Jarvis, and saw with little surprise that there was no love lost between them.
“He was ever of questionable character,” Lysias had told him. “Choosing his loyalties based on the size of one’s letter of credit.”
It was a solid lead in the investigation, but he found himself wondering how deep and wide the conspiracy went and whether or not that weed could be dug out. Of course, his own garden was choked as well. They’d not found more shrines, and though his scouts carefully watched the one nearby, there had been no further activity there since his visit. His borders were breached to the west by evangelists, to the east by magicked runners he still couldn’t find and to the south by this latest development.
He moved papers about for the better part of an hour, his eyes burning from lack of sleep and the words all blurring together into one that he finally spoke aloud. “Why?”
Just as he asked it, the lieutenant was back with Charles. Rudolfo looked at the man and saw his own weariness reflected back in the arch-engineer’s face and eyes. He gestured to a chair. “Please sit,” he said.
“Thank you, Lord Rudolfo.” Charles sat, and the officer who escorted him slipped back out of the tent.
Even his voice sounds tired. Rudolfo pointed to the bottle of firespice. “It’s been a cold ride north, I’m sure,” he said. “Would you like a drink?”
Charles surprised him by accepting, and Rudolfo poured a small metal cup half full of the thick, spice-s
cented liquor. The old man raised his and Rudolfo followed.
“To brighter times,” the old man offered.
“To brighter times,” Rudolfo repeated.
They sipped, and the Gypsy King forced himself to wait quietly. Finally, he could wait no longer. “What in the Hidden Hells is happening, Charles?”
Charles blinked, and Rudolfo registered the surprise on his face at the sudden and uncharacteristic outburst. “You mean with Isaak?”
“Yes,” Rudolfo said. “With Isaak.”
Charles sighed. “I am not certain.”
Rudolfo leaned forward, feeling the small table bend beneath his weight. “You made him. Surely you have some speculation? He’s left the library in the care of the others and intends what exactly? And why?”
Charles paled, and Rudolfo was pleased that his tone induced such a response. “He intends to follow the other mechoservitors into the Machtvolk Territories. He is deciphering their dream along with notes hidden in Tertius’s volume on the Marshfolk prophecies.”
The dream. He’d heard reference to it that night in the forest when the four mechoservitors had approached seeking safe passage. He’d heard other references as well. That it was coded into a song-one he actually sang to his infant son, one his own mother had sung to him and his brother when they were very young. “How did he come by this dream?”
He knew the answer already but wanted to hear it from Charles directly. The man made no excuse and no attempt to cover the truth. “I installed it in him after the explosion at the library.”
Rudolfo’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you do this without discussion with me?”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “I was not aware that discussion was required, Lord.”
“He is the most dangerous weapon in the world,” Rudolfo said in a low voice that betrayed his anger. And he is my friend, he didn’t say. “I have strong interest in his safety.”
“As do I,” Charles answered.
Rudolfo continued, feeling the interruption in the tingling of his scalp. “Anything that might alter his normal functions is of concern to me. I should have been consulted on this decision. Ultimately, I am responsible for him as the inheritor of the Order’s holdings and the Guardian of Windwir.”
Charles inclined his head. “I would argue that ultimately I am responsible for him as the one who made him. But arguing this point would be fruitless. I failed to consult you; I intended no disrespect by this.”
Rudolfo did not expect his fist to come up and then down upon the table. When it did, they were both surprised at the resounding noise of it. “Damnation,” he shouted. “This is not about respect. He carries the Seven Cacophonic Deaths of Xhum Y’Zir within him, and now this dream that has worked its way into your mechanicals at Sanctorum Lux has worked its way into him.” He felt the anger in his scalp again and forced himself to breathe in and out before continuing. “The others exhibited strange behavior as a result of this dream. Now he is, too. That library has been his home for nearly two years, and the work there has been his very soul.”
“People,” Charles said slowly, “often change direction.”
Rudolfo opened his mouth to say Isaak was a machine, that he wasn’t a person, but even as he started to speak, he knew it wasn’t true. He’d seen Isaak as a person from the very first day he met the sobbing metal man. He’d dressed him in robes. He’d given him a name. He’d welcomed him into his family.
He is my friend.
He remembered the anxious days waiting for Charles to finally declare him functional again. He recalled vividly the sense of overwhelming relief when he’d learned the metal man had somehow absorbed the worst of the bomb blast, shielding his wife and son from an explosion that would have surely killed and buried them without the metal man’s intervention.
Rudolfo sighed and forced himself to make eye contact with the old man. In those brown eyes, he saw the same two things that hid behind his anger: fear and love.
Charles stared back and let the silence hang heavy for a full minute before speaking. “I apologize for not discussing this with you, Lord Rudolfo. He asked for this dream, and under the circumstances, I felt it was my duty to grant his request and protect his privacy. I do not know what this dream is up to, but my surest path to discovery is to monitor him-and the others-and learn what I can.”
Rudolfo studied the man, trying to keep hold of his anger, but already he felt it leaking away from him. He sighed, and it was loud in the tent. “You intend to go with him, then?”
Charles nodded. “I do,” he said. “Though I hope we will be back soon. I’m too old to be chasing after metal dreams.”
Rudolfo sighed again. “Very well.” He looked up and whistled. The scout guarding his tent poked his head in. “Send Isaak in.”
When the metal man walked in, Rudolfo noticed the change in him immediately. He carried himself differently, and when he spoke, his voice was also different-more sure and less accommodating. “Lord Rudolfo,” he said as he inclined his metal head.
It is confidence. Rudolfo returned the slight nod. “Isaak.”
“I fear,” his metal friend said, “that I must take my leave of you. I am grateful for your hospitality and have been honored to serve you and your family.”
Rudolfo thought there would be more conversation. That perhaps they would discuss this dream and what it meant and where exactly he went and how exactly he would help his cousins in their response to it. He thought they’d talk and find some kind of compromise. But in the end, he simply looked into Isaak’s amber eyes. “You know what you guard, Isaak,” Rudolfo said. “Do what you will-but guard yourself well, my friend.”
He thought that Isaak would hang his head or that he’d see some spark of grief in the guttering light of those jeweled eyes. But Isaak returned his gaze levelly. “I will always be vigilant, Lord Rudolfo.”
Rudolfo nodded. “Very well, then,” he said.
He offered no word of dismissal. He simply went back to the papers on his desk until the two left his tent. After they had gone, Rudolfo sighed again and called for the captain of the watch.
“Magick a half-squad,” he told the officer. “Follow them. Quietly.”
And only after he was alone again, Rudolfo held his head in his hands and wondered at how quickly such fierce anger could burn itself into sorrow and despair.
Neb
Neb swam in pain and tried to find some part of himself that he could cling to as the fire laced his body and his mind lurched from scene to scene.
“Where are they, Abomination?” the woman asked as she traced another cut into his skin with her salted knife. She leaned over him, touching her own small, dark carving to his bloody skin.
He was in a room now, and he recognized it as the one he’d seen Winters undressing in. Now, he stood behind her as she wrote at a small desk, her hand moving across the pages. The knife moved over his skin, and she spun away.
Neb screamed.
A new face swam into his view-one he’d not seen for some time, and it reminded him of the words his dead father had told him what seemed so long ago, before the knives, before the crooning voice and the cold, black stone kin-raven pressed against his skin. It was Petronus.
Petronus rides to you.
“Neb?” The old Pope looked even older now. He’d lost weight, and now he wore trousers and a shirt that was far too big for him. A vicious pink scar ran along his throat, and his hair and beard had become a tangled, unruly mess. “Neb, can you hear me?”
He felt the woman near him now, too, and he quickly averted his eyes, careful not to take in any of the landscape. “Don’t let them find you, Father,” he said.
And then, the knife was to its work again and he was back to screaming as Petronus also spun away.
“Do not show them what they want to see, son,” his father, Brother Hebda said. Suddenly, they were in the park near the Whymer orphanage where he had spent his childhood, there in the shadow of the Great Library and the Androfranc
ine Order. A summer breeze bent the birch branches.
Now, the woman was there with them, too. Only now she did not wear the dark silks or the close-cropped gray hair. Instead, she wore a simple black dress that hugged her curves in a way that made Neb suddenly uncomfortable. Her hair, now long and the color of ash, spilled down around her shoulders. “He will show us,” she said, “eventually.” When she smiled, she showed her teeth. She leaned in toward Neb there on the bench they shared. “And after we find the Abomination’s hand servants, we’ll come and find you as well, digger.”
“Hold fast, Nebios,” his father told him.
And then he, too, spun away.
“Hold fast,” the woman said, repeating his father’s words, “and let me hurt you more, Abomination.”
Then, the blade was no longer on him. And neither was the token. He lay still, certain that any moment both would be back to spin him into a pain-frenzied, stomach-lurching dervish. When it didn’t happen, he risked opening his eyes.
The sun was high and the sky spread out over him, a canopy of fierce blue that stretched beyond his peripheral vision. A breeze moved over him like hot breath on his cuts.
These were the times he tried to sleep, though he had no idea how much time passed between cuttings and how much sleep he actually found. At first, he’d used that time to try to ascertain something about the women who held him. But he’d given up on that some time ago now. The rest seemed more useful to him-it gave his mind the focus he needed, despite the pain, to keep his mind away from the one place they wished him to take them.
And it was working. But it took everything inside of him.
Still, he realized, each hour under the knife, it grew harder and harder.
He heard low voices talking nearby in an unfamiliar tongue, and then, a cool hand was on his arm, quickly pressing words he could not understand into his skin. He turned his head and saw the thirty-second daughter of Vlad Li Tam gazing down upon him. For the briefest moment, he saw concern in her eyes. Then, all emotion vanished from them.