The Way of Pain

by Gregory Mattix

  Ferret shrugged and would’ve smiled if she could. “Sure. I have nothing but time now that I don’t need sleep. Lead on.”

  She expected to be escorted to another room in the fortress. She wasn’t prepared to be taken through a secret passage concealed in an alcove behind a statue, down a very long set of stairs, then through a number of passages until they reached a cacophonous warren deep underground. A tremendous clanking and banging and screeching reverberated through the very ground around them, punctuated with an occasional shrieking whistle.

  Yosrick was saying something, but Ferret couldn’t hear him at first. “I apologize for bringing you all the way down here,” he shouted, “but my uncle despises leaving his beloved Machine!”

  “I don’t mind. This is all very… interesting.” And it was indeed, for they stepped out into a large cavern filled with a massive machine beyond anything she could have imagined, churning in the center of the cave. A vast expanse of steel and alloyed metal parts were in constant motion: gears and cogs turned, powering spinning axles and pumping pistons while an occasional blast of steam erupted from pipes, all with some mysterious purpose she could only guess at.

  She must have been standing gawping like a moonstruck calf, for she realized Yosrick was tugging at her hand, unable to budge her. She followed as he led her along a grated metal catwalk and then up a ramp to a higher level. A number of the bluish flaming torches were mounted on the walls, casting the entire chamber in an azure hue. They stopped before the first in a series of small doors lined up in the rock wall.

  Yosrick pounded on the door with his fist.

  “Eh? Who is it?” someone asked in a muffled voice inside, almost inaudible over the clamor of the Machine.

  Yosrick pulled the door open and beckoned her to enter. Ferret ducked through the entryway and could just barely stand without scraping her head on the low ceiling. The cramped living chamber was illuminated by the warm glow of an oil lamp. A narrow bed was positioned along the back wall, and a comfortable-looking chair and desk sat to her left, the latter covered with parchments filled with diagrams and figures, a quill and vial of ink sitting beside them.

  An enormous piece of wall-mounted slate took up the entirety of one wall, marked in chalk with a bewildering diagram of what could’ve been the Machine, or parts thereof, along with symbols and chicken-scratchings Ferret couldn’t begin to decipher.

  The shut door muffled the racket to some small degree, but it was still unbelievably noisy. How in the Abyss can anyone sleep with all the noise down here?

  Another small man, resembling Yosrick but much older and with an even longer nose, bald head, and wrinkled clean-shaven face, stood before her with hands on hips. He wore a set of grease-stained overalls and a tool belt with a wrench, hammer, and other instruments tucked inside.

  “Uncle, this is Ferret, a, uh… young lady Nera wants us to aid. Lass, this is my Uncle Flurbinger. He’s the chief engineer for the city.”

  “Hello,” she said.

  Flurbinger seemed to get over his astonishment at her appearance enough to recall his manners. He held out a small, grubby paw, which she shook. His eyes nearly bulged out of his head at the sight of her hand. He cleared his throat and regarded her a long moment. “This may sound crass, but would you mind, uh… disrobing for us? I’d really like to get a close look at you.”

  Ferret would have smiled if she could. “Well, normally, I believe one would first buy a lass a drink before making such a request.”

  The two exchanged a look, and their cheeks reddened.

  “Excuse my uncle. He isn’t the most, er… tactful, if you know what I mean.” Yosrick looked extremely uncomfortable.

  Ferret laughed at their discomfiture. She instinctively liked the energetic, no-nonsense duo. “I was only jesting. You’re gnomes, aren’t you?” She suddenly realized who the little men were. She’d heard of them before, of course, the race legendary for their inventions and engineering knowledge, but had never seen any before. As far as she knew, there weren’t any gnomish settlements in Easilon—granted, her knowledge of the wide world was quite limited.

  “Aye, we are,” Yosrick said.

  She took off her cloak then slipped out of her bulky tunic and breeches.

  From the look on Flurbinger’s face, she wondered if he would ever get as excited by gazing upon any real woman flesh, then she realized that was the reason he was in charge of the Machine: his love of things mechanical. Yosrick looked nearly as awed by her form as his uncle.

  “Feel free to stare all you like,” she muttered, feeling a bit uncomfortable with all the attention.

  Flurbinger fumbled to don a set of crooked spectacles that made his eyes look comically large. He ran trembling fingers along her arm then tried to peer beneath her breastplate at her mechanical innards. “Fascinating. They really outdid themselves… flesh completely transmuted to steel alloy, clockwork power source, and I would suspect the use of a gyroscopic stabilizer to establish balance…” He continued muttering to himself in what could have been a foreign language, for all the sense it made.

  “My uncle has his knowledge stored in his head.” When she stared at Yosrick blankly, he added, “You know, the Engineer. Nera plucked some knowledge from his head and gave it to Uncle Flurbinger. That knowledge is needed to keep the Machine and the city running.”

  Ferret shrugged, still not knowing whom he was speaking of.

  Flurbinger took her hand and flexed her fingers almost reverently, watching the movement of the digits, the cleverly fashioned joints. Yosrick was studying some inscriptions along her breastplate—whether runes or just decorative, she didn’t know.

  “Is there anything we can get you, lass?” Yosrick asked. “To make you comfortable or anything?”

  “Not unless you can give me a human body again. Can you?”

  Yosrick repeated her question to Flurbinger, who seemed to have not heard. The old gnome had a piece of chalk and was scribbling figures on a small piece of slate while muttering to himself again.

  “Uncle Flurbinger!” Yosrick shouted.

  “Eh?” He blinked at his nephew as though he’d forgotten he was there.

  “Is there a way to help the lass?” Yosrick repeated for the third time.

  “Aye, there’s a fair chance of it.”

  “There is?” Ferret thought she’d burst from sudden excitement.

  “Granted, these memories are old—we’re talking centuries, perhaps millennia,” Flurbinger warned.

  Ferret’s enthusiasm deflated somewhat.

  “But if you get yourself to Shirak Research Station, there was a reverse transmutation tank there at one time. Whether it still functions, or even exists, I cannot say.” He scratched his head. “Why you’d want to give up such a beauteous form though, I can’t fathom.”

  If she could’ve planted a kiss on the old gnome’s head, she would’ve. Instead, she gave him an embrace that caused him to wheeze for breath. She didn’t spare Yosrick either, the younger gnome looking quite pleased to be able to give her hope.

  “Shirak Research Station holds the key. Where in the Abyss is that?” she wondered aloud.

  “It’s on the elemental plane of water,” Flurbinger replied. “Accessed through the portal in the Hall of the Artificers.”

  “So we’ve got to travel back to that wretched place?”

  “Huh. If you’re still insistent on the madness of changing back to flesh, you do.”

  You’d better believe it. She couldn’t wait to tell Taren.

  “May I?” Flurbinger was holding up a long glossy strip of material that might have been lizardskin with a bunch of minute markings along one side at regular intervals.

  Ferret realized it was similar to what she’d once seen a tailor use to take a gentleman’s measurements for a fine pair of clothes. She’d been watching curiously through a window, of course, for a gutter rat would have immediately been chased out of such a fine establishment with a stout cudgel.

  “A
ye, do as you will. I’ve naught better to do at the moment.” I owe him this much for some spark of hope. She resigned herself to being measured and poked and prodded for the next hour or two.

  ***

  Roused from a vaguely disturbing dream, Taren sat up with a start when the door to his bedchamber burst open. He rubbed his eyes and squinted at the dim figure silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Taren! They know how to cure me!” Ferret came to his bedside and grabbed his arm excitedly, her fingers squeezing him with bruising force.

  “Who? How?”

  “The gnomes! We have to go back to the Hall of the Artificers then through a portal to the plane of water.”

  He looked at her confusedly. “Plane of water?”

  “Aye, there’s a research station hidden there—Shirak, it’s called. Through the portal.”

  He recalled the strange, machinelike portal with its four destination settings, one of which was Shirak Research Station. “Ah, yes, I recall that destination.”

  “So you’ll take me, won’t you?”

  He smiled at her enthusiasm even though he thought going back there might be a bad idea if Nesnys was up to what they suspected. “Of course—I promised you, didn’t I?”

  She flung herself onto him, nearly dragging him from his bed with a rib-creaking hug. “You’re such a good friend, Taren. I’ve never had such friends before, you know?”

  He patted her on the metal back awkwardly, not able to escape the bizarre feeling as if he were embracing a suit of armor. “As are you, Ferret,” he gasped.

  She released him. “Sorry to wake you… I was just so excited—I had to share it with someone.”

  “Don’t mention it. It’s hard to sleep in a soft bed after the hard ground for so long,” he said so she wouldn’t feel bad, although that wasn’t quite the truth. He’d fallen into as deep a slumber as any in recent memory. “Tell me more in the morning.”

  “I will.” She waved and nearly skipped out of his room, practically radiating euphoria.

  Taren felt happy for her although he knew finding this cure was a long shot. If the Hall of the Artificers was any indication, Shirak Research Station could prove to be a dangerous destination even if they were fortunate enough not to run into Nesnys and her lackeys.

  He lay back down and, despite his concerns, fell back into a deep sleep in moments.

  Chapter 35

  “How far developed is your talent?” Nera asked Taren the morning following their meeting with Sabyl. She was eating a pear and reclining in a chair at the table in the same chamber where they had met the past day.

  At the sight of the banquet of food laid out, Taren realized he was famished. He’d slept about as well as any time he could remember the past night. Even though a grave duty had been laid on his shoulders by Sabyl, relief at having located his mother and the promise of temporary sanctuary served to ease his trepidation. And following Ferret’s interruption, he’d fallen back asleep, heartened that they might be able to find a cure for the girl.

  Mira and Ferret sat down at Nera’s invitation. They had been up before Taren, speaking together in Mira’s chamber when he knocked. When he joined them, Ferret began anew, relating her tale of the past night for his sake, telling of Yosrick leading her down into the bowels of the city and the sight of the wondrous Machine, followed by her meeting Flurbinger and learning of a possible cure. Mira seemed as happy as Taren at the possibility of aiding their friend, for he suspected the monk still carried guilt about letting her wander off from camp alone.

  Taren took a seat next to his mother and scooped a generous helping of scrambled eggs, sausage, and porridge onto his plate, along with a slab of fresh bread, which he slathered with butter. A glass of crisp cider washed it all down nicely.

  In response to Nera’s question, he tried to explain as best he could about his magic use, of opening himself up to the flow of earth magic, his difficulty controlling it, and his frequent weariness and exhaustion afterward.

  Nera pursed her lips thoughtfully at the last part. “You’ll have to show me. But first, finish up. There’s plenty more where that came from. Is there nothing I can offer you, Ferret?”

  The girl shook her head. “I don’t get hungry or thirsty, and the only weariness I know is of being a damn suit of armor. But now that I have some hope, that is ample sustenance.”

  Nera smiled. “Glad that my old friends could be of assistance. What must be done?”

  Ferret told her story again with Nera nodding occasionally throughout.

  “I’ll be happy to aid however I can. I suspect your quest will fall in line with Taren’s.” She cast a knowing look at him as he nodded.

  Taren couldn’t help but agree with Nera and Sabyl’s suspicions that the Hall of the Artificers somehow fit in with Nesnys and Shaol’s plans, and now with Ferret’s chance of a cure, he’d surely be making a return visit.

  “Looks like we’ll be sticking together for a while, huh?” he asked Ferret.

  She nodded energetically, and he could feel her excitement.

  When they finished eating, Nera practically sprang to her feet. She looked at Taren’s companions. “Don’t hesitate to say something to my brother, too lazy to attend breakfast as he is, if you need anything. Or any of the servants. And feel free to use the library or explore the gardens as you like. Endira took it upon herself to restore the gardens, and they are quite tranquil.” She smiled at Mira. “A nice place for your meditations, I should think.”

  “Thank you, lady—um, Nera, I mean,” Mira said.

  “Well, then. Come, Son, let us see what you are made of.” And with that, the two were instantly transported away.

  They reappeared in a large, empty room, dark save for a number of magical torches lining the walls that flared alight upon their arrival. Taren could tell they were underground, for the chamber resonated with a deep thrumming sound.

  “Is that noise the Machine?” he asked.

  “Aye, you get used to it. In fact, once you are attuned to it, you will likely miss it after you leave again. So… let us see what you can do. Channel your power.”

  Taren took a long breath and slipped into his second sight. He gasped at what he saw. All around was a brightly burning blue-white aura of magic infusing everything. This was no earth magic, for Nexus was an artificially constructed space, infused with a great and self-sustaining magic permeating the walls and ground, even the magical torches. He could sense a deep well beneath the city at the edge of his senses, a tremendous force that was the great Machine. Yet even all of that was unimpressive compared to Nera. Looking at her was something else entirely. Her aura was almost a pure white, too bright to look at, as if he were staring into the sun.

  So that is what godlike power looks like.

  He regained his concentration then focused on reaching out and drawing the city’s ambient magic into himself, a steady stream flowing into and filling him up until it made his nerves tingle.

  “Good. Your mana well is impressive. Unleash it at me—give it all you’ve got.” Nera walked away about ten paces and turned to face him, hands on hips.

  Taren raised an eyebrow as he regarded his mother. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t want to lose control and destroy something or, worse, hurt you.”

  Nera’s eyebrows arched as she gave him a disbelieving smirk. “You’ve got a high opinion of yourself, mageling. You think you can hurt me?”

  Taren flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that… I just don’t have enough control—”

  “Why do you think we’re here?” Nera gestured around them. She retained her customary plane-cursed form, and although she wasn’t particularly tall or imposing in bearing, she carried a cool confidence, a hubris that was a bit dangerous. Here before him was the brash and accomplished adventurer Wyat had told so many stories about.

  Taren channeled a blast of force at Nera, forceful enough to knock her from her feet yet not strong enough to really harm her. At least he hoped so
. He unleashed it, expecting at the very least for her to be driven back a step if not thrown to the ground.

  Instead, he could only watch as the force split apart around Nera, like a chunk of wood meeting an axe blade. The magic leaked back into the floor and walls and ceiling around her. She regarded him dubiously.

  “That all you’ve got? Trust me, I can take it.”

  All right, you asked for it.

  He gathered a tremendous blast, like that he’d used to fell their pursuers in the ruins following Kennitt’s death, when he’d destroyed the bridge in the process. The force exploded out, enough to make him take a step back, a momentary dizziness clouding his vision.

  Nera spread her arms wide, chest bared, a delighted grin on her face. The force blasted into her, yet she somehow kept it at bay, the power rushing around her, over her, suffusing his second sight in a brilliant explosion of power that totally obscured her slight form and momentarily blotted out her magnificent aura. Taren feared he’d harmed her, but then the energy bled away, channeled by Nera back into the city around them, and she stood unharmed.

  “That was good. Your raw power is impressive. The trick is wielding it with control. Hit me again.”

  Taren blinked away the bright spots flickering in his vision. More magic surged into him, and he released a swirling blast of fire, the flames curling down his arms and shooting from his clenched fists, twin streams washing over his mother. To his amazement, the fire wrapped and coiled around her, and she danced a playful jig, as if the streams of fire were harmless ribbons twisting around some exotic dancer in a harem.

  He stared dumbly, then his hold on the power was gone, the unleashing of such a tremendous amount exhausting him. He stumbled as the room swirled, then he was lying on his back. The ceiling rocked alarmingly overhead, the rough-hewn stones tilting to and fro as if he was laid out flat on the deck of a tossing ship. Consciousness threatened to slip away, but he clung to it doggedly.