by JM Guillen
A Myriad of Worlds…
This story is a prequel in the Judicar’s Oath series, regarding the cataclysmic experience of Thomas Havenkin, a young boy in the midst of the most defining moment of his life. It is a story of a steampunk world, a world full of unfamiliar lore and the haunted imaginings of a disturbed child’s mind.
This series is itself a strand in The Paean of Sundered Dreams, a multi-genre, universe-spanning array of tales with Lovecraftian themes.
Some of the strands of this work are science fiction, some fantasy, and some steampunk, but they share the same horrific universe. They weft and weave together, each leaving breadcrumbs of clues for the next story.
Each tale echoes a beating heart of darkness, cackling quietly in the shadows of existence.
These stories may be enjoyed as individual series or as part of the Paean in its proper order. If you are a reader who is only interested in Thom and his adventures, that series may be found here.
If, on the other hand, you are the kind of reader who cannot rest until every secret is found, for whom genre is unimportant, and who will travel a wide and vast multiverse to learn things man was not meant to know…
Welcome, wayward wanderer.
This was written for you.
The Paean of Sundered Dreams
Rationality Zero
The Herald of Autumn
Collateral Damage
Handmaiden’s Fury
On the Matter of the Red Hand
The Primary Protocol
Regarding Oaths and the Whispering Flame
Slave of the Sky Captain
Wormwood Event
Aberrant Vectors (pre-release)
Regarding Oaths and the Whispering Flame
Prequel in the Judicar’s Oath series
A tale in the Paean of Sundered Dreams
JM Guillen
Irrational Worlds
Year 586 of the Forsaken Aetas
Teredon, the Last City of Man
Everyone’s childhood eventually ends.
“This way,” Cyrl whispered to me, gesturing with a thin-fingered hand. I turned, made certain the others were right in line, and crept along through dappled shadows, following the slender boy.
He grinned wildly at me. “This, Thom, is where it gets interesting.” He bent over, grabbing the edge of the roof. Then, with scarcely a sound, he swung over, his feet scrabbling for the small ledge.
“No.” Jaque stood next to me. I could see his dark eyes widen in the moonlight. “I’m not a Riogiin wire dancer.” His Esperan accent was light and curled the edge of his words. “I can’t do that.”
“Come on, then.” Cyrl’s harsh whisper drifted upward to us, but at least it didn’t break as it had started doing only a month before. “You just have to get your feet to the ledge. There are vines growing all along the wall. It’s easy.”
“I’ll go.” Tia stepped up next to me, brushing her dark hair from her face. “It doesn’t look so hard. After all, if Cyrl can do it—”
“I can hear you.” Cyrl’s voice was lightly mocking. “Don’t worry, T. If you fall, I’ll catch you.”
She scoffed and rolled her eyes at me. I grinned.
I knew she wouldn’t fall.
I helped Tia and Rio and finally Jaque swing over the edge. Then I took one long lookabout to make certain none of the cantorés had heard Jaque’s grousing.
None. The Havens were quiet. For all I knew, all the other orphans were asleep. Then, a little clumsier than I would have preferred, I swung over the edge.
Twenty feet below us, hard cobbles waited.
“You have to step just so on the ledge,” Cyrl was whispering to the others as I swung down. “You have to be able to reach the vines or down you’ll go.”
“Don’t remind me.” Jaque clung to the vines like grim death.
Cyrl grinned merrily. “Don’t worry, Jaque. I won’t have any of my men falling. Not on my watch!” He glanced at Tia as he said ‘men.’ She rewarded him with a smirk and a shake of her head.
“Who are we today then?” She was edging along, easy as moonlight. “Are we Red Handed rogues, slipping through the night?”
Cyrl laughed. “The opposite. We are judicars, on special assignment to catch some of the Red Hand. We just have to get into their guild hall. This is our secret way.”
Jaque’s voice was low. Every step he took was tiny. “Couldn’t judicars just get a writ? Walk in the front door?”
“Not the point, Jaque.” I could hear the grin in Cyrl’s voice. “It’s the adventure of it.”
Tia scoffed. “You boys can be judicars all you wish.” She tossed her hair. “I am a cunning rogue, slipping past you lawmen.”
“Judicars chase scoundrels like you.” Cyrl was near the edge now. It was a hard spot, where he had to go around the building’s corner. For a moment, the banter stopped as we each went ’round. I held onto Jaques’ homespun shirt as he went, so he would feel safer.
Tia chuckled as she crept along. “This is one scoundrel that will never be caught. Besides. You’re too slow.”
“Heh,” Cyrl chuckled. I knew he liked Tia’s wit. We all liked the pretty girl, but Cyrl was the bravest. “Perhaps you can be a scoundrel that works with the law helping to catch true villains from the shadows.”
She snorted, not unprettily. “A scoundrel working with the law? Unlikely.” She grinned. “Besides. I’m too smart to be seen with any of you.”
While Rio, Tia, and Jaque were laughing, I saw a light come on in one of the outbuildings.
“Shut it!” My whisper was harsh enough to grab their attention. “Quit caper-fooling and sharp up! Look!” They all turned, craning their heads to see.
“Cantoré Grimm.” Cyrl spoke quietly. “He won’t be coming out here.”
“Cantoré Grimm is why we had to find a new way out.” Rio’s voice was so soft it was hard to hear. “He’s caught us before.”
“Not tonight.” Cyrl sounded certain. “We’re almost there now. Hang on.”
“Oh,” Jaque scoffed sarcastically. His hands were white-knuckled on the vines. “I didn’t know hanging on was part of it.”
Cyrl was right, however. It was only another few steps until the building brushed the branches of the willow. It was strong with large branches. It was older-than-old.
Most importantly, it was on the other side of the Haven’s wall.
Cyrl went first, of course. He was the only one of us who had ever taken this road. Once we all saw the handholds, we actually went a little further along the ledge. That way, I could help on one side and Cyrl the other.
Jaque was second, as he was next to me. I was proud that he never complained, or even showed a touch of fear.
I never got the chance to tell him that.
Next was Rio. He slid over like oiled silk.
Finally, I helped Tia across. I knew she didn’t need the help, and so did she. Still, she flashed me a smile as I steadied her.
“So courteous.” She took my hand and swung over. It seemed like her hand lingered on mine.
I smiled back but said nothing.
I would always remember that. I would always wish that I had told her how her hair was dark like night or how she smelled like summer grass and faraway places or how her eyes made me want to spend my afternoons writing poetry.
I never told her.
Finally, it was my turn.
Every time we crossed this wall, I took a moment to look out over the city.
The mist-filled streets always seemed to call to me, to whisper of secret adventures. I knew where my life was going, of course. I had Elsador’s stories in my blood and would happily remain at the Havens teaching the city’s orphans for the rest of my days.
Yet sometimes when I sat on this wall, it was impossible to not secretly wish for more.
2
The city of Teredon was always dangerous but especially so at night.
Therefore, we had precautions.
“There’s the Minstrel.” Rio was making certain we saw the pale, wandering star. “That makes those two the Twin Maidens, and that one the Lightman’s Mantle.”
“Mark the Mantle well.” Cyrl was digging into his pack. “That’s the one that will lead you home, if we get separated.”
We never got separated. We had sneaked out enough that we knew what we were doing. Still, for all of his bravado, Cyrl led us with care. He saw it as his duty to get us home.
That last night with them is carved into me, etched in my mind like images on glass. We went to Saulis Square and played in the fountains before getting chased away by Saltmen. We spent a good amount of time racing a broken wagon down Longfallow Hill until we almost crashed through the window of a sweetshop. We ended up slamming into the side of a warehouse, shattering one of the wheels.
“Hey!” We never saw the man who was yelling at us; we pounded cobbles, laughing as we ran.
“I’m telling you,” Tia looked at Cyrl, a smile curling her mouth, “we make better rogues than we do judicars any day.”
“You do maybe.” The boy chuckled. “Thom and I, we walk the straight and narrow.” He grinned at me. “Isn’t that right, Tomas das Judicas?”
“Oh, I dunno.” Tia laughed at me before I could answer. “I think Thom might be perfectly suited for the life of a criminal outcast. Living in the shadows… hunted for his crimes.”
“I’m perfectly suited where I am, thank you.” I gave them both a smug grin. They both knew that I fully intended to remain at the Havens and train as one of Elsador’s cantorés.
“Liam’s playing!” Rio spied through the window of the Twinning Arms. “He may sing his new one!”
That dropped the conversation immediately. Liam Dulcator, one of our favorite players, turned out new songs like the sea turns out salt. We scampered over, catching most of the tail of The Grand Ride.
“Hey! Scuttle on!” The tavernman stepped outside, shaking a broom. It didn’t matter how cunning we were, tavern owners didn’t care for orphans peering in their windows.
So we ran, laughing as we did.
“It was still good.” Jaque was out of breath. “Not new, but I never get enough.”
We were sitting at the edge of Ghênt Square. Cyrl strayed across the way, trying to haggle for a ha’penny beer or two, while the rest of us waited.
Tia sat so close that I could smell her. It was enough to make me tremble, even though I didn’t really understand why.
“I didn’t know it was a night for adventures.” The amused voice came out of the shadows, well before we saw him. “If I had known, I might have brought more supplies.”
I grinned. “Lightman, lightman, ward the night.” I half-chanted part of the children’s rhyme, elbowing Jaque as I did.
Rasmun stepped from the shadows and smiled craftily. “Keep us safe til come the light.” He leaned his pole down and then pulled a key from a vest pocket, producing it with a flourish.
“I thought this one must be broken.” Rio put his hand on the darkened gaslight. “If you fix it, then we ain’t got a hiding spot here.”
“Well, Rio.” Rasmun made his tone teasingly gruff. “I know you and your kind stay to the shadows, but this is one gaslight that won’t stay dark.” He winked at me and then continued melodramatically. “Teredon won’t abide the darkness, and as long as I draw breath, she will never have to!”
We all groaned. Growing up in the Havens had taught us all our ’tiquities stories. Rasmun was japing at the speech of Kyre Ryncitor, one of Teredon’s first legates.
“Is that the best you have?” I gave the man a grin. Lightmen were common figures in Teredi folk tales, usually giving enlightenment or helpful trinkets as well as mundane gaslight.
“That depends on what you’re looking for, young Thom.” He smiled. “I assume the lot of you are out on an adventure tonight?”
Jaque rolled his eyes. “The cantorés don’t exactly let us roam, Rasmun. If you see us out, we’ve had an adventure.”
Rasmun chuckled. He knew we weren’t supposed to be beyond the Haven walls, but he was a rare adult. He didn’t treat us as children, only as equals who might occasionally need a touch of guidance.
“Well remember, young Havenkin, in every adventure story that matters, sorrow has teeth.” He grinned at us. “When telling your own tales, always make certain the monsters are fierce enough.”
Jaque sighed. “I could use some monsters that were easier to slay, myself.”
Rasmun clucked his tongue. “Boy, without darkness to stalk at the edges of everything bright and beautiful, it is impossible to have a story with true heroes.” He rolled his shoulders, popping his neck. “Your Haven’s stories must have taught you as much. The blacker the shadows at the seams of the world, the more the tiniest sliver of lights will warm.”
“That’s true enough.” I smiled at him. In our ’tiquities year, we had all learned the stories of our much-mourned land, and the strange, storming twilight that hungered at the edge of all things.
Darkness creates heroes.
Rasmun took the key and inserted it into the base of the gaslight, opening a small panel. As he tinkered with it, he continued.
“Remember, Jaque. The world needs heroes.” He twisted something in the gaslight, and we heard the turning of a gear. “No matter how ravenous the misbegotten abominations are, always there must be some fae boy who stands against the shadows of a forsaken wood or a heroic Justice of Isanor to ride through the darkness, pursuing some quest passed to them on their mentor’s dying breath.” He looked up and grinned. “That’s just the way things are.”
Holding two brown bottles, Cyrl returned before the Lightman was done. “Is Rasmun ruining our hideout?” He plopped down next to me and handed one bottle to Jaque. He took a sip of the other, and handed it to me.
“Just counseling some heroes, young Havenkin.” He reached inside the lamp-base with a clavis wrench and turned something. As he did, we heard the hissing of gas. Rasmun smiled.
“Judicars don’t need a hideout.” Tia’s hand was so close to mine I could feel her heat. “Only clever rogues need a place to lie low.”
I grinned at her and handed her the beer. It was weak and thin, more water than beer. Still, it was good on a humid night.
Rasmun stood and opened the small glass door atop the lamp. After a moment, he had it lit. Its warm glow spread across our young faces.
“And then, the wise Lightman vanished as mysteriously as he came.” Rasmun intoned the words as if he were in some Sindrian stage troupe. “The heroes went about their night, unknowing of the dark terrors that awaited them.”
“I think we can handle ourselves.” I looked around at my friends, my gaze lingering on Tia.
“There aren’t any dark terrors fierce enough.” Cyrl gave the man a wide grin. “Not with my men by my side.”
Tia kicked at his foot.
“That’s the way the best stories always start.” Rasmun smirked at us. “May yours be among them.”
With one last, crafty smile, Rasmun vanished into the shadows of the city.
3
It was almost second bell, Dawning, by the time we crept back to the Havens. Getting back in was much easier than getting out, as we could shimmy down the trunk of the willow.
“Careful,” I cautioned Rio. He had dropped a bit hard to the pavestones. One twisted ankle, and we were probably all caught.
The cantorés had caught us slipping out before after all. One of us being injured would st
art a round of questions that no one wanted to answer.
“I’m fine.” The boy grinned at me. “Carry on, Judicar.”
We slipped through the shadows, past the wintergarden, and along the side of the stores. In front Cyrl pressed ahead, watching carefully. A wide courtyard lay between here and the dorm halls. If any of the cantorés were out and about, here was where they would see us.
“We all here?” Cyrl turned and counted the shadows. I nodded, even though I didn’t know if he could even tell who I was in the dark.
“All.” Tia’s voice was soft.
Then, we were off.
We always made this run the same way. We went at once, and we stayed close. The idea was that if we all went together, it shortened the time that someone could glance at the courtyard and see five figures scurrying through the moonlit night. Jaque had to run a little slower to stay with us, and Rio struggled to keep up, but no matter what, we stayed together.
The courtyard reached almost two hundred paces across. I had counted it each time we made the run, and it always came in close to that. Of course, we were always sprinting at the time, so our strides weren’t exactly paced.
I had counted it each time. This run was no different.
Beneath our feet cut cobblestones led through neat gardens. Overhead stretched a sky scattered with stars. The Simenion wind scented the night.
Run.
Twenty and five steps. Rio grinned over at me, a shared moment between boys, a moment when we were young and free and would live forever.
Seventy. Tia ran with her arms open, the wind in her hair. She laughed as she always did at this part, as if the joy of running with the wind in her hair couldn’t be contained. Her laughter rang like a song. She reached for me, and for a long, shining moment, she held my hand as we ran.
At one-hundreds, Jaque slowed a touch and looked back at me, grinning. He was fast. So fast. He always poked at me about being faster than I.
At one-hundreds and ten, Cyrl screamed.