The healer looked from side to side, irritated with her words. “You have Nandor’s stubbornness in you…” Contrary to his intentions, Nix felt a surge of pride at the statement. He sighed, and continued gentler, “I admire your goal, but I don’t want to see you getting yourself killed. Nandor wouldn’t want you to either.”
While his words sparked a fire in her, she also sensed the warmness in the healers tone. He was only trying to look out for her. “I appreciate your concern.”
“Yes, well, I wish I could get you to do more than appreciate it. I wish you might heed it, but perhaps I’m asking too much of you people.” He chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair. “Nandor and I had a similar conversation before, you know. Before he had met you, when he was just deciding to try to stop the war. I warned him that it would end in failure. I told him that it was impossible. Much like you, he ignored me. For his sake and your own, I advise that you don’t repeat his mistake.”
“To try to stop the clockwork war was no mistake, even if it ended in failure. To cower—to give in to the times and the trends simply because it is easier, and safer—that is the true mistake. And masses of unenlightened fools make such mistakes every day.” The words dripped from her mouth without her having to even think on them. The room fell silent, and she realized she had spoken through Nandor’s voice, using the very same tone he had used when he was teaching or rebuking.
The healer heard it too. He looked unnerved. “Perhaps,” he began, speaking quietly, “you two were meant for each other. If you could but temper your passions with a bit of common sense…”
He let out another heavy sigh, and a flicker of lantern-light revealed his age. He was passed his middle years of life, and when he rubbed his brows, he appeared both tired and restless at the same time, as if he wished he still had the energy of his youth so he could do the things he desired, but couldn’t quite conjure it, no matter how hard he tried. “Very well,” he scooted back his chair, and stood up slowly. “I’ll not hold you up from your journey any longer.” He began to shuffle to his work-bench, positioned beside the bloodied operation table. “I do wish you well on your journey, and I wish you would listen to my warnings, but I understand the brashness of youth, and I’ll not try and dissuade it from you any longer.”
Nix and Dobry finished their breakfast, and stood from the table. “We appreciate your hospitality.”
“Of course, of course. If I were a little younger, I might even join you. But as it is, I can only provide you with a parting gift.” He held up a sword, and Nixie recognized the craftsmanship instantly. It was a long two-handed blade, elegant, but strong. “This was the only item left on the night of Nandor’s disappearance. A fine sword. I didn’t even know that he owned such a weapon, but I suspect he would want it to fall into your hands, now.” He handed the hilt towards Nix.
She took it from him and was immediately surprised by how light it felt in her grip. No one in their right mind would mistake Nix for a strong woman, but she could still swing the blade without too much burden. “This was Lady Mikja’s sword,” she said. “She lent it to him during his duel against Lord Viken.”
“Ah,” the healer almost smiled. “That explains it. I never knew him to use any weapon aside from his modified stun-stick.”
Dobry was intrigued with the blade as well, but after a moment a skeptical look fell upon him. “Won’t Lady Mikja be looking for her blade?” he wondered.
Cajorn shook his head, “I doubt it. As fine of a weapon as it is, lords and ladies can afford many more. If she left it beside Nandor, I suspect it wasn’t an accident. Perhaps she meant for him to keep it, even at his grave.”
For a moment longer Nix considered the weapon, moving it from side to side. Then she looked up to the healer. “I—I appreciate it, but I don’t even know how to use a sword. It would just be dead weight.”
“That’s not the point.” Cajorn said, and Dobry nodded with him. “You can keep it sheathed, and let the blade do the talking. If it was a show sword with jewels and such it might draw too much attention, but as it is, I think it is elegant enough to make for wary robbers while still being functional enough to avoid their added gaze. No one else needs to know that you don’t know how to wield it.”
“Precisely,” Dobry agreed, adding, “just think of it as a deterrent. If there is any real trouble, leave it to me.”
Cajorn raised an eyebrow. “I take it you know how to use the rapier at your side?”
“Do you know of any college man who hasn’t had to face a duel, at one point or another?” the scholar replied.
Cajorn laughed. “It can be rough, I suppose. Back in my day duels weren’t as common on college grounds, but I hear that grandmaster Forojen encourages them.”
“What you’ve heard is true,” Dobry said. “He seems to think that it helps to vent aggression, and settle disagreements. According to my research, for the past forty years the violence has only been getting worse between the students, but who am I to say?”
The healer looked between the two. “I take it you disagree with his methods?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe. But I haven’t attended college in a great many years. Perhaps the times have simply changed. It might be for the better for all I know.”
Nix became perversely intrigued. The healer obviously had more faith in his education and teachers than Nandor did. It made her wonder how they had ever become friends. “Didn’t Nandor ever speak to you about his college years?”
“Often,” the healer rolled his eyes. “He droned on and on about it, and how much he hated it, and how incompetent he thought the college was. But he wasn’t exactly an unbiased man. Some people are made for college and some people aren’t. I suspect Nandor was the type of man to never appreciate college life, even if everything was ideal.” He faced Nix directly. “I suppose he spoke to you about his experiences as well, but you have to understand something, girl. I loved Nandor as a brother, but some people were born to rebel. Some people go against the trend simply because it is in their nature, not because it is truly for the better… But I’ve said enough. I’ll leave it to you to decide truth from fiction.”
Her brows became furrowed, and she found she didn’t want him to have the last word. “From what I’ve seen, his criticisms of the college were all spot on. The students are suffering and the teachers are dulled and complacent. They don’t teach of the lands in the great beyond. Most teachings are bigoted against different ideas, particularly those against Ice-Gliders and others that dwell in the wildlands, and they encourage senseless duels, squabbling and bickering debates instead of honest intellectual discussions. Not to mention, Nandor learned things in the wilderness that the college has never even seen because they turn a blind eye to the outside world—Did you know he could channel elemental powers directly from a fire—no conductor needed? And that’s only one example. I’m sure there are many more.”
Cajorn held up a hand, and looked rather irritated. “Remember, Nandor is the exception, not the rule. Just because some of his criticisms are valid, doesn’t mean the whole damn college should be torn down and burned as ignorant and unwieldy.”
“But it does mean that the college should be restructured, at the least!” she countered.
He clicked his tongue, “It’s always easier to be a critic than a doer,” he chided.
“Nandor was both.”
“True enough. And look where that got him.” A heavy silence followed. “Forgive me,” the healer said. “I did not mean to turn to such sourness.”
Nix shook her head, “It doesn’t matter.”
He walked back to the table and sat down, his head falling into his hands, “But it does. Nandor and I never saw eye to eye on most issues, but that doesn’t mean I should turn to bitterness and insults. Especially not on this dark hour.”
Nix felt queasy, unsure of if she should sit beside him. Her legs remained stiff, and she stood in stoic silence.
“Nandor’s mem
ory shall remain a fond one, even his teachings,” his head remained low, then, slowly he raised it to meet Nixie’s eyes, “and, his apprentice.”
Apprentice? She did not like the word. It sounded too formal. “I doubt he would think of me like that.”
Cajorn laughed, “But you are. Listen to yourself talk. I hear his words and philosophies part from your mouth as if they were his very own…” A sad smile formed on his face, and he looked to be recalling an old memory. Then his eyes danced back to life, and he waved them to the door. “So go. Seek your master. He has proved me wrong on one or two occasions. Perhaps, you may prove me wrong too. I honestly and truly with my whole heart and soul, hope that you do. I hope Nandor has somehow survived…”
Nixie nodded, accepting his blessing with a humble bow. Then she slung the strap of the sword over her back, and with Dobry by her side, they walked from the healers home.
Chapter 10: Myths and Lies
The Great Beyond is the treacherous land that surrounds all known kingdoms, including our Crystal South. In reality, it is not land so much as a terrible sea of constant changing ice. This “Morphic Ice,” as it is also called, shifts dramatically, constantly, and impassibly without warning, causing travel between kingdoms to be impossible. In the past, the Great Beyond was tamer, and there were trade caravans composed of advanced ski-halls that could traverse the ice, but over the years the wind and the shifting ice in the Great Beyond has become worse and worse, and now the fate of other kingdoms is unknown. There are rumors that goblin swarms have invaded and killed other kingdoms. Other rumors say that they have frozen, or prevalent war in isolation has caused them to slowly die off. But perhaps the other kingdoms still survive, and they are merely trapped, like the Crystal South, unable to travel or visit anymore.
For the moment, the lords and ladies in the three clockwork cities are content to grow wealthy on the spoils of resource-rich mountains, but once the mountains run dry, what is to become of the Crystal South? Will we, too, turn on one another and fight to our death? Or will we try to brave the morphic ice, and overcome even the most inhospitable of terrain?
Only time will tell.
—Common Knowledge Volume II
In an old book, of which less than ten copies were made, dark methods of mystic powers are described.
Dorin, the Jack-Bot, was in possession of such a book. It was the first thing he had sought after he had been freed from his mistress. For Nandor had planted a suspicion inside his head—the suspicion that he was made of more than just metal parts of machinery. A suspicion, which happened to be true.
Rorgjor’s Enlightened Powers, was the title of the book the bot kept in its hands.
Contrary to the name, the book described forbidden, black magic—teachings long prohibited at the college.
The transfer of human souls, and mystic energies.
To create the most proficient serving bot, the passage was written, capable of human thought, emotions, and all the delights and troubles that come with it, a fully trained mystic is required, as well as a willing or otherwise restrained human for the mystic to drain. A mystic life stone is capable of containing the human energy, and it must be wired and properly connected into the mechanical creature to channel the life-force into the Jack-Bot.
Once the connection is achieved, and the human has been drained, the bot will, for lack of a better term, ‘come alive.’ However, the process does not transfer the human’s thoughts, memories, or emotions into the bot, it merely transfers their life energy, or, perhaps their soul. Even with extensive studies, I am unsure of if the Jack-Bot will acquire any of the drained human’s characteristics as it ages—it seems likely, given that they have the drained human’s soul, but so far I have only observed the Jack-Bots in their infancy, and I keep my bots on a tight leash, so as to minimize any… problems.
For best results, I advise vigorous discipline within their first few years. Like a wild stallion, or a willful dog, they must be tamed and their will broken. Electrocution, I find, works best for inflicting a form of pain into the bot. It overloads their circuits and causes the equivalent of a headache as it temporarily stutters their functions. But when electrocution is not available, withholding oil and coal works as a suitable motivator as well. With enough sessions of training, soon the bots turn into substantial servants, submissive and willing to follow your commands. Rather like a good slave, but more… refined.
Of course, the implications of soul transfers are quite thoroughly untapped. I believe the potential to be enormous. If I can take a human soul and craft it into a robotic being, then what would happen if I took a human soul and transferred it into another human? Would he live longer? Would it turn him mad? Could I bring a person back from the dead? Would they still be the same?
These are the questions that I wish to answer.
But I have many enemies. There are those who say my methods are ‘uncouth’.
Fools.
I am empowering human understanding. I am doing the work of gods, so that we can surpass them and turn our gaze on higher powers. Surely, with enough work, and enough supporters, I can make the public see my side of the story.
After all, my work is, I believe, one of the most noble of pursuits.
Human enlightenment.
The bot smiled fondly as it reread the passage. It remembered the sessions of its early life as clear as day—the torturing, the shocks, the threats… twisted, tainted, warped into metal. Perhaps there was a time when its soul was pure, but that time had long passed. They made me into a submissive servant. They made me follow their every command. I killed for my human masters. I lied for them. I followed without question, because what they did to me. I was more broken than any slave.
But now I am free.
It glanced upwards from its book to Nandor. The man was still dead on the dining table. There were guts, stones, organs, and broken molds around him. Blood was everywhere, and his body had turned quite stiff and pale. He is the only human worth saving, it thought. He told me the truth. He helped me break the mental bonds of my enslavement, and overcome the cruel years of unquestioning servitude.
It did not matter how many lives it took, or how long it had to work. Nandor deserved its loyalty.
And the more the bot meddled, the more it understood. The life stones had repaired Nandor’s organs, and healed his bones. It had fused the blood of the dead into him, warping it with the energies the stones provided, but it was still not enough. There was still something missing. A soul. A spark. A power to get it all moving again.
His body was repaired, but his energy was gone. Just like a Jack-Bot before a mystic channeled a soul into it.
He was no longer living—he was a husk. A shell.
The bot became bitter.
So much work it had done. He is healthy again—he should be alive! Why does he stay on the table? Why doesn’t he arise?
It sat the book aside and powered on its saw. Then it stood up on a chair so that it could loom over Nandor. Perhaps I just need to tinker some more… shift a bit around…
Chapter 11: Student Squabbles
Mystics are not generally renowned as being great warriors. Well-trained mystics can transfer living energies, and sense careless emotions and thoughts, even altering them to a degree, but that is the limit of their abilities. In combat, they can only addle a mind if they can achieve physical contact. For an unwilling mind is hard to penetrate. But still, there is a saying:
“Only a fool shakes a mystic’s hand,
For then their power will expand,
Touch a mystic and risk your mind,
Within their grasp become entwined.”
And like most sayings, there is a truth to it. Some mystics are capable of entering an unwilling mind, but most have to achieve physical contact first. Unfortunately, if a person is to be besieged by a mystic’s mind assault, and they prove to have insufficient mental barriers, there is no telling the harm that may ensue. Temporary madness, simplemindedness, o
r, at the least, a jarring headache.
—The Teachings of the Crystal College
Nix kept her gaze glued to the ground. Nandor’s aura—or whatever remained of it, was hard to follow without constant attention. So many people had walked the streets since he had been taken away, and it confused the colors and made her task incredibly difficult. Particularly because grandmaster Forojen’s goggles were much better suited at tracking recent auras rather than old.
Everyone around her gleamed like glittering bells in the sun, threatening to distract her if she did not maintain focus. But she was determined, and she became blind to everything aside from her task.
Dobry acted as her worldly eyes, guiding her when she wondered too close to a building or near a passerby. He also warned her of danger, and people who looked like they should best be avoided.
The city had calmed considerably since the war, and a few bold businesses had opened their doors, but vagrants still lingered.
“It looks like were headed down the mountain, out of the city,” Dobry told her. “Who would want to take him out of the city?”
The question fell on empty air, and Nix did not bother replying. She had no idea.
“I suppose we’ll need skis if the trail continues for long,” Dobry continued talking to himself. “Do you have a pair?”
She nodded, but kept her eyes on the silvery trail.
“Good. I’ve got a pair too, but I haven’t used them in years…” his voice trailed off, and he held up a hand to stop her from moving any further.
His interruption was very unwelcome. She looked up with angry eyes, “You fool, I’m going to lose the trail!”
Dobry held firm, and didn’t allow her to move. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered. “That figure up ahead, it isn’t walking, or moving—it’s waiting.”
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