Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1)

by Jon Messenger

  Voices filtered through from the dining room, where the recently arrived Inquisitors discussed all that had transpired and poured over Simon and Luthor’s written reports. Their reports had been meticulously similar, discussed at great length long before the first zeppelin arrived in Haversham. Each successive zeppelin, and there had been many, had disgorged new Inquisitors and medical professionals, eager to examine the corpses.

  Simon turned as the voices in the dining room reached an excited crescendo. He had already sat before their panel once, answering questions about his report as though he were being interrogated. As unpleasant as it had been, he understood their concern and even mild skepticism. Though hundreds of reports had been filed through the Inquisitors claiming supernatural occurrences, nearly all were unfounded. For the werewolves to have been proven true but, more importantly as Simon’s report indicated, they were subservient to a demon, he understood why the Inquisitors were eager to explore all aspects of his investigation.

  He glanced toward the apothecary and saw the strained expression on the man’s face. He understood his pain all too well. A budding conflict ate at Simon’s insides. On one hand, he had come to care for the werewolves far more than he would have believed possible. Yet, equally as strongly, it had been easy to forget about his obligation as an Inquisitor after all that had transpired in Haversham. Only now, with more of his own kind present, was he able to look objectively at his actions over the past few weeks and wonder if he had truly made the right decision.

  “How are you feeling, Luthor?” Simon asked. The apothecary had only recently returned from his own scrutiny.

  “They don’t believe our reports,” Luthor replied flatly. “They don’t believe it was merely two werewolves serving as personal guards to Mr. Dosett. They think there are more, and they won’t stop prying until they discover their whereabouts.”

  Simon frowned but understood his friend’s concerns. The Inquisitors had been equally hard on Simon during his questioning, not because they believed Simon or Luthor was concealing the whereabouts of more werewolves, but because they wanted to ensure two deceased wolves was the extent of the threat.

  “If they pry further,” he said, “then we’ll address that problem as it arises.”

  Luthor shook his head. “You can’t kill them,” Luthor said, as though sensing the conflict broiling in Simon’s mind. “That’s exactly what you would be doing if you reveal the existence of the tribe.”

  Simon paused and turned slowly back toward the window.

  “You can’t kill her.”

  “The laws of the Inquisitors are quite clear. I can’t allow a magical creature to survive, circumstances be damned. If they discover our deception, there’s little I can do to stop them.”

  “They’re not monsters from the Rift. They aren’t threatening the citizens of the kingdom. They are citizens of the kingdom. You may have an obligation as an Inquisitor to destroy magic in all its forms, but you have an equally strong obligation as a human being to save and protect those who cannot defend themselves. Mattie and Kidnip need you, not as an Inquisitor but as a friend.”

  “What would you have me do?” he asked, spinning toward his shorter counterpart. “I care greatly for them both. If I didn’t, I certainly wouldn’t have lied in my report. However, Mattie and her tribe are proof that the threat of magic is far greater than any of us could have foreseen. If this is truly an airborne contagion now, then no one is safe. Look at this objectively, rather than with the rose-tinted lenses through which we’ve both been looking. If the werewolves are carrying an airborne contagion and we can stop the infection now before it becomes too viral, then isn’t that exactly what we should do both as part of an Inquisitor team and as human beings?”

  Luthor shook his head. “I would agree with you if I thought that killing the indigenous population would contain the outbreak. The truth is… if magic is spreading and infecting people in our kingdom, then Mattie and her tribe are merely the tip of a much deeper change occurring throughout our lands. We shouldn’t be looking for ways to kill them. We should be using them as a tool to convince the crown that blindly destroying magic is no longer the way. If hundreds, if not thousands, of people within our kingdom are already infected, then the idea of killing everyone who demonstrates magical potential is no longer a viable option.”

  Simon bit his lip as he considered his friend’s position. “The way of the Inquisitors won’t be so easily changed, not with the Order of Kinder Pel at the reins. You say that killing everyone isn’t a viable option, but the Pellites won’t see it that way.”

  “Then we take Mattie with us,” Luthor blurted, his mind reeling as he considered other options. “We make them confront the truth. If they won’t listen, then we’ll present her to the kingdom and win our case in the court of public opinion.”

  Simon paused, his mouth agape. He was dumbfounded that Luthor would even offer something so brash as a plan.

  “It’s daft.”

  “It’ll work,” Luthor countered.

  “You’ll get us all killed, is what you’ll do.”

  “Maybe, but the cost of our lives might save thousands more just like Mattie and her tribe. I think it’s a small price to pay.”

  Simon walked over to the tooled-leather couch and collapsed heavily onto its cushions. He looked up at the apothecary, who beamed with excitement. Simon knew that what he was proposing was practically a coup against the doctrine of the Inquisitors. The plan had little chance of success. Yet, his mind also drifted to the redheaded woman and her fiercely independent nature. He couldn’t imagine ordering her death, much less thousands of others throughout the kingdom. He chided Luthor for looking at the world through his newly applied rosy tint, but the truth was, his mentality had changed as well. Mattie and Kidnip were friends and he couldn’t imagine ordering their deaths, the doctrine of the Inquisitors be damned.

  He also knew that killing thousands still wouldn’t solve the problem. The infection was among them already. It was only a matter of time before the crown realized the full implications of its viral spread. Maybe—and he was loathed to admit anything other than a reserved “maybe”—their plan could be the catalyst that drove the change.

  “All right,” he said.

  “You’ll do it?” Luthor said, practically dancing with enthusiasm.

  “We’ll do it,” Simon corrected. “However, there are some stipulations. First, Mattie stays with us at all times. Until we can force some change in the system, we’re practically inviting the Pellites to send assassins after us.”

  “Agreed, though you’ll have a much harder time convincing her to stay practically handcuffed to your side. What other stipulations?”

  Simon stood and walked over to his friend, forcing Luthor to look up to see him. “We do this my way. My way is slowly. The last thing we need to do is march Mattie in front of the king and demand change. The both of you will have to be patient until we can bring our plan to fruition. Are we agreed?”

  Luthor smiled and stood, grasping Simon’s hand. They shook firmly.

  “Let’s be finished with these horrible lines of questions so we can tell Mattie,” Luthor said.

  They stepped out onto the wooden platform. The zeppelin hovered in the air overhead, a small gangplank descending to the dock on which they stood. Simon led the way with Luthor and Mattie close in tow behind him. They lowered their heads as the large turbines on the back of the zeppelin sent a torrent of snow into their faces.

  Simon handed the conductor all three tickets, which the man perused before handing them back to the Inquisitor and welcoming them all aboard. The three moved as quickly up the gangplank as their various statuses of health would allow. Neither Luthor nor Mattie still wore slings for their wounded shoulders, though they clearly still favored the limbs. Simon’s limp was less pronounced but still evident as he moved between the horizontal planks nailed in place for traction.

  As they entered the warm interior of the zeppelin, a vale
t led them to a private cabin. As they took their seats on the benches by the window, the valet closed the door, offering them privacy.

  Simon removed his top hat and placed it on the table between them. He looked up at Mattie and Luthor, sitting side by side on the opposite bench, and smiled.

  “I must say, Mattie, you look simply divine. Your transformation to right and proper lady is nothing short of miraculous.”

  Mattie looked down at the dress she wore, with an abundance of laces and frill. She reached up with her hand and felt the small hat, pinned in place by a multitude of clips. “I feel simply preposterous,” she replied as her hand drifted over the strip of fabric and crystals tied around her neck. “Is this truly how the women of Callifax dress?”

  “It is,” Luthor said, “though they don’t manage the look half as well as you do.”

  Mattie flushed but turned her attention back to Simon. “This won’t be easy, will it?”

  Simon laughed sadly. “Not even in the slightest. People are going to try to kill us for what we’ve done, make no mistake. If we can convince anyone of the truth, and that is a very fragile ‘if’, then we will be a growing minority against a very vocal and violent majority.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mattie replied firmly. “This must be done. Who knows how many others just like us have suffered and been slaughtered because of narrow-minded Inquisitors. The truth must be told.”

  Simon smiled and reached across the table, patting Mattie’s gloved hand. “And so it shall.”

  The zeppelin jerked slightly as the gangplank was removed and the ropes untied. It rose quickly into the air and the ground seemed to fall away as the passengers gazed out of the window. Haversham turned from a burgeoning city filling the entirety of their view to a rounded mass below, set amidst a sea of icy and snowy tundra.

  Mattie’s breath caught in her throat at the sight, and she pressed herself as close to the glass as her body would allow as she watched the landscape grow smaller beneath her.

  She sat back in her chair with a broad grin on her face. “When we arrive in Callifax, what is the first thing we shall do?”

  Simon leaned back in the cushioned bench and retrieved his top hat, placing it on his head and lowering the brim over his eyes to block the light. “First, I’m going to take a hot bath that lasts for a few days at least, and then eat a meal fit for king. Then, once I feel much more like a man, I’m going to call upon Veronica and return to my simple life.”

  Luthor sighed. “That’s not what she meant and you know it. Be serious, Simon. What is the first real thing we intend to do?”

  Simon pushed back the brim of his hat and winked at them both. “You’re correct. The first thing we’re going to do is to enjoy a proper teatime. You wouldn’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve had a properly brewed cut of tea.”

  The demon sat back in his high-backed chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests in frustration. He was alone in the vaulted bedroom, the only sound the crackling fire burning in the fireplace.

  As he slammed his fist onto the armrest, he roared into the expansive room. His voice echoed, drawing out his howl of anger.

  Slowly, he stood, allowing his broad wings to unfurl and stretch. He walked past the broad four-post bed and stopped before an oddly adorned vanity. Four gilded mirrors hung above the marbled surface, the two on the ends turned slightly inward to form a horseshoe that nestled around the room’s only occupant.

  With a wave of his hand, faces began to materialize in three of the four mirrors. To his right, a dark-skinned demon appeared, the majority of his face concealed by a tattered and filthy cloth. Only his glowing, red eyes were visible beneath his coverings. Beside him, the image was consumed by swirling shadows. A pair of vibrant violet eyes stared back at the standing demon. The third was a brutish figure, appearing to be carved fully from stone. His squared face was barely contained within the confines of the large mirror.

  “One of our kind has been slain,” the demon lord stated, gesturing toward the empty mirror.

  An assortment of hisses and grunts were the other lords’ only replies.

  “We have clearly underestimated the humans and their prowess. We have also underestimated the Cabal, a mistake I don’t intend to repeat. It is time to crush the human resistance once and for all. Leave none alive that aren’t your slaves, to be ground beneath your heel.”

  “What of the ones that have destroyed our brother?” the shadowy figure asked, his voice as wispy as the air around him.

  “Leave them to me,” the demon lord replied. “I intend to take a special invested interest in the goings on and the eventual fall of the Inquisitors.”

  END OF BOOK 1

  Jon Messenger, born 1979 in London, England, serves as a United States Army Major in the Medical Service Corps. Since graduating from the University of Southern California in 2002, writing Science Fiction has remained his passion, a passion that has continued through two deployments to Iraq and a humanitarian relief mission to Haiti. Jon wrote the “Brink of Distinction” trilogy, of which “Burden of Sisyphus” is the first book, while serving a 16-month deployment in Baghdad, Iraq. Visit Jon on his website at www.JonMessengerAuthor.com.

  Don't miss book 2: The Blood Thief. August 25, 2015

  In a world of science, magic is an abomination, but not the vile creation Royal Inquisitor Simon Whitlock once believed it to be. Accompanied by his apothecary companion, Luthor Strong, and Matilda Hawke, a werewolf, they return to the capital of Callifax, eager to convalesce after their last adventure.

  Their peace is short-lived, however, as they are quickly sent on another mission. It seems the iron mines of Whitten Hall have ceased their production, no longer sending its ore to the crown. The Ministry of Trade has sent inquiries, but its representatives have all fled from the train ride to the distal outpost. It seems a vampire stalks the trains in and out of Whitten Hall, a vampire that will reveal the secret of the iron mine and the darkness that resides within.