by A. M. Burns
He shrugged, getting more confused. “To have babies. So he can provide what a father is supposed to provide, like game, protection, and she can be a mother to them.”
“Nope, not even close. Why are you and Gray Talon together?”
“Because we love each other.”
“Right, and shouldn’t a man and woman love each other before bringing children into the world?”
Trey thought for a moment before answering. “But that isn’t always so. Many times a woman is given to a man and told to keep his home and bear his children.”
“True, and that’s not always right. My father didn’t do that to me. Daniel and I married because we were in love. I wanted to have his children because he was special to me and I wanted a piece of him to carry with me.”
“So you’re saying that if two people aren’t in love, they shouldn’t have babies? Even if it would benefit the tribe?”
“My people don’t view it as the tribe. Sometimes we look on it as the family. But mostly, at least among the more progressive folks, we let folks marry for love. It makes a tighter family that way. I can tell that you and Gray Talon are very tight, tighter than some families I know. That’s a good thing. Don’t cheapen it by letting some woman you don’t love bring children into this world. Happy children are loved by both parents and are nurtured by the love those parents have for the child and each other. Children who are not loved from the time they are conceived can grow up dark and dangerous.”
“I bet the scarred man didn’t have a loving family.”
She paused for a moment before answering. “Probably not.”
Copperpot lumbered up to the fire and set his latest armload of wood down. “Master Trey, I hate to interrupt, but I thought you and Mistress Sarah might like to know that I observed a couple of rabbits over in the brush. Without Mater Gray Talon to procure food for you both, they might make a good meal.”
Although Trey found himself enjoying the lively discussion with Sarah, he welcomed the news of potential dinner. “Thanks, Copperpot.” He glanced at Sarah. “What do you say, see if we can shoot a rabbit for dinner?”
“Only if you cook it,” she replied. “Rabbit’s not one of the things that I happen to know any good recipes for.”
He smiled at her. “Deal.”
AFTER RABBIT stew for dinner, as the waning moon climbed higher in the sky, Trey stared at Copperpot where the construct sat on the ground near the fire. Ever since he’d reawakened his own memories, he’d been wondering what he could do to help the spirit trapped in the metal shell to remember his past. He’d had several ideas. With Sarah along to guard them, he thought it might be a good time to try a couple.
“Copperpot, do you remember me asking you if you remembered anything about your life before you were a construct?” he asked.
The copper head slowly inclined. “Yes, Master Trey. I have been pondering it when there is nothing going on. So far, I have not been able to come up with an answer for you.”
“I’ve been thinking about it too. I may have a couple of ideas that might help us pierce the past for you. If you are willing to let me try.”
“What are you two talking about?” Sarah asked.
“Copperpot has the aura of a living person. Actually it’s a bit stronger than that of a living person,” Trey explained. “I believe that McNair may have used magic to trap a spirit in Copperpot’s constructed body. There is also a very strong magical power source deep within him. I’d love to explore that more someday, but right now, I want to try to find out who he was before he was Copperpot.”
“That’s evil,” Sarah said. “Who would think to call back the spirit of a dead person to inhabit an artificial thing like that? Why would they do that?”
“I think that McNair and Dabinshire might be trying to create a kind of clockwork slave. Since slavery is no longer legal in the United States, they’re probably trying to find a cheap source of labor. That’s all I can think of. With the advancements in technology, I think it’s very interesting that folks are trying to combine magic and technology, but like you, I find it appalling that they would try to trap a soul in this body.”
“Maybe it was just a body without the soul?” she suggested. “Maybe before the soul animated Copperpot, he was just a big pile of gears and rods.” She looked at the construct. “Don’t get me wrong, Copperpot, you’re kinda nice for being a construct and all. Not that I met any before you, but it just doesn’t seem right.”
The construct shrugged his brassy shoulders. “I understand, Mistress Sarah.”
“Hey, will this figure out why he calls everyone master or mistress?”
“Maybe. I think there might be some kind of magical programming that does that,” Trey explained. “Like when a shaman makes a totem that will heal someone. When we are putting it together, we are forcing the energies to behave in a particular way. By doing that, the totem won’t harm anyone. It will only heal. This magic is much more complex than that, but it could be that Copperpot was designed to be a servant and was created to be overly polite.”
“Like slaves were to their owners.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s wrong too. Sorry, but my family lived in the North long before the war broke out. We never had slaves and always viewed the practice as barbaric.”
“I agree. It is my understanding that long ago, the Comanche used to take slaves from the other tribes that they would war with. They viewed it was better than killing the tribe entirely. But they haven’t done that in years.”
“Did they buy and sell them the way the South did?”
Trey shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. It was long before my time with the tribe.”
“Good. So what kind of thing were you thinking about doing for Copperpot?”
“If there is a soul in there, it will have to have a physical anchor, something holding it to this plane. Otherwise it should’ve gone on to its next life or be stuck to something that had meaning to it in its last life.”
“You mean like a hair or bone or something?” The woman who had no problem cutting the heads off outlaws looked repulsed by the idea of a spirit tied to a piece of its old body.
“Right.” The discussion was helping Trey form the ideas he needed to attack the puzzle Copperpot presented. “Depending on the magic used to call it back, yes. It could also be something that was important to them, like a wedding ring, a gun, or a piece of clothing. If I can find the physical anchor, then I might be able to reawaken the spirit and find out who they were before becoming Copperpot.”
“What do you need me to do, Master Trey?” An edge of nervousness came through the construct’s tone.
“All you’ll need to do is sit still and let me weave some magic through you,” Trey explained. “There is the possibility that I may need to draw your essence into the otherworld to really communicate with it, but I’ll have to find the anchor first. It’ll help if I’m in contact with you.”
“And what will I be doing while all the magic stuff is going on?” Sarah asked.
“If you could stand guard for us. That’s what Talon normally does, just makes sure that nothing or no one can harm me while I’m working. Please don’t touch me during the working. It can break me out of my trance. If for some reason I’m still in the trance by daybreak, then touch me to bring me back. But this shouldn’t take that long.”
“I can do that.”
Trey settled down next to the construct. “So you ready, Copperpot?”
“Whenever you are, Master Trey.”
Taking the metal hand, Trey relaxed, letting himself flow into the being of Copperpot. The energies within the construct were stranger than any he’d encountered before. They swirled and moved in ways that Trey couldn’t easily distinguish their pattern. He paused for a while to just study them. After a couple of minutes, the realization struck that in many ways the energies moving around in Copperpot were like the movements of creeks and streams. The smaller flows of power reached out a
nd eventually connected with the construct’s metal limbs, bringing the energy needed to move the individual parts, like the fingers, arms, and legs.
As he would with a real stream, Trey worked his way backward, pushing his consciousness against the flow of energy, forcing his way upstream. The individual flows of energy merged into larger flows; they worked their way deeper into the magic that animated Copperpot. Where all the flows came together, buried within the metal framework, was the magic that powered the construct. It glowed like a tiny sun resting in a bowl of copper and brass. Trey had to turn away for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the brightness. Even to his magical sight, the workmanship was incredible. The bowl that housed the miniature sun was engraved with a multitude of symbols he didn’t understand. They weren’t white men’s letters, but something else. In the depths of his soul, he knew they were a magical writing of some kind. He wondered what the symbols meant, and how had McNair managed to craft something so delicate. The earth mage must be a master at his power.
In the center of the bowl, within the heart of the sunlike glow, a small brass object floated. Trey relaxed his sight, looking beyond the glow so he could see the object. With each breath the object became clearer to him. It was a bullet. He shuddered. Was this the bullet that killed the body the soul had resided in?
Trey tried to push his magic into the microstorm of energy residing in the bowl. It tossed him back. He struggled, trying to find a way in, but the energy was too strong for him. After several minutes of being tossed around like he was in a tornado, he gave up. It was too much.
Instead of fighting the energy, he turned his attention to the writing on the bowl. He tried to memorize the symbols that reminded him of sticks laid on a trail for people to follow. Some of the symbols were easier to look at; others tried to move around in his view. It made his head hurt as he struggled to see them. What is the difference in the two types of script, and how do I view the dancing ones?
With his head pounding, Trey finally had to admit it was more than he could deal with. Perhaps Singing Crow would have more answers to the mystery of Copperpot.
Before he became too tired and lost in the weird energies, Trey withdrew his probing of the construct. Taking several deep breaths, he returned his focus to his own body. One side of him was fairly hot. He realized he’d been sitting near the fire for some time. As he opened his eyes, he looked up into Copperpot’s now familiar brassy gaze.
“I don’t feel any different,” the metal man said.
Trey sadly studied Copperpot, almost expecting to see some show of emotion on the metal countenance. “I’m sorry. I found the object that I think holds your soul to this body, but I couldn’t reach it. The energies around it are just too strong for me. Perhaps when we rejoin the tribe, my teacher, Singing Crow, will be able to help us get to it and reawaken your true self.”
“So what is the object you found?” Sarah asked from the other side of the fire.
“A bullet.”
15
GRAY TALON’S wings tired by the time he finally spotted the flock of vultures that circled his lover and friends. The smell of the rotting heads must have attracted the birds. Trey rode behind Sarah into a clearing where a cabin huddled on the far side. It was a diminutive structure. The cuts on the logs were still white. This building hadn’t been standing very long. A buckboard stood beside the cabin near a lean-to that was probably for horses based on the small corral around it. He circled once, and not spotting anyone else nearby, he swooped down and landed next to Spot as Trey dismounted.
“So where are we?” he asked, looking over the paint horse’s broad back into the smiling face of his partner.
“This was our home,” Sarah said. “Daniel and I just got it finished a couple of weeks ago.” There was a softness and sadness to her voice as the woman walked toward the awkwardly hanging door. She paused there for a moment, and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Daniel!” She rushed into the cabin.
“Why are we here?” Gray Talon asked as he, Trey, and Copperpot walked toward the structure.
“She wanted to retrieve a few personal items,” Trey replied. “And see if there was anything left of her husband to bury.”
A sticky sweet smell of decay rolled out of the doorway. The light inside the cabin was just enough to make out Sarah’s brown head. She knelt on the floor next to the body there. Her sobs were quiet, what he had come to expect from the hard woman. There wasn’t much to the cabin. The bed and kitchen had been ransacked, probably by the thieves trying to find anything of value that might have been there. Clothes were strewn about. There were scorch marks on the wall near the fireplace; they looked like someone had tried to set the place on fire, but the green wood wouldn’t easily burn.
Gray Talon laid a hand on Trey’s shoulder. “Let’s give her a few minutes.”
Trey followed, and they walked away from the cabin.
“How did Jumping Elk take the news about Cunning Bird?” Trey leaned against a corral post.
“About like you would expect. They requested me to stay for his funeral feast. I had to retell the story of his fall several times over the evening.” A yawn escaped his tired lips. “I headed back as soon as I could.”
A look of concern crossed Trey’s features. “You might want to get some sleep while Sarah and I take care of things around here.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s well past noon,” Gray Talon objected. “Depending on how much she wants to do around here, we’ll not go more than a couple of miles before finding a camp for the night.”
Wiping tears from her face, Sarah emerged from the cabin. “I’d like to bury him out by the corral. He said he liked the view of the aspen trees over there.” Her voice was dry and hard.
“Show us where, and we’ll dig for you,” Trey said.
“I can handle the digging, Mistress Sarah,” Copperpot said. “It is one of the many tasks I have been designed for.” The metal man reached a hand back over his shoulder and pulled off a copper plate there that had been so well integrated into his form that Gray Talon had never noticed it was detachable. He just figured the various lines on the construct’s form were an odd decoration. Studying the marks across the metal frame for a minute, several different shapes became obvious, and he wondered if the metal man could remove items at his need. In addition to the shovel head he’d just pulled out, there was a pick, a sword, an axe, and a couple of things that he couldn’t identify. With a soft click, Copperpot affixed the shovel head to his hand, then stood there like he was waiting for instructions.
Sarah stared for a moment. She shrugged. “Over here.” She walked to the corral fence and gestured to the drying grass there. “This should be fine.”
“It will take me a few minutes, Mistress Sarah,” Copperpot said. “I presume a standard six by three by six hole.”
With a slight nod, she walked back toward the house. She paused halfway there. “I think I might need a hand in here when the place is ready.”
“Sure, Sarah,” Trey replied.
“So did you know about the detachable parts?” Gray Talon asked as he watched the metal man set to work.
Trey shook his head. “Hadn’t figured that out yet. Last night I tried to find a way to help him rediscover who he was before he was Copperpot, but it was too complex for me by myself. I’ll need Singing Crow or someone else to help me with that.”
“What do you mean, you tried to help him last night?” Gray Talon’s heart skipped a beat at the idea of Trey doing complex magic without him there to watch over the mage. “Who was watching out for you?”
“Sarah was,” Trey replied. “It was okay.”
A strange emotion he couldn’t put a name to surged through Gray Talon. It pulled at the part of him that needed to protect Trey. “We don’t know her that well yet. She could have panicked and hurt you.”
“She didn’t.”
“And what if you’d triggered something in Copperpot and he tried to hurt you? Who really knows what kind o
f spirit is trapped in that metal body?”
“Well, we still don’t.” Trey laid a hand on Gray Talon’s arm. “I appreciate the concern, and I won’t be trying again for a while. The magics in him are more complex than anything I’ve ever encountered. I know they aren’t magics of the People. I don’t even think they’re completely white men’s magic. There were strange symbols on things. Some of them danced around, and I had trouble reading them.”
Gray Talon didn’t like what he was hearing. He was a hunter, not a magic user. His knowledge of such things was limited to what Trey had told him. The Comanche accepted magic in their lives but left the practice of it up to the shamans and trusted them to keep the nonmagical folks safe from it. It was something, the only thing, in Trey’s life that he didn’t totally understand or trust, particularly when it came to unknown magics like Copperpot.
“We need to be careful. We don’t want to do something that is going to cause him to lose control or do anything to hurt you,” he repeated, then looked at the metal man, standing knee-high in the ever-deepening hole with dirt piling up around him. For a moment he again wanted to go back to their normal life with the tribe. “I don’t think either one of us could stop him if he turned on us.”
“He’s not going to turn on us,” Trey said. “He wants to find out who he was as much as I want to help him with that. The magics that created him really are a wonder to behold. Whatever else he might be, Rockwall McNair is a masterful earth mage. My primary element is air, but I can still appreciate the amount of time and work that went, not just into empowering Copperpot, but creating his form. The detail, inside and out—no blacksmith could’ve crafted something that precise; no sculptor could’ve chiseled him so intricately. Only magic could’ve made him so human on the outside, and so completely magically powered clockwork on the inside.”
“So that brings up the question of why someone who could create something like Copperpot just gave him away in a card game with the local bartender. And the bigger question of why someone who could do this would want the daughter of the dragon of Bald Peak.”