“That was a dirty trick,” Oleander whispered, tears still brimming. But at least they were tears of victory now.
“You think that was good, you should see my second.”
Oleander was instantly suspicious. Another of the games the sisters played was smuggling something into the other’s pocket without being noticed. It was one of Oleander’s specialties, and so Marta took great joy in upstaging her sister as Oleander batted at her dress until she found what she had been slipped.
Opening her hand, Oleander revealed the woven ring and a sound akin to a cough escaped her. “I… I can’t keep this.”
“Of course not, it’s mine. But you can keep a hold of it for me until you earn your own. And every time you look at it, know you’re my sweet sister. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?”
Oleander suddenly engulfed her in a hug, the dam holding her tears back finally burst, spilling them upon the frills of Marta’s dress.
Chapter 4
Winterfylled 17, 567
She had the eyes of a dead man. At least that was what Reid joked when he was feeling particularly reckless in taunting his commander. They were disturbing, he said, eyes that belonged to a corpse. He was not wrong though. Marta hated meeting her own gaze and kept her dead eyes aimed at the floorboards to avoid the other occupants of the train car. The man beside her attempted to strike up a conversation, but Marta ignored him. With an offended grunt he returned to his newspaper as they departed the Walshvan station. Obviously he was not Blessed, as he quickly fell asleep, lulled by the quiet hum of the train.
Marta was not so lucky, her headache thundering for the last few hours. The pain was nothing new, Marta having traveled along the ley hundreds of times before, but it had been years since she had felt the gnaw of a ley headache firsthand, the pain crawling along her nerves until it invaded even her teeth. The only relief was in grinding them, but she refrained from this reprieve as she instead chewed on her pipe. Its lip had been assaulted in this manner thousands of times before, proudly displaying the indented teeth marks, not all of which belonged to her. An ugly thing, Marta felt a certain kinship for it, the pipe an emblem of when she had been considered someone of importance.
Someone had cracked a window, the Winterfylled wind cutting through the train car’s stuffy air. It was a warm autumn thus far, nearly stifling: an Ingios summer that promised a brutal winter. Looking out the window, Marta begrudgingly marveled at the wonder of the train hurtling on above the line of ley. When the first floating trains had been introduced, there were, of course, naysayers, those that believed that if Sol had wanted them to fly, he would have created humans with wings. Marta was far too young to remember those days, but the benefit of the trains was obvious. As her old instructor Mitchell was fond of pointing out, Sol’s consent was always demonstrated by humanity’s ability. If capable of doing something, then humans were obviously expected to do so.
They were Sol’s greatest creations after all. They were Sol’s children.
Though all living things possessed a Breath of Sol, not all of his fragments were contained within the living, the majority of it flowing over the land in the form of ley, like the line supporting the train. When a living thing died, its Breath was released to float again along the land. Individually they were tiny, no larger than a fingertip, and weightless. Nearly transparent in daylight, at night they each glowed with their own ethereal light.
In a sense each fragment of Breath was like a raindrop flowing freely along the land until it coalesced with more of its kind and formed a running stream. These streams would in turn meet up into rivers known as lines of ley. And so the ley flowed, at night molten rivers made up of millions of raindrops of Breath, the lifeblood of Sol and Ayr alike.
These loose fragments could pass through any object, living or inanimate, the only substance capable of containing Breath being glass. As such, children were often equipped with their small glass luz jars and sent out at dusk to collect Breath to light their homes. But Sol’s Breath must constantly flow, so these same children were also scrupulously taught to release the Breath from their luz jars before dawn lest they be punished by the Renders.
The Renders ardently believed all Sol’s Breaths should remain in a state of constant flow, each fragment of Breath meant to adhere with every other, Sol finally returning for the Harvest after all his fragments had experienced life with all the others in some living form. It was therefore a Render’s sworn duty to ensure the flow continued unimpeded, using their glass blades to separate any fragments that stayed bound together unnaturally. This obligation usually entailed destroying gasts, which were the remains occasionally lingering behind when a human died and their Breath did not separate. Marta had never witnessed a gast firsthand and had no desire to. Gasts retained the memories of the deceased yet were unaware they were dead. They therefore still attempted to interact with the living, torturing their loved ones with the constant reminder of what they had lost. Though Marta had no love for the Renders, the service the Blessed order provided in ridding the living of these gasts could not be denied.
But even the non-Blessed could benefit from the ley. The train on which Marta traveled was proof enough of this as its propellers churned the air above the train, a massive lodestone in the nose of the engine keeping it on course along the magnetic ley. Another obvious benefit of the ley was spark boxes like the three stowed in her haversack. Some ancient Tinker, those non-Blessed that worked with the ley through technology, learned long ago that by funneling a fragment of Breath through a filament, he could make a small electronic charge. Though the charges were minute individually, leaving the filament on a line of ley for only a few minutes would create a battery. Soon everyone carried several spark boxes with them to work Tinker devices. These spark boxes then quickly grew in size, now powering entire cities with the free flow of the ley provided by Sol’s sacrifice millennia ago.
Yet another inventive Tinker had realized that since Breath could not flow through glass, if they were to cover their trains with glass bottoms, they would float upon the larger lines of ley and overcome the need for tracks. The generators were then built into the engines to fuel the trains without the need to burn coal like their ancestors in the Auld Lands had. The citizens of Newfield were suddenly unfettered from having to lay tracks, and what had once been a journey of months from one corner of Newfield to the other was reduced to a matter of days, again thanks to Sol’s sacrifice and the flow of ley. The abundant energy was then harnessed to power the huge ships that crossed the Saulshish Ocean, and even Hendrix’s damned airships.
Ahead, Marta could see the glow of the upcoming nodus, a spot where two or more ley converged. The train was still probably ten miles away, but the nodus shone on the horizon like a setting sun. Yet whereas the setting sun gave off only a handful of colors, the nodus swam with a multitude of hues, a maelstrom of flowing Breath eddying in place like a furious whirlpool.
The most famous nodus on the continent of Soltera was Brimstone, some saying it was the biggest on the planet of Ayr. Brimstone resided hundreds of miles to the southeast in her home state of Mimas, the city Oreana beside it the capital of the Covenant’s rebellion during the Grand War. Many believed that Sol’s Breath traveled into the center of Ayr at the nodi, only exiting again when they floated up through the soil to attach themselves to a new living body at birth. And so the ceaseless cycle of life continued, Sol’s Breath eternal, though the bodies they inhabited came and went like waves in a vast ocean.
As a child Marta had thought nothing more beautiful than a nodus, the colors illuminating the night for miles around like a flame that gave off no heat. Now she could only feel her headache intensifying at its approach and wished for nothing more than a moment of relief. The general non-Blessed populous could spend nearly eight hours in the ley before feeling the effects of the headaches, but the Blessed only a few hours before the pain became nearly unbearable. Though favored by Sol by birth, they were not blessed in every respect
.
Fortunately, the train began to slow, finally alighting at the Gungersburg station to silently hover at the wooden platform. Such stops were commonplace and allowed the train to trade cargo and passengers. At smaller stations there was only one platform, but Gungersburg was a large town, complete with a nodus. Like the track-bound trains of old, this made the town a hub for the trains to be set upon new lines. The Shaper roustabouts in their Armor waited at the gate that held the train in place, ready to haul the train on to its proper line of ley for the next leg of its journey.
But before the roustabouts could get to work, the passengers had to depart. Her haversack slung over her shoulder, Marta waited her turn as she watched the engineer beeline to the first-class lounge along with the rest of the important patrons. Less cherished passengers were only provided rough benches outside the nodus’ reach on which to rest.
Stepping off the train, she was surprised to see Carmichael making his way to the first-class lounge as well. Clean-shaven and no longer sporting his silly disguise, her brother never looked her direction. Both children of Norwood Childress passed each other like strangers, he to his affluence, she to the crowded benches. His indifference suited Marta fine and was a far step better than his hatred two years prior. Marta’s headache now seemed a living thing, a hatchling bird pecking its way out of the shell of her skull as she gazed at the benches. There were a few spots left among the weary passengers, but Marta expected no solace in sitting. Instead she trudged on, hoping the exertion would dull her pain.
Though a woman wandering alone at midnight in a strange city, Marta was not worried. Between her men’s clothes and slouch hat hiding her face, she could easily pass as male in the dark. And if anyone did attempt to harm her, she felt reasonably safe unless they were carrying a musket. Those weapons were made illegal for civilians in the aftermath of the Grand War by decree of the president though. Even before their proliferation during the war, muskets were relatively rare, the expense of black powder keeping them out of reach except for the affluent. Her father possessed one, of course, locked within a glass case above the fireplace. The thing was just for show though, a family heirloom that was probably long gone. Marta was still pondering the fate of her father’s prized musket when she turned the corner to behold the beast.
Its body resembled that of a massive bull reared back, an eagle’s head atop it with a bladed beak open in a fierce screech. The thing shone with an unnatural light, its maw open and promising to devour her, but it was the creature’s forelegs that made Marta recoil, the appendages strangely human and reaching stubby hands towards the sky. The gesture was that of an offering, and the incongruous human posture mingled among the brute’s animal form caused revulsion in Marta.
It was an abomination, one that needed to be destroyed.
The plans to her phantom blade were immediately in mind, her Blessed Breath ready to extend the weapon when Marta realized her mistake. Though she had flinched, the creature remained motionless because it was simply a statue. The strange sheen of its skin was no more than the flickering light of the nearby luz jars reflecting off its bronze body.
Glad no one was around to witness her mistake, Marta approached the effigy. The word “Gunger” was carefully carved into the base and suddenly the statue made sense. The town of Gungersburg resided next to a nodus, which meant it was home to an emet.
Although all living beings had at least one fragment of Sol’s Breath within them, not all living beings made up of Breath were contained in corporeal bodies. The emets were such creatures: created, like humans, of three Breaths, though they were entirely inhuman. Despite the intangibility of Breath in its natural state, the emets were able to give their essence substance, similar to the Shapers and their Armor or Weavers when fashioning their manifestations.
Though some modeled their bodies after humans, the majority of emets appeared as animals, oftentimes mixing and matching the body parts of different beasts. The why and how of their construction eluded most, the emets only capable of communicating with Renders and Weavers. Generally, emets ignored humanity, but a small minority took notice: the malevolent ghuls caused suffering whenever they were encountered and were hunted mercilessly by the Renders. Those that behaved benevolently towards humans were known as engels.
The emet Gunger must have been included in their benevolent number and resided at this nodus for decades if the citizens had named their town after it. Emets needed neither sleep nor sustenance to maintain them. As such, they wandered nearby the nodus of their birth until they finally disappeared back into Sol’s flow. Some existed only a matter of hours, others for centuries; the only similarity between the emets being their inscrutable nature.
Some said a few emets were manifested of four Breaths, exhibiting the abilities of the Blessed like Waer, the progenitor of their kind. Through her abilities to draw like the Renders and Weavers, Waer was said to have created this species, using them to torment humanity throughout the centuries until the engels rebelled against their maker.
Though the Renders spoke of Waer as if a living entity, Marta knew she was just an excuse: a means to explain humans turning away from the will of Sol. Like the stories of the ancient Shaper Gerjet who always fought for good beside her faithful dog Baas, Waer was simply a story meant to entertain children. Marta had little time for stories since she had grown up and currently had more important things on her mind, such as whose mission she would complete, her brother or father’s.
Though she despised her brother, Marta hated Orthoel Hendrix more and dreamed of putting an end to him. She had also given up on ever seeing her family again, so her father’s promise of forgiveness was extremely tempting. But Marta was also aware that if she were to encounter Hendrix this night, her decision would be made for her. Between the lingering ley headache and her embarrassing reaction to the statue, she wanted an outlet for her ire to spread the shame and pain she felt to another.
She saw the silent flash before she heard the collective gasp. Just around the corner of the deserted street, Marta became aware of the murmur of dozens of voices. Though she could not make out individual words, the emotions behind them curled up her spine like sudden frost. There was fear, anger, and hatred hanging heavy in the air. Yet it was the three Breaths rising into the night sky to begin their inevitable journey back toward the nodus which drew Marta’s undivided attention.
Something had just died, and if the nearby murmurs were any indication, it was not a kind death.
Marta was in motion before she realized it, her haversack slid off her back and onto a shoulder to be quickly discarded if she needed her hands free. The murmurs became more distinct as she rounded the corner, finally catching the words “Gunger” and “Render” too late to stop her advance.
Coming to a halt, Marta spotted a crowd of townspeople surrounding the wounded Render, the presence of the two Home Guardsmen at his flank the only thing keeping the crowd from devolving into a murderous mob. The townspeople’s hatred was so intense that the air around them seemed to shimmer, and was aimed entirely at the Render in their center. He held a saber in his right hand, its blade fashioned of glass, not steel.
He had served in the Grand War, of that Marta was certain, though he wore no insignia. The Renders never did so, instead favoring their plain black cloaks and tri-cornered hats shared by the Home Guardsmen. This Render had a rangy look to him, his skin sallow and pulled taught across his bones. All those that had served during the Grand War had the same bearing about them, marking them as survivors rather than civilians.
The Render might not survive the night by the look of him though. An open gash stood red on his chest in stark contrast to his black clothes. It did not look like a life-threatening wound, but if the crowd had its way, he would not live long enough to seek out a sawbones.
Yet no body lay before him, and as the cries of “Gunger” continued to spatter the night, Marta realized whose death it was she witnessed at a distance: the Render had severed the str
ands of the emet Gunger and had killed the creature the townspeople named their city in honor of.
Someone hidden in the crowd cried, “Remember Creightonville,” and Marta winced. She had heard those words hundreds of times before, and each occurrence ended in bloodshed. The Render Aloysius Pulley’s execution of an emet had been the spark that set Newfield afire with war, and Marta found herself wondering if the same scenario would play itself out again here in Gungersburg.
Marta did not see where the stone came from as it flew through the air to connect with the Render’s head. The man staggered but did not fall. He kept to his feet out of obstinance, and this defiance of the crowd seemed to spur them further as more fists reared back with awaiting rocks. The two Home Guardsmen stepped forward to protect him, but it was the Render’s voice that stayed their hands.
“The next to raise arms will be named a conspirator and be dealt with accordingly.”
The crowd paused as the tip of the Render’s fragile glass blade rose. His eyes searched the crowd, Marta noticing each person his gaze fell upon step back as if pushed. For a moment Marta thought the Render’s threat might be enough, but then the old man stepped forth. He could barely hold his brick aloft, yet the old man strode unafraid through the crowd. Even from her distance, Marta could see their eyes lock, the elder man at first hesitating then halting entirely. The old man seemed to diminish before her, Marta sure he would wisely drop the brick and disappear back into the throng. But then his arm reared back and the old man sealed his fate.
He was not strong enough, the brick not even clearing half the distance between them before it cracked into two hunks upon hitting the ground. The larger of the two pieces had not even finished rolling by the time the old man joined it there.
The Woven Ring (Sol's Harvest Book 1) Page 5