Aetheric Elements: The Rise of a Steampunk Reality

by Travis I. Sivart

  In the morning, after breaking their fast, they set off in two vehicles. Suykimo insisted they take one horse drawn carriage and one electric motor coach. The Duke humored him. Zachary, Elizabeth, and Professor Walters rode in the open carriage, while Suykimo and Duke Crillington rode in the enclosed coach. The conversations in each were very different.

  “Mister Suykimo?” Duke Crillington asked with hesitation in his voice. “Are you some sort of monk? I mean, if it is not too forward.”

  “Not at all.” Suykimo’s gentle whisper was amused. “I am a student of philosophy. I study all religions, faiths, spiritual paths, belief systems, and life philosophies.”

  “I see. And do you find much fulfillment in the pursuit of dead ideas, long proven to be false and empty?”

  “Oh, they are not dead, or empty. But like science, they have much to learn. You see, Your Grace, too many people believe they have learned the truth. But truth changes as life and the world changes. If it stayed the same, it would become stagnant, and thus rot, becoming fertilizer for the next thing to grow. Very similar to how things happened after the Talisman.”

  “So do you believe this discovery of mine to be something from the past?” The Duke was staring out the window, his tone dark. Suykimo watched as he rubbed his forearms through the dinner jacket, as if he were cold.

  “Is this your discovery?” Suykimo murmured.

  “Yes! It is mine, and no one shall take it from me! Do you understand me, you meddling wizard?”

  Suykimo was leaning back as he watched the man, who was glaring at him with teeth bared. The bald man smiled and nodded.

  “Of course. I do not want it. I merely answered your call. A plea for help you sent, because you recognized something out of place. Listen to your voice, your words. Look at your hands, they clench your trouser legs and have torn a hole in them. I do not think this is you. I see a man that shares with his wife, which has spurned her and left her outside on this matter. I see a man that trusts his servants, but sends them out of the room when speaking of these things. I see a changed man. Why is that, sir?”

  The Duke’s face reddened and his fists clenched, as emotions clashed within the man. With a sigh, he fell back in his seat, sweating.

  “Yes, you are right. I don’t know what has come over me of late. There is such a draw to this thing. A passion as I haven’t felt since I was young and… and in love. But this is different. I want to possess it. I cannot help myself. But why am I telling you this? It is not proper. I must apologize, sir.”

  “No, you must not. Many find me to be a good listener. Please, go on. I think it is important.”

  The conversation in the carriage was very unlike the one taking place in the motor coach ahead of it. The tension was palpable as Zachary sat with his hand on the blade on his hip, watching the Professor. Elizabeth was fanning herself, and Walters was leaning forward and speaking with passion.

  “So you see Elizabeth,” Professor Walters was saying. “I remember you at the university always beautiful and lovely; a rose in full blush, blissfully unaware of those that craved just a small gift of your scent. You could join me in this quest of mine. Take up my banner, and my name, and discover new and wondrous worlds at my side!”

  “I don’t think this is proper, Professor,” Elizabeth said with a gasp.

  “No, it isn’t. Not at all,” Zachary added.

  “Keep your tongue still, whelp!” Walters sneered at Zachary. “This is between the lady and me. I don’t even know why you are here. No one wants you here, especially not my find.”

  “I want him here,” Elizabeth breathed. “He is my friend, and a protector.”

  “So,” the professor growled, “there is something between the two of you? You sir, would take away my greatest discovery and rob me of this woman also?”

  “She is not your to be stolen,” Zachary said, his tone low and calm, “and I was asked to be here by your friend and confidante, the Duke, to investigate what you found. I do not think you are yourself.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and the coachman came around and opened the door. The three stared at one another until the Duke appeared in the doorway and asked if they would be joining him. The Professor pushed past Zachary and exited.

  “He is not himself, Zachary,” Elizabeth whispered. “This is not the man I knew years ago.”

  “I am sure that is so,” Zachary answered, his eyes never leaving the man, “but, I will still watch him carefully for that very reason.”

  The two climbed down from the carriage. A footman held the reins of the horses, which were snorting and stamping, their eyes rolling, froth around the bits in their mouths. A small assembly of people congregated to watch the group gather around the roped off entrance into the tunnel. The Duke passed around electric torches and led the procession down into the darkness, while the servants tried to calm the horses and keep people away from the transports.

  The five gathered around the stone box. It was the width of ten men standing abreast and an unknown depth, because the sides remained unearthed. They could see where workers had begun digging to see how far back and how deep down the edifice extended. The whole structure was covered with foreign hieroglyphs showing the story of the mysterious find, but they had yet to be translated. A rectangular doorway stood facing them, the frame of which was adorned with spidery runes of a second lost language.

  “I have been thinking about this Professor Walters,” the Duke began, “and I have been watching. I have noticed a change in behavior of myself, people around me, the people who live and work close to this thing, and even the animals. I fear this is unnatural and to further tamper with it would only lead to tragedy.”

  The Duke slumped, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as he spoke.

  “I disagree, my Lord,” the Professor said, “I think this is a great find, and who knows what knowledge and treasures lie within. I think you are either a coward, or a liar, and you are trying to steal my glory and keep all the wonders for yourself!”

  “Professor!” The Duke gasped. “Listen to yourself. That is not like you at all. We have known each other for decades and worked together for most of that time. I introduced you to your dear departed wife, may she rest in peace, and am like an uncle to your children, as you are to mine.”

  “Yes, exactly,” the Professor said with a wild look in his eyes, shoving his hands into his coat pockets, “which is why your behavior disappoints me so much, and makes this so much harder to do.”

  As the pull of madness overtook him Walters withdrew a small revolver from his pocket and fired at Elizabeth, who was tackled out of the path of the bullet by Zachary. They tumbled to the ground, tangling in the woman’s skirts. The Professor turned and shot Crillington three times in the chest. The Duke flew backwards, smashing into the stone door and crumpling to the earthen floor. Laughing like a maniac and dropping the gun, the Professor pressed his hands into his dying friend’s chest and pushed his fingers into the open bullet wounds, covering them with blood. Standing, he began to paint symbols on the door.

  Zachary and Elizabeth had managed to extricate themselves and stand, noticing what was happening. Elizabeth gasped and covered her mouth with a petite gloved hand, as Zachary lunged forward to stop the man. A hand stopped him and he turned to see Suykimo shaking his head.

  “It is too late,” the bald man said, his sea green eyes sad. “This was meant to be, we are just observers. Now, we should go. I fear the worst is yet to come.”

  As he said the last word, the stone of the edifice cracked. The sound echoed through the disinterred chamber. Suykimo had already turned and was making his way out of the hole, holding the edges of his robe-like coat free of the dirt. Zachary gathered Elizabeth and helped her to the surface. A hissing noise of rushing air came from behind them as a mist ruptured the day and spewed out of the dig site. The oldest of the trio waved his hand towards the cloud and murmured a few words and the wind picked up, moving the foul smelling haz
e away from the three companions.

  Suykimo stepped to the horse drawn carriage, taking the reins of the frightened beasts from the stunned coachman’s hand. The horses stamped and whinnied, showing the whites of their eyes. Suykimo whispered to them and stroked their necks. They calmed enough for Zachary and Elizabeth to climb into the surrey.

  “Come Suykimo,” Zachary shouted, looking around as the cloud descended on the crowd that had gathered. The already anxious people were becoming more agitated, yelling and pushing forward, the ones in the front becoming angry with the ones in the back and turning to confront them.

  “No,” Suykimo said with a calm voice that could barely be heard over the rising tumult, tucking his hands into the ends of his sleeves. “You two go, I will be along shortly. Prepare our things for our departure.”

  “They will tear you apart, Suykimo!” Elizabeth shouted.

  “No, my child, they will not. You know I am equal to this task. I need to be here to do what I can, or at least witness what comes from the prison, for a prison is what it was, though it is no more. Now go, we have wasted enough time.”

  With that Suykimo turned to the horses and whispered again, and touched them on the flanks. The beasts bolted down the street, careening wildly, causing Zachary to grab for the reins to bring them under control.

  Suykimo looked into the thick smoke-like fog that billowed out of the hole that led to the stone chamber. The breach had become a maw-like thing and man sized shadowy forms darted from it, crawling up walls and disappearing down alleys. Screams could be heard, and as the Aeifain walked the streets, he watched as the people became violent. He tried to help where he could, assisting anyone not affected by the mind altering mist to get free of the area.

  A shadowy form coalesced in front of him, a familiar being from his past. The creature was not the person that Suykimo had known, it was much more. Shadows stroked and embraced it, moving as the being commanded. The dark fog grew, enveloping the surrounding buildings and streets.

  Suykimo called upon light to disperse the darkness, only to have it repelled. The blue sparks of mystic energies clashed with the being and became a shower of azure stars that fell across the city in a spectacle that lit the dimming obfuscation.

  Suykimo stepped back, falling into a bare handed fighting stance against a being that rejected the physical form as often as naught. The dark struck out, tendrils of deep obsidian solidifying to batter at the sorcerous shields that Suykimo threw up in desperation.

  “Won’t you talk?” Suykimo shouted into the void.

  “Of course,” a voice of velvet crooned, “I will trade wind and words with you, if only to delay the removal of a thorn in my side that has troubled me for centuries. You have become the essence of my experience, the sensation of my existence. I wonder if I will miss you and toy with the emptiness you leave, the way a person who loses an infected tooth mourns but celebrates the lose simultaneously.”

  “Why do you do this?” Suykimo asked, swiveling his head to look as the blackness that surrounded him, prepared to strike.

  “What a simple question. I expected much more from you, the one who devised the method of my imprisonment. The one who sent me to the one man that manipulates time and space as if it were a skein of wool and creates patterns at his whim. You disappoint me with such a response that any imbecile could contrive. I do this because I have a plan. Something you do not. You are merely reactive. You respond, but never take the initiative. I do the opposite. What you face is the culmination of a thousand years of well laid plans and plotting. That millennia all done in less than half that time.”

  “That is impossible,” Suykimo said, “you cannot be alive for ten centuries within a handful of the same.”

  “You are so limited,” the voice said, “you think in linear terms. You fall short on every front. Your species may live as long as me, but it is only on one front. I have lived longer than any aeifain, but in half the time. I have lived three lives at the same time. And I am the culmination of this experience and knowledge. You face something that you cannot even conceive of within your limited framework of existence. You are a speck within the infinite. I am bound to eternity.”

  “But you still fear me,” Suykimo said as he watched the darkness become more, drawing into itself to take a form that was recognizable, “Marques Brunbach, you are just a mirage of the man that once had a life. I can overcome you through my connection to this world, and the truth within it.”

  “I form that truth,” Marques said, becoming a silhouette of a man that stood three times the height of the slight form that cowered before him. “I manipulate the world, the minds and fears of all men are my tools, and those tools can be my weapon. You cannot stand against me, you can only fall to me. Even now, I toy with you and your pathetic knowledge and hopes.”

  “I see you, even though you change form. I feel you, and all that you embody. I can fight you as long as my mind and soul has a purchase within this world.”

  “Well said, then all I need to do is destroy one of those things and you shall no longer be able to stand against me. Which shall I extinguish? Your body, or your spirit? If I kill our body, I shall be free of you. If I wrack your spirit so it collapses, I shall have you as my slave.”

  “One can only become a slave once they allow their spirit to collapse, and that is one thing I shall never do.”

  “Your body it is then,” Marques said.

  The darkness rushed in, battering at the numinous defenses that Suykimo had raised. The aeifain fell to his knees and bowed his head under the onslaught, tucking his hands into his sleeves and thrusted outward with more than his mind. The small man forced his awareness into the blackness, and sought the core of the being that assaulted him.

  Seeking the essence of a man that once hoped and feared, as all men do, the found the seed within the being and thrust light into it. Hope clashed with desire, as Suykimo’s body as battered by fear and energies that led to destruction. Physical blows landed, breaking flesh and bone, shattering the form to which Suykimo clung. Lashing out with his fists and feet, the mystic fought as he had never fought before.

  The darkness laughed, a bitter sentiment that spoke of ambition without hope.