Clockwork Legion (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 4)

by Jamie Sedgwick

  “The Ana-nuit are cruel and violent warlords. They’ve kept these people enslaved for at least four generations, perhaps even longer. They control every aspect of their lives, and there is no way to defend this. Any culture that perpetuates the enslavement of humans and the abuse of children is not worth saving. They must be destroyed.”

  River’s eyes widened. “Socrates, what are you saying?”

  “The Ana-nuit are not humans, River. They are something else. Regardless of whether or not we consider them living -that is really beside the point- they are the worst sort of people imaginable. Whatever their goal, they cannot be allowed to increase their numbers. We must learn their secrets, and do what we can to stop them.”

  They paused in front of a small pond to watch the brightly colored fish gliding just beneath the surface of the water. Socrates dipped a finger into the pool, and one of the fish came up to suckle on his finger.

  “They’re so peaceful,” he said. “If only the rest of us could be more like these creatures.”

  “No thanks,” said River. “I’d rather not spend my entire life circling a pond, looking for a way out.”

  Socrates laughed. “Are you so certain that you don’t?”

  River glared at him “Have you learned anything else about the Ana-nuit from the villagers?” she said.

  “A bit. Most of these people don’t speak our language. Those who do are not fluent like their masters. They are kept ignorant. Unless, of course, they are chosen.”

  “Chosen for what?”

  “To become one with the Ana-nuit. To swell their numbers.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re saying that they can somehow procreate?”

  “Not in the conventional way. You and I both know how these creatures are made. What I don’t understand yet is how they retain their human-like intelligence.”

  “Is the starfall different here? Maybe it’s more potent?”

  “No, in my studies I’ve learned that increasing the concentration of starfall does not singularly change the effect on the brains of the dead. It’s something else, something the Ana-nuit do to them, most likely related to their technology. It appears that they have concocted an elaborate ritual for just such a purpose.”

  “A ritual for murder?”

  “Indeed. According to the grandfather, the Ana-nuit hold a ceremony where they choose certain individuals from among the slaves. They call this an initiation. They bring these people into the pyramid to convert them.”

  “You mean kill them!”

  “Of course. The humans know nothing about this. They never get to see the inside of the pyramid, so they don’t know what happens in there. They consider it a great honor to be invited inside.”

  “And then they’re murdered? That’s sick.”

  “These slaves are simple people, River. They don’t understand how it happens. The Ana-nuit tell them that it’s a magical rite.”

  River stepped away from the fishpond, peering out between the tree trunks at the people working in the streets below. They seemed so far away, so small…

  “How can they not understand?” she said. “We’ve all seen what happens to the dead here.”

  “They have an ancient tradition of burning the bodies. They’ve been doing it so long that they don’t even remember why it began. They’ve never seen what happens when a human dies and the starfall reactivates his motor cortex.”

  “Incredible,” River said. “All this time, the Ana-nuit have been keeping them ignorant, and then taking advantage of that ignorance to control them. They don’t even understand the most basic things about themselves.” She turned to face him. “Why are the Ana-nuit different? How can the way they are murdered affect what they become after they die?”

  “It’s impossible to say. Unfortunately, we won’t glean any information from the overseer. Not directly, anyway.”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  Socrates grinned. “The Ana-nuit may not be human, but they’re close enough. They give away more than they mean to. The way they speak, the things they choose to reveal, even their body movements betray them.”

  “In what way?”

  “Anu-Abas claims thousands of men will come here soon, yet we can clearly see that the resources of this village are already stretched. It could only support a few hundred at most, and not for long. It wouldn’t make sense for such a large number to come here. If there were hundreds or thousands- of these creatures nearby, only a fraction of that number would be necessary to retrieve the harvest.”

  “So you think Grandfather was correct? How can you be so sure?”

  “Because the overseer isn’t a very good liar. And Grandfather has no reason to lie. It is still a large number, of course, but it gives me hope.” He paused and gave her a sideways glance. “Have you noticed what the slaves have been harvesting?”

  “Of course. They bring those red grapes by the cart and barrelful. What about them?”

  “Those grapes are the harvest the old man referred to. The Ana-nuit will be coming to collect the grapes, or perhaps just the juice.”

  River frowned. “But why? What use would the undead have for grape juice?”

  The ape’s smile widened. “That’s the question, isn’t it? I’m going to run some tests to confirm my suspicions, but I believe there is something very special about these wild jungle grapes.”

  “Do you think the juice keeps them alive? That it has starfall in it?”

  “Perhaps. I won’t know more until I conduct my tests, and I’d rather not speculate.”

  They fell silent for a few seconds. River considered what she had learned, and a strange question popped into her head. “Socrates, do you think the Ana-nuit have souls?”

  Socrates stared at her. “Souls?”

  “Yes, you know… the life force, the spark. The thing that makes us what we are.”

  “I’m vaguely familiar with the concept,” he said. “I’ve never studied it in depth, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry, Socrates. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I wasn’t thinking…”

  “I am not offended. After all, who’s to say I don’t have a soul?”

  River grinned. “I never thought about that.”

  “Or, perhaps none of us have souls. I suppose we shall find out, someday.”

  River sighed. “So what do we do now? We can’t leave these people to defend themselves.”

  “I agree, especially since their troubles are our own doing.”

  “But what can we do? Our crew is less than thirty people now, and some aren’t good fighters.”

  “True, but what if we had help?” Socrates said, gesturing at the city below.

  “These people haven’t ever used weapons, Socrates. They don’t even own any. And they’re terrified of their masters.”

  “Then we shall have to find a way to use that to our advantage.”

  River bit her lip. “We’re all going to die here, aren’t we?”

  Socrates grinned. He patted her on the shoulder and said, “Don’t be such a pessimist. Maybe the Ana-nuit will make you immortal.”

  River didn’t see the humor.

  At that moment, they heard a shout in the distance. “Stop him! Someone stop him!”

  River locked eyes with Socrates. “That was Micah!” she said.

  “Anu-Abas,” the ape growled. They both broke into a run.

  River raced ahead of Socrates, until the mechanical primate lowered himself into a crouch and swung his legs forward through his arms. The momentum of this movement carried his weight into the air, allowing Socrates to leap several yards in one bound. He landed, next to her, catching himself on both hands, and repeated the movement. His legs and torso swung forward and he went somersaulting through the air ahead of her. As the simian landed, the springs in his arms made loud whoosht-clack! sounds, and the palms of his hands slapped down on the paving stones with the dulled klang of flesh-covered metal. In three leaps, he soared past her
and reached the corner.

  Socrates disappeared around the edge of the pyramid. River flew around the corner a moment later, just in time to see Socrates barreling down the stairs after Anu-Abas. At the top of the stairs, Micah stood watching in disbelief. Thane appeared behind him, holding a bloody kerchief to his nose.

  As Socrates bore down on Anu-Abas, it became clear that the undead creature would not escape. To their surprise, he swung to the left and leapt into the air. In an instant, he vanished over the ledge. Half a second behind him, Socrates reached edge of the stairs and froze, gazing down at the field below. River raced down to join him. She arrived a moment later with her revolver in hand, panting as she struggled to catch her breath.

  On the grass below, she saw the crumpled shape of the overseer’s body. The fall had been too much for his fragile bones; the landing had crushed him instantly. The overseer must have known it would happen, she realized. No one could have survived a drop like that, especially not the overseer with his frail rotting shell of a body. River drew her gaze back to Socrates.

  “He committed suicide?” she said. “Why would he do that?”

  Socrates frowned, and a jet of steam exhausted out of the chimney behind his ear. His midnight blue fur glistened in the afternoon light. “What are life and death to a creature like that?” he said. “Perhaps Anu-Abas feared death less than the consequences of his failure. Come; help me to dispose of the body. We have plans to make…”

  Chapter 14

  Erin led Kale and Gavin in a slow but steady climb along the cliff trail. They traveled only by starlight, in near complete silence, never speaking except for occasional whispers and hand signals when necessary. The only real noise they made were the clinking sounds of their armor and the crunch of gravel under their boots. Traveling under such conditions was slow and dangerous, but all three had agreed that it was better to risk a fall than to light a torch and be set upon by a horde of the undead.

  The trail eventually crested a ridge, and the path split into three forks. One led to the left, down into the volcanic plains of the Firelands, or Ashago, as it was named on the maps. The other continued straight ahead along the ridge, and the third went to the right, back down into the forest. Erin informed the knights that they would be going to the left.

  “The ghouls patrol this route,” she said in a hushed voice as they started down the path. “Keep your weapons in hand, and be ready for anything.”

  They proceeded after her, but soon ended up walking abreast as the trail broadened into a smooth slope. They lost sight of the forest behind them. Ahead stretched a bleak and desolate wasteland, void of any signs of life other than the distant glow of fires around the enemy encampments. There were no trees, no plants, not even a sturdy sage growing in that forsaken place.

  The looming black clouds blocked out any starlight, but reflected a dull red glow from the volcanoes that was enough to keep the travelers from stumbling as they made their way down the slope.

  As they made their descent, their eyes adjusted until they were gradually able to see the irregular shapes rising up from the scorched earth in the distance. It wasn’t long until Sir Gavin began to perceive the true reason for Kale’s anxiety. The elder knight’s eyes widened as he realized that they were looking across an entire army of the clockwork ghouls.

  The creatures were barely visible against the dark ground, except in those moments when they passed near a lava flow, or before the flames of a bonfire. Only then did the knight realize how many there were -at least a hundred thousand, and those were only the visible ones. How many more might there be?

  And those tall, dark towers were not landforms, he realized, or even buildings: They were machines. As if that weren’t enough, he soon heard the distant thumping of a gyroplane’s propeller cutting across the sky.

  “There,” Kale whispered, pointing at a dark spot among the clouds. Gavin raised his gaze and saw the machine moving across the horizon. Nearby, he saw a cluster of airships drifting in the fiery haze of smoke and clouds. Gavin’s mind swam with the implications. These undead creatures -these ghouls- had built an army. They had airships and war machines, and there could only be one purpose for such things: They were planning an invasion!

  Kale jerked his head to the side, motioning for the others to keep moving. They proceeded along the path in silence. The slope steepened just before it reached the plains. Ahead, massive boulders rose up from the shadows. They were scattered across the land like marbles that rose fifteen or twenty feet in height, some even more, and they lay in piles here and there that resembled the ruins of some ancient civilization.

  Erin waved a warning signal. She dropped to a crouch and moved forward with her bow drawn and an arrow nocked. Kale heard voices in the distance and saw the dull glow of a fire reflected on the stones. He drew one of his swords, lowered himself to a crouch, and hurried after her. Gavin followed suit, taking up the rear.

  They followed Erin to a circle of stones and moved into position behind one of the larger ones. The voices were louder now, though it was impossible to understand the creatures’ guttural speech. It seemed the undead had a language all their own. Erin, positioned at the outside, motioned for Kale to look around her. He leaned out, stretching just far enough to see the path ahead.

  Kale saw a dozen ghouls gathered around a large bonfire about twenty yards away. On the far side of the flames, he recognized Sir Flynn. The young knight had been crucified to the base of a twisted old juniper. Flynn’s armor had been stripped, his arms spread wide, palms facing out, heavy iron spikes hammered through his wrists, deep into the tree. Blood ran down his bare arms and streamed down his chest. His face was bruised and bloody, barely recognizable from the swelling.

  One of the ghouls shouted something, and when Flynn didn’t answer, the creature whipped him across the chest with a leather strap. The knight let out an involuntary scream, and his body shuddered with pain. Fresh rivulets of blood ran down his torso. All around, the ghouls started laughing. One came forward, drawing a dagger, and drove it deep into his thigh. Kale cringed as he heard the sound of the blade scraping against bone. Flynn screamed.

  “Is that Flynn?” Gavin whispered.

  Kale nodded. “They’re interrogating him,” he said in a low voice.

  The old knight wrinkled up his forehead. “For what?”

  “For everything,” Erin whispered with a dark look. “They want to know everything about us. Where our cities are, how well they are defended… how big our army is. They did this in Ravenwood as well.”

  In the distance, Flynn cried out again. Kale drew his sword, and took a step away from the boulder.

  “No!” Erin hissed, catching him by the arm. “There are too many. They would kill us all.”

  “I’ve got to do something,” Kale said. “The two of you get out of here. Wait for me at the chargers.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Erin. “You’ll only get yourself killed. Let me handle this.”

  She nocked an arrow to her bowstring and stepped around him. Kale frowned. “What are you doing? You only have four arrows against a dozen of them!”

  She shot him a meaningful glance. Kale’s eyes widened as he realized what she meant to do. He put a hand on her arm.

  “Erin, don’t. There must be another way.”

  “There is no other way,” she said. “We can’t help Flynn now, and he won’t live long anyway. It’s better if we make it fast. He doesn’t deserve a death like this.”

  “They’ve almost killed him already,” Gavin said. “The boy’s going to bleed to death soon enough.”

  “Then it’s time to end it,” Erin said. She moved to step around Kale, but the tall warrior reached down and closed his hand around the bow.

  “Let me do it,” he said under his breath. “It’s my responsibility.”

  Erin nodded. She released her grip, and Kale took the bow. He stepped up to the edge of the boulder, drew back the string, and sighted down the shaft of the arrow.
His gut churned and a cold sweat broke out on his brow.

  Kale had killed before, Vangars, mostly. A few undead. He had no problem taking the life of an evil creature like that. But this was… this was different. Flynn had been no great friend to Kale, but he was still an ally. More than that, he was barely more than a child. He hardly seemed old enough to carry a sword, much less carry one into battle. It wasn’t right, ending the boy’s life like this-

  The ghouls lashed out with the whip again, and the young knight screamed. The leather strap cut through his flesh and deep into his muscles. All around him, the ghouls laughed and taunted, throwing rocks and sticks at him, mocking him in loud voices:

  “Not so pretty now, are you mortal?” one of them said in the common tongue, in a voice loud enough to hear.

  “He’s uglier than you!” another laughed.

  Kale fought back the bile rising in his throat. He glanced at his companions and whispered in a low grunt, “Be ready.”

  He took a deep breath and held it. Then, with the practiced perfection of an expert warrior, he released the string. The bowstring sang as the missile sped across the clearing, whooshing through the flames. It thudded deep into Flynn’s chest and the young knight gave out one last whimper. His head lolled, and his body went limp.

  There was a moment of silence and then a chorus of shouts as his captors struggled to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Those who didn’t see what had happened pushed closer, trying to get a view of their murdered captive. The others, eager to break free of the circle and locate their attackers, found themselves surrounded. They began fighting, pushing back at their companions, even punching them when they failed to move.

  Kale handed Erin her bow and the group broke into a run. The three scrambled up the slope as the uproar exploded behind them. There was no more need for silence. It was an open sprint, and this time, they knew the path.

  As the companions flew up the hillside, the confused voices of the ghouls grew distant. Kale knew that by the time the creatures organized themselves to launch a counterstrike, it would be too late. They reached the mountain ridge shortly, and paused there long enough to take a few deep breaths and determine if they were being followed. Kale was panting from the climb, his ribs still aching from his earlier battles. Every breath sent jolts of pain coursing through his body. He wanted more than anything to stop, but knew he couldn’t.