The street opened up into a small square, surrounded by tall, dirty buildings, some high enough to be anchored to the cave roof. In the center of the square stood a bronze statue of a group of stout men hefting heavy pick-axes, standing astride a pile of broken rocks. Around the edges, narrow alleys spilled into the open space. The entire rim of the square seemed occupied, and rather than drunken revelry and brawls, everyone here seemed engaged in a low conversation, like all the underworld deals in the city were being brokered right here. They stopped near the statue, and Pare tapped Samuel on the arm.
“Take a look,” he said, gesturing across the way.
Samuel peered into the torchlit darkness of an alleyway whose mouth was occupied by a single, still, cloaked figure. The man was tall and stocky, but nothing about him stood out against the rest of the denizens of the square. Samuel turned to Pare and shrugged.
“Just wait for it,” Pare replied.
Samuel kept watching. The cloaked figure swung his head around, peering out from the alleyway and taking note of the space. From beneath the edge of the cloak hood emanated the soft green glow of a construct’s eyes.
As they continued to watch, the cloaked construct held position, keeping a close eye on all within the square. If he noticed the group at the statue he gave no indication, but Samuel had no doubt they’d been spotted. A drunken vagrant stumbled toward the alleyway and was turned away by the construct as he tried to push past. Moments later, another cloaked figure, moving with a stiff gait that could only be replicated by a metal frame, was allowed past.
“Let’s go,” Samuel said.
Eriane grabbed his arm. “Wait, we can’t just stroll up there!”
“Why not?” Samuel said. “We don’t have the time for subtlety. In the morning, Jacob and Sorrell will come looking for us knowing exactly where we’ve gone. And I have the feeling neither of them will be as amicable as before.”
“I think Samuel’s right, Eri,” Pare said. “We just have to go for it. There are other routes into Kelef than the one we chose, and after the fight in the pass, who knows how many people are after us now. We need to figure this out.”
Eriane said nothing for a few seconds, and then just nodded. Samuel stepped around the statue, and made straight for the cloaked construct with Pare and Eriane in tow. The guardian’s eyes locked on the group as they approached, watching them all the way across the square. As they drew closer, the other cloaked construct stepped out of the alley and to one side, also watching their advance. Samuel hoped this wouldn’t turn into a fight, but he was more than ready to step into the fray if the need arose. After spending so much time running, removed from conflicts while others fought in his stead, he was feeling the urge to get in a fight himself, and wound himself up for one as he crossed the square.
“Ho, there.” Although the voice had remained quiet, the words seemed to resonate in a deep, metallic rumble from the alley mouth as Samuel approached. The construct held up a hand.
Samuel made note of the other guard’s movement to flank, and motioned Pare to stay alert. Eriane stood between them, her hands buried beneath the folds of her cloak. For her own sake, Samuel hoped she would not have to draw the weapons concealed beneath. Samuel pressed, allowing the guard’s hand to come in contact with his chest. A surprising level of resistance drew him to a halt.
“I have business within,” he said.
“None that I am aware of, construct,” the guard replied, with a light push. “Be on your way.”
The flanking guard pressed inward. Pare stepped forward to meet him, his hands raised, the air between his fingers shimmering with wavering light. Turning to follow the construct’s movement, Pare pulled around to stand back-to-back with Samuel. Eriane’s shoulders twitched as she sidestepped to clear her line of sight. Samuel pushed forward and was again rebuffed.
“I will ask once more politely,” the guard said. “Be on your way, or we will send you on your way.”
The guard behind took a step toward Pare, who widened his stance. “I don’t want to hurt you, boy.” Its voice was crisp and sharp, a higher tone than its companion’s. “But I will if I have to.”
“Pare,” Samuel said.
Pare inhaled deeply and let out a blast of raw khet that struck the front of the approaching construct, tearing at its cloak and swirling back around to constrict on Pare’s target. At the same time, Samuel sidestepped and swept away the arm of the guard, turning the guard’s shoulder away with his left and landing a fearsome blow to the side of its head. The blow barely registered with the guard. He used his turning momentum to sweep around low, taking one of Samuel’s legs out from under him and dropping him to his knees.
Pare’s fingers tightened and the constricting energy coiled about the construct guard, stopping his momentum and pinning his arms to his sides. With a shrug, the construct released his own power, shredding Pare’s bonds into dissipating wisps of gray smoke. The construct advanced.
“That’s not possible,” Pare said.
The construct’s hand closed around a clump of his shirt and pulled him close. “You have quite the sum to learn then, boy,” he said, flinging Pare to the side with enough force to send him tumbling across the cave floor.
The distraction caused Samuel to turn his head just as a heavy blow connected with his jawline. His right arm raised to block the follow-up blow, and he saw the second construct advancing from behind. As the guard readied another volley, Samuel uncoiled his legs and backed into a smashing uppercut that sent the guard reeling, but his companion was already there, his arms closing around Samuel’s torso like a vice clamp. From his awkward position, Samuel couldn't find the leverage to free himself.
“Stay your hand!” the construct said, pulling Samuel backward and off balance. Samuel allowed his feet to slide backward, dropping his weight down to his knees and bringing his captor forward. With a roll, Samuel toppled the construct over his shoulder and slipped from its grip, backing off and earning himself some space.
The guard stalked forward with clear intent, but his companion recovered and barred Samuel’s way with a raised arm. “Stay your hand, Chronicler!”
Time seemed to stop. Samuel, taken aback by his new title, remained on one knee and did not advance. The guard’s head jerked toward his companion, who nodded in response and rose to his feet.
“Are you sure?” the guard said.
“Without question,” his companion replied. “He is a Chronicler, and thus must be afforded at least our patience, if not our deference.”
Pare got to his feet, clutching his shoulder while Eriane helped him walk. “That’s not possible,” he said.
“That’s the second time you’ve said that today,” said the construct who had tossed him aside. “It seems there is much in this world you’ve left to learn.” He turned back toward Samuel and held up a hand. “Please, a moment. I am Talecronelum, and this,” he gestured toward the alley-guard, “is Cormanthul. If you will give me a moment, I will see to your audience with Acthemenius.”
Cormanthul turned. “Just because he’s a Chronicler doesn’t mean he gets an audience unannounced. Ekfaliuk la thental Acthemenius tol. Sol pelacruk en fatha su laman.”
Talecronelum placed a hand on Cormanthul’s shoulder. “Se la fatha su temak estalen. Shema sem fa semta nes fasuk.”
“They’re speaking ancient Kelthan,” Pare whispered to Samuel.
“Can you understand what they’re saying?” Samuel asked.
Pare shook his head. “That language hasn’t been in general use for hundreds of years. Given days of study and access to Mane’s library I might be able to decipher written text, but I’ve never actually heard it spoken in conversation.”
“It’s kind of pretty,” Eriane said. Samuel and Pare both eyeballed her. “What?” she said, with a shrug.
“What did you mean, it’s not possible?” Samuel asked, turning to Pare.
Pare shook his head. “They called you a Chronicler.”
“Wh
at does that mean?”
“The Chroniclers are practically a myth,” Eriane said, and Pare nodded his assent. “If you even believe they ever existed, there certainly wouldn’t be any of them left.”
Pare nodded his assent. “The Chroniclers are an ancient legend. You’d have to be…five…six centuries old.”
Samuel nodded over to the guards, who were still discussing him. “Well, they seem to think I’m one of these Chroniclers, and if that’s enough to get me inside, then I’ll run with it.”
“Construct,” Cormanthul said, addressing Samuel, who turned toward them. “Please approach.”
Pare and Eriane looked up and he nodded, stepping forward with caution. Cormanthul reached up toward him and he flinched away.
“It’s all right,” Talecronelum said, raising a calming hand. “Please show us your right shoulder.”
Samuel turned, exposing the back of his right shoulder to the two constructs, who began conversing once again in their ancient language. He righted himself and faced them, just as Cormanthul addressed him.
“You will have your audience with Acthemenius.”
“Just like that?” Samuel asked, suspicious.
“He will want to see you,” Cormanthul said.
Samuel kept his confusion to himself, and took what good fortune had come his way at face value. “Please follow Talecronelum,” the construct guard said. “He will take you inside.”
Samuel nodded and waved Pare and Eriane to join. Cormanthul held up a hand as they approached. “You may have your audience, Chronicler, but they are not permitted to enter.”
“They’re coming with me,” Samuel said. “I’m not leaving them out here.”
Cormanthul stood fast. “It is not permitted. They will not enter with you.”
Samuel paused, turning back to Pare and Eriane. “Go, Samuel,” Eriane said. “We’ll be fine.”
After a moment of hesitation, Samuel spoke. “Try to get into the library. Find out whatever you can about the Chroniclers. Who knows…maybe I’m in the history books.”
Eriane nodded. “We’ll see what we can find. Hopefully Acthemenius can help you, and this will all be over soon.”
Pare nodded and Samuel turned to follow Talecronelum, who led him into the narrow alley. He turned in time to see Eriane wave one last time before Cormanthul blocked off the alley’s entrance.
Stucco walls loomed to either side, only just wide enough for the constructs to pass through. The entire route was devoid of entryways, simply a small open space between the backs and sides of buildings that opened onto the Grotto square. The few high windows on the walls above them were shut; after all, what purpose would opening them really serve?
They rounded a slight corner in the alley and Samuel spied a wall of sparkling blue light, filling a dark opening in a wall of solid rock. Talecronelum paused, placing his hand at the top of the opening. The light curtain shimmered and faded somewhat, and Talecronelum gestured for him to step through. If the construct guard knew Samuel could see through the illusion, he made no note of it, and Samuel didn’t feel the need to inform him.
They passed into a long corridor of cool gray stone cut into the mountain, lit at long intervals by oil-lamps set into sconces Samuel had to shift to avoid knocking into. The deeper they descended, the more uneasy Samuel felt. What did he really know about this Acthemenius? Was he someone to be trusted, or feared? Or perhaps ridiculed? Samuel began to question what kind of help he was in for here.
Lost in thought, Samuel almost ran into Talecronelum when he stopped at a small doorway. “When we enter,” he said, “give me a moment to introduce you. Acthemenius will see you, but must be approached with a certain…caution.” Samuel nodded his assent.
Talecronelum opened the small wooden door and the two of them entered a large, low-ceilinged room that smelled heavily of candle smoke. The stone walls were concealed by ancient, moth-eaten tapestries whose fraying edges were stained a sickly yellow-brown by the flames that kept the room alight. Along the edges of the room, stout tables stood buried under piles of artifacts, books, and even parts of constructs. At the back, a lone figure sat on a slab of granite, hunched over a cluttered workbench, lit by an artificial light held by an arm attached to the table.
Deep shadows played between dull reflections across the figure’s shoulders and back, a patchwork of interlocking plates of tarnished copper and bronze. Stains of time gathered in each crevice, and light scraping sounds could be heard whenever the construct moved. Segmented back plates moved in subtle interactions as the figure twisted to access something on the workbench, and Samuel traced the line down to heavy plates on one visible leg. Several segments looked to be constructed of stone or wood, and the visible foot was split at the end into two articulated toes.
“Wait here a moment.” Talecronelum moved forward to address the construct. The hunched figure raised its head but did not look at Talecronelum, only listened to what was being said without reply. It then turned as if to look, but stopped short of just that, instead replying to Talecronelum, who leaned in close and said something so quiet Samuel could not even register the sound. At this, the construct jerked toward Talecronelum, exposing a profile to Samuel.
The construct’s face was ancient, the metal worn as though eroded by centuries of natural forces. Ghosts of lost details were barely visible beneath the few dents and dings that added any true landscape to the old construct’s countenance. Small eyes looked out from beneath a once heavy brow, and a large line was cut across the lower half to form some semblance of a mouth.
With a slow, deliberate movement, the construct turned to settle his eyes upon Samuel for the first time. There was a hesitation, a slight hitch in the movement only Samuel could identify because the motion was otherwise so smooth. This construct, this ancient construct, moved with a fluidity that should not have been possible with the sheer mass of his build, and was nothing like what he’d seen in Morrelton and Kelef. The old one didn’t move like a construct—he moved like Samuel.
Acthemenius rose, appraising Samuel, and crossed the room to where he stood. The whole time his gaze moved up and down, taking in every detail and nuance, as if calculating and comparing what he saw with something he already knew.
Samuel held his ground as Acthemenius approached. He found the other to stand at almost an identical height. Although there were differences in design, it seemed their base structure was very similar, and Samuel couldn’t help but be awed by that fact. Maybe there was more to this old construct after all, more knowledge than he could have hoped.
Acthemenius placed his hands on Samuel’s shoulders and looked him over once again, turning him to see the engraving on his shoulder. At the sight, he released Samuel and staggered a half step back, and put a hand up to his head in a gesture of disbelief.
“Ek… ek faliq tu lemath Aesamaelus!” he said, his voice quiet. “Se felatuth en ma fatha te lakemaleuk! Aesamaelus en felatat shea mathathul!” His tone was one of surprise bordering on shock. Samuel had the overwhelming feeling he should understand, but stood silent, unsure of what to say.
“Osikatul en shatham?” Acthemenius inquired.
“He… he doesn’t understand Kelthan, Acthemenius,” Talecronelum said.
Acthemenius gave a dismissive wave. “Fa! Aesamaelus en fathiuk du samak!”
Talecronelum approached and placed a hand on Acthemenius’s shoulder, who looked back. “I don’t know why. When we spoke Kelthan before him outside, neither he nor his companions understood. There is more to this than we know.”
Acthemenius gave Samuel another appraising look, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It has been a long time, Aesamaelus! I…we all…thought you had perished!”
Unsure how to respond, Samuel remained silent. After Talecronelum’s warning, he felt he was treading unsteady ground, and telling Acthemenius he didn’t understand might endanger his chances of learning anything from the old construct. All the thoughts running through his head had locked him i
n indecision. He felt sure he was beginning to look like a fool.
Acthemenius proved him right by addressing Talecronelum. “Does he speak?”
Talecronelum looked at Samuel and nodded. “Yes, he does.”
This broke Samuel out of his spell. “I’m sorry, Acthemenius. I…I’m not sure what to say.”
Acthemenius tilted his head, an almost comical look of confusion. “Your…your voice is different. What has happened to you?”
“I…I’m not sure,” Samuel replied. “It is a long story, if you have time for me to tell it.”
Acthemenius took on an almost defensive posture. “You. You are not Aesamaelus.” He turned on Talecronelum, who flinched. “Who have you brought to me? Falan tham tor Aesamaelus! Es tolo fan thamutas!”
Talecronelum raised his hands and gestured for Acthemenius to remain calm. “Secorum an faeseuk fan thamutas. Plyar maes tor Aesamaelus.”
Acthemenius’s eyes darted toward Samuel and lingered there, and Samuel felt his entire trip to Kelef hinged on this very moment. “Whoever you are,” he said, “you are not welcome here. Talecronelum was mistaken in his judgment of you, and I have entreated him to correct his mistake.”
Samuel turned toward Talecronelum, whose posture had changed, taking on an imperious standing. Talecronelum was on guard now, and Samuel was on thin ice. At first he was unsure whether to stay silent or plead his case, but when Acthemenius started to turn away from him, his decision was made.
“I have seen the minds of other constructs.” Samuel said. “But I am…incomplete. I believe my core has fragmented.” Acthemenius stopped, turning his head partway back toward Samuel. Samuel looked toward Talecronelum, who backed down and offered an encouraging nod. “I awoke in a fire only a few weeks ago. I barely escaped.”
Acthemenius turned back, an inquisitive tilt to his head. Talecronelum began to speak, but Acthemenius silenced him with a raised hand.
“You were…lost to us.” Acthemenius said. “I know now you are still lost to us.”
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