Antiphon (56 page)

Up close, Jin could see now that a fine sheen of silver flowed over the young man, rippling and moving with him at each step, giving off a heat of its own. He pushed himself into the room, oblivious to all but the girl stretched out upon the bed. He went to her and fell to his knees, a single sob racking him as he did.

He laid his hands upon her stomach, his fingers outstretched over her wounded skin. “Be whole,” he whispered.

The silver shifted on his hands, and veins of it appeared on the surface of her skin as her body stiffened. Slowly, before their eyes, the wounds began to close, and as they did, he looked up to finally take notice of the room. His eyes locked with Jin’s, and what she saw in them chilled her, not because she’d never seen such rage—she had seen such many times—but because they were alien eyes now, inhuman and distant as stars. “Who did this cutting?”

Xhum stepped forward. “I did, Abomination.”

Neb was on his feet now and turning toward the man.

He intends to kill him.
And a part of her knew that she should let him, that much of the evil that had come and that would yet come traveled with this man. But another part heard the words of Ire Li Tam, heard the passion and conviction of them, and could not risk that perhaps the woman was right, that the true end to this lay in Jin accompanying the man and waiting for her grandfather’s golden bird.

As Neb closed on the regent, she stepped between them and raised her hands to place them against the young man’s chest. She felt the heat of the quicksilver skin he wore and felt it yield at first and then resist her touch. “Nebios,” she said.

Neb stopped and seemed to notice her for the first time. “Lady Tam,” he said. “Stand aside.”

“Yes, Great Mother,” Eliz Xhum said. “Let him pass. I do not fear death at his hands.”

Jin shook her head. “No, Neb. She took the cuts willingly.”

Neb looked confused for a moment, and Xhum spoke into that confusion. “Yes, Abomination, it is true. She asked for my knife upon her skin. It was such soft skin, too, and her cries of pain were beautiful, were they not?”

Neb pushed at Jin, and she felt the strength of him but forced her feet to stand their ground. “No,” she said again in a quiet voice.

“I think,” the regent said, “you should kill me for what I’ve done. Your demon’s bargain in the Beneath Places should let you easily rip me limb from limb. Do it for what I’ve done to your woman. For the two hand servants whose heads decorate pikes in the lemon orchard outside my palace gates. For the dreams my Watcher has burned and the staff my high priest has taken.” He chuckled. “Or do it for the vessel that my Third Desert Brigade will soon dismantle and bury, the heads they’ll collect in that hidden place.” The chuckle became a laugh.
“Kill me for whatever reason you choose, but know that in the end, the Child of Great Promise is upon the earth and the throne of the Crimson Empress is established. You and your kind are obsolete now, and the tower shall remain closed to you.”

Jin felt Neb pushing against her, and for a moment she thought he would simply move her to the side and fall upon the man. But something stirred behind him, and she saw Winters rising, still naked, scarred, and half covered in blood. The girl took three steps and laid her hand upon Neb’s shoulder.

“Do not listen to him, Nebios Homeseeker,” she said. “Do not let him distract you from your work with the pettiness of this transitory sojourn.” She paused, her voice shaking. “I am dreaming again, and I have seen our home. I have seen us singing upon the tower, and I have watched you raise high the staff of Y’Zir and boil the lunar seas with life. You are Homeseeker and Home-Sower.”

He turned to her, and Jin saw as he did that his eyes for just a moment were the brown she remembered them to be. But it was only for a moment. Then, a loud and metallic voice from outside shook the windows yet again.

“Abomination,” the Watcher cried, “I hold your final dream and bid you come take it from me.”

Neb looked to Winters, and Jin saw the pained look that crossed his face. And it was easy to read the root of it, because at the metal man’s words, the girl’s eyes had faltered.

Jin felt the ice in her stomach, moving out and into her spine. “It is a ruse, Neb. Do not—”

But already, the young man was pushing past them and out into hallway. Already, he built speed and knocked easily aside those who stood in his way.

Jin looked first to Winters and saw the fear that paled her face. Then, she looked to the regent and saw the wide smile that grew upon his. When their eyes met, the smile widened even farther, and Jin had to look away so that he would not read the hatred in her own.

Outside, she heard the tremendous crash of metal colliding with metal, and Jin Li Tam staggered when the ground shook from the force of it.

The screaming had been over for nearly an hour when the shouting began. Charles heard it and suspected half the Named Lands heard it as well.

They’d been moving more slowly, Charles’s muscles protesting a hard day’s walk. He’d tried to block out the screaming by thinking about everything he’d learned. The thought of plague spiders harvested from Windwir terrified him. He suspected that those ruins were rife with the leftovers from the Seven Cacophonic Deaths that had brought down the city. He was amazed when he thought of how fortunate Petronus’s gravedigger army had been. Digging in the ground there was bound to uncover all manner of evil.

He’d set himself to compiling an inventory of other possible threats and made good headway on it until the shouting. This was a man’s voice, bellowing after Winteria, and it was louder even than the voice magicks.

Aedric whistled them to a stop. They were quiet for a moment, until the voice started up again. “I’d swear that was Nebios,” he said.

Charles remembered meeting Isaak’s Homeseeker in passing, thinking him to be an odd choice of messianic figure. He’d been in the Churning Wastes, and as far as he knew, the boy remained there.

They started moving again, and when the second voice—this one metallic—roared out into the night he stopped again and replayed the words.

I hold your final dream and bid you come take it from me.

The resounding crash that soon followed shook the ground. Charles felt Aedric’s hand upon his shoulder.

“I don’t know what’s afoot,” the first captain said, “but it’s not safe here. We need to get you back to your cave.”

They pressed on amid the shouting and the sounds of battle, moving north along the base of the Dragon’s Spine. When the chaos to the south shifted in their direction, Aedric sped them up or slowed them down. Charles heard the sound of trees falling and from time to time saw the snow shaken from them and stirred up from the forest floor.

How can a man be any match for that machine?
The question perplexed him. He could think of no magick—neither blood nor earth—that could make this boy Nebios a match for such as the Watcher. And yet he seemed to hold his own. The scientist in him wished he could see the battle, and there were moments when he thought he saw glimpses
of moonlight flashing on silver and bursts of white, fast-moving light, but it was impossible to distinguish one form from the other, and they moved with such speed that it was far easier to see the aftermath of where they’d been.

They were moving now through the recently dispersed gathering, and the Gypsy Scouts fanned out, still magicked, as Charles took on the semblance of a lone Machtvolk traveler. He could see the door ahead, though there was no guard apparent. But others gathered here—a crowd of Machtvolk with frightened faces, some carrying children and others with hand wagons and packs. Charles couldn’t gauge the numbers, but they appeared to be growing as others joined them from the surrounding forest.

He approached the door and felt Aedric’s hand once again. The Gypsy Scout’s voice was a whisper. “You would do well to leave this place, old man, by whatever way you came. I am recommending to my queen that we do the same. We don’t have the strength to take whatever last dream this Watcher holds. Perhaps the boy does, but I’d not wager on it.”

As if in answer, the sounds of battle shifted, and Charles saw them break from the forest—an ancient metal man that moved with fluid grace and a being of silver light. They were surrounded by Machtvolk soldiers who fell like paper men when they found themselves within the fray. The rolling, tumbling, kicking mass moved toward them, and then a metal blow connected and the silver being was tossed easily to land in their midst.

Neb was on his feet quickly, his face fierce and his teeth bared. He glanced at Charles and then launched himself back across the clearing to collide with the Watcher. Charles tried to measure the man’s speed even as he tried to comprehend the skin of white light that enwrapped him, but he couldn’t, and he left off trying as a hand settled upon his shoulder. He looked up and saw Garyt, covered in blood, standing beside him.

“I need you back inside the cave,” he said. “You need to talk some sense into them.”

Charles saw now that the door was cracked open, and behind it he saw the dim glow of amber jeweled eyes. He looked next to the gathering crowd and saw that a few of them stared, squinting into the shadows to see what manner of creature might lurk behind that door.

“We’re away to our queen,” Aedric whispered. “Heed me and flee this place with your metal men while the way is open.”

Charles nodded and let Garyt lead him by the arm until they pushed through the door and closed it after them.

Isaak and his cousin stepped back, both venting steam at the same time. Charles was less able to read the older model but saw the signs of distress in Isaak’s posture.

“Father,” Isaak said, “it is agreeable to see you. Did you find the missing pages?”

Charles shook his head. “I did not.”
But I found other things.
Still, he did not say so.

The older mechoservitor’s eyes shuttered. “Then it falls to us to help the Homeseeker take them from our wayward cousin.”

Outside, Charles could still hear the roaring and crashing as the fight moved through the forest. And he could hear the cries of Marshers when they were unintentionally included in that conflict. “You are no match for him,” he said. “You were designed for scholarly pursuit.”

Isaak’s tone was somber. “Before that, we were designed to bear the spell. We were made as weapons.”

The shock of those words forced his eyes to Isaak’s.
He can’t mean that.
Charles had seen Petronus’s notes, the scraps of evidence pointing toward limited deployment of the spell to defend against invasion, but the way in which Isaak said it made his stomach clench. He smelled hot metal and looked for his words carefully. “Whatever your dream is worth, Isaak, it is not worth
that
.”

Isaak shook his head. “No, Father. Never that. And our predecessor was designed with the same protections as we were. Our kind is built to survive the spell.”

“Then what would you do?”

Isaak said nothing but exchanged a glance with the other mechoservitor. “We have calculated seventeen possible strategies between us.”

Charles blinked, suddenly realizing that whatever sense Garyt hoped he’d convey to them, he would ultimately not be successful. They were not waiting for his permission. But what then?

“I wanted to see you first,” Isaak said. “We calculate an eighty-three percent chance of one or both of us being non functional at the conclusion of this matter.” His memory and processing scrolls spun as steam released from the grate in his back. “The odds are higher for me given the condition of my power source. I have accessed your papers on sunstone technology and have familiarized myself with the various stages of failure.”

Charles found himself surprised by the sob that shook him. He
suddenly saw Isaak stretched out, broken and dead, upon his table as he labored to bring him back, the sharp smell of grease and ozone flooding his nostrils, and the hollow resolve as he scavenged parts from his other children to save this one in particular. “You cannot go out there, Isaak.”

“I must,” he said. “The antiphon is ready, and time is of the essence. But I have words for you first.”

Charles shook his head. “I do not want your words. I am Charles, arch-engineer of the Androfrancine School of Mechanics and Technology. I command you to remain with me, Isaak. Acknowledge my command.”

Isaak placed a metal hand upon his shoulder. “The dream commands me, Father. My love for you seeks your blessing that I might follow it.”

My love for you.
Charles felt the words moving through him, weakening his knees and shaking him to the core of his soul. He felt the tears now, and he resisted them. “You do not need my blessing.”

“I crave it. But I also crave your safety, Father. Though it is not a son’s place to command a father, I would bid you stay hidden among the Machtvolk until you return to Rudolfo’s care. Your knowledge and skills are necessary for the library to prosper.”

Charles shook his head again. “Do not do this, Isaak.”

Hot water leaked from a tear duct that Charles himself had carefully re-created from Rufello’s notes. “I must follow the dream, or the light will be lost.”

“Then do so without my blessing,” Charles said, hearing the bitterness in his voice.

“I will,” he said. “I must.”