Stephen Hunt - The rise of the Iron Moon

'Sharp,' said Purity. 'And the sword contains a little of the essence of my friend Oliver… and of the Hexmachina.'

'They are facets of it,' said Ganby. 'You have described it a little, but they are not what the sword is. It is a maths-blade, a tool to manipulate the worldsong.'

'Maths?' said Purity. 'You mean sums and adding up? What does that have to do with sorcery and the worldsong?'

'Everything,' said Ganby, his hand sweeping out to encompass the room. 'All that you have seen, all that you will see, everything that you are, these are all mathematical constructs. The song of the world is composed of notes, the notes are composed of waves and strings, and they can be modelled and manipulated by an adroit mind. When you change the factors of an equation, you change its outcome. The worldsingers' training allows them to tap into the flow of power within the earth and change the equations that underlie the world, by hand, spell and mind.' He indicated the other bandits sitting around the fire and handed the blade back to her. 'The fey carry some of that ability innately. Your sword is a tool that allows you to manipulate reality. It cuts through stone so easily because it can change the equations of existence that define how matter should interact with its surface.'

'More than a sword,' whispered Purity.

'An essential truth,' said Ganby. 'I would never have shaped it as a sword myself. When you give someone a hammer, every problem tends to look like a nail. I would have made it a book, or perhaps a slide rule.'

'What can I do with it?'

'What can you not?' Ganby indicated she should hold the sword out. 'A start would be to tear a hole in the veil of the world and free our fellow Bandits of the Marsh from their sleep of ages. You managed to do it for the four of us.'

'But there was power in the circle of standing stones,' said Purity. 'Helping me. I could feel it flowing through me. The power of the god machine, the Hexmachina.'

Ganby waved his hand impatiently as if this were a mere trifle. 'Pah, there is more power in the human heart and the imagination of a child than there is in any stone circle or blade. You can use the sword. Just feel the lingering aura of our sleep and then reach to the place where the energy is connected. Tear a rent towards it using your blade.'

Purity clutched the pommel of the sword and symbols started to flow down the flat of the blade. She could feel the connection the old wizard had spoken of. Thin tentacles of else-when connecting the four bandits to the place where they had slept away the centuries. Spinning the blade, she tried to cut a portal in the air, reach the sleeping place. Instead of a rent forming, the arcs of her blade left scratches of golden light hanging in the air, shrinking and diminishing before the threads blew away like candle smoke.

'I can't do it,' said Purity, frustrated, proffering the blade back to Ganby. 'You're the great druid, you open the gateway for your friends to come through.'

He took the sword out of her hand, gripping it properly in a fighting stance, the symbols creeping along its surface disappearing, the blade's silver brightness darkening. It had died in his hand. 'You see, just a cold length of metal. Something to bash away at an enemy's helm with. I could never get Elizica's trident to work for me either. This is not my sword.' He passed it back to Purity. 'It is yours.'

Purity took a few more swings to the same negligible effect. The maths-blade was becoming heavier where once it had seemed so light. 'I can feel it, the place you came from. But I don't have the power of the stones to channel through the blade to break across to it.'

'Power is not channelled through the blade,' said Ganby, sadly. 'It is channelled through the one that wields it. And you have everything that you need to wield it, save the belief that you can. That you deserve it.'

'But that's the thing. I'm not sure I do. I certainly never asked for this.'

'Yes, your ancestor was tutored as a princess of battle from the age she could first walk,' said Ganby. 'I am sorry to ask so much of you so quickly, Purity Drake. Time will bring you what you need.'

Purity looked out of the back room's window, the iron moon gazing back down, a rusty squinting eye. 'How much of that do we have left?'

'There will be enough time and enough battle, both.'

Purity nodded. Yes. There was an entire continent full of monsters to practise her new maths-blade against.

Molly picked herself up from the jolting deck and shouted to be heard above the roar of the re-entry flames outside. She might just have a way to stop them burning up above Kaliban! 'Coppertracks, can you join cables with the ship?'

'The craft is steamman enough for us to share our minds.'

'Starsprite,' Molly called, 'make yourself ready.'

A silver cable extended like a tentacle from the wall. 'My skin is hardening outside, a shield of ablative polymers forming. It feels better now. We're finally clearing the mesosphere for the stratospheric envelope. I can see it. Do you think my mother knew this would happen? Do you think she loved me just a little?'

'Coppertracks has a trick for you that you can't call upon by instinct,' said Molly, watching the ship's cable snake towards a port opening in her steamman friend's chest. 'Your turn, old steamer. The sail-rider rig we cut Duncan out of at Tock House; show your young relative here the schematics for it. Starsprite, when you have the plans, peel off part of your hull to form the rig's sail triangle.'

The fire inside the crystal dome of Coppertracks' transparent skull began wheeling in eccentric patterns while the transfer was in progress, the steamman giving a little whistle of alarm from his stacks at just how fast the newly born craft was absorbing his wisdom. Fast then faster, then it was over. Above them, the roof of their pear-shaped capsule started to flow downwards, stopping just short of their heads, their porthole elongating and moving in front of the craft's nose – quicksilver sails lashed by the wind-shear growing into existence outside; one sail above them, two smaller stabilizer canopies to either side. As soon as her new wings had fully formed, the young craft began to roll, arrowing down in a spin.

'How do I control myself?' screamed the craft.

'Form the sail rider's control bars and pulley system inside here, down by your nose,' ordered Molly. She glanced at Duncan Connor. 'This calf of a craft might not have a clue about how to make a landing, but how about one of the wild boys of Dennehy's Circus?'

Duncan looked pensively at the control bars, guide lines and deflexor handles forming in the front of the young ship. Outside the porthole, the brilliant red arc of Kaliban's continents and waterless seabeds curved out before them. 'This is a wee bit higher than any sail rider ever attempted a touchdown from.'

Molly tried to ignore the rattling of the newly formed struts as Duncan climbed over the scattered supply bales to slide into the control rig. She screened out the nervous mutters of Lord Rooksby – was that a Circlist meditation he was repeating? – disregarded the cold, angry eyes of Keyspierre and his daughter. Duncan Connor had possessed skill enough to land his burning rig in Tock House's garden, the only survivor of the Army of Shadows' annexation of the Jackelian skies. And here they were now, tumbling down over the enemy's old home. It was a calculated risk, but she wasn't going to give up now. Not after coming this far.

Molly turned as a crack sounded behind her. Commodore Black was rummaging through the supplies, emptying the contents of each crate onto the floor. Then he found what he was looking for and with a grunt of satisfaction pulled out a bottle of medicinal whisky. 'Let us say a thanks to the board of supply's clerks back in Highhorn, for they saw fit to outfit us with the very thing to calm our nerves. Along with-' his hand swept the debris of his scavenging '-this other junk.'