Dan Willis - The Survivors

A hand touched Bradok’s leg, and he looked back to see a little red-haired girl looking up at him.

“Teal,” he said, picking her up and setting her on the railing in front of him. “What are you doing up?”

“She heard you and insisted I know about it,” Rose’s sleepy voice answered as she joined him on the balcony.

She wore a simple robe, like the one Bradok had, though hers barely concealed her bulging middle.

“It’s all right,” she said as Teal snuggled into Bradok’s shirt. “Your son was kicking me anyway.” She put her hand on her belly and smiled. “I think he wants out.”

“You’re sure it’s a boy?” Bradok asked.

Rose smiled. “Of course,” she said. “He’s way too jumpy to be a girl.”

“Then I’ve decided,” Bradok said. “I don’t care if Corin likes it or not; if it’s a boy, we’re calling him Omer.”

Rose put her arm around Bradok, and little Teal let go of her daddy in favor of nuzzling her mom.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Rose said.

The Journeyman stood on a stone parapet overlooking the courtyard in front of the anvil chamber. He wore a light woven robe and sandals bound with a simple belt. The wind chilled him, cutting through the plain garment as a slushy rain fell over the City of Lost Names. He didn’t know when the Aesthetic would arrive, but he watched a few minutes anyway, staring out into the gray pallor of the stormy sky.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. He wasn’t likely to see that particular Aesthetic coming.

Shivering as the wind blew the rain over him, he turned and made his way back inside. The wet leather of his sandals slapped the stone staircase as he passed down a level to the snug chamber he had made his residence.

As he opened the heavy door, a wave of heat rolled out of the room, enveloping him. He stood there in the door for a moment, allowing the feeling of warmth to swell within him before he entered. He’d been cold for so long that he relished the warmth, savoring it like lingering over a fine meal.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind himself, and crossed the carpeted floor to a high-backed, overstuffed leather chair. Though the Journeyman liked his pleasures, the room itself was simple. A plain bed stood in one corner with a wardrobe and a night table nearby. A washbasin and cloak rack were farther along the wall, just past the space where the door opened.

Along the opposite wall, the Journeyman had an immense writing desk with many drawers for pens, ink, paper, and other sundries. And in the far corner stood an iron stove with a coal scuttle in front of it and a black pipe on top that carried the smoke out through a hole in the stone.

The chair sat next to the stove with a cushy footstool resting before it. A small book table stood by the chair, and a magical lantern hung over it, suspended by a curved piece of wood that attached to the back of the chair.

The Journeyman sat, kicking off his sandals and crossing his feet on the stool. On his left foot, the two little toes were missing, and the wound hadn’t quite healed, causing the Journeyman to ease one foot gently over the other when he crossed them.

Not by coincidence, the stool stood a mere foot from the stove. On the table, beside the chair, a brandy snifter lay on an angle, cradled in a wood frame that suspended the glass over a lit candle. Below the brandy warmer, there were a number of books, all with bookmarks hanging out of them, attesting to the Journeyman’s usual habit of reading several books at once.

He picked up the glass, careful not to touch the hot spot. Swirling the brandy absently in his left hand, he reached out and took the topmost book off the pile. That book was unlike its fellows in almost every way. The book had been made entirely of metal: cover, spine, pages, and all.

Because of its weight, the Journeyman slipped it into his lap before he opened the cover and leafed through the few metal pages to the final one.

“Comfy?” a mocking voice echoed through the chamber.

The Journeyman turned to confront a spectral visitor regarding him from just inside the door. He stood only about five feet tall and wore the flowing robe of an Aesthetic, though both body and robe were transparent, allowing the Journeyman to see the planks of the door behind him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t knock,” he said, clearly intending the comment as a joke. “May I come in?”

The Journeyman chuckled, perhaps not very mirthfully. “And if I say no?” he asked.

“Then I will leave until it is convenient,” the Aesthetic said.

The Journeyman put his glass back on the warmer and shut the metal book. “My, my,” he said. “I see you have developed some manners over all those years.”

The specter smiled, taking no offense. “I see you brought what I asked for,” he said.

The Journeyman looked down at the book in his lap then back at the Aesthetic. “Why do you want it?” the Journeyman asked. “You were there when it was found. What’s so special about this book, Chisul?”

The ghost chuckled. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in quite a while,” the specter said, a wistful smile crossing his face. “Where did you come up with Perin, by the way?”

“It’s ancient Elvish,” the Journeyman said. “It means ‘Traveler.’”

Chisul’s ghost laughed. “I see you’re as imaginative as ever,” he said.

“Don’t change the subject,” the Journeyman said, holding up the metal book. “What’s so special about this?”

“It isn’t the book that’s dangerous,” Chisul said. “It’s what’s in the book.”

“That can be said of all books,” the Journeyman said.

“This is rather a special book,” Chisul said. “You see, Galoka and his people were being taught things by Reorx himself. Things they shouldn’t know.”

The Journeyman shrugged. “So Reorx was cheating to help his people,” he said. “So what? They all do it.”

“Not like this,” Chisul said. “Starlight Hall was just a foothold. Reorx meant it as a beacon to unite the dwarf clans and bring them back under one rule.”

“That would never work,” the Journeyman said. “Most of the clans hate each other.”

“The other gods didn’t think so,” Chisul said. “They feared a united dwarf nation. They feared the power Reorx would wield if that ever happened. It was a chance they were not prepared to take, so they created the Disir specifically to destroy Starlight Hall and to keep its existence secret.”

“How could that be?” the Journeyman asked. “The gods never agree on anything.”

Chisul shrugged. “Fear is a great motivator,” he explained.

“How did you find out about all this?” the Journeyman asked. “You didn’t seem to know anything about it when Rose found the book.”

“That was the past,” Chisul said. “I’ve learned many things since that time. Being an Aesthetic helps, too.”

“So why is this book so important?” the Journeyman asked. “Starlight Hall is gone; no one even remembers it.”

“That’s right,” Chisul said. “The only evidence that Starlight Hall ever existed is that book.”

The Journeyman stared down at the gleaming book in his hands. He’d read it twice. It was very interesting, containing everything about the founding and building of Starlight Hall. Their fantastic machines and their alchemical metals were all detailed, as was their faith and their unification goals.

“So this book is dangerous,” he said.

“If the gods knew it existed, they’d kill anyone who had touched it,” Chisul said.

“So you sent me on that little walk to keep this from getting out into the world,” the Journeyman said.