Ken Scholes - Antiphon

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.”

Isaak’s other hand was up now, both of them settling over Charles’s shoulders as he gathered the old man into his arms. The old man was reminded of the embrace he’d seen Rudolfo give the metal man before they’d entered the Beneath Places. He let Isaak pull him in and finally raised his own arms to return the embrace briefly.

“Come back to me when you are finished,” he whispered.

“I will do my utmost, Father.”

Charles nodded and sniffed, suddenly embarrassed at the emotion he knew must paint his face. He looked to Garyt and saw the young Machtvolk look away, also uncomfortable.

Then the door was open and the two mechoservitors were speeding across the snow, sure-footed, as they raced to join their Homeseeker.

Charles watched them go, feeling both powerlessness and pride as they followed their faith in the moon’s whispered song. They did not need his blessing, not any more than Isaak had needed Charles to install the dream scroll in him. But regardless, just as he’d needed to give his metal son that dream, he also needed to relinquish him to serve it.

Because love offered asks its blessings and love returned offers those blessings freely.

“Bless you,” he said quietly. Then Charles turned away and buried his face in his hands so that Garyt would not have to see him weep.

Winters

Winters packed quickly, her mind still foggy from the kallacaine she no longer needed. Her encounter with Neb had left her shaken.

No, she realized. Terrified. The first time she’d seen him, when she was tied to the table and beneath Xhum’s knife, he’d seemed more himself, though he was taller, more hollow-eyed than she’d remembered. And she’d not yet gotten used to the length of his hair. But at least she’d recognized him.