Zachary Jernigan - No Return

Who are you? Where have you been, and why have you returned?

The answers eluded him. He struggled to feel a sense of brotherhood and failed.

No, Vedas could not call his return to Knos Min a return home.

Berun gawked at the constructs around him. Mostly small creations in the shapes of dogs and cats, there were only a few of more intricate design and obvious intelligence. A giant wrought-iron centipede with the head of a dragon. A centaur of constantly shifting gold plates. They hailed each other with waves of their appendages.

One in particular, whose form was an intricate silver and black elder, struck up a long, convoluted dialogue with Berun as they entered the ragged line of travelers striking upon Grass Trail, the eight-hundred-mile path leading from Ynon to the capitol of Grass Min. Its voice was deep but lacked resonance, grating like the magically recorded lectures Abse played to the Thirteenth’s youngest students. Its tall, finely articulated body clicked metallically as it moved, jerking from position to position. An awful composition of sounds and colors, it was one of the ugliest things Vedas had ever encountered.

“Name is Tou,” it finally got around to announcing. “Remember you.”

“Oh, yes?” Berun rumbled, face turned away from the other construct. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Haven’t. Heard about you.” Tou craned over Berun to peer down at Vedas and Churls. Mechanisms whirred behind its thin, severe face. Four multicolored gems twitched in its eye sockets. “Haven’t heard about you,” it said.

Churls looked up at the hideous face. “Go away.”

“Thank you,” Berun said after the creature had left. “All of these constructs unnerve me. I don’t know how to react.”

“Any time,” Churls said. “Better to not have him around anyway. Seems like the type to spread rumors, not that anyone would understand him.”

Berun chuckled. “At least he’s never heard of you two.”

“Yeah.” Churls poured a pinch of dust into her palm, spit on it, and began polishing her new sword as they walked. “First bit of good news in a long while.”

‡

Grass Trail rose and fell gently on Hasde Fall, the wooded hills west of Ynon. Sugar maples and sycamores dropped their dying leaves on the stone-paved roadway, creating a multicolored blanket that rustled under the travelers’ thousand feet. Sturdy wooden bridges crossed the occasional brook or small river, where fish were plentiful and easily caught. Despite the travelers’ disparate backgrounds and religious perspectives, a congenial atmosphere prevailed. Were the weather not so nice, the surroundings not so beautiful, it might well have been a different story.

For all of the land’s natural appeal, no one veered far off the road. The Republic owned and maintained the land, barracked its soldiers on it, and looked unkindly on those who trespassed. No signs were posted—none were required. Knos Min, for all of its legendary restraint and religious neutrality, maintained the continent’s largest army and jealously guarded its supply of elder corpses. Even in the present age where men feared an end to this supply, The Republic’s magical resources were legendary, as evidenced by the number of constructs owned by ordinary citizens.

Rumor spoke that a bare handful of miles from Grass Trail, Baleshuuk had not only discovered a near limitless vein of elder corpses, but were tunneling to the center of the world. Shielded under megatonnage of rock, mages of all kinds developed powerful new alchemies. Outbound mages trained in rooms where the effects of gravity had been canceled. Armies of constructs and hybrids enacted the great wars of history over and over again, in preparation for a great, continent-spanning war.

Vedas saw no reason to distrust or believe these rumors. Stol possessed outbound mages and Baleshuuk—surely Knos Min, with its obviously vast magical capability, had developed programs to maintain its position. The specifics hardly mattered to ordinary men.

Yet the second night out, such speculation dominated conversation around the campfire. Nboles, an elderman bowyer traveling to Danoor to sell his wares, sat cross-legged on his wheeled construct-trunk and spoke of the Osseterat, a hybrid ape of immense intelligence. “They live in this forest,” he claimed. “The more they observe men, the more they become like men. They are stronger and faster, however. When and if the white god destroys the world, the elite of the Republic will enter the earth through tunnels only they know about. Like the Baleshuuk, they plan on surviving. The Osseterat will be their servants.”

His voice became hushed and he cast glances into the forest on either side. “But what if they cannot control their new beasts? Maybe the apes won’t want to be servants. Maybe they’re planning, even now.”

Churls laughed out loud. “A bowyer, huh? You missed your calling. But telling tall-tales doesn’t pay as well as selling bows, I suppose.” The elderman managed to look offended without shifting a muscle. Vedas observed the curious interplay between journeying strangers, intimidated and bemused by their easy discourse. He thought wistfully of the day that had passed. He and his companion’s swift progress had made conversation impossible.

Of course, Churls did not mind the conditions. She enjoyed the hearty exchanges, the playful insults and rumoring. Her eyes fairly glittered in the firelight. Unabashedly loud, her voice echoed into the forest. She told a joke, then told it again. Vedas kept his eyes on her more often than not, both compelled by her manner and convinced that if he only focused hard enough on her no one would feel drawn to engage him.

He knew the placement of each Knosi around the campfire. Two women, traveling together. Two men, traveling alone. He sensed their gazes upon him, and wondered what they read in his features. Did he fit the mold of their race, or had time away from Knos Min left a mark upon him? Perhaps he had ceased being a son of the Republic long ago.

And if I’ve relinquished my birthright, he thought, what difference does it make? I am Vedas Tezul, of the Thirteenth Order of Black Suits. That is enough.

He repeated these words, as if they might eventually ring true.

Now and then, he ventured a glance at Berun, whose attention could not be wrested from the three constructs closest to him. Concentration formed deep furrows between his brows. Occasionally, spheres rang together deep inside his body, startling those nearby. Vedas felt an intense communion with the constructed man. Surrounded by his own kin, he too struggled to place himself in context.

A voice interrupted Vedas’s pondering: “May I sit?”

Vedas looked up at a thin, dark face. White teeth, though not really a smile. The man wore dun-colored robes and two weapons hung from his belt sash: a short, curved blade and a short horseman’s pick. Rust-colored and painstakingly matted, his long hair wound around his head like a starched strip of cloth.

A Tomen, the first Vedas had seen on the road.

“Of course,” Vedas said, and scooted closer to Churls to make room. The woman to his left, a Castan gladiator built like a bull, rose smoothly and walked away from the fire.

The Tomen ignored this. Slowly, so as not to cause alarm, he removed his sash and placed his weapons on the ground before sitting. The smell of fennel and mejuan, a mild hallucinogen, rose from his robes.

“ Feda Adraas ,” he said, bowing his head.

“ Adraas Esoa ,” Vedas said, surprised to find he remembered the formal greeting: I curse Adrash—Adrash hears you. Tomen spoke a distinctive dialect of the common tongue of Knoori as well as several ritual languages, some of the most common phrases of which Vedas had learned in the abbey.