The Maker's Wars ~ Chapter Three and Chapter Four

Yes! I'm giving y'all a two-fer for March.  Chapters three and four were ready(-ish) so I went ahead and posted both. Of course, now I need to work on polishing following chapters.... I think I need to get 'hold of Professor Aether, he has something I think his 'Alternate Universe' self will have need of in the fifth one and I need specifics.... (heeee)
 

CHAPTER THREE
(the Seeing)

“Brothers!”

Both Aether and Theller winced at the high pitched squeal that nearly shattered their ears from half way across the small Commons in the middle of the Sight Maker’s College. A moment later, brown cotton skirts flying high enough to allow a peek of the white lace petticoats and semi-sensible brown leather half boots, their blond haired youngest sister threw herself first at Theller and then at Aether all while bouncing in an excess of excitement.

“You’rehereyou’rehereyou’rehereIwasrightyou’rehere!” She gabbled almost too fast to understand.

“Fourth Level?” Aether raised a humorous eyebrow at Theller. “Are you sure about that?”

Putting on his best Disapproving Master look, Theller shook his head. “Not at the moment, no.”

Pulling back and screwing up her pert little nose, Merither stuck her tongue out at them. “Phooey!” She snorted. “I was right and now I’ve passed my mid-levels.” She informed them with all the haughtiness of a sixteen year old little sister as she straightened her under-bust Turkish vest and fluffed the lace at the throat of her short sleeved burgundy pinstriped cream blouse.

Theller finally released a fond smile, proud of his youngest sister. “Got it right, eh?” He gave her a hug. Merither was normally very aware of her family heritage when in public but she was, as the youngest, spoiled by all her siblings.

“Did you also get the whys and wherefores of it?” Theller added.

With a sigh, her face fell and her shoulders slumped slightly. “No. I Saw…” she paused and shuddered and the two men glanced at each other.

“What did you See, Merither?” Theller asked gently.

She seemed to focus inward, her hazel eyes darkening to a moss green and a haunted look entered them before she shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.” Her gaze cleared and she forced a smile. “I got most of my Sight Making right, so I Passed.” Then her smile turned mischievous. “I also get bonus points for Seeing you’d ask about my Sight. And the timing.”

Chuckling, Aether tugged one of her glossy, sun-colored ringlets. “Fine, fine. We’re proud to know you’ve passed your mid-levels.” He then gestured toward a bench under a pair of coastal Sequoia’s and they moved that way.
The siblings seated themselves, Merither in between her brothers, and she and Theller turned to Aether who worked to keep from grinning at the expectation on their faces.

“Meri, our brother Selinger has asked me to find a certain Brass Maker. Theller tells me she changed Colleges and came here to complete her education. I need to know about her, but I also need to go find her. Can you tell me if I have the time to stop with the Sight Grand Master or do I need to move on?”

Meri looked at Aether a long moment, then her eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance and began to change color from hazel to a light sea green to milky white as she Called a Seeing. The two men sat relaxed and quiet so as not to interrupt her concentration.

“There comes from within an enemy that will strike at the very heart of our world.” She began, her normally sweet voice vibrating in an odd way so as to sound like her words echoed at the same moment they were spoken.

“The heart will be torn asunder and our world be destroyed except you find the one, a Brass Maker, who opens portals and binds the Others to do the will of those she binds them to.

“They See not as we, but their fearsome Sight must be learned if our World is to survive. Find the one you need in the Deep Murk Forest so she can bring Sight beyond our Sight.”

As her words ended, Meri’s brothers waited with quiet intensity to see what else might occur or what she might need. After a moment, Meri’s eyes cleared back to her normal hazel and she blinked furiously for several heartbeats before she drew in a deep, steadying breath as she cleared the last of the Calling from her mind.

“I think, brother,” she turned her worried eyes to Aether. “You’d better seek her out now. I got the sense of time being shorter than you believe.”

“What else, Meri?” Aether prodded. “You said the enemy comes from within. Are our people betrayed by one of our own?”

“I…” she hesitated, her brow wrinkled in worry. “I’m only a Fourth Level Sight Maker, ‘Ther. I can’t be sure I’m Seeing what I think I am. I can get echoes of the Past mixed in with the Present and Future.”

“Meri, you’ve always had an extraordinary gift at… knowing. You learned from Meirnath before you ever came to the Sight Maker’s College. Even she says you have an impressive Gift. I’ll trust what you think you’ve Seen before I’ll listen to a full-Sighted Tenth Level Maker.” Aether declared, gently rubbing her hand as he spoke.

Meri smiled faintly. “Don’t ever let the Grand Sight Master hear you. We’ll never get another Sight Maker for the Royal Family and Selinger or Daddy will kill you.”

Aether only grinned roguishly as he waited for his little sister to decide what to do. With a sigh, she shrugged. “Someone – and I don’t know who – someone from a trusted position appears to betray our family, our people, and our World. I can’t See who or from where, I’ve tried…”

“You’ve Seen this before!?” Theller cut in sharply. “How often?”
Meri gave the two men a guilty look. “Several times over the past few weeks.” She admitted in a near whisper.
“Meri!” Theller gripped her arm but Aether gave a sharp shake of his head to stop him.

“Have you told anyone else, Meri?” Aether asked gently.

Tears filled her eyes and spilled over, lips trembling as she shook her head.

“I w-wasn’t sure w-what I was Seeing. I felt it imperative to keep it to myself until you came.”

Aether nodded and handed her his handkerchief. “Dry your eyes, love. It’s okay. Even Meirnath can’t pinpoint the person or time of betrayal.”

“It’s someone close to us, ‘Ther.” Meri whispered.

“Yes, Meirnath said it’s someone trusted.” He nodded.

“You don’t understand.” She spoke more urgently. “It’s someone close to us!” she gestured from herself to her brothers. “To our family. It’s someone we know and… love.” She ended in a whisper.

Aether felt the blood drain from his face and he glanced at Theller to see he looked as ashen as he felt. Someone they knew would be the source of betrayal? May the Maker of All protect them.

“We need to let Selinger know.” Aether told Theller. “Can you get the message to him? I have a feeling I better go home, get my things, and get a move on.”

“Will you be taking an airship?” Theller frowned at Aether in concern.

“Only as far as The Chimney Rock Plateau. I doubt there’s a landing space close to where the Brass Maker lives in the Deep Murk. Let’s get a move on, brother. We don’t have time to stop longer.

He took a steadying breath.

“Time is ending and betrayal is near. We must hurry to save what we can.”

CHAPTER FOUR
(King’s Buccaneer)

Aether shoved open the door leading onto the airship’s Observing Balcony. A stiff wind blew past but the clear glass wind shield welded into place protected those observing. As the weight of the door slammed it shut behind him the man peering through the Far Sighter that was fastened to the railing straightened and turned with a scowl on his face. When he saw Aether his features relaxed and one corner of his mouth even quirked slightly.

“Your Highness.” He bowed his head at Aether.

With a snort, Aether gave him a mock glare. “Since when, Bertold.”

“The smile hinted at earlier broke free. “Since His Majesty sent word to aid you in any way in my power.”

“Well, knock it off!” Aether growled, kidding gone. “And fill me in on what’s going on that has you so absorbed out here.”

Bertold turned back to the Far Sighter but only pointed in the direction he’d been looking. “There’s a squall brewing Nor‘east of us. Just keeping an eye on it in case it heads toward us.”

Aether glanced up at the great, gas-filled sail cloth above them. It was what held the ship in the air as the steam-powered engines in the bowels of the flight cabin propelled it. There was no untoward strain in evidence so he relaxed. When he lowered his gaze to the Captain that man had his eye back to the Far Sighter. One hand held it to adjust direction if necessary, the other hand rested on the rail and the fingers of it drummed an agitated tattoo.

"What are you really watching, Bertold?” Aether asked, leaning casually against the cabin wall.

He saw Bertold’s shoulders tighten and his hand still before he relaxed and glanced back at Aether again,

“Never could steam around you, sir.” He half grinned.

“Then stop trying and answer.” Aether kept his face neutral with effort. He knew what could go wrong with an airship and rarely flew in them if he could avoid it. The nerves made his skull itch on the inside.

After examining Aether for a long moment, Bertold shrugged his surrender.

“Air pirates. They love storms because they’ve gotten crazy enough to hide in the clouds.”

Aether’s shoulders jerked. “IN the clouds?! The explosion if a bolt hits the gas sail!”

Bertold grimaced. “Rumor has it they’ve found a way to turn the lighting aside, somehow.”

“That’s not…” Aether began, shaking his head, but got a calculating look in his eyes as he once again examined the gas sail.

At the same moment he cut off, Bertold cut in to finish. “Possible. I know. But that’s the rumor. And I know one of the captains whose ship was attacked well enough to believe his accounting of the event.”

“Tell me about it.” Aether said, still studying the sail bag and all its supports.

“They appear from the midst of a storm cloud. They just sail right at you like the clouds part and close behind them.”

Aether jerked his gaze to Bertold. “Like the clouds part and close behind them.” He repeated thoughtfully. After a moment, his eyes drifted back upwards.

“You’re working an idea.” Bertold accused humorously.

“I am.” Aether agreed absently, then shook himself. “There’s no way to turn aside lighting. It’s too random in its pattern to know where it will hit and the gases used to fly our ships too volatile to allow a super-heated charge even close to the sail bag. Ergo, there’s another answer.”

“Do you know it?” Bertold sounded hopeful.

“I’m… not sure. I have an idea, but…” He trailed off, his mind working rapidly.

“Any ideas would be helpful, Aether.” Bertold said dryly.

“Well, it’s always possible a Weather Maker has been discovered but I doubt it.” Aether returned with equal dryness. “You need to let me work it a bit, Bertold. Get someone up here to relieve you on the Far Sighter for a while, rest your eyes. Tell them to watch for a sparkle, like light reflecting off something. If they see anything, even the smallest suspicion, let me know immediately. I don’t care if they doubt what they saw, I still want to know. Got it?”

Bertold nodded slowly. “What are you thinking?”

“Camouflage.”

****************************************************

A half an hour later a steward rapped smartly on Aether’s cabin door. The only thing he heard was some muttering sounds. Having been warned by the captain that this might be the case, and coached in what to do, he rapped sharply once more, three staccato raps against the wood, then opened it, staying carefully in the hallway.

“Sir? Professor Pendragon? The Captain’s complements and could you join him on the Observing Balcony immediately.”

The steward heard a strangled oath, scrambling sounds, and the Professor burst through the door. With barely time to thank the steward, Aether made a mad dash down the hall. Grinning at how accurate the Captain’s instructions had been the steward gave in to curiosity and leaned forward just enough to peek inside the room

Seeing the papers tacked to the walls, strewn across the desk, and crumpled on the floor, he gave a wide-eyed shake of his head. If the level of mess was indicative of the level of intelligence, then Professor Pendragon must be a genius of the highest order.

Carefully closing the door, the steward left to continue his duties. He only followed orders and took care of any passengers. Anything else was the concern of the Captain and his officers.

*********************************************************************

Aether hit the door to the Observing Balcony hard enough he was through before it could slam back against him.

“What did you see?!” He barked.

Bertold turned to the Fourth Steersman who stood at the Far Sighter looking both nervous and embarrassed.

“Tell the Professor, son.” Bertold encouraged. “It’s why you were on watch.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man swallowed almost audibly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I was keeping a watch on that storm cloud, watching for any – er – unusual light flashes.” He began hesitantly, then paused.

“Yes?” Aether managed to contain his impatience and sound merely interested. “You believe you saw something?”

“Ahm, well…” the Fourth Steersman hemmed.

“Son, I’m not expecting a lightning bolt or a flash message. Just… something.” Aether tried to reassure the young man.

The Fourth Steersman relaxed slightly and nodded. “Yes, sir. It was definitely ‘something’ but it was so fast I don’t know what to call it. Not even sure it was an actual flash of light.”

“Where?” Aether prodded.

“Dead center of the storm mass, sir.”

A spark entered Aether’s eyes and he turned to Bertold. “How close do ships get before they attack?”

Bertold eyed the storm clouds, calculating from what he’d been told and present distance of the clouds. “Depending on the strength of the winds driving the clouds, another 30 minutes to an hour from now we’ll be attacked. If that ‘something’ was them.”

Aether gestured at the Far Sighter. “May I?”

Nodding his compliance even as he stepped aside, Bertold motioned the Fourth Steersman away. Aether stepped up and pulled a band with several lenses attached from his belt pouch. Fitting the leather band around his head and adjusting it so the lenses sat at an angle about his left eye he bent and peered through the Far Sighter.

“Is this still fixed where you saw the – ahh – anomaly?” He asked.

“Yes, sir!” The young man responded.

Pulling back just slightly from the end of the Sighter Aether lowered one of the lenses in front of his eye, then another. Some of the lenses were colored – red, blue, and green – but the ones he manipulated first were clear.

“Ah, Aether? What – ?” Bertold began.

“Clear ones are magnifiers. They add to the strength of the Far Sighter. Colored ones remove certain bands of color from the light spectrum, show things that are hard to see.” He answered Bertold’s question before it was completely asked.

Flicking another magnifier between his eye and the Sighter he paused, then lowered the red lens. After a moment of concentrated frowning he flicked down the blue lens. Bertold saw Aether’s shoulders tense and he tensed with him. When Aether straightened and turned, a wolf’s grin lit his face.

“We have thirty minutes but I believe we can surprise them. I hope you have what I need to manufacture the advantage we now undoubtedly have.”

“Aether, if we can catch or kill these pirates, I’m all for it.” Bertold returned that vulpine grin as he clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Let’s go root out what you need.”

Twenty minutes later the forward windows in the Pilot’s Cabin, the Steersman’s Bridge, and the Forecastle Cannon had a deep violet wash to them. Aether had blended some red and blue inks with a special concoction of his own that created a dark violet color which, when applied to the windows, cut out the violet band of the light spectrum. It increased contrast between darks and made similarly colored or pattered things easier to see.

“So, if it’s colored like the clouds, why can we now see it?” Bertold frowned out the Steersman’s Bridge window at the still difficult to see pirate ship riding the winds in front of the storm clouds.

“No matter how close in color two things are to the naked eye, even to the point we can’t distinguish it, it will never be an exact match. Removing certain bands of color in the light spectrum helps us to see those differences.”

 “So, why do most of the ship’s parts still seem to be invisible?”

“There’s only one way to get a perfect match.” Aether shook his head in admiration. “Someone figured out how to create a mirrored surface that doesn’t require the whole ship to be covered in heavy glass. That surface is reflecting the clouds to ‘cloak’ the ship from view. We need to capture that ship rather than destroy it, Bertold.”

“It’ll be tough, ‘Ther.” Bertold stared out at the clouds before turning back. “They won’t want to be captured.”

“True. But, we have two huge advantages. They don’t know we can see them and anticipate what is no longer a surprise attack.” Aether pointed out.

“And the second advantage?” Bertold hitched an eyebrow, half-anticipating the reply.

“We have a couple of ‘retired’ pirates on our side who are more than capable of out-thinking these young sky pups.” That wolfish grin returned.

Bertold stared at Aether a long, tense moment before an answering grin worked across his face and a laugh worked its way up from his belly. After a few moments of much needed merriment, Bertold clapped Aether on the shoulder for the second time that day.

“We’ll catch them, ‘Ther. And we have more help than you know.”

“Don’t bet on it, Bertold.” Aether murmured as they laid their final plans.

The Maker Wars

As promised, the next installment of my Steampunk adventure. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

~ THE INVENTOR'S COIL ~

Saint Obispo. A small coastal town situated atop pink and honey colored granite cliffs rising from the Great Green Sea, it boasted the largest number of Inventors and Makers Colleges per capita of all the towns and villages in Calidonia. The stone and wood buildings glimmered a warm pink and honey in the sunshine, a pale echo of the cliffs where the city so proudly stood. Here, the citizens of Saint Obispo felt they were safe for they were protected as much by the cliff-side inaccessibility as they were by the firm but benevolent rule of King Pendragon. 

Saint Obispo was the jewel in Pendragon’s crown for the Makers and Inventors coming from her Colleges were the best, brightest, and most talented in his kingdom. It was also the epicenter of the king’s intelligence gathering society, the FS&GS or the Fellowship of Seers & Guardians Society. And, lately, what they’d had to say had the king worried. 

Near the outer edge of the town, on the side away from the cliffs, was a small, well kept, middle-class suburb. The homes here looked both well-loved and well-lived in. Small, steam powered wagons were parked in front of some of the homes and each home had well-oiled gears to assist in opening and closing shutters or storm doors on the rare occasions the weather turned to hurricanes. At the moment, steam belched gently from the steam stacks of several homes where folks were working on their daily chores.

One home in the middle of this bucolic suburb stood out as markedly different. It, too, had well-tended lawns and oiled gears on shutter and door. It, too, had steam belching from its numerous steam stacks but there was nothing gentle about most of them. Steam shot out at a near shriek from several of the metal pipes emerging at odd angles from the roof and even a couple of the cottage walls. Loud noises could be heard from deep within the house at any time of the night or day, although enough neighbors had complained they needed their sleep that the owner tried hard to dampen the noises after 9 o’clock of the evening. Still, they didn’t always stop completely. He was lucky his neighbors were actually a fairly good humored lot and, also luckily for him, inclined to ignore the worst of the owner’s peccadillos as he was a Master Inventor and he tended to ask them to test his inventions before they hit the market. 

It was before this house a King’s Messenger rode up in a non-descript, steam-powered Delivery Wagon. He looked like nothing more than a run-of-the-mill package delivery man and no one who saw him would ever guess otherwise. He parked and stared at this cottage a moment in concerned wonder. This was where His Royal Majesty wanted him to Deliver? One of the steam stacks loosed a piercing whistle and the Messenger nearly tripped as he was climbing down from his wagon. He glanced around but no one came running to see what had happened or what caused the noise so he had to believe this… this… sound was a normal enough occurrence for them that they tended to ignore it when it happened. Shaking his head, he went to the rear of his wagon and lifted out his crated Delivery, then turned and sauntered casually to the front door.

Just as he lifted his hand to knock he heard another high-pitched whistle, like steam makes escaping a crack just before an explosion, and he ducked reflexively. Rather than an explosion, he heard the sound of someone loudly berating wood, steam, gears, and Inventing in general, all accompanied by the sounds of loud thuds and slams as the whistle slowly abated. Still startled, but with a job to do, the Messenger cleared his throat, raised his hand once more, and knocked firmly on the door before him.

“No! I don’t want any more cookies!” Hollered a muffled but definitely masculine and highly irritated voice from within. The same one that had, moments ago, been expounding on the follies of Inventing. “Nor do I have anything to donate. Go away! I’m busy!”

Blinking in confusion the Messenger hesitated, then glanced around. Seeing no one nearby he knocked again, more firmly than before. A loud *clang* sounded from within followed by a complete and heavy silence for several long moments. This silence was followed by a rhythmic clomping that got progressively louder before stopping on the other side of the door. The door was abruptly yanked open and the Messenger found himself confronted by a scowling man of average height with light brown hair high-lighted by streaks of white and strawberry blond, some of which stood out as if he'd run a hand through it in distraction. He was scowling at the Messenger through a pair of gold, round, wire rimmed glasses which perched on the end of what could only be described as an inquisitive nose. His white and brown goatee fairly quivered with irritation as he demanded “Well? What!”

“I… the… there’s…” the Messenger, for the first time in his exemplary career for the King, found himself at a loss. The man wasn’t intimidating in and of himself, but the pure irritation at being interrupted seemed to emanate from him like a physical blow. He spoke again.

“Unless you’re selling Thin Mints, you are not welcome here. State your business and be gone or I will assist you in your going.” he barked.

The Messenger noticed the man had his left hand on a lever and some sort of Armtraption on his right arm. It appeared to be weaponized, what with the copper and brass coils and the tubing that wrapped around it and led up under his sleeve, and the man was flexing his fingers. Despite its cumbersome appearance, the man moved with the ease of one who wore it often and long. 

“Well? Which is it? Are you selling Thin Mints or are you leaving?”

This time, the Messenger saw a twinkle in the man’s blue eyes and the slightest twitch to his lips. Clearing his throat the Messenger found his official voice and managed to state his business.

“I am here with a message from His Royal Majesty, King Selinger Pendragon, to Inventor Aether Pendragon.”

The man blinked, lowering his left hand from the lever and relaxing his right as he absorbed this information, realizing the man on his porch must be a Royal Messenger. One who is never ignored for he spoke the very words of the King, himself.

“I see. Please, come in.” His tone turned respectful and he widened the door, waving the Messenger inside. “I do apologize for my earlier behavior. I’m always getting salesmen or the local kids knocking on my door to sell me something right in the middle of my work. Here we go, this way, please.” And he led the way into his front room.

It was clearly meant to be a sitting room with windows for the light and a view of what would normally be the garden but seemed to hold odd bits of metal statuary and half-built models. Inside the room, every table top, most of the chairs, and the buffet were stacked or stuffed with books and papers in what appeared to be a haphazard manner while objects that appeared to be in the beginning stages of creation sat on top of the remaining chairs, some of the book stacks, or on what floor space was left with gears and wire coils of all types of metal strewn between them. Only a few appeared to be completed but the Messenger had no idea what they might do. 

The walls had been stripped of their decorative paper and painted over with something like the chalkboards teachers and professors used in classrooms to write on for their students. There were drawings, diagrams, equations, and notations everywhere and they made absolutely no sense to the Messenger. The scope of the mathematics and schematics were dizzying. Even as he tried to read them he could feel a headache starting behind his eyes. He was almost grateful when his host turned to him.

“The message, sir?” Aether asked.

“I must be sure I am speaking to Inventor Aether Pendragon, sir. I was given strict instructions that these Words were for him, alone.” The Messenger spoke severely. "And, you must admit, the name Pendragon is not that uncommon in the kingdom." 

With a sigh, his host turned to a small table with so many papers piled on top they appeared in danger of sliding everywhere at the least breeze or featheriest touch. Somehow, and the Messenger almost suspected magic, the papers not only remained in place but yielded what their owner sought. He turned back and flourished a set of Travel Papers with his name and likeness stamped on them along with a clear representation of his signature.

The Messenger smiled. “I apologize, Professor Pendragon. His Majesty was most insistent in his instructions.”

Aether smiled slightly. “Believe it or not, I do understand, lad. The message?”

Glancing around for a clear surface, he was startled when Aether swept the papers off the very table he’d just dug through for his proof of identity. Setting them with precarious indifference atop another table piled with books, he gestured toward the now-free side table. The Messenger settled the crate atop its gleaming mahogany surface and handed the key to Aether.

“I will wait in the hall, Professor. His Royal Majesty said the message was for you, only. But, he did give me personal instructions in case you had any questions.”

Aether lifted an eyebrow at this. ‘Personal instructions’ meant that the King’s Messenger had undergone hypnosis and had no idea what the king had said to him. It was buried in his subconscious and could only be retrieved by a trigger known only to the Messenger when it was needed by the person it was for. Until that time, as far as the Messenger was concerned, it didn’t exist. If it wasn’t needed, then the ‘personal instructions’ would never exist. It was the one sure way to keep enemies of Calidonia from getting information meant for the king’s agents. If a Messenger were captured and was unable to escape, his body and its systems would shut down and he would die. Each Messenger knew this, and each Messenger was willing to serve his king. 

Aether nodded and the Messenger left the room, closing the door tightly behind him. Aether stared at the crate that nearly covered the small side table, weighing the key in his hand. What did Selinger want now? Knowing there was only one way to find out, Aether sighed and fitted the key into the lock on the crate. 

The sound of gears clicking into place reached Aether’s ears and, for a moment, the box seemed to writhe as the gears moved, then the sides of the box began to slide open and out of the way. Inside was a Gyrospeaker, an instrument not unlike a gyroscope in that it had, depending on its’ complexity, two to three rings on top of a simply etched gold box. This particular box had four rings. Within the rings hovered a round knob of sterling silver loosely wrapped with thin copper wires. Once set in motion the Gyrospeaker’s rings would begin a rapid spinning and a picture of the sender would be projected into the air above the rings with the recorded message emerging from a Speech Box. It was expensive and normally used only by the very wealthy or an extremely serious situation. 

Pressing the Receptor Switch to start the process, Aether went to clean off a chair as the gears began to warm up. He settled into the chair before the Gyrospeaker, running a hand over the smooth wood of the chairs’ arm while he waited for the gears to reach message speed. 

Soon, the whining from the gears reached the proper speed and the rings began spinning in opposition to each other. They produced a static charge that bounced off the sterling knob and copper wire, then shot into the air above the spinning rings. As Aether watched, a face began to take form over the rings and a panel in front of the box folded aside so the Speech Box could slide forward. As it did, the King’s mouth began to move and his voice emerged from the Speech Box. 

“Hello, Brother. Greetings and all that royal protocol we’re supposed to indulge in. Let’s don’t, but say we did.” He grinned and Aether couldn’t help but chuckle in response to their childhood saying for not doing what they ought. 

Then the king sobered. “I need your help, ‘Ther, but, it’s very likely to be dangerous. Before I even tell you what I need, know you are free to refuse.” He paused and glanced down. “This is hard, ‘Ther, because you’re the only one I can trust with this and to do this, but you’re still my little brother.” Aether winced even as his brother’s image looked up again to add with a slight smile. “No matter how old you become or how amazing an Inventor you are.” 

He sobered again. “Something’s coming, Aether. Something evil. My Sight Makers can’t See what it is and only know it’s coming from both the Far South and from within.”

By now, Aether had slouched down in the chair, one arm crossed over his chest to support the other as he reached up and twisted the hairs of one eyebrow, a habit he’d begun in childhood whenever he was contemplating something intensely. 

“There is one hope, Aether. My chief Sight Maker, Meirnath, has spoken of a Brass Maker who has a rare skill we may be able to use. She can create small portals between our world and another that Meirnath is too terrified to describe. Apparently whatever lives there has Sight beyond that of even our greatest Sight Makers.” He paused.

“I don’t know if this is the right road to take, Aether, but it seems right. I need you to go into the Deep Murk Forest in the Black Ward Mountains and find this Brass Maker. Ask her help in creating these Portals to see if these beings will aide us.

“Meirnath says you’re the best choice and chance to find this Brass Maker but, as I said, you’re free to refuse. I have other agents I can send, agents trained to survive in the Wilds. The choice is yours. Give your answer to the Messenger. And, yes, he can answer any questions you have. He’s the best Messenger in my service.” Aether’s eyebrows rose at that. 

The king’s hand lifted. “Be well, ‘Ther, whatever you decide. Just choose quickly.”

The spinning rings slowed and the King’s face vanished even as Aether raised his hand in response. Once silence returned, Aether sat a few more minutes in continued contemplation, his fingers still twisting his eyebrow. He stared, unseeing, at the now silent Gyrospeaker before abruptly throwing himself from his chair and toward the door. Selinger said the Messenger was not only his best but had answers he might need. As he opened the door to step into the hallway a grin spread across Aether’s face.

Yes! An adventure!

Still Here... And now, Writing Creativity

Well! It seems I can't be creative in my bead/jewelry crafting studio at the moment. My dog is still ALL puppy and he STILL thinks I'm his Momma. He saves up all his energy all day (I kid you not, Mr. Mellow all morning and most of the afternoon) and then gets pie-eyed crazy when I come home. He needs a walk, he needs to play, he needs my attention even if he doesn't want to do anything more than chew on his Soothie. I turn my back for even 5 minutes and someone is hollering for me to "come get [my] dog!"

That said, I've decided to go a slightly different creative route. Those who have seen my poetry know I enjoy writing. I also love trying to write stories but I'm not so great at it. I can do short stories - you know, 300 words or less kind of thing - but it's harder when you start talking novel-length stories. But I want to try. And I've got a pretty cool story in the works. It's inspired by an acquaintance who is a retired Veteran (you know how I feel about our Vets, too!) and he and his wife are very much into the Steampunk genre, Aether Pendragon and his wife Dr. Steamy Brassington (she creates aMAYzing jewelry, among other things, and he makes contraptions!).

I've already got a short story I wrote on Dr. Brassy and I'm now calling it the Prologue to my story I'm working on about Aether and, I've decided, I want to share them with you. In part, because I've been gone so long and I don't want anyone thinking I've fallen off the edge of the World and, in part, because I can be creative and set it aside easily when I need to "come get your dog!" again. I'm going to try and do this at least once a month. I can't promise more than that right now until my dog is less clingy but also because I take forever to write things. I hand write it out, then I go put it on the computer (making adjustments as I go), then I re-read it and make more adjustment. It's really a never-ending process that I have to force myself to knock off so others can read, if they want to. Which brings me to the Prologue (formerly known as "The Brass Maker's Fire"). Enjoy!

THE BRASS MAKER'S FIRE

Deep in the verdant forest sat a cottage of finely burnished wood and metals. The slated roof, covered in deep green moss, was slanted just enough to allow any rain to run off into the catch barrels placed strategically at each corner. Windows, now covered by shutters of a complementary wood and latched by patinaed copper forms, faced both North and South – a most auspicious placement for a Maker.

Within the cottage a Makeress sat before a Makers Fire concentrating on a gold nugget that floated in the air before her. Eyes the blue of a winter’s lake glowed with an inner fire of their own as an unfelt wind caressed her deep auburn curls while she studied the nugget. To her left sat a small tower made of Zebra wood and fine leather dyed a rich burgundy. Copper, brass, and steel gears showed through the glass encased sides of the tower but no clock face or other obvious reason for the gears was in evidence, yet the wear and grease on the cogs and teeth showed their constant use. To her right was a table with glass bottles of various sizes and holding a multi-hued assortment of liquids. Some carried a seal warning of their dangerous nature. Some had different pieces of metal hanging in their liquids which bubbled and frothed. Some had an extremely pungent aroma.

The Makeress gracefully lifted her right hand and cupped it just under the floating bit of gold without actually touching it. With her left hand she reached up to the leather band around her forehead and adjusted an eye piece, much like a jeweler’s loupe, down in front of her eye. It began to glow a luminous blue as she leaned forward to carefully examine the gold in detail. Satisfied, she nodded to herself and pushed the loupe away as the glow faded. Still graceful, she gestured with her left hand and the gold floated into the Makers Fire. The flames parted to accept the gold, closing about it and, at the Makeress’s further gesture, the flames turned from gold, to silver, to blue, before they settled to a deep, sunset orange with hints of red and black.

Chanting softly, the Makeress recited the Words of Calling with careful precision even as her hands sketched the Signs of Binding in the air between her and the Fire. To her left, the gears in the wood and glass tower began to move with smooth, silent efficiency. To her right, a beaker half filled with red liquid, and another with a burnished gold liquid, began to bubble with vigor. Still in her soft voice, she spoke the final words, gently made the final gesture, and a bell’s tones seemed to peel from the gear tower. At its musical, sustained tone the liquids bubbling within the two beakers shot out and into the Makers Fire. A roar resounded from the Fire’s depths, filling the room and rattling the glass on the table and in the tower before it faded away.

She gestured again and the Fires parted to reveal a transformed piece of gold. It now resembled a nobleman’s pocket watch except there seemed to be a deep hole in its center. Another gesture from her and a tongue of the Makers Fire gently bore it forward to leave it hanging before her eyes once more. The hole now showed what seemed to be a closed eye through it. With a satisfied smile the Makeress whispered. “Awake.”

The eyelid, a deep burnished orange, slowly blinked open and a red and black iris appeared. The pupil, slit like a cat’s eye – or a dragon’s – seemed to fluctuate before focusing on her, then a voice spoke.

“Who has Called me?” The voice was at once a deep, rich bass and a musically ringing soprano. So rich its tones seemed to vibrate in the Makeress’s very bones. The Makeress smiled again.

“I have, Ancient One. Our need is great and you are summoned to aide us in this time.”

The eye examined the woman.

“Only me? The need is not so great, then, and you are foolish to waken me.”

“No, Ancient One. Not you, alone. Many of your brothers and sisters have already been Called and I will Call many more. Will you aide us?”

“The choice is not mine to make.” The voice rumbled aggressively. “You have made the Calling and created the Binding. I must Answer.”

“Nay. I hold none against their will. Look. Look deep within and you will see those who chose to aide and those who refused.”

There was silence as the eye seemed to look inward for many long moments, then it focused on her once more with slightly less suspicion. “I can refuse?”

She nodded. “With no consequences to you or yours, Ancient One. There is a war coming. Not all can help, or even are willing to do so. I respect that. I only ask you hear before you decide.”

The eye considered her again before it replied. “Speak, then. Though I offer no great hope. This portal is too small for such as I to Pass Through.”

“You are not required in your Entire Being. Only the aide of your Sight is needed, if you will grant it.”

“It would take a strong mind and even stronger will to use the Sight summoned by such as I and my kin. Our visions are rarely a blessing and more of a curse. Nightmares.”

The Makeress’s smile widened. “Sightmares, we call them. Yes, we know. Many are in training to accept what you show and to learn how to understand and translate what is seen. Only the Wild Ancients have this great and terrible Power. We will learn or die.”

The eye appeared to smile. “I believe I like you, Little One. I am known as Orick the Feared. How are you called?”

“I am the Brass Maker.” And the Makeress’s smile filled with satisfaction as she placed the final Binding upon Orick.

© Copyright 2013 Pam Sears (UN: condorsfan at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.