Saul’s hands shaped the clay. His fingers picked out eye sockets and sculpted feathers. The pigeon began to appear, little by little in the cold light of morning.
He hated to consider the battle that awaited him and his art-children, the monster they would face. So he worked. He had crafted many new shapes but brought none of them to life except for a few spies like the pigeon. He finished swiftly.
Saul rose and walked to the latest experiment, the one not yet abandoned. Humanoid in shape. Powerful in build. Seven feet of clay on a metal armature. No face sculpted. Not yet.
He had studied, prepared, and planned, but saw little hope in the coming battle.
Apahar, the monstrous god himself, would soon return to Earth. Saul would destroy him. Or… The alternatives did not bear thinking about.
A heavy thump from the front door of the mansion rattled through the house. Somebody outside had never heard of a doorbell. The possibility that one of Apahar’s gern might be knocking on his door in broad daylight occurred to Saul. Many gern could disguise themselves from earth-born exiles and move about unnoticed. However, he doubted a gern would bother with the door at all.
He circled around the frame of the sculpted body and made his way toward the entrance hall. As he passed a table with unawakened pigeons clustered on it, he picked up a small oven rod, just in case a gern really had decided to knock on his door. The oven rod had a six-inch wooden grip and a small metal disk on one end. The metal of the rod could be activated with a maker’s inner spark to swiftly cook what it pressed against, whether that was clay or flesh. Rods like this one made useful tools and deadly weapons.
He stepped into the entrance hall and stopped at the foot of the main staircase. He had repaired the damage from the gern attack just a few weeks after returning and had meticulously painted over the patches in the wall as a way to ease his own stresses. Good as new. He only wished there was more to do because he had found it difficult to relax without repairs to focus on.
Another knock shook the door. Saul padded to the doorway in his socks. Tendrils of February frost crept up the window in the center of the door. Saul paused and listened for a moment, but a car drove past on the street, making his attempt to listen to who or what was on the other side of the door moot.
Saul took a step back from the door, oven rod ready to strike, and took a deep breath. He turned the knob.
A man and a woman stood on the porch.
He was tall with weathered skin and hair, and dark eyes. He wore a dark brown coat and a pair of blue jeans.
Her hair was black and her skin was pale. A blue-green scarf hung around her neck. Her coat was black. She nodded to Saul. “Mister Burton, hello.”
They had done a good job of masking their presences from a distance. Face to face both their natures became obvious from the sensation of their inner sparks. They were both makers like him. At least neither one was openly carrying a weapon.
“Please, put that thing down,” said the man in a dry voice.
Saul lowered the oven rod to his side. “It’s down. Who are you?”
“My name is Abigail Creek,” said the woman. “We are here on behalf of the worldmaker’s council.”
Creek. The surname sent him back over four years. How could he forget a name told to him by the woman whose death had left him trapped on Earth? She had been an exile looking for a man with that name. But she had died without finding him.
“Simon Cardwynn.” The man extended his hand to Saul. “I’ve heard your name, Mister Burton.”
The woman smiled slightly. “May we enter?”
Saul grunted assent. He looked the man up and down. The family name of Cardwynn rang all-too-familiar in his mind. Father had dealt with worldmakers of the Cardwynn family before, but this was one Saul didn’t recognize. No visible weapons, but that could be deceptive. Both of them were concealing all but the hints of their maker sparks somehow, but Simon’s taph felt bulkier with the door open, almost too big for a human.
The taph contained the mystic essence of any living being, a part of the spirit clutched tight to the human soul and carried between worlds upon the death of the body. Makers, like Saul and these two, carried a spark of power within their taphs that earth-born exiles lacked.
Saul folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. “Those names don’t mean much to me.” Saul tightened his grip on the oven rod in one hand, though it was currently tucked out of sight. “What do you want?”
“We only want to talk.” Abigail folded her gloved hands together. “We have news you will want to hear.”
“What kind of news? I’ve been exiled half a decade because I trusted the council.”
Simon’s nose wrinkled as if the guardian smelled something rotten. “Burton, this is about Jackal Reed.”
Saul raised his eyebrows. “Jackal, huh?” The name of his uncle, the man who had seen Saul exiled to the Earth years before and then acted as his jailer in the small town of Kerenger, caught his attention. Jackal had also killed Molly, the girl looking for old Mister Creek. “Alright. Come on in.”
He let them through, then closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold. Best to be wary. Not every councilmember was as corrupt as the ones who backed Jackal, but Saul did not doubt Simon was dangerous. If not to Saul, then to the other exile Saul had told the truth, Olivia, who still lived in Kerenger, on Earth.
Simon unzipped his coat and looked up the grand staircase. He whistled. “Big house.”
“My father had this house built. I just live in it.”
Abigail and Simon exchanged glances.
She took off her gloves and tucked them into her pocket. “Your father is a difficult man to work with, even for a worldmaker.”
“I’ll bet. He’s a difficult man to apprentice under for the challenges of the council. But you wanted to tell me something about my bastard uncle?”
Simon brushed snowflakes from his sleeves. “Jackal Reed is being investigated for corruption and has been removed from his station here in Kerenger. He is awaiting trial before a council court on Hidria.”
“Really?” Saul’s eyebrows raised. Good news, for sure, but only if the corrupt councilmembers Jackal worked alongside went too. “Who do I talk to about ending my exile on this dull, cursed world, from now on?”
“Following the events of three months ago…” Abigail glanced past Saul to the entrance of the workshop. “…The council has decided to review your situation. I am the representative assigned to your case.”
“You’re a worldmaker with the council? I’ve never heard of you before.” Just the surname. Best not to let on that much.
“I suppose you wouldn’t have,” said Abigail. “I became a worldmaker only four years ago.”
“Then you were in the challenges at the same time as me. Odd that I missed your name.”
She shrugged. “There are many aspirants, and most of them were better known than me. I often heard your name.”
“I knew I hadn’t met everyone.” Saul narrowed his eyes. He let the oven rod drop into his pocket, though still easily within reach. “So you’re a worldmaker, Creek? First in your family, I suppose.”
She nodded. “That is correct. I am also the senior councilmember you report to now. I will determine if you are fit to join the council. If the world you and Irene Chambers supposedly created can be located, that would improve your odds.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The world he and Irene had made was set to wander. Even if he knew where it had gone within the gray between, telling the council would more likely get him killed rather than pardoned unless he had the right leverage.
Saul rubbed his palms together. Flakes of partially dry clay fell through his fingertips. “I assume you’re not one of the ones Jackal bought? He always had ways to keep plenty of council members on his side.”
“Only a foolish worldmaker would stoop to taking a bribe.” Abigail wrinkled her nose. “I don’t consider myself one of the foolish ones.”
“I see your point. How can one bribe you, when you have a whole universe at your disposal? But it happens.”
Simon paced behind Abigail, moving toward the open doorway that led to the workshop. His eyes flicked toward Saul’s folded hands. “Cynical.”
“Realistic.”
The guardian snorted. “You won’t listen to me. You’ll think what you like.”
Saul unfolded his hands and half-turned toward Simon. Though he searched for a retort, he felt no tremors of anger from Simon’s words. “Cynical, maybe, but I would rather be cynical and exiled than have to go to Hidria for punishment.”
“I don’t blame you.” Abigail followed Simon’s gaze to the traces of clay left over on Saul’s fingers. “Have you been making?”
“It’s not the same as having an aleph shard as raw material.” Not like three months ago when everything he had imagined in the new world became real at a whim. Wistful memories of creation paraded in his mind. “But I work with what I’ve got, clay and steel.”
Abigail unfolded her arms. “Care to show us?”
“In a moment, perhaps,” said Saul. Best to be wary, after all, these were agents of the worldmaker council, the most powerful international body in known existence. They were tasked with keeping the laws of the worlds and strictly set against sharing the knowledge of the makers with anyone born on Earth. Saul had defied that rule twice, not least of all three months ago when he had recruited Olivia to help him.
“First.” He turned to Simon. “Creek is the new councilmember here. Are you the new guardian?”
Simon nodded. “I have been assigned here to investigate the area in my role as security enforcer.”
Security Enforcement dealt with gern and renegade art-children for the council, as well as exiles who knew too much. Enforcers almost never dealt with challenge disputes like the one that resulted in Saul’s exile.
“Does that mean the council is taking Apahar seriously? Finally?”
Apahar, the most powerful of any gern ever fought by the makers.
Apahar thought dead for millennia.
Apahar newly freed three months ago. Missing, like Saul’s wandering world.
Simon grunted. “I’m here to investigate your claims about Apahar’s return and clean up Reed’s mess. Councilmember Creek will be reviewing your case to determine if you are indeed worthy of the status of worldmaker and if you should remain in exile.”
Saul scowled at him. “Apahar is back. If you don’t trust me, Irene Chambers could tell you the same thing.”
“The movements of gern are difficult to prove unless they attack makers.” Simon’s calm gaze matched Saul’s scowl.
“Miss Chambers’ status is also under review.” Abigail rolled her eyes at Simon. “That’s enough of a stare-down, boys.”
Simon chuckled. His gaze left Saul’s face and he glanced up the grand staircase. His eyes narrowed.
Saul wondered if the man could detect the armory at the top of the steps. The place was shielded with an array of wards, but it contained too many artifacts and weapons to have its presence entirely hidden if one knew what lines to search along.
“Sense anything good?” asked Saul.
“Reed seems to think you have quite an arsenal hidden away.”
“A bit less of one now, I’ll admit.” His pursuit of the aleph splinter had cost him a few of his weapons. Nothing he could not do without, but Simon did not need to know that. Let him underestimate me, Saul thought.
“You can investigate his gear later.” Abigail turned to Saul. “Now, would you care to show us what you’ve been working on?”
Simon grunted but did not protest. For a member of the Cardwynn family, he took the affronts in her tone calmly. In the challenges, Saul had met others who did not have even that much humility and it had made them predictable.
“Sure,” Saul said to Abigail. Maybe they’ll see how serious things have become. “Most of Apahar’s original body is still buried under Kerenger.” Saul turned toward the workshop. “I’ve been preparing for when he comes back to rejoin it with his fragmented form.” He led the way through the broad doorway and into the wide-open space that used to be his father’s ballroom.
Nat fluttered onto his shoulder from above, a stick-like insect with gossamer wings. Rult prowled out from under a card table and hissed at Simon and Abigail. Saul caught the eye of the small lion child and shook his head. “Leave it. They’re not dangerous to us.”
For now.
Rult’s cat-eyed gaze moved to Simon. “He doesn’t feel right.”
Simon raised his eyebrows at Saul.
Saul shrugged. “Rult is a perceptive child, but young and untutored in etiquette.”
“I could tell.” Simon folded his arms. “He’s probably sensed my asura-bond. Rumor has it you have keen perception as well, Burton. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
“I suppose I’m just more polite.” Saul nodded to Simon. “So you’re bonded to an art-child. Why is that?”
“Members of my guardian Unit are required to bond, for self-defense.”
That taph of his felt heavy. Indeed, the presence was clear at a few feet away. A bond to a powerful child explained that. He shared the abilities of the creature connected to his taph.
Saul led the way to the card table where he had set the still-lifeless pigeons he had made. “I see. I imagine that is useful against gern.”
“I haven’t fought gern in some time. But yes.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t. I imagine exiles born on Earth don’t usually require too much power to hunt down. Of course, some may.”
He recalled the exiled sorcerer who, despite being cut to pieces, had still refused to fall. His mind drifted to his partner in that fight. Olivia knew about the makers. Though she had been born on Earth, with a nearly powerless taph, she had proved formidable as well.
Simon grunted. “As if you care. You more often befriend the earth-born from what I’m told.”
Saul attempted to hide his annoyance at Simon behind a roll of his eyes. “Hardly often.”
Olivia was only the second exile, earth-born or not he considered a friend.
Abigail looked around the room, taking in the incomplete sculptures that surrounded them. She motioned to the card table covered in pigeons. “You wanted to show us something?”
“Not these pigeons. That.” Saul pointed to the faceless body that towered in the center of the room. “I hope this one will be able to help me fight Apahar, given the lack of support I’ve received from Hidria so far. He still isn’t complete.”
Abigail walked to the body and stopped in front of the towering form. “Humanoid? Interesting choice to fight gern, Burton.”
“The body shape is to lure them in. Gern love the taste of human taphs even more than those of art-children. And not only do they devour taphs for sustenance, but also reshape them to make more of their kind.”
“True,” said Abigail. “And very confident.” She turned to Saul. “How much do you know about fighting gern?”
“Electricity is especially deadly to them. Some of them prize human taphs. Other than those few facts, not a lot to say.”
Her eyes flicked to the book Nat had been reading earlier. “Anything about aleph-gern in particular?”
“Only what’s in the older sources. No one has encountered an aleph-gern since Seffuinn defeated Apahar, until now, I suppose.”
“Defeated.” Simon grimaced. “Not destroyed.”
“Evidently not.” Saul glanced at the guardian.
“Aleph-gern supposedly formed from the same source as the splinters worldmakers use,” said Abigail. “I take it you know that.”
“Luther knew the same thing. He did not take into account the ability to control that power, which is precisely why Apahar is free now.” Saul folded his hands. “Theoretically infinite power resides in one monster’s body.” He hoped the shudder that ran through his mind wasn’t visible to the two other makers as he remembered Luther, possessed and speaking with Apahar’s voice. “And now in one man’s body.”
“Luther Mansard.” Abigail looked from the unfinished child-body to Saul. A frown wrinkled her pretty face. “We have evidence of his actions in Mortressa. The new queen of the city has been quite forthcoming with details in that regard.”
Saul smiled as he recalled the former gang leader from that day he had spent fighting across Mortressa. Another formidable ally. “She told you what the former city lord was doing, did she?”
“She did.” Abigail smiled slightly. “She spoke on your behalf as well. It seems Luther was some kind of exile, but there is no record of a man with his name and abilities being born on Earth.”
“I have no idea where he came from.” Saul managed the lie with a straight face. He did not dare reveal the existence of the hidden exile city between the realms, though it seemed like the most likely place Luther could have come from. It would not help his case, and the city relied on secrecy to survive. “But I figured it wasn’t Earth.”
“Irene Chambers told us the same thing.” Simon folded his arms. “I didn’t believe her before.”
“I hope you will trust me. However, if this is all. I think I need to get back to work.”
“Finishing your masterpiece?” said Simon. His eyes remained on the faceless shape bolted to the stand in the center of the workshop.
Saul looked at the towering form of clay with metal rods for bones beneath the surface. “Perhaps. But he is proving difficult.”
Abigail nodded to him. “Both Mister Cardwynn and I have comparators with us. Contact us with yours if you have need.”
“Your door is open?”
“It is for now,” said Abigail.
Saul shrugged. He followed the other two makers back to the main entrance and showed them out of the mansion. When they were gone, he turned to Nat, who was perched on his shoulder.
Simon might really be here to investigate about Apahar, but enforcement meant he always had another job. He would kill any exile who learned the truth about the maker world.
“I think we’d better go talk to Olivia.”
The little art-child bobbed up and down. “Very well. She is working, I believe.”
Though Nat spoke calmly, his motion revealed his excitement.
“Then I suppose we’re getting coffee.” Saul got his coat from the closet by the door and put it on. He shoved a second oven rod into one coat pocket and stepped out onto the porch. Snow had fallen and dusted the driveway during the night. Two pairs of footsteps led up and back along the pavement, but Abigail and Simon were already gone. Nat slipped under the collar of Saul’s coat. Saul set out across Kerenger to warn Olivia about the change in the situation.
Simon might act reasonable toward Saul, but an earth-born exile that knew the truth about Hidria and the other worlds would certainly not be so lucky. Saul would not give Simon a chance to use his powerful taph on one of his only human friends left in creation. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coat and trudged on.
