Canticle

Renard smiled. “Hours. if that. We’re close again.”

Neb nodded, and they set out at a run. They’d crested the apex of the bridge when they heard strange sounds from the east and below. They slowed, and Renard brought out his thorn rifle, walking a few paces ahead of Neb. As they drew closer to the noise, they saw the dim amber glow of glass eyes fluttering below them and heard the wheezing of bellows. Reedy, metallic voices met their ears.

“You must listen to reason, Cousin, and turn back with your colleagues now,” the first voice said. “You are not authorized to travel beyond this geographical point. Message follows: Under holy unction I declare the lands beyond D’Anjite’s Bridge closed, under seal and signet, Introspect III, Holy See of the Androfrancine Order and Seated King of Windwir.” The voice was flat and matter-of-fact.

Neb blinked into the darkness and saw their dim outlines at the far edge of the bridge. The moonlight wasn’t such that he could pick them out easily, but it was obvious that the fleeing metal man fled no more. Feet planted firmly on the far side of the chasm, it stood and faced Isaak where he stood upon the last of the bridge.

Neb and Renard crouched on the bridge. He felt the night wind move over the back of his neck, raising gooseflesh.

Isaak’s voice was calm and measured. “Pope Introspect is no longer in power. The Order returned to Pope Petronus’s care when Windwir fell-before its eventual dissolution seven months, two weeks and three days ago.”

“That is not possible; Pope Petronus is dead. Without a counter-manding order from Introspect or his named successor, I may not let you pass.”

Neb didn’t realize he was rising to his feet until he felt Renard’s hand clamp onto his arm. He shrugged it away, suddenly sure of himself. He raised his own voice. “Petronus is not dead; I declared him myself on the plains of Windwir. You yourself claimed to bear him a message. The holdings of the Order have been passed to the Ninefold Forest-all holdings-including the Order’s mechanicals.” He took another step forward, willing authority in his voice, reaching back to the brief months he’d commanded the gravediggers’ army. “I am an officer of the Ninefold Forest Houses and the Great Library reconstructed therein.” More steps now. “I order you to escort us to Sanctorum Lux immediately that the holdings may be cataloged for the new library.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t what happened next. The metal man’s eyes fluttered open and closed, its mouth flap working as steam whistled out suddenly from the exhaust grate in its back.

And then, the metal man laughed.

It was a loud, long, wheezing laugh that rolled up and down the canyon, haunting the night with its eerie, metallic sound. “Nebios ben Hebda,” it said, “you are early for your time here. Do not be so eager for the gift you cannot give back.”

Gift you cannot give back. It was from the first Gospel of P’Andro Whym, and he conjured the words up from the bottom of his memory.

And it came to pass on the night of the Purging that P’Andro Whym wept with his closest lieutenants for the work that they had done and turned his eyes upon them and said unto them “Behold our duty to the light is this night begun, and it shall be a gift that cannot be given back and the last path we shall follow in this land.

Neb’s eyes narrowed. “You speak of duty to the light; we do not choose it. We are called to it.” He stepped farther forward. “Isaak, are you well?”

Isaak turned and nodded. “I am well, Nebios. My chassis and bellows are in need of cleaning.”

Neb returned his attention to the other mechoservitor. “You tell me I am early,” he said. “How do you know this?”

The mechoservitor blinked. “Because we are not ready, Nebios ben Hebda. Neither are you.”

Neb thought about this. He was aware of his bladder suddenly feeling full, of his feet suddenly feeling like flying him back, away from the confrontation he walked to. “You tell me I am early but you do not tell me I am unauthorized.”

The metal man whistled and bleated as a shudder rattled its armor-plated body. “You are authorized.”

Neb wasn’t certain where he found the words-perhaps from some corner of a forgotten dream-but he spoke now. And he spoke loud and clear: “If I am authorized, I abjure you, mechoservitor, to escort me to Sanctorum Lux.”

The mouth flap opened and closed again. Its head turned slowly. “Your companions are unauthorized.”

Neb swallowed. He thought about the Waste Guide behind him and Isaak before him. “Then my companions shall not accompany me.”

The metal man nodded and then moved with blurring speed. Its foot shot out, catching the knee joint in Isaak’s damaged leg and driving it back until Neb heard a plain, metallic crunch. As Isaak toppled over to the ground, the metal man leapt past Neb into the dark.

Neb turned and shouted. “No!”

He heard Renard gasping, heard the sound of scrambling and then a cracking sound-the sound of a bone breaking as Renard cried out.

Then, before he could open his mouth again, he felt metal hands scooping him up to toss him roughly across square steel shoulders. He felt a hand at his throat, applying gentle but firm pressure. “Remain still and do not struggle, Nebios Homeseeker, and I will bear you well and swiftly.”

The hand at his throat squeezed, and the night grew foggy as spiderwebs of light traced the corners of his vision. He was dimly aware of Isaak clawing and crawling toward them, his leg now useless and bent back behind him. He heard Renard panting in pain in the deeper shadows of the bridge.

And last, he was aware of the tick and grind of machinery within the metal man who bore him as they lurched across the ground to climb the high hills beyond the Younger God’s bridge. With his head pressed to the metal shoulder he wondered what manner of heart the Androfrancines had given their machines.

More pressure yet from the metal hand, and Neb felt his grip slide as unconsciousness took him and carried him into a gray and lonely place.

Chapter 19

Jin Li Tam

Melting snow made for muddy grass, and Jin Li Tam stepped carefully as she held Jakob to her breast. With the small blanket covering her exposed skin, she didn’t feel much of the cold, and she hoped it was the same for her son. Still, they wouldn’t be here long. The tents were heated, but she’d suddenly craved the cool air and her feet had needed pacing ground.

No, she realized. It was more than a craving.

She’d needed it; the tent had pressed in upon her after the birder left, and she’d needed in that moment to be outside and close to her son. Colder air and open space to find focus and stop the world from spinning.

They had arrived just a few hours before, and already the tents were in place and the smells of the cooking meat and wood smoke were in the air. Scout patrols now made their wide-ranging circles, and the various companies of the Wandering Army took up their places on the perimeter.

Soon, she would have to give Jakob over to Lynnae and ride to parley with Pylos and Turam. She had exchanged birds with Meirov herself just that morning but had not recognized the name of the general who led Turam’s battalion. The first skirmishes had gone badly for both armies; their attackers-small in number they later found-had defied all reason and had pressed on through their ranks until eventually they had fallen.

But those iron blades cut deep, and that wind of blood had howled until they fell and the astounded officers from the two neighboring nations took stock of their dead.

Now, reinforcements had been summoned for a further push north and were perhaps half a week away.

All of this was worrisome. But now she’d word from the Gate that Aedric and his company had ridden into the Wastes in search of Neb and Isaak. The greatest weapon in the world was lost to them.

And on the heels of that bird, the next: Rudolfo was sailing around the horn, suddenly convinced by an old Androfrancine that a cure for Jakob was more likely found in this so-called Sanctorum