Clockwork Legion (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 4) Read online

  River’s clothes had all been recently washed and were relatively new, which meant she was fairly well dressed, relatively speaking. Other women River had known -women like Shayla and Morgane- wouldn’t be caught dead wearing breeches in public, much less an article of clothing made from leather. This was considered manly garb, and River’s manner of dress was often viewed as “low,” if not outright indecent by those people who considered themselves civilized.

  River didn’t care much about that. According to Tinker, she had inherited her loathing for skirts and dresses from her mother. The difference between the two of them was that Breeze had somehow managed to force herself to conform to social acceptance, wearing traditionally feminine clothing in order to satisfy societal expectations, whereas River wouldn’t even entertain the idea. If society wanted her to dress a certain way, then society could go jump off a cliff. Preferably, the one she’d almost fallen off yesterday. While they were down there, maybe they could find the boneshaker.

  That being said, River did make some effort to clean up her appearance, in order to make a good impression. There was no telling what the people of this marvelous new city would be like, and it did make sense to at least present a semi-respectful countenance. But she also went ahead and strapped on her gun, just in case. Things had gone wrong before…

  River found Socrates at the locomotive. The fire had burned low overnight, and he was bringing it back up to temperature. After entering the crater, the commander had switched from starfall to lumber as the train’s primary fuel. It was just a precaution, he had said. They now had an adequate supply of the starfall, but trees were a far more common and less valuable resource inside the crater. Better to save what fuel they had in case they needed it later. In the meanwhile, they pulled out their maps of the area, and River helped him to chart the city’s location.

  “If my memory is correct,” she said, making a red mark on the chart, “this is the location of the bridge I crossed.”

  “It’s located next to the tracks?” Socrates said. “I wonder why the steamscouts didn’t note this in their sensor logs.”

  “They may not have seen it. The jungle is dense along the tracks, and the bridge is hardly visible until you’re right on top of it.”

  “Was it steel?” Socrates said. His fingers made quiet click-clicking sounds as he scratched the fur on his chin. River narrowed her eyebrows.

  “The bridge? No, it was stone. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m trying to date this civilization. The engineer’s logs from the other train didn’t mention this city. I suppose I’ll have to wait until we can get a closer look.”

  Socrates roused the crew with an announcement through the communication pipes. A short while later, they were on their way. It was only a few miles down the tracks to the bridge, but it still took nearly an hour to get there, and then to get the steamwagons unloaded from the train. The entire time, River was chomping at the bit. Her boneshaker had only been gone one day, and already she was missing it.

  At last, they loaded up a group of armed fighters into two steamwagons. Socrates, River, Micah and Thane took the first wagon, while Vann and two of the Tal’mar -Loren and Kynan- took the second. As always, the Tal’mar were armed with bows, while the others took swords or blunderbusses.

  The trip across the bridge and down the narrow jungle road took less than fifteen minutes. A quarter mile away from the pyramids, they began seeing signs of civilization. The trees in the area had been clear cut to make way for buildings and farmland, and they began to see small farms and gardens along the roadway. The dwellings in this area were primarily huts and tents, but as they drew closer to the city, these gave way to buildings of stone, and finally, the pyramids themselves.

  “They have no wall,” Thane observed as they drew close. “How do they protect themselves from the jungle creatures, or enemies?”

  No one had an answer. They passed some farmers working in the fields, and a handful of pedestrians walking along the roadway, but no one paid them any attention. Socrates was concerned about their dismissive behavior, and his frown deepened the closer they got to the city.

  The people here were mostly dark skinned, though River noted a great deal of variation in the amount of pigment in their skin. None were as fair as Thane and River, but many had the golden hue of a deep tan, and others were darker, like Kale’s old flame Rowena. Some were so black that they looked to River as if their skin had been dyed to match the darkest fabric.

  For the most part, they dressed in robes of light, billowing cloth. The colorations varied from white and tan to deep hues of blue and purple. They seemed to prefer some contrasting color in their garb, usually in the form of stripes or other simple patterns. One item everyone wore, down to the youngest child, was sandals. This, she presumed, was to protect their feet from the plants and crawling things of the jungle.

  Inside the city, the dirt roads became straight cobbled streets and pathways that met at perfect ninety-degree intersections. Lawns grew between the buildings and stretched out in long, perfectly manicured fields around the pyramids. A series of canals and aqueducts brought water from the jungle into town and dispersed it among the fields for irrigation. Alongside the tallest pyramid, River observed the massive truss-like clockwork structure that she had seen previously. It was several stories high and filled with slowly spinning cogs and gears. One of the larger canals fed into this machine and then vanished beneath the adjacent structure.

  “What does it do?” River said under her breath.

  While River was wondering at the engineering marvels, Socrates was trying to get the attention of the civilians. As the steamwagons slowed, the people continued walking by, paying no attention to them at all.

  “Excuse me,” Socrates said to a man they were passing. “Sir?”

  The man averted his gaze. He turned aside and went scurrying back between the buildings. Socrates turned his attention to a woman carrying a basket of fruits and vegetables. “Good morning,” he said. “Do you understand me?”

  Likewise, she fixed her gaze on the ground and hurried off in another direction. Socrates exchanged a frustrated glance with River. He parked the steamwagon and approached several more people, but likewise, none would respond, much less look at him. Finally, the automaton lost his temper.

  “Does anyone here know how to talk?” he shouted in a booming voice. “Anyone?”

  “I speak your language, beast.”

  They all swung their heads around to see a man standing a few yards off, approximately half the distance between them and the smallest pyramid. He appeared to be a man, at least. He had the body of a man, but he wore a metal helm of some sort that glinted gold in the sunlight. He also wore a deep blue robe with gold stripes and hems, and gloves of pure white cloth. In his right hand, he carried a scepter-like metal rod made of gold.

  “My name is Anu-Abas. I am the overseer of this colony.”

  A dark cloud seemed to pass over River as he made this statement. The last time she’d encountered someone called an overseer, it hadn’t ended well. Her hand unconsciously slid toward the handle of her revolver. Socrates spoke:

  “I’m Socrates, the commander of the Iron Horse. These are my companions. We’ve come here to study new cultures and civilizations, such as your own.”

  “That is unfortunate,” said Anu-Abas, “for our culture has neither desire nor need of such examination.” He came closer, and as he moved through the shadows of the trees and came into the light, River caught her breath. What she had perceived to be a helm was actually a bronze plate riveted to the side of his skull, and a brass framework with multi-colored glass lenses secured over his left eye.

  The overseer’s skin was drawn tight across his skull, like the mummified bodies they’d seen in the derailed train. His flesh was discolored, with patches of green and black decay, chunks of flesh missing entirely, revealing chalk-white bone underneath. His lips were thin, parted in a death-like grimace that revealed rotting yellow te
eth.

  The overseer’s left leg was similarly braced with a framework of brass and bronze between the upper thigh and shin. The creature’s knee was missing, and this mechanism apparently functioned as a replacement.

  Anu-Abas, River realized with a sense of dread, was not human. He was undead.

  The creature raised his scepter and pointed it at them. “You are not welcome here. I will not give you a second warning.”

  Chapter 8

  The next morning, Kale found himself wandering alone among the ruins of Ravenwood. While he saw no sign of the missing heads, there were many heartbreaking mementos of the tragedy that had occurred in that place. The scorched and broken ruins of family heirlooms, children’s toys, and pieces of art lay scattered all around him. There were bodies, too, mostly buried in ash. Kale left them and moved on.

  He was searching through the debris when Gavin rode up on his copper steed. The older knight watched him from the saddle for a few seconds before speaking. “You all right, son?”

  Kale glanced up at him. “Why do you ask?”

  “You seem… uneasy. That’s understandable, of course. This place has us all on edge. Burned buildings, decapitated bodies… It’s one thing to attack an army or even a fortress, but what sort of monsters would do this to simple peasants?”

  Kale bent over and lifted the charred remains of a toy. It had been a wooden farm animal -possibly a horse or a mule- at one time. Now, it was little more than charcoal.

  “Gavin,” Kale said, glancing up at the elder knight, “do you believe in the afterlife?”

  “Of course. We all believe in the next world, don’t we?”

  “I suppose. Do you remember the Tal’mar? The people on the Iron Horse with pointed ears?”

  “Sure,” Gavin said with a shrug. “Strange bunch. Very quiet.”

  “They believe their ancestors watch over them. I think they believe they remain here, in this world. That they’re… changed, but still here. Invisible, I suppose.”

  “So?”

  Kale tossed the charred toy back into the ashes and turned, staring at Gavin. “So what if they’re right? What if we don’t go to the next world? What if we stay here?”

  “Why? What’s got you so worried about it?”

  Kale frowned. “I saw something earlier. A little boy. Not just saw, I also heard him. He spoke to me. He asked me where his mother was. But the instant I moved, he vanished.”

  “A ghost?”

  Kale didn’t answer. They stared at each other, the word hanging in the air between them. Gavin straightened in his saddle, leaning back against the scrolled copper cantle. The leather padding creaked as he moved.

  “Don’t get too worked up about it. You’re not the first man who’s seen something that wasn’t there. A few mugs of sour ale and you’ll wake up swearing you’ve been to the next world and back.”

  “I hadn’t been drinking,” Kale said. “And I know what I saw. I just don’t know what it meant.”

  “And you’ll never know. That’s the nature of such things. The only certainty is that no one here gets out alive. Just ask the people who lived in this village. They know the answer, but you won’t find out until you join them. Anybody who tells you different is either lying or has the sight. Good luck proving which.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about him. He seemed so real… so confused. I’m not afraid to die, but I don’t want to be confused like that.”

  “Maybe it takes a while to realize you’re dead,” said Gavin. “Or, maybe it wasn’t a child at all. Maybe it was something else. Just a… a memory of him.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “This world is more than just earth and sky, boy. You know that. You’ve seen the energy in things. You can feel it. I know you can.”

  Kale thought of Burk, and of how the starfall had changed the man. He wasn’t sure if that was what Gavin meant by energy, but he had heard Socrates refer to it just so on many occasions. He also knew there were other kinds of energy: the energy in a coil of wire inside the Iron Horse’s crude generator, the energy in a seed springing forth from the earth, the energy inside a man that vanished when the light went out in his eyes.

  Kale didn’t get a chance to elaborate on the question, because at that moment, Sir Hector came galloping up on his dark blue charger. “We’ve found the trail,” the knight said. “It leads into the woods, south of town.”

  Kale hurried out of the ruins and climbed onto his black warhorse. Hector took off at a gallop and they hurried after him, racing down the main street of Ravenwood. They reached the path shortly, and found Sir Bathus and Sir Flynn waiting.

  “Looks like an old hunting trail,” Gavin remarked.

  “That’s fresh blood,” Hector said, pointing at a few drops among the ferns at the edge of the path.

  Kale heeled his mount to a trot, moving around the others as he headed down the narrow trail. Tree branches slapped at him, but Kale paid no mind. His eyes were focused on the ground.

  It was difficult to make their way down the narrow trail; harder still to pick out the random drops of blood along the way. They moved at a slow pace, following the markings deep into the woods, up and down ravines, across a stream, and finally came to a section of dense, shadowy forest. A heavy silence lay upon the place, and the ancient gnarled trees seemed to leer down at them.

  “These woods are haunted,” Hector said under his breath. “I’ve heard many legends of demons and witches that live here.”

  Kale heard a low moaning sound in the distance, and he followed it away from the trail. The others went reluctantly after him. The sound came again, and Hector flinched. The others exchanged uneasy glances.

  “What kind of demons were they?” Flynn said, his wide eyes scanning the dark woods. “Can they fly?”

  “Not demons,” Gavin said, pointing up into the boughs of a twisted old oak. “River reeds.”

  They followed his gaze and saw a handful of reeds tied into a sort of wind chime that was hanging in the branches. The reeds had been cut and carved into simple flutes, so that each produced a distinct tone as the breeze blew through them.

  “Somebody doesn’t want us here,” Hector said.

  “We must be on the right track,” said Kale. “Keep moving.”

  They rode on for a few more minutes, passing through a small orchard, and came to a clearing with an old stone farmhouse with a thatched roof. Nearby stood a dilapidated old barn, and between the two, a garden overgrown with weeds. Scattered around the property, they saw the missing heads of the townsfolk fixed onto posts.

  “Devils!” Gavin cursed, his gaze fixed on one of the leering faces. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “This place is an abomination,” Hector said. “We must burn it down!”

  Kale held up a hand. “Wait!” he commanded. He turned his steed, taking it all in. A click-clicking sound came from the horse’s flanks as it turned, and it blew a puff of smoke out through its nostrils. Kale fixed his gaze on the farmhouse. “Hello, there!” he called out. “Is anyone inside?”

  He watched the shutters and the door, listening for any sound. His gaze flitted to the dilapidated old barn. One of the doors hung open, but it was dark inside. He leaned close to Gavin and lowered his voice. “Check the barn,” he said, nodding in that direction. “Take Flynn with you.”

  Gavin gestured for the younger knight to join him, and they moved off. Kale turned his attention back to the house. “This is your last chance! You have five seconds to come out before we burn this farm to the ground. Five… Four…”

  They heard the clunking sound of the door being unbarred. The rusted old hinges creaked as it slowly swung open. A sixteen-year-old girl appeared, dressed in simple leathers and tall boots, wearing a long green hooded cloak. In her hand she held a longbow with an arrow nocked and ready.

  “Who are you?” she said, looking them up and down.

  “My name is Kale, First Knight to Queen Aileen of Dragonwall and Commander of
the Danaise Militia. These are my men, Sir Hector and Sir Bathus, and over there, by your barn, are Flynn and Gavin. Who are you?”

  “My name is Erin, daughter of Malbus and Avery Huntsman. You should have come here when we asked. You are too late.”

  Gavin and Flynn returned at that moment. “Just a few hens in the barn,” the older knight said, drawing his horse alongside Kale’s. “And a few fresh graves out back. I’d say this girl has some explaining to do.”

  “We came as soon as we received your message,” Kale said to Erin. “What happened here?”

  “Raiding parties. The first time we fought them off, but after that, there were too many. It was an army of ghouls, and it was a slaughter.”

  “Ghouls?”

  “Undead,” she said. “The murdered corpses of men, resurrected to fight as soldiers.”

  Sir Gavin leaned close to Kale, lowering his voice. “Her words don’t track,” he said under his breath. “I mean yes, ghouls, we’ve all seen or heard of them, but the rest of it doesn’t make sense. No one can control those things. They can’t be turned into soldiers.”

  “You’re wrong,” said Erin, glaring at him. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. We’ll all be dead soon, anyway.”

  “Why the heads?” Kale said, nodding at a nearby post.

  “It confuses the undead the ghouls leave behind. They only attack the living.”

  The sun was shining down on Kale’s armor, and he had begun to sweat. A gust of wind blew through the clearing, filling his nostrils with the scent of death. Nearby, flies buzzed around the piked heads. His gaze strayed to the dark woods around them, and a cold chill crawled down his spine. It was an eerie sensation, that cool chill in the hot afternoon sun.

  “I think our watcher is back,” he said to Gavin in a low voice. The others heard as well, and they all began scanning the woods.