I could still see Pittsburgh from Fort Jaxwulf.
I stood at the window, looking down as the first orange fingers of the rising sun penetrated the folded hills surrounding the city. Most of the city below me remained in the shadow of the mounded earth around it, but the top of the Tower glowed like a lit candlewick.
Everything was alien in this land. The nobles did not occupy the Tower; it was reserved for the mightiest warriors of all the clans so that their prowess could be retained for the good of the city beyond their natural years. Mighty warriors, the best the land had produced over the last century, dwelt in the Tower. They were the Sons of Styx. To become a Son, they had to renounce their clans and swear themselves solely to the protection and betterment of Pittsburgh. They rested, trained—a thousand generational talents armed with the finest weapons the foundries could produce.
I had come to Fort Jaxwulf expecting to find the settlement quiet or barely waking. When the sun had fully risen, I would be expected to lead my next Griid-train. My only chance to meet with Claw would be in these early hours.
I had been surprised to find the settlement very much awake—awake and loud, but far from sober. I had stumbled upon a celebration that had lasted well into the night. Claw had greeted me with a tired, drunken lack of suspicion. The Chief of Clan Jaxwulf was a man perhaps in his forties. Like all of them, he was broad, strong, and rough. His wide face was bearded, with only hints of gray touching his temples.
He had been proud to explain that his daughter had birthed a son to the Chief of Clan Bonesaw. Jaxwulf and Bonesaw were among the foremost of the twelve major clans, and the marriage and birth promised to keep the clans at peace for some time.
I stood there at the window as Claw continued to pour ale for himself. I had declined, shuddering to imagine what using the Footfield under the influence of alcohol might result in. But he had grown serious when I told him I had been charged to meet him by Joel Montanion. He grew more serious still when I told him that Joel had sent me here to gather proof of the teachings of John the Dispeller.
Claw drank deeply of his ale. Beyond the window, there was still dancing and singing, but I sensed that more and more of the revelers were succumbing to the effects of fatigue and ale, or a combination of both. The party had the atmosphere of waning into a happy slumber.
Claw said, “It’s probably beyond coincidence that yinz arrived here on this of all days, Sword of Boston. I sense the hand of Providence in your coming.”
I said, “The Oracle works in mysterious ways.”
Claw spat on the floor at that. “Fuck the Oracle. Higher powers may be at work in sending yinz to me today. Did yinz know we have a tradition that a Chief can’t refuse a guest a favor on the day of his heir’s birth?”
He chuckled and swigged again. “A Chief must hide himself away for fear of being asked too great a boon. Today is not the birth of my heir, but yinz see the sense of what I’m sayin’?”
“Yes, I see exactly what you mean,” I said, though I didn’t at all, really. The man was borderline insensible.
Claw leaned back in his chair and belched loudly. “There’s a meaning in yinz coming to me on behalf of the Goldknight, on the morning young Thoddeus entered the world. I’m in a mood to listen to yinz, to help yinz.”
Claw rose and swayed over to join me at the window. He looked down at the city as more of the light crept between the clefts of the landscape to paint it in warm yellows. He said, “John the Dispeller wasn’t welcomed warmly when he came to Pittsburgh. They say he got the ear of Thrax early and easy enough, but the other clans feared and distrusted the stranger. The Bonesaw Clan most of all took a dislike to him, feeling he had bewitched their Chief. He warmed many of the clans with his teachin’, but not Clan Bonesaw. They’re a hot-headed lot and hard to make friends with once they see you as an enemy.”
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Claw wandered back from the window to the table, brought the mug to his lips again, and sipped. It was the first time he hadn’t slugged from the vessel. I could see that he was growing weary.
He went to the door, opened it, spoke briefly to someone outside, then turned back to me. “John the Dispeller found his best refuge here, in Fort Jaxwulf. The Jaxwulfs were the first to hear him for his truth, and he made a home here during his time in the Burgh. They say that as he grew older, he would come back to the Burgh, back to Fort Jaxwulf. It was a glorious time for the Burgh; we were setting the whole world on fire. But still, he found his refuge within these walls.”
Claw swept his arm around, gesturing to the room. “His old ass might have sat in some of these chairs years ago. What do yinz think of that?”
That gave me real pause. I looked around the room. Everything did seem old. It was a humbling and awesome thought to imagine that such a mythical figure might indeed have once passed time in this room.
Claw grew serious, the wonder leaving his voice. He was suddenly quite grave. “What John the Dispeller taught wasn’t easy to hear, and it’s not easy to live with. Not in our world. I ken the wisdom of the Goldknight sending yinz here to learn from the source. The Goldknight could tell yinz the truth, but why would yinz believe the words of a wandering madman? No, this is the way.”
The door cracked open, and Claw staggered over. When he turned back to me, he was holding a small leather-bound book. “I’ll probably regret this when the ale is outta me, but yinz can take this.”
He suddenly drew the book back to his chest. “Yinz can borrow it. But I need an oath, a solemn oath, that yinz’ll bring it back to us.”
I asked, “What is it?”
He looked down at the little book with reverence. “John the Dispeller kept journals. As Fort Jaxwulf became his home away from home, he left things here. We have a few of these, and we’ve guarded them fiercely over the years. I only extend this to yinz because of the Goldknight. And ‘cause of Thoddeus’s birth. And ‘cause I’m so fucking drunk.”
He bubbled with rasping laughter at his last words. When the laughter subsided, he fixed me again with his gaze. I sensed that this mortal man wouldn’t hesitate to cross blades with a Griidlord. There was no fear among these people. It was almost pathological how fierce they seemed to be.
“Go on then,” he said. “An oath, a real one. This is no small thing I do.”
I took a breath and said, “Claw Jaxwulf, I swear on the Oracle—”
“No!” he almost snarled, then spat again. “Not on the fucking Oracle! Swear on somethin’ dear to yinz.”
It was unsettling to think of something dear to me and come up empty. I considered swearing on Harold’s life, but it felt strange to swear on the life of a servant. My mind wandered to Katya and Lauren, but again, it seemed vague and insincere to swear on something as nebulous as friendship.
I felt my resolve deepen, and I met the man’s gaze, steady and unwavering. “Claw Jaxwulf, Chief of Clan Jaxwulf, I swear to care for and return the relic you hold. I swear on the thing dearest to me in this universe. I swear it on my Griid-suit. If I fail in the duty I bind myself to, may the suit be stripped from me, forever.”
Claw seemed to chew on my words, studying my face carefully, lips pursed, those eyes still piercing and intelligent despite the drunkenness. Then his expression softened, and a small smile crept onto his face.
“Aye, that’s a good oath. I can see yinz mean it. Yinz might be alright for a city-dweller, Tiberius of House Bloodsword.”
He walked closer and extended the hand bearing the book. I took it from him gently, reverently. It wasn’t just for show. John the Dispeller was a figure from history, and this little book was indeed a treasure, a relic. I felt honored by the trust Claw was showing in me, a stranger. But I could also sense he valued the Goldknight’s cause. This was a risk worth taking if it would further that cause—and he was, after all, very, very drunk.
I placed the book against my armor and willed a pocket to form, encapsulating it within. There was hardly a safer place it could be in the universe.
“Good health to yinz, Tiberius,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”