“I promised you a word when our feet—or paws—were back on Broken Earth, so here—”
(Cough)
“—Here it is. At my first glance back inside these walls, I named it Different, but the longer I look, the more I think that name is better worn by my eyes, not the city. Those great carvings stand just the same as when Thorne cut them, I think. It’s the woman watching them that’s changed. But I’m torn, deciding if that change is a good one or no—”
(Cough)
“Mother Dark, listen to me—you asked for a word and here I’m handing you a hundred. We made it, safe—Jac, Kitten, and I. Z too, but that might only be due to the absence of our dear Steelsmith Queen, and it’s that word that you really need to hear. She’s in Ixhale, and no one’s named the date of her return—but a few have whispered about the reason for her travels…”
(Dramatic pause)
“Eten Jouet is marrying the High King’s favorite daughter, Princess Nemelfia Vidala, and Aran is going to personally attend the wedding. No, the Good Boy Julius didn’t swallow the wrong words, and your ears aren’t lying either—Aran really is letting the man she has spent the last decade carefully crafting into her own obedient fucktoy marry a little island flower you could only freshly name Grown, who happens to be third in line to rule the Axtiene Islands. Despite the fact that the Royal Beast is running around ripping apart not only her prison camps, but now her walled cities too. That is, if you can weigh the whispers heavy with truth—but the whispers led me to you, so…”
(Cough)
“I don’t know what to name this decision of hers, aside from Not Good. Maybe you’ll have better luck guessing the thoughts that fueled her actions. It’s not that I can’t find a guess to hold, it’s that I’ve got too many so they keep wriggling out of my grasp. Is she putting Jouet in place to take the Axtiene Islands, or is she just sticking one steel high heel in the High King’s front door? Is she hoping to walk the Islands like stepping stones around Ixhale to the rainforested north? This, after she found that new vein of Elleipsium… I keep having to rein my mind back in—Uncle Daph always said that if I’m placing my steps around pitfalls still on the horizon, I’ll just walk right into the ones beneath my feet.”
(Sigh)
(Cough)
“Well. There’s the word you asked for, and a lot more that you didn’t. I’d appreciate a few from you as well—and wave off any worry, Julius has great discretion when it comes to delivering his messages, difficult as that may be to believe.”
(Hoarse laugh)
“There’s an abandoned graveyard sitting in the outer circle—why am I telling you? You’ve left magic in so many corners of this city, I’d be stunned if these acres of ghost-packed land snuck by you unnoticed. It’s where my monster friends live, and Julius holds his messages here until I’m back among the dead. I can’t sneak down here every day, but I can maybe manage once a week. Name how Pait is doing, and if Clarix’s seed has sprouted, and how the Wolves are healing, and any other wild stories you’ve seen playing out before your eyes lately. Hell, craft me some that never happened. I’ll take any that aren’t bred in the shadow of Mount Mares…”
~*~*~
(Paper rustling)
(Silence)
“Y—I...”
(Throat clearing)
“Glad that, ah, that you made the trip safe, but are you … alright? Your voice sounded…”
(Paper rustling)
“As for Aran—she’s been looking for a way into that rainforest since before I met her. I don’t doubt this marriage between Jouet and the Axtenian Princess is a step along the path leading there, ah, but the steps in between … here and there … I couldn’t name…”
(Paper rustling)
“But I’d agree with your … Uncle Daph. You’ve got enough worries within those walls, you don’t need to go looking for more across the sea. I—I just mean…
“I’d guess General Vigore is steering Broken Earth while the queen’s out…? There’s a reason she wears that eagle on her armor—her eyes are sharper than Aran’s, and they’ll be even sharper with an empty throne, so … place your feet carefully, Nyxabella. And don’t risk any stray steps on that graveyard, in search of a masterfully woven tale in my voice. No one’s ever named me Wordsmith, and even if they had, there’s no story that’d be worth your life...
“I just mean…”
(Throat clearing)
“The kid… First few days, she was wound tight enough to snap, eyes scanning every door for one named Escape, but instead they found—”
(Clomping footsteps)
“Ay, Daivad! You named this kit full, but it’s light by a wrench and two—Shit!”
(Metal crashing)
“Why is that thing here?”
(Growling) “Ay—this house is mine, so quit strolling through like you own it!”
“I’d love to knock on a door, Daivad, but you don’t have any.”
“Get out.”
“The kit—”
“If the kit’s light a tool or two, then fetch them from my workshop.”
(Silence)
“I can go in the workshop unsupervised?”
“Just get out.”
(Metal jangling, footsteps receding)
“And if you blow up my house, better hope the blast takes you with it!”
(Sigh)
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Shit.
“The kid—as you can hear—is fine. Now. I guess the machines I’ve got around camp are the first she’s ever seen, and she’s too busy pulling apart every one she finds to do more trouble than delaying construction while I make her put them back together again… The village is—there were more people in the Duxon camp than I expected, and we’ve got to give them roofs and beds quick, so really all the stories I can offer you are of drawing plans and hauling logs. Tobei had to sell off the contents of his cellar to keep everyone fed and clothed, and he’s … not dealing with it as well as he wants everyone to think. The Wolves are fine, except—seems like every time I pass your beast’s gravestone, it’s wearing half a dead weasel and Maxea’s scent. I’ve cleaned blood off the stone three times already, and I can’t name why Maxea would leave a dead animal on a grave like flowers…”
(Paper rustling)
“I, ah, don’t know what else to… Just stay safe. And … send another word when you can. Of you, and Jac, and Kitten too…
“Send as many as you like.”
~*~*~
(Giggling) “Mother Dark, it heals my heart to hear you and Pait getting along so well, and to hear that a place so beautiful and good is growing and changing—in the stubborn, cold immobility of this city, this castle, Growth and Change feel like fake names. Stories are good medicine for a mind that had forgotten the world doesn’t end at Broken Earth’s walls. I’d happily hear every story you’ve got, utterly uneventful, clumsily crafted, or otherwise—but you’re a more skilled practitioner than I think you realize…
“Now, open your ears, Daivad, because these next words are important. The child that I spoke to back in Luvatha, curled up on that grimy cellblock floor, was broken and hopeless—all the light stamped out of her. So if toying with machinery gives her a spark, you do whatever you can to feed that fire. Short of letting it burn down your house, at least.” (Laughter) “Teach her everything that your shitty excuse for an adoptive mother taught you, and maybe she’ll do what Aran wouldn’t and use those genius machines to help instead of hurt.
“Jac—well, I haven’t been able to talk to her the way I’d like, here. Not with all the eyes and ears within the city’s inner circle. I’d guess she, like Tobei, isn’t doing as well as she’d like everyone to believe—but, fuck, aren’t we all…?
“Kitten, my Dark Mother, seems to weigh—Oof!”
“Rahr-rahr-rah!”
“—Twice what he weighed a week ago. You heard your name, huh? Smart boy!”
“Rahr-rah-rahrah-rahr…”
“No, Julius is busy right now. Play with Emmit ’til I run out of words—and do not chew his legs! It’s rude!”
(Chuckling) “The graveyard is big enough to contain the little terror, but I don’t think I’ll be able to name him Little much longer. I’ve got no ideas for what I’ll do when he’s outgrown it, but—that pitfall’s on the horizon, right? I’ll find a way around it when I’m there.
“And me—I’m alright…
“Well. No, I guess that name doesn’t really fit. But…”
(Silence)
“It’s hard to know what name does fit, because I can’t put one on, can’t even look too long at one without making it real. And if it’s real—if I name myself anything other than Fine, then…”
(Sigh)
“There’s a line there, a whole magical metaphor just waiting to be spoken into existence, and Mama B would speak it in a breath. A name is a crack in a woman’s armor… No. A name is a knife, and it will cut for the one who wields it, or it will cut the one who wields it… No—I like that one, but it doesn’t tell the story I’m failing to tell right now. Anyway—a name I will wear is Surviving, so don’t worry about me, Daivad…
“Onto an even less pleasant topic—you were right, Lona is steering Broken Earth while the queen is away, so I can’t name if it was her mind or Aran’s that decided to steer us toward the first Royal Primaspectalia in two years. I mean—can you find the sense in that? Already noble families from all over Lushale are trickling in through the Bear’s bony jaws, ready to parade their daughters before the Crown Prince for his consideration—but Aran isn’t back yet. Has a Royal Primaspectalia ever been held in the queen’s absence? All these powerful families will be standing before a throne whose emptiness will be whispering all kinds of tempting ideas to them. Sounds like Aran’s worst nightmare. And…
“When you lived within these walls, did you ever hear any of the nobility name it the Ultimaspectalia instead? The ladies of Muse House have always tossed the term around—meaning ‘final look’ or ‘finale,’ right? Certainly a more fitting name for the event, for whichever woman Richard chooses, but … I’ve never heard the nobility reference Richard’s previous ‘brides,’ and certainly not their murders before. I believed Aran had been skilled enough at hiding the deaths and silencing the families. Maybe the nobility’s lips are only this loose in Aran’s absence, but still. It shocked me.
“But this time I’ve only got one guess at the thoughts in Aran’s head, allowing this, and it’s named Distraction. Keeping the Crown Prince occupied since she’s not here herself to keep his reins short. He’s definitely chomping at the bit, ready to join the hunt for you, and eventually the reins will snap. She must know that.
“But at least, hopefully that Distraction might work for me too, and I might have more of my own rein to get to the graveyard more often—or I might have much less. It all depends. Don’t worry if Julius doesn’t come carrying my words until the whole thing is over. But I’ll try to send more when I can.
“Thank you for your words, Dai, and thanks for taking mine. This graveyard is the only place I don’t have to carefully taste every one on my tongue before letting it pass my lips. And hearing from the man who made it out of here makes me hope that maybe one day I could too… That maybe I could make a life where all my words are free, surrounded by people who listen to them…”
~*~*~
“I’m… You will, one day. Make a life of free words and open ears, I mean. I…
“To fill your question—no, I never heard any nobles naming it Ultimaspectalia, only the Entertainment, and the nobles were never careful with their words around me. I’d guess it’s a sign of Aran’s loosening grip. And she always feels when her grip starts to slip, which means she’s about to tighten her grasp twice as hard—and choke the life out of her people as a result. Be careful, Nyxabella…
“The folks from Duxon are finally settling in. Every head has a roof, and in another week every body will have its own room. The pantry shelves never stay stocked for more than a day, but we aren’t starving yet, and Len—ah—we have a plan in place, set to play out beneath the Full Dry Moon. A train heist, but…”
(Huff) “They won’t let me go. Ben’s convinced we need to keep quiet after Luvatha, Tobei claims my ‘shoulders are too recognizable,’ so he’s heading the job, and I have to sit on my ass.” (Grumbling) “Most obnoxious, dramatic bastard I know, and they put him at the helm of a job supposed to be named Quiet. His weapon is a violin. His mount is a silver Great Wolf. And his mouth is more memorable than both combined. If I have to wear the name Leader and all the responsibilities that weigh it down, I should be able to run the fun parts of the job too. Like knocking over a train.”
(Sigh)
“Pait’s still determined to pick apart every machine in camp, and when she’s not elbow deep in gears she keeps her nose in diagrams and schematics—studying, and drawing up her own. Like you said, it’s good she’s lit up again—but I think she’s using those machines like shields. I have to order her out to help around camp or she’d never talk to anyone but me and L—”
(Throat clearing)
“Most nights she sleeps in a room across my house, but the first few she did more crying than sleeping. Then she found the machines, brought some up to her room, and spent the whole night tinkering. I named that Progress—until I realized she wasn’t sleeping at all. But when I told her to put the tools away and go to sleep, the tears came back. I didn’t know what to do, so I…”
(Hesitation)
“I’m only telling you this because you asked for stories, Nyxabella, so I expect you not to go giving it to anyone else—and not to repay it with mockery, either.
“Neither of us were sleeping anyway, and the ingredients were waiting in my kitchen, so I made some cinnamon honey cake. Mother only knows if it helped—the only time she opened her mouth the whole time we were in the kitchen was to fill it with cake. But she didn’t cry the rest of the night…
“I tried to get her to join the combat training lessons—everyone from Duxon that could raise a hand joined—but no. Most interest she’s shown in camp is the train job. She wants to ride along, see the train herself—which she will not be doing. Not that train, not that night.”
(Silence)
“Well, you asked for stories, so here’s a few. You remember Doll—three foot nothing, all of it bad temper? She was marked at Duxon decades ago, and when we brought these newcomers back, one of them, an old man named Edgar, recognized her…”
~*~*~
(Breathless) “I’ll thank you again for all your beautiful stories, but I’ll have to do it in a moment, because right now I have a story for you. And, Mother Dark, do I think you’ll find it interesting.
“The Prince’s Primaspectalia was yesterday, and you won’t believe who showed within Broken Earth’s walls…”