Bayne

Bayne braced himself for the cold splash followed by the sucking current, but instead he landed on a wooden surface that picked up speed as it moved away from the ledge.

A raft?

“Gems’ speed!” Orin cried, waving from the stone riverbank. Bayne seized a knot of rope lashing the raft’s logs together as it drifted into the more rapid current in the middle of the river and began to race through the dark tunnels. The wind on his face was fast and cool. He heard voices echoing off the tunnel walls. Other Dwarves on rafts, all riding the underground river, but to where?

The rucksack full of rocks was heavy. Why did he even need it if they weren’t going to drown him? He shrugged it off and peered inside. There were no rocks, just a small mess kit, a boot-repair kit, some clothing, and crystals. Purple crystals—about ten of them.

What the—?

He shrugged the rucksack back on. The lull of the raft made him sleepy, and before long, Bayne allowed himself to curl up on his side and close his eyes, a rope lashed around his wrist for safety. When he awoke, he was no longer in the humid caves, but outside again, under a starry black sky. The riverbanks here were grassy and lined with Dwarves reaching toward the water with hooks to draw the rafts ashore. Bayne staggered onto dry land where the Dwarf who’d drawn his raft in nodded at him soberly and pointed his chin up a hill.

Even Bayne understood the cue—he was to climb the hill, along with all of the other Dwarves in helms with weapons clutched to their sides. The waxen moon above lit the top of the hill, where something came into view. Bayne squinted in the dim light. Could it be? He picked up his pace. Yes, it was! A metal head with two red, glaring eyes. His golem!

Bayne huffed up the rest of the hill, his heart soaring with hope for the first time since the Council. It was like finding a long-lost friend when one was wandering in the wilderness.

But his face fell in shock when something else materialized behind it. Another metal head with glowing eyes. And another. And another. An entire army of golems.

Bayne staggered to a stop, staring at them. His brain did a quick calculation. There had to be at least fifty of them. No, sixty. And amongst them ambled Dwarves and Imperials in a makeshift camp. Mushroom-shaped tents. The smell of smoke from campfires. The clanging of metal inside a hastily erected forge. Horses whinnying, their hoofs prancing in a nervous dance that echoed the sentiment in Bayne’s chest. This was a war camp. He was being sent to war. The handle of the battleaxe was sweaty in his palm.

“Here’s one of our engineers now.”

Bayne turned numbly towards a muscled Dwarf with white teeth in a close-cropped beard, silver rings decorating his gnarled yellow tresses. He was talking to a much taller Imperial. Not just any Imperial—the Emperor’s Sentinel! The man’s narrow eyes glared down at him, thumbs hooked on the waist of his armor.

“Let’s get him to work,” the Sentinel said.

“Ye got it, Zamora. Come on, Bayne.” The Dwarf soldier clapped a hand on Bayne’s shoulder, steering him through the maze of tents. “We’ve got your machine right over here, waiting for you.”

“Wh-what’s going on?” Bayne asked, allowing himself to be led. His muscles felt like stewed pepperbloom stems. He had to work to keep the battleaxe from dragging on the ground.

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“Engineers from the Five Conclaves have been successful in repeating yer results with the purple crystals. We’ve got a way to power the golems, but it doesn’t last. The generators peter out after only a few hours. We can’t be switching out crystals left and right on the battlefield. We need a charge that lasts longer.”

“Yes,” Bayne said, his knees suddenly stronger as they trudged. “I’ve been thinking about this.” The ideas began to click back into place in his brain, replacing the worries that had taken over. “But I could do better work in my workshop.”

“The time for workshops is over.” The soldier stopped him in front of one of the golems—his golem. Bayne recognized the small customizations he’d made. “The name’s Durgan, and ye’ll be reporting to me.” He held out a hand. As they shook, Bayne noticed the red rings on both their fingers.

Durgan’s gaze lingered on the rings as well. “We have a shrine set up in a little cove at the mine’s entrance, if ye feel the desire.”

“Thank ye.” Bayne nodded. Some quiet meditation in the presence of the sacred gems would do him good.

“We march early in the morning,” Durgan said, following his gaze. “Ye’ll want to get some rest.”

A party of Imperials swooped close by, and Bayne flinched. “Where are we marching?”

“Why, to the crash site, of course.” Durgan’s white-toothed grin was even brighter in the moonlight. “They’ll be plenty o’ them crystals there for you to toy with. That there tent’s yers.” Durgan flicked a meaty hand at a small, one-person canvas mushroom. “The one next to it is yer assistant’s.”

Bayne straightened. “My assistant’s?”

“Aye. Good luck and Ruby’s blessings on yer work. We’re gonna need it.” Durgan turned to go, leaving Bayne alone in the shadow of his machine. Here on the edge of the forest, it was almost quiet, the sounds of the camp muted and faraway. Bayne set his battleaxe down by his tent. He pulled off his helm and set it beside it, then shrugged off the rucksack full of crystals. It all made sense now.

He stood for a long moment, staring at nothing. It felt like if he tried to digest all of this, his brain might explode, like pop bombs tossed into a fire, so he did what he did whenever the hard thoughts came, thoughts about Ruthie and Dayne, all his failures. He shut the thoughts down. Just being. There was a peacefulness in it. The feeling was temporary, but he needn’t think about that. He was a rock in a river, reality flowing around him like water. He needed to be that rock, right now. Otherwise, this was all too much. More than his brain might explode. The whole world might.

“Hello.”

Bayne snapped out of his torpor. The little girl was there, standing by his assistant’s tent.

“You,” Bayne said simply.

She was holding something out to him. A purple crystal. “I’m sorry I stole from you. ‘Twas wrong of me.”

Bayne didn’t move. A mix of feelings swirled inside him, like chemicals that didn’t quite combine. Some were good feelings, some angry. Some he didn’t even recognize. She put the crystal on the ground between them. Bayne watched her do it, still unmoving. There was that shiny scar on her neck again, only visible when she bent forward and her hair slipped aside. She backed up and looked at him again with her big, dark eyes.

“Ye disappeared,” Bayne said. “I didn’t know where ye went.”

Her mouth moved as if she’d tasted a lemon. “I had to do something, but it didn’t work out.”

Bayne felt his shoulders relax. “Things didn’t work out for me, either.”

She yawned, then, and even though she was as tall as he was, her eyes as sharp as anyone else’s, suddenly he was reminded of a tiny baby yawning in very much the same way.

“Ye should get some sleep,” he said.

She nodded, blinking. She turned and lifted the flap of her tent. Before she could go inside, Bayne added, “What’s yer name? I can’t keep calling ye Dayne.”

“Ivy,” she said.

“Ivy,” he echoed. Then she disappeared into the tent.

He chastised himself. He should have said good night. She was just a child. Children needed pretty words, Ruthie had taught him. They needed to hear you say things out loud, not just keep them in your head.

“Good night, Ivy!” he called, too late.

A small voice replied, “G’night!”

Bayne felt a tiny smile tug at his lip. Then he picked up the purple crystal from the ground, and got to work.