“Triumph?” Loreign asked, her face flushing with anger. “Is that what you call this? You have destroyed us. You have shattered the Celestial Sphere. You have crushed the Crystalline Guard. We will be destroyed by the Tephalians.”
“Mother,” Dorian said, his voice strained. A harsh laughter escaped his lips. “Why do you repeat those lies? Can’t you see that with myself upon the throne, we will usher in a new area of peace and prosperity? A golden age of wealth for all Kylians?”
“Where did I go astray?” Loreign whispered to herself. “When did I lose my son?”
A golden sword formed in her hands. Dorian’s acolytes shifted, readying themselves for a fight.
Dorian frowned. “You cannot stop me, Mother. I am immortal. I cannot be hurt or killed. Do not stand between me and my Throne. You and Aria will not deny me. I am tired of killing.”
----------------------------------------
Gorman led Elion up a set of stairs within the equipment room of the bridge. The steps wound up several flights before opening up into a control room, where someone operating the bridge would have a clear view of the whole thing.
A control panel in the center held knobs, dials, switches, levers and displays, which seemed a bit more complicated than necessary for something that only went up and down. Broad openings broke the walls in every direction, providing a panoramic view of the plains and ruins of Kairn Tol.
Gorman stood beside Elion, gazing out at the remains of the city. “I used to live out there,” Gorman said, wistfully. “Rebuilding among the ruins. A bustling town we called New Kairn Tol. When the sky broke, well… you know.” Gorman laughed. “Ah, I guess you don’t know.”
“I don’t,” Elion agreed. “What happened?”
“The story starts around two hundred years ago,” Gorman said, unlocking a tool locker on one of the walls. “Across the plains you can see the ruins of Kairn Tol, which used to be a cultural and technological center. It was bombed during an event we call The Cataclysm, by the Tephalian fleet. Most of the critical infrastructure escaped unscathed, but the social fabric fell apart and people went crazy.”
“Two hundred years ago?” Elion said. “That’s a long time.”
“Sure is.” Gorman began popping panels open, peering into the mess of wiring behind them. “Scavengers have been picking over the corpse of Kairn Tol ever since the Cataclysm, stripping out every bit of technology we can find. Much of this bridge is made of stuff we couldn’t fabricate today.”
Gorman handed Elion a flashlight and made him direct the beam into a dark corner behind the control panel, where he sorted through something that looked like a fuse box.
“For many years roaming bands of scavengers ruled the land, like so many tribes. Until the promise of New Kairn Tol.” Gorman spoke as he worked. “We were hoping to one day reclaim the greatness of the city. Re-civilize the region. Point the light here,” he said, gesturing for Elion.
“For most of my youth we had peace in the land, prosperity and stability. Things were great, under the protection of the Aurelian Starholders. We were protected from the chaos of the Tephal by the Celestial Sphere, the shield that your great-something grandfather spent many years constructing. It envelops the planet, and took the collaboration of the ascended of all Seven True Sentinels.”
Gorman pulled a clump of frayed and melted wires out of the panel, eying them curiously.
“That doesn’t look good,” Elion said.
Gorman gestured nonchalantly. “Sometimes when we’re working with scavenged parts, they go in like this. The bridge wasn’t designed to be permanently raised. We have to constantly power it to keep it up. It’s possible we overstressed or short-circuited some control logic.”
“So what happened?” Elion asked. “Why are you living here, and not in New Kairn Tol?”
“We blame Dorian for that,” Gorman said. “When he betrayed your family, everything fell apart. Nobody knew who to trust. Much of Erod was destroyed in the fighting. The Sphere was shattered, what you see in the sky is what’s left of it. Tephalian probes, like that Shard across the river, started landing. Aurelian society collapsed, and civilization dissolved into bands of roaming scavengers, like it was before.
“We tried to live in Kairn Tol for a time, but soon we retreated here, and I repaired this old bridge. Things were going well for us here. Biding our time. Growing in strength until we can bring civilization back to the plains of Kairn Tol. Then last year that probe landed there, cutting off our access to the bridge and travel by river.”
“What exactly is that probe?” Elion asked. “Why do you say it is infecting things?”
“Grab that laserarm,” Gorman said, pointing to a long barreled rifle resting on a rack nearby. “Use the scope. Inspect the Shard, and tell me what you see.”
Elion rested the barrel of the gun on a window sill, and found a stool nearby to sit on. He peered through the scope, and the landscape leapt up at him. Scanning across the ridge of the far bank of the Ater River, he located the Shard.
Organic facets caught the light, reflecting it back yellow-green. It emitted an oily haze, blurring its edges. It shone in the sun with the sickly colors of an oil stain against the land. The land around it lay black and barren, like the smoldering remains of a fire.
Elion watched the creatures roaming around the base of the Shard. Pemalion, birds of some kind, and other small animals snarled and snapped at each other. Then he located a group of men, resting in the shade of a large rock.
“People?” he asked.
“Infected scavengers,” Gorman said. “They fell under the influence of the Tephalian infection. It’s like a kind of rabies, and all they want to do is fight now. They shoot and throw firebombs down on any ship that tries to come through the river. They seem particularly interested in trying to kill me, for some reason.”
“But they’re not fully rabid though,” Elion guessed. “They can still think, and reason?”
“Something like that,” Gorman said. “They are single-minded on destroying non-infected life.”
Elion looked through the scope again, scanning the base of the Shard. He spotted a dozen people standing in a group, seemingly arguing with one another. One of them broke off from the group, and clambered down to the edge of the river. A few others were gathered there, building something.
“What are they doing?” Elion asked. “Down by the river?”
“They’re building something,” Gorman said. “I think it might be boats, or rafts. They captured a ship once, several months ago, and tried to assault the village. Unfortunately for them, they damaged the engine, and it didn’t have enough power to get across the river to our island. The current is strong through here, and it swept them right on through under the bridge.”
“So you’re trapped here then. No boats, no lowering the bridge.”
“There is a way off the island,” Gorman said. “If we had a small boat, you could simply ride it down the river. You wouldn’t be able to get back, though.”
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“But you have a plan,” Elion said. He could see it in the way Gorman moved, in the optimistic way he spoke of their practical imprisonment.
“I have an idea,” Gorman agreed. “But there’s a problem. Sentinel powers break down in the presence of the Shard.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your rifle is powered by Artefix. The power it generates, the laser it fires, it's all possible because of the Artificer’s Talent.”
“You made this gun?”
“Keyla did,” Gorman said. “But it can’t touch the Shard. Aim it at the Shard, and take a shot.”
Elion hefted the laseram, impressed by Keyla’s craftsmanship. He rested it on the ledge, holding it steady as he peered down the scope at the Shard. It wasn’t a small target, but that made it worse if he missed. Calling back to his shotgun training with Uncle Zev, he exhaled as he gently pressed the trigger to the back of the gun, seeking a surprise break.
The rifle fired, with the same muted thumping sound, splat, and flash of teal light. The scope darkened automatically against the light. He saw a laser, burning through the sky toward the Shard, but fizzling away to nothingness before it got close.
“Whatever that thing is, it confounds Praxis,” Gorman said. “All my machines fall to bits when they’re in range of it. The infection doesn’t just make men go mad, angry and vicious. It dissolves the power of the Sentinels.”
“But I saw people killing pemalion with these guns,” Elion said, gesturing at the firearm. “They worked.”
“The distortion field is just around the Shard,” Gorman said. “Anything foolish enough to leave the range of the shield is no longer protected by it.”
“So you can’t hurt them when they’re protected by the Shard.”
“We can,” Gorman said, grunting. He now lay on his back, partially submerged in the guts of the control panel. “It just takes non-Sentinel power to do it. You might have noticed some guns around town modified to fire projectiles.”
Elion had not noticed, but kept quiet.
“They don’t have the same range or accuracy, but it makes some people feel better. We’re going to have to launch an attack at some point, if we’re ever going to get off this island. We need to get back into Kairn Tol to scavenge more supplies. It’s all I can do to keep the town supplied with energy. Can you hand me that power wrench?” Gorman pointed to the tool lying on the floor nearby.
“What good would assaulting the Shard do?” Elion asked, retrieving the wrench and handing it to Gorman.
“If we could damage or destroy it…” Gorman raised his hands. “I have some ideas. Who knows? But things couldn’t get much worse.” Gorman scooted deeper into the mess of electronics and cables beneath the control panel.
“So everyone’s getting desperate,” Elion groaned. “That’s why Kasm was trying to summon a hero. And instead you just got me. A kid from Earth who doesn’t know what he’s doing. If I stay here too long, I’ll just attract unwanted attention from Dorian.”
“It’s worse than that. You’re an Aurelian,” Gorman added, his voice muffled. “When Dorian broke the sky, the Knights of Dawn also shattered. Many of them died in the fighting. The remaining went into hiding, and Dorian’s Warlocks hunted them down. The last time an Aurelian was seen in Aterfel was about a year ago, which, well… that means it’s been 20 years since The Breaking of The Sky. Has it really been 20 years?”
“Is that why everyone looks at me suspiciously?” Elion asked. “They know Dorian’s warlocks are going to come looking for me?”
“Not just that,” Gorman said. “It’s also because of the last Aurelian through here. His name was Prator. He talked big, got people to dream, to hope again. A lot of them followed him when he left.”
“Where did they go?”
“They went to refound New Kairn Tol,” Gorman said. “But communications cut off abruptly, and then the Tephalian probe landed preventing us from going out there to find out what happened.” Gorman hesitated before continuing. “We did get one garbled message through the tower. It was full of noise, and we couldn’t understand it. Some people think that their loved ones were betrayed by Prator.”
Elion leaned on the railing, staring out across the plains at the ruined city of Kairn Tol. He tried to imagine what the city would have been like in its heyday. “It must be hard, living here, looking at everything falling apart around you, every single day.”
“It is,” Gorman agreed. “So you understand why you can’t stay here, then,” he said.
“I think so.”
A panel clanged to the ground.
“Ah ha!” Gorman emerged from the jungle of wires and sat on the floor, looking up at Elion. In his hand he held a charred lump of metal. “I think I’ve found the culprit,” he said. “I’m surprised the mechanism was even working with this relay fried like this,” he said. “It should be shielded better. I wonder how it—” A purple spark flashed off of the dead relay.
Dropping the relay on the ground, Gorman yelped in pain. “Zelian’s Halls,” he swore. “Warlock magic.” Turning to Elion he asked, “What kind of portal did you come through?”
“A purple one?” Elion said. “One made by Dorian’s warlocks, powered by their staffs.”
“Zelian’s Halls,” Gorman cursed again. “I should have guessed. I should go check on the sensitive equipment in the tower. Warlock power has a way of randomly destroying the most delicate things.” Gorman glanced up at the shattered sky.
“Are you saying that I caused this?” Elion asked.
“Not intentionally,” Gorman said. “But let's add this to the list of things that we’re not telling anyone.”
Lights flickered on the control panel as Gorman fiddled with the relay. “It’s shorting out internally,” he muttered, “It was in just the right position before….”
The entire control panel died, all the lights winking out together. A loud creaking groan from the winch drums drew their attention. The drawbridge tilted, screeching as it started slowly lowering, massive cables unwinding as it tipped.
Gorman yelled a lot of technical things that Elion didn’t understand as he frantically poked around inside the control panel, quickly replacing parts.
“Come on, dear,” he muttered to the machine. “You can hold this. You can do this for me.”
Infected creatures near the Shard noticed the commotion at the bridge, and rushed toward it. Pemalion, with their lithe speed, ran more quickly than the other creatures and humans.
Gorman grabbed a power cord and plugged it in beneath the control panel. “We’re going to need to tap into auxiliary power to keep the bridge up!” He ran down the stairs, unspooling the cord as he pulled it down to the engine beneath them.
Elion ran with him. The cord did not reach all the way to the bottom of the stairs, so Gorman dropped it. He reached the large engine on the lower floor and hit a few buttons, powering it up.
“Elion,” he called, pointing. “Go grab that plug and connect it to the extension cord! I’m rerouting emergency power to recoil the winches. The emergency stop has been deactivated by something. Maybe another side effect of your portal.” The bridge groaned, picking up speed and momentum as it lowered a few more degrees.
Elion found the plug and pulled it over to where the extension cord lay on the stairs. Still more than 6 feet away, it jerked to a stop, whipping out of his hands as it caught around a pole. Elion gasped, his hands stinging. He recovered the plug and rerouted it. He got closer this time, but they were still several feet too short.
Gorman grabbed the plug from Elion, then stretched to pick up the extension. He held one in each of his hands. “I’ll route the power through me,” he exclaimed. His eyes burned with a turquoise light, and the ends of the cords sparked with a teal energy. Machinery groaned and growled as power surged through the cords.
“Stay back!” Gorman commanded, his mouth crackling with teal light.
The bridge’s descent slowed gradually, until the upright span hung at a forty-five degree angle from the ground. The scent of smoke and burning air filled Elion’s nostrils. Gears ground and rusted joints screeched as the bridge slowly began ascending again.
Pemalion waiting on the far end of the bridge howled in dismay.
“Go!” Gorman gasped. “Get Keyla! Tell her to bring an extension cord.”