Hildesman remembered to think of himself as Aaron in only a few places. One of them was at Teach's house. He had been young, or something closer to it, when she had started teaching him the trapper's trade. Though she respected his choice to answer to his surname, he knew that she still saw him as her old apprentice, Aaron. And for his part, he still saw himself that way when he was around her.
Another was, of course, the Glass. Miss Wester and his fellow trappers were his friends, for all that he saw most of them less than twice a month. There was a good reason he believed in teaching apprentices about the social traditions of the trade.
The last one was his sister's house. He supposed it only made sense. After all, she was Hildesman too. So was, for reasons that made sense only to the two of them, her husband, having taken her surname. It wasn't traditional for either Mettish or Vellians, but for the intersection, it apparently made perfect sense. His sister had chosen a Mettish personal name in exchange. Again, not a tradition in either culture, but it worked for the two of them.
Hildesman. No, Aaron, right now. Aaron knocked on the front door. His sister's house was recent; she and her husband had purchased the place the very day it finished construction and moved in. It was smaller than its neighbors, old wealthy houses all, but somehow seemed to be the jewel of the street. Aaron knew that Pommette was extremely proud of her house. It had cost her more than money, and it paid dividends in more than wealth, she liked to say. Pommette was a banker. She said a lot of things that wound up being either about money or very specifically not about money. Aaron had met some of her fellow bankers at celebration days she had hosted. As far as he could tell, they were all fond of those sorts of sayings.
A light clicked on behind the door. Aaron always enjoyed his visits to his sister's house. Not because of how cushy the living conditions here seemed to be, but because a part of him was always fascinated to watch the world of artifice develop around him. Artifice lights were nothing new, of course. Tessenium lamps had been one of the earliest developments. But the Order had finally refined their technology enough to put in a municipal power grid around a decade back. Tessenium energy delivered by wire to every street and corner. Most homes these days were on the grid in one fashion or another. Even Aaron's small home near the outer wall was connected, allowing him to power all sorts of fascinating devices. But Pommette and Airelai's home had been one of the first to have the hookups built into it from the foundations up. It meant that where other homes used lamps, plugged into an array of fixtures running along the walls of the home, their front light was built right into the plaster of the ceiling.
Airelai opened the door, then smiled broadly. He liked Aaron. Aaron liked him too, for all that the two could barely converse. Airelai had come up in a farming community almost as far away as Francine's reportedly was, and he had been raised by Mettish traditionalists. Those weren't uncommon, even in the city, but usually social pressures meant that children growing up here learned the more commonly used Mett Vell Pidgin tongue. Airelai had grown up speaking Mettish only, and surrounded by others who spoke Mettish only. Which meant, unfortunately, that Aaron could only understand about half of what the other man said, and vice versa. Fortunately, Airelai had recognized quickly what a detriment that was to his career, and had quickly thrown himself into learning both traditional Vellian (despite Aaron and Pommette's protests that nobody actually spoke Vellian these days) and the Pidgin tongue. Unfortunately, Airelai's talent for languages lagged far behind his immense grasp of traditional mechanics, and so his accent was almost impenetrable to those who didn't know him well. Pommette, who had learned Mettish while the two were courting, usually ended up translating for the comfort of both me.
"Ahhh, if not bevo meh my derrest brotter! Come, come. Pommette is wit leddle Apio," Airelai said, holding the door wider to admit Aaron. Aaron crossed the threshold, then gave his brother-in-law a hug. That one was Mettish tradition. The threshold had to be crossed before any affections were shared. It was one of the odd exchanges of rituals Aaron and Pommette and Airelai had settled on over the years. Airelai would greet others at the door warmly and openly, like a modern city-dweller would do, but in exchange, Aaron always waited to cross the threshold to return the familial gesture.
Airelai and Aaron exchanged updates on how work was going. Airelai, as an engineer, was always fascinated by the newest devices that Aaron often used in the field. Aaron, as a trapper, was always interested to hear about the new developments being made. Unfortunately, this shared interest had begun to diverge around the same time the Tessenium grid had been installed. Now Aaron could only share news about the latest in artifice, and Airelai would speak at length about the newest steam engines or even oil-powered automotives. Not Ilver's Oil, either. Refined black oil, like they used to use in lanterns before batteries were invented. Airelai insisted. He was a mechanic, not an artificer. He of course believed the Order's precepts, as did any city dweller who had lived there more than a year. You eventually realized that you had to. It greased the wheels of trade, opened up job opportunities, made life easier for all that it wasn't technically a legal requirement. But if Aaron knew, that if he got a few drinks into his brother-in-law, and a like number into himself, he could get the real answer.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Airelai did believe that Tessenium wasn't magic. It wasn't just a mask he wore to make his life easier. He hadn't been raised that way, not exactly. When he had first arrived, he had insisted (translated begrudgingly by Pommette, then still using the name Abigail) that though the concept of supernatural beings guiding the magic was of course silly superstition, the works of science made possible through Tessenium Artifice were still a form of magic. Extranormal. With time, he had seen the rigor with which the Tessenium workers analyzed their experiments, the way they approached their work, and agreed that what they did was in fact just another application of reason.
What Airelai did believe was that focus on Tessenium was a collar too tight for meaningful discovery. And Aaron, for all that he used Tessenium in almost every aspect of his work, understood and agreed with Airelai's stance. He had started paying attention, after the first time Airelai expressed his opinion. And Aaron had noticed the trend that Airelai had seen from the first day he passed under the great stone arch of the Front Door. Every meaningful breakthrough in Tessenium Artifice was built on the concepts discovered by mechanics like Airelai. It wasn't glamorous. It didn't pay well, for all that it was steady work. Because those Artifice designs were nearly always superior to the ones that used common metals. But they were extremely important.
As they exchanged their views on the latest technologies, hindered only slightly by each of their accents, they passed through the kitchen, where a custom-designed cold-box yielded two glass bottles. Airelai removed the lids with a wrench left idly out on a countertop and passed one to Aaron. Beer. After nearly a month afield, Aaron savored the taste. It was like Bitterwater, in an odd way. The taste of the hops wasn't identical, but it was at least on the same compass heading. It always reminded Aaron that his job was done.
Airelai left Aaron to enjoy the savor, stepping through the dining room to the common room on the other side to tell Pommette and Apio who had come knocking. Before he finished his second sip, Aaron heard the squeal of a joyful child and his nephew came barreling across the kitchen, running right under the dining table, which seemed to have had all the chairs pulled aside for this precise reason. The little boy slammed into Aaron's knees, and Aaron grinned, leaning down to pick him up.
"Apio, you know you're not supposed to tackle people. Not even your Uncle Aaron, however strong he might seem," Aaron's sister followed her son at a more reasonable pace, leaning in to give Aaron a quick hug. "It's good to see you," she said. "Have you heard about what happened?"
"Yeah," Aaron answered, keeping his tone low and calm. "I've been asked to help."
"Asked?" Pommette prompted. She knew as well as anyone that the Order could issue a writ of conscript in emergencies. Three years ago during the last emergency, her bank had been in charge of managing the accounts that issued recompense to next of kin.
"With consequences," Aaron admitted. Pommette frowned. His little sister, always so worried about him. He supposed it was fair. His line of work was dangerous. "Don't worry," he said to her. "I'm too tough and chewy for the forest." That last part had been for Apio's benefit. The excitement of seeing his uncle had worn off enough for the boy to be paying attention to the conversation. "Even if it tries to eat me, it always spits me right back out next to the city."
Pommette smiled, though Aaron noticed her eyes were still tense. Hopefully Apio wasn't as astute at reading moods as his mother. Aaron knew she'd be worried until the day he got back.
"I wanted to stop in for a visit before I set out again," Aaron concluded. "Got some news I need to share, and I'd rather it's sooner than later." He specifically phrased things that way so that Pommette wouldn't worry about how dangerous his conscription might be. Pommette, in turn, specifically did not point out that she had noticed it. It was like the customs at the threshold, in a way. WIthout prompting, Pommette pushed in all the chairs around the table. Apio was old enough now to sit in a full-size chair, something he was immensely proud of, though the shine was wearing off of it. Aaron sat down. Airelai came in with a selection of toys to distract Apio. He had likely heard the whole conversation. He sat next to Pommette.
Aaron finished his bottle, setting it down gently, rather than with a thump, and pushing it to the middle of the table where Apio would have to climb to get to it.
It was time to tell his family what he knew about the Mark. They'd need to know, if they were going to hear the story of the past few days. And he wasn't going to keep that story from them.