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Mike pointed to Ego as the crowd of goons advanced on the caravan. “The trader may be scared of you, but I ain’t. I think you a hook-ass bitch, hiding behind your gang cause you ain’t got it in you to come at me.”
“I’s offended by your mouth spillage, tender,” Ego said, holding a hand over his heart. “You seek to challenge I, get I all sweaty and covered in your blood? What be the reason you want to make I work so hard? Eyes of yours don’t see the fairness in the odds now, yes?”
Mike looked around at the horde. Had to be over two dozen leather and metal clad, angry individuals. “You damn right,” he said.
Ego smiled. “I’s always right. You the one wrong, tender. You brought one hand, three fingers,” he said, holding up his fingers to illustrate. “You want to carry like I carry, you use both hands, all ten fingers.”
Ego waved a dismissive hand at Mike. “Only way I carry like you carry is if you lop off seven of I’s digits.”
The crazy bastard wasn’t so crazy after all. He wasn’t going to go for the one-on-one. There was no guarantee Mike would’ve won that fight, but it was the only longshot he had to getting out of this mess. Now he was tapped.
Runt had his Z-blades disassembled into twin axes. Savashbahar had her dagger out. Mike hefted his club. The show of force made most of the gang smile as they inched closer. It damn sure didn’t make any of them run.
“Fucking stellar,” Ruki swore. “My life’s going to end in The Sprawl, from a pipe smashing into my skull. All because of you stupid lot,” he said, pointing at his security detail, “who have me out in the middle of total fucking ruin because you all decided it was a great idea to blow up the Hierophane!”
Just like that, the whole gang stopped in their tracks. They turned their heads to face Ego like it was choreographed.
Ego tilted his head again like he was curious. “What say you?”
Ruki looked around at the temporary pause to his demise with puzzlement. “Uh... I’m going to die in The Sprawl.”
“You blew up the Hierophane?” Ego asked.
Ruki nodded slowly.
Ego turned to an ant-headed aian. “Them are the ones you talked about to I two days ago?” he asked.
“Can’t say for sure,” the aian shook his head. “Still just rumors in the hive. Could be.”
“It was us,” Ruki said, turning his salesman smile back on. “Grandlevoss needed someone to deliver to you guys and we needed to escape Ardenspar before we were caught. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be here. We blew up the Hierophane.”
Ego smiled. “Why didn’t you just say to I you gave I a gift of friendship already?”
He shouted to the crowd. “These here friends of the Sons of Kaftar unlike any!”
The horde of murderous thugs cheered. They kept cheering, thrusting their weapons in the air like they had just won a battle. Ego walked through the throng to the head of the caravan.
“Time we gave you a friend’s welcome, yes?”
The Sons of Kaftar treated friends much better than they did friendly traders. The most significant difference was them putting away their weapons. Mike also appreciated the flasks they brought out from their pockets. A bunch of the Kaftar kids jumped on board the caravan, where they toasted and passed their flasks and asked what it was like blowing up the Hierophane.
Ego was at the head of the caravan with Ruki, where they both smiled and laughed and drove the train together like they were old friends at reunion. Savashbahar was admiring the fabric of some of the gang ladies’ attire, full of brass and chrome hardware stitched into gray-black leather. Runt and a big, ultra-buff aian catman were comparing weapons. All of a sudden, it was a party train.
“Not a bad lot, once you get to know them, right?” asked a human gang member next to Mike. His thin lips curved into a sardonic smile as he passed Mike his flask. “I’m Jal. Jal Messer.”
Mike looked over at Ruki again. He and Ego were exchanging goggles.
“Guess not,” Mike said, taking the flask. Unlike everyone else in his group, Mike wasn’t quite as quick to forgive when people try to kill him. Where he was from, beef takes awhile to digest. It was probably for the best that this wasn’t where he was from.
“I’m Mike,” he said, taking a sip and welcoming the burn to his throat.
“Well, they say life is a dance, but we’re all deaf to the music,” Jal said, wiping sweat from his brow as he squinted at the sun. “I’m glad the dance took this turn. I’ve only been with the Sons for about two years now. Trader blood on my diskblades would burden my spirit.”
“Why’d you join up with them?” Mike asked. “Hell, why does anybody join?”
“Oh, different reasons,” Jal said. “A lot of us are natives like Ego. Sprawl born. Others seek to escape the trappings of their lives and come here to start anew amongst the ruins. Being a tech romancer promises advanced technology, adventure, a life without debts. Even the prospect of having a family is a powerful draw for the disenfranchised.”
Jal took his flask back and grimaced as he downed a gulp. “I’m not any of those kind, Sprawl born or seeker. I was a trader, like your friend there,” he said, pointing his flask at Ruki. “And like your friend, when I came here for business and they asked me what I was, I didn’t pick trader.”
Mike looked at Jal. “They made you join?”
He shook his head. “It was my choice. I just didn’t know it at the time when they asked me. One of our rules is ‘the only friend is a proven friend’. Joining was the only way to prove it.”
Mike looked out over The Sprawl. The caravan crept through it, like it was a tour, like there was something to see. As the city rolled by it only offered more of itself, a seemingly endless vista of absolute destruction.
The question of how anyone could live here stuck in Mike’s mind. He didn’t ask it to Jal, self-confessed prisoner of choice.
“It’s not a bad life,” Jal said, seeming to know the question Mike hadn’t voiced. “Apparently, I’m more of a warrior-poet than a tradesman. Besides,” he said pointing in front of them. “You’re about to see the perks.”
The caravan had woven its way to what looked like a dead-end street. Ruki and Ego kept the caravan moving forward, toward a wall of debris as if they couldn’t see the upcoming impact.
Just as suddenly as they had popped up to ambush them, more Sons of Kaftar appeared from the wall of debris. They cleared marble and large pieces of sheet metal from the road, revealing a downward ramp.
Any city this size would have an undercity. Mike knew that. Still, the sight of it was incredible.
The ceiling stood as high as a Gothic cathedral’s. Where all the marble had crumbled on the surface, massive columns still stood down here. The marble had figures carved into them; on some, a single huge visage, while others held several figures depicted, frozen in the acts of war and love.
Megalithic crystals dangled in the air, suspended by nothing at all. Not only did they all shine with glimmering white light, each one looked like it was made of liquid. Smaller crystals constantly dripped from them, raining down into holes cut in the floor. The floor was illuminated by a river of glowing cobalt blue. The stuff flowed like water yet glowed like it was liquid neon. This same neon-blue water flowed down whole walls in places.
“That look says it all,” Jal said as he nudged Mike. “Once you see this kind of wonder, it’s hard not to take the Sons of Kaftar seriously when we say the future is in our past.”
“Who? How?” Mike asked, looking at the giant crystals. Occasionally, a stream of small crystals would flow sideways from one giant crystal to another, lighting up the dark space around them as they passed.
“No one knows who,” Jal answered. “The job of the tech romancer is to figure out how. We’ve learned a few things, like how to make diskbows and lightning gloves. Still, we’ve just scratched the surface of what’s possible. The proof is all around us.”
The caravan serenely motored through the huge rooms. It felt like a world away from the destruction of the surface. Mike looked at the giant gears and pistons embedded in the walls. Even though all of it was dead now, the machinery looked capable of moving whole skyscrapers. Mike felt like he was an ant taking a tour of the inside of an engine block.
“So, this is why you stayed with the Sons of Kaftar?” Mike asked, distracted by the flowing crystals and still machinery.
“Part of the reason,” Jal said. “But I also believe in the cause. The mages have betrayed us all, starting five hundred years ago with the murder of Father Kaftar.”
Mike already had his fair share of mage betrayal. Apparently, they had a tradition of dirty tricks that started well before they sent his little brother off on a suicide mission.
“What happened with Father Kaftar?” Mike asked.
“That was when the Hierophane first started out. The mage tower was good back then,” Jal said.
“At any rate,” Jal continued, “Father Kaftar and his apprentice Wozencraft went to a small mountain town called Olukent to destroy an evil monster. Father Kaftar fought and defeated the monster, but he was wounded as well. Instead of helping Father Kaftar, his apprentice, the dark Wozencraft, killed him while he was weakened so he could take control of the Hierophane.
“Wozencraft then tried to kill Father Kaftar’s sons, the true heirs to the Hierophane. The surviving sons fled here looking for a technology to combat the power of the mage tower. That search continues today under Ego Friese, direct descendant of Father Kaftar.
“But while it continues, the Hierophane still maintains rigid control of all magical and techno-magical advancement. They’re forcing the whole of humankind to live under the heel of their factory mage boots,” Jal said, shaking his head in disgust.
The caravan stopped. Dozens of folks were in the room, splashing in the neon blue water, smoking, playing with strange devices. But Mike was stuck on the room itself. It came with an epic view.
Instead of a wall, the room stopped at a sheer cliff. Beyond the cliff, the massive crystals shimmered like stars for what looked like miles, all of them raining crystals and shooting streams back and forth.
The room’s remaining three walls flowed with the neon blue water, which ran into channels in the floor. The channels met at the center of the room in a pool, an infinity pool. The pool water ran off the cliff face, its neon water shining brightly as it fell into the unending darkness below.
“Welcome to the Heart of the Sons, home of the free,” Jal said.
Ego stood at the head of the caravan, his arms out. “Today us and I celebrate, we feast to new friends!”
Cheers went up through the room. Everyone started piling out of the caravan, Mike’s group and Sons of Kaftar alike, where everyone received a hero’s welcome from the people waiting.
Mike felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Jal smiling back at him.
“Here we celebrate like this day is our last. It could be. Come, Mike.”
Something nagged at Mike. It felt like a sense of danger, only it didn’t come from the gang. Maybe it was something Jal said.
He saw Runt, Ruki and Savashbahar having fun with everyone else. They knew how to let go of their trouble for a minute. He shrugged and followed suit.
*****
MIKE WOKE UP WITH A fog in his head that only copious amounts of alcohol could conjure. He could have slept for another half a day if it wasn’t for Runt, who had nudged him awake.
“What?”
“We leave soon, Mike Ballztowallz.”
“Where we going?” Mike asked.
“Ruki and Ego discuss those matters now. First comes leaving The Sprawl,” Runt said. “After that is another question. East or west our best options. South is mage lands, north, only the Eural Mountains, home to small mountain towns.”
Small mountain town. It all came together. He remembered what Jal said and why it had bothered him. Maybe the post-binge cloud was good for something after all.
He saw a mountain town in his blood whisper. He saw signs, names in the street... the same name Jal had spoken: Olukent. That’s where he’d find Melvin.
Mike jumped up in a rush. “We’re going north to Olukent!” he shouted to Ruki, waking up a legion of sleeping Sons of Kaftar in the process.
Ruki and Ego turned and looked at Mike, Ego with that head tilt he did when he found something curious. “Why you head for the start of dark Wozencraft?” Ego asked.
“No, he’s drunk. We’re not going there,” Ruki said. “A place nicknamed ‘start of dark Wozencraft’ is definitely not on my list of near future destinations.”
“I gotta go,” Mike said. “The Hierophane sent my brother out to do a job. He’s going there. I need to stop him.”
“That’s our Mike,” Ruki said, forcing a laugh. “Loves to joke. Excuse me a moment, Ego,” he said, hurrying over to Mike. “I need to discuss some things with my colleagues.”
Ruki bent over and whispered. “What the hell, Mike? If we head north and the Hierophane picks up our trail, we’re done for. Nothing gets over the Eural Mountains. We can’t go backing ourselves against the wall like that.”
“I gotta go,” Mike said. “I’m finding my brother. You can come with or not, but I’m already out the door.”
Savashbahar approached, pointing a finger at Mike. “You listened as the blood whispered,” she said, smiling. “Mine whispered as well, and it showed me the Hierophane crumbled at your feet, all the Hollowers evaporating like dewdrops before the sun.”
She looked at Ruki. “I go where he goes.”
“So?” Ruki said with a shrug. Despite his nonchalance, he looked at Runt.
“No need to question,” Runt said. “I see things through.”
Ruki Provos bit his lip for a moment, then bared his teeth and growled with frustration. He turned to face Ego, “I need a route, friend. North to the dark Wozencraft start.”
Ego smiled. He turned and shouted at his gang. “History is repeating! Our new friends are in the middle of this familiar stew! But this time I and us around to sweeten the pot, take the bitterness out. Sons of Kaftar see to that!”
*****
LESS THAN AN HOUR HAD passed since Ego had outfitted his new friends and seen them off when the tunnel scouts reported crazy news. The Clockwound Warders, them were coming in scores here, to the very Heart of the Sons.
Ego wouldn’t have believed it but the scouts were always reliable. The Warders didn’t have the numbers to risk a topside fight, let alone the force needed to press the Heart.
“Them must be a rage, up in arms about their fallen leader’s goggles,” Ego said to Danda. “Wait for them to learn I traded those to I’s new friend,” he finished with a laugh.
Ego heard the sounds of skirmish in the east corridor. Revenge for their leader made sense, but not enough to try this suicidal attack. Ego had killed Pramus and deprived his body of the goggles six months ago. Why all the anger now?
The first wave of Clockwound Warders emerged through the corridor, them all wearing their signature eye goggles and chestpieces of turning gears. The Sons of Kaftar responded to their yells and raised clubs with well-aimed diskbows.
The sound of the high-tension springs in the diskbows releasing was music to Ego. Bladed disks shot out from the weapons and rained down on the Warders. Three steps into the room, and already that wave was cut into pieces.
Another wave was stepping into the breach. They were trying to gain ground while his men rewound their diskbow springs. Ego stepped forward with his lightning gloves. He separated his clasped hands and blue lightning arced in the gap.
Ego waved his hands and the lightning blasted out, sizzling through the Warders. They were just another wave of suicides to Ego.
More kept coming. While his men shot, Ego shouted at these warders and the ones behind them.
“You Warders have lost leave of your senses to come here to test I! Believe in I when I say the Sons of Kaftar will make you remember the fear you had for us after I killed Pramus!”
The Warders ran in, heedless of Ego’s words. His men hadn’t time to rewind their diskbows and it was too soon for his gloves to have built more lightning. Ego twirled his baton. It would be mostly melee from here on out.
His baton took out one Warder with a sickening crack. Another Warder took the fallen’s place. And another came at Ego from the side. He took them both down with quick, powerful strikes. Yet more came. They were attacking like they were mindless.
“It’s not that they’ve forgotten their fear of you,” a voice said from the corridor. Ego looked and saw something that made his blood boil with rage.
A purple robed mage stood in the corridor. Clockwound Warders streamed into the Heart of the Sons on either side of him, many of them already wounded, all of them with terror-stricken faces. The mage smiled as if he already owned the Heart.
“They still fear you,” he said. “But that’s my weapon. And they’ll never be as afraid of you as they are of me.”