The Tijervyn Chronicles
Prologue and Chapter One

story by
Richard Fife

art by
April Herron

Prologue

My Dearest Brother Tesma,

You must be surprised to find me writing to you now, of all times, as the war between your country and my city has come to such a hideous conclusion. No doubt, you know of my part in this war, and perhaps have even seen some of my work, those that your people call revenants. It fills my aged heart with sadness to know that the new way of life I’ve given those poor people is viewed as a curse, but of course, I was forced by the Regency to provide machines of war, not reconstructed citizens.

And, again no doubt, you must think me a failure, and that is why I write. I must adamantly insist that my work was indeed a success. The war your nation persecuted against ours was one of conquest, and all they gained for it was a nearly deserted stretch of farmland. I would imagine that it is not just Adervyn, but Sentat as well that feels this conflict lost. And while I have unleashed an unrest that will trouble Adervyn for years to come, I feel confident that, in the end, my goals will be fulfilled. I will see this done not through force of politics or martial strength, but as our brotherhood had once taught, by allowing the science, the Secret, to find its own destiny.

But, it has been a near thing, and I must again beg you to forsake your plan. Science cannot be controlled as you wish, and it is not our places to presume as kings and gods. Surely you must admit that I, of all of us, had the best ability to play our dangerous games and coax forth the Secrets. I understand your deep misgivings of the old ideals, but you have replaced one madness for another.

If you will not see reason for your own sake, nor for the sake of the general populace you put at risk, then please, think of your daughter. You endanger her as surely as you endanger the rest of Sentat, or dare I say the world, with your ambition.

You may still think that I have failed, but if that is so, then learn from me. Even I could not resist the lure of directly trying to guide the Secrets, and the results are obvious. In the end, even our plans are naught but the passing amusement of the Gods. The Secrets must guide us, not us them.

I am, forever faithfully, yours,

Quintin Lazris

Chapter One: “Home”

People and carts alike surged in over the wide bridge that crossed the Sygrid River and into the impoverished slums of Tijervyn. To be fair, the bridge deposited the flow of humanity on a road that ran with the slums on one side and the factories on the other, and if one was so inclined, they could follow it all the way to the Financial District and then, after a sharp bend, to Castle Sentat itself, where the king held his court. But Markus had no intent of following the road even a portion of that distance. For him, the bridge opened to the slums.

To his left, a massive complex that reached into the sky dominated the riverbank and seemed to hide a portion of those slums. A structure of wood and steel extended nearly halfway into the river, and Markus could make out great waterwheels churning inside the enclosures. Above the compound’s walls, the central tower seemed to glow with an eerie blue light, even in the midday sun.

He had heard of Tesma’s complex, and in fact had even seen the foundation work being laid when he left Tijervyn nearly a decade ago, but he could hardly believe what he saw now. The sight of the wood was almost as shocking as the finished structure, and he had to remind himself that he was no longer in the iron and brass hell that was Adervyn, where wood was worth more than gold. Still, even given the abundance of materials, the structure was impressive. The waterwheels themselves had to be no less than fifty feet across. What did this strange man do with them? Surely he was not milling grain. Markus would have to ask around, see if—

No, he would have to just ignore it and accept it. Only a month since the war ended and he could finally return home, and still he thought like the soldier he had been. He made an effort to not even let his eyes fall back on the strange compound as he crossed the bridge.

At the other end of the bridge, a line of guards were talking to the people as they entered. When it was Markus’s turn, the guard looked him over.

“Pull that hood back, son,” he said. “Let me get a good look at you.”

“Of course, captain.” Markus carefully pulled his hood back just so that his face was more visible.

The guard leaned on his rifle and sighed. “Trying to hide something, son? A cloak like that in the heat of summer isn’t exactly what they call inconspicuous.”

“I was disfigured in the war,” Markus said. “People tend to scream when they see me.”

“Ah, battle scars, eh? Well, they aren’t on your face.” The guard elbowed his partner next to him, who had been busy with a merchant. “Boy here is trying to hide his battle scars. Come on now, son, you can show us. We promise not to scream.”

“I served my country,” Markus said. “Please, leave me be. I’m just trying to come home and pick up my life.”

“Here now,” the guard said. “I’m charged with making sure nobody untoward enters this city, and that means a better look at you. Now—”

The other guard paused after waving another person through. “Leave off, Jerin. His accent puts him as a native well enough. Just wave him through and stop holding the line up.”

Jerin scowled but waved Markus on. “Don’t be making any trouble, now, alright son?”

“Of course, captain.”

Markus pulled his hood back forward and strolled through the archway. As he did, a woman walked out from a side street that led into the slums and bumped directly into him. Before she could move a step further, he grabbed her wrist.

“Give it back,” he said.

She looked up at him and tried to pull away, but she hardly made the fuss that she should have been. After a moment of struggling against his grasp, she gave up.

“You’re hurting me.”

“You’re holding my wallet.”

She bit her lip then reached into her coat and pulled out the battered, folded leather that had just a moment ago been in Markus’s front pocket. He took it back nonchalantly and pushed her away.

“You’re taking this rather well.” She rubbed her wrist and looked at him. “Get pocketed often?”

“I just expected it,” he said. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t even feel your touch. Better luck in the future.”

He continued walking, and to his chagrin, the woman followed him.

“That’s quite a grip you’ve got there.”

“Don’t you have newcomers to be working over?” He tried to move through the crowd and away from her, but she easily kept up, lithely dodging around the undulating masses Markus was forced to push through.

“It’s been a good day so far,” she said. “I think I’ll quit early.”

“Then I’m sure there’re a thousand other things you’d rather be doing.”

“As opposed to what?”

He spun around, ready for the woman to bump into him again, but she stopped just outside of arm’s reach. “Than following me.”

“I’m not following you.” She smiled. “I just happen to be headed in the same direction, and you are opening a rather nice hole in the crowd with all your lumbering about.”

Markus forced his clenched fists open. “And where, pray tell, are you headed?”

She looked around. “Wherever the crowd might take me.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me what you want.”

“You’re new in town, aren’t you?”

“I’m originally from here, but yes, I’ve been gone for a while.”

“Well, how about a cup of coffee, then?” She flashed a smile again. “Some random stranger’s treat?”

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You are asking me out to coffee?”

“Think of it as a thank you. You know, for not screaming to the guards that were only twenty feet away that you’d caught a pickpocket.”

He looked at her in confusion, but for all he could tell, she was earnest. He absently felt at the small tank at his side then flinched when he noticed her eyes register the motion.

“Fine, I could use a coffee.”

“Excellent.” She clapped her hands together then turned toward a nearby side street. “There’s a café just a street over that I love.” She stopped and looked back at him. “My name’s Kira, by the way.”

“Markus.”

He sighed and followed her. A small, worried part of his mind said that she was setting him up for a trap, but he pushed it down. So what if she was? Even a small gang of thugs would quickly find the mistake of jumping him. He brushed the tank again. He had filled it this morning, and it was still nearly full. He would be fine.

* * *

The café was, Markus found to his surprise, not only lacking in traps, but bountiful with good coffee despite being in the slums. Still, he sat with his back to a wall, the entrance in plain sight, and only sipped at his drink.

“My gang isn’t anywhere even near here,” Kira said.

“What?”

“I can see it in your eyes,” she said. “You think that I must be leading you into some kind of trap, to get even for embarrassing me back there.”

“The thought had crossed my mind, yes.”

“And I wanted to tell you, I’m not.” She sipped her coffee and leaned closer. “I’m honestly thankful that you didn’t just turn me in. The magistrate would love to have me in front of his bench again, if you catch my meaning.”

He leaned back. “Is that a fact? Honestly, that makes me doubt you even more. Why would someone the magistrate is eager to see show appreciation so freely?”

“Oh, so perhaps I should have lured you here to poison you or get my gang to jump you? What kind of way is that to live?”

“No offense,” he said, “but a thief’s way. Dog eat dog, and all that?”

“Never heard of honor amongst thieves, eh?” She leaned back. “Granted, not all of us have it, but in all truth, here in the slums, if you’re going to survive, you learn the pecking order and you stick to it. And that means if someone has power over you then doesn’t use it, you return the favor. Least, that’s what our leader Bryon always says, but I’m inclined to believe it.”

He finished the coffee in a long swallow and stood up. “Thank you for the drink, Kira.”

“Where’re you going?”

“Somewhere you aren’t.”

She sighed. “Markus, please, can’t you just sit down and enjoy your coffee? Let me get you another cup.”

“Kira, if you’re being earnest, then my apologies.” He adjusted his coat and cloak. “But, while I have just gotten into town, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not about to trust a random girl that just bumps into me the second I come into the city and then offers to buy me coffee after trying to steal my wallet.”

He left as she protested and quickly merged into the crowd. Tall buildings loomed over him, seeming to threaten to fall down at any moment from the strain of all the souls that called them home. Or perhaps it was the sheer despair of their existence that weighed on them. Regardless, they did not fall, and likely would not for some time. The nobles and wealthy would keep them in good enough repair to prevent that. It would not help their profits in the end if the factory workers died with the building.

He weaved the crowd and pondered where he might go to find a pallet for himself. He had mulled over for some time what he would do when he returned to Tijervyn. The military had made it clear that he would not be welcome back in their fold after what had happened to him, regardless of what it had allowed him to accomplish. The same fate ruled out the factories. Perhaps he could find a store or inn that needed a strong-arm to stand guard. A tavern would be his best bet. Either way, neither would need to know about his past, and it would be easy enough to hide.

A shadow passed over the street that was too deep to be a cloud, and he looked up to see a dirigible floating past and to the west, towards the castle. There was no sigil on the side, but the sheer luxury of the ship implied it probably belonged to a noble. Ever since the airships had become decently safe, the nobility had taken to not even gracing the streets with their presences if they could manage it. By now, a few of the wealthy had probably taken to the habit as well, but they would have headed north, to their own sequestered enclave, instead of to the castle.

“Oy, what have we here then?”

Markus lowered his gaze and found several street toughs starting to surround him. “Can I help you?”

“I think we can help you, mate,” another tough said. “You have the looks of a man who wants to fly. We can help with that.”

Markus looked from one tough to another. “I somehow doubt you’re offering me a position on an airship crew.”

“To the contrary,” the first tough said. “We can get you on that very vessel. All we need to do is lighten you up.”

“Yeah,” the third tough said. “Your problem, see, is that you’re just too heavy. Have to be light to fly. We can definitely help you lighten up, though.”

The toughs sniggered and moved closer, and Markus took a step back and brought his fists up. Almost immediately, the toughs drew knives. Around them, the crowd just parted, leaving an empty island that they refused to see.

“Well,” Markus said. “This is more of what I was expecting. You work with Kira, then?”

The lead tough tilted his head to the side, confused at Markus’s question, and then a knife seemed to appear out of nowhere in his throat. Markus didn’t pause to wonder, and he shifted his weight to one side and punched another of the thugs squarely in the nose. A small puff of steam shot out from under his gloved hand, and the man’s face seemed to cave inward from the blow.

Behind him, the last tough lunged with his knife, and Markus spun and caught the man’s arm up in his cloak. The man fought for a moment then suddenly stood up straight and let out a small yelp of pain. Markus punched with his other fist at the man’s throat, and he felt the man’s windpipe collapse.

A moment later, the tough fell over, a knife stuck in the middle of his back. As the tough fell, Markus saw Kira standing behind him, reaching down to retrieve the knife with one hand and pushing a lock of her wavy blonde hair behind an ear with the other.

“I’d imagine the magistrate would like to see you a little more, now, eh?”

“Cut the small talk.” She fetched her knife from the first tough’s throat then checked the second’s one’s pulse. “Dead as a doornail. Guess he’ll want to see you, too. Come on, we need to hurry.”

She grabbed for his wrist, and he pulled back. “Hold on, these guys attacked me without fear in broad daylight, and now we have to run? From what? Nobody seemed to care when I was getting robbed.”

“They weren’t going to kill you,” she said. “Probably just mess you up. Nothing wrong with that. But three dead bodies bring the constables around, and we don’t want to be here when they show up. Anyone dumb enough to be caught near a dead body they made that way deserves to be snagged.”

Markus looked around, and this time he noticed the crowd was starting to pay attention. He growled in frustration, but motioned for Kira to lead on. She took him into an alleyway that lead deeper into the slums, and after several cross streets, they were in a circular plaza with an old, dried up fountain. She sat down on the fountain’s rim and patted next to her.

“It’s okay, I won’t bite.”

He sat down, but an arm’s length away from her. “So, if killing is so bad, why did you start so quickly instead of just trying to scare them off?”

She sighed and rubbed her temples. “Okay, fine, I’ll come clean with you. Yes, I bumped into you on purpose. Trust me, if I wanted to steal your wallet for real, I wouldn’t have needed to touch you.”

“That’s not very reassuring,” he said. “Why?”

“Those toughs we just fought, they were part of a rival gang. They had marked you the second you stepped foot in the city. I was just trying to spoil their day.”

“Well, I’d say you’ve spoiled more than their day.” He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “So, how’d you know they’d marked me?”

“How could they resist?” She looked him over pointedly. “A cloak in summer and being testy with the gate guards? It screams out that you either have money and are travelling in secret, or you’re someone who just won’t be missed anyway. Either way, it’s easy.”

“And you didn’t think the same thing?”

“I held your wallet,” she said. “I know you don’t have money, and I can’t begrudge a traveler wanting his privacy.”

He gave her a flat stare. “I kind of remember you following me incessantly.”

“As long as I was with you, they hung back. Professional courtesy, even amongst rival gangs. It kind of went out the window when they drew knives, though.” She paused and looked into the dried fountain. “I’ll be honest, though, I’m surprised. You don’t seem all that concerned that you just killed a man.”

“I was in the war.” He followed her gaze into the dusty basin. “A man dying isn’t anything special.”

“But dying from a single punch to the face?” she said. “That corpse you left back there is going to sprout questions faster than it can a stench, and it already doesn’t smell that good.”

He ignored her glance that said she had those questions too, but was being polite enough to not ask them outright. “Tijervyn is a big city. Strange things happen.”

Her eyes grew wide and locked onto something behind him, and he spun around, looking to see what it was. He had barely the time to realize there was nothing there when he felt a sharp tug on his hood. He grabbed for it, but the best he could do was flip it back over his head a moment after it had fallen. He jumped up and spun around, but Kira simply sat on the fountain, eyes still wide, but now in genuine shock.

“So much for respecting a man’s privacy,” he said.

Her voice was a whisper. “You . . . You’re a revenant!”

“The term is cyborg.” He sat back down slowly, and to his surprise she did not flinch away. “Although Adervyn’s slur is so much better than ours. There, I’m a halfman. It seems to fit better.”

“Then, you really, I mean, what I saw . . . ?”

“Yeah.” He reached into his hood and felt gently at the bundle of wires that came out of the short, metal stump at the base of his skull. “There’s a silver spike shoved into my brain, and instead of dying like would be right and decent, I instead became, well, what I am.”

“How much?”

“More than enough.”

She licked her lips. “But, you have a Tijervyn accent, even if it’s faint. I thought only Adervynians were made into . . . .”

“It’s a long story,” he said. “And not one I’d prefer to relate, especially here. I fought in the war, things happened, and now here I am, just trying to find a way to get by. I figured I could at least try it here, where I can see the sun regularly. The way things are, I’d be hated the same wherever I went, whether a revenant or a halfman.”

She bit her lip, but said nothing, so he started towards an alley that would take him west, towards the Scent District. Perhaps he could find a store in need of an honest tough there.

“You’re an outcast,” she said. “Doing the things you do because you don’t have any other choice.”

He paused. “Thank you for stating the obvious.”

“Why don’t you come meet the gang? Bryon has a soft spot for outcasts. Seems that almost all of us in the gang are, in one fashion or another.” She walked over and put a gentle hand on his arm. From the touch, he could tell she was trying to decide if it was metal or flesh beneath the cloth. “At the very least, you can have a meal and a place to sleep while you get settled in.”

“Amongst a band of thieves?” He turned and looked at her. “How dense do you think I am?”

“I just saved your life,” she said. “Can’t you at least try and trust me?”

He looked up at the sky and realized that it was getting on in the day, and a quick tap of his tank said he’d need to refill it soon. His stomach growled, reminding him that what flesh was still left wanted filled, too, and that coffee was a poor lunch.

“Well, I guess I would hate to impugn your honor. Let’s see this den of yours.”

She smiled. “I love it when a man talks all fancy to me. This way.”

They wound through side streets and alleys, finally coming to a stop near the edge of the slums in front of a grimy building that could have been any other. Across the street, a run down but apparently still active cathedral to Troena tolled the hour.

“Stay here,” she said. “I need to go let Bryon know we have a guest.”

She disappeared into the building, and Markus looked around, taking stock of his surroundings. The way those toughs snuck up on him was embarrassing, and all from him staring at a blimp that did not have bombs raining down on him for once. Well, he would not make the same mistake twice.

A figure in a worn cloak was walking up the street towards the cathedral, and Markus noted how much the cloak drew attention to them. He would have to find some other way to hide his spike, perhaps a coat with a tall collar, or a thin scarf. He had seen numerous of both since he’d entered the city.

The cloaked person turned into the cathedral, and a small gust of wind showed Markus fine boots and outlined a form that was decidedly female. He also saw the outline of a handgun against the cloth. A soldier?

“Markus?”

He spun around to find Kira back, and again cursed himself for becoming distracted. He was not used to being in a city. That had to be it. He glanced back, but the incognito soldier was gone.

“Yes?”

She followed his gaze to the church but shrugged it off. “You can come in, now.”

He followed her, and they were barely in the building before she opened a door that was worked to look like another piece of wall paneling and led him down into the basement. Kerosene lamps lit up an expansive chamber that was more dug out than built. Several more rooms and a couple hallways branched off of the main one, and a few people lounged around tables or a fireplace. A tall, lean man with a beard that looked more like a dead rat walked up to Kira and Markus and smiled warmly.

“Kira has told me that you are in between places to be,” the man said. “I’m Bryon Salteen, and so long as you do right by us, you can have some comfort here. We don’t judge in The Hole.”

“Markus McGrigor, and thank you for your hospitality.”

Bryon shook Markus’s hand then turned to Kira. “See him to his room and let him settle in, then come to my office. We need to talk.” He gave Markus an apologetic smile. “Nothing to do with you, old chap, I assure you. Coincidental business.”

“I was hoping to show him around,” Kira said.

“I’ll have Margot do that,” Byron said. “Now hurry along, spit-spot.”

Byron moved off to one of the hallways, and Kira glowered after him before leading Markus down the other. The Hole, as Bryon called it, was larger than Markus would have expected, with a cross hallway and numerous doors of hanging cloth. Kira pulled one cloth aside not too far from the main room and waved Markus in.

A pallet, stool, basin, and small table were spread across the hard-packed dirt floor, but it looked a palace. Weeks of sleeping under hedges with only his cloak to warm him had taught him to not be particular.

Kira sighed and looked around. “If there’s anything else you need, I guess Margot will be along shortly. I know it isn’t much—”

“It’s fine,” he said. “Thank you. If you could just tell me where there might be some water?”

“There’s a pump in the lavatory at the end of this hallway.” She hesitated. “Welcome home, Markus.”

He gave her a smile, and she let the curtain fall and left. Home. Well, perhaps not yet, but even this dirty hovel was more worthy of that word than anything else he might have had in the last decade. Maybe it could be. He pulled a tin pot out of his pack and went in search of water.