30 October 2015

Austin, Texas

    With just under 40 hours to go before the start of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), I wanted to take this time to thank those of you who will be joining me on this crazy journey. With all of the changes in my life in the last year, you would think that I wouldn't take on another plate to the many I am juggling... but I am.

    The novel that I am writing, "The Frozen Lotus" is inspired by the tabletop roleplaying game Numenera, created by Monte Cook Games. I had initially inquired about working with them, through a limited license, to write the novel in their setting. Unfortunately, they are not giving any limited licenses for fiction, so I am writing TFL in a world of my own design. The great thing about this will be that I am not restrained by another person's creative vision, having to fit my story to match. The one thing that will be in common with Numenera is that both are centered around Arthur C. Clarke's famous phrase, "Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic."

    The world of TFL is our Earth, but it is one million years in the future. If you imagine, that would be like our first ancestors, before homo sapiens, viewing our modern world. Despite the science behind our televisions, vehicles and medicine, they would see it as magic. What may be something beneficial in our times, might take sinister connotations, simply because it is incomprehensible.

    This is the world that you will be joining me in for the next month or so. I plan to hit the 50,000 word mark prior to November 30th and the end of NaNoWriMo, but TFL threatens to be a 90,000+ word novel.

    Thank you again, and please keep coming back to see what I create!

                                            Cheers!

                                           Darius

    The Asp's had come for him in the dead of night. It was unheard of for their kind to step across the threshold and into the incensed halls of the Cloister. When they forced their way through the bolted door of his small, spartan room, and he had seen the down-cast eyes of the Apada standing behind them, unwilling to put a stop to their blasphemy, he knew there would be no escape. They clapped cold, metal shackles about his wrists and ankles, dragging him across the cold flagstones of the Cloister's halls. The other Dedicated watched in fear through the barred windows of their own doors. Each noting his predicament, the inaction of the Apada and the finality of this sacrilege. 

    At first Cornilius fought against them. His feet kicked and scrapped at the stone floor, seeking purchase, but not finding it. Their corded muscles flexed and nothing he could do would impede them from their intended task. His mind raced with questions. Why was this happening to me? Who had sent the Asp's for him? Why was the Apada so reluctant to deny them? The questions were myriad, the answers nonexistent. He had not yet gained his name, nor been allowed to participate in the joining. There were still months of preparation, fasting and confessing before he would be allowed to serve the Cloister and join with believers in the one true act of communion. 

    He had been raised within the Cloister his entire life. His parents, the Apada told him, had been poor, simple folk, who did not recognize his potential or gifts. They had pleaded with the old man to take him, to raise him, where they could not. When Cornilius had first come to question the ancient leader of the Cloister on who he was, where he had comes from, that had been the tale that was told. As he grew older, and spoke with the other Dedicated, he found that their stories were similar. Families that did not want them, could not hope to care for them, and so had turned to the rock of faith, the Cloister seated in the heart of the city, to care for their misbegotten offspring. He learned, through the teachings and tenants that this was not a sin, nor a burden that they should carry with shame. It was a privilege, a sacred calling to be one of the Dedicated.

    From an early age Cornilius had accepted this to be true. He took to his duties and teachings as one who had set themselves to performing a task that they believed to be truly necessary, in spite of any and all costs. At first the training was basic and monotonous. They awoke before the dawn. They fetched the water, set it to boil. They assisted in the cooking and serving of the morning meals. It was then that he had seen his first glimpse of the holy order he would one day belong to: the Dedicated. They entered the hall in a silent column. Their robes stark white, reflecting the purity of their souls. Their eyes down cast in reverent contemplation of the sacred trust that had been bestowed upon them. He served each in turn, as he had been directed, never seeking to gain their attention, for that was forbidden.

    The training progressed from the routine, to the religious over time. He, with the others his age, learned the hold catechisms, the prayers and the hymns that for the Dedicated came naturally, effortlessly. He spent hours learning to mediate and clear his mind of all thoughts of self, desire, want or greed. He was told that a Dedicated's first truth was to abandon self, and seek to join with the believers so that they might not be a force for them to collide with, but rather to be an empty space. To be a door, that the believer could open, enter and commune with the stars.

    It was three years before Cornilius would attend the claiming of the Dedicated that he would discover another unique piece to them. During the gloaming, he had been tasked to sweep the inner courtyard of the Cloister. Here, the Dedicated came to walk, meditate and bask in the last light of the setting sun. In practice, as was fitting of his station, he worked diligently at his task, eyes cast downward to the flagstones, rather than up at the world. As he swept, back and forth, forth and back, clearing the dust, dirt and leaves from the stone, he collided with something and tumbled to the ground. His immediate reaction was to grow cross, but he quickly identified that as his self, and he pushed it away. His teachings said that he must be empty of self so that others might not grow angry.

    A hand reached down, grasping his own, pulling him to his feet. Though it was forbidden, he looked up, into the eyes of the one who would help him. There, against the backdrop of black hair, and warm summer skin, two pools of crystal-clear water, as if newly drawn from the well, gazed down at him. He had seen the color before. Not just in painting or dreams, but in his own reflection in the well. The stark white robes only amplified their depth, and he realized that all Dedicated shared this in common.

    Cornilius' foot caught on a stone, and his knees gave out, spilling him to the ground, but the powerful hands held him just aloft, so that only his feet, ankles and shins scrapped along the ground as they dragged him from the Cloister. He turned his head, looking, searching out the Apada. The ancient man stood several feet back, his own dark, almond eyes filled with pain, regret and shame as the Asp's carried the Dedicated from the Cloister.

    "Please. Apada," Cornilius begged. "Why? What did I do? Have I not served as you taught us?"

    The man stood, his gray robes whispering against the stones with every subtle movement. He raised his hand, curled his knuckles and in one final gesture, as the doors of the Cloister shut, separating master from student, signaled the Final End. He wanted to cry, to scream at the Apada. He wanted to tear himself from the Asp's clutches and force his way back into the holy sanctum. He wanted to tear the old man limb from limb. All of the teachings on banishing self, of emptying his soul of all that he was to become a vessel that could be filled with another's need and desire banished in that terrible craving for revenge.

    Unable to free himself, or to gain answers to why he was taken, he collapsed in resignation, forcing the men in armor to drag him through the streets. It would not take long before they arrived at a cart, pulled by two massive, black furred Yauk's, their gray, spiraled horns stretching out like tree branches. He looked to the Asp on his right, hoping to gain some reason for their stop. He would receive none, only a bone-shattering, sight blinding burst of pain across the back of his skull that would plunge him into darkness.

********

    Cornilius came to when a deluge of ice cold water erupted into his face. 

    "They did not harm you too much did they?" A soft voice in the darkness asked.

    Slowly, his sight began to return. It was difficult to banish all of the darkness that had surrounded him at the connection of the Asp's mailed fist, but he realized that was partly because the room he was in was lit only by a few candles. He jerked forward, trying to stand, to gain some distance from the voice that spoke. Ice still clasped his wrists and he found that he was chained to a chair.

    "Do not resist. You will only harm yourself more." the voice said.

    It had a neutral tone to it. As if what spoke was neither male nor female. Of everything, the dark, dimly lit room, the chair that he was chained to, or the mysterious circumstances for which he had been dragged from the Cloister, the inability to ascribe a gender to this mysterious voice was the most unsettling.

    "That is good. Please, stay seated," It said. 

    There was movement behind him. Something, perhaps the source of the voice, moved where he could not see. There was the sound of metal scrapping on metal. Another unsettling sound amidst the flickering candle light.

    "I have some questions for you, boy. I believe you will answer them," It stated. "It is said that the Dedicated are doors, windows into the starry night sky. Places where one might enter, or look to see into the heavens. Do you believe this to be true?"

    He did not want to answer it, but there was something, a quality to the voice that seemed to compel him. Cornilius could not identify it, nor place a name to it, but he answered.

    "The Dedicated are the holy vessels, the chosen of the People of the Stars, to allow the believers to commune," he recited from his teachings.

    Something small grunted and snuffled behind him. The small hairs on the back of his neck bristled with dread and terror as he mind clawed to place the sound but could not.

    "There is an older phrase, from a time long past. They believed that our eyes were not just windows to what we saw, but into the core of our being, our souls," It said.

    He could feel It moving now from behind him. Leather boots on cold stones crunched with the effort. A cloth cloak whispered side to side as It stepped around to stand before him. He stared at the ground, as he had been taught, keeping his eyes diverted, but wanting to look up. Its arms moved out, as if holding something out to him, or at him. He forced his head back down as his neck tried to involuntarily crane upward.

    "Have you ever seen a Jadore?" It asked him.

    He shook his head from side to side, not daring his voice to speak in answer.

    "They come from far to the south, along the Great Water. The fishermen of Sul 'Estarero pluck them from the sea. You would think that once taken from their habitat that they would die, but as long as they are kept damp they thrive. It is why I keep them down here. You can feel the moisture can you not?" It did not wait for him to answer either verbally or physically. "They are marvelous creatures, the jadore. They have a way of communing with other creatures, allowing them to overcome hate, fear and hostility, and making them... pliable."

    The word hung in the air like a knife over his throat.

    "Please. Do not," Cornilius begged softly.

    One red-leather, gloved hand reached down. A finger slipping under his chin and forcing his gaze up Its' scarlet body to stare into a twisted, grotesque mask, behind which two piercing eyes bore into his.

    "Do not fret. Opening the window to your soul will not hurt one bit."

********

    He had been moved to a hard flat surface. Lain out on it in a profane mockery of the holy joining and strapped down so that he could not move. The thing, the creature in scarlet had set the what it called a jadore on his bare chest. It was sticky, it wriggled and flopped about his skin, as if seeking some purchase in him. As it moved it left a trail of slime that gave off a vague scent of something sweet mixed with rot and decay. It was drawing closer to his face, which made the smell all the more pungent.

    "Please. I will tell you... I will do anything, say anything, be anything that you ask...," he pleaded with the figure.

    It took a step closer, laying one gloved hand on his stomach, the twisted, grotesque mockery of a face smiling down at him.

    "You will, I know you will. However, what I need... perhaps you cannot even remember. Therefore the jadore will do it's work, and I will eat the jadore."

    It flopped against his chin, and he could feel his entire body starting to convulse.

    "That's the poison working." It informed him. "You see, this creature seeks to paralyze its prey so that it might gain entry to most... savory bits of you."

    He did not want to, but he was unable to will his eyes away. He glanced down to see that the grayish creature had sprung long, wriggling tendrils from beneath its skin. Like long, thin maggots, they inched up his face searching out the orifices, the windows to his body that lay there. His mouth, nose, ears and eyes.

    "By now you've lost nearly all control of your movements. When the jadore's tentacles enter your head, it will squirrel its way into your mind and begin feasting upon it." the creature said flatly.

    Cornilius wanted to scream. He wanted to tear at the bonds that held him firmly to the surface he'd been laid out upon. He wanted to do anything to make this stop, but his entire body, his being betrayed him. Nothing moved. Not a finger, not a toe. He didn't even blink. The long, grayish tendrils had wriggled into his body. Exploring his holes as if they were caves within a cavernous mountain range. There was movement near his head, and just in the periphery of his vision, he could see the scarlet creature move to stand over him. Those piercing, diabolical hungry eyes looked down into his.

    "This is the part I do so love." It said.

    Somewhere, within his skull then tendrils sank deliberately into his mind, and all of the pain washed away from him. Only contentment and comfort touched his form. Somewhere dark, somewhere distant, far away from the warm light that cradled him in it's bosom, a voice spoke like thunder rolling in the distance across the sky.

    "You'll feel only ecstasy, and when it is done, I will have my answers."

********

    Despite the blood pooling from the nearby table and dripping to the floor, the Scarlet Hunter feasted on the jadore. The creature was an amazing marvel of the world. It seemed innocuous until it was allowed to follow its instincts. It first paralyzed it's prey, then feasted upon the gray matter within the prey's skull. It had been decades ago that a fisherman had made the discovery that the Scarlet Hunter now used it for. When eaten the jadore relinquished the memories, thoughts and feelings of those it had consumed. No longer would the Hunter have to rely upon the crude implements of torture to gain knowledge and information. It only came at the price of the subject's life. That however, was a price that Hunter was willing to allow them to pay. 

    The scarlet mask sat on the table, staring up at the Hunter, as if it were a creature or force of it's own. It seemed to contemplate, posing silent questions that did not need to be answered at this juncture. The last bite of jadore was thrust into the mouth. Pearly teeth bit, ripped and tore at it's spongy flesh, and the Hunter swallowed it down, waiting for the effects to present themselves.

    It began with a wave of lightheadedness, as if too much wine had been consumed. The Hunter leaned back in the chair, head tilting back to gaze up at the blackness of the ceiling. Removing all other sensory input was one of the keys to ensuring that the process worked as efficiently as possible. Above the Hunter the black began to swirl and coalesce. First streaking through with dark blues, then lighter. Next shards of red, orange and yellow, as if the light of the sun had made it's way far beneath the ground to this room. Then an entire kaleidoscope of colors erupted from the black, and where it all emanated a point of white light appeared. This was the moment that Hunter had been waiting for.

    It first began as a single point amidst the colors. As the prismatic hurricane raged above, that point began to grow, spreading out to become a field of vision. As it did the Hunter was thrust into the memories, thoughts and feelings of the Cloister's slave. He had been chosen for the information that Hunter had discovered concerning his birth. A few years shy of two decades, this particular Dedicated's parents had come from within the plains, where the simple folk, the peasants, farmers and followers of the Way dwelled. In a place they called Bacio Verde. The vision displayed his birth, the squalor in which his parents lived, and their decision, as he crawled around on the dirt floor of their hut, to sell him to the Cloister and travel east.

    It would take several hours of combing, sifting through these memories, but the Hunter finally noted a dark figure, seen in the frame of a child's wonderment, rushing from one dark alley to another in some poor, dirt road town. It was all that the Hunter knew it would find, but it was more than had been known previously.

    Lifting the mask, and replacing it, repositioning and cinching it back down, the Scarlet Hunter strode from the room. It stopped just outside of the door, and leveled a gaze at the Asp's.

    "See that the room is cleaned and the remains are disposed of immediately."

    They gave sharp, militaristic nods, and moved away from it to  carry out their orders.

    The Scarlet Hunter strode down the hall, a new goal in mind.   

    "Askadodilges Goodeson," a rough, but cheerful voice said from behind the young boy. To be honest, he had seen the Mescate at a distance over an hour ago. Over the rolling hills of the Verde he could see the dark shape of the koumpan, rocking side to side, it's pots, pans, knicks and knacks swaying with its motion. The plume of black smoke belching now and again into the sky. As he drew closer, Ask could hear the cacophony of sounds intermingled with the bawdy songs the travelling peddler caterwauled to the empty road before him. Chick had told him to remain near the house, but the thought of being the first to pick over the peddler's wares was too much of a temptation to keep him to obeying the same, stern warning his brother had given him every morning for an eternity.

    The old man furled his cloak around one arm, displaying the patchwork trousers, and rough hewn tunic of many colors he wore. He bowed, and then rose up, giving Ask a sly wink. With the movements of someone who had performed the actions his entire life, the Mescate opened the myriad windows, shutters, doors and containers of the koumpan. When he was finished, the peddler stood to one side, still holding his cloak about his arm, as if he were part of the Marquese's court. With an incline of his head, he gestured for Ask to peruse his wares.

    There was a great deal to see, as there always was with a peddler. However, this particular one, the one the villagers called the Mescate, was a shrewd businessman. He was a lover of the haggle, travelled farther and wider than any other, and was known for chancing upon the most interesting goods in the world. Ask moved slowly along the koumpan, walking carefully to hide his limp from the man. Chick had instilled in him a distrust of strangers, and those he did know, he had cautioned the young boy to hide his weakness and strangeness from outsiders.

    "I knew your mother and father," the peddler offered, as Ask plucked a magnificently crafted bronze bird from a basket. The man dropped the cloak and his pose to kneel down next to Ask. "You stroke it. Here. Just behind the head, along it's spine towards the tail."

    Ask reached out, following the man's instructions. He could feel something. A give to the metal that composed the tiny effigy. His thumb ran down, pressing the metallic skin and all at once, it came alive. The moment his finger released it's touch, the bird's wings began to beat. Soft at first, and then swift and fast, becoming a blur as it lifted out of his hand and zipped about his head.

    "Far to the north, where the Deep Ice meets the mountains, there is a lake. Floredelgalo is what they call the city that sits upon it. I found this trifle," He said gesturing to the amazing, metallic creature flitting back and forth in the air about them. "The ice there, that towers over them, melts, rushing down, and creating the lake."

    It took a moment, but Ask tore his attention away from the bird. The words of the Mescate caught up to his attention, and sunk into his mind.

    "The Frozen Lotus," Ask blurted.

    The peddler laughed, reaching out to the bird, but it flitted away from him, as if skittish and scared of the large man.

    "Yes, that is where the Frozen Lotus grow. Beautiful flowers, blooming up from the icy waters," He said. "Come here. You little..."

    His arms flailed, as he flung them back and forth trying to capture the creature.

    "She doesn't want to come down yet," Ask said.

    The peddler stopped, looking down at the boy.

    "What do you mean?"

    Ask shrugged. He should not have said anything. Chick had told him to never reveal himself to an outsider. It was something that others would not understand, and as his brother had so often explained, it would only make them fearful of the young boy.

    "It looks like it's having fun up there." He offered.

    The Mescate scratched the scraggly hair about his chin, pondering what Ask had said. Above them in the air, the bird zipped back and forth. With almost little to no attention span, as if this was the first time it had been free in a very long time. 

    "What else does it want?"

    Ask shrugged again. He knew better than to answer, but the Mescate had always been kind to him.

    "I knew your mother and father," He said again. "They were good people. Truer folk than you'd ever met across the wide world, and I would know, I've seen many of it's edges. They were kind folk. Always willing to help a stranger. The first time, I reckon your brother, Chick isn't it? Your brother was nothing more than a bundled babe, swaddled and clothed in rags. Just..."

    The Mescate reached out, pointing up the road. Ask turned his head to follow the gesture. As he did the bird flitted down and landed on his shoulder. 

    "There. Do you see the point where the road begin to turn?" He asked.

    Ask nodded, letting his gaze linger on the spot.

    "The koumpan's wheel broke there. It was early in the planting season. It had been raining fierce and strong. There were deep ruts, filled with mud and muck, and me, being a stupid, young peddler thought this bucket of rust could make it through. I was wrong, and I paid the price. The moment I felt it shift and drop. I did not need to hear the snap of the wheel to know that I had broken it."

    Ask looked back at the peddler.

    "What did you do?"

    The Mescate slowly reached out, gingerly offering his finger to the bird on the young boy's shoulder.

    "Me? I sat there in my tears for awhile. Your village promised to bring it quite the haul, and I would be able to make repairs. However, this far from the square, there was not a chance of either. About an hour of me crying and sniveling there on the bank, your mother and father happened by. They took pity on the fool that I was, still am some say, and your father helped me fix the wheel enough to make the trek into the village."

    The soft tones of their conversation, the stillness of their bodies had lulled the bird into a calm repose. When the peddler's finger nudged its feet, it walked out onto it, and allowed him to lift it.

    Ask smiled. He liked the Mescate. He liked that he was kind and honest. He liked most that the man did not treat him like a child.

    "She wants a home," he said.

    The Mescate nodded, looking over the metallic bird and then down at Ask. He knelt next to the boy, and held out his finger.

    "She's yours then."

    Ask turned his head, looking at the man from a sideways position.

    "What does she cost?" he asked.

    "Your time, your conversation," The Mescate answered. "We will call it repayment, for your father and mother's kindness so long ago."

    Ask's breath caught in his throat. The bird was beautiful, many in the village would scramble over each other to haggle and beg for the chance to purchase it. Here the peddler was offering it to him for free. Chick's voice echoed in his head.

    "Nothing is ever given for free. There's always a price to pay."

    "I have no coin or anything to barter." Ask said.

    The Mescate smiled, and began to close up the koumpan. 

    "As I said young Goodeson. She is your's. No currency to exchange, nothing to barter. Yours."

    When everything was closed back up, the peddler climbed up into the seat of the koumpan and began to adjust levers. It rocked side to side suddenly, and belched black smoke high into the air. Deep within it's belly it rattled and growled like a creature ready to move.

    "When you wish, simply stroke her spine in reverse to..." The Mescate began.

    Ask shook his head.

    "She does not like living like that," He told him.

    The Mescate smiled and shot him a wink, before urging the koumpan forward.

    "Of course she would not. Take care of her Askadodilges. I shall look forward to seeing you in the village square."

     Ask moved out of the way, climbing onto the bank, to allow the man and his rattling koumpan to continue their journey down the road.

    "Be well and walk your path." The man recited.

    "And you! Pray that they cross again one day." Ask finished.

    He stood watching the Mescate move down the road, reaching the point where he had broken down and his mother and father had helped him to continue his journey, before disappearing out of sight. The thought of his parents brought a sharp pang to his heart, one that he had not felt in sometime. He knew that Chick would be looking for him soon.

    The bird cooed on his shoulder. He would have to explain to his brother where the bird had come from. Or maybe he would not. Chick could miss details at times. He saw the big picture, as he often said to Ask, but missed the little things.

    Feed? Feed? The bird peeped in his ear.

    Ask nodded and began the long trudge back to the house he and Chick lived in.

********

    "Where were you?" Chick demanded.

    Ask had not even finished crossing the small yard of their farm house before his older brother was on the porch questioning him.

    "And where did you get that bird?"

    Hopes dashed, Ask did the only thing he could. He crossed to the wooden porch, flopped down on the steps and told his brother everything. As he did the bird flew up to perch on the railing that only partially surrounded their porch.

    "He said he knew mother and father. That the bird was payment for the kindness they had shown him." Ask finished.

    Chick dropped down next to Ask, and nudged him with his shoulder.

    "I miss them too," He said. "You know you can not go too far away. People in the Verde, they... don't understand what you can do."

    Ask nodded, scratching his head, paying more attention to the bird than his brother.

    "The thresher stopped working again..." Chick offered.

    Ask sighed. His brother knew how to bore through his defenses. The thought of working on the farm equipment was far more pleasant than sitting on the steps, talking with Chick about how he should not go near people. He stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers.

    "I guess I will limp over there and nudge him then." Ask said.

    Chick reached out, catching his hand.

    "I know it is hard, Ask. I go through it too, everyday. I miss them, and I do not know why they never came back. We... have each other."

    Ask stopped, staring out into the fields searching for the thresher.

    "Alright. Go fix him." Chick said, dropping his hand.

    Ask smiled to himself, and limped across the yard to the edges of the field. He paused, for just a moment, looking back at his older brother. The tall, young man was standing on the edge of the porch trying to catch the bird as it flitted from rafter to rafter. He was right. Despite their parents never returning home, they had each other. They each had their strengths, and those balanced their lives. Chick was strong, healthy and capable. Ask was intelligent, intuitive and had a way with the farm equipment.

    He crossed into the field, taking care over the rise of the furrows. It did not take long for him to locate the thresher. It was sitting where Chick had left it that morning. It's mechanized arms lay across two of the rows unmoving. Ask stepped up next to it, placing a hand on the side. It was still warm, and he could feel it's innards groaning and straining.

    "What seems to be the problem now?" He asked.

    Something within stirred. A hum, that had perhaps been there, intensified. Black smoke, blacker than that of the Mescate's koumpan burst into the sky.

    I am tired, young one.

    Ask nodded at it's response. Whatever the thresher had been. Whatever it had been created for, harvesting crop was a waste of it's abilities.

    "I know you are. I know this life... is not what was intended for you. That purpose is gone now. If you were not here, were not with us. What would you do?"

    It had worked the last few times. Several moons ago, and before that full planting and harvest cycle. It yearned to follow its intended design, but it had to be shown that purpose was gone. That helping them harvest the crop was the best use of its abilities.

    I know. You have stated this prior.

    "There is not much else to say... The harvest must be brought in. Without it, Chick and I, will die." Ask said, pleading with a hopeful sense of compassion the machine might have.

     It does not work that way. You will continue to survive.

     Ask wanted to kick the massive hunk of metal. When Chick had found it, buried nearly to its eyes in a bog nearly a days walk from the farm, Ask had kicked it while they attempted to free it from the black muck. Once it was half uncovered it had awakened, telling the young boy to leave it be.

     When it was free and Ask had replaced a missing fuse, and rewired a section of its controller that had been damaged long ago, it had complained the entire trip back.

     I have told you that I am beyond my purpose. You should have left me where you found me.

     "Well, I did not, so you will have to reconcile yourself to that truth." Ask retorted. "What can I do to get you back to work?"

     Of the few machines Ask had cobbled together to help them manage the farm, the thresher was perhaps the most straight forward in its reasoning and actions. When it strayed from its tasks there was a reason, and Ask had but to find it, fix it and it's malaise would evaporate.

     The X50J thermocouple, that is used to operate my temperature sensor has failed. Without it I will begin to overheat and be unable to self-regulate. This will lead to a critical state that will force my neuron-net to shut down and I will be in a dormant state until repaired.

     Ask stood leaning against the thresher. Those three sentences were the most it had spoken to him since they had reclaimed it from the bog. He had no idea what an x50j thermowhatsit was, but shut down and dormant did not sound like good things, especially for completing the harvest before the following weeks' festival.

     "Where would I find this thermowhatsit?"

     X50J Thermocouple.

     "Yeah... That. Where on you?"

      Somewhere inside the thresher a weary whirring of cogs, electrical connections and gears signaled that it was displeased with Ask.

      In the rear quadrant of the chassis there is a bay. Beneath the panel you will find it. 

      The worst part of speaking with machines was attempting to translate their language to Truespeak. Chick had forbid him from speaking with the local farmers and villagers who used the language and left him with a handful of contraptions that barely spoke at all. Ask walked to the mid-section of the thresher where he knew it considered its chassis. He had spent time exploring all the nooks and crannies of the creature, and had an idea of where it meant. 

     It took some effort, the recent rains had forced the door to seal quite tight, and Ask had to pry it open with his utility tool. Once he did, the hole inside the thresher held a great deal of important parts and widgets, many of which Ask had no comprehension of what they were, what they did, or which might be the faulty part.

      "So... Inside. Is it...?"

      It should be labeled. My creator was a thorough engineer. Each of us Geological Excavation by Kinesiology Observation automatons was thoroughly etched, labeled and marked.

      There, just behind a glaring, blinking red light Ask could see a large part, and just below it on the surface it was plugged into was a faded silver lettering - X5 J. He reached in, grasping it. It was hot to the touch, but if it needed to be replaced, it would have to come out.

      Yes. That one.

     Ask pulled, lifted, strained, but it would not budge. He placed a foot against the edge of the hole, hoping that the bar holding it up would remain. With both hands slipping around the part, he leaned back, using every ounce of strength he could. At first all he felt was the heat of the part, the humming within the thresher and the cool air on the back of his neck. There was a pop, and suddenly Ask was weightless, for a brief second.

      The ground slammed into him, and he lay on his back staring at the darkening sky. The light of the sun, which had been bright only moments ago, now seemed to be fading, as if night had come to swallow him. He could barely breathe.

     You must stand up. You are important. The termination of your life force would be a critical failure.

      Ask shook his head and the light rushed back to his eyes. He rolled over and gasping for breath. After several moments of trying he drew in a sharp mouthful of air and filled himself with it.

      "Do not worry. You will not get rid of me that easy." He said to the thresher.

      There was a moment of silence, and Ask wondered of removing the part had somehow shut it down.

      I did not say anything, user Askadodigles Goodeson.

     He stared at it from his knees in the dirt. If the thresher had not spoken, something was nearby. As he considered it, he could mark a discernible difference between the thresher and the mysterious machine. If he went in search of it now, Chick would be even more cross with him than he already was.

      He pulled the part from the dirt. It had cooled, considerably. He would have to find a replacement. That meant that Chick would have to agree to go into the village. Their best bet would be the Mescate's koumpan to find it.

      "I will be back to fix you." He to,d the thresher.

      I will remain here. Less activity will ensure no further damage to my systems.

      Ask nodded and patted the thresher as he walked past. If he played his cards right, he might even convince his brother that they would need to visit Titain, on the outskirts of the village as well. That put the young boy in a terrific mood as he hobbled across the furrows of the field back towards the farm.

********

    "No." Chick said, putting a plate of food in front of Ask. "And that's final."

    The young boy pushed the vegetables around his plate with a fork. He hated when Chick tried to be mother or father. He knew it was born out of care, worry and a desire to keep Ask safe, but it was, in his opinion, done at the wrong times, in the wrong ways. Over the last season, Ask had disobeyed his brother's final no's seven times. Chick only knew of one.

    He opened his mouth to reply and the ladle against the copper pot stopped. It was not the time to plead his case. Ask lifted the mush of game meat and leeks, stuffing them into his mouth and crunching on them happily. The spoon began it's rhythmic stirring again and after a time, Chick brought his bowl to the table and sat down across from Ask.

    They sat in silence for sometime. The game meat tasted just a bit off. Ask wondered if Chick had been hunting recently. He thought that might be the best route to reapproach their need to go to the village. He knew bringing up his former mentor, Titain, would be something that could wait until they had visited the peddler. He knew that hunting was one of the joys that Chick still had left. That and training the younglings from the village. Ask would train with them, but Chick refused to allow that to happen.

    His brother chewed through each bite of the meal, but Ask could see the twinge at the corner of his eye. The one that said he was not happy with how it had turned out.

    "Dinner is quite delicious tonight." Ask offered.

    Chick stopped in the middle of taking a bite.

    "Do not."

    "These leeks are the one I fetched from the creek the other day?" He asked.

    Chick nodded and stuffed the spoonful into his mouth, forcing himself to chew it.

    "I will have to go back and get more." Ask said, stuffing another bite into his mouth and smiling at his brother.

    The older boy dropped the spoon into the bowl and stared at him.

    "Is something wrong, Chick?"

    His brother raised an eyebrow, as if returning the question.

    "The meat is a bit... off." Ask said. "When did you last go hunting?"

    Chick sighed. "Just before the beginning of the harvest. This meat is the last of what I salted and stored in the cellar."

    Ask nodded, still chewing on his second bite of the dish.

    "Without the thresher it must be difficult to bring in the harvest. Leaves you no time to hunt, or train." 

    "I know what you are doing, little brother." Chick retorted.

    "I would wager that if the thresher would in working order, you could devote more time to hunting game."

    Chick stood up. He lifted his bowl and walked back to the pot, dumping the contents back in.

    "You know what those people are like, Ask. They do not understand. Just last planting season the Beadle wanted me to send you to one of the towns. To the Cloister." Chick dropped the bowl into the wash bucket near the fire. "The Cloister. You know what they would do with you? Do you not?"

    Ask stopped stirring his meal with his spoon and dropped it. "They will swaddle me in rags. Put me out on the streets to beg and give me the leftovers of the meals to eat."

    "Exactly."

    It was an almost sing-song rendition of Chick's threat filled description of how the Cloister handled anyone they deemed undesirable. They were supposed to care for them, but a woman who had fled, several seasons ago, and passed through the village had told Chick a different story. She had spent only a few days with them, wanting to avoid the village, but needed some place to wait out a planting season storm. Chick had sent Ask to bed early, but he had listened to the two of them, until his eyelids closed on him and he fell asleep. They had stayed up, talking quietly beside the fire. In the morning she had been gone, and Chick had become even more controlling over Ask's movements.

    "The Beadle would not force it. He could not lose you teaching the younglings. Would he do it himself? Leave his home and exert himself teaching children to use sword, shield and staff?"

    Chick's armor cracked and he smiled. Ask knew that he had his brother backed into the fen. 

    "We could go in the morning. Most of them are still sleeping, and the Mescate is an early riser. We could take him your morning brew. I would wager we might even get a discount." Ask said.

    The older brother placed his hands on his hips, trying to mimic their mother. Finally he nodded.

    "And he will have this thermowhatsit?"

    "I believe he will."

    "Fine. The morning. The moment villages begin to rise. We leave."

    Ask smiled at his own success.