Part 1

Chapter 1

South of my hometown of Buya, just inside the Wilderness, was a small waterfall, picturesque and remote. It would have been a popular getaway for vacationers from the city, if it weren't so close to the entrance to a mutant lobster cave. Of course, this didn't worry me much, as the lobsters and I had an understanding: if they didn't bother me, I didn't kill them in great numbers. Still, we occasionally had our misunderstandings.

It was almost noon, which meant stopping my work for more than just lunch. The sun was about to clear the cliff face, and as I was some distance from the shade of the trees, it would quickly become unbearable. Summers are good times to go to Taverns, I thought. Winters, too!

Once again I wondered if this was such a good idea. At my age, I should be sitting under a tree, writing poetry, drinking sweet wine served by sweet Sonhi girls that giggle when I pull their tails. Instead, here I was, working alone, nearly all day, at a project that had been variously described as "unimportant" at its best, to "blasphemy" at its worst. The latter remark came from an old Priest that said I gave him "bad dreams".

It seemed like such an innocent idea at first. I just wanted a good way to know when to meet my friends, without having to glance at the sun, or listen for a crier tell me it was "eight bells" or "four hours 'til moonrise". So, I started with a simple idea: float a cork in a bamboo tube filled with water, tie a waxed string around it, and run a pipe of bamboo from the waterfall. As the tube fills, the cork goes up, and a weight connected to the cork on the other end of the string slowly descends a marked stick.

This worked well the first time I used it, and I found myself dreaming of a clock on every corner in town, but after a few hours, I realized that time had stopped. The tube was full, so I cut a hole in the bottom of the tube, rigged a cap over it connected to a lever at the top of the tube.

As summer waned, my clock continued to get more and more complicated, with a dial replacing the stick, and a simple gear train, designed by Kugnae's talented smith, transferring the force of the waterfall to a pendulum. So, I piled some heavy rocks around it on the premise that anyone that would consider vandalizing it would realize that someone capable of lifting those rocks was not to be messed with! I tried to make it look like a moving sculpture decorating the waterfall. I went home to my wife.

As I was eating dinner, I tried to convey my excitement about my clock making to my wife. She seemed less interested than usual.

"Pteri, is there something wrong?" I inquired, hoping there wasn't something disagreeable in her lobster stir-fry.

"Would it bother you if I quit my job?" she asked, picking at her food and not looking up from her plate.

"What brought that on?" I asked, relieved. "Is something happening at the University?"

"Some of my students have been getting into trouble," she explained. "I have been getting the blame."

"Zibong magic?" I added some hot sauce to my second helping of stir-fry. I hoped all this spicy food before bed didn't give me bad dreams.

"What else?" Pteri pushed her plate away. "Sometimes they act like I invented it! Wasn't it enough that Yuri and Senshi outlawed its use anywhere in the Kingdom?"

"Punishable by Banishment," I added, and finished my second plate. Quietly, I slid my wife's discarded, but still nearly full plate towards me. Waste not want not. "It seemed a little harsh."

"A LITTLE harsh?" Pteri was livid. She took her Zibong research very seriously and often reminded people that it helped save Princess Lasahn from her kidnapper. "It is more than harsh, it is unfair! Would they forbid a Monk or Chongun to use their Sub-path spells, just because no one else can get them?"

"Well, I agree," I nodded, shaking a few more drops of hot sauce onto Pteri's plate. "However, Zibong magic is a little different."

"How is it different?" She waited for my answer; somehow I knew I was being tested. I swallowed.

"It works against people protected by the King's Magic. No other offensive magic or violence does." I explained carefully.

"Lots of magic works under the King's protections," she protested. "Scourge, for instance."

"Scourge doesn't blast someone out of existence. It only weakens their armor." I scooped up the last of the stir-fry and looked longingly at the empty wok. "Death-Touch is such a strong, offensive spell, it could kill the King!"

"Stronger..." she said, her voice trailing off, then refused to say anything more about it.

Chapter 2

Step by step I advanced deeper into the Ogre cave. My curved sword looked pitifully small compared to the ogre's spiked club that made a whistling noise as it passed inches from my armored form. Though long and sharp, my new Forsaken blade was whisper thin; I worried that it would break if I dropped it. Of course, the only way I would ever drop a sword would be in death. Another club whistled over my head.

I grinned. Sometimes being built "lower to the ground" had its advantages. My sword sliced through ogre armor, scoring a cruel gash the length of my opponent's side. He howled. Oh well, I thought. Nothing attracts ogres more than a wounded one.

Soon enough the cavern rang with heavy footsteps of two more white-clad ogres, coming to join their wounded friend in combat. One tried to get behind me, but I wasn't having any of that. I turned to face him directly; perhaps he saw something in my eyes, because he started to look worried and moved into a more defensive posture.

I could dodge most of the wild swings of the ogre in front of me, but I had to take a few hits to my shoulder armor from the flankers. Not much damage now, but without a Healer, it all will add up. Sadly, I might have to retreat.

As if it heard me, my Forsaken blade roared and all three ogres keened in terror. The Forsake spell stripped them of their armor's protection, leaving them as vulnerable as bunnies. Quickly, the wounded ogre fell as my sharp sword split his softened armor.

With odds of only two to one my remaining foes should have fled, but ogres are stubborn. So am I.

"Bet you guys think I'm getting tired," I said, blocking the heavy clubs as best I could, coming at me right and left. "Especially with no Healer, I should be easy prey."

The worried ogre began to sweat, he knew something was coming. Perhaps his companion was too stupid to worry.

"I just remembered something interesting, boys." The ogres seemed to be waiting for the Forsaken spell to wear off, until then all they could do was hope they were quicker two on one and block my sword on their clubs. "How about this? I hid a piece of Mountain ginseng in my cheek! I think I'll find out what happens when I swallow it."

As the bitter root slid down my throat power flooded my body. Most of my injuries healed instantly and I felt light enough to dance, even in my heavy armored boots.

The stupid ogre never saw my blade, as I whipped it around and removed most of his club arm and his entire head. His companion was even unluckier. He saw it coming. I flipped my bloody blade end for end and thrust backward under my arm, driving the cruel point straight up through its belly armor and into its chest. A dangerous move, exposing your back to your prey, but sometimes you just gotta live dangerously.

Nice sword, I thought, looking at my Forsaken blade, for all its thinness, it stood solidly from the dead ogre's chest.

"Not even a quiver," I said.

"THIS is what you dream about?" A bright, cheerful voice asked from behind me.

Sitting on a mound of cruelly sharp crystals was a familiar young woman in an orange dress. Her bare feet were undamaged by the sharp edges surrounding her.

"Hello, Briar," I said, removing my blade from the dead ogre "What do you mean 'dream'?"

"You didn't know?" She laughed and the crystals resonated in response. An Immortal's laughter has some unusual qualities.

"You are dreaming all this. Right now you are asleep in your hut next to your wife. She, however, is awake and reading, probably wondering why you stopped snoring. I abhor the noise."

"Why talk to me in a dream?" I asked, removing my helmet. If it's a dream, I might as well be comfortable. "Wouldn't it be easier to just meet me in a tavern or something?"

"Easier, yes," she stepped delicately down from her throne of crystals, a journey that would have left blood and toes behind for a mortal. "The Gods are watching you, again, Gareth. I chose to warn you."

"So, this meeting wasn't sanctioned by the Gods?" I asked. Habit forced me to clean and sheathe my sword. "Won't you get in trouble?"

Briar reddened. Though she often laughs, at least with me, she rarely shows any other emotions. Once, though, I believe I shocked her... I had been drinking heavily after losing my wife for the second time and I told her that if she didn't leave me alone I would take up arms against the Gods.

"Don't worry about me," Briar said, sternly, all humor gone from her eyes. "Worry about yourself... and your wife. It isn't good to attract too much attention from the Gods."

"What did I do?" I asked, figuring I already knew what they had against Pteri.

"The Gods have proclaimed that this Realm shall not suffer from the uncertainty inherent in a mechanically based society." She stated, as if reading from a scroll, perhaps she was. Gods and other Immortals only SLIGHTLY existed on this plane; mostly they are in Heaven, wherever that is. They project an image onto this plane. Immortals like Briar are the Gods' eyes and ears.

"Mechanics? Do they mean my clock?" I asked, truly dumbfounded. "Of all the paranoid, idiotic..."

"Careful, Gareth," she scolded, " You speak of the Gods. Your Gods, I might add. This is just a friendly warning, nothing official. The Gods don't care about your clock, so long as it remains a pretty waterfall ornament. They are concerned about where such developments may lead."

"Besides," she continued, "All the residents are much more concerned about your wife."

"Some of her students got uppity," I replied. "So what? Kids are always pulling pranks."

"I would hardly describe attacking an Archon as a PRANK!" Briar's eyes flashed. Archons are Immortals a level higher than she. Stronger, too.

"What? How?"

"How else? Zibong magic." Briar explained tersely. "Rabsha caught a couple of Pteri's students using the forbidden magic. He thought he was going to get an arrest. Possibly even banishment. You know how much he likes to use his authority. The kids turned on him, perhaps out of reflex. Rabsha was VERY surprised! The Death-Touch nearly blasted him back to Heaven."

"Would that be so bad? He could just pop back, right?" I asked.

Briar gave me a look that suggested I shouldn't have even asked. This reminded me about how similar the Gods and Zibongs were. Both lived on another plane and were merely visitors. Everyone knows that Zibongs can be jolted off this plane, either with a physical strike, perhaps with a sword, or a very powerful magic. The trouble is that Zibongs tend to take the sword-wielder with them when they go... I guess the Zibong home is NOT a pleasant place; they don't seem thrilled to go back. Pteri visited it briefly, for about three days; the Gods mercifully removed it from her memory.

"Rabsha was so angry, he petitioned the elder Gods to increase the punishment from Banishment to having Resurrection Revoked!"

"That's awful! They are just kids!" I exclaimed. "That would mean the next time they die... they are gone!"

"I think you are starting to see why the Gods are angry with your wife."

Chapter 3

The rolled parchment shredded easily in my strong hands and soon the ground was littered with small scraps of paper...

I sat just outside the Messenger's office, north of the Kugnaean Palace. Earlier, Beard, the Kugnaean Smith, had wanted to talk with me about something he had made when the Message got to me. I had been in his smithy looking at an unusual adaptation of my clock, using just the new gears to run a tiny bellows. With no waterfall to wind the clock, he had made do with what was on hand.

"Oddly enough," he said, gloating, "Even though it is much smaller than a regular bellows, the faster pumping makes it works just as well. With the advantage that it allows my apprentices to work on raising their skills, not my coals!"

"Good work, Beard!" I congratulated him, pointing at the workings, "I especially like how you used an old hammerhead as a counterweight, eliminating the waterfall."

"I can't figure out why something like this wasn't built years ago," the Smith scratched his chin, "It was easy enough to adapt, once I got the idea."

"Perhaps the idea was the hard part," I suggested.

"You know the Butcher wants me to make her something like this to run her meat saw?" Beard beamed proudly, "And the Weavers... oh my, they have already ordered as many machines as I can make weave for them! Power looms, think about it!"

"So, you have been showing this around?"

"Everyone has seen it!" He laughed, "The messenger thought I could build a machine to help him make paper. Even the Palace seems interested!"

"The Palace?" I asked suspiciously.

"Yes, a Warrior named Winder," He told me. "Aide to General Rowann. He really seemed interested."

"Did my name come up?" I asked.

"Don't you worry about credit, my friend," Beard said, slapping my back, rocking even my considerable bulk. "I told everyone that this was based on your design!"

"Thanks a lot," I mumbled.

"Bad news?" I was startled out of my reverie by a familiar voice.

"Gaku!" I cried and climbed to my feet to shake his hand. "What a pleasure it is to see you! Pteri was wondering where you had disappeared to, and hoped you would stop in."

"Only to see your lovely wife, you old bear!" Gaku laughed, slapping my arm.

He pointed to the pile of paper at my feet, "Someone give one of your poems a bad review?"

"No, I could handle that," I replied and paused to look over my young friend more closely. He had grown considerably since our Zibong adventure and seemed to radiate power, a trait most advanced Mages shared. "You are looking good, Gaku, very strong. What brings you to Kugnae?"

"I tried to get an audience with the King," he said. In his eyes I could no longer see the cheerful boy, laughing as he toasted rats with his Fire spell. What had happened to him? Who was this unfamiliar, serious man?

"You wanted to see Yuri? Why?" I asked, sitting back on the bench, I waved Gaku to the seat next to me.

"Haven't you read his latest Proclamation?" He growled, angrily. "I thought the paper on the ground might be a copy."

"I must have missed it," I said, steering the subject away from the shreds of paper. "What was in the Proclamation?"

"I am certain you will hear about it from Pteri, as she is affected," he said, then generated a tiny flame with his magic on the tip of his finger. As he talked he coaxed the flame from finger to finger. No smell of burning flesh, so he had pretty amazing control. "Yuri has commanded all Zibong Reborn to register with the Palace, everyone that was forced into Zibong form by that evil Mage Spellblaster. There is talk that Pteri's students, the ones that actually started learning Zibong magic, are to be rounded up!"

"That's terrible!" I was shocked, what with the news I had just received... well, I didn't want to think about it just yet. "So you went to the Palace to register?"

"I was only a Zibong for THREE DAYS!" He cried, exasperated. "As if that wasn't punishment enough, now I am to be grouped with a bunch of criminals!"

"Now, Gaku..." I said, calmly, "Try to remember that I am married to one. Also, not everyone that assumed Zibong form can use the magic. Plus, that poor kid that attacked Rabsha isn't entirely to blame. You know how Rabsha likes to jump out at people he is trying to arrest. He's got that whole Hand of God ego thing going. I know I wouldn't startle a Mage trying to learn Hellfire in the Arena, I don't see why this is different."

"Well, he shouldn't have been practicing," Gaku said weakly. "It's illegal."

"You have my word, friend," I said seriously. "I will do everything in my power to protect you."

"You think things are going to get worse, don't you?" Gaku asked.

"They already are," I pointed to the papers scattered on the ground. "That rubbish was a message sent to me and to all the Smiths and Merchants. It said we are to remove any mechanical device from the Kingdom and produce no more. It specifically forbids anything based on my clock designs."

I tried to laugh, but it got caught in my throat. Gaku looked furious.

"I've been to your clock! It is amazing! Where do they get the nerve to forbid you from doing anything!" He pointed at the scraps of paper and his little pet flame jumped off his finger and incinerated the remnants of the parchment.

"Very nice control, Gaku," I complimented. "It is really my own fault, you know. Something this new should have been introduced slowly to the community. I should have gotten public backing... maybe even a few wealthy citizens to sponsor a public work."

An idea occurred to me.

"You know it may not be too late," I scratched my ear, tried to center my thoughts away from the words on the destroyed parchment, "Maybe I could get a few friends to help me. I think the Dawn Shaman might not mind a small building on her property. She likes me."

"You know the Dawn Shaman?" Gaku stared wide-eyed. The Shamans are the strongest forces for Good in the Kingdom, rivaling even the King in popularity. They cast resurrection spells for free, exacting only a promise to treat life more dearly in the future. "Everyone has met her, but you actually KNOW her?"

"Sure, we had tea together many times," I explained. "Back when everyone abandoned Buya, I needed to be convinced that there was nothing to be done about getting PteriDae back. She was a great influence on me. Made me read her my poems, even made me go out and try to do some good, like tutoring you, though my heart really wasn't in it."

"You never cease to amaze me, Gareth!" Gaku seemed a bit more cheery. "Hey, wait! Isn't the Dawn Shaman's place where they keep the Spirit Sword you brought back from the Zibong cave?"

Unconsciously, I glanced west. I felt a small tug from my God's gloves, which I never took off anymore. No matter where I was, I was always aware of the Spirit sword, the greatest Evil in the Kingdom, some said. It was the Spirit sword that was used to transform so many people into Zibongs in the first place.

"Yes, I believe so," I replied, innocently, "How about that."

"So, what are you planning?" PteriDae looked up from her book to catch my eye.

"Me? Why, nothing at all, dear," I replied. Trying to radiate innocence, an ability I had never quite mastered.