Note: The following is only a selection of a larger work, which is not yet generally available.
Prologue
BreJoa leaned on the parapet of the roof and looked down toward the west. Gusts threw up dust far in the distance, streaking the horizon with a brown haze that reddened the sun as it sank. She searched the near plain that lay under the lee of the mountain and forced her jaw to unclench. It was clear. There was no sign of anyone coming for miles.
It was two days to Caylus’ thirteenth birthday, and Ortigart hadn’t come.
Joa lingered at the parapet a moment, checking the plain again, then pulled away and descended the ladder into the kitchen. She laid a board on the counter and unbundled the skinned river hare she’d bought that morning from the traveling traders. She dipped it in a nearby bucket of water, and laid it across the board.
As she started butchering the meat, she noticed her jaw had clenched again. She stopped, breathed deep, and tried to relax. If he wasn’t here by now, he wouldn’t come. That was it. There was no need to keep bracing herself.
Her knife slipped in her hands and nearly cut her fingers.
Joa paused a moment and stared at the half-dismembered piece of flesh before her. When Caylus turned thirteen, he would officially be a man. Beyond the need for parental guardians and helpers. What claim would Ortigart have on him after that? Promise or no promise, oath or no oath, he wouldn’t be needed. It was simple as that.
She tried attacking the hare again, but slipped again on a ligament. Had she ever known Ortigart to let go of something that easily?
She leaned on the counter and looked to her right, through the back doorway. The curtain across it had been tied back, and she saw Caylus and Rahbin sitting together by the cold fire pit. Rahbin guided Caylus as he split open a thick, blunt seed pod and tried to catch the fertile little spheres that spilled forth. The pod burst, and Caylus clapped his legs together to catch as many seeds as he could. Laughing, the boy and his uncle gathered them up and put them in a bag, part of the offering Caylus would give when he went up the mountain for his manhood ritual.
“I read that in another world, they cut leaves directly from plants and new shoots grow from them,” Caylus said.
“Fair enough,” Rahbin said, holding his cupped hands up so Caylus could catch the seeds in the bag as he dropped them, “but let’s focus on this world for now, eh?”
Joa looked away and sighed. The other worlds. The Golems. They’d filled Caylus’ mind since she told him about them. He wanted to see them. He’d promised he would.
That was why she was still afraid, still wasn’t at ease. When Ortigart came to take her son, he would want to go.
1
Caylus laid the last of the sacks of seeds in a basket by the fire pit. The sky above had faded to deep blue overhead, and small, pale red stars dotted it. The smell of roasting meat drifted from the house, where soft light fell in a broad beam from the open doorway.
Uncle Rahbin eased his broad, thick body onto the ground and leaned back against the large stones they used as seats.
“Do you think there are enough seeds?” Caylus asked, glancing at the basket.
“More than enough. Hope we can be so lucky with actual fruit. You were born a little early in the year for that.” Rahbin folded his hands across his chest. “But whatever we get will be good. You’ve done well.”
“Thanks,” Caylus said absently.
“Something on your mind?”
“Do you think Uncle Ortigart’s going to come?”
Rahbin shifted his mouth from one side to the other before answering. “I couldn’t say for sure. I know he’s devoted to his work in the Passages.”
“I was hoping he might. Mom said he knows about Golems. I thought I could ask him.”
His uncle was silent. Caylus shrugged.
His mother leaned out the doorway, throwing a shadow across the fire pit. “Rahbin, come help with the table. Caylus, call Gheras. We’re almost ready.”
“I can help with the table,” Caylus said.
Her voice hardened. “Go call Gheras.”
He stood, sighing. He loved his uncle Gheras, but it was always so hard to interact with him, talking and then waiting through long silences while his uncle wrote out his response on the chalk tablet he carried.
He pushed through the gate in the wall that surrounded the yard and followed the path around back of the house to where Gheras’ workshop sat. The door was closed, but light seeped through the crack, and Caylus saw light smoke and embers floating up from the chimney behind it.
Gheras sat at one of his desks, copying something into an open book. The furnace in the far corner glowed softly, but Caylus could see that it was dying out. He approached the desk and cleared his throat, fiddling with an awl on the desk.
Gheras looked up and smiled. Caylus had recently noticed that his mane of dark, curly hair and beard now bore tinges of gray in them. Gheras reached for his tablet.
“Dinner is ready,” Caylus said.
Gheras nodded and wrote a reply. How’s project?
“We finished gathering the seeds,” Caylus said. “It’s almost done.”
When he ascended the mountain in two days, he would leave behind an offering demonstrating the skills he’d learned in his childhood. Rahbin was helping him assemble a basket of fruit and seeds to demonstrate the gardening he’d learned. Gheras had helped him build a little device that ticked softly when wound. Not practically useful, but a good exercise and step toward building other kinds of things.
Gheras wrote, Proud of you.
Caylus avoided his eyes and shrugged. “Thanks.”
They left the workshop and returned to the house. Everyone was already seated at a rectangular table in the main room that adjoined the kitchen. Caylus’ mother was at the head and Uncle Rahbin sat to her left beside his wife, Esoala. Caylus took his seat on his mother’s right, and Gheras sat beside him. The dish of cooked river hare steamed in the center of the table, surrounded with dishes of cooked or stewed vegetables.
Once they were seated, Caylus’ mother filled everyone’s cup with water from a clay pitcher. They held their cups aloft while she stood and raised her pitcher.
“We gladly receive this gift of water and food. We gladly enjoy it, use it, store it, and if need be, give it up that others might have it. As the Wind leads.”
Everyone but Gheras repeated, “As the Wind leads.”
They drank their first sip of water, then began the meal.
Caylus lifted a forkful of meat. “Did you trade for this today, Mom?”
His aunt suppressed a smile and looked down.
“What?”
“Traditionally,” Uncle Rahbin said, “you compliment the food before asking questions about it. Like this–” He angled his body toward his sister. “‘This river hare is delicious, Joa. Where did you get it?’ Then she explains, and you carry on from there.”
“Yeah, it’s really good,” Caylus said. “Did you trade for it?”
“Yes, Caylus,” Joa answered. “The trading band came by this morning while you were reading.”
“Had they seen anyone?”
“They came from the east. The only other people they’d seen were other traders.”
Caylus nodded, slumping back in his chair. He picked at his food a moment, then said, “Is Uncle Ortigart ever coming back?”
He sensed everyone tense. Gheras looked up briefly, then dropped his eyes. His mother sighed and bowed her head while Aunt Esoala frowned deeply. Only Rahbin kept eating, slower, cutting his meat in precise chunks before lifting them to his mouth.
When no one said anything, Caylus continued. “I thought he promised that he was going to come back.”
“He said that,” Rahbin said.
“You don’t think he did?”‘
His uncle shrugged. “I couldn’t say.”
“I could,” Aunt Esoala said. “If he did promise, he didn’t care to keep it. He’s so consumed with his grand vision of rebuilding the Borunda, nothing else matters. Anything can be sacrificed to it.”
“That could be a little harsh, Eso,” Joa said.
“Harsh? Did you forget what he did the night he left?”
“I don’t know what he did the night he left,” Joa clenched her fists as she met Eso’s eyes across the table. “You don’t know either.”
“I know he and Randh went up the mountainside arguing. I know he came down alone.”
“It could have been an accident. The storm had started. Randh could have slipped.”
“You didn’t believe that when you sent Ortigart away.”
“I’ve had time to think instead of being angry and hurt.”
“Perhaps,” Rahbin cut in, “it’s best if we leave the subject of Ortigart alone as much as possible. If he returns, we’ll deal with it then. If not, there’s no need to revisit old wounds, is there?” He caught Caylus’ eye, all but saying, “Don’t ask again.”
He nodded. Rahbin changed the subject to Caylus’ upcoming birthday and the manhood ritual they were preparing for. Caylus half-listened, ate a little, and slipped away after the meal was over. He went up on the roof, one of the only private places around the house. The night was dark, and only a few stars glittered above. The heat of the day still hung in the air, slowly dissipating. He couldn’t see anything past the hilltop where their house stood.
No one coming.
He didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he knew the story, that Ortigart and Caylus’ father had been arguing about Ortigart’s reconstruction of the Borunda. They went up the mountainside, hoping to resolve things in a place that was significant for both of them. But only Ortigart came back, in the middle of a rainstorm, saying that Caylus’ father Randh had fallen into the bottom of a gulch, and couldn’t get out before the rains came.
On the other hand, Ortigart had access to the ruins of the Borunda civilization. Because of that, he had access to the Golems, and through the Golems, other worlds. Caylus had spent half his life aching to see those other worlds.
His uncle Ortigart was a link both to terrible pain from the past, and incredible hope for the future. Maybe it was best if he didn’t return.
Caylus still hadn’t been able to make himself believe it.