The Eternal Machine, page 1
Aelina Isaacs
The Eternal Machine
Take Me to Iverbourne
First published by Aelina Isaacs 2021
Copyright © 2021 by Aelina Isaacs
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Aelina Isaacs asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
First edition
ISBN: 978-1-7378285-2-5
This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy
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Dedication
To all those who find comfort in the dark, this is for you.
Contents
Preface
Lyth’s Notes
I. THE ETERNAL MOUNTAIN
1. To Betray an Enemy.
2. Is that a threat?
3. Fresh hell.
4. What are stars?
5. Would you kill for it?
6. She’s dead, and that’s all I wish to say.
7. Fall to Rise.
II. ECHO VALLEY
8. You crashed the fucking ship.
9. So, this is normal.
10. The Wicked Boy.
11. Better luck next time.
12. Don’t we all?
13. You’re lying.
III. HALLOWED GROUND
14. Isn’t that the way it goes?
15. Did we?
16. Swamp Thing.
17. Yes, I’m that old.
18. You killed the hero.
19. Someone who gives a damn.
IV. AIR AND EARTH
20. Be careful what you wish for.
21. It’s you, again.
22. I’m not afraid of you.
23. No, and that’s final.
24. Don’t trust me.
25. I’m the villain, remember?
V. WATER AND FIRE
26. It was brilliant.
27. You’re Good for Business.
28. Don’t leave me behind.
29. Quit being selfish.
30. Find me.
About the Author
Preface
Please read before starting your adventure with The Eternal Machine.
This is an adult fantasy fiction novel with mature themes such as sex and violence, which are described in graphic detail. Content Warnings include descriptions of physical abuse, loss and intense injury.
Lyth’s Notes
Lyth’s Map
The Old Language
Zemer: A talented musician (zehm-mur)
Tzel: Shadow of Death (ts-eel)
Te’ Omin: Two bodies, one soul. (tay-om-in)
Pronunciations
Knothall (not-all)
Firthorn (fir-thorn)
Eros (air-os)
Panrauth (Pan-ruth)
Typhan (tie-fin)
Vivvus (viv-vus)
Cervalis (sir-val-is)
I
The Eternal Mountain
One
To Betray an Enemy.
Chaos slumbers here, festering in bloodied rust and coals. Wandering cinders threaten to ignite the simmering anger brewing from the work camps, and prowling disorder is sure to follow as I strut into The Trenches.
Walking with my small round chin held high, the coal forges flanking my sides crackle with distaste. Copper shines from almost every available surface, everything else is covered in soot, sweat, and blood. Purple smoke billows from the blacksmith’s fires, whirling over my head as I reach the end of the grand cavern. Hundreds of blood thirsty Fae eyes burn on me, and every step is carefully placed.
Lifting brass and leather goggles on a burgundy nest, I halt before The Machine. A massive undertaking of ancient technology, with spider-like copper arms weaving into the abyss below. Copper gears tower to the top of the stone chamber, making the labor camps behind me minuscule in comparison. Metal cranks together, belts purr, and purple smoke fills the air above, never ceasing.
I trace along the cliff’s edge, passing the ladders leading down into the trench reserved for Keepers, the only engineers allowed so close to the beast. While inspecting for malfunctions or leaks, the gauges on my leather and tech-covered wrist spin out of control. The lingering familiar stench changes, sweetness replacing death hanging in the air. Exhaust vents huff speckled night now, instead of the purple haze.
My gauges never agree with the ones on the wall, those only tell you what they want you to see. Regardless, ambient Aether is high enough I can tell without tech there is a leak. I shake my head, pulling tangled goggles and knotted hair down. I creep further along, the darkness is thickest here, in the heart of the Eternal Mountain.
Threatening to swallow me whole if I dare take a step too far.
A low, whistling tune escapes my lips, one the inmates know well. I halt and my dirty fingers flick down the green third lens, revealing the jammed gear in clarity. Bright red, followed by a tendril of smoke. Kindling ready to burst into flames.
“Idiots.” I sing playfully, letting the anticipation build for a moment before facing the crowd. Pressurizing Aether threatens to combust, and the smoke grows thicker. My melody halts, as do the cautious footsteps behind me. A devious grin escapes and my tall boots spin in place, the leather pouches and straps along my sides swinging with me.
Disgust rests with every creature. Most of the crowd consists of males, only a few females watch me approach from the distant edge. Demonic eye contact is made with every Fae as I evaluate the group, my small form wandering through the heated bodies. Only High Fae inmates are reserved for working in the labor camps near the Machine.
In a place far from here, High Fae are Power. High Fae are Magic.
We are not in a place far away though. We are right here.
We work for The Eternal Machine, the beast conjuring magic and fueling the lands. Crimes of all kinds are welcome in this mountain, but you leave your magic behind. Rather, it is taken from you. Not that I know what that feels like.
Minutes pass, the only sound is made by leather boots and a whining engine.
I pause, halting before the foreman. A Grasshopper before a Bear. I snatch his dark matted beard and yank him down, tough knees meeting rock. Dull emeralds shine for a moment, his jaw tightening. My soft face brushes against his filthy cheek, my full lips meeting a pointed ear, a lover threatening sweet nothings. “Darling, what’s this?”
A wicked smile pulls at my features as I pull back to bask in the crackling smoke reflecting in his eyes. I release his furred face, patting his cheek harshly. Wiping away the ash left by his surly cheek on my own, the sickly sweet Aether filling the air rushes into my nose. I have to humiliate him.
He, along with the others, need to hate me even more than they already do. They need to fight.
“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.” I taunt, words dripping with poison. I waste no time returning to the front of the group. Unsheathing the dagger strapped to my right thigh, it’s dark obsidian blade shines as I twirl it between my fingers with precision. I caress it with long fingers and bring the black blade to my pale lips, leaving a smiling kiss on the tip.
The Bear narrows his eyes, shifting his gaze to me. If I didn’t have everyone’s attention before, I certainly do now. I’m sure even through the goggles they can all see the darkness in my eyes, lacking pupils and emotion. Nothing can hide that.
“Rumor has it some here are shirking their duties, tampering with our beloved Eternal. Why let all this go to waste,” I gesture behind me to the cloud of smoke, a whining spiking the air as belts threaten to snap. I note which eyes narrow at my statement. “Especially when you can’t use it anyway. So much power, so close.”
I giggle, even though the tattoo on my wrists began simmering minutes ago. I’m sure theirs are burning as well by now. “If a rebellion is what you want, you can have it. However, I’m sure most of you remember how that went last time.”
My first kills, all that time ago.
“This is your last chance. Tell me what you know, and I may put in a good word with our High Lord. Or I can kill you all.” I pace, shrugging at the idea of waiting at all. “I’m sure Knothall will find me replacements quickly enough.”
Silence and consideration. The privilege of the waiting sun above tempts every being, some have never experienced its warmth at all, or the land it gives life to. I raise an open palm and prepare the whistle, assuming no one will believe the lie. We all know better than to make deals with Fae.
Or, so I thought.
“It was I, Keeper.” The once quiet foreman pushes his way to the front of the crowd and glares down at me. Murmurs fall across and are quickly silenced.
“For far too long have we tended to endless fire, for too long have we forged the backbone of this world. For many of us, we do this for crimes we did not commit. You know it well.” His primal voice reaches every Fae. My dark heart thunders, warmth surging through the dead parts of my soul. I admire his courage, his dreams.
Even if it is my job to shatter them.
He isn’t entirely wrong, most of the criminals here are no more than the wrong race, unable to crawl above with the fortunate. My neck burns and stomach twists, the last act is ready. A group of fifteen is gathered close around The Bear, their boisterous voices joining in agreement. They are tired. They are done.
“Your difficulties are The Eternal Machine’s Blessing. Your crimes, see them as a second chance. As an honor. Be thankful you’re not dead.” The sharp whistle of death strikes out, and the masked army of guards waiting in the shadows make their move.
Screams shatter the cavern. Those who aren’t with the Rebels find themselves on the sidelines of a malicious masterpiece, my exact precision preparing a bloodbath for us all. Sixteen inmates are on their knees before me, the scent of burning flesh ever present for our last act.
A young High Fae female catches my eye. She is on her knees in the back, staring down her pale Fae lover in the crowd on the sidelines. Neither look afraid, they just watch each other with blank faces. Cloaked figures hold a knife to almost every treacherous throat, leather plague masks hiding their faces.
My target, however, beholds no leash.
“Without your toil, who would run the machine? Who would say, keep your family above ground?” My voice is childlike, beaming. “Last I checked, Firthorn, your family committed no crime. Unless you want to change that, I can have it arranged easily enough.”
My dagger is no longer a plaything, already waiting for his pulsating throat by the time he lunges from his knees. A single callused hand wraps around my neck, lifting my boots off the ground.
The Bear can break me in an instant. He doesn’t squeeze, just holds me there. I make a show of pressing hard enough into the hollow of his neck to draw blood, the other hand slipping a treasure into his rumpled shirt pocket.
Blood trickles down the blade, meeting my leathered forearm. I give him my best genuine smile before whistling once more. I try not to think of the implications of what happens the moment the tune escapes. His head attempts to turn back, but is stopped by my small hand.
My demonic eyes shut tight, the sound of fifteen bodies hitting the floor slamming into my ears. Firthorn drops me the moment it is over, his defeated gaze kept down.
“What are you all standing around for? Get back to work.” I land on my feet, throwing a shout at the group of survivors, less than half remaining. “As for this one, throw him in the pit.” I jut my chin to the darkness creeping from behind the work camps, unable to look at his once again dull green eyes.
I rush to fix the damn machine, my gauges busted a long time ago from the excess Aether in the air causing them to spin out of control. This is a chaos of a different breed, one I don’t like. One that I am quite good at creating.
I scale down the closest ladder, dropping onto the grates of the keeper’s trench. A groan escapes as I instantly regret the shock my thighs absorb, already sore from being dropped onto the rocky floor above. I flip the master switch, slowing the machine down before I have any more damage to fix. Luckily, I’m just as good at fixing things as I am at breaking them.
I pull out the leather roll from my back, unrolling it to reveal The Tools of the Unusual. The obsidian wrenches, pliers, and chisels shine under the hot machine glowering above me. My fear of what lay below left a long time ago, and luckily I know exactly where the malfunction is. I knew where it was long before my grand performance.
I pull on thick hide gloves and grab a chisel, then climb into the copper framework of the enormous engine. A carousel of machines work together as one, spinning the mechanical fingers into the core of the earth. Gears turn, belts run and Aether is vented to the world above.
The shining limbs, nearly fifteen feet long each, weave through the magical atmosphere rising from the depths. Some say The Ancient Fae live down there still, hiding away from their creation. Even as I make my way to the jammed gear, the metal continues slowly turning. The Machine can never be truly stopped, just slowed down. So many inmates try to destroy it, but there is nothing that can bring it to a halt. I wouldn’t even know what happened if it did. I’m sure there is a flicker of power in the lands now with this inconvenience.
The red hot gear threatens to burn my arm as I reach through the framework with my chisel. With a sharp hit to the onyx stone blocking the crank, it breaks free. Anything else would’ve been magma by now. I climb down and pick up the still cool black stone laying on the metal walkway. Standing at the edge, I peer down past the spinning copper fingers. Past their reach, into the deep darkness of the world. I drop the rock and watch it float down.
For several moments I stand there, lost in thought. I shake my head and turn back to finish patching up my mess. By the time I climb out of there and back into the work areas, it is the end of the night shift. The coal forges are still burning, and a new batch of inmates replaces the ones I had just terrorized. I leave just as proudly as I had walked in, ignoring every stare, and leave small bloody footsteps in my wake.
* * *
Screams and the scent of decay drift to me with an unwelcome sense of familiarity. I’ve put many of the Uncontainable down here, which lately number quite a few. I shudder at the thought of what monsters were here before my time.
The rocky steppe leads further down, threatening to scratch deeper under Iverbourne than the last abyss I had just visited. No one dares go farther than The Pit, and I have no intentions of doing so today. Cold dampness tightens around me while leathered boots reach their last stop.
I unlock the door, spying a rather lashed Firthorn seated cross-legged in the mud. The Pit is no more than a hole in the wall, a freezing place to rot in. I step in and we are in dangerous proximity, the stone door behind shutting me in. “You did well, Firthorn.”
He evaluates me for a moment before rising to tower over me. His jaw is set tight, the dull glare hidden by long knotted hair. I spy where I had cut him earlier, now half covered in filth. Both of his elongated, brown furred ears twitch with his solemn tone. “How many?”
Crossing my leathered arms, I widen my stance and swallow, heat prickling my neck. “Fifteen. It was quick, I assure you.”
He pulls at his beard absently, his faded green eyes narrowing at me. “There will be more.” His friends, the ones he stabbed in the back. Closest thing to friends you could have here, anyway. I understand it for what it is. Truth, not threat.
“I know. You better keep one eye open.” My voice is sharp and he lets out a purr of a chuckle. He looks up and down my small stature, eyes pausing on the arsenal of daggers on both thighs. Fury lights my veins as he underestimates me. Just like everyone else.
Firthorn reaches into the pocket of his torn tunic and unfolds the photograph I gave him. “Where did you get this?” The humor left his voice, now shaky and wavering. I had peeked at the picture enough times in the last day to have them memorized.
The two girls with rounded ears and magic swirling in their bright green eyes. His eyes. I couldn’t look at it again, not now. They look too much like him. “Knothall had kept it when you were interned. Favor for a favor.”
He looks up from the photograph and for a moment, there is no anger on his face. For a moment, he is hopeful.
I draw in a breath, both dagger sheaths had been unstrapped while he was distracted, my weapons more prepared than my soul is. “Ragnis fulfilled his bargain. You wanted to see your family again, there they are.”
I am ready for him again, his dark throat contrasting against crossed small pale hands, each wielding a dagger, ready to take his head off. The stance I hold is sickeningly familiar. In all reality he holds the upper hand, however he does not lay a hand on me this time. Yet.
Ragged breathing swept over the room, his thundering heart calling to my own pounding chest. The joints in my knee whirred as I braced myself. He further presses the thickness of his neck to my blades, raising a charcoal brow.
Daring me. Testing me.
He practically stands over top of me, my daggers are no more than a toothpick in comparison to him. I bite my lip as blood stains my right blade. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
No smile, no games. I am not the hero in this story. I am the villain. He could kill me right now, and have every right to dance on my grave.
