Tinkermage (Book 2) (25 page)

They supped in the wagon, stopping only for short periods to stretch their legs and relieve themselves and allow Tomkin to inspect the niners for steam leaks. Fritzy eventually woke up, but she didn’t look all that rested. She ate a few bites of cured meat and some nuts, curled up on the seat, and pulled a heavy work coat over her head.

When Tomkin had completed his last inspection, Niksabella said, “How long can these run with the fuel we have on board?”

Tomkin wiggled his nose to dislodge an itch and tucked away his extender wrench into a pocket on his thigh. “With a good supply of pfitzer blocks, a few weeks. Otherwise, regular old wood will do. Going’s much slower though with wood. Gotta stop to forage it, and it burns too fast. But my engine will run on just about anything for fuel.” He smacked its side.

Does it run on gnomes, perchance?
Niksabella imagined stuffing the mechanic into the burn chamber and slamming the lid shut. She shook her head. She was being a poor sport. Couldn’t blame Tomkin for having a sense of pride over what was obviously an impressive vehicle.
Maybe I’ll show him one of my recursive mirrors and he can see some real power.

“
What about water? Don’t you need a lot of that too?”

Tomkin placed his hands on his hips and lowered his head then looked up at her with a mechanic’s brazen incredulity as if Niksabella had just said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Ain’t never been in the mountains, have you? Plenty of water if you know where to look. Find a creek. Melt some snow. My engine runs on seventy percent recycled steam. Not much waste happening here, young miss. Nope, efficient as they come.”

Niksabella sighed and went back to her book while the caravan drove on with single-minded determination. Termund said something to Jess, who dug out a folded cloth from beneath the seats. She affixed it to the end of a jointed rod, which she unfolded until the pieces clicked into place, forming a long pole. She slipped the end into a bracket behind the control seat. A gust of wind unfurled the crimson cloth. Thrasperville’s flag: a comet shooting across a field the color of red wine.

Termund called over his shoulder. “Be on the lookout, everyone. In the next day or so, we’ll be entering orc territory. I don’t expect to see a single saw-toothed bastard out in this Tock-damned chill, but it’s always best to be prepared.”

“Don’t look at me,” Niksabella balked. “I’m just a lowly Hightower gnomestress without a bit of courage or a brain in her head. If they come, I’ll just cower down and let you Grundzests do all the work.”

Tomkin looked at the floor and drug his toe across it.

“No reason to be sore about that little joke, my dear. In any case, orcs are not always the feral creatures everyone makes them out to be. I’ve managed to reason with a few.”

“I’ve every right to be sore for as long as I please. And my brother gave me a lesson on orcs before we left. Skinny, crawly, and every bit as devious as our own High Council. They make good armor and better weapons. They’re killers, he said.”

Termund shifted a gear on the control box. “Some of that may be true, but they are not wholly unintelligent. We’ve even traded with them, believe it or not. That’s what the flag is for. They know when they see the comet of Thrasperville, their lives are about to be vastly improved by technological wonders like spoons and forks and cups.”

Jess snorted with derision, but Niksabella wasn’t reassured. In fact, orcs didn’t sound like a race with kind intentions… not if they put weapons before basic eating utensils. Niksabella gave a little shudder. The oppressive feeling only increased when they began sliding into the nooks and crannies of the mighty Utenes themselves. Like insects drawn to cracks and hidey-holes, they picked places hidden from view even if they couldn’t mask their noisy machines.

There was naught but birds spotted throughout the late afternoon and into early evening; the other woodland animals were likely frightened off far before the strange, arachnid-like niners crawled through their homes. They drove on until darkness stopped them, making camp at the base of a cliff, where they could hide in the cover of a copse of leafless trees. The land crawlers were not turned off but set to idling, their natural heat providing a decent bit of warmth for anyone sitting or lying nearby.

Before joining Flay and Terrence to scout the perimeter, Termund stopped by and caught her up in an embrace. Niksabella made it a point to put up a brief struggle, but it was difficult. She eventually kissed him, and his lips tasted salty and sweet all at once.

“You’re still angry, are you?”

“No.”

He grinned and waited, keeping her wrapped in his arms.

“That Tomkin fellow, bragging about his contraptions and shrugging off my suggestions before I could even say a word. How does he know I might not help improve the design?”

“Well, tinkerers
are
known to be stubborn, you know. I know at least one…”

Niksabella put her hand over his mouth. “Shush. Point taken.”

“Let’s just hope our friend shows up soon. It isn’t fun traveling blind out here with no destination in mind other than ‘south.’”

Niksabella looked up the stretch of craggy cliff. Certainly, Jontuk would surface soon. If not, or if he’d abandoned them, they were putting themselves in ever greater danger for no reason. But then she felt silly for even thinking it. After all they’d been through—by Tock, Jontuk had nearly lost an arm trying to get to her device—it was very unlikely he’d desert them now. She fully expected him to manifest at any moment, just as he’d assured them he would.

“He’ll show soon, I’m sure.”

“Let’s hope,” Termund said, following her gaze up the cliff and then to the stars high above.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Two more nights passed. Tomkin and his mechanics saw to the niners while Niksabella had a blanket and a book as companions. Fritzy was off with Jess doing some kind of chore or another. She was becoming more familiar with her budding powers, and every waking moment found her buried in texts or practicing.

Still no sign of Jontuk.

The winter nights were long and achingly cold, but she’d already found little ways to defend herself against the weather. An extra blanket on the ground when not sleeping in the niner. Snuggled up with a skin of hot water when Termund wasn’t around. Socks stuffed into drafty gaps in her coat. A hat pulled down over her ears (always). It was a known fact that gnomes lost a third of their body heat though their long, exposed ears, so keeping them covered in frigid conditions was important. It wouldn’t do to get them frostbitten. She’d be No-Ears Nika all over again.

She wandered through camp to find a suitable spot to plunk down with her book and was met with hellos and grins, which she returned pleasantly enough. Ducking beneath the leg of one of the land crawlers, she found Jess, who was every bit as bundled up as Niksabella. Her cropped, auburn locks peeked stylishly from beneath her leather and wool cap. The gnomestress proffered a wooden mug. Niksabella took it and sniffed at the contents. “Smells sweet. What is it?”

“
Sooz
. A Thrasperville specialty as snolt is to Hightower.” Niksabella shrugged and started to take a sip when Jess stopped her. “Fair warning, milady. It’ll curl your ears and leaden your eyelids. Ensures we all get enough rest on the road if you get my meaning.”

Niksabella started to hand the mug back. “If you think I’m going to fall for another of your tricks…”

Jess pushed the mug back. “It’s not a trick. Between yourself and Termund, we’d all be in some trouble if we put you through the wringer again.”

She gave Jess a doubtful look. “No one spit in it or spiced it in such a way that my tongue blisters?”

“Not a one.”

Niksabella frowned and pursed her lips. She gazed at the cup’s contents and then sipped it. She tasted chocolate and winter spices, forest pine, and something with a tang that thickened her saliva. She reeled for a moment as warmth spread from her belly, up through her chest, to her head and the tips of her ears. “This is… good.”

Jess smiled. “Aye.”

“Is it true that you play jokes on all the new folk?”

“We do it to all the new ones, especially when they aren’t gnomes; we’ve had a few dwarves and humans in the mix. They get it the worst.”

“I imagine.” Niksabella took another sip of the potent brew.

“Truth be told, Mister Grundzest wanted no part the other day, but Flay put him up to it. We Thrasperville gnomes like to trust our road companions, or we don’t travel with them.”

“Termund told me.” She thought she might as well get straight to the point: if they were going to be companions for the next few weeks. “So, what’s the verdict? So hard to tell with you Thraspervillians.”

“Truth to tell I’ve never seen so many of us unwilling to rattle a pup. Seems everyone likes you too much.”

Niksabella feigned a sour look. “Oh, don’t try to be nice now.”

“I’m not. Trust me. I wouldn’t know how to go about it.

“You said I was soft.”

“Flay’s idea. Not mine. I swear it.”

Niksabella twisted her lips and rolled her eyes to the dark sky. She clicked her tongue. “Perhaps I
should
start a list prioritizing the worst offenders. Flay just made it to the top. Then Termund, for not putting a stop to it.”

Jess patted Niksabella’s shoulder. “It’s good that I don’t have to sleep with you, eh?” And she laughed and bustled away.

With blanket and book tucked beneath an arm, and the mug held tightly in both hands, Niksabella resumed her search for a good spot. She pulled a wick-sized bit of fire from a passing torch and watched the delicate flame slip around her hands, keeping them pleasantly warm. It was still a bit discomforting having fire so close to her skin, but the tiny wick moved and shimmered so much she avoided any kind of burn.

I wonder what would happen if I grew you up? If you were as big as my fist, would you burn me then?
Now might not be a good time to find out.

Niksabella found some dry ground against the side of the second land crawler in line. She placed her blanket down and stretched out to study beside the faintly humming machine. Strangely comforted by the huge, mechanized arm arching over her, protecting her in its steel-framed embrace, she fell easily into her study. Occasionally, the land crawler would tick, likely due to the liquid pressure in its veins adjusting to temperature and the ever-degrading gaskets and seals.

By the time she’d reached the bottom of the wooden mug, she’d gotten another chapter or two further, covering the growth and expansion of self-created elementals as well as the difference between fire mastery and earth mastery. Quite simply, earth required a massive amount of wellspring where fire required somewhat more focus and concentration, flames being the more fleeting of the two.

Wind was another problem altogether as one must contend with natural forces, weather that was considerably more powerful than Niksabella had ever imagined. And with this came the recognition of every tiny wind blowing through the camp, every change in the sounds and smells of the wind. Was this one more chill than the last? Could she clutch a rising gust and turn it to her favor? Could she bend the tree tops with it? In any case, channeling wind required both a sturdy wellspring and solid determination. Practice, practice, and more practice. But the implications were exciting.

Let’s focus on dousing a lantern wick first and then maybe bending some wildflowers before you think about altering treetops and storms.

Niksabella thought of councilor Elwray Stormcranker. Back when orcs had been a problem in the Southern Reaches there were stories of how Elwray turned back hundreds of orcs with winds and lighting, and she suddenly wished for a lesson with him as he seemed to have a favorable opinion of her. Perhaps after all of this.

On a whim, Niksabella crawled to the edge of her blanket and tried making a mound of dirt with her hands. The ground was frozen solid though, so she drained what was left of her mug and struck at the hard soil with the bottom edge, cracking off bits and pieces into a rough-hewn pile. She sent her minion to help, resting it for several seconds at various spots, warming the cold dirt until she was left with a fist-sized mound of mud.

Her head swam with the effort, and probably from the sooz too, but it was time for her to move forward. She’d only learn if she tried, and she knew from her considerable years as a tinkerer that the only way to achieve success was to continue challenging one’s self.

What if it’s too soon? What if you do something awful?

Resting on her elbows, she cupped the mound of dirt with her hands. She cleared her mind and drew from her wellspring, focusing it between her palms. She bent her will to the mound, just as she thought Kaytzi’s lesson taught.

With great focus and will
,
one may break down the elemental tine…

But there was a resistance Niksabella could not overcome, a cold barrier against her influence.
This mud is a much tougher opponent than fire to be sure!
She tried again and was surprised to feel the dirt shift slightly. But that was just the force of her raw magick trying to infiltrate the sediments. The mound wasn’t alive; it wasn’t responding to her demands.

How was this so easy for me as a child but near impossible now? How did I nearly drown my brother on multiple occasions? How did I make him suffer so?
But she knew the answer. The Prophetess.

“So what did she allow me to do that I cannot do now?”

Niksabella fell into it again, closed her eyes and thought about the mound of mud before her. Its simplicity. Its complexity. A pile of minerals blown here from every corner of Sullenor and beyond. Salt from the sea, muck from the Giyipcias Swamp, and maybe even worn stone all the way from Kubalesh. She bent her wellspring into the pile of mush, willing it to do something, anything.

The mud exploded, splattering across her face. Niksabella sputtered and spat and wiped the grime from her eyes. A passerby saw the accident and procured a cloth for Niksabella to clean her face with. She thanked the gnome and started to give the soiled rag back.

He waved his hand at her. “You keep it. Especially if you plan on that happening a lot.”

“Well, thank you. I think.”

An explosion wasn’t the effect I was hoping for. What am I doing wrong? It has to be a simple thing. My wellspring is strong enough, but what about my focus?

Niksabella reformed her mound, making a new one out of the mashed bits of the old one. She relaxed, let go of her senses, tried not to be such a tightly-wound axle spring (something that might never have occurred if she hadn’t downed a full cup of sooz). She gave the mud pile a grin, put her finger in the middle, and made a tiny swirl on its belly. It reminded her of her favorite toy as a child, one of the only toys she’d ever owned: a plump little brown bear that had seen better days long before it had come into her possession. Once upon a time, its mechanisms could raise the arms and turn the head from left to right, but by the time it had gotten to Niksabella, the bear no longer gesticulated. Its primary usefulness came on long, stormy nights when her brother would sit by the window to stare at the storm, leaving Niksabella alone in their raggedy straw bed.

Where’s that bear now? Burned up? Stolen? Washed out to sea?

In any case, remembering her furry friend infused her with an old warmth. “You are just the cutest mud pile I’ve ever seen. You know that, don’t you?” It was a silly thing to say, but she drew upon those childhood memories. She’d never had a pet, so what better than a short, fat glob of mud?
Seems suitable enough. Fits your personality too.

She poured herself into her creation. Will and wellspring. A gentle coaxing of the elemental tine… and it gave. The pile shifted. Rather than stop to examine if it had
really
been an extension of skill or force of wellspring, she tightened her focus. The sediments’ weight was considerable, but that weight seemed more willing this time. Cumbersome, yes, as if her magick wore a cloak of lead weights, but movable, pliable.

Niksabella shifted on her elbows since they were getting sore, but this puzzle of earth was too tantalizing to give up on. Could it be that Kaytzi had meant something else entirely?

Yet, it takes a sacrifice of one’s own truth. Who hath the bravery to do so may move mountains of earth…

What was the truth? Seemed a simple enough question. Niksabella was a living, breathing entity, and this stuff before her was just clay and pulp and anything else weathered by time. To sacrifice that truth would mean Niksabella would have to alter her perspective, perhaps drastically, a paradigm shift her brain was resisting.

To see these elements as her equals.
What? How?

It seemed silly and gave the term “dumb as a rock” an entirely new meaning, but that
had
to be it. One and the same. She and the elements. It seemed preposterous but…

Niksabella scooted in, closed her eyes, and wrapped her hands around the mushy pile. She tickled her wellspring to life and channeled it into her hands and through her wiggling fingertips. She imagined herself in her workshop, imbuing various materials into her inventions, scribing symbols on them to increase the material’s natural properties. Only she couldn’t scribe here. No, her life-giving would have to come from inside.

The pile moved, and a tiny yelp escaped her. This time, she was sure it had been of its own volition and not just a product of her magickal bullying. Over-analyzing would only ruin the moment, so she allowed herself a fraction of joy as she squinted and beheld her work. The dough-like pile undulated between her hands like some strange, living ooze. Layers of mush rippled up and down its body. And her flame had remained as well!

Controlling two elements at the same time. Two! Earth and fire…

Niksabella widened her hands to give her elemental creations some room. She moved each independently of one another, light touches for her flickering flame and stronger surges for the heavier one. She had them go round and round one another, like dancing partners. The fire licked at the wet earth with tiny hissing sounds, and the earth swung a clumsy, ham-handed appendage at the quicker flames.
More like combatants testing one another.

Niksabella giggled. But the effort was taxing her, reminding her of days in her workshop studying tomes until she’d gone cross-eyed. This was a weariness of the brain, a sluggishness of thought, her wellspring quickly draining like a battery running dry.

But I don’t want to stop.

She played a bit longer until she thought she might pass out, and just when she was ready to shut off her wellspring’s flow, a tickling passed through her belly and chest, followed by the sense of another presence occupying the space in her head. Not a threatening consciousness. Just intelligent curiosity. The earthen mound spun its tiny girth around, and two tiny, black creases opened wide to regard Niksabella.
Eyes
.