Page 14 of Still the Sun

“We expanded a little last cycle, did some planting,” Salki explains. “Gethnen dug it up. Wants to melt it down for tools, but I wanted you to see it first.”

Before yet another argument about the use of my artifacts winds its way through town, she means. I turn it over in my hands. There are no signs of welding or breaks, no slots or rivets or holes to denote missing pieces. The artifact appears whole. And given how robust the thing is, and how close to the surface it must have been, I’m not surprised.

I rotate it in my hand. “I don’t know what this is, Salki.” There are O\ and /O symbols on either side of the protruding triangle in addition to the symbols—seventeen, to be precise—around the edge. That number is meaningless, but I do recognize some of the figures. They’re digits. They stop and start at five in both directions, and—based on my count—if they’re moving by ones, then the top number, across from the right triangle’s perpendicular side, is a thirteen. Which correlates with the hours in a cycle, but ...

“Your guess is better than mine,” she offers. “Thamton thinks it’s a fancy dinner plate for picky people. This”—she indicates the protruding triangle—“keeps the food from touching.”

“Eat,” Casnia says, kicking a pebble. “Eat.”

I laugh. “Well, that’s one theory.” I glance toward the tower in the distance. “Do you mind if I hold on to it for a bit?”

Salki rolls her lips together. “Gethnen found it. You know how he feels about this stuff.”

I consider this for a moment. “Tell him I gave it to Arthen to melt down. I already forked over some of my other finds, so it will balance out.”

Salki’s face falls. “Oh Pell, I’m sorry. I know you had plans for those—”

“Fair trade.” I offer a smile and heft the new artifact, running my thumb along its edge. It’s different from anything else I’ve seen ... and something in my gut tells me it’s important.

Chapter 5

When I return to the tower, Heartwood’s presence in the dark first chamber startles me, and I nearly drop my things. His presence fills the room, thickening and overheating the air. I shake myself, determined to find my reason, but I notice something off about him. The lack of a scowl, yes—he’s not actively glaring at me. But his face has taken on a gray pallor that camouflages it against the staircase he leans on. His back hunches as though he’s fatigued or sore of stomach; he obviously isn’t well. He barely seems to notice my arrival.

Chewing the inside of my lip, I pick up a lantern and cross over to him, leaving about four paces between us. Wild animals are always the most dangerous when they’re injured. “Are you sick?”

He looks up at me as though it strains him. Still no scowl, just cool indifference. “I’m well enough.”

He drags himself up the stairs to the second floor. The dragging would be easier with handrails, but however long these two strange men have occupied the tower, they must not have seen the need. Then again, what would they build them from? Wood is nearly as scarce as metal.

I wait until he’s at the top, half expecting him to topple back down and wondering if I’d have a chance of catching him. I’m strong, but Heartwood is easily twice my size. Fortunately, he makes it upstairs, and I wonder at his poorly hidden ailment before forcing it from my mind and returning to Machine One.

I pick up where I left off: wires. It’s remarkable how resilient these machines are. I can’t guess their age, but they’re old, and there’s not a speck of rust on them. Even the most delicate parts are usable, if not in pristine condition. I wonder if Arthen could figure out the composition of these alloys. I wonder if Emgarden will progress enough with its metalworks to mine those mountains and create masterpieces such as these.

I work through the wiring from the back end, coming around toward the front of the machine, removing a plate to see what lies beneath—

I loop the chain over the wheel in the back. It isn’t part of this gear system like I thought.

I blink, my hands still on the plate. Again. Whatwasthat? A reverie I have no control over? A mental lapse? It’s the third time. Glancing up, I spy the wheel in question, and the chain. Set the plate aside and lift the chain. Scoff. It’s too short to reach—

Wait.

Coming back to the side of the machine, I search through the fixed components until I find a silvery lever about fifteen centimeters long. I grunt as I pull it up, and the wheel, along with the box it’s attached to, shifts forward.

“Ruin me,” I whisper, returning to the front. Sure enough, the chain now reaches. I attach it. It’s a pulley system of some kind.

Staring at the machine, I take a step back, then another. Rub my eyes and look again. I want to talk to someone. To tell Moseus or Salki what just happened, but if I can’t even explain it to myself, how can I possibly explain it to them?

So I do the only thing I can. I work.

I screw the plate back in, covering the delicate pieces behind it. I venture to the back of the machine, cataloging what’s needed there. It seems mostly intact, but I take a few things apart anyway, trying my best to understand how it works. Scrawl notes, take measurements. Grease some axles and test some ceramic inserts, which are essentially for turning or rotating. I might need to replace one of them. I write it down.That’s a Moseus problem. Another hour passes, and I use the stool to crawl up on top of the machine. From here, I can see that annoying power switch. I can also clearly see how the rotary unit works, even if there’s no piping for fluid to access it. But I don’t know what else to call it, sorotary unitit is.

An idea strikes me. I have no clue how this thing is supposed to get power, or how that switch can be for anythingbutpower, but maybe I can rig it to take power. If only to see how it functions. If it functions, I’ll understand it.

I stare at that unit a long time, ignoring a passing quake, turning ideas over in my head. Maybe if Arthen could weld a few things for me ... and I could attach that there, have a bar come up and over ... manpower would be the easiest source, but it couldn’t be a rotational treadmill or any sort of rotary unit moving around the machine; there’s not enough space between the machine and the wall. So something that can wind or pump ...

This feels important.

Wiping greasy hands on the sash securing my shirt, I go to Moseus’s room and knock softly. He doesn’t answer. I rap louder. Receiving no reply, I push open the door.

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