Page 5 of Still the Sun

Oh, right.

“But you are,” I point out.

Moseus runs the tip of his index finger along his chin, not at all disgruntled. “My companion and I, we are not ... local. We are different. It is in our best interest not to make ourselves known, which is why I’ve come during the mists. Regardless, we need your help, and I would prefer to escort you to the tower while the fog holds.”

Escort me to the tower. Thetower.What did Maglon put in that ale?Gods and Serpent know how long I’ve wanted to crack open its doors and peek inside.

“You’re unarmed?” I try.

Parting his arms, Moseus shows me the folds of his simple robe and turns out two simple pockets. He shakes his sleeves. “I’ve no motivation to hurt the only person on this side of the amaranthine wall who could possibly aid me.”

Call it instinct, or perhaps my own desperation, but I believe him. His features are hard but not unkind. I lick my lips, playing like I’m still considering. When I can stand to pretend no longer, I cross to my table. “Let me gather my things.”

“I have the necessary tools there,” Moseus assures me, gesturing in an almost stately manner to the door. “Again, I beg your discretion. While the mists are high, if you would.”

Glancing back at him, I pause, and in that moment of stillness, I think I hear another high, muted tone, echoing somewhere beyond the walls of the house. Another mystery from a world long forgotten. As though it bids me,come.

Disregarding his reassurances, I grab my bag of tools and collect those sitting beside my latest artifact, then sling the bag over my shoulder. “Lead on.” Though I could pick my way to the tower with my eyes shut.

If this goes wrong,I remind myself as I step into the chill of high mist,I can defend myself well enough.I’m small but strong, and as we walk I keep my hand clenched around my biggest wrench, another tool that Frantess and others have suggested we melt down for farming tools. Eventually, we might have to. Only a fool values machines over food.

But for me, now, nothing is more important thanthis.

The tower—I know it by no other name—stands in stark contrast to everything else in this Serpent-shed world. It rises from the dusty, red-flecked earth in regal, tiered prominence, its white stone exterior bright and tall where everything else sits dull and meager. While our endlessdesert sports a number of natural rock protrusions—fins, chimneys, and the occasional arch—this monolith is entirely man-made, and in a fashion unlike anything to which Emgarden can aspire. From a distance its three cylindrical tiers look brilliant, nearly glowing, but nearer, the fortress takes on a more gray hue, powdered with dust and weathered by eons. It is the only thing left standing of Ancient make, unless the Ancients built the amaranthine wall, too. If they did, I cannot fathom how. It’s translucent like glass but harder than any metal Arthen can forge. Slick and ... radiating, for a lack of a better word. There’s so much of it, horizons of it, and yet so little to see. Thus my interest has always been in the tower.

The tower has narrow windows with half-circle tops cut right into the stone. Only a few, and none easily accessible from the outside. Even if they were, they’re too tight for a body to pass through. The flat ground surrounding the tower offers no vantage points.

The mists clear as we arrive. Gooseflesh rises in uneven lines up my back and down my limbs. For a moment I wonder if Moseus truly is a keeper of this stronghold. Why have I never seen him before? How long has he lived here? Where does he get food and water, for surely he and his companion can’t sustain themselves within its walls? Do these promised machines harvest what they need from the ground, or do they only venture out when the mists are heaviest, forever hiding from the rest of us?

The questions roll around my tongue with a sharp flavor. Moseus approaches the tower’s two south-facing doors—the only entrance to the fortress. With a heavy iron key, he unlocks the one on the right, and with his narrow shoulder, he shoves.

The heavy door loathes opening, creaking on what must be magnificent hinges, scraping the stone floor. Stepping beside him, I press my palms to the door and push, and it opens onto a dim chamber. Shifting inside, I blink rapidly, eager for my eyes to adjust. The only light streams from the second-story windows and trickles down a spiraling stone stairway just off-center, with no supporting walls or railing, as thoughit was built in a hurry. In front of that are two support pillars, equally spaced, and not ornate in any way. I glimpse the edge of another pillar behind the stairs as I enter, my careful footsteps echoing in the quiet room. The cool air stirs thickly, so heavy with dust, oil, and mildew that I can taste it in the back of my throat.

Like the exterior, off-white stone comprises the entirety of the interior, expertly cut but without decoration or polish. The stone gives it a cold feeling, both in aesthetic and temperature, and—

Thought evaporates. My body freezes and my lips part as a metallic glimmer to the left snags my attention.

It’s ... it’s amachine. The largest I’ve ever seen.

An elongated mew escapes my mouth, but awe overpowers embarrassment as I run to it, echoes turning my quick footfalls into applause. “Serpent save me,” I whisper as I touch the machine that stands easily twice my height and ten times my width. I instantly recognize the Ancients’ handiwork in the intricate loops and coils that coat the exterior like lace. The metal appears to be primarily steel and ... and some sort of alloy I can’t name. Peering within, I see a few bronze pieces as well, and immediately I notice slipped bearings, as well as snapped fasteners and spines. Walking slowly around the behemoth, I spy sprockets and gears out of place and belts and chains come loose. There’s a beam deep inside, or maybe an axle of some sort, and multiple wiring assemblies that will take me suns and suns to sort out. Like someone pieced it together for decoration only.

“It’s broken,” I murmur.Very broken.But I’ve yet to uncover anything from that era that isn’t.

“Can you fix it?” Moseus’s low voice hums behind me. “I’ve already done what I can, but as you can see, it isn’t enough.”

Backing away, I take in the whole machine once more. “I ... I can try.” I notice a set of screws, the metal of which doesn’t match the rest. I run my hand over them. “It looks like you’ve done a good job. I’m not sure my expertise is any greater than yours.”

“Guesswork only.” He sighs. “I must implore you to try. Surely there is something we can compensate you with. Labor, knowledge, metal—”

I spin around. “Metal?”

He studies me for a few seconds before speaking. “There is surplus in this tower outside the machines we’ve found that is not necessary to the tower’s operation. I saw your ...tinkering... at your home. Would these scraps interest you?”

My mouth gapes. “How ... how much do you have?”

He cocks a pale eyebrow. “Plenty.”

I find myself nodding even as my brain warns me to barter a little more. For dignity’s sake. “My town needs metal desperately. I’ll take anything you can give me.” A chance to learn Ancient techandhelp Emgarden? I can hardly comprehend it.

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