Rivers Between Us

The Least God's Memories

Of course I only recall your prior incarnation's latter days, after he had already reached the height of his powers and achieved the pinacle achievement of the entire first age, that being the genesis of that most marvelous apogee of mortal achievement, that fantastic, metamorphasizing, splendid and...

A little while later... Jeddish Tarn was one of the foremost creators of automata in the first age. He was as known for his peculiar methods as his inventions. For years or decades at a time he would disappear into his manse, the Redoubt of Fruitful Contemplation, speaking to no one and shirking all responsibilities. He would return, typically during callibration festivities, to flaunt his latest creation. As I understand the story, one year he was received at a gathering and had brought his latest invention: a bird of adamant and starmetal that could sing the trees into bloom. His coterie of admirers and prospective buyers was duly impressed, until a stranger at the gathering guffawed at his creation and called it an amateurish gewgaw. He then produced his own invention, a flawless replica of a human with pure black skin and ruby eyes. The automaton proceeded to dispatch Jeddish Tarn's five automated body guards by melding with them and subsuming their intellect. Jeddish was humiliated, and he was mocked by those who moments before had praised him. He fled the gathering and retreated for a full two centuries.

As I understand it, he assumed that if pure martial glory was what impressed his peers, he would create a fortress without peer, a purely automated city that could withstand any assault, support a full legion, house and supply a city of laborers, and constantly rebuild itself after the most crushing of defeats. It was, of course, the most fabulous of...

A little while later... His creation was never truly tested. He had studied the pattern spiders extensively while creating the Infinite City. It was necessary for him to carefully integrate certain fate interdiction engines into the city's essence reactor core. It was necessary to incorporate the massive essence drain of the city into the very fabric of creation. However, as soon as the city was fully activated, it buried beneath the surface of the earth a full hundred miles before it could be shut down. After extensive study, and several false restarts were the city again began burrowing, Jeddish realized the truth. The city's fate engines had integrated with the control grid to provide a destiny aversion countermeasure. By studying the city, he predicted the usurpation.

Thus he sealed the city. He chose to face the usurpation bravely and meet his accusers, to live and die without fear or regret. He was at the banquet. Allegedly (and there are no reliable memories of the event) they attacked him with a dozen warstriders, but the war machines refused to attack him, instead kneeling in a circle before him. The operators climbed from their machines and slew him while he laughed at them, cryptically saying, "Your glory will rust and fail you, but ours is infinitely renewing!"

A Clockwork Prodigy

My wife died in the last charge. Red Flanks was her captain, but I bear him no ill will, for he too was felled by the side of his own mate, the fair haired Selenn. My only shame is that I was in the forge when they made their last charge, for I have never been a warrior.

In a single day in the battle of Mishaka, thousands were felled at a time, so my sorrow is not a lonely one. It is still mine. Wife, Sister-in-law, and Brother were all seeding the earth, slain not by the honorable edge of a sword, but by the pitiless ravages of sorcery. I wept for them for a day, then I took our children, my own Chester and their three young ones, and I went home.

Nathan was their eldest, and he was only four. The others were too young to feel the loss as more than a nameless ache, but he knew their absence as a real thing. Perhaps that is what bound us. Every day he followed me, will I or nil I. So he followed me to the forge. The forge is a dangerous place, and I knew this. My own son I would not allow within (and he had not the patience for the craft; he rides, and that is enough for both of us), but if I had barred the child then he would have died of his misery, sickly as he was. Thus at six he knew all of my tools, and how to make horseshoe, plowshare, and a sword. In another two years he had the strength to attempt such things, if he deigned to.

His was a mind of gears and metal.

I knew when he rebuilt my bellows that I was not ready for him. He redesigned the forge so that the heat of the fire fueled a device that pumped the bellows automatically, with three speed settings as necessary. He constructed a system of waterways that traveled above the ground to provide irrigation to distant fields in our village, and when he fancied making a lizard skin boots he designed a set of traps that would not harm the skin of its prey. All this he did to impress me, I knew, for he wanted me to be his father, which I am not. Even so, I tried to act the part of the father. I knew that this adopted son had learned all he could from me, so I arranged for him to be taught in Lookshy by the sorcerer engineers at his ninth birthday.

I was proud of Nathan. I still wonder if I killed him.

-Gallian, Rivers' Uncle

--- Heaven's Mandate