Steel & Sky: Tales of the Dead Man

By Ren Cummins and K.H. Koehler

On the brink of destruction, Aerthos awaits the prophecy with hope that the elusive corpse can be found. All eyes turn to Captain Sjora Kahn'dyr, who must travel to the capitol of the Steel Cities, the home of her enemies, where she must steal the body out from under the watchful gaze of the Baron's armies and return it to her people. But will t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doce Blant Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998429458

Ren Cummins

Ren Cummins found his talent with storytelling in high school and has been writing ever since. With ambition to create cool kick-ass female characters in superhero stories for his daughter, Ren launched into the world of fantasy and sci-fi, where his love of philosophy and the bleeding edge of science returned him to tall-tales that seemed strangely familiar. He has authored over eight fantasy books, including the Dead Man series. Ren continues to write in Seattle where he resides with his wife, daughter, two dogs, and neurotic cat.

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Steel & Sky

Tales of the Dead Man: Book One

Ren Cummins

Steel & Sky: Tales of the Dead Man

by Ren Cummins

Copyright ©2016 by Darren Cummins

All rights reserved.

This book or part thereof may not be reproduced in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or otherwise, or by any information storage and retrieval system, except as may be expressly permitted in writing from the publisher as provided by the United States of America copyright law. Requests for permission should be addressed to Doce Blant Publishing, Attn: Rights and Permissions Dept., 32565-B Golden Lantern St. #323, Dana Point, CA 92629

Published by

Doce Blant Publishing, Dana Point, CA 92629

www.doceblant.com

Cover by Fiona Jayde Media

Photography by Angel Ceballos

Interior by The Deliberate Page

ISBN-10: 0-9984294-5-7

ISBN-13: 978-0-9984294-5-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017934803

www.doceblant.com

Second Edition publication by Doce Blant Publishing 2017

Originally published in the United States by Talaria Press in 2014

This is a fictional work. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, including events and locations, is entirely coincidental.

For Elizabeth and Jillian, who do their level best to keep me within the plane between sanity and otherwise, thus making me wondrously poised to write these tales of fantasy.

Contents

Other books by Ren Cummins

The Dream

The Pirate

Break In

The Dead Man

The Mercy of Science

The Leather Glove

Labyrinth

The War of Art

The Baron

Underfoot, Overhead

Temple of the Mind

Everyone Loves a Parade

Wargames

Avoidance

Path Be Safe

Over the Blue

Sky-Charmer &Thunderbreaker

Is’aad Morquith

Sword-Master

Song-Mistress

A Sheharid Descends

Dying of Thirst

Aquol Damos

Betrayal

Steel and Stone

Fire and Air

The Sky Falls

About the Author

Other books by Ren Cummins

Chronicles of Aesirium

Book One: Reaper’s Return

Book Two: The Morrow Stone

Book Three: The City of the Dead

Book Four: Reaper’s Flight

Book Five: Into the Blink

Book Six: The Crook and the Blade

Tales of Aesirium (the companion anthology)

Into the Dust

by Ren Cummins and Kiri Callaghan

Chapter One: Lost

Chapter Two: Avast

Chapter Three: The Lily or the Tiger

Chapter Four: Hollow

Chapter Five: Labyrinth

Chapter Six: A Mermaid’s Tale

Chapter Seven: What Dreams…

Chapter Eight: All That Glitters

Chapter Nine: Shadow

Into the Dust: The Collection

Talaria Press Anthologies:

Quests & Answers

Once More Upon a Time

The Dream

The end of the world came about almost without warning.

No dark clouds. No ominous celestial portents of any kind. One day, the sun shone, the two moons continued their lazy chase across the Aerthian sky. The next moment, the sky parted and a great and glowing sword of light burst from the wound, striking Aerthos down and cutting a vicious swath of death through all its inhabitants. Man, woman, and child, animal and vegetable—all fell before its dreadful blade, and when all had perished, even the Reapers stood for but a moment before they, too, were slain.

The world became a lump of coal, blackened and dry. Cracks formed in the crust of the land, splitting the world wide open at its core, until, at the end, every last ounce of life was sucked away to slake some bottomless thirst that had lain beyond their perceptions.

Even the Reapers, the old woman thought with a shock that stirred her from her dream. The most powerful beings in all of Aerthos, those who held the power of life and death in their hands. Those who could pass between the lands of Aerthos or through time itself as easily as a mortal could step from their beds. Dead as the rest of the world. What manner of being has such power?

The screams of the dying were still fading in her ears as her eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn darkness. The winds, blowing in from the east and the south, toyed with the curtains of her room. The same dream had first haunted her nights almost five years ago, and she hadn’t had even the slightest concept of what she could do to stop it. Surely the gods do not give us dreams of the morrow in order to punish us with fears of the inevitable, she had thought.

As Song-Mistress of the Sky People, she had to be on the watch for dreams of grave portent. Sometimes the dreams were simple: go west for rain; watch the baker’s tower for an unexplained fire; treat the mason’s son with dried farol root and the extract of a spicy persimmon fruit to reduce his fever. For two incarnations of the Song-Mistress, there had been few concerns—the sandstorms which frequented the deserts, notwithstanding—but, now, this. She sighed ruefully.

A short-legged, fur-covered animal appeared as if from thin air, its bright orange eyes sparkling in the half-light.

Ah, Merlo. The woman smiled. Did I wake you with my dream?

The creature shook its head. The old woman stroked the creature’s soft, iridescent fur, causing her hand to momentarily look as if it was fading in and out of reality. In truth, it was a side effect of the creature’s natural camouflaging abilities, but Merlo had ways of using her fur’s shifting color patterns to achieve a variety of mystical effects, as well.

The creature’s fur was the least of her uses to the old woman, however. As with all of her kind, Merlo was connected to all of her species, living and dead. All memories and thoughts were stored in the aether of the world, floating in and out of their kind’s grasp. It made a fitting companion for a Song-Mistress. Merlo’s access to her species’ memories gave her a veritable library of history that stretched back thousands of years. Access to the whole of history helped put whatever visions the Song-Mistress might receive into proper context.

Sometimes, the best the creature could offer was comfort. With the series of dreams like the one which had just awakened her, there was no context that helped, no historical anecdote that reassured the Song-Mistress. The dreams troubled her, and it was growing long since past the point where she considered them a simple trick of anxiety or bad wine. What she had dreamed would come to pass, and though the final outcome was unclear, she knew that all life hung in the balance. She was old enough and wise enough to know that, all too often, the least desirable outcome stood the greatest chance of happening.

A month earlier she had been given hope. Hope, strangely enough, that had come in the form of a corpse. The Is’aad Morquith.

She put what steps into motion that she was able, and now, with those steps already on another edge of the world, she was helpless to do anything but wait. Patience was not a lesson that had come easily to her. By the time she had a grasp of it, she had so precious little time left. One more irony to add to the pile, she mused. One more pinch of incense to add to the flames.

With a tired sigh, she considered rising early to meditate in her prayer room. Instead, she decided to stay here for now and go to her prayer room later, when the sun was higher and that extra bit of shade could be more greatly appreciated. For now, she decided to remain in the quiet shadow of her room, alone with her dark thoughts and the merest fragment of hope to drive them away.

Fly well, my child, she whispered, flexing her old and tired fingers in an ancient gesture of good fortune. Find what we so desperately need and return to us with it.

Sleep would not return to her that morning, and all day long she would pause and look to the north for sign of the airship’s return.

The Pirate

There she is, little one, Sjora said, pointing to the starboard side of the Lamprey’s helm. She had to raise her voice to make it audible over the streaming air through the open canopy. "That shiny little spark on the horizon? That is Firnis Eld herself, where we shall be docked by dinner." The ship had made good time, to Sjora’s relief. Firnis had strict passage laws, and even during the festival, no ships were allowed over the city walls after sunset. There was still a lot of land to go, and below them were roving bands of thieves who would love nothing more than to get their hands on one of the fastest airships in the sky, or her captain.

The young girl standing beside her strained her sight to its extremes, catching only a sparkle of the glimmer in the distance. She turned back to the captain of the rugged airship and pointed mutely to the veil and hood she wore about her face. The cloth whipped uncomfortably around her face, but was tied firmly to provide a durable seal against the elements. Only her eyes and hands were visible, and even then, only barely.

A sympathetic smile parted the woman’s dark lips. Yes, Daris. We have been inside the borders of the Steel Cities since we made land. I think you can remove the hood now, should you like. Her smile broadened as she amended, Johen and I have already seen your face, and I am still very much alive, as you can see. And Johen is too old to care.

Daris paused for a moment, turning around to the only other human passenger on the ship. A much older man, he stood with his back to the main support columns beneath the airship’s ballonets, a pair of dark goggles covering his eyes.

He called back to both of them, a laugh hiding behind his deep voice, I’m blind, not deaf, woman. And I may be old, but I’m not in a hurry to die. He turned around to face the two of them even though he could not see them. But you’ve no need for a veil with me, girl. You both could run around the ship naked, for all the good it does me.

Mind your tongue, you filthy old man, Sjora laughed back. She shook her head at the young girl. Johen is only teasing, girl. It is only a bit colder here in the north than back home, but no need for you to suffer the heat. Go on, now.

The girl conceded by taking the hood and veil off and folding them up nervously in her hands. Her dark, curly hair was pulled back into an ornate and tightly bound series of braids that came together high on the back of her head. From there, the braids formed a thick cable of hair, that, once free of the restrictive headdress, came down just past her shoulders.

As her occasional caretaker, Sjora had helped her comb the hair out on more than one occasion –– free of the braids, it was something of an explosion of hair, and, she mused, the girl’s hair alone must make up half her weight.

Daris’ skin bore the same color as Sjora, Johen, and all the Sky People—deep brown like bedrock clay. However, unlike them, she had bright green eyes the color of northland meadows.

The gods had marked this one for their purposes, sure enough, and, as a result, she had spent most of her fifteen years with her face hidden from the sight of her own people. Superstition and fear keeps a beautiful child fearful of her own face. Sjora grimaced. It is a fool’s faith that keeps people afraid of beauty.

Sjora shook herself from such heretical thoughts. She’d flown the Lamprey across the continents and seen more of Aerthos than any ten others of the Sky People. She had experienced more than enough to see the salt for the water, as they said. Just because it’s wet doesn’t mean you should drink it.

She blinked, adjusting the small mask that covered her eyes to let in a bit of cool air on her skin. The Steel City was growing larger on the horizon; they’d be landing soon. By now they were already in range of the cannons, but she could see a few other airships coming into view from other directions. It was a pretty sky today, but a full one. Then again, it was the very reason she’d chosen today for their arrival. The harbor masters would be run too ragged with the hundred other inbound vessels arriving today to worry much about her little craft. Besides, she reasoned, it wasn’t even her first trip to Firnis Eld. Depending on how well maintained their port logs were, it wouldn’t take much of a look for them to find records of her past manifests. Her hopes were caught between hoping they had time to look, but not enough time to look too closely.

She was accustomed to traveling alone. It was easier to lie about the wheres and whys of her comings and goings when there weren’t others with her whose clumsy deceptions could give her away. She had spent the past two weeks with her two companions just getting them comfortable with their invented pasts. Johen would be her aging uncle, who, though long since sun-blind, hoped to listen to the majestic brass orchestras of the Steel Cities one last time before leaving the world. Daris would be his grandniece, Sjora’s young cousin, who was sent along by Sjora’s relatives to teach her about the world and prepare her for an apprenticeship with the salt caravans.

Both these tales were simple enough to fit into her own presentation as a trader, something which Sjora had, in fact, been on multiple occasions. That she had performed tasks for her people of less scrupulous fashions was a detail she was confident had gone unnoticed by the forces of the Steel Cities.

At least, she hoped they had.

They didn’t present a terrifying band, the three of them. By outward appearances, a young girl, an old blind man, and an airship captain who’d been on her own in the skies since she’d been fourteen. Her obvious weapons were stowed away, and if the Steelwatch was clever enough to find them, they could keep them. But, then, the watch wouldn’t be concerned about swords or rifles when dealing with the Sky People.

Sjora felt the shivering in the floor panels and nodded to Daris. Go sit by Johen. Be sure you’re both strapped in.

The girl snapped to attention, but turned to Sjora before moving ahead. What is it? Daris asked.

Eddies coming, the captain answered. City-aura, shaking the wind. Going to be a bit of a dance coming in these last few miles. Off now, child. Do as I say.

Yes’m. She moved as quickly as she dared. She kept one hand on the inner railing, just in case. She wasn’t as attuned to the vibrations in the air as Sjora was, but she trusted her insights in such things. In most things, she realized.

This would be the girl’s first trip to the capital of the Steel Cities. Back when she was first placed in Sjora’s care, she had listened attentively to Sjora’s stories of the sand and sky, or those from the few traders that came to the Citadel. The bards passed along tales from even earlier, those otherwise lost or from a time where they were all one people. Back in the days of the great world-city called Aesirium. Legends told of it being majestic beyond imagination, buildings so tall that even the clouds passed them.

Most of the Steel Cities were little more than well-stocked foundries, with great clouds of black and grey fumes from the forges, evidence of their devotion to mechanical industry. But Firnis Eld was the capital, home to the Baronial family itself. No amount of stories could have adequately prepared the girl for the sights she was about to encounter.

Daris sat down on the bench beside Johen and patted his hand. Sjora says we need to buckle in, says it is going to be bumpy.

Sjora had known the old man for as long as she could remember—a fact he loved to boast about. He was old, but kind, especially compared to the rest of the Sky People, going by their treatment of Daris. When she walked near, their eyes darted left or right, determined not to look at her.

But Johen couldn’t see, so his eyes did what they wanted. His expressions came from instinct, not culture. Freed from the fears prescribed by their people’s beliefs, he was relaxed around her. He and Sjora were the only two who never worried about looking at her.

As she watched Daris look back towards the city, Sjora knew what she was wondering: how the people in the Steel Cities would look at her. The girl knew they looked different—their skin was much lighter than the skin of the Sky People, and often their hair was the color of the sun—something Daris had expressed curiosity about on more than one occasion. What she wasn’t certain of was how that difference would show on their faces. Daris was fast becoming a young woman, and Sjora wanted her to know something other than fear.

Sjora closed her eyes and let the wind whip past her face. It felt cold, a cleansing chill that made its way through her skin and into her bones. When she opened them again, she saw Daris patting Johen’s arm.

The old man patted her arm back, tugging with his free hand at one of the straps of his harness before returning to the staff that rested against his legs.

Don’t know when you girls plan on letting go of that worry about me. This isn’t my first time off the sand, you know.

Daris hissed at him. Sjora says you’re supposed to lie about that.

He laughed back at her. I know well enough when to tell a lie and who to tell it to, little girl. But you are right. I can play the part she asks of me, and I will.

The next moment, it felt as if the ship was rolling over a series of bumps, each one sending shivers through the hull and the ship’s passengers. The inflated ballonets struggled against their support bands, but they held tight.

Sjora, already prepared for the currents, held the Lamprey on a firm course through the vibrations. The cables groaned. The twin propellers at the rear of the ship continued, while the engine protested audibly.

Firnis Eld was coming up fast in front of them. Sjora cut back on the throttle just as they passed through what she hoped was the last of the eddies. The whine of the engines faded away under the incessant rush of the wind past the canopy. She pulled her goggles high up onto her forehead to keep her hair from her face. She hadn’t been back to Firnis for a couple of seasons, now. They had grown more militant of late, and didn’t always cotton to the random visits by airship traders, whether they were from the Sky People or otherwise. She would probably have been content to give them a broad berth, but a promise was a promise. What they sought was here, and only here.

A pair of electorches blazed up on the northeast section of the platforms, two brilliant sparks of light along the cold grey steel of the defensive perimeter. Sjora nodded as if they could see her and began bringing the Lamprey in on a slow bank in that direction. She tapped a gold button on the left side of the control console twice to signal back her recognition of their landing instructions. She glanced at the set of covered buttons on the far edge of the console. The Longshot. Sjora chuckled softly to herself. No. We are not in such desperate straits.

The girl noticed their change in course and looked back towards the captain. Sjora gestured in the direction of the pair of lights. They were parking her in one of the outer hangars. It was a much older construction, and further from the parade grounds, but closer to the industrial sectors. She nodded thoughtfully. Yes, this would do just fine.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a larger dirigible coming in from just above her range of vision. She growled a curse into the wind, but called out a quick Hold on! to her passengers before acting. The other craft had clearly come down without looking beneath its hull and was bearing straight down on top of her.

She released an emergency burst of heated air from one of the spare tanks, discharging a gout of steam and dropping the ship by at least ten meters. It was enough—just barely—to clear the mooring lines that flapped beneath the other ship, and Sjora briefly pondered the sort of trouble she could cause with those lines, if she wanted.

If the other captain even noticed her, he made no indication: no apologetic wave of his hand, no dipping of his wings to betray his having seen her at all. Damned skies are getting more crowded every year, Sjora fumed. Not even enough space for manners.

She glanced at the tail markings on the other ship. It was a newer model, built for a dozen passengers, with enough cargo space in her hull to double the Lamprey’s capacity. Sjora winced, the stench of burning oil from its exhaust washing away any interest she might have had in a ship like that. She ran the Lamprey clean on charged stones and purified water, sacred sand and lodestone coils. The Lamprey would still be sailing the cloudbanks while that one was a rusted pile of refuse, long since forgotten.

The Arguis Blade, hmm? Well, I shall remember you. And until our debt’s repaid, you are marked for it.

Easing off the throttle to half-power, she followed the airflow up from the ground to the top of the dockyards, easing back just as she cleared the gantry. Killing the thrust, she drew back on the maneuvering jets, loosing baffles three and four to set the ship down neatly on the landing pad. The two attendants snapped to action, gathering up her mooring lines and tying the Lamprey off.

A third man in uniform—this one clearly more decorated than the others—moved towards the hull, jotting down notes in his logbook.

Sjora threw back the bolt on the portside hatch and unfolded the gangplank. It snapped into place, held taut by the rope guiderails that connected its crossbeams to the side of the ship. She continued to power down the engines while the officer of the watch made his way up the plank to the edge of the deck.

Permission to come aboard, Captain? he called out in crisply enunciated speech.

Granted, sir, she called back. "Sjora Kahn’dyr. This is the Lamprey. Last made berth two seasons back. We should still be in your files."

We’ve already sent your information to the harbormaster, Captain Kahn’dyr. Your ship came back clean, aside from some sort of misunderstanding regarding —he referred to his notes on the page for accuracy—three barrels of Northmince Wine, yes?

Sjora shrugged casually. The price of politics.She played it off as though she hadn’t been utterly robbed by a set of thugs sent by a corrupt local shipping magnate. All sorted.

He sniffed as though the mention of political intrigues were something foul or allergenic. Certainly nothing of any pressing matter, he conceded. What brings you to Firnis Eld, Captain? Business?

She shook her head. Not primarily. Bringing my niece and great-uncle to see the festival. May pick up a few things while we are here. What cannot be found across the waves.

He nodded absently, making a few additional notes on his log, then jumped back as something small, furry, and reddish-brown zipped past his feet and climbed up to Sjora’s shoulders in a flash. Bright eyes glistened from inside a dark mask of fur, its bushy, striped tail twitching nervously.

Sjora held up one hand for the man to relax while she stroked the creature’s head. Stand easy, sir. It is only my little friend, Trill. A barrowisk. He doesn’t like to ride on deck during the trips. He is afraid he is going to get blown away by the wind.

The man regained his composure, blushing darkly at having been so easily unnerved by a mere animal. "Well, don’t let that beast loose. The city streets are no place for…vermin."

Of course, sir, she said, swallowing back the response she would have liked to have given him, nodding her head instead as if he had just given her the solution to all her dreams.

He made a cursory walk around the deck, at which point her two traveling companions delivered their lines with practiced ease. Even the young girl feigned quiet deference at the questions, playing the role of the shy and submissive child in the face of a uniformed authority figure.

Sjora watched, making a show of casually scratching Trill behind his dark-furred ears. Inwardly, she wondered what the man would think if he knew who he was truly talking to.

After a few moments of simple questions, he asked Sjora to show him the cargo area below decks. She had opted to travel light, so it didn’t take long. She had brought enough foodstuffs and essentials to manage the flight, with a pair of storage vats for holding water: one for drinking, one for cleaning. She had also brought a few bundles of spices and two barrels of gemstones for trading. These, she explained, were to cover the cost of the trip.

He gave her a chit that permitted her access to the traders’ square so she could do business: a bronze, engraved token suspended from a thin steel chain. Keep it in sight at all times and you won’t be bothered.

She doubted that would be the case, but she smiled and nodded anyway as she draped the chit over her head. She felt a slight shiver pass across her skin, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. Sjora glanced up at the harbor master, but his attention was fixed on making a few last notes on his log. She turned the chit over in her fingers for a moment before leaving it to dangle from her neck. Still using the trackers, she observed. I doubt any of them even realize it, though.

Keep your group together at all times, he said, pointing a thumb towards Daris and Johen. One chit for all of you. How many days?

Five, she answered casually.

And will you be housed on your craft, or will you require housing?

She pointed towards a cluster of angular buildings to the west. We have a pair of rooms reserved at the Terraces, she explained. Confirmed by courier in Carbus Tel.

He nodded, taking more notes. The city guard is not responsible for the loss or damage of any property or possessions while your vehicle is stored, so you are advised to secure or remove any and all items of value.He cited the liability waiver from memory.

Sjora nodded along. She knew the drill and wasn’t concerned. She played the part of interested trader without seeming like she was too familiar with it. It was a careful game she had to play—so much was riding on her getting cleanly through this docking process. She would have to leave as little an impression as possible, and yet just enough that leaving wouldn’t be a challenge. They needed as much to go right as they could manage. One mistake was all the excuse the soldiers needed to lock the small band of Sky People up for the rest of their lives.

Eventually, the harbor master, having checked off every last box he could find on his log, took his leave as Sjora wrapped up the last of the power-down processes for securing the Lamprey. The ballonets were deflated and drawn back into the individual support frames that folded out from the rigid canopy above the open deck of the airship, and Sjora pulled the crystals from the main panel that governed the operational controls of the engine. Each was no larger than the palm of her hand, and fit into individual pouches on the strap of a leather satchel she slung across her shoulder.

Daris and Johen had their traveling duffels resting at their feet by the time Sjora had locked the ship down and made her way to them. Ready? she asked them.

Johen had a slight grin on his face, and Daris’ eyes were everywhere, her eagerness to soak it all in betraying her as a first-time arrival in the Steel Cities. Sjora chuckled softly. It was an authentic response for the young girl, and probably couldn’t be helped, but it didn’t hurt, either. She only hoped the girl would find some time to enjoy the sights and sounds of Firnis Eld. The annual festival was something to behold, and every tenth anniversary—like the one they were experiencing now—was even more so. No reason why we cannot mix pleasure with business from time to time, Sjora mused. Gods know we get so few pleasures.

So everything’s all right? the girl asked, finally seeming to notice Sjora’s presence.

The captain nodded her head, smiling. Inspections usually take two, three times as long, but with all the traffic coming in for the festival, they have their hands full. The Terraces are a few blocks away. We’ll get our rooms and get something to eat, then take a few hours to relax and get cleaned up.

Sjora hefted her duffel, feeling the tools shift comfortably inside the bag against her shoulder. It felt good to have them near her. The worst part about a job like this was that she had to spend so much time hiding her equipment away. At least on the eastern islands, they let you carry your sword on your hip like a proper warrior. Here, their heads get all out of joint as if they were not already a nation of killers and cutthroats.

She sighed, feeling the low tingle of adrenaline coursing through her veins. The excitement of being on the job, of a new adventure rolling out beneath her boots—it was almost worth more to her than the reward for a job well done. She could see by the expressions on her traveling companions’ faces that her enthusiasm was contagious. Trill raced back up her leg and chittered into her ear. He was ready to go, too.

Well, then, let us crack on.She grinned. We have a dead man to steal.

Break In

Firnis Eld was, even in its quietest moments, a city of motion and sound. Its central energy matrix was distributed throughout the city with an integrated pressure system that provided energy to periodic power stations on nearly every other block. These stations were massive concentrations of pistons and gear works that provided electricity, steam pressure, and heating to all the buildings near them, creating a persistent hum and hiss which could be heard and felt in every corner of the city. Insulation kept it from becoming unbearable, but it was at least somewhat disconcerting to young Daris as they made their way from the