Clockwork Reaper, Book 1 of the Regna Secundus Insurrection

By Daniel Hellmund

The Ebook Of Clockwork Reaper Has Arrived!
Disaster befalls Niamhime Geist as a bomb destroys her father's mansion. Trapped in the steam-powered wheeled-chair her estranged yet genius father designed, she was born unable to walk. Overcome by the smoke and flames of the assassin’s blast, young Nia believes she is dead only to awaken in horror six months later with artificial arms and legs made of a strange metallic alloy! As Nia tries to escape from the artificer who dragged her from the ruins of her home, she discovers that the limbs can be manipulated by thoughts alone! Desperate to flee from a society that would judge her a monster, she wanders the nation alone; or so she believes. While corpses pile up in the empire of Sorcière, the wealthy and the destitute share the same tale of a creature of chaos known as the Clockwork Reaper. Only Nia can confront the nightmare that stalks the souls in Regna Secundus.
A bitter harvest is at hand in the first book of the Regna Secundus Insurrection series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9781312740105

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Other Books by

Daniel Hellmund

The Laria Saga

Laria

Laria's Shadows

The Answer for Laria

Sins of Laria

clockwork reaper

book 1 of the regna secundus insurrection

Copyright © 2013 by Daniel Hellmund

ISBN      978-1-312-74010-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Published 2013

Dedicated to my beloved Sophia

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THE WORLD OF REGNA SECUNDUS

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Clockwork reaper

PART I

chrysalis

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CHAPTER 1

There was no use in having windows, not when oily, sludge-like smoke clogged the city streets like a malady. Even in a mansion as fine as her family's, Nia watched the grime with disdain. The entire metropolitan beast pulsed with the dull throbbing of soulless, infinite machines brought to motion via steam and coal. They granted life to Sorcière, just as muscles of the living grant animation to man. It was a nation that had fallen in love with the idea of progress at all costs. The fogged, haze-smudged window was familiar though it was useless. It reminded her of her own worthlessness; her own deformity. The vapor outside the window, beyond her chambers, was nothing compared to the darkness in her heart and the soured recesses of her mind.

Sitting in her wheeled-chair powered by steam and gears galore, all alone imprisoned by four stout walls, even she could view traces of sunlight in the world outside. Occasionally they pierced the veil like glimmering spears, the shafts gently twirling as the steam clouds billowed higher and higher. Inside her breast, however, there was no such light, no such brightness to tease a smile from her thin lips.

It was the afternoon. Not a warm, comforting one, but a soggy, gloomy one just like the one from the day prior; just like the one which could be expected for the following day. Metal conducted heat so well that her chair, the craft that was supposed to grant her freedom, only sapped the warmth from her body. She was like a machine, one of those loathsome creations that made the great Sorcière notorious. The steady tick-tick-shh of the gears at her back and legs thudded faster than her own heartbeat, but without the machine seat she would be trapped, unable to course her own home. Tiny jets of steam enveloped above her; her private, unwanted clouds which reflected her demeanor ever so elegantly.

Waiting across the room, she sadly gazed down at folds of colored paper arranged on her desk. In a jade vase were many beautiful yet fragile paper flowers made by her hand. It was a talent, one of the few, she was good at. Picking one of them up, she inspected it with a sigh. Nia knew she was as frail as that flower of parchment. As a child, she hadn't the strength to push herself along in a standard wheeled-chair very well. The more advanced device was a gift from her father, though she often wondered if it were simply another one of his experiments at her expense. The chair's appearance was like that of a massive cocoon from which someday she hoped to sprout free from.

A knock sounded at the door. Lady Nia, dinner is ready. Your father sent word that he would be a scant tardy but that he would arrive before nightfall as expected. The door hadn’t yet swung fully open before the aging servant entered. A face as hoary as his only meant that he had long been indoors serving the upper society. If she had to guess, Belam had been a servant all his life; a second-class vessel ridden by the aristocracy. Only she could be paler. She hadn't ventured outside in years. Nia had long forgotten what the warmth of the sun felt like along her skin. I have made preparations for pheasant with oranges sliced in the shapes of flowers, just as you like. With his squinting eyes, it always appeared as if the man wore a smile beneath his pointed, black mustache. He was the only one who would refer to her by her birth name.

I am not hungry. Nia dropped the paper flower to the floor and manually rolled her chair closer to the window she couldn’t see from. The cloud of steam followed in her wake under the steady tick-tick-shh whisper. Her father would be late, as always. His only love was his work. The last time she saw her father was when he was making unneeded adjustments to her chair. That tender moment lasted a lengthy ten minutes and all the while he only smiled and patted her head as if she were six. She hoped Belam would take the offered hint and depart. When her chair began rolling on its own, she reluctantly accepted. Defiance was impossible when mobility was out of your control.

Now dear Nia, you need to eat. You spend your days up here like a wraith. Girls your age should be attending balls and being courted by young men. Belam had taken the chair and rolled it closer to the door. You know what your father would say. Unseen by his charge, he retrieved the discarded flower and offered it to the young woman.

"Belam, your kindness is generous but it is also sickening. How can you speak of dancing to me? she refused the folded paper flower with a swipe of her hand. As they left the room and moved to where a small elevator waited, Nia bristled at her inability to control her destiny. Even a thing as simple as being wheeled down the corridor sent her to shame. Passing a few of the younger maids, she could see them murmur to themselves, pointing in her direction. Nia had long been under the painful needles of gossip. Most girls are born with the ability to crawl. Most are blessed with the ability to stand. Most can walk on their own! a clenched fist slammed into the arm of the padded chair. What man would desire a partner who cannot walk, trapped in this god-forsaken shell?"

Belam was not a stranger to her dour mood. Oh you say that simply because you may roll over the young men’s feet. I am certain these young men will enjoy the challenge! Little Nia, you are special. You know what your father always says. One day you shall fly like a hummingbird. A flying bird needs not her legs, correct? Passing chamber after chamber, her father’s mansion was an elaborate maze of wealthy splendor. Such were the benefits of being the country’s top scientist. Her father was so beloved by the state that they had requested him out of retirement.

The chair indeed resembled a tomb of sorts with cruelly angled rods and cogs of polished brass and copper. Iron bolts held metal plates together to the spiked wheels the young woman used to roll. A small pudgy steam engine at the chair's rear allowed her to propel the heavy device forward, though it required constant maintenance. Her father would actually spend more time calibrating and oiling it than speak with her. She couldn't remember the last actual conversation they had had. In truth, he had never said that he had loved her. Perhaps he did not. Her frigid chair provided her more warmth than his care.

They entered the cage-like elevator as the barred door screeched close. It reminded her of an overly large birdcage. Descending three floors to the ground-level foyer, Belam pushed Nia to where the dinner was being served on a wide table large enough to entertain the entire royal court of Sorcière. Her father, the former Minister of Science for the realm, held such privileges, especially when he was called to host the leaders of business and politics. Once at the table, Belam offered her another one of his smiles and clapped for the maids to bring the meal. It was just as described, roast pheasant with daintily carved oranges in the shapes of various flowers; mainly roses and lotuses. There was also the unmistakable scent of honey in the air. The table itself had a cloth of ivory trimmed with gold that was ruffled at either end. The butler had an amazing gift for presentation.

The doorbell rang then, and as Belam offered a quick pardon, Nia reluctantly began to eat, ignoring the giggles from the maids as they made fun of her on their way back to the kitchen. Their gossip was nothing new to her.

Nia took the first bite and was amazed. The meal was indeed delicious, banishing her gloom in an instant. Perhaps Belam was right, she considered. She was entering her seventeenth summer and it was true, at that very moment girls her age were attending the ball at Lord Vladimir’s residence. Nia had not been invited. She was never invited. Her chair was an awful reminder of her shortcomings. Nia had been born without the use of her legs and not even her father, the smartest man in Sorcière, the smartest man in perhaps all of Regna Secundus, could heal her. Instead he used his ingenuity to construct the chair to allow her independent movement, promising one day to replace the chair with wings. One day, father. One day we shall fly. She recalled fondly the days when she did not hate her father. But that was before, long before, the loss of her mother.

The peace was shattered. An explosion tore her body from the chair’s seat, deafening and blinding her in an instant. There were screams unheard and chaos unseen as the chamber was engulfed in flames and smoke. Pain flooded her thoughts. What had happened?! She gingerly reached for her broken legs and felt the cold steel that bit deep into her thighs. The blast mangled the mechanical chair, tearing flesh as it wrapped the metal frame around her waist and limbs.

Nia screamed for Belam but could not hear her own voice. The next sense that returned was her scent. Blood, her blood, was mixed with sulfur. Her arms had also been sliced and burned. Heat began to overwhelm her. Tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-shhh-shh-shhh! The chair was broken. The engine's vents had been sealed off. The steam pressure was building.

Belam! Father! The smoke forced its way into her lungs, searing her throat. She could feel the flesh sear on her arms and legs. Help me!

The fire was nearing. She could feel its blistering grip on her wounded legs. Its roar overtook her ears upon reclaiming her hearing. When she opened her eyes the inferno was complete. The mansion was consumed in walls and columns of flame. The bodies of two maids, Leslie and Lily, were burned and missing limbs. One was missing her face; the other her lower body.

Nia screamed in horror. A part of the ceiling collapsed near the chair as embers rained over her. The temperature of the chair’s frame continued to climb. Nia struggled to free herself but the metallic bars were too twisted around her useless legs. The gears and cogs were embedded into her flesh like teeth. She was going to burn. She was going to die. Suddenly the realization brought fresh vigor to her injured body. Nia wasn’t ready to die. She wanted to fly, just as her father had promised! She still had faith that her father would one day heal her! This is the hope that had driven her since she was young. It was all that she had.

In anguish, she pleaded with the gods, Melia, don’t let me die! I don’t want to burn! She could feel her legs beginning to smolder. The sickening stench of burnt flesh filled her already scorched nostrils. No! Every part of her body in contact with the chair also burned. It was to be a torture device to prolong her suffering. The agony was unbearable! Each wail was met with eerie silence. It was only a matter of time until the chair itself reached its limit.

The pumps and steam capsule at the chair’s back erupted. Gears and rods were strewn wide in the blast. Nia threw her arms up for protection. The shards of metal, like knives, ripped through her as the heated fluids and gases sprayed. The device that her father had spent months designing to offer her liberation had sealed her fate.

Father!

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Death was quiet. It wasn’t at all what she had expected and prepared for. She tried to speak but the pain was too great. Her throat remained burned, even as a spirit. Mournfully, she tried to open her eyes to view the spirit realm, but more pain racked her body. Strange. Why was there pain? A bright light burned somewhere, casting light of many colors over her face. The stench of candle wax and wool was thick. Somewhere in the distance, she imagined hearing a choir chanting supplications to Saint Melia.

No, do not awaken. Not yet. You are too injured. A muffled voice urged her not to move. She felt a firm hand clamp her shoulder followed by a sharp prick with a needle into her neck and suddenly she became very tired. For some time, she did not know how long, she imagined being trapped in a never-ending dream. Once or twice she had fought to awaken but each time the voice was mindful and forced her to rest. She did as instructed but was lost in numbing confusion. Was this death? Who was with her?

After what seemed like an eternity, Niamhime opened her eyes to the same strange window of colored glass. It was an image of Saint Melia, a divinity of power and love clutching a platinum longbow while aloft on wings of azure and white. The light was too bright, so on instinct she brought up her arm to shield it. The thing that passed before her face was foreign and nightmarish; an ugly metallic limb with jointed fingers and plates. A skeletal alloy of cold greenish-black steel and queer inscriptions came silently to life under her unspoken command.

My god! her shriek was met with the clanging of steel as she struggled off of the table. The cumbersome drone of tick-tick-shh no longer followed her movements. The chair was gone. Throwing the white sheet away from her body she discovered to her horror that both of her slender and pale arms had been replaced by mechanical abominations, the kind expected to be seen on a doll. As the sheet slid from her body it revealed two legs also crafted by an artificer as opposed to a god. Her arms, from the elbows and shoulders, and her legs, from ugly stubs at the middle of her thighs, were now made of a series of rods and cogs protected by thin, yet dense plates of unknown metal. Thinking to escape, she noticed that the unholy legs shifted at her thoughts; under her control. There was, however, no sound of an engine.

Nia, you must calm down. The voice that had been with her sounded once more. She turned and saw the fatigued face of her father. Premature wrinkles stretched over a face like leather. White hair was disheveled and wild. He appeared nothing like the noble figurehead of the nation's science division filled with poise and determination. Her memories of her father were always of strength and steely calm. He had been regal and stoic, hardly ever allowing the briefest hint of his private thoughts and emotions near the surface.       Everything will be ok. It was indeed her father and yet a stranger all at once. It was as if he had aged a decade or more in but a month's time. He reached for her gingerly but Nia’s terror remained. She urged her legs to move and they did. She raised her arms and the mechanical limbs lifted as if they were her flesh and bone. I shall explain everything.

I-I am a monster! Niamhime scrambled from the tabletop, collapsing to the floor on her unused, unnatural legs. Having never stood before, such a notion was pure nonsense.

I discovered you in the mansion. Your legs and arms had to be removed so I could save you. They could not be salvaged, you were far too wounded. You would have died from infection. The chair and fire had destroyed your body! her father began. "They were trying to kill me. They had planned for me to be home for dinner; they must have intercepted my messages to Belam. It is all my fault… But Nia was in no state to listen. She crawled away from him as he neared, his best effort of compassion filling every word he spoke. I saved you. I found a way to make you whole. You can live a normal life now."

"N-normal?!" she shrieked.

It has been six months. Only now are you healthy enough to remain awake. The grafts had trouble taking and infection set in nearly a dozen times. Unfortunately, you will require the proper medications until you can fight the pain on your own. He lifted a small syringe of what appeared to be an opiate of some kind. Kneeling beside her, he took one of the cool hands of metal as if it were made of flesh. In time you will acclimate. This was the only way. I-. but he was too cautious, perhaps even too cowardly, to reveal his deepest emotions. His clinical manner only made him sound more heartless.

The bizarre transformation of her father only made the horror of her plight worse. The only time he had been kind to her was after the passing of her mother. He hadn't been there when she died; he always preferred work over family. Father… Nia wept. "I do not want to live like this. I cannot live like this! Shoving away from his care, she crawled for the chamber’s exit as he pursued. She slid across the floor like a toddler, her legs dragging behind her like useless toys. The sound of the metal scraping against stone brought fresh agony to her heart. I want to die! Why didn’t you let me die?!" Hesitating, she took to her feet for the first time and stood. Oddly, without having used her real legs, she was able to stand. Unfortunately, such a miracle was lost in the madness. She was an abomination; an experiment of her father's tinkering. That was all she was to him.

Thinking only to flee, she ran as fast as her new legs would allow. Each step clanged against the stone slabs as she frantically bolted down the corridors of the temple, desperate to find an escape. It was the first time she had ever run in her life. It was the first time she had ever stood in her life. Something so natural was completely unnatural to her. How could her father do this?! It was everything she had ever wanted, and yet she was still an outcast, a beast!

Two nuns of Melia, clothed in black and white robes, appeared from a doorway like specters but she shoved past them, knocking them aside. The strength of her new arms was impressive; frighteningly so. Bounding over a table, Nia pounced, landing hard on the polished blocks. The maneuver sent her flailing. Her father rushed behind her, desperate to have her back in his care. Tearfully, Nia scrambled to her feet once more and caught sight of an exit; an open window in the chamber across the corridor.

Lunging, Nia scampered away from her father's reach. She climbed effortlessly onto another tabletop as nuns frantically darted from her path. As she crested the sill, her father entered the chamber. Nia, I beg you, don’t leave! It is too dangerous!

"For who?! Is it too dangerous for me? Or is it too dangerous for you?! she wept. I am a monster! I have always been a monster because of you! I am little more than one of your experiments!" Behind her father, she could see the nuns whispering among themselves, just as the maids and people in the streets would do when they saw her. All her life she would catch the unwanted glares and giggles of society looking at her as an outsider. She would not accept the pain and torment of being ostracized. She also feared the agony of her wounds and the vicious grafts of frightening metal on her limbs. What would happen when the medicine wore off?

Pleading, her father cautiously stepped closer. You are not a monster! You are an angel. One day you will fly, I promise it! balling up his fist he added, I shall ensure it! He had bent the laws of nature before; surely he could do it again! He was the greatest mind the nation had!

You are right, father. I shall fly. One day I shall soar! Gazing out the open window, she realized just how high above the ground they were. Wherever they were entrenched, the strange temple overlooked a cliff carved by a river just barely visible through the thick smoke banks. Goodbye, father! Niamhime plunged from the sill into the light of day. For a moment, amidst the agony of her wounds and the horror of her mechanized limbs, Nia felt as if she had wings. The cool morning air rushed past in a deafening howl. The moment lasted an instant before her body slammed into the rocks.

Rolling down the cliff, she tumbled against boulders both round and jagged as daggers. She prayed that the force of the fall would tear her unholy limbs from her body. She prayed that death would overtake her; that she would join her fallen mother. The impact didn’t hurt as much as she had expected, perhaps due to something her father had given her to control the pain of endless surgeries to graft the metallic limbs to scarred nubs.

Eventually, she slid roughly to a stop, bloodied and bruised, but still alive. Thinking she was cursed, she weakly gazed over the edge of the embankment to see how far she was from the river. It was still a long way down. She had to kill the monster she had become. She didn’t want to live with the claws of a mechanized fiend. Staring down at the hinges of her cold fingers, she was overcome with despair. Why didn’t she perish in the explosion?! Why did her father have to find her?!

I-I… reject your gift of life, she moaned, coughing up blood as she spoke. Thinking to challenge the gods, she crept closer to the edge that overlooked the river. Surrounded by factory smoke from thousands of industrial goliaths at the surface unseen, Nia used the abominations to pull herself ever nearer to the cliff. Punish me if you will, but I give up. I was never given a fair chance. I-I… she began to weep. I deserve peace! Recalling those last moments during the fire and explosion, she remembered how dearly she had pleaded for her life. How differently she viewed the world now under the pressure and fear of lingering as an outcast. The promise of paradise in the life beyond had been something she longed for. Ending her life purposefully broke every religious dogma of Saint Melia. Paradise would forever be lost to her.

I’m coming mother… Nia, using what little strength she had left, pulled herself over the edge of the gorge. No one would be allowed to see her as a monster any longer. No one would be able to torment her or pretend she wasn’t a person with a soul and heart. No one would have to spread rumors about her and her deformities. She would snatch peace, even from the hands of Death itself. Falling, she closed her eyes and expected the end eagerly. The water would cleanse her wounds; end her nightmare. Nia plunged into the frigid waters and immediately lost consciousness. Death would soon be near. She imagined hearing its laughter...

CHAPTER 2

The sputter of an engine jostled her awake. Woefully, she opened her eyes to find herself aboard a crude riverboat wrapped in a dirt-ridden and frayed blanket. Aside from the boat there was nothing to see because the smoke, thick and noxious, had settled around them. The cliff faces on either side of them acted to keep the fumes from blowing away. The breeze had died long ago within that gorge. The vessel was being driven by a massive wheel powered by a simple steam engine. The large engine had the same tick-tick-shh pattern that her old chair had, and for a moment she wondered if everything of the fire and artificial limbs had been a nightmare. The pulse of the engine sounded like an enormous heartbeat, one that she could feel from the boards under her. At first she questioned if it was the heartbeat of a god but when feeling returned she instantly realized she was not dead. She must have groaned aloud, for something stirred within the smoke curtain.

Oh-aye, you are alive. Was hoping you’d be still breathing. You took a nasty fall from that cliff back there. A short man with stout stature and a full beard appeared from the fog and knelt beside her. But, I guess with those arms and legs there, there’s not much a puppet like you could do to prevent fallin’ eh?

W-where am I? Her head throbbed with each breath. Her arm and leg stubs ached with a dull pain that seemed to be stealthily amplifying. Her ribs were bruised, perhaps broken. The opiate medication was receding.

"Welcome aboard the Queen Eleonore, my humble boat and home on the current. Grinning, he offered a wave of his hand as a way of introduction, even though much of the dilapidated craft was still veiled in smoke. It is not much, but it gets me around." He helped Nia rest against the cabin wall as they waited on the deck. The boards were rotten and slick with mold and moss. Nia was slightly taken off guard by the man’s kindness. It was completely unfamiliar.

Why did you bring me here? Regret overcame her as she rediscovered her limbs and their metallic luster. It wasn't a nightmare. Death rejected her once more.

Whattya mean? You fell and I thought to get you out as soon as ye hit the water! Surely, you can’t swim with those arms. A lecherous gleam passed from his gaze, Can’t do much, I’d imagine, with ‘em to protect yourself I mean.

Strange, she wondered, that the first person to see the monstrosity that she had become would not be afraid. The pain in her head and ribs seemed to intensify.

Now tell me, what is a young thing like you doing here? Did you fall or did you jump? I’ve seen too many take their own life from perches hereabouts. The ladies of the fair temples there do their best to save as many souls as they can, but unfortunately, this world tis cruel. Heard this area be called Widow's Valley before, due to all of the womenfolk succumbing to despair after the last wars when their lovers were killed on the fronts.

She didn’t answer. The churning of the water wheel beat the river.

Fine. Makes no difference to me. Slapping his hands, he smiled, Well now, since you are awake, we can begin. I saved you, so I would like some compensation. It is not every day I save a pretty thing like you, even if you have those limbs. Still, you ain’t bad, girl. Not too many that end up in this river have a gorgeous face like yours. Be that as it may, usually by the time I see em, they’ve been touched by Death for a while. The gnome grinned and rubbed his hands. It will be nice to have a warm one for once.

What are you talking about? Nia fought through the soreness and noticed that he leaned closer. On instinct, her new hand reached up, snatching his throat. Not knowing her strength, the metallic fingers closed down on his windpipe. With little time to be surprised, she feigned boldness, I think you have the wrong idea. The fellow sputtered and choked but Nia’s grip remained firm. He had no idea that she could actually control her mechanical limbs. She didn’t know how her father had managed such sorcery, but it was indeed like magic. Perhaps even black magic. Was this new science?

She released the fellow and gingerly rose to her shaky legs, throwing the mouse-bitten blanket from her scratched and bloody shoulders. They rattled as she stood.

W-what sort of demon are ye?! the man growled, reaching tenderly for his neck. "How can you control those, those things?!" he stared at her, wide-eyed and stammering. It was the look of a man who had seen an abomination. She knew the look well and had spent years constructing an emotional defense against it.

Niamhime steadied herself with a hand on the ship’s railing. Dizzy and nauseated, she found the river voyage ill-suited her. Please, let me off at the bank. I shall be on my way.

I am afraid I can do no such thing. The man, now fearful for his life, retrieved a pistol from his belt. I’ll end your witchcraft here and now. Raising the weapon, he aimed for Nia’s chest. This was exactly what she was afraid of. This was the reaction people would offer her upon seeing the mechanized limbs! Before he could fire a shot, however, her leg snapped at the knee in a kick, knocking the pistol from his quivering hands. The blow caused his arm to buckle, breaking the bones in his meaty limb. He screamed and the pistol flew end over end until finally plopping harmlessly into the river. She did not know how it happened, but in an instant the leg, her leg, had obeyed a subconscious command; a need to diffuse the threat. Just what had her father done to her? A second kick fell under the fellow’s chin, shoving him flat on his back. Devil woman… he groaned, nursing his broken arm.

Nia was ready to be rid of the man and his shoddy craft. Something divine had prevented her death once more, perhaps it was the intervention of Saint Melia, or perhaps it was her departed mother. There was a crash and the entire boat shuddered and cracked. It ran aground in the confusion, much to the fellow’s anger. Nia took the chance and ran to the riverbank before the sailor could give chase. She could hear his curses pursue her but as she scaled the bank and hid in the curtains of smoke she knew that he would not cause her further trouble. Besides, even if the fellow had dared to give chase, he was still terrified of her mechanical limbs, the same limbs that also tormented her.

Lost in the wilderness, Nia continued up the bank until she finally breeched the vapors. After walking through the forest she discovered a small road that appeared to be frequented by traffic due to the deep ruts in the soft dirt. She had never been able to visit the forest on her own before. Despite the ache, she couldn’t help but be awed by the sights and sounds that would have never greeted her while she was in her cumbersome, steam-powered chair. To say that the moment was enchanting was to do it injustice. The subtle breeze, the smell of pine and oak, the sogginess of the underbrush beneath her steel feet; everything was new. If only she could touch with hands and feet of flesh rather than metal! Niamhime Geist took a deep breath, one of air rather than smoke. It felt like a blessing of nature, as if the wilderness had welcomed her into their fortress of wood and vine. It fortified her.

Then, the nausea returned, as did hunger. Nia stumbled forward before resting against the base of a massive oak tree covered in mats of moss and surrounded by mantles of leaves and smaller underbrush. Nestled by the road yet out of sight, there she waited to confront her fears. Glancing down at the meticulous hands crafted by her father, she felt terror, humiliation, sorrow, and respect all at once. Her immaturity had brutally cost her. Now she was lost and alone, and with each breath she began to feel the injuries of her descent down the cliff face more and more.

"You’ve seen much heartache, little Nia. She froze, believing she had imagined the soft, genderless voice. Closing her eyes against her injuries, she fought the hallucination. Unfortunately, the disturbing voice sounded again against the stillness of the woods. You’re afraid, afraid of a gift that shall change your life. Let me be your guide, Nia. Let me be your guardian so that you are not afraid."

You are not real.

"Oh but I am, dear Nia. I shall never leave you lost and alone. How adorable you are, my love." The voice fluttered and sounded familiar. It made her heart stiffen.

Mother? Nia couldn’t fight the tears. Is that you? But how? recalling the crippling, lonely death of her mother ten years ago, Nia was in disbelief.

"You were close to death, my heart. How could I not be lured to be by your side during your sorrow? Never give into your despair. Unlike your cruel father, I shall never forsake you."

The spirit of her mother who had perished long ago had returned, or so she was made to believe. No matter how many questions she launched to the mysterious voice, she didn’t hear it again. Nia, you’ve really done it. You’ve struck your head… you have lost your mind… Staggering back on her feet, she wandered down the road to see where it would lead. Infections could lead to hallucinations, correct? she whispered softly.

If there were any other travelers or drifters, she would hurriedly conceal herself in the woods. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any one else out that day. A shame, she considered, looking at the warm shafts of sunlight. Perhaps she could live out her days there, out of sight from the cruel populace of the cities. No one could harm her if they didn’t know she existed. Besides, it was better than trying to commit suicide. She had already failed at that. It must have been Saint Melia's way to punish her for even considering such a selfish act.

After walking for what seemed like an entire afternoon, she came to a small bend and could smell warm bread baking in an oven unseen. Hunger overtook her and Nia stalked ever closer to where the smell came from. There she found a small village nestled beside the forest edge. There were three dozen or so homes and a few farms in the distant fields that seemed endless. Just within sight she could see the shepherds with their flocks on the hillside. She had never seen such a simple place before. It was a stark contrast to the capital where she grew up. There were no factories, no endless machine noise, and no pillars and curtains of smoke. In the distance, the only noise to be heard was the laughter of children.

She took another infant’s step on her new legs and felt the pain of her wounds overtake her. Her ribs began to ache and her old burns began to sting and twitch. Whatever medication her father had given was quickly depleting. Her head throbbed like a hive of angry hornets. Her vision blurred and the last thing she remembered seeing was the baker walking around his house. Nia was unconscious even before he shouted to her. So much for obtaining food...

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There you are. I’ve bandaged you up, but for the life of me, I cannot tell how you came to this village, a man’s voice said as she opened her eyes. She was growing wearisome of not knowing where she would wake up. This had happened three times in the last three days; not a pattern she wanted to continue. You were quite lucky. Niamhime looked up at the face of an old man who smiled kindly. She was inside a bare room lit by lanterns. It was night, for darkness claimed the window and land beyond. What is your name?

She thought for a moment. Being caught by her father’s men was the last thing that she wanted, and being the head scientist for the state, there was the chance that he had many operatives and agents around. Maria, she lied, using her mother’s name. Maria is the only name I know. I am an orphan.

Well those limbs are fairly special for an orphan. You may feel a little tired. I had to give you something for your injuries; to keep the pain manageable. It looks like you have had some broken ribs in the last few weeks, but for the most part, they are healed. Nia heard this and wondered just how long she had been out near the road. Surely it wasn't longer than that same afternoon. How had her ribs healed so quickly? I tell you what, as repayment for patching you up, can you tell me how you came to be here? With a hospitable chuckle, the physician offered her a cup of warm tea. The aroma was thick and welcoming, mirroring his gentle smile. Thinking her arms were just for show, he held the cup and allowed her to sip from it.

I was left here, in fact. I was dumped from a carriage somewhere in the forest and I crawled toward the smell of bread, hoping someone would find me. Nia knew that if she said the truth, there would be far more questions. Thank you for helping me, I am in your debt.

Oh the debt is forgiven. I am just glad I arrived at the right time. My name is Sucret. Here, let me help sit you up. The physician propped her up on a stack of pillows, and Nia was careful not to reveal her control over her limbs. If you are wondering, this is the humble village of Eras. The elite in Sorcière ignore us and we like it that way. Those foulsome, self-righteous Magistrates leave us well alone. I can’t say there is a better life.

Nia smiled, warmed by Sucret’s tender nature. From the smell of the bread, I could detect its charm. For once since resurrecting from the realm of the dead, she felt calm. Nia embraced the moment, though fleeting it was.

I’ll be right back, I will ask my wife to buy a loaf for you. I am certain you are hungry. Sure enough, after a few moments Sucret and a blue-haired woman wearing a grin entered with a hot loaf in hand. In addition to the bread she also brought with her a basket of apples. This here is my wife, Elizabeth.

Setting the apples on the far table, beside the door, the woman placed the loaf of bread near the bed. Nice to meet you. Oh my! Your arms and legs are so unique! she replied joyfully. Please rest, dear. Elizabeth’s soothing demeanor only fueled the comfort Nia experienced.

I will be back in a moment. Sucret offered, Unless you can manage the bread on your own. Nia reassured them that all would be well.

The couple left Nia to herself. Only then did she dare pick up the bread to take a nibble. As she took her first few bites of the warm bread, she questioned whether or not it could be believed. Only her parents and Belam treated her with common courtesy. It was not something she was used to. Poor Belam…

"Don’t grow too accustomed to it, Nia. You will only be disappointed in the end." The creepy voice that had masqueraded as her mother returned to haunt the back of her mind. Perhaps it was the new medication that the physician had given her. Perhaps it was all illusion. These things she struggled to convince herself as she closed her eyes, enjoying the bread melt in her dry mouth. "You’ll see…"

Nia felt herself become tired and thought it best to sleep. However, as soon as her eyes closed there was a sharp blast on a trumpet that came from somewhere in the village. Sucret, come quickly! Henkle has been attacked! The door of the physician’s residence was nearly attacked by a fist. The raps came in a barrage, threatening to tear the boards apart. His arm is broken and he claims that a river demon assaulted him! Nia could not go to sleep. She knew immediately who was injured. It was the vile man from the river boat.

Sucret grumbled and carried a lantern with him to the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he offered her a quick smile and wink, Just take it easy, Maria. I will take a look and return in a moment. He left the house with the man at the door and she heard them talk as Sucret was being led away. Alone in the room, Nia slid from the bed and took to her shaky legs. Ignoring the discomfort on the remnants of her real legs, she crept to the door to see if Elizabeth was around. She realized that once the townspeople spoke to Henkle, they would know that Nia could use her limbs. They would see her not as a victim but as a liar; as a monster. In short, they would view her as a treacherous, abominable creature; a creature that needed to be chained. Shouts erupted outside the home as more villagers came to learn what happened to Henkle. More of them were directed to the doctor’s home. The secret was soon killed.

The door swung open and Nia jumped back into her room. Lady Maria, are you still awake? I would like to talk with you. Sucret, wariness in his tone, entered the room holding the lantern and saw that Nia was in bed. "You’re not going to believe this, but I have a man outside with a broken arm who says you attacked him. Is this true?" There was disbelief in his eyes, but still the man was unsure. Sucret wanted more than anything to discredit Henkle’s wild tale of pure fancy. He knew well Henkle’s reputation with the bottle…

If you do nothing, you’ll hang, the voice in her skull began to whisper.

I-I don’t know what you are talking about. I cannot stand let alone strike someone! with a cheery, innocent chuckle, Nia tried her best to remove her guilt. These, these are just for show. She nodded to her arms for emphasis.

Well, that is what I tried to tell the folks out there, but they just won’t listen. Sucret sighed and passed a hand through his silvering hair. Oh well, you remain here. I am not going to have them trouble you. Rest is what you need, my dear. The elder turned his back to leave, picking up an apple left on the far table on his way out. Nia breathed a quiet sigh of relief when all of a sudden Sucret tossed the apple her way. The unexpectedness of the object made her jump, snatching the fruit out of the air with her metallic fingertips. Sucret was speechless. I don’t believe it… he was right!

Sir, please! I can explain! Nia jumped from the bed which only frightened the elder further. He clutched at his chest in terror. I can explain! He advanced against me, and I-

Stay away! he trembled, recalling the horrific wound she had given Henkle. I’ve done nothing to you, leave my wife and me be!

"They will betray you," the inner voice mocked.

I will leave; just don’t say anything to those outside! Nia urged, despising the look of fear the old doctor was giving her. He was just like the others. Please, stop shouting! But the doctor kept yelling for Elizabeth to stay where she was. Anxious, she grabbed his wrist, Please, I won’t hurt you, but you have to stay quiet! But when she snatched his wrist, he cried for help. At that instant the door was kicked in and three men with rifles were there. No! The panic made her clench her fist in reflex, crushing the bones in Sucret’s wrist. The old man wailed and the townspeople lifted their weapons and fired once the old man had slumped to the floor. Before the rifles popped, she threw up her arms in defense. The bullets bounced from the alloy and ricocheted around them. One angry bullet found its mark in Sucret’s forehead.

No! she screamed, This is an accident! The elder sank to the floor against the wall, staring through death’s mask in pure terror.

She’s a devil! one of the men cursed, lowering his rifle. Don’t let her near you!

"I warned you. Run. They will hunt you down and slit your throat if they catch you!" the raspy, ghostly voice inside her skull snapped.

Without another word, she listened to the voice and turned toward the window. There were more rifle shots but miraculously none of them found her. Crying, she fled once more into the forest, branded a beast, the very thing she feared. Someone behind her unleashed hounds to aid in the pursuit. She could hear them braying, barking, and howling, hungry for the scant remaining flesh she could call her own. Nia imagined Elizabeth weeping for her fallen husband, cursing her with each breath. They had treated her with warmth, with kindness, and she repaid them with murder!

No, no, it was not my fault! she repeated again and again, rushing into the night without a destination. The voice had become mute. Numb from the medication, Nia ran deeper into the woods, desperate to escape from her pursuers. She was running! The oddness of such action was still new to her.

From the underbrush, one of the dogs charged, its jaws open. Nia threw her forearm into the creature’s mouth and shoved it to the ground. It whimpered under the impact but Nia sprang over it, recovering too quickly for it to snatch her. Another hound followed, snapping at her heels, but she spun, kicking its face. It howled in pain and frustration but Nia sent another kick under its legs. It crashed into the tangle of vines. With a hasty glance over her shoulder, she could see torchlight in-between the trees. They were still following. Scrambling and out of breath, Nia was not used to running. She was in no shape to keep the chase going. Relying on the somewhat sharpened points that tipped each finger, she clawed her way up the nearest tree and waited.

Not a moment later and a man bearing a lantern and rifle tore from the greenery directly beneath her. "There is a nice coat for your exposed shoulders, dearest. A pair of gloves and boots could help you hide those beautiful limbs," the voice whispered seductively. It was right, if she ever hoped to conceal herself she needed to look normal. Dropping, she slipped her legs around the man’s neck and squeezed. Together they crashed to the ground but she silenced him with a punch against the throat. Shattering the lantern, all went dark. As the man moaned she removed his coat, boots, and gloves and relieved him of his rifle. The ease of the maneuver stunned and impressed her, even though she was trembling with adrenaline. For someone who had never before walked on her own, to be able to subdue her foe soundly was quite an accomplishment.

When the man groaned and fought for his weapon, Nia clenched the hinges of her metallic fist and punched. What she assumed was his jaw gave way and he whimpered without further struggle. "Very good indeed. That is my Nia! the voice congratulated. Now, rush away." Even though it was probably a hallucination, the confidence that the strange voice had in her was incredibly comforting. It drove her onward giving her hope, something so foreign to her ears.

More hounds brayed and howled all around her, but as she quickly donned the jacket and the man’s cloak, tied up the buckles on the boots and slipped the black leather gloves over the carefully crafted fingertips, Nia bolted like a wolf herself. They had wanted to tighten around her like a noose. She would not be caught that night. There was no going back. Even if she had a choice, she could never go back.

CHAPTER 3

Pressing ever deeper into the forest, the panic of escape began to subside like a tide, leaving behind despair as bleak as the darkness of the wood. Every blink brought the savage image of Sucret’s shattered skull with rivulets of crimson staining his horrified face. It was a face that had seen her for what she was. The haunting voice had long since been silent, leaving her to grieve on her own. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, least of all people like Sucret and his dear wife! Each step became more laborious than the last. Pain from the remnants of her arms and legs began to throb as reminders of her malady. She could feel the blood of the physician on those cold fingertips. Her actions killed him. She killed him.

Then, as if it read her thoughts, the eerie voice resumed. "But they would have executed you solely because you are different."

So you’ve returned? Why she decided to speak to the voice, she could not explain. Her frayed nerves and emotions needed little explanation. Perhaps she was losing her mind. Who are you?

"A friend. A ghost. Does it really matter? All I know is that at this moment you are a very lost and lonely little girl who is now accused of murder. The countryside will hunt you ragged. They will spread your myth across the nation until all hear about the woman with iron claws. Clans will be constructed for the sole purpose to stab a pike through your wretched little heart. Would you truly prefer to face these tribulations by yourself, or would you welcome a kindred spirit like me to accompany you? the voice chuckled, Think of me as an extension of yourself. I exist within your soul. Only you can hear me."

Then truly I am insane.

"Very well, consider me a guardian spirit sent by your mother. You may call me Shabiri. Nia shook her head, trying to fight the dizziness that was creeping into her mind. It had to be a side-effect of her wounds, or surely the tempered effects of the medication administered by Sucret. Worse yet, perhaps it was metal poisoning from the grafts. The alloys could have sickened her blood. Her father was a genius, but surely it bordered on madness considering what he did to her! She was little more than an experiment! You doubt my very existence. Believe me, my dear, I am as real as you are. I can peer into your soul. I know that as a child you were the target of countless malicious acts from the other children. Your mother tried to protect you but there was only so much she could do. Recall when they left you alone outside in the garden while they played upstairs, knowing full well you could never follow. Or better yet, recall when the boys carried you to the rubbish bin and locked you inside. How pathetic you were, crying for help with those useless twigs with flesh you called legs. How long did it take them to finally discover you? A day, two? Or what about after your mother’s tragic, dismal death-"

Enough! she screamed, visualizing her traumatic past again and again. Your point has been made, I need no further torment! Delusion, angel, or demon, it makes little difference, as you say. What should I do? I cannot return to the villages and I certainly cannot return to my father. Where can I go if the nation views me as a murderer?

"Forward. What other way is there, little Nia? With me, you shall never be alone. I shall never forsake you."

So you've said... The forest was still, unmoving and quiet with each step she made. The moon seemed to lament over her with sickly yellow rays. Eventually the hounds and their surly masters faded away. Shabiri, I want to leave Sorcière. If you can peer into my soul, eradicate my sorrow. Purge my memories, I want to forget everything!

"I believe that can be arranged. Continue further, just ahead there is a road." Nia did as instructed and found the bend of the road even in the darkness. A fog bank embraced the dirt as she edged closer. Hoping not to be seen, the rattle of a carriage dashed her spirits. She darted back into the trees once more as the carriage moved closer. Two lamps glowed, flanking a pair of black horses that leisurely trotted. It was a road they knew well and the comfort showed in their pace. The coachman cracked his whip the instant the horses began to hesitate. Something brought fearful whines to their throats. The beasts refused to press forward as if some large predator was about to pounce.

Cursing, the coachman tightened his grip and unleashed a barrage of flicks from his whip. Bloody devils, what are you afraid of! Look sharp! But the creatures would not obey. The instant they neared Nia's location they fought against their master, nostrils flared, eyes bulging. Each breath brought a wail of dread. With his crop and whip no use, the coachmen dropped from his perch and gave the nearest horse a slap on the rump. There's nothing there! You'll be butchered for certain unless you move!

What is the matter, Giles? Why have we stopped? the man within the carriage sounded more than a little irritated at the delay. His voice was richly accented, indicating his noble bearing. No doubt he was a lord of some estate in this part of the country, hurrying home for a late dinner. Nia crept as close as she dared, peering through the leaves like a curious child. She tried to image what the mysterious nobleman looked like as he waited impatiently.

Aye, something spooked them. Please ignore it, my lord. They will continue before you know it. Turning back to the horses, the driver growled a series of curses, You hear that? Get it moving!

Now Giles, that is no way to get them to listen. The door to the carriage swung open with a warm chuckle. Offer them some carrots. If they remain frightened, they will never listen. You first have to calm them. The gentleman wore a commanding smile under a trimmed black mustache. Sitting neatly across the bridge of his nose was a pair of gold-rimmed glasses shielding dark, intelligent eyes. Wearing a black suit, jacket, and silver-threaded vest, the fellow wielded an impressive cane of steel with black-gloved hands. There was no doubt in Nia's mind that the gentleman was exceptionally rich. A sturdy top hat with a curled and oiled brim along with a cloak lined with sheepskin was donned as he stepped lively to where the horses panicked.

Yes, my lord. Submissive with each gesture, Giles hastened to a box beneath his bench on the carriage and retrieved two carrots. I tell ye, the sooner your automated carriages are finished the better.

Ah yes, but when that day comes, these beasts will lose their place. Their majestic beauty will be forever lost to the metropolis populace. With a gentle pat and smile, the gentleman sighed. They shall be missed, but ah, that is the price of progress.

Nia was enchanted by the mystery man and his unique accent. She was so enthralled that she momentarily forgot herself and her pain. Never before had she witnessed such a handsome man with her own eyes. Imagining a muscular frame under the rich coat and vest, Nia nearly swooned. Her fascination was immediately halted when her head began to crack under the beating of her heart. The agony stormed over her once more with vengeance. With a meek cry, Nia tumbled forward, breaking through the verdant brush. It was a youthful mistake but one that she could not prevent.

Collapsing into the road, Nia clutched her head and closed her eyes, praying softly that they wouldn't see her. My word, what is this? the gentleman remarked with a wry smile. Giles, it seems we have been spied upon. He knelt beside her and cradled her chin