World Spawn: The Makers, #2

By Tim Niederriter

Saul finally grasps his dream, but his creations may be his undoing.

 

Even the power of gods isn't a guarantee of peace.

 

Especially when his old flame enters his life once more. His legacy is in danger, and assassins are already after him and his earth-born allies.

 

Can Saul save his friends and the world he created from humanity's first and greatest enemy?

 

"World Spawn" is fantasy adventure in the legacy of Roger Zelazny's Amber, and perfect for readers who want a quick and imaginitive departure from ponderous epics. Start with book one, "Death's Door," and fall into the chaos today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mental Cellar Publications
• Release date: Feb 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224323746

Tim Niederriter

Tim Niederriter loves writing fantasy blended with science fiction. He lives in the green valley of southern Minnesota where he plays some of the nerdiest tabletop games imaginable. If you meet him, remember, his name is pronounced “Need a writer.”

Book preview

The wheels of the semi crunched on fresh snow and the trailer rumbled behind as the truck slowed to take the exit toward Kerenger County. Headlight beams sliced across the sign that bore the name of the road that would take them east. Not far now. Irene, in the passenger seat almost managed to smile. Almost. But this was her first time riding in an automobile so large in such bad weather.

She had survived worse than this ride many times. They were almost there.

The trailer swayed with a gust of wind. Irene’s momentary optimism faded. She did not like feeling powerless. Though the driver seemed confident in his vehicle, she felt no additional comfort from that. The man knew nothing, except the lies he had been told by her and others.

This rig makes noise in weather like this, he said. Don’t worry, I’ll get us there in one piece.

She gave him a curt nod. I’d appreciate that.

He grunted. You asked me to ride along, remember?

I remember. Yes, I only had one choice. Irene had no practice driving any kind of exile vehicle, or perhaps she would have chosen to borrow one when she arrived on Earth. That would have required time on Earth. Back in the maker world, where she had been born and raised, these smoke-belching conveyances were completely beyond favor.

She would have much preferred to travel on the wing, or at least on some kind of steed. This metal beast could not compare to the beauty or cleverness of anything made back home. She sighed inwardly and gave the driver a look she hoped was endearing.

Thank you.

You’re welcome, miss. Always nice to do a lady a favor.

I suppose you would think so, Irene thought. There was a concept that bordered on charm in his obsolete attitude. She nodded to the driver but said nothing. Best to keep things quiet as much as possible.

Her time with this inelegant machine and its tedious driver would soon be finished. That would be a relief. She supposed the ride in this truck would be the least of her challenges in the near-future.

Irene Chambers had traveled across three worlds to get to Kerenger, but now, at last, she approached her destination. Part of her still felt unsure why she was bothering. Except, Saul was in Kerenger. The part of her that thought of Saul, one of her oldest and most brilliant friends, her first love, felt no uncertainty whatsoever.

The heavyset truck driver, an earth-born exile, like nearly all the other people on this backward world, kept his eyes on the road as they left the exit behind. Another sign announcing the turn for Moon Road came into view. The driver grunted and slowed the machine to take the turn.

The truck carried food supplies for Edwin Samuel Poole College, situated just inside Kerenger Town. Irene had not been lucky to find this ride, she had studied the route with care. She had taken expensive precautions in reaching Earth undetected by the council of worldmakers. The effort to keep herself off the radar of the local guardians who kept the secrets of the makers from this world’s native exiles would certainly be worthwhile.

Every guardian reported to the council. And the council would ask questions of the sort she did not wish to answer if they discovered her purpose in traveling to the Earth. Worse, they could respond at speed using the passage house in Kerenger itself as their entry point to this world. Irene wanted to talk to Saul face to face without the council’s interference.

Together, she and Saul had created a new world just a few months ago. The council could give them member status in exchange for sharing that world with them. Irene did not know if that was worthwhile, however.

The truck followed Moon Road. Irene watched the shadows of barren trees pass by on the side of the road. She kept silent as Moon Road transitioned to Black Run Road. A few miles later they took a bridge over the frozen Black Run River. The lights of the small town of Kerenger grew before them, twinkling in the night. The sky was still dark with clouds, hiding Earth’s feeble starlight.

They rumbled to a stop just inside the lot of a truck stop off Kerenger’s main street.

Irene took a deep breath. How much do I owe you? Exile money was no object. Worthless for the most part to makers, and relatively easy to replicate compared to the coinage of any state in her world.

I didn’t mind having ya, said the driver. If you could smile, I’d call us even.

Irene turned to the driver and forced herself to make the expression as best she could.

That’s alright. Don’t hurt yourself.

Irene frowned. Apparently, she had failed. She fished in her purse and found a ten dollar bill. Here. She offered the money to the driver. I hope that covers it.

I don’t need your money, said the man. He hit the door’s unlock button. Hope you find what you’re looking for.

You too, said Irene. Strange for an exile, but she felt sincere. She opened the door and climbed down from the truck, then dragged her small bag of luggage after her. He slammed the door behind her and drove off toward the gas pumps.

A trickle of annoyance seeped into Irene’s mind.

So what if she couldn’t smile on command for some fat old exile? She could create life in ways no exile ever could, whole worlds given the right material to shape. She stalked to the sidewalk. She would smile when she wanted to smile. A shadow cut the streetlights that led into town. She checked the pocket watch stuffed inside her black winter coat.

One in the morning.

She slipped the watch back into her pocket.

There had been plenty of time for Hush to catch up.

Her finest bird child circled under the streetlights again and then perched on the sign by the entrance to the lot, a hand span taller than a golden eagle, red feathers bathed in orange light. Irene walked toward him through the brisk night air. His avian eyes twinkled with inner fire that could become literal with great speed. She stopped a few paces away.

Don’t speak yet, she said, then looked around to make sure no one else was there. She saw nobody, neither human nor animal. The winter night lay still. Alright, have you seen any of Saul’s spies?

No pigeons, mistress. His voice sounded rich and completely human.

Saul had been known to make simple art-children to act as surveillance in this area. Many of them took the form of the flying rats exiles referred to as pigeons and Hush often called snacks.

Good. If he can’t see us, the council probably can’t either. Saul was on even worse terms with the council than Irene, but he had lived in Kerenger for almost five years. If the rumors were true the local guardian had just been replaced with someone far more serious. However, the new arrival would be playing catch-up to Saul as far as his or her ability to spy on the town.

Irene looked over her shoulder at the single truck by the gas pumps. Any gern about?

The monstrous creatures called abei-gern were more threatening to exiles than makers, but it would not do to go forward uncertain of their presence.

No, mistress, I cannot sense any.

Good. We may still have some time.

When she and Saul had created their new world, their had been more than one complication. The worst of those was the awakening of a monster less astute makers still thought dead. An ancient creature, one of the forerunners to the lesser gern and made of the same power source used by makers to create worlds.

With that aleph-gern’s return to the cosmic stage, who knew what would happen next. Irene knew she was partially responsible for the impending chaos, and Kerenger was where it would begin. She had traveled here to warn Saul about the possible response of the makers. She still felt enough for him to do that.

Take to the air, but stay close, she told Hush. I’ll go to the hotel and check in.

As you wish, mistress. He beat his wings and lifted off of the street sign. He sailed up past the streetlights and disappeared into the darkness above.

Irene turned with her luggage in hand and started walking toward the hotel, visible just a few blocks ahead of her.

Well, aren’t you an interesting sight, said a voice from off the sidewalk ahead of her. A woman dressed in black arrives in a small town all alone. He stepped off the snow piled alongside the sidewalk, leaving no footprints behind, and dropped the few inches onto the pavement. Does anyone at all know you are here?

He looked like a man, but one chiseled out of blue and gray marble. Despite his unnatural appearance, he could still have been human except for one thing. The energy of the spirit contained within him felt alien and hollow. Hush had judged poorly. This was an abei-gern.

Irene glared at the monster. Gern deserved caution, but not fear from a skilled maker. I’ve destroyed gern before. I will destroy you.

Hush circled lower, carrying her sword with him.

Oh, I quite doubt that. The gern’s eyes turned from icy blue to blood red. The creature leaped forward. Three feet of sword’s blade emerged smooth and pristine from one palm and thrust forward to strike, and fingers folded all the way back along the hand to form a perversely twisted basket hilt.

Irene raised her luggage to halt the gern’s strike. The blade buried in the case, and she twisted it to send the gern off-balance. She let go as the travel case burst open. Her changes of clothes fell in torn pieces to the sidewalk. Hush circled her head and she faced the gern eye to eye.

Hush opened his beak, and she reached up with practiced ease. The length of her ignition blade emerged from the art-child and rested in her grip. Try that again. She focused her spark. A strip of flames ignited along the center channel of her sword.

He freed his blade from her broken case. His eyes glittered with the flickering flames of her blade. With pleasure, maker.

The sound of sword against sword went unheard in the dead of night.

Chapter 1

Saul’s hands shaped the clay. His fingers picked out eye sockets and sculpted feathers. The pigeon began to appear, little by little in the cold light of morning.

He hated to consider the battle that awaited him and his art-children, the monster they would face. So he worked. He had crafted many new shapes but brought none of them to life except for a few spies like the pigeon. He finished swiftly.

Saul rose and walked to the latest experiment, the one not yet abandoned. Humanoid in shape. Powerful in build. Seven feet of clay on a metal armature. No face sculpted. Not yet.

He had studied, prepared, and planned, but saw little hope in the coming battle.

Apahar, the monstrous god himself, would soon return to Earth. Saul would destroy him. Or... The alternatives did not bear thinking about.

A heavy thump from the front door of the mansion rattled through the house. Somebody outside had never heard of a doorbell. The possibility that one of Apahar’s gern might be knocking on his door in broad daylight occurred to Saul. Many gern could disguise themselves from earth-born exiles and move about unnoticed. However, he doubted a gern would bother with the door at all.

He circled around the frame of the sculpted body and made his way toward the entrance hall. As he passed a table with unawakened pigeons clustered on it, he picked up a small oven rod, just in case a gern really had decided to knock on his door. The oven rod had a six-inch wooden grip and a small metal disk on one end. The metal of the rod could be activated with a maker’s inner spark to swiftly cook what it pressed against, whether that was clay or flesh. Rods like this one made useful tools and deadly weapons.

He stepped into the entrance hall and stopped at the foot of the main staircase. He had repaired the damage from the gern attack just a few weeks after returning and had meticulously painted over the patches in the wall as a way to ease his own stresses. Good as new. He only wished there was more to do because he had found it difficult to relax without repairs to focus on.

Another knock shook the door. Saul padded to the doorway in his socks. Tendrils of February frost crept up the window in the center of the door. Saul paused and listened for a moment, but a car drove past on the street, making his attempt to listen to who or what was on the other side of the door moot.

Saul took a step back from the door, oven rod ready to strike, and took a deep breath. He turned the knob.

A man and a woman stood on the porch.

He was tall with weathered skin and hair, and dark eyes. He wore a dark brown coat and a pair of blue jeans.

Her hair was black and her skin was pale. A blue-green scarf hung around her neck. Her coat was black. She nodded to Saul. Mister Burton, hello.

They had done a good job of masking their presences from a distance. Face to face, both their natures became obvious from the sensation of their inner sparks. They were both makers like him. At least neither one was openly carrying a weapon.

Please, put that thing down, said the man in a dry voice.

Saul lowered the oven rod to his side. It’s down. Who are you?

My name is Abigail Creek, said the woman. We are here on behalf of the worldmaker’s council.

Creek. The surname sent him back over four years. How could he forget a name told to him by the woman whose death had left him trapped on Earth? She had been an exile looking for a man with that name. But she had died without finding him.

Simon Cardwynn. The man extended his hand to Saul. I’ve heard your name, Mister Burton.

The woman smiled slightly. May we enter?

Saul grunted assent. He looked the man up and down. The family name of Cardwynn rang all-too-familiar in his mind. Father had dealt with worldmakers of the Cardwynn family before, but this was one Saul didn’t recognize. No visible weapons, but that could be deceptive. Both of them were concealing all but the hints of their maker sparks somehow, but Simon’s taph felt bulkier with the door open, almost too big for a human.

The taph contained the mystic essence of any living being, a part of the spirit clutched tight to the human soul and carried between worlds upon the death of the body. Makers, like Saul and these two, carried a spark of power within their taphs that earth-born exiles lacked.

Saul folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. Those names don’t mean much to me. Saul tightened his grip on the oven rod in one hand, though it was currently tucked out of sight. What do you want?

We only want to talk. Abigail folded her gloved hands together. We have news you will want to hear.

What kind of news? I’ve been exiled half a decade because I trusted the council.

Simon’s nose wrinkled as if the guardian smelled something rotten. Burton, this is about Jackal Reed.

Saul raised his eyebrows. Jackal, huh? The name of his uncle, the man who had seen Saul exiled to the Earth years before and then acted as his jailer in the small town of Kerenger, caught his attention. Jackal had also killed Molly, the girl looking for old Mister Creek. Alright. Come on in.

He let them through, then closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold. Best to be wary. Not every council member was as corrupt as the ones who backed Jackal, but Saul did not doubt Simon was dangerous. If not to Saul, then to the other exile Saul had told the truth, Olivia, who still lived in Kerenger, on Earth.

Simon unzipped his coat and looked up the grand staircase. He whistled. Big house.

My father had this house built. I just live in it.

Abigail and Simon exchanged glances.

She took off her gloves and tucked them into her pocket. Your father is a difficult man to work with, even for a worldmaker.

I’ll bet. He’s a difficult man to apprentice under for the challenges of the council. But you wanted to tell me something about my bastard uncle?

Simon brushed snowflakes from his sleeves. Jackal Reed is being investigated for corruption and has been removed from his station here in Kerenger. He is awaiting trial before a council court on Hidria.

Really? Saul’s eyebrows raised. Good news, for sure, but only if the corrupt council members Jackal worked alongside went too. Who do I talk to about ending my exile on this dull, cursed world, from now on?

Following the events of three months ago... Abigail glanced past Saul to the entrance of the workshop. ...The council has decided to review your situation. I am the representative assigned to your case.

You’re a worldmaker with the council? I’ve never heard of you before. Just the surname. Best not to let on that much.

I suppose you wouldn’t have, said Abigail. I became a worldmaker only four years ago.

Then you were in the challenges at the same time as me. Odd that I missed your name.

She shrugged. There are many aspirants, and most of them were better known than me. I often heard your name.

I knew I hadn’t met everyone. Saul narrowed his eyes. He let the oven rod drop into his pocket, though still easily within reach. So you’re a worldmaker, Creek? First in your family, I suppose.

She nodded. That is correct. I am also the senior council member you report to now. I will determine if you are fit to join the council. If the world you and Irene Chambers supposedly created can be located, that would improve your odds.

The world he and Irene had made was set to wander. Even if he knew where it had gone within the gray between, telling the council would more likely get him killed rather than pardoned unless he had the right leverage.

Saul rubbed his palms together. Flakes of partially dry clay fell through his fingertips. I assume you’re not one of the ones Jackal bought? He always had ways to keep plenty of council members on his side.

Only a foolish worldmaker would stoop to taking a bribe. Abigail wrinkled her nose. I don’t consider myself one of the foolish ones.

I see your point. How can one bribe you, when you have a whole universe at your disposal? But it happens.

Simon paced behind Abigail, moving toward the open doorway that led to the workshop. His eyes flicked toward Saul’s folded hands. Cynical.

Realistic.

The guardian snorted. You won’t listen to me. You’ll think what you like.

Saul unfolded his hands and half-turned toward Simon. Though he searched for a retort, he felt no tremors of anger from Simon’s words. Cynical, maybe, but I would rather be cynical and exiled than have to go to Hidria for punishment.

I don’t blame you. Abigail followed Simon’s gaze to the traces of clay left over on Saul’s fingers. Have you been making?

It’s not the same as having an aleph shard as raw material. Not like three months ago when everything he had imagined in the new world became real at a whim. Wistful memories of creation paraded in his mind. But I work with what I’ve got, clay and steel.

Abigail unfolded her arms. Care to show us?

In a moment, perhaps, said Saul. Best to be wary, after all, these were agents of the worldmaker council, the most powerful international body in known existence. They were tasked with keeping the laws of the worlds and strictly set against sharing the knowledge of the makers with anyone born on Earth. Saul had defied that rule twice, not least of all three months ago when he had recruited Olivia to help him.

First. He turned to Simon. Creek is the new councilmember here. Are you the new guardian?

Simon nodded. I have been assigned here to investigate the area in my role as security enforcer.

Security Enforcement dealt with gern and renegade art-children for the council, as well as exiles who knew too much. Enforcers almost never dealt with challenge disputes like the one that resulted in Saul’s exile.

Does that mean the council is taking Apahar seriously? Finally?

Apahar, the most powerful of any gern ever fought by the makers.

Apahar thought dead for millennia.

Apahar newly freed three months ago. Missing, like Saul’s wandering world.

Simon grunted. I’m here to investigate your claims about Apahar’s return and clean up Reed’s mess. Councilmember Creek will be reviewing your case to determine if you are indeed worthy of the status of worldmaker and if you should remain in exile.

Saul scowled at him. Apahar is back. If you don’t trust me, Irene Chambers could tell you the same thing.

The movements of gern are difficult to prove unless they attack makers. Simon’s calm gaze matched