Awoken (17 page)

“You should tell me about that war in detail sometime. In fact, you just need to tell me all the history you know at some point,” Oa said throwing his hands in the air. “But for now I’ll just learn from these walls. Look! That’s a lightning forest: I like how the colors flow and swirl. It’s a nice interpretation of one,” he said, pointing happily to a drawing on the wall he recognized.

Up ahead, an Awoken was kneeling next to a wall, blasting its surface with a flaming torch. The Awoken sat back and adjusted some knobs on the tool. The flame shifted from pale green to a deep blue. The Awoken returned to the drawing, painting more strokes on the wall. The blaze from the tool left deep colored scorches on the metal. The color displayed on the metal appeared to match the color of the flame. Oa walked up and watched quietly so as not to disturb the artisan’s work. He reached over and nudged Ohm, pointing to the wall. The image appeared to be a sea of translucent blue rock, smooth but jagged in spots, like sharp stone spires rising out of great rolling dunes.

“It’s an ice storm, very fierce; but it would create the most interesting landscapes for those who could brave the weather long enough to enjoy the scenery afterwards,” Ohm whispered to clarify the strange scene for Oa.

The Awoken in front of them turned around at Ohm’s voice. “What a surprise! I didn’t know I had admirers. You must be new. I have never seen either of you around before,” she said cheerfully. Her giant apron was stained with numerous burns from her tool so it looked like a color bomb had gone off in front of her. The Awoken flipped up her goggles and held out her hand. “I am one of the artisans here; my name is Rida.”

Ohm reached out and clasped her forearm, their arms linking in a gesture of greeting. “I am called Ohm, and this is Oa. We are visitors from the edge,” he explained in a friendly tone.

“Ah yes, the Traveler. I have heard about you,” Rida said nodding. She turned and then repeated the arm clasping gesture with Oa who followed Ohm’s example even though the ritual seemed absurd.

“Did you decorate this whole corridor?” Oa asked in awe as he looked around.

“No actually, but I have done my part in works all over the city. We artisans like to collaborate so this place is always a patchwork of creativity. You should walk a while and look at it. We always welcome visitors,” Rida replied warmly.

“Actually, we are looking for Simon at the moment. He still lives here, right?” Ohm asked, hoping for some directions.

“Yes. Take this corridor. Turn left down at the end, then right, then make a second left. Go up one level and take the fifth corridor to your right. Follow that corridor down to the lowest level; Simons shop will be the third on the main strip,” Rida replied quickly.

“You know this place very well,” Oa said, impressed at Rida’s keen memory of the city.

“Thank you. I do take pride in my knowledge of this city,” Rida said with an audible haughty air. “Would you like me to write it down for you?” she asked, humored at the notion of the pair remembering her complex instructions.

“Not necessary. I pride myself on my ability to lug around a computing backpack, and Fred takes emotionless pride in his ability to remember and record everything. We won’t keep you from your work any longer, Rida the Artisan,” Ohm replied cordially.

Rida was taken aback slightly, but she laughed and knelt down to her art. She reactivated her color torch and immersed herself back into the masterpiece on the wall. Ohm started walking down the corridor. Oa watched Rida work for a while longer then ran after Ohm, overtaking his mentor at the first left turn. As they journeyed through the city, Fred would occasionally chime in to direct their movements. At one point, their path led them under one of the city’s giant spokes. They walked across the rail, passing beneath the immense conduits that ran from the center of the city out to one of the engine clusters. Oa looked up and listened to the deep hum that the conduits made as they transferred vast amounts of energy to the engines.

“Hey, Ohm, does all this energy come from the disk at the top of the central tower?” Oa asked, knowing Ohm would relish the opportunity to explain the process.

“Correct. You clearly understand the technology of the Awoken now. That tower is a sky silo. It draws on the energy of the Great Plane above us and feeds it down to the engines. The machine is complex and requires a sizable crew of Awoken to maintain it—Awoken with Kai’s skills; artisans of machinery,” Ohm lectured as they walked under the conduits. Long, narrow portholes in the giant chords allowed bright white light to spill out into the hall, guiding their steps. They walked in silence through the rest of the corridor.

Oa was lost in the many images scrawled across the surfaces of the city, portraying strange things from a world he had never known. He remembered the image depicted back on the ceiling of Bolleworth.
The Awoken in both cities are consumed with the past
, he thought to himself. With so few Awoken left, he realized all they had were their memories. Even Oa’s current purpose of battling Eol could be seen as an attempt to rescue the past. He pondered the memory-worshiping culture and the decaying world it seemed to encourage. He tried to decide if it was truly an inevitable progression as Ohm believed.

They came out from under the conduits to the other side of the city. Oa’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of numerous Awoken milling about. Some of them painted while others passed by, heading to other parts of the city with various errands and duties. Every Awoken Oa encountered would wave and call out a greeting. They treated the sight of another Awoken like a normal occurrence. Oa waved back to them and returned the greetings. He reveled in wonder at the experience of such a lively community. Fred guided them to their final turn and informed them that they had arrived at their destination. Oa reasoned that the platform they wound up on must have once been a vessel used for carrying cargo. The street was lined with shops with unique and creative signs hung out in front of each one. Oa instantly spotted Simon’s shop because the sign had a likeness of Ohm’s head wearing a hat.

“Ha! That’s your face on a sign,” Oa pointed, laughing.

“I am a good customer,” Ohm conceded.

“So I’m guessing that Simon is also your informant here. He’s the one who might know about the labs,” Oa surmised.

“Yes,” Ohm replied. “A lot of gossip and rumors go through Simon. He might know something of value.”

They walked up to the shop. “Let’s see if he still remembers me,” Ohm said, opening the door.

Oa was about to follow Ohm when his visual receptors caught sight of a strange and more interesting sign down the lane. It was more of a statue than a sign, sitting atop an archway that led into a mysterious shop.

Oa tapped Ohm on the shoulder. “I’ll meet you in a bit. I’m going to go look at another shop across the way.”

Ohm half turned and replied. “That’s fine; I might be a while. I wouldn’t advise wandering far though. We are being hunted, you know.”

“Got it. No wandering, lots of hats to see, so meet back in a while!” Oa said excitedly, backing out of the doorway. He ran down the lane, waving to the Awoken he passed by. When Oa reached the archway he stood beneath it and gazed up in wonder at the art above him. The statue, like the city, was composed of numerous chunks of alloy, each grafted together seamlessly. The differences in shade and color betrayed each piece’s uniqueness.

The figure was the body of an Awoken. It knelt with head bowed, a single arm outstretched toward the sky. Hovering above the figure’s open palm floated a small shiny object that glinted in the light as it spun. Oa instantly recognized that the object was the depiction of a soul ember. Oa looked at the figure’s chest; the cavity was empty like his own. No inscription could be found on the strange sign, which further piqued Oa’s interest in the shop.

Behind the archway, Oa could see that the curious boutique was cube-shaped with a domed roof. The structure lay grafted into a much bigger framework that housed two repurposing emporiums to either side of the modest outlet. He looked at the two signs to either side of him, reading aloud to himself:
Tunjee’s Flying Lodges
and
Ripwark’s Lodgeable Flyers
. Oa looked back and forth, and then again, trying to figure out the conflicting businesses. He gave up, shrugging to himself as he walked through the archway to the center shop. Oa pushed on the door, but it did not swing inward like the one at Simons shop had. Instead, the hatch lowered into the ground with a sharp clang. He walked through the entrance and the portal slammed shut behind him. He looked around, a multitude of various Awoken parts lay on shelves and tables that filled the shop. Several partially complete bodies of Awoken stood in rows along the wall. Oa tensed at the strangely disturbing sight. He cautiously walked toward one of the walls and picked an arm up off the shelf that held it. The arm shook slightly in his nervous hands, making a faint rattling noise.

“Do not be alarmed,” a high-pitched male voice behind Oa instructed, resulting in the opposite effect as the startled Awoken dropped the arm he was holding with a loud and awkward clatter.

“Those are not from Awoken. I do not scavenge the dead,” the voice continued. Oa spun around and looked at the diminutive Awoken behind him. He had been sitting in a chair along one of the walls the entire time, but Oa had not noticed him. He had blended in with all the other Awoken pieces scattered about.

“Well, where did you get these?” Oa asked as his courage returned, assisted by the fact that in front of him was the shortest Awoken he had ever seen. The little Awoken had a rotund body shape and an oversized coat that dragged across the floor behind him as he walked around on his stubby legs.

“I am Mordecai the Builder. I fashioned each and every piece in this room,” Mordecai replied, walking over to Oa. He picked the arm up off the floor and placed it back on the shelf.

“For repairing damaged Awoken? You probably splice them on with microburs, huh?” Oa asked trying to figure out Mordecai’s trade and purpose.

“You seem to know a little about Awoken medicine,” Mordecai said, shuffling back over to another table with some parchments and twigs of black material. Mordecai found himself a blank parchment, then grabbed one of the slender sticks. He began to draw the image of a crude Awoken on the parchment, explaining as he drew.

“Everyone wakes up already assembled. We are all comprised of water and alloys bound together by a life force that flows through us. This energy comes from the soul ember, which some say came from the sky. It is the key to the whole contraption; the soul ember gives the alloys life,” Mordecai explained. He tapped on the crystal he had drawn in the center of the Awoken to emphasize his point. “The Awoken’s body is bonded to the soul ember. No one knows how this occurs. I have studied many cadavers. Their alloys are no different from the alloys we use to make our ships and cities, but each of us can sense and feel through the alloys that make up our bodies.” Mordecai chucked an artificial hand from the table at Oa, striking him on the shoulder.

“Hey, you didn’t have to do that. I know what senses are,” Oa said, taken aback by the action.

Mordecai chuckled. “That was for dropping the arm earlier. Now do be careful with that hand,” he said absentmindedly, forgetting he had just thrown it.

Oa picked the appendage up and looked at it. It was very similar to his hand. He placed the piece back on the table. “So can the soul ember flow its energy into a new body part?” he asked, thinking of Ohm’s missing hand.

“You would think so, but it never does. Before the invention of microburs, Awoken who lost limbs would have them replaced; but they never were able to feel or move them. The soul ember is complex; and it does not accept the pieces it did not wake with. Once a soul ember has lost its body, it can never be re-awoken in that body or any other body for that matter,” Mordecai replied, drawing another Awoken without a soul ember and scribbling a cross through the figure to visually prove his point.

“Well then what makes microburs so special? They produce alloys that didn’t come bonded to the Awoken,” Oa pointed out, growing increasingly interested with the topic Mordecai was discussing. The shopkeeper did not seem to be quite as selective in divulging information as Ohm was.

Mordecai started rapidly tapping the parchment with the marker, producing many tiny black dots. “Microburs are tiny fusion devices, like little builders. The high energy of fusion bonds each new piece of alloy to the existing energy field of the soul ember, extending it gradually. It is not a perfect match, but it is almost like new. The area feels numb but can still be functional,” he explained.

“But that’s not good enough for you is it?” Oa asked, observing as Mordecai picked up the hand and began to gaze at it intensely.

“No it is not, young sir. Microburs only work to fix simple wounds. You can never recreate a whole body with them. I want to bring back the ones I love. I have devoted the majority of my life to building these parts. One day my work will be worthy enough to reawaken embers and turn back the tide of decay in this world,” Mordecai said, sighing. He set the fake hand back down and patted a tough-looking box strapped to his waist. Oa assumed it contained soul embers.

“That’s a noble goal. Just don’t go too far in your quest. I have seen the obsession to reunite oneself with the past destroy Awoken out near the edge,” Oa cautioned, remembering the Howlers of Bolleworth. He was still impressed with Mordecai’s work.

“Never!” Mordecai said in disgust. “I had a former friend try and force me to cross that line. He had a treasured soul ember he wanted to revive. He experimented with the cadavers of Awoken, trying to acquire them closer to the point of life. Things went too far when he brought me a near-death Awoken and tried to make me switch out the embers before mending the wound. He was obsessed and mad with grief. He is the reason I never want to study another cadaver.” The memory angered the old builder and he thumped his fist on the table.

“I see,” Oa nodded somberly. He picked up a piece of gear off a nearby shelf. It seemed to be a bulky monocle. “What is this?” he asked, changing the subject.