Bayaal sat on the edge of the dock in Clear Well. The morning was bright and crisp. The sea air felt rough and uncaring against his legs as they sat floating in the water. He watched as a small carp swam up to his toes, filled with a mix of curiosity and hunger.
Bayaal watched as fishermen pulled long nets from the water. A series of seven piers came to life abruptly and suddenly on the beaches of Clear Well. Each pier, lined with fishing nets that are pulled out with the waves each night and collected in the morning. Bayaal watched as the fisherman pulled their bounties from the net. A healthy mix of small salmon, carp, and trout.Nothing impressive mind you, fishermen were not allowed to leave the piers to cast their nets, they could collect only as far as the water would carry their anchors.
Bayaal had heard tales from the elders about times when fishermen would leave the beaches in small fishing boats; the kind that are now only permitted on the various inland waterways of Mephissa. It has been well 600 winters since sailing on the ocean had been universally outlawed in Mephissa. The kingdoms in Mephissa may have their differences, but all could agree; all who mounted the ocean water in the fever of glory or in the visages of starvation; never returned.
A sudden crash caught Bayaal’s attention. From his own pier Bayaal could see a fisherman struggling to control a rather large catch, sometimes the earth goddess could be generous. Sometimes larger catch would find its way into the fishermen's nets. Bayaal watched as the large carp fought against the fisherman's waning grasp. The fisherman’s colleagues made no move to help the struggling man. Instead they were all bent over with laughter. It was apparent they were not laughing at him, but laughing at a situation they had all found themselves in before. It was a scene that brought a smile to Bayaal’s face.
The young man of twenty winters, sat staring at the smile that had crossed his own face, from watching the fisherman, in the calm reflection of the ocean. He admired the features he had come to appreciate from his parents. When Bayaal was younger, he was teased for having ginger hair like his father. His father would always tell him;
“Bay (his fathers own personal nickname for Bayaal), those kids don’t know what they're saying. Faynal the mother goddess had the brightest, most beautiful ginger hair, almost as good as yours and mine. If they want to mock you, they’re mocking the goddess!”
Bayaal, loved when his father would call him “Bay.” It was like a small secret they kept between themselves. When his father would call him Bay, it was always followed by a piece of life advice Bay’s mother would never approve of. But that was okay, because it was their secret. And now that his father had returned to the mother goddess two winters ago, the small secrets they shared all of Bayaal’s life meant even more. They were the small pieces of his father that were always with him.
Bayaal couldn’t help but note his striking blue eyes that were a direct copy of his mothers. His mother always joked that their eyes were icy because they were a cold hearted bunch. But Bayaal knew this wasn’t the truth. His mother was the kindest person he knew. His mother, Sayth, made sure Bayaal knew how much he was loved, even more since his father’s passing.
Once, when Bayaal was younger, he had climbed to the top of the sacred tree of life in his village and his mother had been wrought with worry. This was the tallest tree, in the center of the village. This tree had provided fruit to Bayaal’s ancestors when their small village was just a small tribe dropping seeds in the dirt, just to see what would happen. The tree of life represented the villagers agreement with the mother goddess. Faynal provided this tree for the villagers to eat. To sustain themselves, to prosper even. In return, Faynal just asks that the villagers take care of, cherish, and venerate this sacred tree. And they had done just that.
Every winter solstice the villagers gather around their sacred tree. They set up celebrations and games to celebrate the end of the winter. They burned incense and gave thanks to Faynel with prayers and songs. Every day forward was longer, more full of life. A life the villagers understood was sacred. During the summer solstice, the villagers celebrated again. They gave thanks to their mother goddess. Thanks for allowing them to sustain themselves for another year. By all accounts, Faynal, the god of the realm in which Clear Well sat, was merciful and caring.
Bayaal noticed that the carp that had been examining his feet curiously, lazily swam off in search of an easy meal. With that thought, Bayaal realized he was hungry himself. The sun had risen to the position that signaled to the fishermen and farmers that it was mid morning. Bayaal had spent well over two hours watching the fishermen enjoy themselves on the docks, and lost in his own thoughts.
With one final peak at himself in the water, Bayaal swung his feet back onto the dock and slowly righted himself. He stretched purposefully, relishing every pop that sprung forth from his young joints. Bayaal made a mental note to himself to ask the medicine woman Tayna for something for his shoulder. With one last gentle sigh, Bayaal started off down the pier back towards the beach. He continued to walk the expanse of the pier as a new commotion drew his attention to a pier further down. A fisherman had fallen off the pier. This in and of itself isn’t dangerous to the fisherman. Regardless, his friends, no longer laughing, scrambled to heft him out of the water. With one vigorous tug, the fisherman came flying out of the water, crashing into his friends. He began to laugh nervously, attempting to mask the sudden anxiety that had just filled the air. The fishermen knew they had nothing to fear close to the shore, but this snapshot of logic did nothing to quell the tales of terror that had been ingrained in every Mephissian for the last 600 winters at bedtime. The fishermen knew there was nothing to fear, but no man wanted to gamble with their life to find the point of no return. So the fishermen brushed themselves off, visibly shaken, but still managing to smile and laugh.
Bayaal continued down the path leading from the beach to the village. He passed the small fisherman's shack on his right. Nothing but a small shelter to hold the fishermen’s equipment. A small timber building, it had seen more winters than any in the village. Its sea salt stained exterior had become a familiar comfort in their village. For the villagers, it represented yet another connection to their mother goddess.
On his left, Bayaal passed the timber cottages of the fishermen. From inside Bayaal smelled the sweet aroma of tea root mixed with Tinzle flower. A short and slender flower purple leaves, it’s said the mixture helps fishermen fight the cold and salt of the ocean, its aroma and vigor keeping the salty moisture out of the lungs of the fishermen. Sometimes though, tea isn’t enough. Bayaal had seen his fair share of fishermen pass before their time. Usually in bed, surrounded by family. But younger than Faynal intended. That was how life worked in Clear Well, you did your part for the village. If you needed something, the village provided it. If the village needs something, you provide it.
It was that thought that was racing through Bayaal’s head as he stopped in front of the village storehouse to help old man Eaton move the rest of the grain from the fields into the insulated stone structure. Old man Eaton greeted Bayaal in thunderous voice filled with as much love as it was reverberation:
“Well now, is brooding over the water done for the day already? I had you scheduled for a few more hours at least.” A sly smile crossed the old man's lips.
From anyone else, Bayaal would have found this insulting, but not Eaton. The old man, adorned in his usual tunic and rope belt, had been the one who initially suggested Bayaal may find peace he was seeking on the pier when his father had passed. And by Faynal, he was right. Since that day, it has been a shared secret between them. Bynaal quickly responded to the old man, “Ah I figured I’d come give you a hand before your back gave out again. Hate to think of the elders replacing you with someone younger.”
A wide grin spread across Bayaal’s face before he could finish making his comment. He and Eaton both knew that no one in the village could heft bags of grain and flour like Eaton. Though his long hair was now white, pulled back and braided to match the braid in his equally white beard, he moved with the quickness and strength of someone a third his age. Bayaal watched as he tossed two sacks at a time into the large stone walled storehouse.
Without missing a beat Eaton looked back at him and with playful urgency asked: “Planning to help anytime soon?”
“Right behind ya” Bayaal returned with his own playful urgency. For the rest of the morning this is where Bayaal was, helping an old friend with back breaking labor. It felt good to him. Unbothered by straw dust and
As he was standing next to Eaton, working the morning away, he realized something. He was no longer looking up to Old Man Eaton as he had done his whole life. Now, the mountain of a man did not seem like a mountain. Instead, Bayaal stood eye to eye with him. This realization summoned mixed emotions in Bayaal. The realization that he was becoming someone, not someone he didn’t like, just someone different from whom he had been his whole life.
Old Man Eatons gentle cough pulled him out of his thoughts. “Have you heard the tale of Enwar the Unlucky?” He asked Bayaal.
“I don’t think I have.” Bayaal replied. “But I have a feeling I’m about to become familiar with it.”
The old man furrowed his brow but did little to hide the small smirk betraying his imposed anger. “Ah, well allow an old man his indulgences in his final days” Eaton replied, doing his best to imitate a frail dying man. Both men stopped and laughed for a moment. Bayaal did his best to savor this moment. The elders taught respect for those who have come before and respect for the knowledge they share.
The old man, now seated on a wooden crate shaded form the sun, gestured for Bayaal to join him. “Come..come.” he lazily sang to Bayaal as he patted the crate beside him.
“Oh well if it comes with a break then I’m in” Bayaal replied as he dropped his frame on the wooden crate beside the old man. “Let’s hear it.” Bayaal beckoned with playful annoyance.
Eaton leaned back on his crate, resting his back on the stone of the storehouse. He closed his eyes and for a moment, said nothing. Then, in a soft singsong voice, he started; “Enwar was a warrior some 400 winters ago. He was beloved in his village. He had a reputation of being a great warrior and a kind soul. But, he was glory hungry, as many young men are. One day Enwar comes to the middle of his village to find a messenger from Emberfell.”
Bayaal, having taken an interest in the story clarified, “Emberfell? Like up north, spooky mountains Emberfell?”
Eaton laughed with booming reverberation. “The one and only.” He replied in between small bouts of laughter. “Anyway, as I was saying. Emberfell sent a messenger requesting the service of a brave warrior. Enwar seeing images of glory in his head bravely volunteered, without reading the contract of course. Enwar set off. And for 5 winters no one knew what had become of him. Then, wouldn’t you know it, an ambassador comes from Emberfell on realm business and someone asked him if he knew of the warrior Enwar.”
Bayaal turned his head to Eaton and asked, “I’m assuming he was used as front line cannon fodder for Emberfell?”
Eaton laughed, not as reverberating or jovial though. “No no. When pressed, the traveler asked if they meant “Enwar the Unlucky.” Turns out the poor bastard had signed a contract to be the king's personal latrine cleaner. Moral of the story being, don’t step in shit because you want better shoes!”
Both men lost themselves in laughter at the conclusion of Eaton’s story. And that was where Old Man Eaton and Bayaal spent the rest of the morning. Working silently but enjoying each other's company.
Hours later, when the sun had just crested below its mid day gaze, Bayaal suddenly found his attention drawn away from the storehouse. The villager manning the watchtower north of town found reason to sound his warning call. The metallic clang - clang - clang pulled every villager away from their task. The farmers in the field suddenly found themselves completely upright and stiff. The fisherman had dropped their nets back in the water, a bountiful catch of different marine life swimming away in the process. Bayaal and Eaton were no exception.
For several moments, both men stood in silence at the opening of the storehouse. Their eyes were fixed north but could find no reason for the watchman's alarm. Bayaal mentally noted the shift in the old man’s posture. He was no longer slumped over holding his back from the morning labor. Eaton no longer reminded Bayaal of an old man. His eyes had narrowed with a focus that tried its best to hide the rising anxiety that was weighing heavy on every villager of Clear Well.
Suddenly, Bayaal noted movement to his right. The movement Bayaal had noticed was two of the village elders exiting the House of Cardall, drawn by the same anxiety that currently plagued the village. Across from the storehouse sat the House of Cadrall. This longhouse was once the home of Cadrall, the first village leader, and has been standing for some 800 winters. Now, it was the only governmental building in Clear Well. The elders conducted daily meetings in this building, but it was also used as diplomatic housing when “Specfield” ambassadors came to Clear Well, not that they ever did. Its rectangular walls were only rivaled in size by the storehouse that held enough grain and flower to feed an entire village. The wooden walls had long since been reinforced with stone and plaster. The outside adorned in various tapestries and symbols becking Faynal for the protection of their most sacred building. The thatched roof sloped gently upwards until meeting in the middle, the sun gleaming off the golden tendrils of plant matter protruding from the roof.
Then, as sudden as the ringing had started, it stopped. Silence fell over the villagers. Men, women, mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters all held their collective breaths. Suddenly, a distinct clang - clang from the same northern watchtower. This was the all clear signal. The watchman had deemed that whatever was coming down the path into the village was not a threat, yet.
Bayaal turned to speak to Eaton, but the old man shushed him. Bayaal understood what this meant - “We’ll talk later.” As the moments went by, Bayaal felt the ground start to shake. Soon, he saw slight wisps of what looked like dark smoke rising from the treeline. But the smoke was moving inhumanly fast. Bayaal doubted one of the cart horses would be able to keep up with whatever beast this was.
Suddenly, the source of smoke came into view on the path. At first, Bayaal had no idea what he was looking at. It reminded him of a horse carriage someone may use in the kingdom but it was four times the size and there were no horses. This “carriage” was completely made of metal! Bayaal noticed four large metallic wheels on either side of the metallic carriage. On top of those sat two compartments. It looked as though one was meant for some kind of crew and the other for passengers. The crew compartment was complete with a glass window, which Bayaal assumed a driver used to see. He noted that as the metallic carriage sped up, a large metallic tube protruding from the top of the carriage intensified its already impressive bloom of black smoke. Then, as the carriage approached the clearing of their village, it started to slow down. Its speed continually decreased as it approached the northern entrance to the village. As it came to a stop outside of the northern entrance, Bayaal noticed two things. The first being the seven heavy ballista attached to the perimeter of the metallic carriage. Each was manned by a soldier in plain blue battle garments.
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The second thing Bayaal noticed was the green and blue flag that flowed from every corner of the metallic carriage. One thing was suddenly clear, whatever this thing was, it was here on Specfield business.
The metallic carriage whistled. The piercing screech was enough to jumpstart movement in the villagers of Clear Well. Mothers and fathers suddenly ushered their children inside. Latching every available bolt in every cottage. The fishermen and farmers quickly and quietly returned to their business. No laughter to be heard.
Bayaal and Eaton met the eyes of one another. They exchanged a brief look that signaled to each man to breath, but be watchful. As the men continued staring, Bayaal was the first to speak. “What is that thing?” Bayaal asked in a tone that only slightly betrayed his own anxiety.
Eaton pondered this question for a moment. Then, after a brief pause he spoke. “Specfield has either stepped up their magic to compete with Daufim Hill or stepped up their engineering game to compete with Emberfell. Neither is good, but neither is particularly bad….yet.”
Bayaal thought this over for a moment. As he did he noticed the two elders from the House of Cadrall were no longer standing in its entryway. Bayaal watched as the man and woman slowly walked towards the northern entrance to welcome the visitors. From his position Bayaal could see the backs of the elders. He noticed the tension each carried. It had been so long since political violence had reached the small village of Clear Well. Most elders were only children when Specfield last marched on Clear Well. But Bayaal knew the memory stayed with them. Everyone in the village knew. A collective trauma is rarely forgotten.
Suddenly, from his own cottage on the northwestern side of the village center, Bayaal watched as his mother joined the elders in their advance towards the metallic beast. She wore the same tunic and robe of her companions. Her chestnut hair, speckled with streaks of gray, was neatly pinned to the back of her head with a small broach made of deer bone. Bayaal knew it was deer bone because he had made it for her himself, a small memento from his first hunt with his father.
Then, something else caught Bayaal’s eye. At his mother's waist, he noted her battle ax. An audible gasp left Bayaal. “Eaton, she has her ax.” The words felt like stomach acid in Bayaal’s mouth. “Eaton, in my twenty winters, she’s never so much as taken that sword off the wall. What’s going on?” Bayaal felt his voice raise as posed the last question to his companion.
The old man did his best to try to calm the anxiety in the young man’s voice. “Aye, she’s and elder now. For ya ma, that’s part of the dress.”
Bayaal understood and knew the old man was right. But the thought of his mothers sword leaving its place above the mantle only left him with more thoughts and questions. He made a mental note to himself to ask his mother when all this was over but did not press the matter further.
Bayaal watched as the village elders approached the northern entrance of the village, stopping inside the gap in the wooden fence that was used as an entryway for their community. The elders were now only a stone’s throw from the metallic carriage.
The ballistas atop the carriage made no attempt to move during the entire approach. Each man did however take this time to check each piece of machinery was loaded for bear.
Suddenly, the second carriage compartment opened. From his position, Bayaal could not see who or what had exited the metallic carriage. His view was blocked by the elders. He watched as his mother and her companions each shook hands with the mysterious stranger. Bayaal then watched as the elders invited the stranger into the House of Cadrall with a wave of a hand. He and Eaton made no attempt to hide their gaze as they watched the elders walk towards the House of Cardall followed closely behind by a Specfield diplomat.
The diplomat wore only a fine sky blue robe. The neck of the diplomat was adorned with a necklace of small black beads. Bayaal thought for a moment, but realized he did not recognize the stones. They were round, but no bigger than the tip of his own thumb. There seemed to be a dozen strung at even intervals across a silver chain.
While Bayaal sat lost in his own thoughts, Eaton was the first to Speak. “This oughta be interesting, aye lad?” Eaton spoke plainly and matter of factly. There was no force in his once booming voice.
Bayaal watched as the elders, his mother, and the Specfield diplomat disappeared into the house of Cadrall. Suddenly, Bayaal felt a small twinge in his chest. Then, nothing. It was as if all of the air had been stolen from his lungs. It was as if Draedad himself had reached into his chest and lit a fire, greedily stealing the oxygen his lungs were craving. As the throngs of black started to speckle his vision, he felt a familiar hand on his back. A warm beacon of sanity in the sea of panic he was feeling.
“Breathe lad, it’ll be okay” Eaton spoke in a soothing voice.
Bayaal steadied himself for a moment. He willed himself to take a small breath. His lungs happily welcomed the relief. With his vision somewhat restored, he dared take a second breath. After a few moments he felt the panic leave him. Since his fathers death, Bayaal had become prone to what Tayna calls “fits of panic.” He was grateful his friend had been here.
With his feet once again beneath him, Bayaal spoke to the old man once again, “Thank you my friend, I -
Eaton raised his hand before Bayaal could finish, “Ah don’t go getting soft on me now. There's still more grain to throw. Besides I think your Ma and the elders may be in there for a while, they just lit the hearth.” With the last observation, Eaton motioned for Bayaal to look towards the now smoking chimney of the longhouse. “Now I’m going to take a look at this great beast that sits at the edge of our village.”
Bayaal and Eaton made their way across the village center at a brisk pace. They both stopped where the elders had before them, between the fence posts. As they approached, they observed what appeared to be a battalion of crewmen at work. Both men shared a look of confusion, it was hard to know what these men were doing when they had no idea what they were looking at.
Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice spoke to them in a surprisingly cherry tone, “Good afternoon gentlemen! Can I help you?”
Suddenly Bayaal spotted one of the crew members walking towards himself and Eaton. He wore a pair of blue overalls and a white shirt, the same uniform shared by the remainder of the crew. But this man wore a matching brimmed hat, made from the same material as his overalls. He was a pale man, but years of obvious manual labor had left him the size of a warrior.
As he approached he extended his hand, “Names Gregory, I’m the crew chief.” Gregory noticed the mens obvious astonishment at the mysterious contraption. He turned to the men with a grin. “Like it?” He asked in an excited tone.
Bayaal unintentionally returned the man’s excited energy, “What is it Gregory? Is it magic?”
“No, no magic here, unless you count the engineers, but they just use flame runes to heat the furnace” Gregory explained expecting the men to understand.
Eaton spoke next, “So it's a big metal carriage, is that what I'm understanding?” Eaton asked in his now returned reverberating voice.
“You boys wanna see inside the engine room?” Gregory asked with an eyebrow raised.
Bayaal and Eaton shared a look between them, it screamed “Don’t tell your mother.”
As Bayaal and Eaton followed their new companion to the rear of the carriage they observed various teams at work. A team of three engineers were attending to the wheels of the carriage. Using small tools to make certain various parts were tightened and slathered with some kind of black goo. A second team could be observed testing the integrity of the chimney atop the carriage, ensuring there are no blockages.
“What are they cleaning at the top of the chimney?” Bayaal asked as they approached the rear of the carriage.
Gregory stopped to answer before proceeding. “That tube is what vents the furnace below. They need to clean it everytime we stop to make sure there are no blockages. It would be lights out for everyone in the immediate area if a blockage were to spark.”
“What powers it?” Bayaal asked matter of factly.
“Coal!” Gregory exclaimed. His grin now widening. “This baby runs on steam, powered by coal.”
Bayaal was suddenly reminded of a time when he was young. He had just seen his eighth winter. His parents had brought him to visit Specfield. It was the first time he had ever left the village of Clear Well. He remembered the smells, the people, all the noise, it was wonderful. But what he remembered most was the demonstration that had happened in the city center. The Specfield engineers were showcasing a new invention. Being young at the time, Bayaal had no idea what he was looking at. All he remembered from the demonstration was the large metallic beast in the square and his mother and father each grabbing one of his hands to comfort him. But now, Bayaal knew what the engineers were demonstrating, an earlier version of Gregory's own metallic carriage.
“I’ve seen something like this before, '' Bayaal said matter of factly.
“Really? Where?” His companions both asked in unison.
“When I was younger. Mother and father took me on a trip with them to Specfield. The engineers were doing a demonstration in the town center. I didn’t know what it was at the time, but I think it might have been this.” Bayaal finished and looked at his new companion.
Gregory furrowed his brows for a moment. He closed his eyes, as to beckon a lost memory forward in his mind. Then, his smile returned. “Would this have been ten winters ago?” He asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.
“Wait, yes, how’d you know that?” Bayaal asked, confused.
“Well what a small small realm!” Gregory exclaimed excitedly. “It just so happens that about ten winters ago, I debuted the first model of this beauty. Yep, she moved at a snail's pace. And didn’t properly vent, but she inspired what you have in front of you today.” Gregory was beaming with pride. “Now, let's see the guts and glory.” With that last word, Gregory resumed his determined pace towards the rear of the carriage.
“It really is a small world,” Bayaal thought to himself. Bayaal and Eaton followed Gregory. Matching his brisk pace. They now found themselves positioned behind Gregory, Staring into a compartment that ran the entirety of the carriage. The ceiling of the compartment was just short enough to require the men to duck before entering. Bayaal could reach out and touch both sides of the compartment without extending his arms. He and Eaton followed Gregory to the bowels of the metallic beast.
As the group approached the center of the beast where the engine was located, Bayaal started to notice the increase in pipes of various sizes and lengths running from end to end on the ceiling of the compartment. It became necessary, more than once, to crouch down even further in the already cramped and claustrophobic space.
Suddenly, the small narrow passage opened into a wider work space, with the narrow passageway continuing further ahead. The compartment was dark and cramped. Inside there were three men going about their duties. Bayaal noticed various pipes and valves protruding from the behemoth machine. Surrounding the engine sat piles upon biles of coal. The dust created from the shifting of the coarse mineral filled Bayaals lungs.
Bayaal watched two of the workmen, their uniform overalls unbuttoned and hanging at their waist, resume shoveling coal into the monster engine. He watched as sweat began to form on the foreheads of each man. The rhythm the men created was hypnotic. Toss - toss - scrape - scrape. Toss - toss - scrape - scrape.
“Ready for the show?” Gregory asked excitedly, a small gleam of insanity present in the question.
“Sho-” Before Eaton could finish his question, shouting filled the compartment, “Clear!”
Bayaal watched as the third engineer walked over to the engine. For the first time, Bayaal noticed the strange symbol carved into the center of the door, of the coal compartment of the engine. It was a small circle, surrounded with protruding lines, it reminded Bayaal of a crude drawing of the sun, the difference being the large diagonal line running through the center.
The third engineer stopped in front of the symbol. The engineer brought his palms together in front of his face. In a low tone, he began chanting into his hands, still brought together in front of his face.
Suddenly, the engineer's hands were engulfed in a strange blue flame. The engineer gave no signal that he felt the heat. Then, with one seamless movement. He slapped one hand against the strange symbol on the door.
In the next few moments, Bayaal felt the compartment he was in come alive. The air was suddenly filled with heat and steam. The innards of the strange metallic beast roared to life. It was loud, one of the loudest things Bayaal had ever heard. He watched as the engineers scrambled to turn every valve, and pull every lever in the correct order. There was no spell for this type of magic, no incantation or curse. Only the will of man.
“Isn’t this amazing!” Gregory shouted towards the men. With that, Gregory beckoned Bayaal and Eaton followed him outside.
Bayaal followed Gregory close, ducking when he ducked, stopping when he stopped. Behind him, Eaton did the same. Finally, they were greeted with the welcomed sensation of clean air in their lungs.
After the men had excited the carriage, Gregory closed the hatch behind them. “So?” He asked, watching the newcomers, unaccustomed to the bowels of the beast, breath deeply trying to catch their collective breaths.
Bayaal thought for a moment before responding, “It’s beautiful. I couldn’t imagine working down there all the time though.”
“Well we aren't down there all the time. Each station is on a rotating shift. Everyone does a shift in the belly, then comes up for air.” Gregory noticed the looks of concern on the faces of both of his companions. “Don’t worry guys! It’s ventilated down there!” Gregory did his best to put on a face that exhumed confidence.
With that, all three men broke into laughter. Bayaal and Eaton bid their new companion farewell. They had enjoyed their tour of the new machine. New innovations do not happen as fast in Clear Well, nor were they quick to spread in the realm.
As Bayaal and Eaton made their way back to the storehouse, Bayaal made an observation. “Well Eaton, I guess you were right.”
“I mean always, but remind me what I’m right about.” Eaton spoke in a fake bravado dropping off quickly.
“You said Specfield either upped their magic or engineering, I think they did both.” Bayaal said, awaiting his companions' response.
Eaton thought for a moment, then stopped walking just short of the storehouse. He dropped his voice, beckoning Bayaal to join in a private conversation. “I think you’re right about that. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about it.”
“Are you sure that’s not just the fear of the unknown talking old man?” Bayaal asked playfully.
The old man did not return his humor. In a hushed tone he said, “Lad, I don’t care what anyone calls it, that’s no carriage, that’s a war machine.”
Bayaal was unsure how to respond to Eaton, the kingdoms didn’t war anymore, there was no need for a war machine. “Was there?” he thought to himself.
Suddenly, Eaton righted himself. The old man stretched, cracked his back, and started towards the storehouse. “I need a nap.” he called to Bayaal behind him. “Wait, for your ma’ to get done, I’m sure she’ll have something to say when she finds out you went inside a metal beast today.”
Bayaal watched as Eaton disappeared into the storehouse with the last word. He noticed for the first time that the sun was starting to set over Clear Well. The final rays of light were disappearing behind the mountains. All around Bayaal watched as the villagers began to light lanterns, candles, fires and lamps. Clear Well was not without light for long.
Bayaal noticed one of the elders exited the house of Cardall to light the various lamps hung around the longhouse. “The chimney’s still burning.” Bayaal thought to himself. “She’ll be in there awhile yet,” he thought, wondering when his mother would be home.
Suddenly, Bayaal realized something else. He was tired. The day had been long and his muscles ached. His chest burned from the panic of the day. He was unsure of many things but in this moment, he knew he only wanted the cool embrace of sleep. With one final look to the villagers around him, Bayaal crossed the village center to his cottage, disappearing into the darkness once again.
