Chapter Text
Knowledge, as any other treasure, wasn’t accessible to every person who sought it. Wisdom was confined into the minds of those powerful, like the deacons of the churches , and only reachable by those working under them. It was exactly the case for the knowledge of the Church of Steam and machinery, but instead of only being trapped inside the minds of the inventors, it was also contained in the mazes of words that belonged to their grand library.
Among piles and piles of books, each of them from different fields, ranging from chemistry to physics, engineering and metallurgy, there was a young lady trying to comprehend its contents; however, she wasn’t successful. Not because the topic was hard to understand, no, there was something gnawing at her mind; a recurrent thought invading her brain, not letting her focus on what was before her.
Had it been the day before, Melissa wouldn’t have had this problem, her only concern would be staying at the library for a prolonged amount of time, not noticing when the sun hid beneath the horizon. She would have marveled at all the information, and how all the fields of sciences, at some point intersected. While her focus always laid on machinery, she wouldn’t deny that other fields, such as chemistry, also held their own charm. When the knowledge of acid, bases, and solubility, combined with hydrolysis and titration, Melissa had felt a burst of satisfaction at how everything seemed to blend. How what was discovered, followed a certain pattern — one of science and logic.
That satisfaction wasn’t present now.
How could she feel satisfied when everything that she had ever believed had been turned upside down?
Science wasn’t the only force that ruled over the universe, there was another one that she had always thought as just a mere superstition. It was proven otherwise, when the mystic was now part of her life.
The week before, her former teacher at the Backlund University of Technology and Industry, Portland Moment, had offered her an opportunity she never thought possible, and that morning, after a long time pondering, she had come to a decision.
The savant potion, that by all means should have taken her to soar new highs, understand the how’s and why’s more easily due to an enhanced memory, was now causing a thunderous distraught that festered with each minute that passed by.
Too many years were left behind. She had graduated from university, Lucy had given birth to a wonderful daughter, and Benson was a caring husband and father. Everyone had taken a step towards the future, but Melissa felt she did not. She felt stagnant, left behind; everyone was moving forwards without her, and she, instead of following their steps, turned her head backwards and gazed at the past. A so distant past, that now she was able to recall every single detail of. A so distant past that now that she remembered it without the blocking mist caused by time, felt inconsistent.
As she had discovered, science wasn’t the only governor. mysticism also had a throne besides it, and Melissa was sure it had lingered around her before, but she hadn’t noticed the traces it left.
The most obvious one, was Merlin Hermes. The wandering magician that made men disappear in front of her as it was a simple trick in a magic show and had granted most of her wishes. But her memories revealed something she hadn’t noticed before, now that she did though, she wasn’t able to focus on anything else, like she had a faint idea of what parts of the machine were the ones making a mechanism fail, and yet, she couldn’t quite pinpoint at the exact one. It consumed her whole attention and made her feel that if she didn’t get to the bottom of this, restlessness would surely follow her until she found the answer that would make the gears turn again.
Melissa sighed and adjusted her glasses. Countless hours spend staring at letters with only the dim light of the moonlight had worsened her eyesight. She had sacrificed it in order to learn more, and not be discovered by Benson at two in the morning with her nose deep into the books and blueprints due to the dim lamp that somehow, was able to alert him that she wasn’t asleep. Why was Benson up at such an ungodly hour? The answer was simple: a child wasn’t the easiest to manage when she was a bursting source of energy.
She stood up, picked all the books she had grabbed — most of them left unread — and put them back to their respective sections. Her body did the motions automatically, her mind though, was focused on something else.
The ever-present doubt that had appeared after she consumed the Savant potion, once again reared its ugly head. Memories pointed back at Tingen, a city that had always left a sour taste in her mouth whenever she recalled it, which was often. It would be more accurate to say that rather than Tingen, it pointed at the person that rested inside one of its graves and caused a deep grief she had never gotten accustomed to.
Klein had acted strange before his demise. Unexplainable actions, changes in routine and secrets buried along side him made her believe that he had been a Beyonder, something well hidden behind the doors of his room and probably under the so-called security company he worked for.
What she wanted to desperately do, without any hesitation or doubt, was to take a steam train back to Tingen, and ask in every corner she could find about her brother. Put the pieces given by those who had interacted with him together and arrange the puzzle that would reveal the truth.
She could not.
Benson and Lucy needed help, his teacher had started a new project and would require her skills, and she just couldn’t leave Backlund right after consuming the potion. How would she explain her departure was only due to vague clues from her memories?
Leaving the section of the library that wasn’t restricted to her, Melissa stumbled into a familiar face.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bernard.” Melissa greeted him with a neutral expression.
“Ah, Melissa, glad I stumbled into you. I have something to tell you.” Ikanser Bernard hair was combed and while it was a bit messy, it didn’t look disheveled. In casual conversations with the members of the Machinery Hivemind they had told her that his hair used to be frizzled and stubborn. Melissa wanted to ask him what hair products he used to but refrain from doing so.
Melissa just stared at his face, waiting for him to continue.
Ikanser, already used to Melissa’s seriousness, continued, “Portland is in his workshop, he said he has a gift for you.”
Melissa nodded, thanked him, and left.
Ikanser continued walking towards the library. He was glad there was a new inventor working for the church, even though her faith was in the Church of the Evernight goddess. With time, she could see Melissa being nurtured into a great Artesian. The only complain he had towards her, was that the air of solemness around her made her feel distant, as if she refused to get to know someone far beyond an arm’s length.
*
When Melissa opened the door of the workshop, Portland was hunched over, with a wielder in his hand and his other stained with a black liquid. He lifted his wielder mask and smiled at Melissa, “There you are, I thought you would never come.”
“Hello. Ikanser said you had something to give me?” Straight to the point, Melissa asked.
“That man can’t keep a secret,” Portland cursed under his breath. “Now that all his secrets aren’t being exposed, he goes around merrily telling the secrets of other people! It was supposed to be a surprise.”
Portland put the wielder down. He walked to one table filled to the brim with different machinery parts, the only exception being a book with the letters “The Crazy Adventurer” plastered in its cover. He cleaned his hand by rubbing it against his black pants. “By the way, have you been hearing or seeing things?”
“Yes. Just barely audible whispers.” Melissa watched as her teacher went over the pile of items, not finding what he was looking for.
“That’s normal. As I told you before, ignore them. Also don’t forget cognition, it really helps.”
Melissa nodded; she would do just as advised. While she didn’t truly grasp the gravity of the concept known as loosing control, she knew the advice of her seniors should be followed, just as when her teacher enlightened her on what was the problem of her work.
“Aha! There it is!” Portland excitedly exclaimed, he grabbed the gift and put it in her hands.
He didn’t notice Melissa’s expression and continued talking, pulling down his wielder mask. “I noticed that you kept this in one of the drawers in your desk and modified it. It’s your welcoming gift to the world of Beyonders. Basically, if you turn the handle clockwise, it can relax those who hear it and make them feel purified. If you turn it counterclockwise, the melody will put them to sleep.”
Melissa shallowed the lump in her throat, and said, “Thank you.”
Oh, and Melissa was thankful. Thankful Portland had his back turned so he wasn’t able to see the way her lips trembled.
There was a reason why the music box was gathering dust in one of her drawers instead of being placed on top of the desk, where she could let her mind wander while listening to its unique tune.
“Don’t mention it. Use it if you find yourself in a dangerous situation.”
“I will.” Melissa was glad her voice didn’t waver.
“That’s all. You can go back to whatever you were doing before. Finish reading as many books as you can. Come back tomorrow afternoon, I will need your help to continue the project.”
“I will.” Melissa, like a broken recorder, could only repeat those words.
She didn’t look at the music box longer than necessary, and immediately stored it inside her bag.
With hasty steps, Melissa left the premise. She didn’t follow Portland’s instructions, her mood dampened and memories replaying like a never-ending play. Melissa hopped on her bicycle and pedaled to her home. The wind felt refreshing in her face, apart for how practical the bicycle was, she was in love with the feeling of freedom it gave her, the coolness clearing her mind.
Along the way, she stopped in the bakery that had been recommended by her former classmates months ago, the place that others sang praises to and now she regularly frequented. It was near the Tussock River, so sometimes, near its bank, people would sit lazily, gazing blankly at the ripples formed in the water.
Melissa placed the bicycle to the side, putting a lock in it so no one would steal it. As she approached the door of the bakery, Melissa noticed that there was a woman with long dark hair mumbling nonsense while biting her lip, “This cant be a coincidence, right? My conclusion would be the only logical development. There is no way I’m wrong, there are too many similarities. The time frame matches too.”
Abruptly the woman turned her face, her blood-shot eyes met with Melissa. Her black hair was disheveled, unbrushed and unkempt, as if she had forgotten what a comb was. It was how Melissa imagined Ikanser hair had been based on the stories of others. Melissa felt that she could fall in the dark pit beneath her eyes or between the shadows between her sunken cheeks.
“The names are basically the same…” The woman’s mumbles turned into something incomprehensible.
Ignoring the woman, Melissa entered the bakery, and was greeted with the fragrant scent of freshly baked goods.
The old lady in the counter greeted her with a smile, “How are you sweetie?”
“I’m fine,” Melissa answered, as always, whenever she came to the bakery, she exchanged pleasantries with the owner, “What about you, Mrs. Moreau?”
“I’m fine darling,” Mrs. Moreau smile was always sincere, as if interacting with Melissa brought joy to her day. “Business is booming!”
“How could it not? Your food is so unique and tasty.”
“Thank you! It is not that unique where I come from but whatever,” Mrs. Moreau shrugged, “anyways, what can I get to such a responsible lady in such a lovely day?”
The day wasn’t lovely, nor was Melissa being responsible. Still, while probably butchering the pronunciation, Melissa said, “three buñuelos and two Almojábanas, please.”
She loved the taste of whatever came out from Mrs. Moreau oven, it was as if she had a magical touch that turned anything into delicacies.
“Right away.” Mrs. Moreau was a lively person for someone so geriatric.
As she waited, Melissa observed the other food in the bakery. Most of what entered her vision were pastries she didn’t recognize, but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. In the last two years, new recipes had been popping out of nowhere, a sudden creativity bursting from the most ordinarily of people. recipes weren’t the only thing: new books, poetry and inventions were created, heck, even certain people talked among themselves in foreign languages. They weren’t Jotun, Elvish or Hermes, nor they were Loenese or one from a primitive Island. They were completely new, bemusing historians and etymologists alike.
Some even claimed to have deciphered the secret language created by Emperor Roselle, which was obviously false, by the outrageous statements they claimed were written. Stuff like, “The taste of a demoness ain't bad” was clearly something they invented, perhaps for attention or because they thought it was funny. Which was not, since Melissa had been excited when she heard Roselle’s texts had been deciphered, the inner workings of a brilliant mind laid bare.
“Here, dear.” Mrs. Moreau handed her a paper bag, bringing back Melissa from her thoughts, “It’s three soli and five pence.”
Melissa handed her the corresponding amount and said goodbye to Mrs. Moreau. Her crow feet were more pronounced with the bright smile as she wished Melissa had a wonderful day.
As she was getting back on her bicycle, Melissa noticed the haggard-looking woman staring at the paper bag with such intensity that made her skin break into goosebumps.
Tentatively, Melissa grabbed one of the buñuelos and offered it to her. The woman, not expecting such action, looked taken aback. When she came back to her senses, her hand was already clutching the crispy and spherical food as if it was a treasure, perhaps a pearl.
“Thank you,” The woman uttered, the look in her eyes unnerved Melissa
Melissa nodded and started pedaling again. She didn’t notice how the woman looked at her retreating figure, as if she had taken the moon down from the sky and offered it to her.
*
“I’m back!” Melissa raised her voice, alerting Benson and Lucy of her arrival.
“Right on time, lunch is almost ready.” Lucy voice came from the kitchen, she was stirring a pot.
Melissa entered the kitchen, and offered Lucy one of the Almojábanas she had bought, “Where’s Benson? The pastries will get cold if he doesn’t eat them now.”
“He’s in the office, the little gremlin just fell asleep.” Lucy received the food. She was smiling fondly, as she always did, when she talked about her daughter. “How was your day?”
“Fine, there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.” After the lie left her mouth; a sudden thought struck Melissa’s mind. Was this what Klein did? Lying about how his day went, what he did in the so-called security company?
“That’s good then, I’ve heard that lately crime rate has risen so you need to be careful.”
They talked for a few more minutes, Lucy explaining how Benson had taken care of the child for the whole day with a dreamy look in her face. Benson was an amazing husband, and he wasn’t helping Lucy preparing lunch only because he was, what Melissa liked to call, a health hazard on the kitchen.
Melissa walked to the office, which was actually a small room plastered with doodles made by her niece and knocked twice. Not hearing anything from behind the door, Melissa knocked again, this time harder, still there was no answer.
Melissa turned the knob, and what she saw didn’t surprised her at all. Benson had fallen asleep in top of his desk, scattering the piles of documents onto the floor. She let an exasperated sigh and started picking them up.
Among them was a newspaper that reported gossip about a variety of people. It ranged from play actors, renowned chefs, important politicians and religious figures. Melissa’s interest was captured by one of the titles.
It read: “Shocking! Leonard Mitchell writes a poem that doesn’t suck!”
If it were any other name, Melissa would have scoffed and turned the page, however, she could match a face to it.
Leonard Mitchell. How could she forget him? Even if her memory wasn’t enhanced with the potion, she would recognize that name anywhere. That man had been the herald of grief, the one who informed them about the death of Klein.
Hadn’t Leonard said he worked with Klein? Then… was he a beyonder too, wasn’t he?
If Melissa couldn’t go to Tingen, then why not ask someone who had been there in the turning point of her life?
Grasping the newspaper tightly, making creases appear as she held it, Melissa started reading the article.
It mentioned Leonard was a high-ranking deacon of the church of the Evernight goddess. Apparently, he had been trying to publish poems; an unsuccessful endeavor, when his prose seemed to be written by a dyslexic five-year old who picked words that rhymed and hoped for the best.
If Leonard was part of the church, then at some point he had to be a Nighthawk. Her teacher had explained the names of the official Beyonders belonging to each church. And if Leonard had been a nighthawk, and he worked with Klein, then was Klein one, too?
Melissa kept reading the article. There was a drawing of Leonard Mitchell in a corner. It seemed as if his green eyes were staring back at Melissa; the thin line of his lips mocking her. His hair went past his shoulders, his clothing wasn’t properly buttoned or ironed, and his hands were covered by red gloves.
The poem was titled the magician. While it wasn’t the best, it was passable, or that was at least what the reviews of it affirmed. For Melissa though, the poem was unbearable, since it left a sour taste in her mouth and a burning sensation down her throat she was struggling to control.
She read the poem multiple times, like she was a normal person trying to memorize its contents, and not a Savant that with just one glance would recall its entirety.
Melissa recited the poem word by word inside her head.
“The Magician:
The magician roaming the streets
With a robe and a hat
Does something he always repeats
Wherever his feet land.
With a quick snap,
He makes buildings appear,
Makes audiences clap,
Calms those living in fear.
The magician with an odd machine,
One covered with pipes and gears,
Has the ability to foreseen,
What will happen in the next beat.
The magician with a calm smile,
Grants the impossible to those who ask,
Protects the miserable child,
Has made granting wishes his task.”
Without any doubt the poem was about the wandering magician, Merlin Hermes.
Melissa knew she needed to talk to Leonard Mitchell.