The Last Spellbound House: A Steampunk Dark Fantasy Thriller
The Last
Spellbound
House
Book 1 of the War Eternal’s Ashes series
A story in the Eternity River universe
Copyright
Copyright © 2021 Samuel Simons
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.
For more information, contact eternityriverpublishing@gmail.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events in this novel are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or organizations, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Content Warning: In this story, mature themes arise. There are references to violence, to death, and to the subjugation of wills by magic and by force. One antagonist approaches sexuality in violent ways including verbal and physical assault, while others speak of such matters in more wholesome terms. Please proceed knowing that this content may be disturbing to some readers.
Editing by Michelle Dunbar
Cover by Marijke at Cutting Edge Studio
Formatted by Sophie Hanks at Cutting Edge Studio
Author Photograph by Kim Mclean
First Printing August 2021
Published by Samuel Simons and Eternity River Publishing
eternityriverpublishing@gmail.com
British Columbia, Canada
Please visit www.samuelsimons.net.
For Bonus Content including a short story, behind-the-scenes character bios, deleted scenes, and secrets about the Language of Magic used in this book, see the ‘Next Steps’ instructions at the back of this book!
Glossary of Terms:
Ancients: A general term used to refer collectively to the Fae and the Dead, the erstwhile rulers of the Liberated World.
Cycle: A single cycle of the seasons; twelve months.
Dead, the: A category of powerful, extinct magic-wielders whose power came from the mortal lives they harvested.
Fae, the: A faction of powerful, extinct magic-wielders whose power was drawn from the lifespans of mortals who knew their legends or spoke of their deeds.
Fiend: A term used in the Phoenix Kingdom to refer to any intelligent entity which is not human.
Fiend Hunters: A division of the Church of the Phoenix dedicated to finding and eliminating fiends.
Glamour: An object fashioned by Fae arts to transform Res into a Working.
Invention: An object fashioned by Dead artifice to transform Res into a Working.
Keili: The second-lowest denomination of coin in the Phoenix Kingdom: on average, one keili can buy a hot meal for one person. A hundred keili make up a sharppe.
Lens: A scholarly term in the Phoenix Kingdom for a large device capable of transforming Res into one or more Workings.
Oddity: Phoenix Kingdom slang. A human or human-appearing being with one or more Workings incorporated into their body.
Oddment: The curiosity or special power possessed by an Oddity.
Relic: A general term in the Phoenix Kingdom for any object capable of transforming Res into a Working. See Glamour, Invention, Lens, and Oddity for specific types.
Res: The Old Ancient word for magical energy. In the Liberated World, all Res is drawn from the lifespan of one or more mortal beings.
Sharppe: The second-highest denomination of coin in the Phoenix Kingdom: on average, one sharppe can feed a family of four for a month. A hundred sharppe make up a crown.
Wayhouse: A tavern or inn accredited by the Wayfinders’ Guild.
Weave: A magic-user’s term for the fabric of reality.
Working: A magical effect brought about by manipulation of Res.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Fin
Acknowledgements
Next Steps
About the Author
Call to Action
The Last
Spellbound
House
Book 1 of the War Eternal’s Ashes series
A story in the Eternity River universe
Chapter 1
The crowded Wayhouse smelled of sweat and cheap beer, but to Pyke the smell mattered little: far more important were the words being traded all around him. This rest stop was situated at the crossroads north of the town of Void’s Rim, and most of those leaving town stopped here for at least a short while. The first thing Pyke did upon arriving in any new place was to find its Wayhouse. Here, he sat and listened to the conversations of the locals and visitors, sipping at the cheapest beverage available.
Words wove through the room, forming a pattern which thrummed with energy. In his mind’s eye, the threads of conversation wove a complicated tapestry whose pattern implied a larger and more intricate artwork beyond these walls. Labourers, merchants, bounty hunters, and Relic-seekers frequented Wayhouses as a place to drink, socialize, and make transactions.
The raucous voices of the dust-covered road workers at the next table rose, and Pyke shifted his attention to their conversation.
“...heard about some Fiend Hunters not far south o’ here! Word is, they found one o’ the Ancients’ false humans skulkin’.” The speaker slammed his empty tankard against the table for emphasis, then spat on the tavern floor to ward off the ill luck said to come from speaking of ‘fiends,’ or non-humans.
“Blasted creature ain’t got a chance now, an’ good riddance,” grunted another of the men, leaning forward. “But listen, Genn’s bettin’ me two-to-one odds this one can fly, an’ they bring it down with arrows. I wagered him three keili it’s a sword what slays the fiend. You in on that bet...?”
Pyke allowed the workmen’s conversation to fade from the forefront of his awareness as a cool and familiar presence made itself known, like the faintest touch of aromatic oil at the back of his mind.
I’ll take your word for it. Pyke lost interest as the group of road workers joined their colleague in idle speculation. I won’t be betting. There’s a certain horror in the idea of wagering money on the death of any being, even a fiend. And besides, the mention of Fiend Hunters is the important information. I plan to stay well out of that inquisition’s way. They may tolerate Antiquarians, but they neither like nor trust us.
“Pah! The ale’s awful this far north, ‘n’ costs too much to boot,�
� slurred a man at the bar. “I s’pose this’s what y’get when the barrels gotta travel too far.”
The fellow next to him fixed the speaker with a lopsided grin. “Then get y’gone back where y’came from, y’great whiner! Or did y’forget we’re all here ‘cause of a lack of work down south? Southern ale’s cheap, but it’s still out of y’reach if y’got no coin.”
That story was nothing new: the work shortage came from too many people in the cities to the south, and not enough labour to be done. Still, this confirmed the effects were being felt even in a small town like Void’s Rim, three weeks’ travel by caravan from the capital city.
“Ten sharppe for the lot. Any less is a waste of my time; I’d be better off finding another buyer,” said a voice in the crisp, consonant-heavy accent of the southern Kingdom.
“Pah! I’ll pay nine and a half, if ya throw in that crate o’ clubs in the stables,” replied another in the local dialect. “That’d be generous. At ten sharppe fer jus’ fifty swords? I may as well do away wi’ silver, an’ charge the Mercenaries’ Guild an arm an’ a leg fer each blade!”
“They’d pay it. Or have you lived here so long you’ve forgotten we’re at the edge of the world? There’s not a decent blacksmith or iron mine for twenty leagues. Ten sharppe, or I walk out that door.”
“Fine. Yer a swindler.”
A chair scraped as the southerner stood with a dismissive sniff. “And you’re a sell-out. Merchants everywhere have suffered since the guilds started giving out exclusive suppliers’ rights, and people like you… feh. Just give the money here before I reconsider doing business with you or any other patsy of the Mercenaries’ Guild.”
Also not exceptional. Merchants would always be merchants, though Pyke suspected the weapons were still overpriced despite how close this place was to the Void, the sunless expanse where nothing grew and no one lived.
“Oh, Jenna, won’t you stay just a little longer?” murmured a tremulous, thready voice from the next table over. “Of late, there have been such rumours of banditry and worse on the Old Road… Your grandfather and I would be so much happier knowing you’d gone north with a caravan or a work crew.”
“Grandma, I’ve made this trip twice a week for seven cycles of the seasons,” protested an auburn-haired young woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties, reaching across the table to take her grandmother’s hands. “I’ll be late for my shift if I dally.”
The Voice noticed Pyke’s interest in the conversation.
Her grandmother mentioned she’s heading north. There’s nothing of note north of here, at least on the Wayfinders’ Guild maps.
Jenna’s grandmother took hold of her arm with a trembling hand. “Are you certain we can’t find you a good job here in town? I hear the greengrocer is looking for a shopkeep to take over sales while his wife recovers from her latest pregnancy…”
“No, Grandma,” Jenna replied, gently removing her grandmother’s fingers from about her elbow. “That would be a few months of meagre wages, then nothing. I’d never be able to bring in enough food for us all.”
“Your cousins are almost of age to work,” Grandma muttered, shaking her head. “You need not spend so much time in an awful place like that.”
Jenna grinned, pulling on a patched winter coat. “Stop worrying and let me take care of myself. My job at the Last Spellbound House pays well, and it’s steady, which is more than most in town can say lately.”
Pyke straightened in his chair. The Last Spellbound House was one of the titles the Antiquities Guild had heard for the enchanted building he’d been sent here to investigate.
“Well, Jenna, be sure you’ve got your horse brushes. Did we pack enough blankets for faithful old Rione? Feed bags?”
“Yes, yes! Honestly, Grandma, I’m a grown woman. I don’t forget such things anymore!”
Pyke let his attention wander while the two said their good-byes, but nothing else of note was taking place: just locals chattering about their daily lives; bursts of raucous laughter; barkeeps encouraging their patrons to keep drinking; and the clinking of glasses and of coins changing hands.
The clatter of commerce and revelry alike amounted to nothing more than droning background noise to Pyke. No one else in the tavern mentioned the Last Spellbound House: it was always the town closest to a given remnant of the Ancients’ technology which had learned to treat its strangeness as commonplace.
Pyke snorted at his Voice’s insistence on commenting on his idle thoughts, but his heart thumped a drumbeat of excitement. Relics, the only objects of magic left in the Liberated World, were rare and their powers were often exaggerated by laypeople. He’d hoped not to come all this way chasing a rumour, so whatever it was had better be unique and powerful.
You don’t need to remind me of that, Pyke shot back, a tinge of amusement flavouring his thoughts. We live in a world where all magic comes from someone’s lifespan. The Antiquities Guild is stretched too thin; they wouldn’t send a senior Antiquarian to investigate an easy mark. Unlike the people of this town, I view an unknown Relic on the edge of the Void as nothing less than a threat.
A slight smile tugged at the edge of Pyke’s mouth. There were those, he supposed, who would have viewed his opinion of the Relic as ironic, for the only difference most would see between Pyke himself and the Relic to the north was that one of them could be reasoned with.
Pyke was an Oddity, one of the few human beings in the Phoenix Kingdom born with one of the mixed bag of curses and special powers which used to be commonplace in the time of the Ancients. These ‘Oddments’ set their hosts apart, and often got them killed at young ages, for many were dangerous, and few were easily explained or controlled. Still, certain of these curses proved useful, and stable Oddities like Pyke were greatly sought after. They were also rare, and their origins poorly understood.
Did I ask?
Voice, you’re oddly judgemental for an emotionless… whatever you are. Pyke hid his smirk by taking another sip from his near-empty tankard. The beer was unremarkable, and Pyke found it frankly unpleasant, but being a paying patron of the Wayhouse helped him to blend in and avoid notice. Are you sure you’re not making a joke?
Pyke shook his head, grunting his disagreement into his tankard instead of bothering to argue. As far as he knew, the Voice had never deliberately lied to him, and its tone was never emotionally charged… but its way of responding to his incidental thoughts and pointing out redundant questions struck Pyke as a bit more than neutral observation.
A scrape of chairs around Jenna’s table alerted Pyke to her departure. Jenna headed for the doorway to the stables, while her grandmother began to cross the Wayhouse toward the main door. The crowd parted for the elderly lady, the out-of-towners among them staring: few people of her advanced age yet survived in the Phoenix Kingdom, and there was a certain mythos which clung to elders of the first generation after the Cataclysm. Few questioned or offered insult to those whose parents might have seen the Kingdom’s rise from the ashes of the apocalypse, or may even have met one of the Ancients.
I’ve learned everything I can here. This seems like my cue to move on.
As Jenna hurried into the stables, Pyke pushed his chair back. An out-of-place noise caught his ear through the hubbub, and he traced the sound to a heavyset man in a dark winter cloak lined with black fur. The stranger was just then
standing as well. With hurried steps, the man shoved his way through the crowd and out the Wayhouse’s front door ahead of Jenna’s grandmother.
I don’t believe in coincidences. He’s leaving because Jenna did.
Pyke lifted his black leather travel pack from its resting spot next to his chair. No one with kind intentions leaves in a hurry right on another’s tail.
I never claimed my intentions were kind. Pyke headed for the main door. I have a bad feeling about our mysterious man’s aims. I’ve avoided many an unpleasant surprise by staying alert… and by snooping whenever I can.
A blast of winter air greeted Pyke as he crossed the threshold of the tavern, pushing the doors outward. The cold failed to bother him, even as he noted its presence. It was a grey morning outside, as were most mornings so close to the Void. In a place so far from the sun-comet’s celestial track, the bright orb never did more than peek over the southern horizon, casting a dim light through the heavy clouds.
The Wayhouse, a bulky wooden building with an added-on stable, squatted behind him at the corner of the crossroads. The more impressive of the two intersecting thoroughfares was the Old Road: a broad highway of paved stones which emerged from the darkness of the north, extending through the centre of town and away south to the rest of the Phoenix Kingdom.
Intersecting the Old Road, a narrow, pitted track of beaten earth curved southward, vanishing into the fog to the east and west. This was the path which encircled the town of Void’s Rim, offering the locals a trail for their wagons and carts. There were signs of work being done to widen and repair it, but this early in the morning the workmen were either finishing their shifts or preparing to begin them.