The Antiquity (Prologue)

Prologue

My room was deathly quiet in the small hours of the night, only the soft humming of the fridge and heaters to fill the emptiness of the dark. Tiny lights, like fireflies, blinked softly from the PC tower next to my desk, which was still far too big for me to sit at. I sat up in bed, a small child unable to fall asleep, thoughts racing and bouncing around in my head like the pinballs in my father’s machines. He loved his machines, probably more than he had ever loved me or my brother or my mother, and he would stand at them and coo to them softly like a mother hen when he thought nobody was looking. But I knew, I knew everything because the building had told me its secrets; I was an Aegir like my father, a Magic-user who could speak to and manipulate inanimate objects. I remember once quietly asking the pinball machines what they thought of him, and they had said “indifferent”, and it made me wonder what it was they wanted, and why they didn’t love my father the same way he seemed to love them. There would be many years to come before I would finally understand.

I had crept from my bed on that chilly and silent night, my bare feet padding softly down flights of stairs and across walkways and layers of balconies and down and down and down to the kitchen of my family’s apartment, which seemed to go on forever, and maybe it did. I needed food; I’d gone to bed with only the small dinner that my father’s chefs had served me. They never let me eat too much, which prompted these midnight excursions.

The whitewashed walls and gleaming crystal of clear tabletops of our Antique Heights apartment shown only slightly in the light let in by the large windows, and the glow cast from the dotted lights of other devices scattered throughout the room. My brother’s controller sat charging on the sitting room table, its LED glow pulsing green, indicating that it was fully charged and ready for another day. Mine was perched on the TV table, already having been charged yesterday – I had told it to take a break and cleaned it carefully, and then set it down with the utmost care in its padded charging case. It had hummed softly in my hands, and then when I plugged it in, it took only 15 minutes to charge as opposed to the normal one hour, and then went to sleep.

I loved everything in the apartment, but not the same way as my father and his obsession with machines. I loved the stair rails, and each and every cup, and the soft silk curtains, and I knew each of their names, the names that only they knew but had whispered to me. I loved that I was never alone, and that they would comfort me when my father yelled at me or my brother. He tended to neglect anything that wasn’t made of steel and wires, and so I made up the difference, and told the apartment not to take it personally, and that I would take care of it. Every stitch to repair the frays in the curtains and blemish wiped from the silverware had been done by me, and I tried to put as much love into them as possible, because I had been told once by an old tea box that if you put enough love into something, it would surely become more beautiful, because love is beauty, and to be loved is to be changed and healed until you become something better and more complete. That tea box had been repaired over and over again, its hinges oiled and its surface polished, and it smelled of fragrant leaves and old paper, and I could tell it was loved.

This tea box, whose name was Rin, was from the Modernity, an antique that my father had been given as a gift, and then shoved into a closet until I’d unearthed it and squirreled back it to my room. I kept all my favorite things inside, small shells from the beach, trinkets and baubles I loved just as much as the box itself. That was the company that I had, that and my brother, and a boy my age named Sebastian who lived on the floor below, who I used to go downstairs and talk to until my father had found out ordered me to stop.

I had walked through the kitchen and the sitting room, but it wasn’t until I reached the dining room that I heard another noise, this one coming from the front hall. It sounded like whispering, and I heard a door open and close, and noticed a square of light from the hallway disappear from around the corner of where I stood. I froze, standing completely still against the wall of the dining room entrance, and listened carefully, my curiosity getting the better of me.

I then heard footsteps approaching from the hall, loud and pounding against the building floor, and I winced as it groaned slightly despite its usual tolerance for foot traffic. I then heard more voices and the door opened, and by the sound of the closest voice, it was my father who opened it. He greeted the group, all men in suits and ties from the Modernity.

People from the Modernity came here often, and many of them lived in this building, a tall, steel skyscraper modeled after the ones from the Modern cities that my father had taken us to a few times before. I always got sick whenever I went there, the voices from trash scattered about the city streets and dented cars and tired sidewalks filled my ears and made me delirious. We’d driven past a junkyard once; I’d started crying so hard that I couldn’t stop until we were back in the Antiquity again. My father had yelled and hit me until I just started heaving quietly, my body shaking violently in the backseat of his vintage buggy, whose name had been Krisoph. Krisoph had quietly tried to calm me down over the sound of my father bellowing at me, always sympathetic. My twin brother, Seth, had held my hand afterwards, small tears welling in his eyes as well, and mother just stared blankly with tired eyes out the window at the passing cars.

My father had stopped taking me on trips after that, leaving me at home with the caretakers, even though I didn’t need them – our refrigerator, Geas, would always have a sandwich ready for me if I asked politely, and when I sat with the washing machines and read them my books, they would always finish faster. Geas always spoke to me the way a kindly old butler would, telling me dreamily about the warehouse it’d come from and the other appliances it’d met, and if there were old pieces of food sitting in the back of it, or leaking containers of sauce, I would promptly bus them.

These men from the Modernity wore well-tailored clothing, and there was evidence that some of them even had Magicked objects on their person. Magicked objects always had a different feel, and they were far less talkative to anyone who wasn’t their master. I heard my father invite them into the sitting room, and I quickly ran into the kitchen again. I didn’t want my father to catch me out of bed, especially when he had “important company” over. That was what he called people from the Modernity.

I hid once again in the kitchen, which was just off of the sitting room, as my father and the men filed in, shook hands, and sat down. My father called over to a cart against the wall, one which sported Magicked pitchers of liquor, and it rolled laboriously over to them. I supposed I should try to grease its wheels again, but whenever I attempted to talk to it, it told me to come back to it when I was 21, and rolled away. As each man gave their order, the pitchers one-by-one poured their contents into crystal glasses. The men took their drinks and spent a few minutes making small talk over their drinks and admiring my father for his work.

I listened intently, despite the fact that if I was caught, I would be in huge trouble, alone with my father and a group of men in the dead of night. But I stayed put, mostly because I knew that if something went wrong, I could climb inside of Geas, and it would protect me.

A tall man fidgeting with an elaborate pocket watch in hands – a Magicked one, most likely – started the conversation first.

“We’re very excited about this new development, Mr. Alduin,” he said, curling the chain of his watch around his finger, “from what you’ve told us, she has incredible potential. Just incredible.”

My father laughed. “If you can get past the tantrums, you’ll be able to fully see the extent of her compatibility with your project. Hell, this house likes her better than me, and I built it!” The other men laughed too.

I felt something start to turn in the pit of my stomach, and I lost my ability to breathe. I wasn’t an idiot. I knew they were talking about me. There couldn’t be anyone else – my mother wasn’t an Aegir. She wasn’t even a Magic-user. And from what I knew, she didn’t throw tantrums. I kept listening, my heart rate surging.

“She’s about ten years old now, as the report I sent to you says,” my father continued, “surely that’s not too old for what you have in mind?”

One of the other men spoke, an older man with graying hair. “Not at all, not at all. It’s more about her compatibility with machines. If it’s anything like yours, she should be more than qualified as a test subject. From what you’ve told us in your reports, it’s even better.”

Test subject. I backed up a few paces, my palms and bottom of my feet slippery with sweat. My heart was beating so fast that I worried they might’ve heard. Test subject, test subject. Those words failed to take any meaning in my head, which was empty with fear, but they still filled me with dread.

“The Young God project is supposed to be revolutionary,” said the pocket watch man, putting down his drink and eyeing my father carefully, “can you ensure us that she’ll cooperate in our revolution? We’re looking to…minimize roadblocks, if you understand my meaning.” The other men all hummed in agreement and nodded.

“That will be no problem at all,” my father assured him, “aside from the occasional fits her power can cause, Griselda is the most docile and obedient little thing you will have ever met. If the facility you’ve prepared is as you say it is, she will be the perfect fit, beyond your expectations.” There was another hum throughout the room, this one excited and approving. I felt like I was going to throw up, the taste of bile rising in my throat. I had to be dreaming, this couldn’t be real. But I knew, at least some part of me knew, that my father was capable of this, of giving me up to be a lab rat for these men. He used to say, after he was done hitting and yelling at me, that he was giving me grace for not punishing me more. It seems obvious now that I was only afforded such “grace” because he had always intended for me to be given away. I wondered what my mother would think, if she knew, or if she would even care.

I then heard another voice, the whisper of a mirror hanging above the kitchen sink, snapping me temporarily out of my spiral of dread.

“Run, Gris.”

And then one of the ovens, on the far wall.

”Run, Gris. Get far away from here.”

I whipped around, trying to understand what they were saying. And then there was a chorus of whispering, only to me, from each and every object in the kitchen at once, who had heard my father too, and the men were still talking, talking about me and all the ways I would be useful to them. I could hear each pot and pan, each cup and plate, even Geas, in a deep, thrumming voice:

“Run Gris, and don’t look back. Take a boat from the Kingdom. Hitch a ride. Never turn around, never stop running. We love you, Gris; please run away. Run away. Run away. Run away.”

And they droned on in unison, their intense pleading making my head spin. But I knew what I had to do, and so I ran. I ran through the kitchen, and then through the movie room, which was on the other side of the sitting room wall, and then through the entrance hall, and then slipped on my boots at the door. I begged silently for the door to open, and it did, quickly and quietly, the chorus of pleading objects at my back as I slipped through, and it clicked softly closed at my behind me. I bounded down the hall, my footsteps as light as I could make them; it felt like even the floor at my feet was urging me along. I reached the elevator, which felt my desperation and opened without even a prompt, and I practically flew inside, the doors sliding smoothly closed. My heart skipped a beat as it dinged and prepared to make a stop before the lobby, but it ignored the command and instead cruised all the way down to the bottom floor, assisting my flight from my father and his Modern men. I whispered my thanks to it and patted its walls, before dashing out as the doors opened at the ground. The security guard on duty didn’t notice me bolt through the lobby, since his monitors conveniently began buzzing with a loud static as a ran by, yet another object praying for my egress.

I ran through the doors and out into the cold, shivering through my nightdress, streetlamps illuminating the boulevard as I ran down the sidewalk towards the parking lot. Tears were beginning to well up in my eyes as I realized what I was doing, running far away from the home that I loved, away from Seth, Geas, and Rin. I would never be able to go back now, not when I knew what my father was planning.

Krisoph was easy to spot, one of the only cars in the tiny lot. I didn’t have its keys, but I still begged and sobbed for it to help me.

“K…Kris…please let me in…” I was crying grossly, having fallen against Krisoph’s side in exhaustion. The smooth outside of the vehicle was freezing against my skin.

Krisoph’s engine stirred to life. “Miss Griselda?”

“Please…” my sides heaved, my voice coming out in small gasps, “…please take me away from here, I’m begging you…I’ll do anything!” I was wailing at this point, afraid that my father had realized I’d run away.

Krisoph opened its doors, headlights blinking on. “There’s no need to cry, Miss Griselda. I’ll gladly take you anywhere you want to go.”

I climbed into the front seat, shaking with from fear and the cold. “Thank you…thank you, Kris…” I sobbed more as the doors closed, hugging the steering wheel in gratitude. I channeled all of my power and intent into helping Krisoph drive on its own, since I couldn’t quite reach the peddles. The effort was exhausting, but the adrenaline and fear pumping through me kept me from noticing, at least for now. Krisoph’s heater whirred on, pumping in warm air in an attempt to prevent me from catching a cold, as the car could feel me shivering against the seat. I held firmly onto my seatbelt as we weaved through both drivable and walkable streets alike, dodging unmanned merchants' stalls and carts parked on the sides of cobblestone streets. I didn’t even have to tell it where I wanted to go; my intent was strong enough that even the road itself seemed to smooth under us, assisting my escape.

We reached the harbor, and Krisoph’s doors swung open so I could get out.

“Thank you, Kris, thank you so much…” I climbed out, but took a moment to hug Krisoph’s front bumper, tears still wet on my face.

“You’re most welcome, Miss Griselda”, Krisoph said, “please do not forget me wherever it is you’re going.”

“Oh, Kris, I could never forget you! I love you, thank you for everything.”

Krisoph’s engine purred. “Goodbye, Miss Griselda, and good luck.”

I waved back to Krisoph as its engine sputtered out, leaving it parked in front of the harbor. But then I stopped short, and my heart fell in horror as I realized that in the morning, my father would find Krisoph here, and there was no telling what he’d do to it in punishment, as he tended to do to any object who defied him, even his beloved machines. Krisoph seemed to catch on to my fear, and said:

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Griselda. Go. I’ll be fine. Just, please – do not forget about me.”

I nodded, new tears spilling from my eyes, and I turned and ran, as hard as I could, down into the harbor. I would never, ever, forget Krisoph. It had always taken care to avoid the bumps when I was carsick, and send extra heat and AC my way, and tell me it would be alright when I was afraid. It had cared more for me than my father, mother, or any caretaker ever had.

I ran at top speed across the giant wooden docks, passing liners and yachts, the cold even more biting after sitting in the warmth of Krisoph’s heaters. I stopped when I reached a gigantic seafaring vessel; a wooden Antiquity ship whose massive side bore the royal sigil of the Kingdom of Weiss, with three gigantic sails adorning its masts, and iron lanterns illuminating its quarterdeck. There was nobody around, but I still sneaked carefully across the dock where it was moored, in case anyone was able to see 10-year-old me creeping around their ship. Waves lapped gently against the underside of the docks and the ship's hull.

To my dismay, the ship’s boarding ramp was lifted onto the deck. I called out to it softly, hoping against hope that it would bother to listen.

“Hello…?”

I heard a soft creak in response, and then a long silence. Disappointment and fear was starting to creep in alongside my dismay, until a low voice bellowed from the waves, startling me.

“It’s been a long time since anyone bothered to speak to me. What is it that you could possibly want with me, girl?” The ship sounded like a tired old man, one who had seen a lot and had tolerance for little.

I looked around me, checking my surroundings again, and then said, “Please, please help me, I swear I’ll do anything in return, but you have to let me on board.” The cold was stinging at my damp face more than ever, and I was starting to lose feeling in my hands and feet.

“Mmm…little girl, I don’t have to do anything. You want to board me, eh?” I almost heard it chuckle.

I spoke frantically, regretting my phrasing. I couldn’t lose this chance. “I-I’m sorry, sir, you’re right, I didn’t mean-“

“You don’t need to patronize me, little girl. I’ll let you on board.”

I sighed a sigh of relief that would’ve breathed life into a drowning man. “Th-thank you!! I really appreciate it, sir!” I stepped back, so that the ramp could come down. But it didn’t, at least not yet.

“Before you do, girl…” the old ship continued, “my crew doesn’t usually accept stowaways. Are you prepared for that? Are you prepared for the unforgiving nature of the sea?”

I considered this only for a moment, and then nodded. “Like I said, I’ll do anything! I’ll swim away if I have to!” I thought I heard the ship laugh again at that.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you board. But you have to do something for me, too.”

“Anything!” I repeated again.

“I’m lonely, with nobody to speak with. Talk to me more, girl. Tell me a story.” And then at that, the ramp lowered, creaking and unfurling itself, inviting me aboard. I climbed carefully up, taking care not to lose my footing, and a hatch swung open in front of me once I stumbled onto the deck. It appeared to lead into a storage area, and was equipped with a small ladder descending into the darkness of the underdeck. I climbed slowly down this time, and then by the light of a small, almost burnt-out lantern that hung amongst the supplies, found a scratchy blanket to curl up in and wedged myself between two large barrels of water.

“Thank you for letting me board,” I said quietly, “I promise I’ll talk to you a lot, and tell you lots of stories…” I didn’t know the ship’s name, and trailed off, fatigue finally catching up to me and reminding me of the power I’d spent during my escape. My limbs were still numb from the cold, and so I curled up in the fetal position in an attempt to keep any amount of warmth I had left in me.

“…Larch, little girl. My name is Larch.”

And then I was taken by sleep, and by the rocking of Larch, slowly on the gentle waves, drifting me off into nothingness.