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“Do you like to talk about Zern?” Olethra asks. She and Torse have so far been happy to sit in companionable silence after their trip to the Ectic station, Olethra reading one of the Zoodian histories they picked up in Tabira that she had been neglecting, while Torse sat quietly, hands folded in his lap. She can hear noise from inside the galley, but the typically raucous conversation of the crew has lowered to a softer, borderline mournful tone. Olethra has chosen to abstain from the conversation, at least for now. Talking about her grandmother, previously one of her favorite pastimes, seems terrifying at this point. A million conflicting thoughts are running through her head, the evidence found in the Ectic station tearing the image of her grandmother to pieces. The letter from Haunch sits in her pocket next to the photo of herself and her grandmother among the guinea fowl. Losing herself in the history of Zood has been a welcome distraction.
Torse seems similarly uncomfortable. Olethra can’t quite get a bead on him, a quirk of not exactly having a face, but this is the first time she has seen him sit down, leaning against the wall of the galley next to her. Torse is always quiet, but the silence that hangs over them now feels less like the comfort of there being nothing to say, and more like the weight of there being too much. It is the pressure from that discomfort, as well as her own idle curiosity, that pushes her to ask him about his home.
The book contained a few descriptions of Zern, only in passing and only in its relation to Zood, and Olethra wonders how accurate the descriptions are, considering Comfrey is apparently the only person in living memory able to traverse between the two. Figures that as soon as she gets to the first lost land outside of time, she’d discover another. Olethra wishes, not for the first time, Comfrey were here to tell her about it.
“Like, would it be cool if I asked some questions about it? Or does it make you sad to think about?” Olethra clarifies. Torse whirs for a moment, thoughtful.
“It would depend, I think. I hold the traditions of the Aganti Zernai dear, but remembering my comrades who have given themselves in service to the queen is less pleasant.” Torse turns to make his equivalent to eye-contact with Olethra, the gears of his body clicking as he shifts. “But I understand the curiosity, as it seems to be becoming more and more likely we will have to travel there. I can answer any questions you have.”
“Okay, well, if you start getting sad and stuff, tell me, and we can talk about something else instead.” Olethra puts down her book and tucks her knees against her chest.
“It makes me more angry than sad. But I prefer not to feel either.” Torse says.
“Well, I’ll do my best to make sure you won’t.” Olethra tries to school her face into something like a reassuring smile. “Is Zern dark? All these maps have it filled in with ink.”
“No.” Torse shakes his head. “This is a misconception. The Temple of Katur has created a barrier between Zood and Zern that many Zoodians depict as physical, with the atmosphere of Zern being caged in. The barrier is not this tangible. The star that lights Zood lights Zern as well. The furnace of the Straka and the dispersed light of the Calefactory Biangle might even mean it is brighter than Zood.”
Olethra nods, attempting to commit all of it to memory. It would have been a good idea to be writing this down, but she left her pen and notebook in the captain’s quarters, and it would probably be rude to get up in the middle of her and Torse’s conversation to grab it.
“It can be hard to spot these days, now that most of its lights have been dimmed and Zood has made many more. But if we are far enough vim, I will point it out to you.”
“Do you know what the barrier is made of?” Olethra knows the others have their guesses, Marya and Monty spent all of dinner discussing what they might be able to expect waiting for them at the Temple of Katur, what the Eyeless Hand is looking to destroy. But Olethra likes to keep her options open. Zood has been nothing like she expected in any of the years she spent dreaming of it, so she thinks keeping an open mind is a good idea.
Torse shakes his head, solemnly. He tilts it down, curling further in on himself.
“No. I… did not pay as close attention to Professor MacLeod’s work as I should have. Much of the finer details have been lost on me.” Torse sounds ashamed.
“That’s okay. Honestly, even if you explained it to me, I probably wouldn’t understand. All this science junk is going a bit over my head.” Olethra gives him a pat on the shoulder. “Do Zernians know about the barrier?”
“The queen and her naughtomata knew that they could no longer pass into Zood, certainly.” Torse says, slowly. “Their correspondence between the Eyeless Hand indicates some kind of greater understanding, seeing as she has been directing them towards its destruction. But the Aganti Zernai did not have any insights, if that is what you are asking. Some assumed it to be another natural event, like the biangles. The more spiritual among us considered it an act of god.”
“What did you think it was?” Olethra asks. “Before you met Comfrey.”
Torse pauses. He does not still, but his gears slow, and his head inclines upwards like he is thinking. Her hand is still on his shoulder, resting to the right of his largest shoulder spike. She rubs her thumb in circles on his shoulder clumsily, an imitation of her mother. She doesn’t know if Torse can feel it, but she feels less useless for having done it.
“I was forged after the barrier was created. I have not known a world without it.” Torse says, simply. “But I found the idea of it being a natural occurrence frustrating. I did not want to believe it. I hesitate to admit my jealousy of Zood, but even before the loss of my tribe, I felt it. My home was not far from true vex. When you travelled there, you could see the peaks of the Arynth Mountains.”
Torse pauses again and a trickle of steam releases from a valve positioned on his neck.
“The fact that they were unreachable to me was injustice enough. The idea that it was natural that I was confined made me even angrier.”
Olethra feels a sudden surge of understanding as Torse describes a life spent staring at the sky. The pain of being left behind, of not being worth coming back for. When Olethra would climb on top of her roof, the sight of the canyon stretching into the horizon would fill her with wonder and insignificance in equal measure. The drawings of Comfrey on her Hazardous Happenings books were admirable, they made her feel confident to be connected to someone like that. But they made her actual absence all the more acute. Comfrey was something special, and apparently Olethra was not. She wouldn’t have been left in Pilby if she wasn’t.
She feels her throat close up as anger rises in her. How many people has her grandmother hurt? How many people has she been willing to sacrifice for a cause Haunch said was barely helping anyone? God, were her parents right?
Torse shifts beneath her hand, seeming uncomfortable in the silence.
“I apologize, we seem to have gotten a bit off-topic. If you have any other questions–”
“Is my grandma evil?” Olethra asks, the words falling out of her mouth before Torse can stop her.
Torse stills at that question, and turns to her, head tilted.
“I thought you wanted to ask questions about Zern.” He says, sounding confused.
“Well, she seems to have a lot to do with Zern, or at least know a lot about it, or something. I barely fucking know anymore.” Olethra sighs. “Sorry, I’m kind of freaking out right now. All that stuff in the letter is starting to drive me crazy. She hurt a lot of people, it seems like.”
“I have known evil men. I do not believe your grandmother is one of them.” Torse says, firmly. “I owe Professor MacLeod many times over. Her actions have saved many, including myself.”
Torse places a hand on her shoulder, gauntlet carefully angled away from her neck, and pats her a few times. Olethra sighs.
“I just wish she were here.” She mumbles, frustrated. “I wish we could get any kind of explanation. I’m sure she wouldn’t do any of this stuff without a good reason, but it just seems so careless. And everything with Mordercestesshire is just…”
Olethra trails off, getting the inexplicable urge to growl. She puts her head in her hands instead, and tries to imagine what the fuck her grandmother is doing right now. Torse seems to sense her discomfort, and stills his hand.
“In the time I’ve spent with the Professor, it has seemed to me that she has always acted in the interests of Zood and its people. She took me out of Zern. She gave me a new heart, one that was not susceptible to the manipulation of the Queen of Zern.”
Torse speaks with conviction, and it is almost enough to convince Olethra. That photo of her and her grandmother running with the guinea fowl. Torse’s hand resting so gently against his chestplate. The two of them, brought together by her actions, sharing space on the ship she built. The idea that Comfrey MacLeod was a hero, full stop, is certainly a tempting one.
“I owe her my life.” Torse says, and the level of finality stops Olethra’s train of thought.
“Why did she have to make you a new heart? What was…” Olethra stumbles over her words. “Well, not wrong, but why did your iron heart need to change?”
Torse stills, lost in thought. He mirrors Olethra’s position, pulling his legs close to his chest, covering the vulnerability of his open ribcage. An oversight, Olethra thinks, to leave his most vulnerable parts open to attack. She wonders what engineer would create a being that could be so easily incapacitated.
“In the same way that the spikes along my back and my gauntlets that were an asset on Zern are an inconvenience here on Zood, my heart was not built for these lands.” Torse settles on that response, his gaze landing on the blades running up from his wrists. “My iron heart was made to withstand and fight against the cruelty of Zern. Here on Zood, where there is no scarcity, no hierarchy, it is a liability.”
At Torse’s side, wrapped in a little leather satchel, Olethra knows his iron heart sits. She struggles to imagine Torse with it as cruel, knowing only that he had used it in his fight against the Fehujar invaders, all so he could protect her grandmother. To get that message out to her.
“That’s– really vague, man.” Olethra fiddles with her fingers, uncomfortable. “I’m not a mechanic, but like, what does it do? How does it change you?”
Torse rumbles. Olethra knocks her head against his shoulder, less mindful of his spiked pauldron than perhaps she should be. She can hear the ticking of his heart slow, and the hand on her shoulder tighten.
“I have said before, I do not enjoy being angry.” He says, sounding slightly frustrated. “On Zern that rage was righteous. It had a goal. In the lands of Zood, my grief and anger serve no purpose. The gold heart allows me to think with clarity.”
“It serves the dual purpose of providing protection against the Queen of Zern. She has the ability to control of all the beings of Zern, using the corrosion and decay she had forced upon the people to take their will. Zoodian gold does not decay. Professor MacLeod ensured my autonomy.” Torse expands, and this, Olethra can understand. The principle of freedom is one she is much more familiar with than the benefits of keeping a clear head.
Something in her still wants to argue, wants to pull that letter out of her pocket and make Torse look at it and still tell her that her grandmother was a hero. But that feels rude, and sort of pointless. It’s not Torse’s fault she’s stuck with all these questions, and it seems like he won’t have the answers she’s looking for. She’ll just have to wait til she catches up with Comfrey to find out.
“Okay, well, that does sound pretty great. I’m glad you’re here on the ship doing whatever you want instead of being mind-controlled in Zern.” Olethra acquiesces.
“Me too.” Torse says, and it makes Olethra smile.
“Does Zern have mountains?” She says, quietly. Next to her, she can feel Torse relax, his gaze moving away from the horizon, and back towards her.