Chapter 1 The Tinker Convention
Oren darted through the streets, struggling to keep up with Master Peddleton as his heart pounded in his chest. The cobblestones beneath his feet pulsed with the mysterious energy that powered the city of Anchorton. “Hurry, lad!” Master Peddleton called over his shoulder, the wiry gray hair on either side of his bald head bouncing with each step. “We mustn’t be late!” Oren hiked up the heavy bag of gear and pushed himself to run faster. The bag tugged at his skinny frame, and his mop of unruly blond hair flopped with each stride. At fourteen, he was all elbows and knees, his gangly limbs still catching up to his recent growth spurt. But what Oren lacked in size, he made up for in determination. His deep blue eyes locked onto his master’s back, refusing to fall behind. The city’s wonders caught his eye despite his rush. Sleek motorcars whizzed past pedestrians and cyclists while zeppelins drifted overhead, their balloons covered in colorful advertisements. Ribbons of amber light wove through the streets, casting an otherworldly glow over Anchorton. Wide-eyed visitors pressed against shop windows to gawk at whirring gadgets, and on one corner, musicians played electric lutes alongside drums that pulsed with energy. The Tinker Convention had brought the whole city alive with excitement. “How much farther, master?” Oren called out, wiping sweat from his brow. Then, as they turned the corner, he saw a grand structure rising before them. Four copper-domed buildings huddled together in the center of a massive courtyard, their surfaces gleaming in the morning sun. Both he and Master Peddleton stopped to catch their breath and take in the sight. Even through the city’s bustle, Oren could only hear their heavy breathing. “There it is,” Master Peddleton said between breaths. He swallowed hard. “Today’s the day, dear boy. You ready?” Oren’s heart raced, and not just from running. This was their chance to change everything. If they succeeded, Master Peddleton would become a true master, and Oren’s dream of becoming a tinker would be one step closer. He thought of his family’s tiny home, his bedridden mother, and the fear that gripped them each night without a shrine’s protection. With this opportunity, he could lift them out of poverty, maybe even afford a shrine of their own. No more huddling in corners, terrified of felled spirit attacks. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Oren said, his voice steady with determination. Master Peddleton smiled and clapped him on the shoulder before they started running again. As they hurried across the courtyard, Oren’s gaze swept over the many shrines standing guard. Carved from white stone, they depicted arborians—creatures that looked almost human except for the antlers jutting from their heads. The statues showed them wrapped in vines or growing strange saplings from their hands, hinting at their rumored power over all things rooted in the earth. Gatherers crowded around the shrines’ bases, kissing their feet and dropping coins in the offering plates as they begged for protection from the felled spirits. But not everyone shared their faith. Protesters waved signs and chanted nearby. “If the shrines work, why are the felled still here?” read one sign as they passed. “The arborians will curse you!” A young woman in a thin veil approached the protesters. “You mustn’t displease them!” “There are no arborians, lady,” shot back a middle-aged man holding a sign. “It’s all a scam to steal our money...” Oren let their argument fade as they neared the building. He didn’t know what to believe about arborians, Eimai, or any of it. All he knew was that the wealthy owned the shrines, and the wealthy rarely suffered felled attacks. The thought spurred him forward. Today wasn’t about Anchorton’s marvels or debates about spirits. It was about proving themselves to the Tinker’s Council. By the time he’d pushed the distractions from his mind, they’d reached the center of the grand hall. Checkered tiles gleamed under hundreds of amber lights that filled the copper dome above like a miniature sun. “Wallace Peddleton,” his master announced. They’d reached a glass-shielded booth where a woman in thin spectacles studied a scroll on her desk. “Building two, room five,” she said in a pinched voice. “They’re waiting for you.” Master Peddleton nodded thanks and led Oren through the building at a quick clip. All around them, tinkers from across the world demonstrated their inventions. One had even built what looked like a mechanical man that could lift and sort boxes. “Remember,” Master Peddleton said as they hurried down a narrow hall to the next building, “all we have to do is prove we can bridge pholythysts. That’s it. Our little engine doesn’t need to power anything. However, my mind’s already buzzing with ideas for what we could build with it. Oh, won’t that be lovely! Our own patented invention—” He shook his head. “I must focus. You remember what we practiced?” “Yes, Master Peddleton.” The master checked the numbers on the doors until he found their room. He stopped to catch his breath and fixed Oren with a serious look. “Good, because we’ve only got one shot. And you know how dangerous this is, right?” Oren swallowed hard, remembering the stakes. If they failed, they’d wait another year to try again—another year of fearing the shadows. He pushed the thought away. But failure wasn’t even the worst possibility. Bridging the amber gems wrong could trigger an explosion that would level everything within a mile. “Yes sir,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Good.” The master’s wild brown eyes betrayed his own nerves as he gripped the doorknob. “Then let’s do this.”
