The Sisters of the Woods Ch.1

Mornings at Greytower started bright and early. Or rather, dark and early as the tower’s many automated subroutines roused themselves well before sunrise. Quiet things to begin, revising logs, transmitting updates, and receiving downloads in return. Nothing moved, save the tiny bots that scurried about maintaining systems, from the thinnest wires in the walls to monolith engines buried deep within the foundations.

As the first rays of sunlight peeked over the horizon, more involved processes began to stir. The auto-chef came to life in the kitchen, the old thing creaking and grumbling as it began to prepare the morning meal. Staples and basics, food perfectly balanced for energy and nutrition, and really the humans shouldn’t be getting so uppity about the taste. They had famously tried once, at least the younger one had, and further attempts had been promptly forbidden by the older, sensible one.

Though even that one seemed unwilling to let go of his chemical dependency on caffeine. The old kitchen would dutifully brew a pot of it every morning as ordered, though it made sure to grumble extra hard about it.

Soon after, Orlin Greytower would emerge from his chambers, already fully dressed in what passed as casual for him, going so far as to leave a button undone on his collar. Two, if he was feeling especially lazy.

Immediately, robotic familiars would flock to the master techne, surrounding him in a cloud of hovering geometric shapes. Most remained silent, fulfilling their simple functions of monitoring, managing, and recording without so much as a breath of sound. Others chattered away incessantly, largely just the one who seemed to take great pleasure in being an insufferable morning soul. Orlin would dutifully ignore him as he settled into his chair and pulled up his screens.

Thus, would begin the tedious matters of administration. Impasses requiring deliberation, problems requiring immediate consideration, things that the automated systems could not handle without user input. And as always, a veritable sea of messages waited in his inbox. Everything from rolling missives to a scarce few sentences, all seeking some favor or insight from the master techne. He made a point to read them all, or at least to skim them in the most egregious cases. He would only respond to a few, leaving the rest either unanswered or declined with varying degrees of politeness.

In between these tasks, Orlin would work on his breakfast, nibbling at toast or scarfing dignified mouthfuls of eggs. At least two cups of coffee would be drained, a third if the messages were proving particularly annoying on a given day. The chef simply had to deal with it, even as the old thing made its displeasure verbally known.

This entire process usually swallowed an hour or two, leaving the sun well risen and the day unquestionably begun, at least for the more responsible among them. Nicholas Greytower rarely felt the need to join such company, instead content to sleep away a perfectly good morning in his bedroom. That of course would not do, not when they had lessons to get started.

Orlin always granted his apprentice a chance to rise peacefully, sending three mild but insistent pings to his room. Sometimes this worked, though far more often they were left unacknowledged, save some scattered muttering. In the latter case the elder techne, satisfied he had given fair warning, resorted to far more effective methods and deployed Zephyr.

The little sprite would leap to task, tittering as he zipped off into the halls. A short period of calm would follow, soon broken by the combined sounds of wind, angry shouting and fresh giggling echoing through the tower. The auto-chef had long ago learned this to be the signal to set out a second plate.

Soon after, Nic would come staggering into the room, looking every bit the mess he was. Mussed hair sticking out in all directions, a hastily assembled patchwork of clothes that passed for decent and the general demeanor of someone conscious but not yet awake.

“Good morning,” Master Orlin would say.

“Grmrnmmn…” Nic would mutter back.

“Morning, morning!” Zephyr would add, returning to the fold and earning a vengeful glare from his victim.

Nic would settle in to his “healthy balanced breakfast” with only mild complaining. A few snatches of conversation might occur, small things of little consequence, more meant to rouse the young man to a state of passably human. He would make it there eventually, often just in time to be told he needed to shower and return so they could begin the morning’s lessons.

It was a well practiced routine, repeated so often that it was second nature. Though the details might change in some small way, the core of it had remained unchanged from the very first time all the way to the present day. Comfortable, familiar, every step as sure and expected as the rising sun.

It didn’t normally involve explosions.

Nic was halfway through his meal when the blast rang out. It was close enough to be felt, the entire room shaking from floor to ceiling. Suddenly very awake, Nic began to rise from his seat, caught between diving for cover and trying to spot an unseen threat.

“What the hells was that!?” Nic shouted.

“Language,” Master Orlin chastised. His demeanor had not changed, the man calmly scrolling through his feeds as if nothing had happened.

“Sorry Master,” Nic said, half sitting down before stopping. “But what was that?”

“Something appears to have struck the ground nearby.”

“Uh, something? Like, attack something? What’s happening?”

Master Orlin said nothing at first, finally finding a suitable feed and scrutinizing the screen. Nic could have sworn just the slightest ghost of a smile passed across his lips before vanishing. Though it might have been his imagination.

“Could you go make sure nothing was damaged please,” he gestured at the door. “East yard, near the gate. You won’t miss it.”

“O-kay…” Nic said.

Throwing on a coat over his half-assembled outfit, Nic quickly descended the stairs. Zephyr went with him, zipping around excitedly as they emerged outside and began looking around. True to Orlin’s word, the cause of the ruckus was not difficult to spot. Even from across the yard, the smoking trench torn through the earth stood out. It covered quite an impressive distance, reaching from the gate to the very walls of the tower itself. Waist high mounds of dirt had been thrown up on either side, still smoldering with the shredded remains of the garden.

Nic approached the site cautiously, suddenly wishing he’d remembered to grab his tablet. The tower wards should be more than enough to protect him, and he couldn’t imagine Orlin sending him out after something dangerous. Still, he would prefer something sturdier than pajama pants against whatever was capable of such aggressive landscaping.

All such thoughts were banished as he leaned over the berm and peered down. Then he blinked several times and stood up straighter for a closer look, all caution given way to confusion.

“Is that a broom?”

Nic wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting to see but it certainly wasn’t what he found. The object lying in the trench did indeed appear to be a broomstick. Or at least, kinda like one in the same way that a boulder was technically still a rock.

The basic shape of a broom remained but that was where the similarities ended, buried beneath layers of metal and machinery. The haft had been expanded to nearly a foot across, modified with a saddle seat, two long handlebars sticking out from either side at its top. One had broken off in the crash but the other remained, revealing a set of controls that were not dissimilar to the brake on a motorcycle. At the back, where the bristles would normally go, there was instead a bulky fuel tank and what Nic quickly recognized as the smoking remains of an engine. All of it led back to a long, hollow tube that flared out at the tip, just enough to reveal the close-knit blades of a turbine mounted inside.

The whole thing smoked heavily, randomly throwing off sparks as holo-displays flickered in and out of life. So far as Nic could tell they seemed to be a result of the crash rather than any kind of hostile intent, but he still had no idea just what he was looking at.

“I dunno,” Zephyr offered unhelpfully. “Maybe they know.”

Nic turned to look at the sprite in confusion. By pure chance his eyes just happened to line up perfectly to catch sight of something falling through the air. He initially found that mildly fascinating, briefly enthralled by the shape that wasn’t supposed to be there, watching it descend almost in slow motion. His brain only caught up and realized why this was a problem when the object suddenly went from falling to fallen. Specifically, fallen straight on top of Nic.

The impact was not a gentle one, the force of it pitching them both to the ground in a tangle of limbs and panic. Nic lost his orientation, confusion leaving him suddenly unable to tell which way was up. They eventually came to a stop against the berm, Nic ending up on the bottom of the pile, pain blooming from seemingly every direction.

“Oh my gods I’m so sorry, are you okay!?”

Nic opened his eyes to discover a young woman caught between trying to untangle herself from a parachute and check on his prone form. She wore a poofy pink dress, the long hem sitting neatly about her legs and arms. Her face was completely obscured by a pilot’s mask and atop it she wore a tall, pointed hat the same colour as her dress. Or something along those lines, he was having trouble keeping this straight as the girl managed to regain her feet at last.

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to land on you. Something went wrong with my flight gear and I had to bail out and I couldn’t control the landing and I didn’t see you until it was too late and I just- I’m sorry please say you’re okay…”

Nic tried to answer but all that came out was a pathetic wheezing sound, his lungs still working on the whole breathing thing. The girl started to move towards him, apparently to help, but somehow managed to trip over her own feet in the process. She landed hard on her front, her full weight dropping back onto Nic and driving out what little air he’d managed to get back in.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!”

Somehow the impact managed to knock loose her mask, unleashing a wild frizz of dusky pink hair. She tried to grab it but missed and the thing slid off entirely, revealing a pale face with slight features fully consumed by frazzled panic. Nic might have found her cute if he’d not been busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Oblivious to his plight, she went after her mask, managing to grab it just in time to trip once again. She put up a valiant effort, though ultimately lost out to gravity, throwing the mask even further away as she fell again. She did not, however, hit the ground. Instead, a plume of blue light appeared around her shoulders which instantly caught and held her in mid-air. It had just pushed her back up onto her feet as Master Orlin walked into view.

“Do be careful, Miss Croire,” he said.

“Master Greytower,” the girl squeaked. “I’m sorry about your garden, I didn’t mean to-”

Master Orlin cut her off with a wave of the hand. “It’s quite alright, no harm done.”

Nic coughed raggedly.

“More importantly, are you alright?”

“I, uh…” the girl patted herself down, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her. “I think so but-” She turned to look at the crater behind them. “My flier…”

Master Orlin stepped over the berm, followed closely by the girl and, eventually, by Nic. The mechanized broomstick still lay precisely as it had, changed only in the reduced amount of smoke pouring out of it. The three of them gathered around the machine, the girl dropping to her knees as she started trying to free it from the earth. It stuck fast, buried deep by the momentum of the crash, refusing to move no matter how much she pulled. She nearly fell for a third time, spared only by Master Orlin’s hand on her shoulder.

“Allow me.”

Pressing a button on his wrist, the blue light returned and reached forward to wrap around the broom. Magical assistance proved far more effective, pulling the device free easily and leaving it suspended in the air before them. The girl fell upon it immediately, prodding at switches and broken electronics, chasing still active displays as they steadily blinked out one by one.

“No, no, no, no!” she said, her voice dripping with distress. “Please don’t-”

Her plea went unanswered as the whole thing shorted out in a final gasp of smoke and arcing fire. She made a few more feeble attempts to revive it, even as the obvious became clear.

“I’m afraid that will do no good,” Master Orlin said. “It’s quite dead.”

The girl looked at the elder techne with an expression of crushing despair. She wasn’t crying yet but there were definite tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh…”

Nic had not the slightest idea what was going on, nor what he should be doing about it. All he could do was stand there awkwardly, confused and still smarting from this stranger’s impromptu skydiving. Fortunately, Master Orlin seemed far more prepared and he stepped forward to place a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Does your mother know you’re here?”

The girl didn’t say anything, simply shook her head, prompting a sage nod from the elder techne.

“Come inside and have some breakfast. We’ll drive you home afterwards.”

The girl nodded, wiping her nose with a sniff.

“Thank you, sir.

Master Orlin patted her shoulder, then turned to look at Nic, all trace of warmth wiped from his face. Nic felt himself snapping to attention without meaning to.

“Nicholas, take Miss Croire inside please. I’ll be in momentarily.”

“Uh, yes master.”

With another nod, Master Orlin plucked the broom out of the air and handed it to the girl. She took it without comment and joined Nic in stepping back as the elder techne began to weave his spells, his fingers a flurry of motion over his screens.

“Follow me I guess?” Nic said, gesturing back towards the tower.

Jumping as if she’d forgotten the whole falling out of the sky thing, the girl turned to look at him with the most awkward smile Nic had ever seen in his life. It caught him completely off guard and Nic found himself returning it with one of his own.

“T-thanks,” she said, shouldering her broom as she fell into step with him.

“I’m Nicholas, by the way,” Nic said.

“Oh, uh me too, I mean, my name is Geniveve, it’s nice to-”

She turned, intending to offer a handshake but instead managing to smack Nic in the back of the head with her broom. It wasn’t a hard hit, but it still made him yelp as he stumbled forward a step. When the world stopped spinning, he turned back to see Geniveve looking utterly mortified.     

“Sorry.”

*

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