The Mechanical Crown

Fantasia

"We know nothing about this region," Stefan said. "No maps, no reports, not even in myth and story. We're walking into the complete unknown."

Tranton smiled widely. "That's just life, Stefan. You'll get used to it one day."

"Perhaps we should return to Bruckin?" suggested Hatch. "Do what we can to help there?"

Shrugging, Tranton picked up his bag and fixed it onto his back. "Very well, but I'm going this way, even if I'm walking it alone."

"I'll come with you," Kirya said, her pack already loaded. "There's nothing for me to go back to. Not unless we find some help out here."

Tarn pointed at the princess. "I would like to follow her," he announced.

Pulling her sword from the mossy bank where she'd angrily embedded it, Galisai stepped forward. "Hachim wanted us to complete the mission," she said. "We haven't done that yet." She sheathed the blade and looked sternly at Hatch, who shrugged and picked up her pack.

The crunch of feet on gravel turned Tranton's attention back to Fenris, who had come to join them. "What about you, old man?"

"You're all choosing to keep going? Even after this?" He waved at the devastation all around.

"Choice might not be quite the right word," Hatch muttered.

"I told you," Tranton said, "this isn't just about you. We've all got a stake in this game."

"Well, then," Fenris said, "that is what we shall do. It would be rude of me to say otherwise."

Tranton led them from the forest's edge, striding boldly out in front, marching into the grey gloom, with every step hating himself for having slipped once more into the role of leader. He'd vowed to never be responsible for others, to never again pull others into his orbit, yet it kept happening, as reliable as the tides.

They walked in silence, the curve of the crater's circumference leading them away from the disturbed forest. The ground became uneven, the forest giving way to a steep rocky incline on their left, pockmarked with caves large and small. At least they would have shelter in which to make camp, or shelter from storms should the clouds conspire against them. If he'd been doing this alone he'd have relished the uncertainty, embracing each step into mystery. The others dragged behind him like a chain, weighing down on his conscience. Accompanying Fenris' little troupe had aided Tranton's journey over the northern mountains; he'd never anticipated taking on this new role. He would make sure that it was temporary and fleeting.

"Tarn?" came Kirya's voice from behind.

Tranton turned, to see that Tarn had stopped, several paces back, and was now separated from the group. The boy was staring up at the dense clouds, head tilted to one side, looking like a bird listening to the songs of other creatures.

"What is it, Tarn?" he called.

"There's something," Tarn said, looking confused, his voice trailing off. He raised an arm, pointed up at the dead sky. "There."

They all turned as one to follow Tarn's indication. At first there was nothing, then there was a shifting in the fog's density, initially disguised as the typical undulations of moisture, then forming into a more definite pattern, as the clouds began to thin in a localised spot. A cylindrical hollow formed and sunlight burst through, shining down into the crater in a thin sliver. The sunlight shimmered, dimmed, as if blocked by something, then a firmer, more defined, disc-like object appeared in the gap, descending out of the maelstrom. It was briefly illuminated by the light, then moved out of the shaft and hovered in place, still far off, indistinct and inexplicable.

Tranton realised that he'd been holding his breath.

The shape started moving, coming closer. As it drew nearer, parting the mists, wisps of vapour spinning away from its edges, it became easier to observe: it was oval and nearly flat, like a coin but large - the size of a small ship. It was featureless, lacking any obvious signs of propulsion or suspension. The disc hovered above them for a moment, then began to lower, dropping down until it was level with the crater's edge.

As it came level with them they were able to see its topside, which was as plain as its underside, remarkable only in its simplicity.

Standing atop the disc were two figures. They raised their hands in what appeared to be a welcoming gesture.

Lacking the capacity to comprehend what he was seeing, unable to rationalise or explain the impossibility of the floating disc or its apparent pilots, Tranton found himself only capable of managing a basic, instinctive response.

"Hello," he said.