68th Frost, 123
Sometimes, when he looked at his wife, blooming in perseverance even as she struggled under the weight of what all were now fairly sure were twins in her belly, Stefan couldn't help but see the comparison between her and Zaichaer. Both had expected to continue in the lives that had seemingly been set out for them, both had been forced by the same set of events onto an exceptionally different track and both, despite the tribulations that had almost killed them, were now thriving with new life and purpose.
'Minister Dornkirk', he had to remind himself half a dozen times a day, was no longer his title. He was First Minister Dornkirk, 'Minister Dornkirk' was his wife. Because he had had almost two years to figure out his position, when it had shifted, he the transition had been, if not seamless, at least efficient. All the new Ministers of his cabinet were having to build their offices, officers and infrastructure from the ground up. Some, like the Minister of Finance, was able to pick back up from where the previous person in their position had been working, but others, like Delia's position as Minister of Welfare, were having to be built whole cloth. The fact that she had already been doing the job in reality for all the people who lived on the Sky Islands helped. Those she had trusted to distribute aid in the early days were now being tapped as her aids and officers to take over the job over much larger swathes of the nation. What they had been saying from the beginning was true, prove your worth through your labor and your rise was assured. Middle-aged women who had consigned themselves to finish raising their children and then living quietly were now wearing uniforms and direct food supplies for entire regions. The indomitable spirit of Zaichaer never shined so bright as when its need was most desperate.
Stefan would never say, would never even think, that it had been a good thing, the deaths and disaster, but like a forest after a fire, they were growing back healthier and stronger for it.
His own work now was a combination of coordination management and policy creation. His solid grounding in the fundamentals of a business run on the ideal of providing for his employees and his nation came into play far more than he would have imagined five years before. He could read over drafts of laws and see what they would cost the people and what they would gain, analyze the worth of new policies with an eye critical to anything that might favor one group over another. There was very little pushback or oversight for the time being but he knew that wouldn't last and, more than anything, he wanted a solid foundation for Zaichaer that would stop the coups for leadership that had plagued them at least once per generation. Balancing the powers was the most important and delicate part of his job, even though he was supposed to be one-third of the tripod that held up the nation he was best suited to the work of writing the new constitution, so he did it.
While his duty to the State did take up a great deal of his time it now took up less than it had before the Triumvirate had been formed and his cabinet of Ministers chosen. Which meant that, for the first time in what felt like a whole separate lifetime, he had time to himself. He dedicated some of his newly gained free time with his family, but as Delia, Eitan and even Lucrece were also quite busy with their work and his daughter was too young still to really do very much with, he found that there was about an hour each day in which nothing required his attention, urgently or otherwise.
The first time this had happened he'd been so disoriented it had made him anxious but Deinerin had been there, coming to his rescue and suggesting that, if he had a few minutes to spare (as the man knew he did) he might step out to observe the working floor of Windworks as he had once been known to do. The idea had filled him with such a quiet, helpless joy that he'd nearly cried. Clearing his throat he had followed his manservant in a set of inspections and brief conversations with his workers that felt so much more like home than anything he now had access too that he had to continue to clear his throat throughout. There were new faces, but so many familiar ones, men who took off their hats and shook his hand before he could ask them questions about the ship they were currently refitting and return them to their zones of comfort. By the end of it the whole shift of workers seemed like they were running full steam ahead and never happier for it.
He wasn't able to visit the floor every day but he did read all the reports as the ships were refitted and even, once in a while, was called in to consult on a particularly difficult broken engine. Some had to be rebuilt from scratch and crawling around in the guts of airships with one of his engineers felt like play after a day of government work. Sometimes, when Delia had meetings to attend of an evening (it was easier to meet with the working people after their day's duty was completed) and Amalia had been put to bed he would even climb down into his workshop beneath the Windworks again. Dust had gathered on his tools, the tables still littered with gears and wires from when he'd completed the armored suits for himself and Eitan. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he was better suited to than leading. What had once been his whole life was now a hobby he could spare an hour or two a week for.
The little experiments and tinkering he allowed himself eventually led him down deeper, into a section of the island more tightly warded than any other. Very few even knew about the small room in the bowels of solid rock that made up the foundations of the island. Within there were two things, one precious and one reviled, both confusing, dangerous and secret. On one side of the small room, in a niche in the wall at about mid-height on Stefan was a cloth-wrapped box about the size of his two hands beside each other. The box was wooden, lined over the entire inside with Abjinurium; within there was a large, mostly round Daemithillium dragonshard. Within this shard was the enemy of the state that had been the cause of the disaster of the 34th and all the deaths that proceeded it; the abomination known as Lyra.
On the wall opposite was Stefan's brother.
A stand had been placed, much as one might see in any advanced anatomy class, and upon this stand was a skeleton. Unlike what one might see in an anatomy class, however, these remains were not bleached white, nor were they bones. There had been no time, and, even had there been all the time in the world, Stefan had not been prepared to face the reality of what remained of Brenner and what it might mean. He had known, instantly, that the metal remains were those of his brother, so intrinsically that he'd been struck dumb, mind refusing to accept what his eyes saw to the point that he was unable to function for long minutes. Eitan had been there to pull him away until he was able to function again. He had ordered the remains of his parents buried, but he had returned first, alone, to scoop Brenner into his arms and carry him back to the island where they had been since, waiting. On what, Stefan did not know. He thought he might have known when he'd brought Lyra, captured, to place opposite the skeleton, but while he had had a breakdown, sobbing his apologies to his brother, no notion of what he was waiting for came to him.
On his first visit to the room after the government had settled he had brought a folding chair and sat between the corpse and the container, hands folded before him, looking between them. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to really look at the bones and, perhaps because he'd been able to work on ships and little projects of his own recently, he realized that they were more than that. They had the shape of a human skeleton but there were connections of metal that mimicked tendons as well, despite not having the slightest shred of flesh on them from the time he'd found them he realized that they were not 'bare bones' in the sense one might imagine when saying the phrase. The next time he had come it had been with an anatomy text in hand. He had examined the remains extensively, making careful notes. Studying them at home later he had finally realized why the metal structure had always tugged at his mind. Though he himself had never used his Artificing to create 'living' creatures, his studies had included some about their construction. The skeleton was like nothing he'd encountered in those lessons but there were parts of it that seemed to imply the same flows of energy used in construct creation.
He did not allow himself to become obsessive, and he did not speak to anyone, not even his wife, his new brother or his manservant, but he did begin to delve into a study of Artificial constructs. It might come to nothing, but he had seen a glimmer in a part of his heart where only darkness had reigned and he was not going to let it go.
Sometimes, when he looked at his wife, blooming in perseverance even as she struggled under the weight of what all were now fairly sure were twins in her belly, Stefan couldn't help but see the comparison between her and Zaichaer. Both had expected to continue in the lives that had seemingly been set out for them, both had been forced by the same set of events onto an exceptionally different track and both, despite the tribulations that had almost killed them, were now thriving with new life and purpose.
'Minister Dornkirk', he had to remind himself half a dozen times a day, was no longer his title. He was First Minister Dornkirk, 'Minister Dornkirk' was his wife. Because he had had almost two years to figure out his position, when it had shifted, he the transition had been, if not seamless, at least efficient. All the new Ministers of his cabinet were having to build their offices, officers and infrastructure from the ground up. Some, like the Minister of Finance, was able to pick back up from where the previous person in their position had been working, but others, like Delia's position as Minister of Welfare, were having to be built whole cloth. The fact that she had already been doing the job in reality for all the people who lived on the Sky Islands helped. Those she had trusted to distribute aid in the early days were now being tapped as her aids and officers to take over the job over much larger swathes of the nation. What they had been saying from the beginning was true, prove your worth through your labor and your rise was assured. Middle-aged women who had consigned themselves to finish raising their children and then living quietly were now wearing uniforms and direct food supplies for entire regions. The indomitable spirit of Zaichaer never shined so bright as when its need was most desperate.
Stefan would never say, would never even think, that it had been a good thing, the deaths and disaster, but like a forest after a fire, they were growing back healthier and stronger for it.
His own work now was a combination of coordination management and policy creation. His solid grounding in the fundamentals of a business run on the ideal of providing for his employees and his nation came into play far more than he would have imagined five years before. He could read over drafts of laws and see what they would cost the people and what they would gain, analyze the worth of new policies with an eye critical to anything that might favor one group over another. There was very little pushback or oversight for the time being but he knew that wouldn't last and, more than anything, he wanted a solid foundation for Zaichaer that would stop the coups for leadership that had plagued them at least once per generation. Balancing the powers was the most important and delicate part of his job, even though he was supposed to be one-third of the tripod that held up the nation he was best suited to the work of writing the new constitution, so he did it.
While his duty to the State did take up a great deal of his time it now took up less than it had before the Triumvirate had been formed and his cabinet of Ministers chosen. Which meant that, for the first time in what felt like a whole separate lifetime, he had time to himself. He dedicated some of his newly gained free time with his family, but as Delia, Eitan and even Lucrece were also quite busy with their work and his daughter was too young still to really do very much with, he found that there was about an hour each day in which nothing required his attention, urgently or otherwise.
The first time this had happened he'd been so disoriented it had made him anxious but Deinerin had been there, coming to his rescue and suggesting that, if he had a few minutes to spare (as the man knew he did) he might step out to observe the working floor of Windworks as he had once been known to do. The idea had filled him with such a quiet, helpless joy that he'd nearly cried. Clearing his throat he had followed his manservant in a set of inspections and brief conversations with his workers that felt so much more like home than anything he now had access too that he had to continue to clear his throat throughout. There were new faces, but so many familiar ones, men who took off their hats and shook his hand before he could ask them questions about the ship they were currently refitting and return them to their zones of comfort. By the end of it the whole shift of workers seemed like they were running full steam ahead and never happier for it.
He wasn't able to visit the floor every day but he did read all the reports as the ships were refitted and even, once in a while, was called in to consult on a particularly difficult broken engine. Some had to be rebuilt from scratch and crawling around in the guts of airships with one of his engineers felt like play after a day of government work. Sometimes, when Delia had meetings to attend of an evening (it was easier to meet with the working people after their day's duty was completed) and Amalia had been put to bed he would even climb down into his workshop beneath the Windworks again. Dust had gathered on his tools, the tables still littered with gears and wires from when he'd completed the armored suits for himself and Eitan. There was so much he wanted to do, so much he was better suited to than leading. What had once been his whole life was now a hobby he could spare an hour or two a week for.
The little experiments and tinkering he allowed himself eventually led him down deeper, into a section of the island more tightly warded than any other. Very few even knew about the small room in the bowels of solid rock that made up the foundations of the island. Within there were two things, one precious and one reviled, both confusing, dangerous and secret. On one side of the small room, in a niche in the wall at about mid-height on Stefan was a cloth-wrapped box about the size of his two hands beside each other. The box was wooden, lined over the entire inside with Abjinurium; within there was a large, mostly round Daemithillium dragonshard. Within this shard was the enemy of the state that had been the cause of the disaster of the 34th and all the deaths that proceeded it; the abomination known as Lyra.
On the wall opposite was Stefan's brother.
A stand had been placed, much as one might see in any advanced anatomy class, and upon this stand was a skeleton. Unlike what one might see in an anatomy class, however, these remains were not bleached white, nor were they bones. There had been no time, and, even had there been all the time in the world, Stefan had not been prepared to face the reality of what remained of Brenner and what it might mean. He had known, instantly, that the metal remains were those of his brother, so intrinsically that he'd been struck dumb, mind refusing to accept what his eyes saw to the point that he was unable to function for long minutes. Eitan had been there to pull him away until he was able to function again. He had ordered the remains of his parents buried, but he had returned first, alone, to scoop Brenner into his arms and carry him back to the island where they had been since, waiting. On what, Stefan did not know. He thought he might have known when he'd brought Lyra, captured, to place opposite the skeleton, but while he had had a breakdown, sobbing his apologies to his brother, no notion of what he was waiting for came to him.
On his first visit to the room after the government had settled he had brought a folding chair and sat between the corpse and the container, hands folded before him, looking between them. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to really look at the bones and, perhaps because he'd been able to work on ships and little projects of his own recently, he realized that they were more than that. They had the shape of a human skeleton but there were connections of metal that mimicked tendons as well, despite not having the slightest shred of flesh on them from the time he'd found them he realized that they were not 'bare bones' in the sense one might imagine when saying the phrase. The next time he had come it had been with an anatomy text in hand. He had examined the remains extensively, making careful notes. Studying them at home later he had finally realized why the metal structure had always tugged at his mind. Though he himself had never used his Artificing to create 'living' creatures, his studies had included some about their construction. The skeleton was like nothing he'd encountered in those lessons but there were parts of it that seemed to imply the same flows of energy used in construct creation.
He did not allow himself to become obsessive, and he did not speak to anyone, not even his wife, his new brother or his manservant, but he did begin to delve into a study of Artificial constructs. It might come to nothing, but he had seen a glimmer in a part of his heart where only darkness had reigned and he was not going to let it go.
