Chapter 8: The Stick of Truth
The scent hit him first—a heavy, choking mix of coal dust and metal shavings, clinging to the air like an unwelcome guest.
The church's interior bore little resemblance to the serene sanctuaries Asher had known. Though rows of pews stretched toward a modest altar, they were dwarfed by the sprawl of workbenches and tools that filled the space. Pipes crisscrossed the walls and ceiling, occasionally hissing out small jets of steam. Gears and pulleys of various sizes turned lazily in the background, powered by a roaring furnace tucked into one corner. It was as if the church had been overtaken by an industrious madness, every surface dedicated to the worship of invention rather than divinity.
Asher hesitated in the doorway, overwhelmed by the organized chaos. "This... is a church?" he asked, glancing at Samantha.
"Don't let the pews fool you," she replied with a wry grin. "The Church of Steam and Machinery is more workshop than holy ground. Try not to touch anything unless you want to get yelled at—or worse."
As if on cue, a loud clang echoed from somewhere in the workshop. A figure emerged from behind a towering contraption, wiping their hands on a grimy rag. It was a teenager, their wild, soot-streaked hair sticking out in all directions. A pair of filthy goggles sat crookedly on their face, so caked with grime that Asher wondered how they could see at all.
The teen paused when they saw Samantha, then broke into an animated grin. They barked something in Feysac that Asher couldn't understand, their tone light and teasing.
Though the words were lost on him, the playful banter between them was clear enough.
Samantha gestured toward Asher, saying something that included the word tagalong.
Kaspar tilted their head toward him, their expression becoming curious behind the opaque lenses of their goggles. They muttered something else, their tone skeptical, before Samantha replied with a quick retort that earned a laugh.
"Care to share with the class?" Asher interjected, glancing between the two of them.
"Kaspar wants to know if you're one of my 'projects,'" Samantha said, smirking.
Asher raised an eyebrow. "Should I be insulted?"
She waved him off. "You'll survive. Kaspar's taking us to see Father Otto. Keep up, and try not to trip on anything."
Kaspar gestured for them to follow and darted back into the maze of machinery, their movements quick and practiced. Samantha followed without hesitation, leaving Asher to stumble after them, doing his best to avoid the cluttered tools and precariously placed gears.
What kind of "Father" presided over a place like this?
Asher stepped into the dimly lit library, feeling the shift in atmosphere from the workshop outside. The faint smell of ink and old parchment mixed with the ever-present metallic tang of machinery. Shelves of books, some leaning precariously, lined the walls.
At a desk near the back sat a gruff, middle-aged man with reading glasses perched on his nose. His left hand, a gleaming mechanical prosthetic, rested on the desk as he read, it's quiet clicks and whirs barely audible over the stillness.
The man didn't look up immediately, seemingly engrossed in the book. When Samantha called out a greeting, however, he finally raised his head, sliding his glasses down to peer at them.
Without a word, he picked up a shard of polished glass and held it to his eye, scrutinizing Asher with unsettling intensity.
Asher shifted uncomfortably under the gaze, unsure of what exactly the man was looking for. He felt like a curiosity on display. Before anything else could be said, a loud clang echoed from somewhere in the building.
Kaspar cursed in Feysac, their words lost on Asher but their tone unmistakably irritated.
The teen bolted back out the door, muttering what seemed to be an apology.
The clang from the workshop receded, leaving the room eerily quiet once more.
Otto returned his focus to Asher, the gleaming shard of glass still held to his eye. His scrutinizing expression remained inscrutable, though Samantha appeared perfectly at ease as she leaned against a nearby shelf.
Finally, Otto set the shard down and muttered something in Feysac, his tone clipped but not unkind.
"What's he saying?" Asher asked, glancing at Samantha.
"Patience," she replied, smirking. "He's asking a lot of questions. Nothing you need to worry about. Yet."
Asher frowned but said nothing as Otto continued speaking to Samantha. Their conversation was rapid and fluid, Samantha responding with her usual bluntness, occasionally punctuated by a wry grin. Asher could only catch glimpses of their intent through her tone and body language, the words themselves incomprehensible.
At one point, Otto gestured toward Asher's stick, raising an eyebrow as he spoke. Samantha tilted her head, then looked at Asher with something between amusement and mild exasperation.
"You know the term Beyonder?" she asked suddenly.
Asher blinked, caught off guard. "Maybe? I've heard it before, I think."
Samantha snorted, clearly unimpressed with his answer. "He has no idea," she said to Otto, shaking her head.
Otto sighed, muttering something under his breath before returning to their rapid conversation. Samantha seemed to be enjoying herself, her smirk widening as the exchange went on.
Finally, Otto asked a question that made Samantha throw her head back and laugh.
It wasn't a polite chuckle—it was a full, uncontrollable fit of laughter that left her gasping for breath. She even wiped at her eyes, tears forming from the force of it.
"What?" Asher demanded, his patience wearing thin.
"Oh, nothing," Samantha said, still laughing as she turned to him. "Just... trust Otto, okay? He's the one who made the feather for me. Speaking of which..."
She reached behind her ear and pulled out the feather, holding it out to Otto.
The gears on his hand whirred as he picked up the feather placing it in his other palm.
Otto's voice, previously an unintelligible murmur, suddenly snapped into clarity.
"... stick you're carrying. It's going to turn you into an eunuch if you keep holding onto it."
Asher froze. "Excuse me?"
Samantha, who had been watching him with barely contained glee, burst into laughter again.
Otto adjusted his glasses and spoke again, his tone calm but firm.
"The stick contains the characteristics of a Sequence 9 Planter. It grants you enhanced strength, but at the cost of... well, your reproductive faculties. Among other things."
Asher tossed the stick onto the floor as he tried to process the unintelligible information.
"You couldn't have mentioned this earlier?" he said, shooting a glare at Samantha.
Otto nodded solemnly. "Don't worry, we can seal its negative effects. You'll still have to part with it for a bit though."
Asher looked at the stick again, torn between unease and disbelief. "For what kind of price?"
"It's really no prob-"
Samantha, clearly unbothered by Otto's irritation, snatched the feather off his head with a mischievous grin. She didn't wait for him to speak, answering on his behalf.
Otto pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily, his expression one of resigned defeat.
"Just volunteer here for a while," Samantha continued, undeterred. "One of their priests ran off to the city, and this place is a mess. They could use an extra pair of hands."
She threw in a playful wink. "It'll be fun~ Just some physical labor and lessons in Feysac. You'll thank me later."
Asher glanced at Otto, who muttered something under his breath in Feysac that Asher didn't need to understand to recognize as frustration. Samantha's antics clearly weren't new to him.
Looking back at the stick in his hand and then at the smirking Samantha, Asher sighed.
"Doesn't seem like I have much of a choice."