The Lost Blade

ODD1 (2006-2007) AND MECHANCIAL DREAM (2001-2007)

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 The Lost Blade
“In the beginning… Hahaha! To begin with… Hahahaha! Oh!
Oh hehehe! Ugh! Ok… I’ll stop… Hehehe… I’ll stop now… but
22
you… you really believed it did you? Oh… that was good. Sorry, sorry.”

The old Inaïs was still laughing a bit, trying hard to stop. Facing him was
an even older Gnath, his face so wrinkled that you could barely see his eyes;
narrowed and shining with an evil yellow light at that exact moment. He
seemed ready to kill the Inaïs who, despite hunching, somehow managed to keep
his head high and his shoulders straight.

“If you keep laughing I’ll cut your only leg left.” The elderly Ganth spat.

“Well if only I had a left leg left, you could cut it but as it’s been for the last 15
years, good luck on that!” Replied the Inaïs cheerily.

The Gnath knew full well that the Inaïs wasn’t mocking him in any disrespectful
manner - they had been friends for so long anyways - but he could hardly control
his natural ill temper. Yet seeing his friend doing his best to lighten the situation,
the Gnath played along:

“Well let’s say it was only a matter of speech, and I’ll go straight for your right leg
instead…”

“Then we’ll have to buy me a wheelchair, and you’ll be the one moving
me around everyday. It’s not like we have plenty of people
around us to rely on.”

The Inaïs’s tone was a little darker. The

Gnath was quick on the answer:

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 The Lost Blade
“Maybe we do Velane, maybe we do…”

“And who would that be, Teka? All my children are long dead and we haven’t
33
heard any news of yours in ten years.” Velane looked at the Teka but saw he would-
n’t speak more. Teka looked up, and saw the roof of their platform - the floor of the
next platform - the third out of seven - three hundred meters above. His eyes went
to the edge of the third platform, where dents had been chipped so that people could
know the time of day anytime they’d raise their eyes to the “skies” of Vilnaco, their
city. These dents were filled with special webs made of materials unknown to the
Inaïs and the Gnath - and people in general. But they both knew that only the web
that had the most light coming from the Pendulum would shine, standing out, and
give them the time. The other ones, linked together through a strange process, would
remain dull and let the Pendulum’s soft blue light filter through them invisibly.

Velane, finding the glowing web, saw that the lunch break was over and it was time
to get back to work. Sitting on the ground, just outside his shop with his old friend,
wondering at Teka’s “Maybe we do Velane…” his eyes couldn’t get away from the
platform above.

So many, like him, spent all the time they had every day - a few minutes for most -
looking up, like he did, and dreaming of living there, on that “next platform”. He
was looking at the dents where the invisible webs were waiting for their moments
to shine. For this day, half of them faded already, the other half still to come. He
was thinking of how curiously identical to people, hopefully, these webs were -
hopefully, that is, in thinking that they really were linked together, through invisi-
ble patterns, for a greater goal. Half-smiling, Velane looked at him-

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 The Lost Blade
self as one of the last webs in a day’s cycle, maybe the last one,
just before the Pendulum fades, and the night, with its Nocturne,
44
comes.

His gaze went from the edge and followed a single plank, hundreds of
meters long, probably a kilometer, all the way back to the trunk of the
huge tree, the majestic Kioux, which was supporting these millions of
lives with its humongous branches and roots. There, two beams going
from the trunk to the base of the platform, maybe hundred
meters from it, were welded into both the trunk and the bot-
tom of the platform. That Velane knew, remembering a
moment of his childhood - one of his most violent memories -
where his best friend discovered he was becoming a Weirdsmith
when he welded, by his touch only, two pieces of wood. This thought
of his lost friend put and abrupt end to his reverie. Teka was looking at
him, smirking. Annoyed, Velane simply said:

“Lunch break’s over. Let’s get back to work.”

“I’ve been at it for the last ten minutes.” The Gnath replied.

Velane looked at Teka with some surprised. He was indeed at work. He

mumbled a “Sorry Teka,” and went inside his small shop checking his
orders due for the end of the week, browsing through the few other
papers that were lying on the wooden table, and went out again. Sitting
back on the ground at the exact same place and in the exact same man-
ner that he was a few minutes ago, he said:

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 The Lost Blade
“We’ve got to finish repairing that lady Nayan’s dress for tomor-
row, and this chunk of leathers and hides to cure. Get on that dress
55
whenever you’re done with these clothes, I’ll do the leathers, your fingers are still
much more nimble than mine.”

The Gnath, seeing his friend depressed for some reason (for he knew very well that
when Velane went on explaining the work order of the week, which they’ve been doing
together for the past twenty five years, that meant the Inaïs was sad and tried to occu-
py his mind) tried to bring something else to Velane’s attention. He put the clothes down
on a clean canvas because he knew he wouldn’t concentrate on his work while talking.
He took some knives and needles, and started sharpening them. Then he spoke:

“Can you imagine Velane, thirty some years ago, a wheelchair. I mean not a wheel-
chair but the accessibility of it, for us common workers. We fare better than some.
You have your own shop, and that’s pretty much my own shop too - but we’re still
far from rich. Now we’re talking about you losing your second leg, and the answer
comes so easily: a wheelchair. Not certain death from starving or getting killed in a
robbery while you’re trying to beg for your next orpee. Nope, just a wheelchair. Isn’t
that amazing? Of course down where we were, that would probably still not be an
option. I couldn’t imagine someone surviving in the slums without legs but eh…”

Now it was Teka who was daydreaming. The Pendulum was far and low enough
that its light, coming in oblique, could filter through the leaves of the other Kioux
and bathe their platform in it, for a few hours. Through the years, Velane had man-
aged to awaken in the Gnath whatever sensitivity there was in him, and Teka, one
in a billion, could now appreciate these moments. Some flakes of
light were dancing at his feet, and he was almost smiling.

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 The Lost Blade
The old Kioux wood used for the platforms, centuries old now,
was almost pitch black. The millions of people trampling it everyday,
66
the smoke and dust from the coal used in the industrial areas, and now the vehi-
cles, still uncommon but making their way into the higher platforms society, all
insured that the natural deep red hue of the wood remained hidden. The Gnath
remembered some story about the higher platforms maintaining their platform’s
floor natural color year after year through some Weirdsmith process. He smiled, a
weird furrow on the lower part of his face, and Velane, surprised, teased:

“Whoa Teka, you’re smiling! Don’t hurt yourself! You stopped talking. What were
you thinking about that would make you smile so?”

Teka, being asked what he thought, immediately stopped smiling to hide his feel-
ings and remained silent for a while. Velane, well aware of the process taking place,
kept working, patient. Some moments passed until he added:

“So what’s going on with you? What happened? I’m not talking about you smiling;
I’m talking about you coming here this morning to work, and believing my joke.
I’m talking about you caring more about me than usual. I’m talking about you
moved by the Pendulum’s light. An Inaïs would be in love. But you can’t possibly
be in love. So what is it?”

Finishing his sentence Velane almost smacked himself in the face. That wasn’t the
kind conversation that would have the Gnath speak any faster. He chuckled a bit and
focused on his work, knowing full well the answer could now take hours or days.

Two hours went by and both the Gnath and the Inaïs worked very diligently. When
the Gnath was done with all his sewing, he felt he could now talk:

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 The Lost Blade
“My third son was supposed to be here yesterday. He was to
obtain his second platform citizenship last week, and move this week.
77
I told him he could move in with me for now, until he found something for his fam-
ily. But he was not here yesterday. He is not here yet. I’m… I don’t know if he will
be here. I’m expectant, I’m proud, I’m…” and he shut himself up, giving to Velane
a letter he had been hiding in the pocket of his vest.

Velane unfolded the letter and read aloud:

“Hello father, Teka3. I did it. I did all that needed be done in order to achieve this,
but I’ve succeeded. Like you. I’m to come and live on the second platform - from
the slums to the second platform, bypassing the first! I will be on “our” platform
next week, where I was told my business could flourish. But I must do as you did.
Leave my oldest kids here, and only bring with me the youngest, a girl, Maru2, and
my concubine, Maru. Hopefully they will succeed as we did, father. I will see you
soon, after ten years, in person. Your son,Tekapo1.”

Velane looked at his old friend and saw him almost trembling. The cohabitation of
different races together, and especially as different as Gnath and Inaïs, had proved
quite interesting. He had become, under the guidance of Teka3, a fierce business
Inaïs. He had been constantly surprising his customers, who were mostly Gnaths,
when it was time for negotiations. On the other hand,
the Gnath had become almost sensitive, open to
some basic emotions beside fear, hate and the
like. The Inaïs knew very well that his own
race was “cherished” by orpee,
while the Gnaths were

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 The Lost Blade
in excruciating pain whenever they ate that fruit necessary to
the sustenance of all things living. These pains drove the Gnaths crazy
88
and few managed to reach adulthood, where the pain diminished greatly as they
grew accustomed to it, sound and sane. All these thoughts gave Teka enough time
to compose himself and control that shiver. Velane knew he could speak, but he
chose the wrong words:

“You know, with today’s necessary paperwork everywhere, he could still be in

transit at the customs. Your family doesn’t have the cleanest of histories…”

“Did you ever meet a Gnath family with a clean history? There is no such thing!”
The Gnath was brutal, his gaze a bit vague, his head tilting on the left side, mean-
ing he could lose control any moment.

That shocked Velane, who gasped and bit

his tongue. He looked to the ground and
thought about his childhood again. A few
cropped images of the way his father had
to adapt (crowbar with blood) and how
he had to fight for everything (a crude
leaf sword biting too deep into his left
leg) flooded his mind but upon that last
image he touched his stump and point-
ed at the Gnath:

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 The Lost Blade
“You do whatever you want. You kill me on the spot if that
pleases you. I’m going to see if your son is stuck at the customs. We’re
99
getting old Teka. We’ll be dead tomorrow. We’re getting stiff, you’re sitting there
waiting, waiting! This is ridiculous.”

And he took his crutches, stood up, and prayed Teka3 wouldn’t kill him.

The Gnath did almost kill him. He stood up as well, enraged. But the friendship,
love, trust and all these subtle mechanisms had made their way inside him. A sec-
ond of hesitation he had was all that was needed to save the Inaïs: a lightning strike
exploded into their face. Velane, standing, froze on the spot. Teka, who had the
impulse to jump on the Inaïs, kept jumping at him but this time to save him. Velane
briefly saw him, still blinded by the lighting strike that had fell right beside them,
and got scared, thinking the Gnath was indeed going to kill him. He tried to dodge
him but with his crutches and old age, all he could do was lose his balance. Teka,
stumbling on one of the crutches, fell on the Inaïs with all of his body weight. Their
old age not helping, they fumbled on one another, the Inaïs on his back with the
Gnath chest, both out of breath. The Gnath apologized but as he was speaking a
second lightning strike crashed down at the exact same place.

The Gnath let himself roll on the side to give the Inaïs some air, who rolled over on
his belly, his face on the ground. Teka, looking at the place where the lightning strikes
hit, a bit further in the small alley where they were, saw something in the haze:

“Look Velane look! There’s something “in” it!”

The Inaïs stood on his elbows, like the Gnath, and a third strike - but
silent this time, flashed in and out. Both Velane and Teka said:

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 The Lost Blade
“OH!”

The next second, an Odwoane was clearly perceptible through the haze and
10 10
smoke remaining. All around him the wood on the ground was charred and a burnt
scent could be smelled. The Odwoane was sitting like a puppet whose strings
would have been cut off an instant ago.
MECHANICAL DREAM
Velane, subjugated:
AUTHOR : BENJAMIN PAQUETTE

“Born form the thunder…” EDITING : DANIEL LLORIN STAUFFER

LAYOUT DESIGN : TOMMY ASSELIN

And the Gnath:
ARTISTS : YANN LEROUX, DONALD CARON, JEAN-FRANÇOIS FERLAND,
NICOLAS FRANCOEUR
“And smelted by lightning…”
TEXT LAYOUT : FRANCIS LAROSE

And together, looking for a second at each other:

“The Judicator comes back from the womb of his Mother.”

Just as they were finishing saying “Mother”, a last flash electrocuted the
Odwoane, bringing him back to life. He opened his eyes, looked in front of him,
saw the two friends looking at him, looked around a bit, came back to the Inaïs and
Gnath, and stared at them. Not knowing what to do, being the first and only time
they ever saw a Judicator resurrect in front of them, they stood still, petrified.
Teka3, regaining is senses faster than the Inaïs, observed in a whisper:

“He doesn’t have his Blade.”

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