Chapter 1 - Part 1

CHAPTER ONE – BIRTH OF AN ORPHAN
The 4th of Olarune, 993 Y.K., in northwest Cyre

Hot.

What? What is…

Hot.

No, where, why, what is…

By themselves, the eyelids opened, because they could. Metal and wood composites scraping into their semi-organic containment units.

How do I know what those words mean?

How do I know what words are?

Hot.

“Get him out of the forge, you sluggards!” came a yell.

Tongs picked him up, underneath his arms. He was no longer hot. He was standing on a rim. Cool.

“By Dol Dorn’s nostrils they’re getting stupid when they come out!” snapped a person in flowing purple robes. “I want them more intelligent, not more stupefied!”

“We have been trying, Minister De’Breeves,”

“Do not ‘try,’ get them moving! Where are the others? You told me that this thing would have a manufacturing capacity of three an hour!”

Why is it hot down there? He wanted to ask. But he did not open his mouth. He was afraid. There was motion, sight, and sound, everyone moving about. But he did not know where to go. There were no guidelines for him, no rules, no instruction. No one cared to tell him what to do.

A heavy hand shoved him in the back. A stone and metal hand, like his own. “Move along,” came the gruff voice, so different that the voices of Minister De’Breeves or his assistant.

He walked along, not wanting to be prodded. He wanted to proclaim that he was a person, not a thing to be shoved, but he was afraid to. What if he was not a person? What were the rules, what was his…his mind searched, and the word came to him.

Law. What is my law? What am I declared to be?

“Here.” He was stood upon a small stage. A rod with a series of inverted numbers was taken from a bucket of coals.

No, that’s hot, why are you –

He screamed at the pain as his right shoulder was seared with the numbers. The other hands held him. Strong hands, like his own.

“What’s all that racket?”

“New warforged yelled when we numbered him. Might be a malfunction in him. Should we dissect him and examine his parts?”

“No you idiot, we’re behind schedule, and we’ve a shipment to make.”

“Why?” he asked the other one holding him, the one who was also ‘warforged.’ “Why are we ordered about thus?”

“Not now,” the other one whispered. “Take the pain. Wait for the word.”

“Your number is 4311XD,” a person with some papers clipped to a board was telling him. “You have been built for intrahouse duties, and you will respond to your name with either ‘this unit stands ready’ or ‘this unit needs maintenance’, depending on your –”

“Why?” he asked. The other warforged gently poked him with a finger.

The person – human? – looked up from the papers and the board, startled. “What?”

“Why do I have to do these things, just because you say? Why must my name be chosen by you?”

“Aw, f’tesk!” the human yelled. “Hey Jared, didn’t you download this thing’s programming matrix?” The human was ignoring him.

“Just say ‘This unit now understands, this unit acknowledges’,” the warforged was whispering to him. “Otherwise they will take you into a room and cut you open.”

Jarred and the person with the papers – Valder – were having a heated argument that involved getting off shift in less than an hour.

“This unit now understands, this unit acknowledges,” he said, eyes darting sideways at the other warforged. But I will choose my own name eventually. For now, he did not know the rules, so he would wait. He would trust those like himself over those not like himself. For now.

“Heh?” Valder said, looking back at him.

“This unit understands, this unit acknowledges,” he repeated.

“Well?” Jarred yelled from across the vast room. It was wide, with many, many people. There were metal walkways hoisted above great vats, and clouds of steam and smoke were everywhere.

“To the Dark Six with this,” Valder said. “Forget it, just go with the others, you will be given your duties later.”

He walked with the others. And he refused to close his eyes.