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Speaker 1: Allegiance.

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Speaker 1: Chapter Three. Storm at the Edge of
Civilization.

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Speaker 1: Maria Felter, mayor of Far Reach,
stood on her balcony watching the two storms
race

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Speaker 1: toward each other. The first storm, a
deep, dark blue, had come creeping up the

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Speaker 1: foothills over the past day. Its
thunder was the slow, plodding steps of an
ancient

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Speaker 1: monster.

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Speaker 1: The second storm formed in the
northwest in just the last few hours. This one
seemed

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Speaker 1: to race toward them. Already she
could feel the winter winds whipping about
before

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Speaker 1: the approaching storms. The clouds of
the second storm were red, a writhing

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Speaker 1: red-gray mass, like a tumor in the
sky. Neither storm was supposed to exist

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Speaker 1: anymore. The storm riders themselves
were a thing of legend. Only the meek, broken

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Speaker 1: descendants of the highland giants
remained, scraping out a living on a miserable

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Speaker 1: little plateau far to the south. Of
course, that didn't help explain what she was

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Speaker 1: seeing today.

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Speaker 1: Maria herself had spent most of the
last day denying that the approaching storm was

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Speaker 1: actually tinted blue, and it wasn't
just some trick of the eye. That lie had died on

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Speaker 1: her lips when the second storm had
formed, sliding over the neighboring mountains

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Speaker 1: like a blood clot in the sky. They
had sent word to the capital city, New Terrace,

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Speaker 1: then. They sent word to everyone.
Someone was supposed to be fetching an
ambassador

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Speaker 1: of the Highlanders. Someone was
supposed to be explaining why storybook monsters

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Speaker 1: were at her doorstep. There's a
telegram, sir. And the chief of security,
Rilfrid,

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Speaker 1: sat in the nearby chair. The electric
telegram operator waved her into the office.

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Speaker 1: Maria tore herself away from the
spectacle in the sky and stepped back inside. If

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Speaker 1: her guess was right, the two storms
would actually collide just before reaching her

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Speaker 1: city nestled in the mountains. She'd
passed that bit of information along and was

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Speaker 1: hoping that this was their reply. The
telegram operator sat at a little desk

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Speaker 1: listening to the chirping beeps of
the telegram codes, writing down the words on an

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Speaker 1: unrolling sheet of paper as she
deciphered them. I'll read them as they come.

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Speaker 1: Ambassador here. Rebel factions.

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Speaker 1: Not Highlander. Well, of course they
would say that. Their ambassador wasn't going

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Speaker 1: to admit to treachery. Storms
colliding.

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Speaker 1: Infighting probable. Maria lost her
patience. There was a

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Speaker 1: treaty against this kind of thing. It
was dangerously close to looking like an

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Speaker 1: attack on a human city. Just ask them
why they're fighting outside my damn city.

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Speaker 1: The telegram operator jumped in
alarm. I, I have to wait until the wire's clear,

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Speaker 1: sir.

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Speaker 1: There's more. Arm yourselves. Okay,
that's the

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Speaker 1: end of the message. How should I
respond? The mayor just stood there, stupefied.

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Speaker 1: Arm themselves? Against giants?
Surely that couldn't be right.

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Speaker 1: She'd made a mistake. She was about
to tell the operator so when the chief of

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Speaker 1: finance spoke first. It's a bluff.
Attacking a human city would be the last thing

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Speaker 1: the Highlanders would ever do. They
know it. We know it. Maria

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Speaker 1: pointed out the open balcony doors.
It was cold, growing colder by the second, but

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Speaker 1: she didn't want to turn her back on
this threat. Better to leave the doors wide open

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Speaker 1: for everyone to see. Then how do you
explain that, Eric? They're coming right at us.

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Speaker 1: You said it yourself. The storms will
stop well before the city. They'll rumble

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Speaker 1: around a little, and the snakes in
New Terrace will concede some minor resource to

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Speaker 1: the Highlanders. It's politics, dear.
I know you're new at this. And you?

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Speaker 1: She spun on the chief of security.
Where's the militia? What's your plan for

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Speaker 1: defense? The man squirmed under the
sudden attention. He had been content to remain

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Speaker 1: in the background until now. He
probably wouldn't have even come into her office
if

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Speaker 1: she hadn't caught him sneaking out of
the building. The council had appointed these

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Speaker 1: people. She hadn't chosen them. It
was a check on her power, even though she was an

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Speaker 1: elected official. This was a republic
working correctly, supposedly.

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Speaker 1: Lords above help them if that was
true. I, I have my lieutenants going door to
door,

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Speaker 1: asking for volunteers. We'll have a
good count of fighting men by sundown. Uh,

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Speaker 1: you're asking for volunteers to fight
giants? How many takers so far,

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Speaker 1: Rilfrid? With some luck, you might
have enough soldiers to lower the front gates so

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Speaker 1: they can walk right in. I'll make
sure you're there to greet them, by the way. I

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Speaker 1: think I have that much power.

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Speaker 1: Rilfrid paled at the threat. The, the
giants, Maria. If they want to fight,

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Speaker 1: I don't think we can stop them.
Perhaps we should simply surrender.

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Speaker 1: She had to admit he was right about
that much. What was she supposed to do?

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Speaker 1: The mayor looked outside at the
approaching storms. So unnatural in the way they

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Speaker 1: moved. What was happening here? It
didn't feel like a political play, and it

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Speaker 1: certainly wasn't a coincidence. It
seemed like the entire republic was under siege

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Speaker 1: these days. Droughts in the east
squeezed the grain supply. The wild shapers that

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Speaker 1: lived there swore they had no hand in
the weather. They abided by the same treaties

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Speaker 1: that were supposed to bind the
Highlanders. The old magic that made their
ancestors

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Speaker 1: so fearsome was just a part of
history now. Lords, they were part of the

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Speaker 1: Republic, if in name, not always in
spirit.

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Speaker 1: Worse, there was a plague in New
Terrace itself. The disease ravaged the densely

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Speaker 1: populated city, putting great cracks
through the country's industrial might. Now

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Speaker 1: magical storms from her childhood
stories were rolling towards her city. It was
one

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Speaker 1: coincidence too many.

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Speaker 1: Something bigger was at play here,
but she couldn't see what it was. She could only

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Speaker 1: glimpse the shape of a design larger
and more frightening than she would have

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Speaker 1: believed until today. Thunder shook
the building and her eyes snapped up to the

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Speaker 1: clouds. The storms were approaching
each other in the sky.

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Speaker 1: A tendril of red clouds spun out from
the mass and swirled into the blue clouds.

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Speaker 1: Instead of slamming into each other,
the two storms slowed, swirling around each

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Speaker 1: other like dancers at a ball. They
didn't look like they were fighting at all.

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Speaker 1: They looked like they were... Oh, no,
no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

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Speaker 1: A bolt of purple lightning shot
across the sky. The storm swelled and grew,

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Speaker 1: mixing until only a single mass of
deep purple clouds remained where

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Speaker 1: two storms once churned. Tell New
Terrace. Tell them. I, I

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Speaker 1: can't. There's, there's static on the
line. Why?

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Speaker 1: I don't know. Interference, maybe. I
don't know. It was hard to hear her over the

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Speaker 1: sound of the approaching storm. The
room grew dark as the shadow fell over Far

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Speaker 1: Reach, the most western city, the
pinnacle of human ambition.

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Speaker 1: They had cut a tunnel through the
very stones of this mountain range to get here.
It

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Speaker 1: was meant to be the beginning of a
new era of prosperity. As Maria stared into the

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Speaker 1: sea of darkness swirling above her,
she knew they'd been wrong. It was actually the

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Speaker 1: end. Another bolt of purple lightning
leapt from the clouds, striking the streets of

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Speaker 1: the city below. She blinked away the
spots of light from her eyes and saw a man

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Speaker 1: standing where the bolt had struck. A
man more than three times taller than any man

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Speaker 1: should stand. He wore dark purple
gleaming armor. Little lines of electric power

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Speaker 1: still arced off his skin. More
lightning struck, and everywhere it struck,
another

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Speaker 1: giant burst into existence, as if
they had ridden the very bolt itself to the

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Speaker 1: ground. Snow fell in a great white
sheet until Maria could see nothing but white,

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Speaker 1: occasionally punctuated by a flash of
purple. The raging storm swallowed her

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Speaker 1: building entirely. The snow drifts
were already piling up inside. The other three

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Speaker 1: people helped her push the heavy
doors closed. Unfortunately, they had been too

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Speaker 1: slow. She had already heard the first
screams rise from the city. Her

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Speaker 1: city. She sank to the floor.
Belatedly, she hoped that the

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Speaker 1: logging towns on the other side of
the mountains would hear her telegram messages.

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Speaker 1: Not all of them had wires, but maybe
they were listening. It was the last hope

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Speaker 1: she clung to as she heard the doors
downstairs explode inward. If they were

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Speaker 1: listening, maybe they still had time
to run.

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Speaker 1: Chapter four. Useful. Elm leapt out
of bed, then

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Speaker 1: immediately regretted it. His body
felt like it was made of wood. Muscles he didn't

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Speaker 1: even know he had were sore, and yet
it only made him happier. He

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Speaker 1: hobbled downstairs and found the
house empty. A note was on the kitchen table,

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Speaker 1: written in his father's hand. Had to
work late. So proud of you. He read it

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Speaker 1: again, just to make sure it was real.
His father was

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Speaker 1: proud? So he'd done it. He'd actually
done something right? Well, that was a

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Speaker 1: strange feeling. He still felt a pang
of anxiety when he stepped out the front door

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Speaker 1: into the winter chill, though. What
if he couldn't keep it up?

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Speaker 1: Anyone could do three days. The man
who'd taken bets on Elm had told him so.

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Speaker 1: Well, if that were true, he'd just
have to do four, then five. Take it one day at a

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Speaker 1: time. If he could get his saw to do
whatever it did again, and if he got a

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Speaker 1: little bit stronger, well, for the
first time in his life, he wouldn't be useless.

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Speaker 1: Elm had walked right up to the old
trader's wagon without even realizing it. He

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Speaker 1: would have taken another route if
he'd been paying attention. The sliding window
to

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Speaker 1: the wagon was slightly ajar. The
smell of pipe smoke drifted out. He ducked his
head

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Speaker 1: under the height of the window and
walked as softly as he could. Excuse me. Elm

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Speaker 1: leapt forward, stumbled, and looked
backward over his shoulder. The junk trader

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Speaker 1: stepped out from behind her wagon,
smiling warmly. He looked down at her clothes.

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Speaker 1: The corpses of things hung off her.
He didn't wait for her to speak. He started

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Speaker 1: running. But then something strange
happened to his feet. His shoes tugged at odd

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Speaker 1: angles like the ground had become
uneven. He tried to keep running, but his right

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Speaker 1: foot stuck to the ground as if glued
there. Elm was slammed to the earth by his own

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Speaker 1: momentum, his ankle twisting
painfully in the frozen shoe. He cried out in
pain, and

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Speaker 1: when he tried to lift his foot, it
resisted the move- He pulled harder and then it

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Speaker 1: unstuck from the ground with a jerk.
His shoes were not particularly alive, but he

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Speaker 1: sensed their confusion. This was not
how they wanted to be treated, whatever he'd

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Speaker 1: just done. Elm became aware of the
old trader walking toward him. She was

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Speaker 1: responsible for this somehow. Did she
trip him? Did she have some kind of shoe

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Speaker 1: magic? No, that was dumb. When he
stood, the pain was incredible. His ankle

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Speaker 1: was already swelling. Sensing his
unease, the right sock stiffened to brace the

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Speaker 1: wavering joint. It still hurt, but
the makeshift brace let him hobble away. The
junk

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Speaker 1: trader didn't follow him as he half
stumbled, half ran down the street. Tears flowed

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Speaker 1: freely from his eyes. Every other
step sent electric jolts of pain that went all
the

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Speaker 1: way up through his thigh. Could he
work? Could he still work? When he rounded the

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Speaker 1: corner to the sawmill entrance, he
forced himself to walk normally, gritted his

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Speaker 1: teeth against the pain. He nodded at
the foreman, willing the man to ignore his

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Speaker 1: injury. Maybe he could just take it
slow. It would feel better later.

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Speaker 1: Except a voice in the back of his
mind told him that wasn't true. He ignored it.

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Speaker 1: "Mornin', Elm. Listen, we, uh,

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Speaker 1: we need to talk." "I'm ready to get
to work. I'll do even better today."

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Speaker 1: Elm tried to walk right past the
older man. "Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down

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Speaker 1: there. How about that? Lords above,
boy, your pants are on backwards."

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Speaker 1: "What?" "Look down." Elm looked

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Speaker 1: down. His work jeans were indeed on
backward. Maybe that was why he'd fallen.

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Speaker 1: "Oh." The foreman signed in two other
men who walked past him, exchanging

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Speaker 1: pleasantries with them. "Hey, listen.
I appreciate your hard work yesterday, and

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Speaker 1: I'll see that you get paid for it."
"I really should get to work, sir." He knew what

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Speaker 1: Wilton would say, and he didn't want
to hear it. He couldn't hear it, so he started

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Speaker 1: walking away instead. Wilton put a
hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm. "You're

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Speaker 1: just not cut out for this. I probably
shouldn't have humored you yesterday, and I'm

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Speaker 1: sorry for that. You're a great kid,
but..."

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Speaker 1: Wilton's voice faded away, and Elm
couldn't hear the words anymore. It didn't
matter

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Speaker 1: because he already knew what they
meant. They confirmed what he'd known all along.

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Speaker 1: Part of him knew he was being unfair.
He really wasn't cut out for this kind of

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Speaker 1: work. It w- it wasn't clear why his
father thought he would be. Maybe he hadn't

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Speaker 1: known it was heavy labor. But still,
he'd wanted so bad to prove

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Speaker 1: himself. Maybe he still could. Maybe
he could move as many pieces as Gus,

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Speaker 1: work twice as long as everyone else.
Perhaps if he promised that, Wilton would let

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Speaker 1: him stay. Someone came up to Wilton
with an urgent question, and he stepped away to

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Speaker 1: help. Seeing the foreman's back
turned, Elm hobbled off into the outer yard as
fast

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Speaker 1: as he could. He, he hid behind the
newly delivered mountain of logs and watched the

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Speaker 1: foreman turn around, looking for him.
Elm waited until the foreman gave up and

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Speaker 1: closed the front gate to leave.
Wilton had barely visited the outer yard the day

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Speaker 1: before, only stopping by every now
and then to check on the tallies. Perhaps if Elm

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Speaker 1: could get a great deal of work done
before he came back... He took one step and

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Speaker 1: collapsed to the ground. His sock had
finally gone limp. It seemed sorry but

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Speaker 1: exhausted. His ankle screamed in
pain. It f- it felt as large as a melon.

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Speaker 1: Elm rolled over and looked up at the
pre-dawn sky. He knew it was over.

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Speaker 1: He should just stumble out before
anyone noticed him. But he was just

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Speaker 1: so tired of being useless. So he
gritted his teeth and

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Speaker 1: pulled himself onto his hands and
knees. He looked around. The other workers
weren't

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Speaker 1: out here yet, but they would be here
soon. Elm looked at the front gate. If he was

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Speaker 1: going to leave unnoticed, now was his
last chance. Then he turned and looked at the

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Speaker 1: equipment shed. Gus' saw was in
there, probably humming with that same
excitement,

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Speaker 1: the thrill of being useful, vibrating
with a thirst for purpose. He...

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Speaker 1: So he turned his back on the front
gate and started crawling towards the equipment

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Speaker 1: shed. He managed to pull open the
locker and get out the saw. It seemed brighter,

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Speaker 1: cleaner, stronger than it did
yesterday. It didn't speak to him with words. It

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Speaker 1: sang to him with feelings. It sang of
a hard sweat on a cold morning.

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Speaker 1: It sang of the smell of sawdust. It
sang of the firm grip of a calloused

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Speaker 1: hand. "I'm sorry, Gus' saw. I can't
use you anymore.

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Speaker 1: I think, I think this is it."

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Speaker 1: But the saw didn't understand his
words. It only understood work.

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Speaker 1: So Elm spoke to it in a way that it
would understand. He dragged himself back out to

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Speaker 1: the log pile. The rest of the crew
was walking out of the main warehouse now,

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Speaker 1: laughing with each other. Elm didn't
wait for them to notice him. Instead, he used

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Speaker 1: his entire body weight to roll a big
log away from the stack and started cutting. He

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Speaker 1: cut into the log, and, and the saw
sang. Once that was done, he rolled

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Speaker 1: another one out, ignoring the
concerned questions of the others. He cut this
one

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Speaker 1: even faster. Sawdust showered him
with each stroke. He barely noticed. When he

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Speaker 1: tried to roll out another log,
someone stopped him. "Let me try."

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Speaker 1: It was Renfro. He took his hand off
Elm, but still looked deeply concerned. Then

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00:18:29.902 --> 00:18:35.862
Speaker 1: something amazing happened. Instead
of picking him up like a sulking child, Renfro

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Speaker 1: rolled over another log. Elm got to
work. He cut this log even

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Speaker 1: faster, the splinters of wood flying
out with such force that some of them stuck

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Speaker 1: into his skin. Another log rolled
out. Elm sang a song of

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Speaker 1: sawdust. He sang a song of hard sweat
on a cold morning. He sang a

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Speaker 1: song of calloused hands. He sang a
song of purpose. When he was

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Speaker 1: done, he couldn't even sit upright
anymore. He was vaguely aware that people were

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Speaker 1: watching him. His entire body was
caked with sawdust. He coughed heavily as
someone

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Speaker 1: poured water in his mouth. Something
was wrong with the saw in his hands. It had

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Speaker 1: been glowing, actually glowing for
hours while he worked. It had

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Speaker 1: been hours? Yes, it had been. Now it
was dull,

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Speaker 1: brittle, and somehow lighter in his
hand, and he could tell it was lifeless.

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Speaker 1: Elm wiped away the dust from his face
and looked around, slowly coming back to

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Speaker 1: himself. Nearly forty people stood
around the outer yard. They took turns staring
at

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Speaker 1: him and staring at something else. No
one talked to him. Even the person who'd

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Speaker 1: given him water backed away once he
was sitting on his own. Elm looked through the

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00:19:59.582 --> 00:20:04.242
Speaker 1: gaps in the standing people, trying
to see what they were looking at. Where are all

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Speaker 1: the logs?

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Speaker 1: Giant's beard, Elm. You cut them all.
You cut them

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Speaker 1: all.

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Speaker 1: Elm tried to stand, but couldn't
move. He was so tired.

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Speaker 1: He didn't realize someone could be
this tired. I did?

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Speaker 1: People mumbled in assent, but nobody
seemed eager to talk to him. For some reason,

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Speaker 1: they didn't seem all that pleased.
Hadn't he done most of the week's work for them,

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Speaker 1: and in a single day? He looked down
at Gus's old saw. Thank you.

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Speaker 1: He had spoken to it in the only
language it understood. All right, all right.
Get

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Speaker 1: back to work. Get back to work. The
foreman dispersed the assembled crowd. The

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Speaker 1: man walked up to Elm, but like the
others, didn't come any closer than he needed to

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Speaker 1: be heard. Lords above. I almost
stopped you a dozen times, you know that?

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Speaker 1: It looks like you're about to faint.
I, uh, I've never seen a saw

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Speaker 1: glow like that before.

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00:21:17.362 --> 00:21:22.962
Speaker 1: Then he simply stared at Elm. Elm
looked away, then forced himself to

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Speaker 1: stand. Most people had returned to
work, or at least pretended to return to work.
He

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Speaker 1: didn't like the fearful looks they
gave him, though. He didn't like the hushed

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Speaker 1: whispers they gave him when he
passed. The foreman followed him all the way to
the

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Speaker 1: front gate. What? What happened? Elm
sagged against

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00:21:45.082 --> 00:21:50.382
Speaker 1: the gate, worried he wouldn't be able
to get moving again. And he thought about it.

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Speaker 1: He couldn't have just put the saw
back. When Gus left, he'd left it behind, a
living

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Speaker 1: thing without a purpose.

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00:22:00.102 --> 00:22:05.862
Speaker 1: Elm might be through, but he couldn't
bring himself to leave the saw there to rust,

243
00:22:06.402 --> 00:22:12.342
Speaker 1: alone, always wondering when it would
sing again. I had to say

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00:22:13.082 --> 00:22:18.742
Speaker 1: goodbye. Then he dropped the saw to
the ground. It was just

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00:22:19.002 --> 00:22:20.422
Speaker 1: metal and wood now.

246
00:22:22.402 --> 00:22:27.742
Speaker 1: Elm's walk back was slow and painful.
As much as his body ached, his soul ached

247
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Speaker 1: more. This is what it was to be
useless. Even the impressive things he'd

248
00:22:33.622 --> 00:22:39.502
Speaker 1: done were only borrowed, and for a
short time at that. The old woman stood

249
00:22:39.582 --> 00:22:42.062
Speaker 1: outside her wagon, smoking her pipe.

250
00:22:43.582 --> 00:22:48.982
Speaker 1: Elm groaned, but made no effort to
avoid her. That was impossible now.

251
00:22:49.482 --> 00:22:52.382
Speaker 1: Hello, Elm. Hi.

252
00:22:54.042 --> 00:22:55.182
Speaker 1: Are you ready now?

253
00:22:57.762 --> 00:23:03.742
Speaker 1: He was tired of these games. Just
tell me what you want, then leave me alone. She

254
00:23:03.822 --> 00:23:08.442
Speaker 1: tapped more ash out of her pipe, then
replaced it in her mouth. If she was bothered

255
00:23:08.482 --> 00:23:14.342
Speaker 1: by his tone, it didn't show. I want a
legacy. He stopped walking,

256
00:23:14.522 --> 00:23:19.662
Speaker 1: and for a moment, was afraid he might
fall over. He was so tired.

257
00:23:20.282 --> 00:23:22.402
Speaker 1: Too tired. What?

258
00:23:24.162 --> 00:23:29.542
Speaker 1: You asked me what I want, and I told
you. Now, what do you want?

259
00:23:31.002 --> 00:23:35.922
Speaker 1: He stared at her through half-lidded
eyes. He was about to fall asleep right here.

260
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Speaker 1: I want He wanted what everything
wanted, of

261
00:23:43.162 --> 00:23:49.102
Speaker 1: course. I want to be useful. The old
woman smiled at that.

262
00:23:49.842 --> 00:23:55.162
Speaker 1: Her teeth were stained yellow. Her
drab, lifeless clothes hung off her tiny frame,

263
00:23:55.662 --> 00:24:00.862
Speaker 1: making her look even more disheveled.
Clothes shouldn't do that. They should at

264
00:24:00.922 --> 00:24:05.942
Speaker 1: least try to fit you. Who would even
want clothes that didn't help out, at least a

265
00:24:05.982 --> 00:24:11.442
Speaker 1: little? He couldn't imagine how long
it must take to find clothes that fit you like

266
00:24:11.522 --> 00:24:17.242
Speaker 1: that. Good. Our time is short, so
let's get out of the cold.

267
00:24:18.182 --> 00:24:23.862
Speaker 1: I'll make you some lunch, brew some
tea. Then let me tell you

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00:24:23.962 --> 00:24:29.842
Speaker 1: about allegiance. Let me tell you
about your mother.