Clockwork Angels

by Kevin J. Anderson

In another few weeks, he was going to have to put his dreams away on a high shelf. It didn’t seem fair. All his life he had followed the rules. He had done what was expected of him rather than what he wanted; every day mapped out, every event scheduled, every part of his existence moving along like a tiny gear in an infinite chain of other tiny gears, each one turning smoothly, but never going anywhere.

What do I lack? What an annoying, ridiculous question! He bit back his answer, keeping the words to himself. He muttered in a low voice for his ears alone, since no one would understand anyway. “I lack freedom. All these people lack freedom. If a man has a perfect life but cannot make his own choices, then what good is that life?” Oh, they had their clothes and their comforts, their families, their pocketwatches and cheap gold, their smiles and their diamonds. But above all that, he would choose free will. They didn’t even know what it was.

A man could lose his past in a country like this—and that was exactly what Owen wanted. Parts of his past, anyway. Heading toward the west and out of the mountains, he followed his dreams and ran from his nightmares. He chose his own path and consulted the dreamline compass sparingly.