Tales of the
Invisible Hand
In August, Skull Island eXpeditions will release the first book in brand-new science fiction/fantasy series from author Miles Holmes (“The
Way of Caine,” “Cold Steel”). Tales of the Invisible Hand marks the first time Skull Island has released a book that stands independent
of Privateer Press’ existing worlds, one that offers a fantastic alternate-history Earth setting that readers of the Iron Kingdoms fiction will
find enthralling. The following excerpt introduces readers to Max Braun, a historian of the future, and his theories about what preceded
the history of our world, going back to a time before what we have always believed was the birth of man . . .
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Riddle of the Ant
You can’t know where you’re going until you know where you’ve
been. So it goes, right?
But here’s the gag: we don’t know. We probably never have, and we
probably never will. As a species, we’re chronic amnesiacs. Near as
we can tell, Homo sapiens like us have walked the Earth for over two
hundred millennia. Just try for a moment to wrap your head around
that much time. Then consider that the entire sum of human history
barely accounts for one percent of that time.
Knowing this, could man have a greater mystery to solve than
the riddle of man himself? In the pages of this journal, I offer my
own journey into this frontier. Though my research has long been
discounted by my peers, the artifacts it has uncovered remain and
with them, my conclusions—chiefly, that modern man has profoundly
underestimated pre-historic man.
Not so long ago, even I would have laughed at such hyperbole. My
story begins twelve years ago in the former Republic of Iraq. It was
there I led my first archaeological expedition, deep into the wastelands
of that failed state. Three days from the gates of Amman to the dry
lake of Hammar we traveled, avoiding hostile tribesmen and sandswallowed ruins until at last we set foot in the very cradle of human
civilization, the oldest city known to man.
Eridu.
Discovered within a case of similar composition to the plates, the
weapon was an unmistakable marvel of craftsmanship and design to
behold. It yet defies both dating and the ravages of time, leaving only
one’s imagination to reflect upon its true nature.
That a structure might have been raised some seventy thousand years
ago alone demands we re-consider the middle Palaeolithic age. Yet
to hold in my hand a functioning revolver of potential comparable
antiquity leaves me in breathless wonder as to the missing pages of
humanity’s story.
Who were these people to wield guns in an age of stone knives and
spears? By what means did they roam the Earth, and how did their
journey end?
—Professor Max Braun, “Revelations of Eridu,” 2069
Journey now, back to an age of adventure and intrigue to meet a
civilization swallowed by the gulf of time. We begin with the young
scout Zekh var Zaehn, flying his first away mission for the nomadic
Thae-ano Flotilla and already in deep trouble for insubordination.
His only passenger and superior officer, the grim-faced Neanderthal
inquisitor Gavross Gaur, charts a path to the frontier of this savage
and ancient world, charged to find answers for a sudden spate of
tribal unrest and set things right. Yet as the pair is about to discover,
some stones are better left unturned…
Lhott by Dawn
Having published collegial papers on the origins of the Tower of Babel a
year earlier, I was delighted to receive a sizable bursary from a wealthy “Air marshal, air marshal, identify Thae-ano craft four-twoif reclusive patron only a few months later. Yet as is often cautioned, five-five. Please respond.” Zekh keyed his headset, indifferent
to the silence. With a shrug, he released the key and gripped
one must be careful what one wishes for. So it was with me.
Though I had come looking for a mere tower, it was instead the surreal the yoke with both hands, his keen eyes scanning the horizon.
I found. Within the first week alone, I had little doubt that Sumerian The dawn sky was a perfect blue gradient, broken rarely by
civilization had been founded over the ruins of another. Incredibly, low-hanging stratus clouds. Drifting high above one such bank,
Zekh raised throttle then put his airship into a dive. Within the
these precursors appeared to possess knowledge rivaling our own.
The tower itself we found readily enough; the sheer scale of the thing cockpit, the projection sphere cast radiant glyphs in the air about
could not long escape notice by our sophisticated instruments. And his face, tracking his every move. Tumbling left, he banked
though it was reduced to no more than a ruined foundation twenty steeply to catch the wisps of the cloud. Immediately there was
meters beneath the surface, the structure hinted at fantasy from the a howl of discontent from below. With a glint of mischief in his
very start. Just as in the biblical account, it could have supported a eye, he leveled off, resuming a more gradual descent.
truly massive tower, the equal of any modern skyscraper. Further,
the foundation’s architecture featured precise lines and a unique
honeycomb, one at odds with anything built around it. While it was
resistant to all but thermo-luminescent dating, even this method led
us to an impossible conclusion: that the tower had been raised some
seventy thousand years ago. How? For what purpose? We faced too
many questions, and we had only just begun. As we delved deeper, we
uncovered a series of sub-chambers. It was there we found the artifacts.
Even this early, it was a glorious day, and Zekh could not help
but glow along with the rising sun. Once more the Qinta was
aloft, and he was where he most wished to be: nestled in the
age-worn nook of her cockpit. He savored every feeling here,
from the throb of the engines that shook him raw to the rush in
his belly with each loop or dive.
The rattling old airship was a Korvanite commission, three
centuries old and far from the fastest in the Flotilla. Her
Foremost among them, we identified a curious archive of cuneiform rivets had been replaced many times over, and her silver skin
tablets. Immediate study of the tablets suggested a dramatic end to the had been patched in countless places. Her engines predated
her commission, salvaged from an even older relic. Despite
tower amidst fire and chaos, in a time long before the rise of Sumer.
Yet the tablets proved to be no more than a ruse, soon crumbling to drawing on first-generation power cores, they also predictably
reveal plates of rare and precious metals marked with an unknown stalled at full throttle. The Qinta creaked with even the most
language and pictographs. Additional study of these plates would casual of maneuvers as though she might suddenly shatter
into pieces. Zekh didn’t care. For all her flaws, she was a thing
later reveal so much more, as I will detail in the chapters to come.
of beauty.
Yet for all that we gleaned in Eridu, I confess it is the pistol that
She was his.
haunts me to this day.
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Her stubby silver-and-black-striped fuselage was just over a
dozen yards long, framed by tandem ellipsoid wings. Spanning
twenty yards aft and fifteen ahead, each wing mounted a
transverse tilt rotor engine for variable vector thrust. The aft
wings also sported matching tail rudders, each five yards tall.
Atop the back of her fuselage sat Zekh’s bubble-like cockpit,
appointed with threadbare bucket seats and an inglorious
press-metal dash.
Regardless of what she’d been called over the centuries of her
service, she was his to name, as far as Zekh was concerned,
and he had exercised his rite of title by choosing the moniker
of the terrifying demon-fish from the lore of his lost village: the
Qinta-Kaa. He’d even gone so far as to paint her nose with the
jaws and eyes of the fearsome beast.
Leveling off directly under the bank, Zekh let the tail rudders
rake the cloud above. It seemed to him as though they were
As with any airship considered a scout of the Flotilla, the Qinta daggers slicing the underside of a grain sack, and with a
had been retrofitted with a projection sphere at her dash and a dumb grin he pictured the contents spilling as he went. From
sensitive detection array along her belly. And at her nose jutted the ladder beneath his feet came a stumbling noise and an
quad Sparkler guns and even a long first-generation lance. awkward smack of head to bulkhead, followed immediately
Built by the Thae-ano of old, the high-powered beam weapon by a sharp curse.
was a rare treasure for a scout. And once it had been fitted for “Explain this rough passage, scout!” the Sh’Col demanded,
war six decades ago, no one had seen fit to remove it since. making his way up the tiny ladder into the two-seater cockpit.
Thus was his Qinta equipped to fight if the situation demanded Zekh chuckled softly to watch this oversized Makai try to
it, however unlikely that might be.
squeeze into the narrow adjacent seat.
“Apologies Sh’Col, just avoiding a little rough air,” he lied
with all the deadpan he could muster. Yet in short order, his
repressed grin fought itself loose.
“Pshtak!” the Sh’Col swore. “You are reckless. You seem to
forget your flight status is probationary. I warned your Kivra
you were not ready, and you demonstrate it for me time and
again.” His baleful eyes bored into Zekh with an intensity that
caused the scout to shrink in his seat. Still, he met the glare
with his best impression of innocence.
The Sh’Col rolled his eyes. “Oh, and did you think last night’s
weapons discharge had gone unnoticed?”
Zekh swallowed, his face flushed.
“Yes, it was noticed. If you find our protocols so chafing, you
need not worry, boy. After my report is tendered, you will not
be asked to abide by them again.” The middle-aged Makai
plucked his beard until at last his glare drifted out beyond the
windscreen. After a moment of silence, he turned to regard
Zekh again.
“And just what is it you always appear to be so pleased about?
Do we not have problems enough for you?”
Zekh shrugged. “I. . . Well, I can fly, Sh’Col. Where I come from,
that makes men and the gods just about the same. You Makai
ascended a long time ago. Maybe you’re just used to it by now.”
“So, what of it?”
“So, the world is a hard place. People die all the time, often for
no good reason. I guess it just seems to me there’s no threat
can’t be made small with enough altitude, and here’s me with
an airship of my very own. What more could I ask?”
The Sh’Col snorted. “A ridiculous philosophy. I certainly hope
we have parted ways by the time reality comes calling to set
you straight.”
“Sh’Col, please.” The young scout paused to adjust his
wireframe headset. It was time to deflect the conversation.
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And fast. He remembered that his passenger had said nothing
of his solitary excursion since arriving back at camp. “You
disappear for two days and come back to say the Hetakz are
preparing for war. So, what are we doing about it?”
way to prosperity. Should these three fingers be grasped in
peace, the fourth finger”—Zekh now raised his index finger—
“grants the rule of Thae-ano. By the tenets of our constitution
will they adopt the stability of a just and elected council that
“May I presume you read the mission brief prior to departure?” their freedom and prosperity be long-lived.”
the Sh’Col snorted.
“And the last?”
Zekh looked past a series of coolant readings in mid-air,
reviewing the brief in his head, then cleared his throat.
“Investigate reports of tribal instability in the region,” he
recited, “Gomeer and Hetakz ranges.”
Zekh extended his thumb, his hand now fully opened. “The
thumb grants the science of Thae-ano. By the principles of our
science might they navigate their future. Whatever path it may
take, when the hand has been embraced, we are all drawn to
He turned to the Sh’Col with an arched eyebrow. “That’s what the greater good.” Knowing he had omitted or even maligned
mine said. Now, from one end of Hrrta to the other, you can some words of the verse, Zekh winced at his stern companion,
take your pick of primitives. At any given time, half of them expecting reproach.
don’t get along. So, what exactly is the trouble with these two?” “Very well,” the Sh’Col conceded. “Never forget we are, all of
The Sh’Col’s brow furrowed. “Very well,” he said, looking beyond us, indebted by this rite. All eight nations of the League were
the riveted panes of the cockpit and out into the open sky. “The raised in this manner at one time or another.”
problem is the Hetakz have been offered the Hand of Ascension.”
Zekh nodded, though the Sh’Col’s final words chafed. “And
Zekh whistled. “What? Why didn’t you say so? When did some few have been lost along the way, too. As it was with
my people.” he spoke softly as the Qinta began to bank. He
this happen?”
looked ahead to find the faint shadow of mountains across the
“Three years ago. They nearly have our language already. We had
horizon line.
planned to begin the next phase early next season, but now...”
“What’s wrong?”
The Sh’Col shook his head. “Unless we can resolve the
situation, they will be forsaken.”
Lining up a new heading from the myriad glowing projections
before him, Zekh tried to reconcile the Sh’Col’s revelations.
“The Sh’Col order keeps tabs on many tribes. This sort of thing
does happen, right?” Zekh scanned the horizon to studiously
ignore the stern glare his comment had drawn.
“Do you truly know so little our ways, boy? The Hand of
Ascension is the most sacred rite of our hosts. Once begun, it is an
undertaking and investment both, and it is not easily discarded.”
“I get it.”
“Convince me.” the Sh’Col scoffed.
Zekh sighed. With a deep breath, he resolved to offer the first
and most fundamental of the catechisms. He held a free hand
out, his fingers closed into a fist.
“The hand that guides brings one more to the greater good.
The hand has five fingers.” He put his pinky finger up. “The
first finger grants the word of Thae-ano. By speech and the
written word can their education begin, and with it their first
step on the path to the greater good.” He glanced at the Sh’Col
to find him still watching expectantly. With a shrug, he put up
his next finger. “The second finger grants the numbers of Thaeano. By mathematics and measurement might their world be
better observed.”
Zekh took a breath, extending his middle finger, his attention
turned to the horizon. “The third finger grants the industry of
Thae-ano. By our wisdom might they recognize their resources
and how best to cultivate them. Instilled are the principles of
agriculture, craft, and manufacture that they may find their
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Zekh edged the Qinta into a descent, noting a swirl of air
pressure glyphs materializing over the amber vector as his
airship continued to the distant mountains. He had heard
most of the Sh’Col’s explanation before from the scholars. Yet
it never sat entirely right with him, and here was an actual
Sh’Col to question. “And nothing more?”
The Sh’Col blinked at him. “A valid question. I have descended
the hold of Ursis and peered inside the vault they keep there.
I have seen the ancient tomes lined row after row. Memorials
of heroes lost and battles won. An armory of Gol suits. Plasma
lances and other wizardry that I cannot begin to guess the
purpose of. Often have I wondered at the unspoken history
that brought a vast and ageless people to just a few thousand
survivors. Even the history they are willing to speak of presents
a troubling pattern.”
“What do you mean?”
“If the Hand of Ascension has been observed for three
thousand years, why do we find ourselves a League of only
eight nations?”
Zekh grimaced. The discussion was fast slipping into the
surreal. “What are you saying?”
“I only ask a question.” Gaur shrugged. “For now, the task of
keeping one more tribe on the path is before us. If it be in my
power, it shall be done.”
The Sh’Col’s face broke into a mirthless smile. It was the
first time Zekh had seen such from the Sh’Col, and he was
immediately convinced Gaur’s smile was worse than his
scowl, given the feral teeth he exposed.
“You’ve never spoken with Makai before, have you?” The
Sh’Col chuckled.
The Makai cast a narrowing glance Zekh’s way. “Perhaps I’ve
overlooked the reason your Kivra chose you after all.” He Zekh shook his head.
“Never ask Makai questions you do not wish to hear the
pursed his lips, on the edge of saying something.
answers to.”
“What?”
“You understand the situation. The League is a patchwork
of civilization spread wide over a barbaric frontier. Savages
vastly outnumber us. Most of them will kill for nothing more
than the shoes on a man’s feet. And in the entire last century,
only three tribes showed the non-violent potential for contact,
including your own.”
Zekh blinked at the Sh’Col, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Yours might have grown to join the League as a full nation
one day. The Hetakz yet may. And we have the chance to help
them now. Do you understand?”
“I suppose. But to what end? If my lessons are right, they’ve
been at this for, what? Three thousand years? What difference
does a tribe like mine or the Hetakz make, really?” Zekh
shrugged. “Whatever is meant by the greater good, has it not
more or less been achieved?”
“I’ll remember that, Sh’Col.” Zekh refocused on his projection
sphere. The amber vector of his trajectory was paired with a
steadily descending glyph. “We should make the capital of
Lhott in twenty-two minutes.”
The Sh’Col’s attention was drawn to beyond the Qinta’s
windscreen, and he took in the view with a deeply drawn
breath. “My grandfather was the Sh’Col who brokered the
ascension of Lhott. Did you know that?”
Zekh shook his head. “I suppose that explains why you are here.”
“Indeed. I am obliged to matters that attend his legacy.”
At that moment, Zekh noted a hazard glyph dancing just above
his nose. His eyes darted ahead for an explanation only to find
the mountains looming ever closer.
The Sh’Col didn’t seem to notice; he grunted, his face twisted
to a frown. Stealing a sidelong glance, Zekh saw him grasp for
an unseen object tucked into the collar of his tunic.
The Sh’Col shook his head. “The greater good is the restoration
of men as it was at the height of the Thae-ano Empire. The “You know, you still haven’t told me what you saw down
greater good is a world of science and hope, not savagery and there,” Zekh noted, scanning the horizon.
fear. Nothing less.”
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The Sh’Col grunted again, nodding this time. “Your brief tells “They will not listen. It has gone too far.” The Sh’Col scowled,
the bulk of it. Indeed, I saw mounting aggression between the tracking the fast-moving riders below. “If we are swift, we might
Hetakz and Gomeer tribes. All over an apparent trade dispute.” broker an arrangement for Lhott to airlift the goods promised
“A trade dispute?” Zekh frowned. For the most part, tribesmen to the Hetakz. But of course, the Gomeer are committed now.
and ascended kept to their separate selves. “Whatever would This complicates things greatly.”
they have to trade?”
“Is it possible Lhott wanted this to happen?”
“Food for livestock, primarily. Gomi beasts are prized The Sh’Col regarded Zekh with narrowed eyes. “Why would
throughout Lhott, and the Hetakz keep vast herds of them. In you ask such a question?”
truth, it was the stability of this peaceful exchange that first “It’s a possibility, isn’t it?” Zekh pressed.
brought the Hetakz to our attention.”
Gaur pulled his beard. “Yes. Yes, it is. They are also well aware
“So, what happened?”
of the status of the Hetakz. If they are undermining our efforts,
“While gathering their winter stores, the Hetakz claim the there will be consequences.”
caravans from Lhott simply stopped arriving.”
Zekh’s attention, still drawn over the side of his canopy,
“Why would Lhott do that?”
snapped forward as a ping sounded in his ear. Looking once
“The Hetakz claim Lhott was lured into new bargains with more at his vector, he saw it now glowed green, a hexagonal
the Gomeer, who also tend Gomi herds. So, I sought out the glyph bulging midway.
Gomeer chieftains to investigate the truth of these claims. But “That’s it,” he said. “We’ve just crossed the first marker into
the Gomeer denied any involvement, and I found no reason Lhott.”
to doubt them. Thus must we seek an answer in Lhott itself.”
Zekh balked at oddity of the situation. He was not and could
never be as studied as a Sh’Col, but he was not ignorant of
Lhott. Among the most distant and more guarded nations
of the League, Lhott was known to be honorable enough—it
would never have been chosen for ascension otherwise. The
Sh’Col watched with a knowing grimace as Zekh worked
through the situation.
“Now,” Gaur said at last, “you see something of the life of
a Sh’Col.”
Movement at the periphery of his left windowpane cut short
Zekh’s reply. He jerked his head around and dipped his wings
for a better look at the surface of the land below. “Oh, that’s not
good,” he muttered.
Far beneath them, a hundred Gomeer tribesmen were on the
move. Each rode beasts as the Sh’Col had earlier, and the dust
cloud they stirred up made them easy to spot from above. Their
barbed spears were drawn, and they moved with a menacing
precision southeast.
“What is it?” the Sh’Col snapped, trying to see over Zekh’s
shoulder. The young scout brought the Qinta around to give
his passenger a better look, pointing as he did.
“That’s a war party,” Zekh said.
“Just as I feared.” The Sh’Col simmered for only an instant
before he erupted, pounding his fist on the dash.
“Wait. Can’t we do something?” Zekh looked across at the
hunched, furious Makai.
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