A crisp afternoon lapsed into a lazy springtime evening in Illesc, the city which had banished solitude. I watched alone from the window of a barren apartment as the sun fell behind the hills in the distance.

Centuries ago, the story went, the religious authorities of Illesc, in their alchemical pursuits, made the discovery that man was naturally divided into distinct strata. They discovered that when a great nobleman was cremated, trace amounts of gold were found in his remains. Cremate his second-in-command and you'd find a bit of silver. One of his soldiers would yield steel. A common peasant contained bronze. The scholar contained mercury, that most mysterious of elements. A thief, mercenary, or beggar had a bit of lead. The metals a man was infused with corresponded to his moral character and the power of his life force.

Upon learning of this, the lords of Illesc ordered the foundation of a program of selective breeding. They embarked on a mission to build the sturdiest working class by concentrating their bronze, the most fearsome army by concentrating steel, the most curious intelligentsia by concentrating mercury, the wisest advisors by concentrating silver, and, of course, a nobility of the most heroic stature by crossing the most golden lineages with each other, generation by generation.

In this last pursuit the priests of Illesc were particularly successful. The city's aristocrats became known far and wide for their perpetual youthfulness, unnaturally long lifespans, charisma, passion, and ambition. With their elevated mental energy, magic became second nature to them. Their daughters were coveted for marriage across the country. Within a couple centuries, all nobles came to resemble them.

Meanwhile, in Illesc itself, the priests had been accumulating knowledge of their science of metals. Not only did people contain the "classical" six metals, but they also had varying amounts of some more obscure elements: antimony, cobalt, tungsten, and many others. A complete profile mapped directly onto the appearance and personality of the individual. With an understanding of this science, they began a new project: the society of doubles.

In this new Illescean society, magical rites were to be performed to ensure that an exact balance of male and female children were born each year. The metallic profile for each child was to be determined based on records of their ancestors kept by the priesthood, which would then be fed into the Great Tabulator, a monstrous machine that took up half of the city's cathedral. The machine would match each child with its "double," the soul most suited to accompany it through its entire life. The year's children would then be raised communally until the festival on the spring equinox, when each pair was to be given to an assigned set of parents to be raised together.

The people of Illesc were well aware of the reputation this system earned them in the rest of the country. They were called degenerates, rebels against nature, whose practice of raising betrothed children in one adoptive family was an affront to God. However, it seemed to work very well for them. The vast majority of Illesceans were happy with their doubles, and there was universal agreement that no bond could ever be stronger.

The only thorn in the system's side was the class of people known as "the solitary," people whose doubles had died or otherwise been lost somehow, generally excluding the elderly, among whom death could be no surprise. The solitary were looked on by the rest of society with a mix of pity and fear, like idiots or destitute vagrants. It was common knowledge that they had high rates of criminality, mental derangement, and suicide.

I was indeed a solitary myself, my double having gone missing when we were fifteen. Her name was Vera, and even seven years later I still felt like I knew her more completely than I could ever know anyone else. I was two missing one.

It was impossible for me to do anything without being followed by her ghost. I would anticipate her reaction to each event—a polite smile, a suppressed laugh, an annoyed frown—and I would feel empty inside when it didn't come.

How would she behave if she were there with me? She would be sitting at my side, reading a book, periodically looking up to watch the sun set. Every once in a while she would update me on the events of the story she was engrossed in. As she dozed off, her head would naturally find its way onto my shoulder. I'd have to wake her up for dinner.

It had been a peaceful life. I could never understand why she would leave it behind of her own volition, but the alternatives were too terrible to consider.

I had to get out and do something, or else this nostalgia would chew away at me until nothing remained. I put my jacket on and headed out into the twilight. The cool air soothed some spirits and stirred others. I decided to go to Ilyppon's Tavern, a known gathering place for solitary men and men of lead.

Solitary men and women sometimes courted each other, but this rarely worked out well, and such couples were prohibited to have children even if they did somehow mesh. Everyone regarded that sort of relationship as corrupted and inferior. The solitary were generally a resigned people.

I entered the tavern and saw a table with two people I might call friends, an acquaintance, and a stranger. One greeted me with a half-hearted wave. I got a drink and then went to sit down with them. They were having a conversation we had had many times.

"So basically what I'm saying is that nobles have gold in them because they have lots of gold stuff. It's got nothing to do with who your parents are," Canter, a friend, said.

"Then why do scholars have mercury?" asked the acquaintance, whose name I think was Torralon.

"Because a lot of them are alchemists. It's just another coincidence."

"Then what is the Great Tabulator even computing?"

Rennolan, my other friend, interjected, "I don't think it actually does anything. If you look at pictures of the cathedral from before its installation, they used to have a giant organ with a lot of parts that look similar. I think they just took it apart and reassembled the pieces into a different shape, and told everyone it was a brand new machine. That's why only priests are allowed in the tabulation chamber."

Canter turned to me. "Milas, you work for the City Engineer. Have you guys ever worked on the Tabulator?"

I cleared my throat. I had barely spoken to anyone in the past week and my throat didn't feel ready to speak again. "We've made a couple of replacement parts for it, yeah."

"Do you think it 'does anything?'"

"Probably. I have no idea what though. Every piece is a mishmash of gears that I can barely decipher. I just follow the blueprints."

"Excuse me." The stranger spoke up. "What is the 'Great Tabulator?'"

"Wow, you really are from far away, huh?" Canter said.

"No, I'm just from Denascon. We don't exactly hear much of the outside world."

Denascon was a city across the mountains to the east of Illesc. Little was known about it besides the vague notion that its lords had placed a curse on it. Some said it was always night there. Others said everyone there had been killed and reanimated. One fact was known with certainty: nobody went in or out. The table fell into a stunned silence at the stranger's announcement.

"How did you leave?" Rennolan asked with a hint of fear in his voice.

"The curse of Denascon makes all the people there docile, suggestible, and all but silent, except when the Lord Denascon personally makes someone immune. He usually does that when he wants to elevate someone, to put them in charge of something, so that they can more effectively carry out their duties. He put me in charge of managing planting on one of his farms last year. The crops failed and he blamed me, and he said he would put me back under the curse. I escaped before he got the chance."

"Do you think he'll come after you?" asked Torralon.

"I doubt it. He's got bigger things to worry about right now."

"Like what?"

"Sometimes a person's mind will try to fight off the curse, usually after something really terrible happens to them. The conflict that ensues leads to a terrible illness called spellsickness. The official decree is to let the spellsick die, but someone has been going around making those people immune to the curse. Even Lord Denascon can't revert them."

"So does he kill them?"

"He's killed some, jailed others. Most escape as soon as possible. I'm actually here looking for some of them." The stranger pulled a photograph out of his jacket pocket. "Do any of you recognize any of these people? These three are presumed escaped." He gestured to three faces in the picture.

I looked at the picture. It seemed to be a group of farmers. They all looked dead-eyed, like they hadn't slept in days. Not one wore a smile. Then, in the corner of the picture, I saw something that sent chills through my body.

"Do you know this girl?" I asked him.

"Vaguely. Her name is Vera. She was taken in by one of the Lord's officers after being found collapsed near the border of the cursed lands. It was extremely unusual. Few ever enter Denascon from outside. Being exposed to the curse kills most outsiders. I honestly don't know how she survived."

I took the picture from the stranger's hands and stared at it. The other three stared at me, understanding what this meant but not knowing where it would lead.