The Magic May Return

by Larry Niven

  “Grandfather?”

  Zalazar spoke in answer to the anxious tone. “It won’t do us a bit of good to try to run away.” His own voice was cheerful, not fatalistic. The good feeling that he had about the cloud had grown stronger, if anything, the nearer he got to it. Maybe his prescient sense, long dormant, had been awakened into something like acuity by the faint accession of mana from the newly opened earth. He could tell that the mana in the cloud itself was vastly stronger. “We don’t have to be afraid, lad. They don’t mean us any harm.”

  “They?”

  “There’s—someone—inside that cloud. If you can still call it a cloud, as much as it’s been changed.”

  “Inside it? Who could that be?”

  Zalazar gestured his ignorance. He felt sure of the fact of the cloud’s being inhabited, without being able to say how he knew, or even beginning to understand how such a thing could be. Wizards had been known to ride on clouds, of course, with a minimum of alteration in the material. But to alter one to this extent…

  The cloud meanwhile continued to work its way closer. Turn, slide, ponderous hop, gigantic bump and scrape. It was now only about a hundred meters beyond the edge of the cliff. And now it appeared that something new was going to happen.

  The tilted, slowly oscillating wall that was the cloudside closest to the cliff had developed a rolling boil quite near its center. Zalazar judged that this hub of white disturbance was only slightly bigger than a man. After a few moments of development, during which time the whole cloud-mass slid majestically still closer to the cliff, the hub blew out in a hard but silent puff of vapor. Where it had been was now an opening, an arched doorway into the pale interior of the cloud.

  A figure in human shape, that of a woman nobly dressed, appeared an instant later in this doorway. Zalazar, in the first moment that he looked directly at her, was struck with awe. In that moment all the day’s earlier marvels shrank down, for him, to dimensions hardly greater than the ordinary; they had been but fitting prologue. This was the great true wonder.

  He went down at once upon one knee, averting his gaze from the personage before him. And without raising his eyes he put out a hand, and tugged fiercely at his grandson’s sleeve until the boy had knelt down too.

  Then the woman who was standing in the doorway called to them. Her voice was very clear, and it seemed to the old man that he had been waiting all his years to hear that call. Still the words in themselves were certainly prosaic enough. “You men!” she cried. “I ask your help.”

  Probably ask was not the most accurate word she could have chosen. Zalazar heard himself babbling some reply immediately, some extravagant promise whose exact wording he could not recall a moment later. Not that it mattered, probably. Commitment had been demanded and given.

  His pledge once made, he found that he could raise his eyes again. Still the huge cloud was easing closer to the cliff, in little bumps and starts. Its lower flange was continually bending and flowing, making slow thunder against the talus far below, a roaring rearrangement of the fallen rock.

  “I am Je,” the dazzlingly beautiful woman called them in an imperious voice. Her robes were rich blue, brown, and an ermine that made the cloud itself look gray. “It is written that you two are the men I need to find. Who are you?”

  The terrible beauty of her face was no more than a score of meters distant now. Again Zalazar had to look away from its full glory. “I am Zalazar, mighty Je,” he answered, in a breaking voice. “I am only a poor man. And this is my innocent grandson—Bormanus,” For a moment he had had to search to find the name. “Take pity on us!”

  “I mean to take pity on the world, instead, and use you as may be necessary for the world’s good,” the goddess answered. “But what worthier fate can mortals hope for? Look at me, both of you.”

  Zalazar raised his eyes again. The woman’s countenance was once more bearable. Even as he looked, she turned her head as if to speak or otherwise communicate with someone else behind her in the cloud. Zalazar could see in there part of a corridor, and also a portion of some kind of room, all limned in brightness. The white interior walls and overhead were all shifting slightly and continually in their outlines, in a way that suggested unaltered cloudstuff. But the changes were never more than slight, the largescale shapes remaining as stable as those of a wooden house. And the lady stood always upright upon a perfectly level deck, despite the vast oscillations of the cloud, and its turning as it shifted ever closer to the cliff.

  Her piercing gaze returned to Zalazar. “You are an old man, mortal, at first glance not good for much. But I see that there is hidden value in you. You may stand up.”

  He got slowly to his feet. “My lady Je, it is true that once my hands knew power. But the long death of the world has crippled me.”

  The goddess’ anger flared at him like a flame. “Speak not to me of death! I am no mere mortal subject to Thanatos.” Her figure, as terrible as that of any warrior, as female as any succubus of love, was now no more than five meters from Zalazar’s half-closed eyes. Her voice rang as clearly and commandingly as before. Yet, mixed with its power was a tone of doomed helplessness, and this tone frightened Zalazar on a deeper level even than did her implied threat.

  “Lady.” he murmured, “I can but try. Whatever help you need, I will attempt to give it.”

  “Certainly you will. And willingly. If in the old times your hands knew power, as you say, then you will try hard and risk much to bring the old times back again. You will be glad to hazard what little of good your life may have left in it now. Is it not so?”

  Zalazar could only sign agreement, wordlessly.

  “And the lad with you, your grandson. Is he your apprentice too? Have you given him any training?”

  “In tending flocks, no more. In magic?” The old man gestured helplessness with gnarled hands. “In magic, great lady Je? How could I have? Everywhere that we have lived, the world is dead. Or so close to utter deadness that—”

  “I have said that you must not speak to me of death! I will not warn you again. Now, it is written that…both of you must come aboard. Yes, both, there will be use for both.” And, as if the goddess were piloting and powering the cloud with her will alone, the whole mass of it now tilted gently, bringing her spotless doorway within easy stepping distance of the lip of rock.

  * * * *

  Now Zalazar and Bormanus with him were surrounded by whiteness, sealed into it as if by mounds of glowing cotton. White cushioned firmness served their feet as floor or deck, as level always for them as for their divine guide who walked ahead. Whiteness opened itself ahead of her, and sealed itself again when Bormanus had passed, walking close on Zalazar’s heels.

  The grinding of tormented rock and earth below could no longer be heard as the Lady Je, her robes of ermine and ultramarine and brown swirling with her long strides, led them through the cloud. Almost there was no sound at all. Maybe a little wind, Zalazar decided, very faint and sounding far away. He had the feeling that the cloud, its power and purpose somehow regained, had risen quickly from the scarred valley and was once more swiftly airborne.

  Je came to a sudden halt in the soft pearly silence, and stretched forth her arms. Around her an open space, a room, swiftly began to define itself. In moments there had grown an intricately formed chamber, as high as a large temple, in which she stood like a statue with her two puny mortal figures in attendance.

  Then Zalazar saw that there was one other in the room with them. He muttered something, and heard Bormanus at his side give a quick intake of breath.

  The bier or altar at the room’s far end supported a figure that might almost have been a gray statue of a tormented man, done on a heroic scale. The figure was youthful, powerful, naked. With limbs contorted it lay twisted on one side. The head was turned in a god’s agony so that the short beard jutted vertically.

  But it was not a statue. And Zalazar could tell, within a moment of first seeing it, that the sleep that held it was not quit
e—or not yet—the sleep of death. He had been forbidden to mention death to Je again, and he would not do so.

  With a double gesture she beckoned both mortals to cross the room with her to stand beside the figure. While Zalazar was wondering what he ought to say or do, his own right hand moved out, without his willing it, as if to touch the statue-man. Je, he saw, observed this, but she said nothing; and with a great effort of his will Zalazar forced his own arm back to his side. Meanwhile Bormanus at his side was standing still, staring, as if unable to move or speak at all.

  Je spoke now as if angry and disappointed. “So, what buried value have you, old man? If you can be of no help in freeing my ally, then why has it been ordained for you to be here?”

  “Lady, how should I know?” Zalazar burst out. “I am sorry to disappoint you. I knew something, once, of magic. But…” As for even understanding the forces that could bind a god like this, let alone trying to undo them…Zalazar could only gesture helplessly. At last he found words. “Great lady Je, I do not even know who this is.”

  “Call him Phaeton.”

  “Ah, great gods!” Zalazar muttered, shocked and near despair.

  “Yes, mortal, indeed we are. As well you knew when you first saw us.”

  “Yes, I knew…indeed.” In fact he had thought that all the gods were long dead, or departed from the world of humankind. “And why is he—like this?”

  “He has fallen in battle, mortal. I and he and others have laid siege to Cloudholm, and it has been a long and bitter fight. We seek to free his father, Helios, who lies trapped in the same kind of enchantment there. Through Helios’ entrapment, the world of old is dying. Have you heard of Cloudholm, old mortal? Among men it is not often named.”

  “Ah. I have heard something. Long ago…”

  “It stifles the mana-rain that Helios cast ever on the Earth. With a fleet of cloudships like this one, we hurled ourselves upon its battlements—and were defeated. Most of the old gods lie now in tormented slumber, far above. A few have switched sides willingly. And all our ships save this one were destroyed.”

  “How could they dare?” The words burst from Bormanus, the first he had uttered since boarding the cloud-vessel. Then he stuttered, as Je’s eyes burned at him: “I mean, who would dare try to destroy such ships? And who would have the power to do it?”

  The goddess looked at the boy a moment longer, then reached out and took him by the hand. “Lend me your mortal fingers here. Let us see if they will serve to drain enchantment off.” Bormanus appeared to be trying to draw back, but his hand, like a baby’s, was brought out forcibly to touch the statue-figure’s arm. And Zalazar’s hand went out on its own once more; this time he could not keep it back, or perhaps he did not dare to try. His fingers spread on rounded arm-muscle, thicker by far than his own thigh. The touch of the figure made him think more of frozen snake than flesh of god. And now, Zalazar felt faint with sudden terror. Something, some great power, was urging the freezing near-death to desert its present captive and be content with Zalazar and Bormanus instead. But that mighty urging was mightily opposed, and came to nothing. At last, far above Zalazar’s head, as if between proud kings disputing across some infant’s cradle, a truce was reached. For the moment. He was able to withdraw his hand unharmed, and watched as Bormanus did the same.

  The goddess Je sighed. It was a world-weary sound, close to defeat yet still infinitely stubborn. “And yet I am sure that there is something in you, old man…or possibly in your young companion here. Something that in the end will be of very great importance. Something that must be found…though I see, now, that you yourselves can hardly be expected to be aware of what it is.”

  He clasped his hands. “Oh great lady Je, we are only poor humans…mortals…”

  “Never mind. In time I will discover the key. What is written anywhere, I can eventually read.”

  Zalazar was aware now of a strong motion underneath his feet. Even to weak human senses it was evident that the whole cloud was now in purposeful and very rapid flight.

  “Where are we going?” Bormanus muttered, as if he were asking the air itself. He was a very handsome youth, with dark and curly hair.

  “We return to the attack, young mortal. If most of our fleet has been destroyed, well, so too are the defenses of Cloudholm nearly worn away. One more assault can bring it into my hands, and set its prisoners free.”

  Zalazar had been about to ask some question, but now a distracting realization made him forget what it was. He had suddenly become aware that there was some guardian presence, sprite or demon he thought, melded with the cloud, driving and controlling it on Je’s commands. It drew for energy on some vast internal store of mana, a treasure trove that Zalazar could only dimly sense.

  Now, in obedience to Je’s unspoken orders, the light inside the room or temple where they stood was taking on a reddish tinge. And now the cloud-carvings were disappearing from what Zalazar took to be the forward wall. As Je faced in that direction, pictures began to appear there magically. These were of a cloudscape first, then of an earthly plain seen from a height greater than any mountain’s. Both were passing at fantastic speed.

  Je nodded as if satisfied. “Come,” she said, “and we will try your usefulness in a new way.” With a quick gesture she opened the whiteness to one side, and overhead. A stair took form even as she began to climb it. “We will see if your value lies in reconnoitering the enemy.”

  Clinging to Bormanus’ shoulder for support, Zalazar found that the stairs were not as hard to negotiate as he had feared, even when they shifted form from one step to the next. Then there was a sudden gaping purple openness above their heads. “Fear not,” said Je. “My protection is upon you both, to let you breathe and live.”

  Zalazar and Bormanus mounted higher. Wind shrieked thinly now, not in their faces but round them at some little distance, as if warded by some invisible shield. Then abruptly the climbing stair had no more steps. Zalazar thought that they stood on an open deck of cloud, under a bright sun in a dark sky, in some strange realm of neither day nor night. The prow of the cloudship that he rode upon was just before him; he stood as if on the bridge of some proud ocean vessel, looking out over deck and rounded bow, and a wild vastness of the elements beyond.

  Not that the ship was borne by anything as small and simple as an earthly sea. The whole globe of Earth was already so far below that Zalazar could now begin to see its roundness, and still the cloudship climbed. All natural clouds were far below, clinging near the great curve of Earth, though rising here and there in strong relief. At first Zalazar thought that the star-pierced blackness through which they flew was empty of everything but passing light. But presently—with, as he sensed, Je’s unspoken aid—he began to be able to perceive structure in the thinness of space about him.

  “What do you see now, my sage old man? And you, my clever youth?” Je’s voice pleaded even as it mocked and commanded. Her fear and puzzlement frightened Zalazar again. For the first time now he knew true regret that he had followed his first impulse and climbed a chopped-off mountain. Where now was the good result that prescience had seemed to promise?

  “I see only the night ahead of us,” responded Bormanus. His voice sounded remote, as if he were half asleep.

  “I…see.” said Zalazar, and paused with that. Much was coming clear to him, but it was going to be hard to describe. The cloud structures far below, so heavy with their contained water and their own mundane laws, blended almost imperceptibly into the base of something much vaster, finer, and more subtle. Something that filled the space around the Earth, from the level of those low clouds up to the vastly greater altitude at which Zalazar now stood. And higher still…his eyes, as if ensnared now by those faery lines and arches, followed them upward and outward and ever higher still. The lines girdled the whole round Earth, and rose…

  And rose…

  Zalazar clutched out for support. Obligingly, a stanchion of cloudstuff grew up and hardened into place to meet his g
rasp. He did not even look at it. His eyes were fixed up and ahead, looking at Cloudholm.

  Imagine the greatest castle of legend. And then go beyond that, and beyond, till imagination knows itself inadequate. Two aspects dominate: first, an almost invisible delicacy, with the appearance of a fragility to match. Secondly, almost omnipotent power—or, again, its seeming. Size was certainly a component of that power. Zalazar had never tried to, or been able to, imagine anything as high as this. So high that it grew near only slowly, though the cloudship was racing toward it at a speed that Zalazar would have described as almost as fast as thought.

  Then Zalazar saw how, beyond Cloudholm, a thin crescent of Moon rose wonderfully higher still; and again, beyond that, burned the blaze of Sun, a jewel in black. These sights threw him into a sudden terror of the depths of space. No longer did he marvel so greatly that Je and her allied powers could have been defeated.

  “Great lady,” he asked humbly, “what realm, whose dominion is this?”

  “What I need from you, mortal, are answers, not questions of a kind that I can pose myself,” Je’s broad white hand swung out gently to touch him on the eyes. Her touch felt surprisingly warm. Her voice commanded: “Say what you see.”

  The touch at once allowed him to see more clearly. But he stuttered, groping for words. What he was suddenly able to perceive was that the Sun lived at the core of a magnificent, perpetual explosion, the expanding waves of which were as faint as Cloudholm itself, but none the less glorious for that. These waves moved in some medium far finer than the air, more tenuous than even the thinning air that had almost ceased to whistle with the cloudship’s passage. And the waves of the continual slow sun-explosion bore with them a myriad of almost infinitesimal particles, particles that were heavy with mana, though they were almost too small to be called solid.

  And there were the lines, as of pure force, in space. In obedience to some elegant system of laws they bore the gossamer outer robes of the Sun itself, to wrap the Earth with delicate energy…and the mana that flowed outward from the Sun, great Zeus but there was such a flood of it!