by T J Marquis
“Really?” said Rae.
Dahm raised his eyebrows. “My parents made the agreement with my master before I’d even been born.”
“It’s like a betrothal…” Rae observed.
Dahm laughed. “Thankfully not, but yes, close.”
He caught her eye for a moment and saw a bit of what he’d hoped for. Tread lightly.
“Anyhow,” he said, “I think it’s a grand dream, and not silly at all.”
Rae watched him and he saw a thought dawning on her.
“If we… If I do this,” she said, “it could be mutually beneficial. You fear to find someone who’s willing to go with you but lacks the talent, correct?”
“Yes,” Dahm said.
“Or one who has the knack but won’t go. Then you’d have to start the search again.”
“Exactly,” Dahm said.
“What if you had a group to choose from?” Rae asked.
Dahm felt foolish for never having thought of it. “A school full of magical orphans?” he said.
Rae laughed and his foolish heart sang. “Orphans and others, yes. Your problem and mine tied up in one neat little bow.” She drummed her fingers on the table and sniffed. “Look at us - two wizards dreaming big on the edge of apocalypse. What will we do with ourselves?”
Dahm caught her eye. “Some of the best things come on the precipice of trouble,” he said.
“Do they?” she asked, holding his gaze.
“They do,” he said.
Jon’s long days of training paradoxically caused the impending attack to take a back seat in his mind. Even out in the hot summer sun, the repetitive physical activity was a welcome distraction from all the cares his travels had heaped upon him. If a stray thought of anxiety managed to surface, it was quickly driven back down by the burn of his muscles or a crack on the head from his trainer Pilchon.
It was a drug much like the thrill of violence in battle, but clean, ordered, and pure. He didn’t even notice that the nightmares of Cal had ceased.
Within a few days, Rae and Dahm had organized an expedition to retrieve weapons and materials from the Maw. The several hundred men they loaded up onto the Throne were beside themselves with excitement at getting to board the legendary ship. They returned after a few more days with full cargo holds and went back for more.
Weeks passed, and Dahm began to spar with Jon using his stonecraft. Jon was still but a babe in comparison to the Zhamann, but his light-heightened senses and reflexes, combined with the intensive training he’d been doing, allowed him to at least score a few decent hits here and there. Dahm never failed to congratulate him for this.
Jon had also pushed farther and farther up into the Keep. It really hadn’t taken many days for him to reach the altitudes where oxygen levels became an issue. Indeed, he quickly grew strong, and focused enough with his power, to bound up the steps at a much quicker pace. The challenge for the last week or so had been to sustain himself using the light, so as not to suffer altitude sickness. Besides teaching him how to conserve his natural stamina, the daily hike forced Jon to call upon the light for constant protection - from fatigue, from the cold, from the lack of air. He held Dahm’s counsel in his mind - to let his need dictate the manifestation of his power - and he imagined the light compressing the thin air as it entered his lungs. He realized how dangerous this was, like walking a tightrope over a chasm, but he knew Rae wouldn’t have sent him up here unless she thought his power would keep him safe. He needed to believe as well.
Jon took to exploring the spoked wings of the Keep as he descended from his hike each day. There were eight, and the overall design of each was identical. After the tenth floor, glass windows and long balconies became more plentiful, allowing for more natural light than on the lower levels. Jon guessed the dearth of glass below was a defensive feature to keep the lower floors more secure.
He had been right in guessing there would be all kinds of lodgings and industry peppered throughout the Keep. There was evidence of hydroponic farms, and even tightly locked laboratories dedicated to mysterious applications of science. In the higher levels, Jon discovered places where breaches had caused depressurization, and these scenes were as grim as Rae had warned. All that was left of the people who’d lived and worked there were dry old bones, but many still lay huddled in family groups or in pairs, having embraced each other in vain to ward off the freezing cold.
Far above the line beyond which the air grew thin, Jon came across a sudden break in the strict pattern of previous levels - a stack of mezzanines taking up several floors, with suspended hallways that curved between the spokes of the Keep. It seemed to be some kind of mall for social gatherings. The spokes had tapered inward somewhat, so there was a larger gap between each wing’s outer arc. Along the outside of the building were tiers of balconies providing a commanding view of Centrifuge and the surrounding highlands.
Jon stepped out onto a balcony off the southeastern wing, into the open air, and felt the intense cold try to bore into him. How fast would he die if the light failed him now? But then he thought back to Dahm’s talk of authority, and the way Rae spoke of her power’s origins, and decided failure was not an option.
The City below was breathtaking, like a living map, or a very large model. Row upon row of skyscrapers, parks, and lesser buildings marched from block to block off to the mighty outer walls. From here, giant old-growth trees rooted in the various parks looked no bigger than freshly sprouted weeds. Jon had always thought how interesting it was that the world, and especially man-made things, looked like mere toys from great heights. He whistled to himself with the realization that he was a good portion of the way to an airplane’s cruising height. What would it be like to fly down from here? Maybe he’d have the courage to try one of these days.
He looked out to the northeast and was floored by a sudden memory from his vision. His eyes felt energized, and he knew he was seeing father than should be possible, senses piercing the haze in the air and the curve of the earth that would hide distant things from another man. He’d been so fixated on the tower that he’d forgotten the other details from the vision, but there it was, a snow-covered mountain, clouds a halo around its peak. The mountain stood among its fellows like a grandfather in a crowd of children, strong, silent, old and weathered. Jon saw no evidence of liquid running down its sides, but in the vision the mountain had been weeping. The vision had given the impression he’d travel there, but thinking back, it seemed not everything he’d seen had been chronological.
He remembered the next step and cast his gaze southward. Again he knew he was seeing with a special kind of sight. There was Katal, then a stretch of arid plains cut through by a dark river, and the smog of what must be Nul, past its far banks. Back to the south and west, a rolling desert and a vast pool of fire. He looked closer. It reminded him of visiting Kilauea with his family years before. This too was a shield volcano, but its caldera was full to the brim, and the lava hardly seemed to be cooling at all. It splashed about like vigorously boiling sauce on a stove, and whatever landed on the ground outside the caldera started to harden.
The cooling lava’s smouldering, mottled pattern reminded Jon of something. Malok's sword that had broken his clavicle. His own sword that he'd taken from Anek. Their blades were red and fiery, possessing an unnatural sharpness that made other weapons seem dull. Was that lava enchanted? He remembered the weapons of blue steel some of the Nulians had carried, and the fine blue edge of his own sword. Was there something special about the white mountain as well?
Come to think of it, his Anekan sword, lovely as it was, did not match the design of the one in his vision. Once again, he hadn't given it much thought, had just taken the vision as a sort of metaphor of things to come. But the Keep, the mountain, and the volcano all appeared just as in the vision, so why not his weapon as well? It would make sense - if he were to collect enchanted materials, he might be able to shape them as he wished using Dahm's techniques.
He still wasn't
sure if the events from his vision were predictions or suggestions. Certainly, it seemed that even if those images had been meant as metaphors, they also possessed real-world counterparts. Why wouldn't the Light have explained it all to him though, if it wanted for him to take specific actions?
Yet both Mr. Bear and the guardian Jeremiah had spoken of choice, and indeed his freedom had always been important to Jon, but he couldn't imagine how both determinism and free will could be served simultaneously.
Using the vision as a guide had not yet failed him though, so it seemed wise to follow through. How many times would a man be paralyzed when he thought about these things too much, and failed to take action instead?
But was there time? Jon brought his enhanced sight to bear on the southern rim of Katal. The Nulian army was a vast swarm penetrating the dense ring of forest. There were far too many of them to simply thread themselves through the old dirt road all the Enkannite refugees had taken. Instead, they seemed to be plowing their way through, felling trees to forge a wide path for the bulk of the army and its supply trains. The supply lines themselves were in the midst of an inconvenient shift northward from their east-west orientation, struggling to maintain a connection with the army’s main body as they circled up along the rim of Katal.
It made sense - if the coming siege were prolonged, the Nulian supply lines would need the most direct connection possible to sustain the army.
A trip that had taken the Throne mere hours was costing this army many days. The forest had slowed the Nulians further, and hiking across hundreds of miles of wild highlands would continue to impede their progress.
He traced a route in his mind. Fly from Centrifuge to the white mountain, head south and hit the Nulian supply train, then down to the desert and the lake of lava, and back to Centrifuge. It was a journey of possibly thousands of miles, but Jon possessed some very quick modes of travel.
He was pretty sure the zirah was faster than his flight, but on the vehicle, he’d have to contend with some aspects of the terrain. Sure its hovering capabilities made basic navigation trivial, but weaving through forest would cost time, as would any other large obstacles. Without the zirah, he’d have to fly the whole way, but that was something he’d already proven to himself he could do, at least in shifts, having come a long way over the ocean with Bahabe.
The state of his sight made it hard to estimate distances, but he thought he could make the journey with a few days to spare. Even better if his training had increased his flight speed. The clincher for Jon was the realization that he would have the chance to attack the Nulian supply lines as he flew south from the white mountain to the lava lake. That in itself could cripple, or at least stall, the siege. He would be able to end this war before it started, and none of his friends, or the people of Enkann, would have to die. It all depended on how much damage he could do.
Jon blinked away the enhanced vision and let his eyes readjust. He scanned the flutter of life congregating at the City’s south gate. What had made him want so badly to protect these people, who he hardly even knew? Where was the Jon that had wanted to hide at home and keep only his own counsel? The Jon too grey of soul to even enjoy illicit libations?
He didn’t miss that man at all.
Maybe this was all it took to change - to have the whole world beneath his feet for at least a moment, long enough to gain perspective. To have a clear purpose, and the strength and confidence to put himself to work. To work and sweat with other men and women under the same brutal sun, as he’d done on Sem-bado, and here with the Enkannite soldiers.
He would fight for the joy of it, the promise of a victory that would save lives, and if it cost the last ounce of his very essence, the final stitch of his conscience, he would see that Centrifuge survived. He would finally serve a worthy purpose. Perhaps somewhere in all of that, he would find forgiveness concerning Cal’s death and his own act of murder.
If the trust the white light had put in him was any indication, this was a battle he could win.
Jon wrapped himself in light and climbed up onto the balcony’s railing. Before nerves could set in and cause hesitation, he stepped off into the air.
It was a rush like skydiving, but greater. No chute - nothing between him and death but this magical gift. Jon watched the city’s skyscrapers fall toward the sky and let his body take flight.
Dahm had caught sight of Jon’s wild freefall, and subsequent slow flight back down to the ground. He smiled, coming up to him in the midst of the garden courtyard.
“Growing bold I see,” he said. “How far today Jon?”
“I counted on the way down,” Jon grinned. His hair was windblown and his eyes watered. “If I remember correctly from science class, it was about nine thousand meters.”
“Impressive! You look ridiculous,” Dahm laughed and ruffled his hair. “Come on, it’s dinner time.”
Jon’s friends weren’t thrilled when he told them his plan for the next several days, but no one was keen on dissuading him from following his vision. He didn’t tell them that he intended to try and save them from having to fight at all. They wouldn’t take it well.
Rae readily admitted that any success in a strike at the enemy supply lines would be invaluable. All the better if Jon returned to Centrifuge with a weapon that amplified his power. Even after securing stacks and crates of advanced weaponry, it was clear that the fierce strength of the light would still be heavily relied upon. Rae had been wracking her brains to figure out a way to frustrate the enemy advance without risking the Throne anyway.
They all knew it wasn’t smart to rely on one man to take on the brunt of the enemy forces, but there wasn’t any other hope. The light was certainly capable - Jon would have to bear up to that. He bore the stress of his friends’ expectations as well as he could, realizing as he spoke with them that this hope of bolstering his powers had arisen in him because of their need.
Yet he did harbor a mite of worry, remembering how Jeremiah had cautioned him not to act on his own, to stick with his friends. How was he to reconcile that with the drive to visit the two enchanted mountains?
Rae had informed him of their names, and some of the legends surrounding them. Apparently it was well-understood that lava from Heartspool and frigid salt-water from Soulspeak had once been infused into the folded steel of weapons. Jon had simply never asked anyone about it.
The cause of the special properties granted to these weapons was lost beyond myth, as was the method of infusing the materials into steel, though some had tried in recent years. Jon called to mind Jeremiah’s indication that it was typical to find such things in worlds like this, where the supernatural broke the surface of the mundane more often and more readily. Tools for creation to fight against destruction.
In the morning Jon would leave. He would travel as speedily as possible, and return to his friends with a greater ability to help them.
Laying back in his room that night, he thought a lot about Bahabe. He hoped she’d have returned by the time he did. What a relief and a joy it would be if he entered the Keep to find her smiling face, to hear all about whatever she had discovered of herself, her past. On the other hand, the farther away she was from danger, the better.
Still, he missed her dearly, and he couldn’t help but wish she was here to talk him out of madness, and if not that, to join him in it.
Chapter 16
Sarathi
As she trekked north and west, Bahabe mused over Rae’s words concerning the sarathi. She timidly attempted to tune her mind’s eye, or whatever eye it was, to see the presence of those elemental folk, but it was like groping for an object in the dark.
If her powers were related to them in any way, she should be able to see them, shouldn’t she?
The hill country was lush and lively all around her, the constant ambient sounds of nature mixing with the gentle hum of her zirah. It reminded her somewhat of long days spent in her cove, meditating on life and her burgeoning powers, the sound of the surf ever-
present in the background. She came to the inner rim of Katal, parking her vehicle on the north side of a short bluff, out of the sun.
The air was wetter here, and a little cooler, as if the forest were breathing gently out over the hills. This forest was a different animal than the jungle she was accustomed to. It felt darker, older, less welcoming. Back home, she’d known every trail and crevice. Katal was entirely unknown to her. But as Rae had promised, there were the remnants of a very old road leading into the forest - unkempt, but not yet lost entirely. The Wizardess had said people still passed through here, if infrequently.
When she had eaten and gathered her wits, she passed cautiously under the forest canopy and made her way down the old road. Bahabe had only a few hundred miles of forest to pass through, but it wouldn’t be wise to traverse this rough road at full speed, so she edged back on the zirah’s throttle and resigned to take it slow.
Here it was quieter, an environment perhaps suddenly on edge at the rare intrusion of a noisy human. For many minutes, there was not even a rustle of movement among the tree leaves or in the underbrush. Then the forest’s denizens apparently decided Bahabe was no big threat, and she began to hear the occasional scrapings and scuttlings of small creatures as they went about their business.
Were there sarathi around as well? Would they know she searched for them?
Dark fell early as the trees grew dense, and Bahabe switched on her headlights. She had to manage the zirah’s altitude often, to skim over fallen trees and branches, but overall the way wasn’t as difficult as it could have been. Whatever travelers had been through here had bothered to beat back the forest as it crept in to reclaim the road. This couldn’t be more than a few months of untended growth, and it helped that little light pierced the canopy to feed the hungry brush below.
