Spinspace: The Space of Spins (The Metaspace Chronicles Book 2)

by Matthew Kennedy

  – Winston Churchill

  It had been a rough couple of days since the 'incident'. Daniels had recommended they keep Kaleb in amnesia until Carolyn's bandage came off. In his opinion, the sight would only exacerbate the man's guilt. “Let him remember when she doesn't look hurt any more.”

  Xander had overruled him. “It isn't my place to decide what a man is allowed to remember,” he'd said. And so they had spent an entire day alone with Kaleb, searching for hidden traps in his subconscious, removing any lingering compulsions and leaving suggestions in place that should prevent anyone else from ever being able to hypnotize him again.

  Then, giving him calming suggestions to help cushion the blow, they unlocked Kaleb's memories.

  His guilt was painful to witness. When he calmed down some, Xander took him down to the infirmary to see Carolyn.

  She surprised them all. They found her upright and calm. Kaleb burst into tears at the sight of her, but took him into her arms before he could move and hugged him, whispering into his ear that she knew he had never wanted to hurt her.

  After that they put him to sleep in his own bed to recover. Later Daniels told Xander Carolyn had collapsed right after they left. “I wish I could bottle the effect you have on people,” he said. “She isn't recovered yet, not by a long shot. But she held it together long enough to get him through the confrontation. I think she should stay in the infirmary for another couple of days, at least.”

  Xander overruled that too. And so it was, that all seven of them were here now on the rooftop. The last day he had spent making sure that all of them learned the swizzle weave. Some would be better at it, some quicker, but at least they all could work its magic.

  “I waited decades to start this school,” he told them. He glanced at each of the gray-robed figures one by one. Lester, somber and seasoned: he had come so far since last year when crackers in a bowl of soup had changed his life forever. Carolyn, leaning on Lester, still recovering but more determined than ever. Esteban, silent and watchful, as secretive in his own way as Father Andrews, but with a solidity of purpose that made him a tree among bushes. Kaleb trying to hold himself up straight, but with a haunted look in his eyes. Kareef, checking the position of the sun, to make sure he had not missed his next time of prayers. And Nathan, eyes wide, still looking as if he couldn't believe he was here.

  “I know now that it was worth the wait. It is my privilege and honor to consider you all my fellow wizards. You've had a hard time of it, and no one can promise you that things will get easier.

  “But things will change. Together, we will change the world.”

  He unwrapped the bundle at his feet and took the first one to Lester. “We will teach others what we have been taught,” he said, and handed the black staff to his greatest apprentice.

  He lifted another of the staves. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Lester hefting his, and smiled inwardly as he saw the lad's realization that it was too heavy to be a simple stick. The blacksmith had done a good job on them.

  He presented the second staff to Carolyn. “We will help the students that follow us, remembering the frustrations we faced ourselves while learning the basics.”

  He lifted another staff and brought it to Esteban. “We will accept all sincere students, no matter what country they come from.”

  He took a staff to Kaleb. “We will stand with our fellow wizards, and never blame them for things beyond their control.” Kaleb flushed, and nearly did not take the staff, but Xander stood before him until he did.

  He raised another staff and presented it to Kareef.

  “We will respect the faith of all who come to us, knowing that it is part of what makes them strong.”

  He retrieved the second-to-last staff and held it out to Nathan. “We shall value all with new ideas, whether they be young or old.” The boy looked so nervous that Xander half expected him to drop the heavy staff. The steel pipe inside the wood made its weight surprising.

  He picked up the last staff for himself and stood before them. “We are psionic engineers, the bringers of a new order. The world will call us wizards, and though I prefer my own terminology, I accept that title also, as will you all. We shall do what others cannot, and what others will not. We will do what must be done.”

  Xander stroked downwards on his staff, turning on the hidden swizzle, blowing dust away in all directions from the bottom of it. The other six followed his example.

  “And now,” he said, “it is time to fly.”

  Swizzle staffs hummed. Seven wizards rose into the sky.

  Chapter 96

  Jeffrey: a tactical retreat

  He had nearly passed out from sheer boredom in the narrow space, until they hit a bump in the road and his head whacked against the false bottom of the cart.

  The irony of his situation did not escape him. I used to tell my father that it was a mistake to trust the Church. And where has it gotten me? Here...relying on the Church to save my ass.

  But what choice did he have? He told himself that this setback was temporary. Survive first, then retake what is mine. That was the plan, at least.

  But he was not even sure where they were taking him. Brother Marcus had awakened him with news that the cabal of officers could be expected to return to the Vatican in Dallas at any time. Accepting no argument, he had all but forced Jeffrey to gather his few possession and secrete himself in the bottom of the wagon.

  When he saw them lift the false floor for him, he had to suppress the wave of irritation that swept over him, accompanying the realization that this had not been constructed on the spur of the moment. The Church must have been smuggling things or people for years! But never mind that now. He had to clench his teeth on the angry remarks that would only have delayed his departure.

  He tried not to think about Aria, and the fact that he had no idea when he would be able to make contact with her again. Would she think he had abandoned her, and the Union? But there was no helping that now. He must survive. Dead men do not write letters

  So he lay there in the darkness, trying not to think of the wood on all sides, hoping they had left cracks so he wouldn't suffocate, and listening to the footsteps of horses, the jingling and jostling of their leather tack.

  But there were too many hoofbeats. “Halt!” shouted a man's voice.

  Jeffrey froze.

  Brother Marcus's voice answered. “May I help you?”

  “We're looking for a fugitive, Father. A dangerous man.”

  “He must be, for the Honcho to give orders to interfere with Church matters. Do you believe that the Church makes a habit of harboring dangerous men? But you must call me Brother Marcus, for I am not ordained a priest.”

  “Where are you going today, Brother Marcus?”

  “We are monks of the Carthusian Order,” said Marcus. “Twice a year we visit monasteries far from the capitol, to review their orderliness and bring supplies.”

  “Do you mind if we check your carts for weapons, gold, or dangerous contraband?”

  “By all means.” The voices drifted closer. “I suppose some of those chickens might be dangerous if you get within pecking distance.”

  “You're transporting chickens?”

  “St. Avory's had an unfortunate bout of avian flu and lost their whole flock.” Marcus's voice sounded amused but tolerant. “Would you like to check the hens for concealed weapons?”

  “Very funny,” said the soldier. Somehow he did not sound amused. “Move on. We have a lot of movements to check.”

  Epilogue

  Xander: now is enough for now

  Kristana was standing on the roof when Xander landed. He took one look at her, while brushing kicked-up dust from his black robe, and asked “What is it? What's happened?”

  “There's been an attempted coup in Dallas. His officers finally decided to seize power.”

  Damn. Wait a minute. “You said 'attempted' coup?”

  “From what my operatives report, they didn't get him. No one
seems to know where he is.”

  “You're sure they haven't got him locked up somewhere?”

  The Governor rolled her eyes at him. “We both know they wouldn't risk him escaping. If they had found him Jeffrey would be dead by now.”

  Oh gods. Just when he thought things were finally going in the right direction. “Does this mean the alliance is over? Do we have to plan for another invasion?”

  “Not yet,” she said. “First they'll consolidate their grip on the Empire, purge the ranks of the officers, and argue over who they'll let be the new Honcho. We'll have a little time before they feel ready to mount another offensive without their tanks.”

  He sighed. “We have to find him and return him to power.”

  “That goes without saying.” As a shadow crossed her, she glanced up at one of the wizards swooping over the 'scraper. “Are you going to call them down? There's planning to be done.”

  “No. They've earned a break.” He brushed more dust off his new black robe and coughed theatrically. “It's dusty up here. You look like we could use a bath.”

  She pretended exasperation but let him lead her to the stairwell. “Is it ever going to get any easier for them...or for us?”

  “I hope so. But first, I'm afraid, it's about to get a lot harder.”

  For Andrew, May 4, 2015 10:44PM EST Crystal River, FL

  – MRK

  Keep reading for a peek at

  Tonespace: The Space of Energy

  Tonespace: The Space of Energy

  Copyright © 2015 by Matthew R. Kennedy

  Prologue

  New beginnings are always a dangerous time. A seed finds fertile soil, in adequate sunlight and accessible water. It sends out a taproot and the root hairs that will help it gather resources. It begins to grow, spreading cotyledons, the baby leaves, to harvest photons, bits of energy that began their journey in the heart of the Sun. In time, it may even drop its own seeds to sow the beginnings of a forest. But it is still vulnerable. The young tree may be blown down by a storm. It could be uprooted by a flood, or ravaged by a fire. Or even cut down by the hand of man.

  Xander had started his forest of wizards. His tree, the institution that would become known as the Xander School, was putting down roots and sending out branches. But it was still vulnerable. Only time would tell if it would survive political upheavals and secret rivalries. The freedom and openness it stood for was not welcomed by all.

  Chapter 1

  Lester: graduation's aftermath

  “Information is not knowledge.”

  – Albert Einstein

  He groaned and forced himself to roll out of bed onto his feet. The impact of his feet on the floor sent a wave of dizziness and nausea crashing through his head. Never again! Where had Esteban gotten that wine? It could not have been from Father Andrews.

  But even Xander had not dimmed the celebration when he returned from whatever had called him downstairs. He had raised his glass with them, toasting their achievements as if determined not to dampen their jubilation. But Lester, watching him, had become convinced the senior wizard had received troubling news, news that he had decided, for reasons of his own, to keep to himself that night.

  Lester hoped Xander's head hurt as badly as his own did.

  He opened his coldbox and groped inside for a bit of cheese and an unopened bottle of cider. No matter what we achieve, he thought blearily, every day we wake up with empty stomachs and full bladders.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Carolyn's head hurts worse.

  He froze as Xander's thought reminded him of her injury. Come to think of it, she hadn't been chucking back wine with the rest of them, had she? She'd been drinking an infusion of willow bark in water. Sounded awful, but apparently it helped with her own headaches.

  As his head gradually began to wake up, he remembered noticing how close Xander had been flying to her when the seven of them took off from the 'scraper's roof to celebrate their acceptance as wizards. No doubt the old rascal had promised to help keep her swizzle staff from crashing her into the ground or another building. How else had he gotten her to take off days after her concussion?

  But doubtless it had been a good idea of Xander's to get them all to participate in the celebratory flight, even if he had to coddle her a little to make it happen. Carolyn had been the first after Lester to solve the swizzle test; she deserved to be up there flying if anyone did.

  Xander must have already arisen and eaten. He sat at the table, regarding a ring of bluish metal that lay a foot in front of his nose.

  “And here I was hoping that it wasn't only my head aching.”

  “It's called a hangover,” said Xander, unimpressed. “Either get used to having them, or learn not to overdo it.”

  “You were drinking as much as the rest of us, as I recall.”

  “I have more experience,” Xander said. “And more bad memories and my own demons to drink under the table.” He went back to studying the ring.

  “Have you learned anything from it?”

  “Part of me was hoping it was just a reminder, just something familiar enough to trigger Kaleb to fall into a trance for the Queen's mischief. But it's an artifact all right.” Xander exhaled. “The bluish color isn't natural – it's some kind of metaspace weave I've never seen before. Not pathspace, spinspace, or tonespace.”

  It was comforting to see the old wizard baffled. “Too bad.”

  “No, it's good. Or will be, if we can figure it out. According to Kaleb, when he put it on he could hear Queen Rochelle's voice in his head, and she could hear him. That's how she knew I opened the elevator doors. She had him making regular reports every night as soon as his roommate Esteban fell asleep.”

  “Well, without help we might never figure it out.”

  “Yes but if we do, just think of the possibilities! You and I can hear each other if we are closer than a mile. But with this,” he reached out and nearly picked up the ring, but stopped himself, “with this, or more probably,. With two of them, she was able to communicate with him over a thousand miles!”

  “So what? We don't know anyone that far away.”

  “What about Jeffrey? His capitol is something like seven hundred miles away. If he'd had one of these, then maybe...”

  “Maybe what? What are you talking about?”

  “That's right, you don't know yet.” Xander looked up from the ring, His eyes were troubled. “There's been a coup in Texas. A group of their Army officers has seized power. No one knows where Jeffrey is...assuming he's alive.”

  Lester had mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, if Jeffrey was dead then Aria would be staying in Denver. On the other hand....

  “Don't look so happy,” Xander snapped. “Don't you realize this could end Kristana's New Union almost before it's even started? We could be facing war again.”

  “A couple of rings wouldn't have prevented that.”

  “Probably not,” Xander agreed. “But at least he'd be able to tell us he's still alive, and where he is.”

  “If they're still looking for him, he's alive. Are they?”

  “As far as we know. Probably the only thing keeping them from being ready to attack us.”

  “What happens if they do? We've got their tanks and even more wizards this time. Which reminds me, what's the school's responsibility in the event of an attack? Esteban is from Texas. If they attack does he have to help us kill their troops?”

  Xander gazed at the ring again. “You know I'd rather not have wizards fighting in any war. The whole point of the school is to make us an indispensable part of mainstream society. We can't do that if everyone is afraid of us.”

  “Yes, but we also can't do that if we let them conquer Rado and drive the School into hiding somewhere else. It'll be hard to get new students if they have to look under rocks to find us.”

  Xander nodded, frowning. “There is that,” he acknowledged. “Which is why we're going to have to teach wizards to drive tanks.”

  Chapter 2<
br />
  Jeffrey: living to fight again

  “It requires more courage to suffer than to die.”

  – Napoleon Bonaparte

  How far were they taking him from his homeland? Lying there, huddled under the cart's false bottom, he was acutely aware that he had no idea even what direction they were traveling in. He might emerge in Mexico, Rado, Okla, or even some part of the Dixie Emirates.

  For an awful moment he wondered if it was all some elaborate joke on the part of His Holiness. Could the Pontiff be planning to just wheel him around Dallas a few times and then hand him over the the revolutionary cabal?

  The moment passed. It could not be. The Pope was a pragmatist, but, Jeffrey felt, not a cruel man. If he had planned to betray the Honcho to the ousters, he would not have bothered to deceive Commander Vaco. No, it was a ridiculous thought.

  So why, if he was such a pragmatist, was the head of the Church aiding and abetting a deposed ruler? Whatever his reasons were, Jeffrey was certain they were not sentimental. Either Enrique really did believe in supporting the legal ruler of the Empire...or he must believe that Jeffrey, young as he was, would be better for the country than a bunch of military malcontents intent upon reclaiming the spoils of war they had expected would flow from the invasion of Rado.

  He wished the cart would stop and let him out. Surely they must be beyond the patrols hunting him by now. They didn't have to loan him a horse. He'd be happy to walk, if it meant getting out of this rolling coffin.

  To distract himself, he reviewed his options. He could only see three at the moment. First, he could accept what had happened, try to fit in wherever he ended up, find a job and settle down to a life drastically altered from the one he had in front of him just a few days before. This option was the most feasible, in practical terms. He was young, he was good with horses, he could learn new skills, and for all he knew he might even be happy as an expatriate. Why not? Did it really make any difference in the grand scheme of things what he did?