“Right,” Xander grunted. “Except from what I've heard they're all Commanders, all equal rank and seniority. If Brutus Glock were still alive I'd be betting on him to grab the reins. He was the old Honcho's favorite. But you took care of him. So they have to pick somebody.”
He coughed and leaned against the wall for a minute until the fit passed. “It would be stupid to fight it out with their respective forces. They will find some other way to select the new Honcho.”
“Like what?”
Xander did not answer for a moment. He concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other, climbing the seemingly endless staircase. We must find a way to use the elevator shaft. How much longer can I make it up and down these damn stairs?
Finally he answered. “It will be a competition of some kind that allows them to show their leadership. Either a challenge to see who can conquer the most territory on their borders in a short time...or, more likely, who can find an capture or kill Jeffrey before the others do.”
Lester pondered that as they trudged up the stairs. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”
Xander shook his head. “Not without knowing where he is. Kristana's operatives are as mystified as the junta's. We will have to hope he finds a way to contact us without giving away his location.”
Chapter 18
Feather: The Warning
“When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice.”
– Cherokee saying
Hidden Flower looked up as Feather passed the outer lookouts and approached the holy place. Golden sunbeams speared down through the branches overhead as her moccasins danced through them and out into the clearing surrounding the mouth of the cave.
“Where have you been? Did you get the black sage for Quiet Eagle's feet? And the horehound, where is it?”
Feather colored. She had spent very little time gathering herbs. Shamefaced, she handed over the meager pouch of herb, with two little bundles bound with ties of grass leaves.
“Is this all you gathered?” Hidden Flower shook her head. “You will never get a man with laziness like that. And what is this?” She held up one of the bunches. “This is black horehound! Used mainly for worms, in the old days. I wanted regular horehound, for my PMS.”
“Why do we need herbs at all? We have the Shrine.”
Hidden Flower clucked her tongue at this. “It is for healing, child. Not for cramps of the moon. Don't you ever listen to anything I tell you?”
“I'm sorry, Mother. I was distracted by the white men.”
“What?” Hidden Flower's gaze jerked up from the herbs to her face. “You saw men from the coast?”
She nodded. “Only a few miles away. They were making camp. Could someone have betrayed us, and led them here?”
The older woman struggled to her feet. “No one would do that. But I'm glad you saw them. We must tell the others!”
Feather followed her as Hidden Flower ducked around the concealing clump of bushes and entered the mouth of the cave. As they proceeded down the passage the older woman barked questions at her. How many? How close? How many weapons? Did they bring dogs?
“I only saw five of them, with crossbows,” she answered, ducking to avoid hitting her head on a sharp stone formation that hung down from the roof of the cave like the fang of a wolf. “I didn't see any dogs.”
At length they emerged into the great chamber of the Shrine. Feather's nose wrinkled at the smell of the torches, many more than usual. This surprised her. Fire may give warmth in winter, but it's usually a destroyer, not a healer, and the keepers of the Shrine generally used as little as possible for illumination.
So many people here today! As she drew nearer to the font, a woman carried a child to the Grandmother.
“What is your need?” asked the Grandmother.
“My daughter Cricket fell out of a tree and broke her leg,” the mother said. When she said that, guilt pricked Feather's heart like a thorn. That could've been me.
“Lay her down,” the Grandmother directed. The girl's mother eased Cricket down to the furs in front of the Grandmother and waited.
The grandmother turned and lifted the Healstone from its resting place in the Shrine. As always, Feather marveled that something so small, small enough to hold in one hand, could be so powerful. Not actually a stone at all, the Healstone was a sphere of some metal that glowed with a faint green light, a light that was barely visible with all these lit torches around.
Holding the Healstone in her right hand, the Grandmother gently felt the Cricket's leg. “It is a simple break,” she said. “Her leg will heal straight.” At a gesture from her, two of her female assistants moved to straighten the leg and hold it while she concentrated.
The Healstone glowed more brightly, and some of its green glow appeared around the region of Cricket's leg where the unseen bone had been broken. The Grandmother's eyes were closed and her lips moved in an ancient prayer, while all others in the room maintained a respectful silence.
At last she opened her eyes. “It is done. Take her and feed her something nourishing immediately. And no running or climbing with that leg for two days.”
Feather had heard the grandmother say things like this a hundred times at least. According to the lore, the Healstone only encouraged a damaged body to heal, making normal processes happen much faster than normal. A body is made of real stuff, not magic, and its matter comes from food. Healing used some of this, so while healing the body needed extra food to also do its ordinary things.
Cricket's mother, whose name was Sunbeam, thanked the Grandmother and lifted her child from the furs. The Grandmother swept the crowd with her ancient eyes. “Are there no more injuries?” she asked. “What do the rest of you need?”
Leaping Wolf stepped forward. He was strong and handsome. Feather liked him. He reminded her of her father, who had been killed by a bear two summers ago.
“We have heard warnings from the other tribes, Grandmother. The white men from the coast are coming nearer than before. Maybe we should move the Shrine.”
The Grandmother regarded him. “I have seen over a hundred summers,” she said. “In all that time, the Shrine has never moved. Why should it move now? Are you saying you cannot protect it from a few white men?”
He flushed. “Grandmother, you know our tribe does not make war, as some other tribes do. We are the People of the Shrine, not a people of war. Our men are skilled hunters, not warriors. We do what we can, but I think we should move the Shrine before the white men come.”
Feather could not remain silent. “They have come!” she cried. “I have seen some making camp, only a few miles from the mountain.”
Some of those present frowned at this outburst, but the Grandmother merely lifted an eyebrow, sitting on the furs. “Are there many of them? Is it a war party?”
Feather looked down at the cave floor. “No. it was only a small group of men. Less than ten. But they had crossbows.”
The Grandmother waved her hand dismissively. “Then they are no threat. They do not know we are even here.”
“Then why else have they come?” asked Leaping Wolf. “They must be a scouting party, to tell the others where to look when they find us.”
“We do not need to move the Shrine,” said the Grandmother. “If they approach too closely, our lookouts will know, and our hunters will send them to the Great Spirit.”
No one argued with her. The Grandmother has been the main Keeper of the Shrine for longer than any of them had been alive.
Chapter 19
Kareef: Ancient Memories
“Despair not over matters that pass you by, nor be proud over favors bestowed upon you.”
– Quran 57:23
He sat on a cushion in the room he shared with Nathan and adjusted his gray robe while he prepared to continue his practice. On the floor in front of him lay a bowl of water. Behind him on his bed Kareef had two small piles, one of nails fro
m the blacksmith, the other small disks of wood from a cartwright. Each disk had a shallow groove bisecting it into semicircles.
He reached behind him and picked up one of the nails and one of the wooden disks. Frowning with concentration, he wove spinspace around and in the nail. After a moment, he laid it in the groove on the wooden disk and placed it on the surface of the water in the bowl.
After a moment the disk slowly turned until the pointed end of the nail was pointing toward the room's only window. He nodded with satisfaction, and carefully picked up the disk and placed in on the floor at the end of a row of similar disk-with-nail constructions.
Then he reached back for another disk and another nail.
The door opened and Nathan stepped in. “Making more compasses?”
Kareef regarded the nail in his left hand. “It's good practice, and the results are useful. Not as useful as your icetorches, but...”
“Don't tell me you're still jealous of my advantage with tonespace weaves,” Nathan said. “I mean, it's nice being able to make an icetorch but it won't take me anywhere. I can barely make a weak magnet, let alone a useful everwheel like you can.”
“You will,” Kareef grunted. “It's just a matter of time and practice.”
“Maybe. But what practice? I mean, should we be practicing what we're good at, like you are...or taking a break from it and practicing only the things we are weaker at?"
Kareef set the disk in the water, watching the nail slowly rotate the disk around until the sharp end of the nail was pointing North. What direction should I be pointing? Will I find it naturally, like a compass, or will I need help, like the non-magnetized nail? “I don't know. It seems to me that being strong with even one aspect of metaspace might be better than being weak with several.”
“Specialization might be a good thing,” Nathan said. “Especially in the long run. I've read that in the days of the Ancients they even had doctors specializing in different diseases. But it might hurt us in the short term.”
“What makes you say that?”
“From what I've heard,” said Nathan, “Xander and Lester stopped a military invasion. But they didn't face wizards, only soldiers. What if another country comes at us with wizards instead?”
“You mean, like Cali?”
“Yes, or another like it. Kaleb, I mean Lobsang, is heading back there to confront the Queen to try to save his family. What if he fails? She might come after us for helping him.”
“But she's just one magic-worker. Xander said she eliminates any of her subjects who show talent.”
“Okay, maybe she's a bad example. But suppose a group of wizards came after the School. If one good at spinspace weaves attacked you, you'd be pretty safe. Your abilities would cancel out, and neither of you would be able to hurt the other. But what if he was good at tonespace too? Then you're out of luck.”
“I see your point. If the Emirates attacked, I'd be safe but you wouldn't. If New Israel attacked you'd be safe and I wouldn't.”
“Exactly. The only way to maximize our safety is to master as many different flavors of metaspace as we can. Then we can fight anyone.”
Kareef stared out the window. The sky was already darkening. It always gets dark before another day comes. “I don't think, somehow, that Xander intended to turn us into weapons.”
Nathan flushed. “No, he hates war. The whole reason for the School is to end all that, and get humanity working together again.”
Kareef nodded. “But you're still right. For the School to succeed, it has to survive.”
Someone knocked on the door. It opened and Esteban stuck his head in. “Xander wants us in the common room,” he said.
Kareef arose and followed Nathan out into the common room. “What's this about?” he asked Esteban.
“Ah there, you are,” said Xander. Carolyn, Lester, and Lobsang were sitting on front of him. “Come join us, please.”
Kareef straightened his robe and sat down next to Carolyn, with Esteban and Nathan following close behind. As soon as they were all seated Xander handed a satchel to Lester. “Take one, and pass it around,” he said.
Lester reached into the bag. His hand came out holding a small metal sphere, about two inches across. It had a faint bluish sheen to it. He handed the bag to Lobsang, who did the same. The bag made its round of the group, and soon all of them held on of the metal balls.
“Is this some new kind of exercise?” Nathan asked.
“No,” said Xander. “We recovered a number of these and I thought it was time to show them to you.”
“What do they do?” Carolyn wondered.
“That's an excellent question, and I honestly don't know. I was hoping you all could help me investigate them.”
Lobsang held up his sphere and squinted at it. “It looks like the ring the Queen gave me. Is it from Cali?” He sounds worried, thought Kareef. Can I blame him, after how the Queen controlled him through the blue ring?
“No, but you're right, it does have the same glow. I'm guessing they do something mental, but I've never been able to work out what.”
“Than how can we help?” Esteban wanted to know. “If you haven't been able to discover their purpose, how can we?”
Xander took the bag from Nathan. “Sometimes all it takes is a fresh pair of eyes,” he said. “I've had them for a while, but I'm stuck in a rut. I want you all to have a go at them and see if you have better luck.”
“Maybe they don't work anymore,” said Carolyn.
“I thought of that,” Xander admitted. “But as you all know by now, metal seems to hold the metaspace weaves better than any other substance. And they still have that glow. They must have some use. We just have to discover what they do.”
“What do you want us to do with them?” asked Kareef.
“That is exactly the question I shouldn't answer,” the old wizard told him. “I'd rather not get you stuck in the same rut as me so I'd like you to choose your own methods of investigation.”
“Like what?” said Carolyn.
Xander smiled. “Same answer,” he said. “Just hang onto them and see if you can get any impressions from time to time. For all I know you might need to be exposed to them for awhile before you can get any hints.”
Chapter 20
Kristana: Storms On The Horizon
Don’t be so humble, you’re not that great.”
– Golda Meir
Her head was pounding again so she shoved the map away and massaged her temples, eyes closed while she pondered the reports. According to her operatives, detachments of Lone Star troops were roaming all over Texas in all directions except north toward Rado. That ought to be good news, because it implied Jeffrey was still alive. But it drove her strategists crazy because there seemed to be no pattern to the hunters' movements – no hint as to where her troops might find him first and and get him out of there.
She opened her eyes and looked at the wine goblet, but sighed and reached for the mug of willow bark infusion instead. Wine might dull the pain but she needed to keep her head clear.
As she sipped, she wondered. What's the next move, Governor? If Texas attacked, as it seemed all but certain they would, should she meet them with conventional forces and battle it out crossbow to crossbow, sword to sword, accepting the inevitable casualties...or should she have Xander turn his students loose on them?
Did she have the right to expect the kids upstairs, with no military training, to go out and kill? What would it do to Esteban if he had to kill his fellow Texans?
And it didn't stop there, not at all. If the Emirates attacked, would she expect Kareef to use what he had learned against his own countrymen? If a three-way war started and New Israel was involved, could she expect Nathan to weave deadly attacks against even NI soldiers?
She wondered whether Xander let himself think about the military issues. He was proceeding with his Dream, as the General had, and they were all swept up in it, like leaves in the wind. And it was a good dream, of course – to r
ebuild civilization and improve the quality of life for everyone.
The problem was, until unification was a fact and the wars ended, wizards would continue to be seen as walking weapons. Xander and Lester had stopped an invasion all by themselves, saving countless lives. But now that they knew, from the mere existence of ambassadors Qusay and Isaac, that other countries had their own wizards, the game had changed. No one but Texas, the Lone Star Empire, could be counted on to send armies without wizards. And even that might change if the Church changed their policies and allowed widespread use of the Gifts.
Xander must be really frustrated if he saw the irony of it all. His dream, the School, was supposed to make war no longer necessary. But that would take time, and to achieve it the School had to survive. Which meant it had to defend itself. We are beating plowshares into swords, not the other way around, she thought. Founding the School creates the need to defend it. We teach kids how to make swizzles for irrigation, and instead they might have to make swizzle guns and swizzle cannons.
He wants to call them apprentices, journeymen, and masters, as if it were a guild. Maybe it would be more honest in the short run to call them privates, sergeants, and commanders.
The thought brought her a grim smile before she dismissed it. Changing names would change nothing.
She set the mug down as she heard a knock. “Yes?”
Daniels stepped into her council chamber and shut the door behind him. “I can see you're busy,” he said. “Should I come back later?”
She waved him forward. “What is it, Doctor? Don't tell me. You want to start your own school too.”
He paused before he sat down. “What? Yes, maybe some day, I suppose. But it'll wait. We have more pressing concerns.”
“More pressing than another war?” She sighed. “I'd rather you had good news for me. I could use some.”
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