“So how do you explain it?”
“Maybe it's better if we let Xander explain.”
“No,” said Kareef. “We're wizards now, too, and sooner or later some of us will be helping Xander teach new students.” They stopped to breathe on the next landing and he explained.
“You can use pathspace to move objects,” he said, “but not by pushing on the objects with your mind. You do it by changing the path they are on. It's basically mind-over-space.”
“Huh? But if they aren't moving until you make them move, then they aren't on any path.”
“Yes they are,” Nathan said. “Everything on the Earth is spinning around, and the Earth is going around the Sun. If an object looks motionless to you, that just means you and it are following parallel paths, at the same speed, so your distance from it stays the same.”
He had to admit that made a sort of sense. “But how am I supposed to influence the paths of objects with my mind? My mind is just inside my head.”
“That's what we used to think,” said Kareef. “But things can affect space, and vice versa. Like the Sun. Xander says the Sun curves space around it. That's why the planets go around it in orbits.”
“But that's just what planets do.”
“No,” said Kareef. “That's only what planets do when they're in a curved pathspace. Suppose you tie a string around a rock, and then swing it around in a circle. The rock is only staying in the curved path because the string won't let it get away. But if the string breaks, the rock flies away. If the Sun disappeared,” he continued, “the planets would do the same thing. They'd all fly off into space.”
“But there's nothing connecting the Sun to the planets. There's no string.”
“You're right,” said Nathan. “An Ancient called Newton said that the Sun pulls on the Earth with gravity, just as the Earth pulls us down if we fall. But later, another Ancient named Einstein came along and said, no, there's no mysterious force, no string. Instead, the mass of the Sun curves the space around it, and the Earth follows what it thinks is a straight path, but it's actually following a path that keeps curving around the Sun.”
He tried to imagine this, but the idea of space curving, of a pattern in empty space, seemed ridiculous.
“Xander says we have to think in terms of metaspace,” said Kareef. “It includes much more than our old idea of empty space. Pathspace is just one part of it. A swizzle works because it anchors a pathspace weave, a pattern different than the Sun's gravity but related to it. When air follows the curved pathspace of the swizzle, it makes the air accelerate inside the pipe toward one end of it...just as the Earth's gravity makes you fall faster and faster if you fall off a roof.”
His mind was feeling like a belly that had too much food stuffed into it. Would he really learn how to warp space around a pipe to make a swizzle, as Lester had in prison?
“Does Xander know why exposure to the alien artifacts makes people able to change metaspace?”
“Not exactly,” Nathan admitted. “But we have analogies for it. Tell me, how does a hunter learn how to track animals?”
“He goes out where they are and looks for signs,” said Jeffrey. “It doesn't take very long to tell the three-toe tracks of a bird from a horses hoof prints, or the parallel lines in the sand left by the movement of a sidewinder.”
“Exactly,” said Nathan. “When your brain is exposed to the signs, to the information, it learns how to see and interpret them without having to think about it. It's the same with the Gifts. If you get exposed to them, the brain learns.” He stopped at the next landing. “At first the learning is all unconscious. You don't even know you are learning. Eventually, though, you begin to consciously sense the patterns in the metaspace. Especially in the pathspace part of it.”
It seemed too simple to be true. But it did explain why some people, like Lester, who grew up near the artifacts, could learn the magic when others didn't...and also explained why he himself was now in a position to learn it. Putting him in that room full of artifacts was like sending him somewhere with lots and lots of animal tracks to help him learn how to be a tracker.
But if exposure prepared one to learn, why wasn't the world full of wizards already? The answer had to be that preparation for learning led to nothing unless a teacher could guide the prepared student. People who could figure some of it for themselves, like Xander, must be rare.
And now the question was: would learning Xander's magic give him, Jeffrey, any help in reclaiming his throne?
Chapter 77
Wu: The Temple
“According as circumstances are favorable, one should modify one's plans.”
– Sun Tzu, The Art of War
A lesser man might have resented this place, he thought. Even with the meticulously maintained furnishings, the ancient artwork and calligraphy adorning the walls, nothing could change the fact that it was a waiting room. If anything, the antiquity of the place seemed to suggest that anyone in it might wait a thousand more years before seeing the Abbot. But Wu was not a lesser man. He wasted no time on resentment. Now that he had become the undisputed ruler of all China, he had much to think on.
Ping's assertions seemed to be borne out by the senior members of the Imperial staff. No green-glowing regenerators were known to exist inside the boundaries of the Empire. He'd toyed with the hope that perhaps someone had kept one secret, had hoarded it for their own benefit. But what kind of person could watch their own relatives suffer, their own lovers wither, when they held the means of saving them?
No, he had put that hope aside like a childhood toy. If any of the healing artifacts remained, they must be in the keeping of either hermits or small groups unnaturally good at keeping secrets.
Which was part of the reason he had come here.
Do I not deserve to have a son?
Some might consider him a tyrant. Such is the fate of those who unify, he thought. It takes violence to quell violence. Local bandits and brigands are never disarmed by words, or banished by good intentions. To bring order from chaos, and to make the streets and roads free of bloodshed, this required both the threat and the actuality of even greater bloodshed.
He smiled to himself. Such inappropriate thoughts for a Buddhist temple, especially that of Shaolin. Yet this place had known its share of violence in the past. Many legends spoke of secret temples where peace-loving monks practiced and taught martial arts, but Shaolin rose above such stories as a mountain rises above mere foothills.
A door opened, and a monk in a saffron-colored robe stepped in to beckon him. “The Abbot will see you now.”
If he were a first-time visitor to Shaolin he might have thought the Abbot's audience chamber would be so plush as to make the waiting room seem threadbare. A first time visitor who entered this inner sanctum might have been shocked at its austerity. The rectangular space housed a couple of large vases, a little table with scrolls and ancient tomes, a bare stone floor, and the Abbot, seated in lotus posture, his hands folded in his lap.
Wu felt no surprise. He knew that Shaolin was a place of Ch'an Buddhism, called Zen Buddhism in Japan, a Way that cherished simplicity and austerity. The comfortable chairs and sofa of the waiting room were for visitors who might not be used to the uncluttered surroundings of a place where contemplation and not-doing took precedence. Outside, in the exercise areas, accessories such as staves might be required. In here, all the Abbot required was himself and a lack of distractions.
Wu sank to the floor and followed the Abbot's example.
The Abbot opened his eyes. “You have returned.” His eyes regarded Wu. “Are you ready to stop fighting now?”
Hard to believe that question came from the head of an Order renowned for its combat skills, thought Wu. “The fighting in China has ended,” he said. “Once again we are one country.”
The Abbot seemed to ignore that statement, as his Order had ignored the turmoil of politics and the outer world, preferring to conquer the inner world.
It had
not always been so. Nearly four hundred years earlier, it was said, Shì Yǒngxìn (confirmed in the Dharma gathering in 1999 of the old calendar as the the thirteenth successor to Shi Xingzheng) had sought to promote Shaolin culture via commercial involvements.
But in the chaos after the coming of the Tourists and the Fall of civilization after they left, the Order had been reformulated, or as some claimed, returned to its founding principles as the New Shaolin Order. The loss of intercontinental communications had facilitated this reformation by severing contact with the affiliated temples in other countries. No longer did the Temple collect fees from spectators or those who would burn incense there.
“Than what disturbs your peace now?”
Wu pondered his response. How to explain the inconvenience of producing only female children? The Abbot, like most monks, adhered to celibacy. “I have no son,” he said. “I am told that a tissue regenerator might remedy this.”
The Abbot regarded him. “Are you seriously maintaining that a daughter would be unfit to rule?”
“Let us be serious. I know that women can have excellent minds. It is not a matter of chauvinism.”
“Oh? Then what is it a matter of?”
“I am not such a fool as to think my own opinions control the world,” said Wu. “If one of my daughters became Empress, she would need children of her own to continue the dynastic line. And simpler minds than ours would assume her mate held the real power. Such beliefs would undermine her authority.”
“So it is a matter of political necessity,” said the Abbot. His meaning was plain. What do we care who believes they run China? We seek only to rule ourselves.
“It is a matter of stability,” said Wu. “If I allow intrigues and turmoil to destabilize the rule of my successors, then all of the fighting, all of the lives given and taken in the cause of peace will have been in vain. I cannot accept that.”
The Ch'an Master gazed at him. “You should never have left the Temple,” he said. “Dust has clouded your mirror. You have allowed selfishness to distract you from the Way.”
“With respect, sir, remaining here and contemplating my navel while China suffered another two centuries of constant warfare would have been far more selfish. I had to do something about it, and I have. I make no apology for that.”
The Abbot closed his eyes. “Many have thought they were chosen to reform the world, Wu.” He opened his eyes again. “Do you think you are a chosen one?”
“No,” said Wu. “Merely one who chooses. One who chooses to help others, and not just myself.”
He wondered for a moment whether he'd gone too far with that remark. But the Abbot merely held his gaze, unwavering. “When you came here,” he said, “you were just another Songshan farm boy. The senior monks wanted to dismiss you, but I saw something in you.”
“I have not forgotten what I owe to the Temple,” said Wu.
“When you left here,” continued the Abbot, “they said you would never return. But I told them otherwise.”
“We both know why I returned," said Wu.
“Yes. To take some of my senior monks with you. With their assistance, many of your enemies were killed. Not what they were trained for. Not what their talents were for."
“Trees and rocks are all around," said Wu. “One can use them to build houses, or weapons. Neither is better, or worse, than leaving them to do nothing.”
“Is that what you want, Wu? More rocks for your walls, more trees for your spears? We are speaking of human beings.”
“I want to find a tissue regenerator. Which means I require the assistance of Mr. Chen. If he finds one, and it's far away, then I also need the Cloud Chariot again.”
The Abbot sighed. “I cannot prevent my monks from helping you,” he said. “But you cannot take Chen with you. I have given him sanctuary, and will not betray my vow.”
“I know that,” said Wu. “I only need him to point me in the right direction.”
“Li Feng will take you to him," the Abbot said, and closed his eyes again, dismissing him.
Wu rose and strode to the door, where Li Feng awaited. He did not look back.
Mr. Chen did not look up from his contemplation of a carp in the pond by the rock garden. Was he obsessed with fish? No. He was obsessed with holding onto his sanity.
His existence was a secret Wu had agreed to keep. Earlier in his life, Chen's ability had made his life a living hell. Even he did not know how his ability worked. But it did.
Mr. Chen could find anything. Miners had asked him to find gold. Magistrates had asked him to find fugitives. Parents had asked him to find missing children. He never failed, which doomed him to popularity. The more his fame spread, the less of a private life he had, until, in desperation, he had left his home and lost himself. Chen was unique, so there was no one to find him. When rumors circulated that he had died, he made his way to Songshan and asked for sanctuary at Shaolin, and remained there ever since.
Wu approached him. “I need your help.”
“Go away," said Chen.
Wu took no offense at this, a mere commoner presuming to banish the Emperor. He knew why Chen prized his solitude. The man had only to think of a person, or an object, and he would immediately see where it was. But this worked with a remembered object or person as well as a new one. Chen worked very hard to avoid remembering his old days of Finding because his memories might trigger an unending cascade of distractions.
“I am sorry,” said Wu,” but this is important. I need to find a tissue regenerator.”
“How happy I am that I've no idea what that is!”
“Li Feng knows,” said Wu, indicating the old monk beside him. “The Temple used to have one.”
“If I find one for you, will you go away?”
“If you find one and tell me where it is,” said Wu, “I will never ask anything of you again.”
“I will hold you to that, Emperor.”
So he did know. Wu gestured, and Li Feng bowed toward Chen, who placed his fingers on Feng's shaven head. Chen's eyes closed for a minute. Wu did not rush him.
Chen sighed. “I see it,” he said. Then: “There are no regenerators in China. I am sorry.”
Wu bowed his own head and turned to leave. But then he paused, and turned back to face Chen. None in China. “But you can find one outside China?
“There is only one left in the entire world,” said Chen. “And the impression I get is that it is fading. Soon it will stop working as well.”
“Where is it?” Wu demanded. “Where can I find it?”
Chen opened his eyes. “In America,” he said. “Near the west coast.”
Chapter 78
Rainsong: Remembering Herself
“For news of the heart, ask the face.”
– Guinean Proverb
White dots wheeled around the center, smeared into little rainbow arcs for a second and then, finally, slowed to a stop. Clinging to her perch in front of the metal ring of the far-seer, Rainsong once again did not hear the approach of Mentor as he hopped onto the perch with her.
“Seems you're getting the hang of it after all.”
She blinked and turned to face him. Behind her, the starfield resumed its spinning. “You should have told me.”
He flicked out his tongue to within a finger's breadth of her face and zipped it back again. The teasing of a youngling, obviously an attempt to appear innocent and playful, failed completely to amuse or mollify her. Her eyes narrowed to pinpoints. “You really should have told me.” she hissed. “It might have been dangerous, not knowing.”
“Life is full of dangers, if you look for them,” he said. “Which one worries you now?”
“When you told me to practice using the Space of Spins to stabilize the far-seer view ahead of the Ship,” she said, “you must have known that I would try to twist the light paths out there, in the space we are about to pass through.”
“As everyone does at this stage.”
How could he be so calm? “And yo
u don't think that's dangerous? Twisting the Space of Paths in the region we are moving through? Twisting our own path?”
His eyes rolled in opposite direction. “You actually thought your attempts to stabilize your view would be strong enough to affect the Ship's rotation? I can see we need to have another talk about angular momentum.”
“You knew all I had to do was twist the paths in here, from the rim of the far-seer to my eyes,” she said. “Why didn't you tell me that? Why waste my time?”
“We all need to know our own limitations,” he told her. “Learning the Ability can make a person arrogant. Failure is an excellent remedy for arrogance. It is important for you to understand that to accomplish great things requires more than one person.”
She did not deign to reply to such an obvious statement, but turned to face the far-seer again. Once more she applied the Space of Spins to the paths between it and her, slowing and stabilizing the view forward. One white dot seemed marginally larger than the rest. Was it the star of the Meddlers? “Life is too short to waste time on impossible tasks,” she said.
“Oh, I didn't say it was impossible. Out here, in space, without friction, one of the people could indeed speed up or slow down the Ship's rotation. But the effect, the angular acceleration on a mass this large, with only one mind driving it, would be so slight that it would take a long time to notice any change.”
“Still, you should have told me. Every spin I waste learning what I cannot do is another spin taken from the time I can spend serving the Ship when I complete my training.”
“There is always your next Cycle,” he said. “Which reminds me, it is time for your completion.”
At first she didn't understand, but then the meaning of his words penetrated. “You mean...?”
“Yes,” he said. “Time for you to absorb your personal memsphere, and remember whatever it was that you decided was worth saving from your last life.”
Tonespace: The Space of Energy (The Metaspace Chronicles Book 3) Page 31
