The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2)

by Joseph Schembrie

  “You trust me alone with you?”

  One human with but a dagger was no threat to her. “I do.”

  As they stole through the deserted kitchen, Carrot asked, “May I ask, where is your sponsor?”

  “Got himself drunk and stumbled to bed.” The man undid the collar and pocketed it. “Good to have that thing off, if only for a moment.” Outside, he unpocketed and lit a tiny lantern, and gestured to the woods. “Down that trail should be fine.”

  Carrot heard the snap of a twig in the distance. The weight was just right for a human. Yet she didn't smell one. When she looked in the direction that the noise had come, she realized that the lantern's light was not penetrating as far into the darkness as it should. Either that, or something was the matter with her eyes.

  In fact, her vision did seem to blur. Her ears were ringing. The forest floor should have the scent of animals, but she detected nothing. No scent at all. And she did feel tired . . . .

  Leaves crunched, faint yet near. She halted.

  “I – I am not feeling well. Can we do this in the morn – “

  “We can do it without going farther. Won't take long. Before I show you the map, though, let me show you this strange jewel that I found. It has a curious inscription that perhaps you might decipher.”

  From his coat, he withdrew a tiny wooden box. He held it before Carrot, and the cover popped open. Carrot saw a tiny jewel, but no inscription. She leaned closer to inspect.

  The entire box flashed. Carrot cried as sparks burned her face. The world went white, then dark.

  All around, the crashing of leaves closed in. From behind her, Carrot heard the slither of a blade retracted from a leather sheath. She jumped, not knowing if it was away or into the danger. She felt a sharp sting on her arm where the blade cut. Pain!

  She grabbed the assailant's arm and attempted to throw him. He weighed as much as a troll. He clutched at her throat with an iron grip, she flailed and slapped the side of his head, felt his face and poked at his eyes. He growled and she wrested away.

  “Don't let her escape!” the man cried.

  She picked herself up and ran – into a tree. She staggered and matched her memory of the scene with the location of the tree. The inn would be that way. She sprinted. Branches whipped at her cheeks and hands. Boots pounded the path, closely behind.

  She couldn't see, she had no metal sense, and then she burst into the open behind the inn and the soles of their boots went silent upon the bare swept ground. She listened for their breathing but couldn't hear above her own.

  All my senses gone! she thought. Along with her strength.

  She hurled on with her hands held before her. She touched the rear wall of the inn. From memory, she recalled where Paul had set the rake that morning. She groped and grabbed it. With back to the wall, she swung at her unseen foes. The metal tines were keeping them at bay, but for how long?

  I can call for help, she thought. But Norian and Mirian were at their camp, too far to hear. Paul, for all his size, was too lumbering to be useful in a battle against nimble humans. And the customers would wake and news of a fight with humans would destroy the inn's reputation, and as that would harm Paul's and Susan's livelihood it seemed as important to her as preserving her own life.

  “Spread out,” the man said to his compatriots. “Close in at my gesture. The potion diminishes her hearing, but move quietly. Don't speak, hold your breath as much as you can.”

  Norian's words came to her: Listen to where I am not.

  What had he meant? Despite her accusation, Norian was too practical to spout mindless philosophy. He must have meant something that had application. Was there a way to detect the men by listening to where they were not?

  As she twisted back and forth, clutching the rake and straining to listen, all she heard was the scrape of dirt beneath her feet. And then she knew. She knelt and clawed, raising a palm full of soil.

  “She'll fling the dirt!” the man said. “Shield your eyes!”

  She flung, but not at the level of their eyes. Instead, she aimed at their midriffs. In the space between the noise of pebbles striking ground was silence as they pelted against the fabric of the men's clothes. She swung hard. The rake's tines dug into flesh and a man shrieked. Carrot bolted to his side, breaking free of their corral and fleeing toward her memory of the path.

  She was running as fast as she could, but not fast enough. They were closing within hand's grasp –

  Zek! Zek! Zekhh! THUD!

  Phttt! Phttt! THUD!

  Zek! Phttt! Zekhhh! THUD!

  “Carrot!” Norian shouted. “Are you all right?”

  Carrot lowered the rake. Mirian poured canteen water in Carrot's eyes and, within a few blinks, vision started to return. Carrot groaned at the sight of the mess. The dress was dirty, splattered with blood, badly ripped . . . and also, sprawled upon the path, were three corpses with limbs and torsos hacked and arrows jutting from their throats.

  “We have cleaning to do,” Carrot murmured. She stretched her arms, feeling her strength return. Good, she would need it to bury the bodies. “Mirian, Norian. How is it that you're here?”

  “As I can control my scent,” Mirian replied, “I am able to watch the inn without detection. So it has been my routine to be nearby at night. As for Norian, he knew to rush from camp just now because he's a seer and had a vision of your distress.”

  “A seer.” Carrot nodded slowly. “That is why he had me train blindfolded this day. Because he knew the future, that I would need such training for this very fight.”

  Norian sighed. “Mirian, I am not a seer. I heard the fuss that birds make when beasts fight in the forest, and I came to investigate. And Carrot, blindfolding is just a common teaching technique. Ah, this might be interesting!”

  He had been rifling through the effects of the corpses and had extracted a sturdy envelope from the leader's coat. He opened it, held the letter beneath the dead man's lantern, and read aloud:

  “From General Bivera, Commander of Roman Occupation of Britan and Governor of the Province of Britan, to the King of Henogal. Greetings. I bid you on behalf of the authority of the Emperor of Rome to extend hospitality to my agents . . . and it goes on and on like that.“

  “So they were Roman agents and were to see the Troll King,” Mirian said. “What does it all mean?”

  Carrot held out her hand. Norian passed over the letter. She examined the calligraphy, the seal, the quality of ink and paper. She noted especially that the document did not mention the bearers by name or provide any physical description.

  “It means that now we are Roman agents,” Carrot said. “And now we shall see the King.”

  16.

  The starboard engine sputtered and died several times on the journey to Klun. Matt had to climb out and fix it on his own. Matters were made worse when a gas cell sprang a leak and the ship's altitude dropped to a hundred meters. They dumped ballast, but what kept them from sinking was that they were almost out of fuel.

  Through the adverse weather, Matt braced himself against the rail and stared rigidly ahead into the churning gray clouds.

  How could I have abandoned her? he asked himself. The answer always was: Savora.

  Sunrise revealed a golden coastline running east to west with sea to the north. The city of Blinti was situated among low mountains verdant with fir trees, on the base of the western coast of a curling cape. Atop the highest forested prominence overlooking the city was a complex of buildings, almost a city in itself. The atlas-guide identified it as the 'Abbey of Klun.'

  The structure in the middle of the complex was the largest. The flying buttresses and towering spires jogged Matt's memory and he asked Ivan for an image search. Save for an extra central spire, the building was similar to a terrestrial edifice known (in the archaic language known as French) as the Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Chartres. The atlas-guide map labeled its Ne'arthian counterpart, The Cathedral of the Star Wizard.

  According to the atlas-gu
ide, the Abbey was 'restricted airspace.' They couldn't fly over it anyway given that their gas loss confined them to low altitudes. Instead, the Good Witch rounded the cape and approached the city from the north. Blinti was several times the size of Hafik and crowned by a swarm of airships in a rectangular traffic pattern over its municipal airfield.

  Crowding the windows of the forward cabin, they surveyed a civilization more advanced than any they had yet seen on Ne'arth.

  “Blinti is an independent city-state,” Matt said, paging the book that Savora had bequeathed to them. “'It controls the northern region of the island of Amara, as well as several other islands with associated townships. Total population under jurisdiction is half a million.'”

  “It's a wonder these people haven't incorporated Rome into their empire,” Prin said.

  “Assuming they have an empire,” Andra said.

  “My dear, everyone has an empire. Empires arise like mold on bread.”

  Matt philosophically agreed, but having studied the guide, he sensed the true empires for this part of the world lay elsewhere.

  They flew south over the bay, city on their left. Their destination was not the main airfield but an inland airfield several kilometers south of the city proper. The traffic pattern was vacant and they landed without need to signal. A ground crew automatically took their lowered mooring lines. The Good Witch was transported into an empty hangar. A mobile stairway was brought to the gondola. A pair of men with clipboards climbed to the door.

  Prin said, “Better let me talk, Matt. They'll look at you and all they'll see is a boy.”

  Their first visitor was the field master, who bellowed, “No papers? This is completely unacceptable!”

  “Perhaps an arrangement can be made,” Prin replied.

  A hefty bribe convinced the field master that the situation was acceptable after all.

  Their second visitor was the field's chief mechanic, who inspected the ship. He started with the engines, making low whistles and head shakes while squinting through the cowling access. He scribbled furiously upon his clipboard.

  “I've never seen anything like this,” he said. “Some of the parts look like they were made by hand. I wouldn't have believed that it flies if I hadn't watched it limping in.”

  “How much will it cost to fix?” Prin asked.

  “It can't be fixed. I'd have to replace parts, and your parts aren't in my catalogs.”

  Prin glanced pensively at Matt. They'd already discussed how the repairs were beyond Ivan's ability.

  “All right,” Prin said. “How much would it cost to replace the engine?”

  “At least ten thousand grams,” the chief mechanic replied. “To be balanced, you'd have to replace both. But in exchange for scrap value I can cut you a deal on a used pair, for eighteen kay.”

  “How long would it take to install them?”

  “Well, your electrical system will have to be completely rewired. So . . . a couple days. But I'll need money up front, about ten kay.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Reaching upward, the mechanic ran fingers along the envelope skin. “It'll cost at least another couple kay to patch the cells, but if you can wait a week, I recommend full replacement with double-lined cells made from the newest hybrid silk, which would run about forty kay.”

  Matt noticed how the mechanic spoke sentences with the word 'but' that ended with the word 'kay.'

  “If you can throw in a window cleaning, re-pressurization, and refuel,“ Prin said, “we have a deal.”

  Matt, who was watching Ivan keep a running tally of charges versus funds, cringed as the men bowed.

  Next, the mechanic inspected the interior of the gondola. “I haven't seen an all-wood boat in years,” he murmured. He shook his head at the control panel. “Can't check the altimeter, can't check the pitot-statics. I don't have tests for devices this primitive. Where did you say you folks come from?”

  “A long way from here.”

  The mechanic shrugged. “You are very brave, I'll leave it at that. Well, I recommend upgrading your avionics. So, where is your signal lantern?”

  “It . . . broke off during a high wind.”

  “The complete system?” The mechanic raised his palm. “None of my business. Now, I can get you a used SLS, batteries included, for just – “

  In the end, Prin seemed eager to replace everything on the ship save the name (and wanted to get a plate for that too). Matt and Andra restrained him, narrowly avoiding a major overhaul. The mechanic filled out a Request For Service form and directed them to the administration office, where they converted a sizable portion of their silver into the local currency and paid their fees.

  The operations manager had more forms to fill out and would not accept A-Long-Way-From-Here as Country of Origin. So Prin said, “We're from an independent city-state called Rome, on the island of Italia.”

  Matt again cringed, but the Op Manager filled in the blank without reaction. “Purpose of visit?”

  “We're hoping to visit the Abbey.”

  “Pilgrimage or tourism?”

  “Tourism.”

  “Signature seal here . . . here . . . and here.”

  Documents were stamped, fees were paid, paperwork filed. As they finished, Prin asked, “By the way, would you happen to know any points of interest about the Abbey?”

  The manager replied coolly, “I'm really not a religious person.”

  They emerged from the bowels of bureaucracy into daylight, lighter in silver but officially approved. Prin hailed a coach and directed the driver to the nearest inn. At the desk during check-in, Prin asked the clerk about the Abbey.

  “I'm not a religious person,” the clerk replied. “Here are your keys. Enjoy your stay. Check out is noon.” His eyes swept over their long-unwashed clothing. “There's a laundry on the first floor.”

  Their room was on the second floor. Once they were inside, Matt slumped on the bed, exhausted from pretense and anxiety. Staring at the ceiling, he muttered, “I didn't think we could pull that off.”

  “'Pull' what 'off?'” Prin asked. “The berthing protocols seemed entirely straight-forward. Very much like the time Andra and I visited Kresidala aboard Archie's yacht.”

  “But this isn't a place we know. We've come to the other side of the world and we're still able to land, get the ship repaired, find a place to stay – and it's done so casually.”

  “And why not?”

  “Prin,” Andra said. “Matt doesn't understand how an economy functions. Remember that he comes from a 'post-scarcity' society. He barely understands what money is.”

  Matt frowned. “I know what money is. It's just that I'm surprised how well it works. Whatever the problem is, you just pay your way out of it.”

  “Money is money everywhere,” Prin said. “More so than Standard, silver is the universal language.”

  “True, dear,” Andra said. “Yet you've spoken so much today that our silver is in danger of becoming hoarse.”

  “The ship needs repairs,” Prin replied, “and the facilities here are more advanced than those on Steam Island, let alone Britan. We want to go home, and will have to pass through that storm again to do so, and I don't want us torn apart over the sea.”

  “Prin, you exaggerate the threat. The storm wasn't that difficult to navigate.”

  “I'm not worried solely about 'navigation.' The guide confirmed my fear about those so-called 'sky serpents' – they are in the habit of attacking ships. We may not be so fortunate to avoid their attention next time. Matt, do you agree?”

  Matt nodded absent-mindedly as he scanned a pop-up window of a satellite view of northwestern Britan. No sign of her. But of course there wouldn't be, the imaging was computer-generated. Lying station computer! Lying clone who reprogrammed it!

  The room had no electric lights. A lantern came with a 'complimentary' vial of oil with a plaque stating that more could be purchased at the front desk. In daytime, illumination came from sunshine pouring thro
ugh a skylight. To Matt the accommodations were primitive, while Prin and Andra cooed at 'conveniences' such as a radiator and toilet.

  While the scientists chatted, Matt gazed through the window. In the northeast beyond the airfield, at the crest of a prominence, towering above the trees, jutted the central spire of the cathedral like a needle poised to prick the clouds.

  He subvocaled, “The Church of the Star Wizard. I don't like the sound of that. Ivan, what do you think? Did my clone start his own religion?”

  “It is conceivable,” Ivan said. “With contemporary technology from Earth, he could perform acts that would be regarded as miracles by the people of this planet. On that basis, he would be able to attract followers to a religion of his own invention.”

  Matt had already contemplated that.

  Prin and Andra were at the table, concentrating on a bluish globe of 'glowfruit,' which Matt had collected on his walk back from Hafik to the ship. As Prin poked, the globe flickered.

  “Imagine, Andra,” Prin said. “If Roman streets had these, there would be no crime at night!”

  “They seem so useful,” Andra said. “I wonder why we don't have them in the Yuro Archipelago.”

  “Because they're not part of the original terraforming package,” Matt replied. “They must have been introduced later, by my clone.”

  “You seem certain,” Prin said.

  “First of all we know he landed in Britan, because his OSV is there. Then – “

  “Wait,” Andra said. “What is an 'OSV?'”

  “Orbit to Surface Vehicle,” Matt replied, failing to realize he was still being opaque to her.

  “The vehicle by which a star traveler descends from Moonstar to Ne'arth,” Prin explained. “You remember, we saw Matt's when we visited the pond where Matt and his brother landed.”

  “Oh, yes. A big sphere that one rides inside. The Britanians thought it was a falling star. Go on, Matt.”

  “Carrot says there are stories of him in the northwest, so we know he traveled west. If he continued west, he would end up on this side of the world. And that's why technology is more advanced on this side of the planet, because he must have helped start an industrial revolution.”