The boy lowered his head but didn't move away. Vincas studied him for a moment. “Was there something else, Arjun?"
“Nothing worthy of annoying you, Master.” He glanced around guiltily before continuing. “It's just that—I wanted to ask if you would consider accepting me as your—your apprentice when my magic finally bursts forth."
The mage took a sip to steal some thinking time. “While I truly hope your assumption proves valid, I wonder why you feel so confident at attaining magical prowess. Few do, you know."
“It's because I see and feel magic so clearly, Master. When someone such as you or Master Tan manifests a—perhaps a tulip in five colors, I see all five whereas people such as my father may only notice three or four. And if a great mage such as you hands me such a flower, I will feel its intended weight and texture. Yet my father and brothers cannot."
Vincas made a wry mouth. “For your sake, lad, I wish matters were so straightforward. True, magic and magical sensitivities both flow from the actions of one's jin, but manifestation and perception involve separate jin systems. Your sensitivities, though refined, are no guarantee of magehood."
“No?” The boy's eyes darkened.
Vincas held out one hand and a copper box appeared on his palm. “Touch this, Arjun, and describe what you experience."
The boy obeyed. “The surface is rougher than it looks and very cold."
“Ha! You couldn't feel illusory temperature without some feedback from your control node. This implies your node is indeed developing! If the process continues, your jin may eventually grow a functional micro-imp."
“And then I will become a magician?"
“With much hard work and training, your chances will be good."
“And would you be willing to train me should my imp appear, Master?"
Vincas hesitated. “Perhaps. If you cross the first bridge, we can consider the second."
Arjun smiled and his eyes danced. “Thank you!” He turned to finally leave the mage in peace, but then turned back. “I thought everyone had an imp."
“Most people have a—an internal space where an imp could form. But these days, it is becoming increasingly rare for one to mature."
“These days?"
“Oh so. Scholars tell us that in Ancient times, everyone was a magician, able to cast mighty illusions. With each subsequent generation, our powers have diminished."
“But I wouldn't care for everyone to have magic, Master! Becoming a mage would then be ... ordinary. If magic cannot delight or amaze, what would be its purpose?"
Vincas stared at Arjun, thoughts of the Contest banished. “What indeed? In my long life, I've never considered that question! The Ancients, as I understand it, created the jin as an adjunct to normal human growth and even for them, the task must have been challenging. The strength and health-enhancing aspects of jin are undeniably valuable, but surely, they had some vital intent in mind for magic...."
Vincas shook his head. “Arjun, you have proven yourself an insightful lad. By all means, if your imp begins to speak to you, we should resume this conversation."
Arjun bowed deeply and hurried off. Vincas took a final sip of tea and followed the boy back into the inn. Nodding back at a dozen faces nodding at him, he binned the teacup and navigated the lobby.
* * * *
Stepping through the front door, Vincas was dismayed at the city's appearance. Nearby, Takata Hai stood glaring at the dregs of his decorations. Zun-Loo's buildings were sheathed in wispy smoke with the dirty aspect of old snow. The diamonds were vague, shedding little more radiance than mud.
“My regrets, Takata-san,” Vincas said. “My Panx was unexpectedly forthcoming last night, but hardly useful."
The mirage-master erased his frown and waved a dismissive hand. “Nevertheless, I appreciate your efforts."
“You are a generous man! Especially since it remains possible I've been instrumental in actuating this unpleasantness."
“No one could blame you, Master. Yet if Kirstunu proves responsible, I doubt he shall enjoy our next encounter. May I accompany you to the Hub?"
“Your company is always a pleasure,” Vincas claimed although he would have preferred solitude to finalize his preparations.
“At least we have a lovely day for the event, even without my embellishments. Barely a cloud. And do not fear! I shall savor your companionship without offering any distracting conversation."
“You are the model of graciousness, Takata-san!"
As the two men strolled uphill toward the Hub, the city's main park, Panx spoke without being summoned. Will you now share with me your plans for this year's Contest? The imp's voice, sent directly to the mage's auditory nerves, was friendly, almost eager.
“I have in mind,” Vincas replied through similar internal channels, “a four-tiered illusion. We will begin with recreating Zun Valley in colors richer than nature and at a scale suitable for a large audience. Then we shall expand the image, focusing on this city and again painting the scene with extra vivacity. Next we expand the Hub and finally concentrate upon the actual crowd watching us, each face at least thrice life-size, recognizable but idealized to an extreme—particularly the judges’ features!"
Your concept becomes clear!You intend to flatter your way to victory.
Vincas felt an ironic touch of relief. The acerb comment was more the Panx he'd grown accustomed to. “I have a great-great-granddaughter to please,” he stated with dignity.
* * * *
The park's southern side lacked foliage and ended in a sharp drop-off providing an unobstructed view of a distant hill crowned by the Zun Valley Empower Plant, an immense white structure reminiscent of a Tibetan stupa but topped with a long spike rather than a dorje. Pagman's presence was palpable but no human knew its precise nature or location within the great dome because no one, not even those unfortunates born with defective jin, could get within a hundred yards of the edifice. The mild tingling Vincas enjoyed while gazing at the Plant from several miles away would swell to agony close at hand.
The sun was only an hour risen, but on the still-damp grass people and various forms of seating already surrounded the elevated platform where today's premium magic would be performed. Vincas counted ten waterproofed Main carpets presently occupied by minor functionaries, and seven empty mini-thrones, but couldn't even estimate the impressive host of populated divans and chairs.
Aisles were the narrowest Vincas could recall, and delineated with chalk and ribbon rather than mirage.
Three grizzly bears burdened with planters overflowing with gaudy flowers were lumbering up a ramp set to stage left. Vincas didn't recognize the ursine controller, a petite woman in the turquoise robes of her craft, but he appreciated the necessity for the makeshift decorations. Those grand illusions the mirage-master had reserved for the competition itself were only pallid hints of iridescence.
The surf of a thousand conversations lapped into Vincas's ears, carrying excitement with an undercurrent of public dismay. Even so, he didn't miss the creak of Takata grinding his teeth.
Beyond the broad circle of goat-cropped grass reserved for the audience, food venders were noisily setting up tents and firing up grills. Past these, in mute corollary, a dozen portable privies containing compost toilets waited. One entrepreneur was peeling melons by hurling them high into the air and then faceting them with a scimitar as they fell. Normally such skill would have attracted much attention and friendly kibitzing. This morning, only the privies were watching.
And beyond all these, rainbow parrots perched on tree limbs, displaying plumage so spectacular they, too, seemed attired for a special occasion.
The bears set down the final planters and wandered off, still on their hind legs, munching fruit-of-plenty they'd received as a reward. Expectancy filled the Hub like a static charge.
When the sun finally emblazoned the Empower Plant's apex, a deep temple bell sounded, and a slow procession entered the park from the northwest. First, the city's economic eli
te appeared and supplanted the carpet-warmers on the silk Mains. Then, with great dignity, without even surreptitious jostling, the Contest judges made their way to the seven mini-thrones near the stage and sat down in unison.
Each adjudicator wore a robe tinted a different color and by tradition they'd arrayed themselves to present a spectrum. When the judges were settled, Lama Go, a saffron mountain outlined by the silver cape of Contest Day, climbed the seven steps to the stage. At the center, he turned in a slow semicircle and every person in an assembly that had swelled to over four thousand felt as if he'd gazed directly at them.
“You have all noticed,” he said in a voice that should have been too quiet to carry so well, “the magical vandalism robbing us of Master Hai's splendid efforts this year. This need not dampen our spirits or lessen the festivities. Do not permit the perpetrator that satisfaction! Are we agreed?"
The crowd chanted its agreement in assorted languages including one Hebrew “ken,” which Vincas heard so distinctly he craned his neck until he spotted Shlomo Levi smiling at him from two rows away. The old magician bowed and returned his attention to the lama.
“I thank you all,” the Contest-master said. “Judging, as always, is based on three criteria: elegance, power, and clearest expression of a magician's fort, or magical style. Some here may be wondering how the term ‘fort’ originated."
A rustling swept through the spectators. Lama Go had been known to become pedantic.
“The word either evolved from the French 'forte,' meaning strength, or was derived from the name of an ancient historian of strange events, one Charles Fort."
The green judge caught the lama's attention by waving a document in the air and Go reacted with a frown, then a shrug. “Very well. Since we have so many competitors this season, I will curtail my opening remarks and call up the first entrant.” There was a general if barely audible sigh of relief. “However, I shall continue my comments after the Contest for those sensible enough to wish to hear them in full.
“As always, the order of contenders was determined by random drawings within each predetermined talent-level. Now, therefore, I present a baja-wizard, Dr. Werner Tuft from Gestalt Deutsch, who will delight us all with his, um, vegetable magic."
Tuft bounded up the steps, a large cabbage in each hand. He gestured and his cruciform entertainers opened several leaves and used them as legs to strut back and forth across the stage. More leaves opened to aid in executing a series of handsprings, or perhaps back-flips, since orientation was debatable. All this was impressively realistic by the standards of a lesser mage. For a finale, the leaves fluttered so vehemently the cabbages lifted clumsily into the air. But as they neared Tuft's shoulders, the illusion abruptly disintegrated as did, seemingly, the vegetables.
In moments, the platform appeared to be covered with a crude slaw. The doctor stared in horror at the mess and exited the stage, head drooping, clearly unaware he was followed by a new illusion: a thousand shreds of cabbage rolling or humping themselves along behind him.
Lama Go's dark eyes seemed even darker as he called up the next performer in the baja-wizard category. Vincas, who'd planned to meditate and focus his energies during these initial demonstrations, couldn't tear his eyes away as one minor wizard after another suffered magical mishaps. In his heart, sympathy and shame vied for dominance. Was Kirstunu truly the villain here? How could a baja-wizard produce such devastating effects?
Three hours passed awkwardly, sometimes painfully, as the level of competitors rose toward Master's division. Every act failed in some significant manner and many were outright debacles. Lakshmi Siva's dancing fires stretched to seemingly menace beards and eyebrows for six rows back. Despite any lack of physical heat, this presented real danger. Illusory flames could trigger intense pain and other indicia of being burned in those whose jin was sufficiently sensitive. One wealthy woman sitting in front was temporarily blinded and had to be carried, moaning, to the healer's tent.
Madame Courceloux's ethereal trumpets produced far-flying spittle along with discords that drew winces from even the musically unsophisticated. And then Chodron Rimpoche essayed one of his celebrated enchantments in which an animal or plant would apparently swell to gigantic size. In this case, his field mouse exploded into a fanged reptilian horror, which bounded off the stage and through the crowd in leaps not seen on Earth since the Triassic. Fourteen people with symptoms of crushed limbs provided more work for the healers.
The only factor preventing a major exodus was that no audience member dared to be first to flee, not with Lama Go glowering and abjuring the assembly toward courage. “We must not allow a certain malign individual hereby permanently banned from Zun-Loo—” Someone behind Vincas hissed “Kirstunu” as if cursing. “—to spoil our festival. Surely we are suffering the, um, most egregious thaumaturgic abuse since that tragic day when Mage Kazan, may his spirit find peace, went berserk. Adjudication shall be lenient this year! Let us take our cue from the wise Rishis of old and enjoy ... whatever we can."
In addition to pity for the injured and a mounting apprehension over what would happen during his demonstration, Vincas felt a new stab of guilt. Apparently his suspicions about Kirstunu had spread and become certainty in more than one heart. He could guess who had begun the process. Takata Hai's discretion was impeccable, whereas Murigum was Zun-Loo's most dependable gossip.
* * * *
As a courtesy to Zo-har, Shlomo Levi's presentation had been scheduled to precede the Master performances.
Despite the day's quirky and perilous disappointments, Levi, a large sack over one shoulder, virtually leapt up the stage stairs. He set down his bag, then spoke, turning from side to side to include all sections of the audience.
“I have come from New Israel,” he boomed, “to divulge astounding secrets unearthed by the Society of Scientific Essenes!"
A threat of purely academic revelations, however “astounding,” could have made the crowd restive, but Levi's enthusiasm had its own fascination.
“First, for illustrative purposes,” he said, “let me ask you all a simple question. Since arriving in your fine city, I've heard many languages spoken. But we all understand the one I'm using now, do we not? Can anyone tell me the fundamental name of this language?"
A dubious beginning, but a dozen voices called out, “Human."
Levi mimed applauding. “And where did ‘Human’ originate?"
Vincas sensed the crowd's interest slipping, but after a collective moment of somewhat grim silence, Han Pengyew chose to respond. “Human province in Old China, as all educated people should know."
“Aha! In school, I was taught the same. But it is untrue. Once, China had a province named ‘Hunan,’ but our common tongue was originally termed Unified Median English—UMEN for short. The Ancients, my dear hosts, were maniacs for such contractions."
“How did you learn of this?” Pengyew asked doubtfully.
“I shall show you!” Levi said, reaching into his sack and fishing out a foot-long rectangular slab with the look and apparently the heft of white quartz. The surface facing the crowd had a golden shape inlaid into the center: a stylized apple or pear.
“Over the last decade,” he said as he gently set the slab down, “New Israeli archeologists directed by the leader of my Order, Moshe Abram, have found twenty such blocks in the ruins of Tel Aviv."
From the bag, he next withdrew a long and skinny black object terminating in a spike. “We've also found many of these dark rods, which we've named ‘desert flowers.'” He made the rod stand on its own by forcing its spike into a gap between stage planks at his feet. “Avrakedabra,” he chuckled as he unfurled the “flower's” upper half into a circular black fan.
He tilted the fan to point at the sun, stood up, rubbed his back with comical exaggeration then bowed as if acknowledging applause. “The blocks and rods remained mysteries to us until four years ago."
Vincas's intuition made a giant leap and he guessed the fan was intended to ga
ther and beam energy to the slab, a device of some sort. But he couldn't imagine why this was necessary with Pagman so near. After all, Pagman not only radiated magic to adepts, it also powered the city's Ancient-built mechanical aids such as coolers and safe-stoves.
Did the slab predate empower stations?
“At a dig in southern Caliph-Orange,” Levi continued, “not a quarter mile from the infamous Zendiego zoo where Ancients reputedly once crafted mythological monstrosities, Rabbi Abram himself found a sealed box hidden within the cornerstone of an abandoned synagogue, Temple Beth Israel. Inside this box,” Levi paused theatrically, “he found another white block, but this one had been primed—these days we say ‘programmed'—to explain itself once we followed some simple written directions! We soon learned these devices were known as ‘computers’ although most of us prefer the Rabbi's term Tzuremeth, which might translate as ‘Truth Stone’ or ‘Proof Rock.’ The one you see before you contains a complete copy of all information contained within the Zendiego Proof Rock."
He pressed the stylized fruit and a large vertical rectangle, filled with evenly glowing mist, manifested above the slab. Small colored objects were embedded along the mist's bottom edge. The crowd murmured when Levi's finger apparently sank into the rectangle to touch one such object, which expanded a hundredfold to become an animated human head, male, with dark hair brushed tight to the scalp and parted high on the left, a rectangular face, a protuberant but blunt nose, large and widely spaced dark eyes with matching eyebrows, and a faint smile.
“An imp in a box!” Mage Mokshananda cried from the front row and in a heartbeat Vincas went from intrigued to anxious. If the Mage's guess was accurate, such a prodigy might easily earn the Torus!
“In truth, a tutor on a light-screen,” Levi corrected, grinning from earring to earring. “Good people of Zun-Loo and fellow visitors, I present to you Sterns: guide and educator!"
Frown muscles bunched between the dark eyebrows and a new voice said, “Shlomo, I welcome you but detect the presence of others. Do you wish me to render our communications private?” The Human was perfectly clear but spiced with an accent Vincas couldn't identify.
Analog SFF, January-February 2007 Page 4
