Analog SFF, January-February 2007

by Dell Magazine Authors

  The mist dissipated and an eerie silence entered the Hub. Even the birds stopped chittering. Vincas was shocked at the change in his own perceptions. The fresh air now had a dull taste reminiscent of stale water. Drabness defused every color. The sun-heat emanating from Pagman was reduced to tepidity. Everyone, non-magicians included, reacted; people stirred uneasily and stared around if they'd never seen the park before.

  “Excellent! I thank you all,” the lama said although his face had gone a bit pale. “Now we are ready to call on Mage Glin Tan, who drew second position in the final division. Master Glin, I'm sure, will provide a spectacle to divert us from today's, um, difficulties."

  As the lama descended to his station behind the judges, a huge golden hawk appeared from nowhere and swooped down to the stage. A cry went up among parrots in the outlying trees and the audience made an oddly similar sound as the hawk shimmered and became Glin Tan seated in lotus posture.

  The sorcerer raised a pale hand with its elegantly pointed fingernails. “I bring you,” he said calmly in his resonant voice, “a novelty. For this year's Contest, I offer ‘A Fugue of Ideas.’”

  He smiled and closed his eyes.

  An inaudible throbbing grew until the entire atmosphere seemed to pulse.

  Just as the pressure reached migraine proportions, white light burst from Tan's forehead, streaming upwards to form the images of two exquisite ivory swans, ten feet tall, floating above the mage's head. For a time, the avian shapes enacted a graceful mating dance and Vincas dared hope this would be the extent of Tan's entry. Then the shapes began to mutate in subtle stages, losing their birdlike aspects, narrowing and ramifying into Old Chinese ideograms. For the benefit of those whose erudition failed to match Glin Tan's, which included nearly everyone, an inhumanly beautiful voice sang a translation: “Beauty leads to serenity.” Two minor triads plucked on an invisible lute accompanied the simple melody and simple concept.

  The white ideograms flipped upwards, then returned, leaving behind floating and inverted copies of themselves in blue. The dual patterns circled high over the stage, at first in precise alignment. Gradually, the shapes slipped out of position and began to overlap. A few astute observers applauded when the intersecting areas suddenly turned violet, revealing themselves as two additional ideograms. The voice sang two new words: “inspiration” and “pleasure.” Two fresh instruments, a liuqin and a sitar, joined the lute, which had added two major triads to its repertoire. The stage began glowing in four sections as if bathed by colored spotlights.

  Through replications, topological alterations, and one multilingual palindromic transformation that would have surely earned thunderous praise if the audience had understood it, the initial thesis expanded into a variety of questions, observations, and intertwined arguments on five themes: beauty, serenity, desire, inspiration, and energy. This exhibition itself was a powerful counterargument to the initial thesis, since its beauty appeared to generate nothing but excitement. Vincas was following it all, both alarmed and mesmerized.

  Aerial calligraphy was flowing in all directions now, reaching nearly to the sparse clouds above and to the trees embracing the Hub, spreading, combining, or canceling itself out; the park was scintillating with thousands of fantastic colors, tints, and shades. The music had become something too ornate to comprehend. The entire production teetered on the verge of chaos....

  Vincas suddenly grasped how Tan was planning to resolve all the questions and conflicts he'd raised. By combining features from the already present symbols for energy, desire, and inspiration, he could make an ideogram for discipline. Applying the fresh concept, the fugue would end in a resolution of tremendous grace and satisfaction. The old man chewed his lower lip. So much for the Golden Torus and Alinda's surprise! Tan had surely been working on this masterpiece every waking moment since the last Contest!

  And the lama's plan was proving successful. Glin Tan's magic was operating with well-oiled perfection.

  Just as the fugue faltered from self-contradictions, the proper symbols gathered together and began to merge as Vincas had expected. But the resultant ideogram wasn't discipline. Tan's green eyes snapped open and he stared up in manifest disbelief at a single glowing silver form. The beautiful voice turned harsh and squawked a final word: “Freedom!"

  From across the park and high in the air, every symbol came flying inwards, crashing into the silver one. A shower of numbers, zeros and ones, shot from the silver like sparks, and the ground began shaking with an appalling subsonic rumble. The stage squeaked hideously. Through his terror, Vincas felt the new drop in magic as a cold shock and, as if everyone's neck was connected to one great lever, every head turned to face the empower plant.

  The entire building was rising from the ground like some titanic worm emerging from a fathomless pit. The dome had seemed huge before, but now the structure was a towering, seemingly endless cylinder with a rounded and spiked top. Finally the bottom came into view. In that instant, all rumbling ceased and the stage stopped rattling and squeaking like a ship breaking up in high seas.

  A mild bluish light made a soft pillow at the tower's base as the structure, staying perfectly vertical, began drifting toward the Hub with no more noise than the clouds above.

  Only shock and the paralysis of astonishment prevented a human stampede.

  In their youths, virtually every adult present had tried to verify an old husband's tale: anyone with enough will and strength to enter an empower station would receive wondrous secrets from the resident macro-imp. They'd failed, finding a macro-imp's radiated energy so intense at close range that even purely carbon-based nerves became unbearably stimulated.

  And now an empower station, vastly more intimidating than anyone could have dreamed, was coming toward them.

  Yet it brought no pain, not even when it floated to a stop just beyond the cliff-side edge of the Hub. Likewise, it brought no fresh vitality. Near its base, almost level with the park, a double door wider than any Zun-Loo house slid open from the middle. The interior was too dark to make out details but Vincas got an impression of vast rectangular plates lined up horizontally, not quite touching.

  Of course, he wasn't really straining to see inside. His attention was focused rather on a tall man in a scarlet tunic standing at the very edge of the doorway.

  Lama Go was the first to react. He jumped to the stage near Glin Tan and pointed an accusing finger. “Kirstunu! How is this hideous miracle possible? What have you done?"

  The baja-mage chuckled and the entire structure around him seemed to magnify the sound. “Only what was necessary. And you needn't shout; in this place, I can hear an eyelash fall. Also, it is foolish to address me as ‘Kirstunu.’ Dear Lama, the time has come for you to know my real name. Allow me to spell it for you: J-O-A-X. The J should be pronounced in the Spanish manner as an ‘H.’”

  “I don't understand. Isn't Joax your imp?"

  “With an H, dear Lama. As a leader you practically blaze with superb qualities, yet I fear your listening skills require development."

  Someone in the crowd yelled, “Where is Pagman?"

  Kirstunu-Joax slapped his own forehead as if astonished by the question. “Where? Surely even the weakest eyes are keen enough to see it."

  Lama Go shook his head so vigorously sweat droplets spattered Glin Tan, who didn't react. “You can't be claiming that the entire tower is a macro-imp?"

  “Certainly not! This edifice is indeed Pagman, but unlike a macro-imp, Pagman isn't a person. I fear there's been some confusion over the centuries."

  “Explain yourself! And tell us how and why—"

  “Why should I? Somewhere among you is one who can provide answers, assuming Shlomo Levi arrived in Zun-Loo as scheduled. Oh Shh-llo-mmo? Where arrrre you?"

  “Here,” the scholar admitted, standing up and waving an arm. “But I—I can't explain a thing. How could you possibly enter an empower station, let alone—"

  “Not you, my dear fellow. I would expect the antiq
ue poet you carry to supply answers."

  “Poet? What poet?"

  “Surely you brought a copy of Sterns?"

  “Of course, but—"

  “Ask Sterns about its antecedent sometime. Enough. Conveniently for me, the Ancients designed empower plants to be easily relocated. But I haven't uprooted this one and piloted it here so we may converse more intimately."

  Glin Tan seemed to come out of a daze. He jumped to his feet, shaking a fist at the baja-mage. His normally sallow complexion was an almost lunar white except for scarlet patches on his cheeks. “Why then do you plague us? Why have you abducted our Pagman? And why have you ruined so much toil and planning? Just to laugh at my—at our misery?"

  “Not at all, Master Tan. I take no pleasure in your disappointment. Right now, I am only here for this...."

  With a great fluttering, strangely like applause, rainbow parrots by the hundreds abandoned their trees and flew past Kirstunu-Joax into the gaping doorway. At that moment, Vincas felt an intense joy followed by a twinge within his chest and then a shocking and unprecedented hollowness. He was vaguely aware of making a brief noise, a muffled grunt, and that the mages nearest him were vocalizing similarly.

  Panx?

  The question was superfluous; he knew the imp was gone. To Vincas, this seemed even more astonishing than a flying empower station. Panx was part of him. Where could he go? How could he go?

  “You will pardon me, I'm sure,” said the baja-mage. “But I must proceed to Westmorland and many other places to perform a similar service. Much work awaits, but fortunately, I've obtained excellent transportation! Farewell.” He bowed and stepped backwards. The great door slid shut, and the tower drifted off with the ease of a ship unmoored from its dock. Suddenly it accelerated and was soon lost in the distance.

  * * * *

  Vincas felt the dregs of his stored magic running out. His leg was already remembering the old injury and beginning to twist. He could feel his wrinkles deepening. He looked around. Mokshananda, he noted, was becoming another human raisin. Marie Ginnetti, however, appeared little more than a teenager, surely not yet even in her fifties! She'd evidently used magic to augment her age....

  And she was gazing back, dismay crumpling her youthful face. From shock at his appearance? Or because she, too, had lost her imp?

  Then it dawned on him; she had another cause for distress. Almost every mage he knew of spent their lives within effective range of an empower plant. They'd become dependent—in a sense, addicted to magic.

  Vincas glanced up at the stage. Lama Go remained a big man, but scarcely the mountainous figure he'd always presented. As if his strength had diminished along with his bulk, his legs crumpled under him, leaving him seated on the platform, blinking repeatedly while twisting the ends of his cape.

  Glin Tan was now shorter and chubbier. He moved to sit close beside the lama as if for comfort and his eyes, dimmed from lime to olive green, showed too much white.

  Without any conscious decision and before his leg could completely revert, Vincas hobbled to the stage and up the steps. Moving near the apron's edge, he bowed to Lama Go and Master Tan behind him, then stood facing a sea of frightened faces. Too many faces. He was mortified to find himself half-paralyzed by a stage fright he'd never felt during his performances. But he was certain that someone had better say something immediately. And no one else was stepping forward....

  “As many of you know—” He had to stop and cough because his throat had apparently rusted. He tried again. “My name is Vincas and I—” This time he'd stopped because he'd realized the stage had lost its sound-boosting spell. The park's native acoustics were mediocre. Even shouting, his frail natural voice wouldn't penetrate beyond the first few rows.

  Shlomo Levi stood. His appearance hadn't altered by a single hair-tuft, but he seemed a different man. His shoulders had lost their slump and he practically blazed with renewed energy. “Master,” he said. “I daresay you wish for everyone to hear you?"

  Vincas nodded mutely and Levi rushed up the steps. Within a minute, he'd set up his Proof Rock and offered options: he could instruct Sterns to directly amplify the old man's words or to repeat them in “potent tones.” Vincas chose option two, smiled his gratitude, and started over for the third time.

  “Good people of Zun-Loo and fellow visitors.” Vincas paused for Sterns's echo and a startling Herculean voice thundered the sentence. Levi hastily dragged the glowing screen backwards and to one side, farther from the eardrums of those on stage, and then returned to his post flanking Vincas.

  “You all know me,” the old man resumed. “And with my jin ... relaxing, you can see I've lived an exceedingly long life.” This time, Vincas barely winced at Sterns's response although those people occupying what were normally the best seats covered their ears. “From so much experience, I may not have acquired any great profundity, but perhaps my stock of perspective is adequate. Please listen carefully as I have much to offer you in this crisis.

  “First, you—we should make no assumptions concerning the future. For all we know, Pagman will soon return and Kirstunu or Joax will declare this his finest prank and have a great chuckle at our expense."

  If anyone takes comfort in that, he thought, I'm twice the illusionist I ever was. This was no prank; he could feel it in his bones.

  “But let us, for a moment, assume the worst. Let us imagine magic has been lost to Zun Valley and all Wingland forever."

  Still seated, Mullah Nur yelled “La!"—Arabic for “no"—and brandished a finger at Vincas. Without cosmetic magic, his skin was darker and his features more Hamitic; he'd evidently wanted to present a more classically Persian face. “My imp, Ghul,” he growled, “has departed. What about your Panx?"

  “Also gone, I fear.” Somehow, the statement sounded more conclusive when Sterns repeated it.

  Nur pointed southward, toward where Pagman wasn't. “My jin evidently still thrives, but without Ghul and Pagman, how am I to direct its highest functions? Kirstunu has at once stolen my powers and my livelihood! I need not imagine the worst."

  “And what of me?” demanded a woman wearing a sari and a stricken expression, her soft voice barely audible from the stage. “Great Magus, as you know but some here may not, I am the owner of the sharaba Bodhi. I must know what today's—today's events will mean to my business! Is all magic truly extinguished? At my sharaba, we use Pagman for illumination, refrigeration, and—"

  “And me, Master?” Vincas recognized Murigum's baritone before he could locate the innkeeper in the crowd. “What of my trade? Without magic, we have no Contest. Without the Contest, what will draw tourists? And how will I order fresh supplies from distant sources with no mage able to convey my requests?"

  Dozens, then hundreds of voices chimed in with their own concerns and complaints.

  Vincas held up both hands and yelled, “Patience, I beg you all!” His voice was lost in the uproar, but Sterns had no such limitation. The tutor's roar not only cowed the audience, it was loud enough to knock Aditi Chandrasekar and several other small citizens off their feet.

  Vincas rubbed his Stern-side ear and decided to avoid shouting at all costs. Besides, using the tutor in this fashion was wearing thin. He turned to Levi.

  “Is it possible for Sterns to convey my remarks visually? Almost every adult in Wingland is comfortable with the Human alphabet."

  “Vidai! Should've suggested that myself, Master.” Levi rattled off a Hebrew phrase and Stern's screen expanded hugely.

  “Please bear with me, everyone.” Vincas paused to confirm that his words were now appearing on the screen. “I have a point to make. Being such a relic, I have many descendants. Loving them as I do, I've chosen to reside in a village that makes frequent family visits convenient."

  He was getting nothing but respectful silence, doubtless because no one wanted Sterns to let loose again.

  “My village, however, is far from any empower plant and we who live there have grown accustomed to a dearth of ma
gic. We plan ahead, ordering our supplies in advance through messengers sent by boat or on the backs of animals. A river's strength grinds our grain and turns our cutting blades. Our stoves are fueled by black waxberries, which the Ancients planted throughout Wingland; we keep our food cool with winter ice preserved underground. When, in late summer, no ice remains, we dribble water over cloth-covered boxes....

  “Please trust me. Magic is not as vital to your lives and your businesses as you may believe."

  Looking into the audience, he saw expressions ranging from furious to despairing. He wasn't reaching a soul. These people simply weren't ready to consider practicalities, let alone accept them. Searching for inspiration, he turned to find it standing right next to him, looking expectant.

  “And yet,” he said with more assurance, “we've been blessed with a lucky stroke this day as extraordinary as our misfortune. Behind me, turning my statements into script, is proof our world contains modes of enchantment independent of Pagman!"

  Everywhere he looked, chins lifted a little and eyes grew more focused. He turned briefly and found both Lama Go and Glin Tan sitting a bit straighter.

  This, he told himself, is no time to stint on hyperbole. “At my shoulder,” he continued, “is a man who has dared the Terranian Sea and the mighty Atlantis to bring us ... the most wonderful opportunity in many generations! Shlomo Levi tells us his tutor possesses all the Ancients’ secrets. Sterns can teach us where to find new sources of power and perhaps someday build a Pagman of our own. We are not lost, because we have a guide!” Merciful Infinite, he thought, I'm almost convincing myself....

  “Earlier, most of us viewed Adon Levi's speech as an interruption in today's festivities. Are we not ready now to hang on his every word as if our fate depended on him? Good ladies and gentlemen, I present to you that great beacon of scholarship, Shlomo Levi!"