The Wizard from Earth

by S. J. Ryan

  Galloping toward the commercial waterfront distract, he glanced to the east. The city looked golden and clean in the late sun, but his nostrils were assaulted by acrid smoke from the smoldering flotsam and the abhorrent reflux of the sewers. The city was preferable to the base, but it was a morass of its own.

  He glanced west and saw the airship had become a distant speck among the clouds, heading northwestward, toward Britan. The Sisters had been right all along, he thought. Britan is the key to everything. After this humiliation, he would make certain to make it a desolation.

  He slapped the crop harder and the horse lathered with the increased pace. The High Priestess, I can't keep her waiting! All was not yet lost so long as he still had the Sisters on his side!

  He arrived at the main commercial pier. A patrol boat arrived with a water-soaked man tangled in lines and sheets. Valarion dismounted and strode toward the mooring. A sergeant with drawn sword interposed.

  "Here now, where do you think you're going?"

  "Out of my way, you oaf! Can't you see I'm the Emperor!"

  The sergeant mulled, "Anyone can wear a purple robe."

  "Don't you recognize my – " And Valarion realized that the man would not. None of them would. It wasn't his face on the coins yet, and in the Coliseum he had been seen as only a tiny blob from most of the seats.

  But then Valarion's bodyguard arrived on horseback and the sergeant, out-sworded, gave way. Valarion stomped onto the pier to where sailors were cutting the prisoner from the tangled lines and sheets. He was not surprised to see it was Landar.

  "You said it would take a week before the airship was airworthy!"

  "My Lord, the wizard-boy repaired the engine in less time than it took me to sabotage!"

  "Half the imperial fleet is destroyed because of you!" Valarion summoned a guard captain and pointed to Landar. "Have this man taken to Bloodbrick. Inform the warden I will draw a list of questions for interrogation, but I won't mind if he is softened a bit first."

  While being dragged away, Landar shouted, "My Lord, I was the one who copied for you the plans for the airship! We don't need ships of the water when we have ships of the air! I can build you a fleet of such!"

  Valarion glared. "Such a fleet will be built, but you will not have eyes to see it."

  Landar's pleas died with distance. Valarion focused on the bay and searched for the boat bearing the High Priestess. "Does anyone know what time it is?"

  He noticed a nearby sundial and walked over and read the dial – and was instantly confused.

  "What the devil?" he asked. "What's with the circles and curving lines?"

  The sergeant was still there, apparently eager to make amends by being helpful: "It's the new design by Archimedes. Very simple, really, and much more accurate because it corrects for the seasons. The curves indicate the hours of the day, while the circles are days of the year, and the intersection – "

  Valarion shoved the sundial, but it was too bulky to topple. He whirled at the crowd and shouted, "We're going back to the old sundials, where the shadow falls on a number and you know the time in a glance. The sun itself decides what time it is, and doesn't need to be corrected by an old man with a long white beard!"

  In the silence, a child asked, "Do you mean the old man in the sky?"

  Valarion had a mind to issue another order, but saw the size of the crowd relative to his contingent of bodyguards, and decided there were lines even an Emperor could not cross, at least not on his first full working day.

  The patrol boat captain bowed and presented a bag. "My Lord, the man who dropped from the sky had this tied to his neck. The letter inside is addressed to you."

  "From whom?" Valarion demanded. But he already knew. He opened the waterproof bag, unfolded the letter and read:

  'Hey Val, he is not the best but you will need him to work the sewers or half the city will be sick in days. Also he will be handy if you have problems with the aqueducts, and you will. I guess this means he is your chief scientist by default. You have my condolences as now that I look back I realize Landar did little but skulk and complain. I would not wish him upon my worst enemy, which by the way you are. Signed, Your Long-Suffering Tutor – Archimedes of Kresidala. Post Script: You may forward my severance pay to what will soon be the Sovereign Nation of Britan.'

  "I'll severance your neck!" Valarion shouted at the sky. He ripped the letter into shreds and scattered them into the water. He unpocketed the timepiece again and shook it, then growled and hurled it as far as he could into the bay.

  "Does ANYONE know what time it is?"

  The sergeant glanced at the sundial and said, "It's around a quarter to three."

  Valarion paced. A black boat entered the mouth of the bay, steered wide south to avoid the smoking ruins, and then back on course toward the main pier. Valarion saw the hooded figure at the bow and shuddered.

  The boat docked. The hooded figure glided over the ramp, accompanied by four other hooded ones and a coterie of soldiers. Valarion had never met any of the Sisters other than Inoldia. Yet he wasn't surprised when sunlight reflecting off the water illuminated their faces from below and he saw that they all shared a close resemblance to Inoldia in all but age, the High Priestess herself perhaps old enough to be the mother of all.

  Valarion bowed, but before he could speak, a voice like a creaking door said, "What is the meaning of this?"

  "Of what?" Valarion saw the robed arm with its claw-like hand point toward the wrecked fleet. "Well, we were attacked."

  "You have been Emperor for so short a time, and yet I have heard nothing but bad reports. You couldn't even defeat that girl!"

  "Your potion did not work."

  "Our potion was infallible! Do not question the work of the Mother!"

  "Mother? You mean, of you Sisters?"

  The High Priestess breathed deep, but only repeated, "Our potion was infallible!"

  Valarion gestured at his bandaged thigh. "Look, do you think I allowed her to wound me?"

  The old woman looked at his leg, then slowly raised her eyes in trembling rage.

  "Enough of this!"

  She shot out an arm and grabbed his purple robe. Valarion anticipated what was coming and shut his eyes. She yanked hard and Valarion braced for an arcing flight off the pier and into the water. But all he felt was a light tug.

  He opened his eyes. The High Priestess tugged again and again. Valarion wondered what game this might be. Then he saw something he never thought to see in the features of Inoldia: fear.

  "Sixth," the priestess said. "This is beneath me. Dispatch!"

  The old woman stepped aside and a somewhat younger version grabbed Valarion's robe. Valarion kept his eyes open and watched as the woman futilely attempted to lift him.

  "Ninth, you are strongest!"

  The youngest took over. She yanked and tugged and grunted, but Valarion remained secure.

  The woman scowled at his feet. "Are his sandals nailed to the planks?"

  Against instinct, Valarion grabbed her wrists, slowly pushed her away, released. He stared at the High Priestess.

  The High Priestess looked away and mumbled, "You have been warned."

  She returned to the boat, tripping and nearly stumbling. As they sailed off, Valarion heard a voice behind him, "A rather short visit, what?"

  Valarion drew his sword and spun, fixing the blade beneath the chin of his commander of the municipal guard.

  "My Lord?" Maldus asked, spreading empty hands.

  Valarion re-sheathed his sword. "I have no idea what it was about. Look, this has been a long day. I shall retire to my residence – my personal estate that is, not the palace."

  "What will you be doing, sir?"

  "Affairs of state." Valarion mounted the horse and galloped toward Golden Street, and murmured in no other's hearing, "After I take a long warm bath!"

  But at his estate, he found the tub fillable only to ankle-depth.

  "The aqueduct has run dry, My Lord," the servant sa
id. "Not a drop of fresh water in the city!"

  Holding his sword belt with one hand and a towel around his waist with the other, Valarion returned to the courtyard and slumped in his chair amid the hummingbirds and orchids. For a moment, as substitution for a bath, he soaked in the familiar surroundings and fantasized that he was still only a general.

  In distraction, he scratched his leg by the wound. Then he scratched his other leg. Then he scratched his head and chest and arms – and then for half a minute he couldn't stop scratching. Finally he forced his hands still and grunted.

  He groped across the table for the writing pad. He scribbled a message, folded the paper and pressed the imperial seal, and beckoned to a guard.

  "Take this to the Warden of Bloodbrick, in haste. Stay until he releases the prisoner into your care. Ensure that under no circumstances is the prisoner to be harmed."

  The guard saluted away and Valarion was all alone in the courtyard except for an inquisitive hummingbird that hovered beyond arm's reach. Valarion smiled benignly and slowly unsheathed his sword. As fast as he could, he slashed – hack-hack-hack! The hummingbird easily dodged.

  A moment later, the orchids weren't as nimble.

  50.

  Matt climbed to the upper catwalk and gazed tailward. Rome was well over the horizon but the black pillar of smoke from the destroyed fleet dominated the sky. The high winds blew the smoke toward the eastern provinces, and Matt wondered if the people there would think that Mount Enta had erupted.

  Carrot popped from the hatchway, gazed at the pillar, and turned forward. The sun had set and the western horizon melded rose sky and gray sea.

  "How soon can we see Britan?" she asked.

  "It depends on whether we have to detour storms. Airships were always crashing in storms."

  She listened while he contacted Herman and discussed weather forecasting with Ivan. Then he felt her fingers and thought for an all-too-quick-instant that she wanted to hold hands, but instead she raised his hand to her forehead.

  "Let me in," she said.

  Ivan provided them with physically-updated avatars as he churned out a multi-day forecast in three dimensional simulation.

  Matt read the captions, "At current speed, we'll be there day after tomorrow."

  "You can't understand how fast that seems."

  "Actually, I've gotten so used to walking on foot, even a sailboat seems fast."

  "It's been a long time since I've been inside your head."

  He smiled but then he noticed how Ivan had given the eyes of her avatar a deeper, sadder cast. He retracted Ivan's tentacles and saw that her real visage was the same.

  "Carrot, is something bothering you?"

  "I was going to ask you. You've been quiet since you fought her."

  "I had to kill her. I don't have remorse, but . . . ."

  “. . . But you do.”

  "Yeah. Carrot, I notice you don't kill people."

  "I have done so. When I first joined the Leaf."

  "Did you feel bad about it?”

  “Not at the time. But we would attack their settlements, their caravans. I came to see that Roman farmers look the same as ours. So do their children. I came to wonder if even their soldiers were just boys who had taken the wrong path.”

  “How can you fight without killing?”

  “Because I have enough strength that I don't need to kill. A few whacks of my sword on his shield, and a frightened Roman soldier is worth more to us than a replacement who is still brave. But if I were an ordinary warrior or just an ordinary person, with only a crossbow to face a legionnaire's sword and only an instant to react – I suppose I would pull the trigger.”

  “And your father's attitude about killing?”

  “He is a very good fighter, but . . . his view is harsher.”

  Matt watched her strands of hair dance in the wind. “I'd better give your father the weather forecast.”

  Back in the gondola, Geth was napping soundly and Andra had taken the helm. She and Prim were watching as Archimedes lifted his robe and displayed his midriff.

  “I know the knife went in,” Archimedes said. “Yet not even a scar!”

  Matt put hand to eyes, smiled, and thought about asking Ivan to delete short-term memory. When Matt dared to lower his hand, the robe had been dropped and the three scientists were staring and tilting their heads at him.

  "He just doesn't look like a host," Prin said.

  "I'm sure the same was true of us," Andra said.

  Matt looked from face to face. “You mean, you're all mentors?”

  “Mentor hosts,” Archimedes corrected. “But everyone gets that confused.”

  “We were all hosts,” Andra said. “Our mentors fell silent years ago. Archimedes tells us yours is active. I suspected as much, but your abilities seem to transcend what a mentor could do and I presumed you were some sort of savant.”

  “Myself, I thought you were a mutant,” Prin said.

  Archimedes shrugged. “I thought you were a bright kid from Seattle.”

  “I think it's time we were honest with each other,” Matt said.

  And so he told them everything. About Ivan, about all his abilities, about the trip from Earth. To Matt, their willingness to accept his story in whole was amazing – or perhaps not, given what they'd all gone through.

  Andra's eyes widened. “So you really are the Star Child!”

  “I hate that title,” Matt said. “I don't feel special. As for all that prophecy stuff – well, it's just wishful thinking.”

  “Then how did people learn of your coming in the first place?”

  Matt explained his theories regarding the image of the man in a blue jumpsuit on the mural in the palace.

  “Your brother . . . he was here a hundred years ago during the Pandora War?”

  “He's not my – well, maybe I'll explain what he is another day. But yeah, it seems he came here ahead of me. He was probably the one who triggered the . . . we're calling it the Pandora War now?”

  “We former mentor hosts do,” Archimedes said.

  “How many of you former mentor hosts are there?”

  “That's a good question, Matt.”

  Matt glanced at Andra and remembered. "By the way, there's a storm ahead, we'll need to change heading thirty degrees south."

  Prin gaped. “You can see storms beyond the horizon?”

  Andra turned the wheel. “He told us about that ability, Prin. And with his implant, he can also heal the sick and injured, and read minds, and move very fast.”

  “I can't read minds,” Matt said. “I'd really like to know as much as I can about the mentors and their hosts.”

  Archimedes half-raised his hand. "Well, I suppose I have the most pertinent story."

  "Or just like to talk the most,” Prin muttered.

  "Prin!" Andra scolded.

  "Did I mention, Matt, that I grew up on a farm in the kingdom of Kresidala?"

  "Yeah . . . . "

  "Don't worry, I'll move this along. Well, my birth name was Larkin, Larkin of Kresidala. I grew up on a farm in Kresidala, and as the old saying goes, if there is a bright center of the archipelago . . . times were lean, and even as a small child my parents recognized I had some talent with facts and figures, so they apprenticed me to a printer in the city. The term for children so appointed is 'inker,' because though we didn't operate the printing presses ourselves, after a few day's worth of errands our clothes managed to be thoroughly covered in ink – "

  "What a charming urchin you must have been," Prin said. "You were going to move this along. Tell him about Isaac."

  "Isaac, my best friend for so long . . . yes, well, one night I was sleeping with the other inkers on the floor in the back room of the shop, and without quite knowing why, I woke up and said, 'Who is there?' There was no one there, but I heard a voice reply, 'Do not be alarmed.'"

  The others nodded.

  "The voice said he was named Isaac, and that he was a mentor. I had heard of the mento
rs, so what he explained next wasn't a complete surprise. That he would help me if I would help the world in certain ways. I was young, but I knew to suspect a vague statement when I heard one. Still, it was intriguing, so I went along."

  Andra prompted, "The bookkeeping."

  "Right. The bookkeeping. Well, I gather, Matt, that you understand that the instrumentality of the mentor travels from one body to another. In this case, it had traveled to me from the body of the print shop owner, who had been very old and died that same night. As a result of his death, the whole place was in upheaval, as he had kept the accounts for the business in his head. The owning family had double misfortune, having lost their beloved patriarch and livelihood in one stroke. But not quite!"

  "He ended up running the place," Prin said.

  "Are you going to let him tell the story?" Andra asked.

  "As it happened, one day I heard the wife, now the matriarch of the owning-family, speaking to a customer over his account. He asserted a contract for such and such a price, but Isaac informed me of where to locate the actual invoice. From there, the wife trusted me more and more with the accounts."

  "A child, running a family business!" Prin said.

  "More or less as a bookkeeper, as Isaac taught how to keep accounts. In truth, Isaac had to prod me to do the paperwork of business, as I was always distracted by the sound of the presses and the workings of the machines, which I found fascinating and which Isaac explained to me in thorough detail. So soon we were improving our equipment, and the shop expanded to the largest in Kresidala, and then throughout the eastern half of the Yuro Archipelago. People would often say, 'You're not old enough to shave, how can you run such a successful business?' And so I grew my beard as soon as I could."

  Prin snorted. "Archie, I'm sure the boy is fascinated by your personal references.”

  At that moment, the rear door opened and Carrot entered. She touched her sleeping father on the arm, then squeezed past to join them.

  "How did Isaac communicate with you?" she asked.

  “I'm going to assume there's a logical reason you could hear the conversation out there,” Archimedes said. “Yes, well, he spoke to me and I spoke back. He taught me how to speak in less than a whisper, though, so that others would not think I was talking to myself.”