Scepters

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Alucius nodded. “Not too many people should use them?”

  Use by a handful will not harm the world, but use by thousands or the transport of large weights of metals will wear down a world before its time, and it will die, and then so will everything upon it. Even the existence of many Tables over centuries will wear down a world…Enough…you must do what is necessary…If you wish your children to survive and prosper, you must travel the dark tubes to the world of the ifrits. Only there can you stop them.

  “Why didn’t you?” asked Alucius.

  We could not. We cannot travel the dark tubes. Even entering one will kill a soarer. Nor did we know about the scepters then.

  Scepters? The soarer had never mentioned them before, and now she spoke as though they were of great import. He had so many questions. “Why can we…” Alucius stopped. “Because they helped form us?” The very thought that he and Wendra were somehow related to the ifrits was distasteful, and he’d shied away from it in the years since he had first learned that.

  Wendra’s eyes widened, but she did not speak.

  You are of this world, of another world, and of the world of the ifrits, and you are of yourself. We are but of ourselves and this world, and that has not proved enough strength…

  “But you brought me here. You’ve done so many things,” protested Wendra.

  I did not bring you. Those with strength did. Our fate was sealed from the first, for we can have either skill or strength. We cannot have both. Skill is not strength. Soarers are most skilled, but you are far greater in strength. Skill can be taught, once the intelligence is there. We have either intelligence or strength. We have never had both. You do. You must use your strength to find one of the scepters and take it to where it can destroy the access of the ifrits to Corus forever.

  Scepters again? The soarer’s thoughts seemed almost fragmented.

  Alucius had never heard any mention of a scepter. Or had he? Wasn’t there a mention of a scepter of the day in one of the old rhymes? And there had been the statue in Dulka—it had to have been Dulka—that had borne a scepter tipped with blue flame. “What are the scepters? Where are they?”

  They were a symbol of the Duarchy, and they had a function.

  “What function?” pressed Alucius.

  They made the Tables possible. They created stresses, fractures, in the lines of lifeforce that hold the world together. If they are not either reunited with their source, or one of them destroyed, in time… There was the sense of a shrug.

  “Then what?” asked Wendra, a trace of irritation in her voice.

  The lifeforce webs will shrivel and die, and so will all your descendants. How long this will take, we do not know. Many hundreds of years, but it will happen.

  “How did the scepters create the Tables?”

  Each contains lifeforce from all the worlds held and drained by the ifrits. Each world contributed a small fraction of its lifeforce. The tension between the two scepters allowed a disruption in the balance of forces on a world. That imbalance makes possible the creation of the translation tubes between worlds, and between Tables and portals.

  “And we need to destroy the scepters?” asked Alucius. “Or one of them?”

  Need is what one makes of it. There was an impression of a headshake, although the soarer’s head did not move. It gets more difficult to retain lucidity. You need only to destroy one scepter…

  “How do we destroy something like that?” asked Wendra. “Where do we find it?”

  Find it…you must…you can…it is twisted silver and black, locked in pink and purple, and it cannot be far from a ley line, a world lifethread, and it has its own…feeling…Its appearance…we cannot say. It could look like anything. We have never seen it, only felt what it did… The soarer slumped, as if she could hardly hold herself erect on the amberstone. Destruction…that is simply said, and most difficult. You…must reunite it with the master scepter on the world from which it was brought…find the master scepter on the world of the ifrits and reunite them. You must not wait…for in instants…will come a great convulsion…and you will be trapped there, and die with that world…

  Alucius looked at Wendra.

  You must practice what I have taught you. And then you must rest before you go. You must be refreshed before searching for the scepters and before you travel the dark tubes.

  “We must act quickly?” pressed Wendra.

  If you would save yourselves and this world we would leave to you. I must go…little time for me remains…for any of us…Do what you will…I…we can offer no more…No more… The soarer walked out into the adjoining room to the square mirror and was gone.

  “She didn’t say anything more,” Alucius said. “She didn’t even soar.”

  “She’s dying. They all are,” Wendra said. “It’s so sad.”

  “Dying?”

  “Can’t you feel it? There’s so little lifeforce behind her.”

  Alucius hadn’t thought to look. “They always seemed so powerful. So invincible.”

  “Did she look invincible?”

  He shook his head. Inadvertently, he yawned. “I’m tired. I didn’t do that much…”

  “Using Talent is work, and you’re still tired from what you’ve been through.”

  “We should practice a little more.”

  “Just a little,” Wendra replied.

  Alucius stifled another yawn and squared his shoulders.

  142

  Salaan, Lanachrona

  A reddish purple mist erupted from the center of the Table. As the mist vanished, the figure of a tall, muscular ifrit was revealed. His eyes were deep purple, his alabaster face almost translucently white, his shimmering hair black. He did not smile as he stepped off the Table and looked first at Trezun, then at Tarolt.

  Trezun bowed immediately.

  “Fieldmaster Lasylt? I had not expected…” Tarolt inclined his head respectfully, but not deeply.

  “Whom else did you expect with so much at stake?” The deep voice reverberated through the Table chamber. “Whom else…?” His eyes caught a glimpse of his visage reflected in the now-silvered Table top. “The dark hair…the paleness…it…”

  “It takes some getting used to,” Tarolt said. “We stand ready to do your bidding.”

  “Where are the scepters? Do you have them under guard?”

  “We have located but one, and there is no functioning Table at that locale.”

  “Is there a portal?” demanded Lasylt.

  “Ah…yes. There was once a Table.”

  “And you have not attempted to recover it?”

  “With but two of us remaining…” Tarolt pointed out.

  “I see your problem, especially given a strong Talent-steer being loose. Once I have rested, I will procure it, and with it we will locate the other.”

  “Are the scepters that…critical?” asked Trezun.

  “You sent word that this Talent-steer had killed a fully translated Efran. Is that not true?”

  “Yes, Lasylt. But he used local lifeforce attached to local projectile weapons.”

  The newly arrived Efran’s violet eyes blazed. “You do not understand, I see.”

  “But…a projectile weapon?”

  “No…any Talent-steer who can bind lifeforce into inanimate metals and minerals—that is the danger, because that ability can direct the use of the scepters. Or have you found this Talent-steer?”

  “No. He made a translation to Blackstear, but he is no longer there.”

  There was a long silence. The senior fieldmaster seemed to shudder, then took a deep breath.

  “Can we assist you?” asked Tarolt.

  “Assist me? Ah, yes.” An ironic laugh filled the room. “You will. If only Talent were linked to intelligence. If only…but we cannot change what is and what is not.” Lasylt turned to Trezun. “Are there any other Tables that can be constructed or rebuilt rapidly?”

  “Waleryn—the shadow-engineer in Lustrea—has been working in Norda t
o re-create the Table there. He has it operating for communications and believes that he can have it fully operational within a few days. Because of its location, once it is operational, it will boost the grid strength by another fifth.”

  “That is the first encouraging information I’ve had from you.” A hint of a smile crossed the taller ifrit’s face. “With another Table after that, we will have enough to translate third-level Talents.” Lasylt nodded. “We could have three hundred Efrans here within a year, then, and we will be able to warm the atmosphere more. In our absence, the planet has reverted toward chill, and we must have greater warmth to boost the lifeforce mass. Even so…” The faintest frown crossed the broad forehead. “We cannot undo all of what has already been done.”

  “What has been done?”

  “I will explain…after I rest.” Lasylt walked toward the doorway leading to the steps.

  Trezun and Tarolt followed.

  143

  When Alucius and Wendra woke, aroused by the plaintive wails of a hungry Alendra, indirect light filled the tower room, creating an amber glow that suffused everything. Alucius put his arms around Wendra, holding her close for a moment. After a time, he sat up and took Alendra, to allow Wendra to move into a more comfortable position to nurse their daughter.

  Wendra propped herself into a sitting position on the bed that was narrow indeed for two and an infant. Her head tilted quizzically. Her face stiffened. Then, abruptly, tears began to stream from her eyes.

  Alendra began to wail even more loudly, almost despairingly, and Alucius looked from his daughter to his wife. “What is it?”

  “She’s gone. They’re gone. All the soarers. Can’t you feel it?”

  Alucius stopped, letting his Talent extend into the tower. The mistiness of the ley lines to the mirror-portals remained, but the greenish gold was gone. And for the first time, his Talent was not blocked by the tower. Beyond the walls, there was not a trace of the lifeforce energy that might have been a soarer. Not the smallest trace remained.

  Not a trace, as if all of the greenish gold lifeforce that had always been part of the soarers had been removed from the world, as if an entire part of Corus had vanished. And it had.

  The soarers had always been there, always a part of Corus, especially of the lands of the Iron Valleys. How could they be gone?

  Yet, even as he asked himself the question, he knew that Wendra was right. The emptiness of the hidden city was like a gaping hole in what his Talent sensed. The soarers were gone. Or had there been only the single soarer at the end? Was the wood spirit of Madrien gone as well? “They were here last night. She was.” His words sounded empty.

  He swallowed. The soarer had been dying the night before, and she had known it. Alucius should have known, should have guessed. But…soarers were soarers, not herders. They had always been secretive and private, and there was no way that a soarer would have allowed anyone near. That he understood, even as it saddened him.

  “She didn’t want us to know.” Wendra tried to blot the tears from her face, but they kept flowing. “I think…she was the last. She had to be.” Several sobs convulsed her. “She didn’t want us to know…so sad…to be so alone…”

  So alone. Alucius found it hard to imagine what it must have been like, soaring through an empty city, trying to hold on, trying to impart knowledge to others not even of the same race, so that part of the legacy would live on, trying to remember, to tell what was important.

  As Wendra’s sobs subsided, Alucius kept patting Alendra’s back, and her wails subsided into something more like sobbing cries. After a time, looking at Wendra, he spoke again. “She said it was up to us. I knew there weren’t very many. I just didn’t know that she was the only one. Or that it would happen…overnight.”

  “She was so tired,” Wendra said. “So tired. And lonely…I didn’t see it. I should have.”

  Alendra whimpered.

  “You can hand her to me. She’s hungry.” Wendra extended her arms.

  Alucius eased Alendra into them. “I’m going to wash up and dress while you feed her. Then I’ll take care of her while you dress.”

  Wendra nodded, wincing slightly as Alendra began to nurse, greedily. “Don’t be quite such a little piglet…that’s hard on your mother.” She shook her head. “About some things, she’s like you. When she gets something on her mind, she’s not good at listening.”

  “You expect her to listen at less than three months old?” Alucius asked.

  Wendra forced a grin, despite her tear-streaked face. “In some matters…of appetite…age doesn’t matter.”

  Alucius could feel himself flushing. “I think I’d better get washed up.” He turned to the washstand, realizing abruptly that he needed to be frugal with the remaining water—unless he wanted to try soaring down the narrow shaft that was the only way up and down the tower, and he had his doubts about his success there after his earlier experiments with soaring.

  When he had washed and dressed, he turned to Wendra.

  “It will be a bit,” she said, looking down at Alendra.

  Alucius smiled. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  “I should hope not. You get into trouble.”

  “You got into trouble not going anywhere,” he countered.

  “Where do we start the search for the scepters?” she asked.

  “I have some ideas where they aren’t. I think I would have sensed them—I hope I would have—if they’d been in Blackstear or Soupat or Hyalt or Dereka…or Tempre.”

  “The soarer gave us an idea,” Wendra pointed out. “If the ifrits can only travel where there are Tables, don’t the scepters have to be where there is a Table—or where there was one?”

  “The map would show the old locations of the Tables where I haven’t been.” Alucius nodded. Where had he put the map? He glanced around, then realized it was on the narrow lower shelf of the washstand.

  He retrieved the map and opened it, studying it more closely, looking for a hint of something, anything. He smiled faintly, realizing that the tower room was about the only place where he’d actually been able to look at the map in anything close to full light.

  After a time, he finally saw what he had missed on his previous observations. There were two purple dots at the upper vertices of two of the octagons—the ones at Dereka and Lysia. He eased over beside Wendra and lowered the map. “See? Here and here. Those don’t appear on any of the other Table octagons.”

  “There are two scepters, aren’t there?” asked Wendra.

  “That’s what the soarer said.” Alucius frowned as he studied the map.

  “What is it?”

  “I might already have found one of them—except it wasn’t there.”

  Wendra raised her eyebrows.

  “There was a hidden room off the old Table chamber in Dereka…” Alucius went on to explain what he had seen in the chamber, concluding, “…and I’d wager that the casket once held one of the scepters. But the scepter was gone.”

  “There weren’t any signs of anything else missing, were there?”

  “No one had been in the chamber in years. There was dust everywhere. Someone might have taken it a long time ago, but not recently.”

  “So it was taken years ago. Could we travel there by the ley lines and see if we could sense where it might lead?”

  There was something, something, but Alucius couldn’t quite recall what it was…and he felt that he should remember. “It’s not there. Not now. We should try Lysia.”

  “Have you been there?” Wendra eased Alendra from her breast and to her shoulder, patting her back.

  “No, but the map says that the colors are yellow and orange. We can concentrate on that.”

  “Will it help if we hold hands?” Wendra lowered her daughter to the other breast. “She’s still hungry.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t see how it could hurt.” Alucius frowned. “What about Alendra? Do you think…?”

  “She comes with us,” Wendra
replied. “I’m not leaving her. Besides, we have to finish this soon. Alendra won’t be able to travel with us for much longer. We don’t know how long this will take. Besides, there are too many ifrits around.”

  Alucius could have argued about that, but then, his wife’s mind was clearly made up…and there had been far more ifrits in Corus than he’d thought about, and with the translation tubes open to the ifrits’ world, there was always the chance that another might appear. Or a whole host of them.

  “I won’t be that long. Or Alendra won’t.”

  Alucius straightened and walked to the window, looking down and out at the hidden city, a city that had once held much of a race…and now held but three herders…and the hopes of both soarers and herders.

  144

  Salaan, Lanachrona

  Purplish mist boiled away from the Table, and a tall figure emerged from the mist holding a case in both arms. In the holster attached to the wide maroon belt was a light-cutter whose discharge formulator had been half-melted, half-shattered.

  The ifrit slowly and carefully descended from the Table, easing the silver and black case into Tarolt’s arms. “Careful…barely…made…”

  “Fieldmaster…”

  Lasylt sat down on the stone floor. Then his eyes rolled up in their sockets, before closing. He slowly pitched sideways. Trezun grasped his garments quickly enough so that he was able to keep the senior fieldmaster from slamming down onto the stone.

  Tarolt opened the hidden doorway and carried the metallic case into the strong room at the end of the short corridor, returning quickly—empty-handed. He closed the hidden door.

  “What happened?” stammered Trezun.

  “Table strain. It’s hard to carry something like that through the tubes,” explained Tarolt. “He’ll recover quickly. We’ll just carry him up to his room.”