by Garon Whited
Mary came in shortly thereafter, obviously amused.
“Well?” she asked. “How did it go?”
“It gets a little cold—enough to notice, anyway. There are a lot of things down there, wandering around, and I could hear them in the water. None of them were large enough to be interested in me, but most of them are pretty darn ugly. And the pressure feels strange. Keep breathing seawater and it doesn’t bother you too much, though. I’ve never been that deep before.”
“How did you know it wouldn’t crush you?”
“Fluid dynamics. But, worst case, when you reeled me back in, I’d regenerate on the way up.”
“So, it went well?”
“Yep. Johann’s in for a nasty surprise. I’m thinking about a one nasty surprise every six seconds, but it’s only a guess.”
“Successful proof of concept?”
“Not exactly. I’m pretty sure it will work, though.”
“But you don’t know for certain until you set it off.”
“True, but I’m confident. We’ve got eight more stops like this, three of which are big—twelve ley lines intersecting major nexus points. If Johann thinks he can hide behind his shields indefinitely, he needs some new thinks.”
“I like it when you talk that way,” Mary informed me, leaning on the doorframe. I turned off the water and toweled down.
“I can’t help it. I’ve got everything else sorted out, or mostly. Johann is my last big thing.”
“What about the Orb of Evil?”
“That’s part of the Johann thing, I hope.”
“And then what?”
“Assuming I survive it?”
“So to speak.”
“That’s a good question. I’m not sure. I know I’ll need to travel a bit while I work out some settings on my gate spell. I know I’ll need a lot of data points to figure out how to navigate strange spaces, rather than aim for known points.” I thought for a moment. “I suppose I might go Hero-ing. It doesn’t seem like a bad profession, from my perspective. Travel around, find monsters, slay them. It beats the hell out of ruling anybody.”
“You don’t sound too sure,” Mary pointed out.
“I’m not. None of it sounds appealing, really.”
“So take a minute. Take a breath. Think about it. Close your eyes and imagine you’re happy. Then picture yourself. What do you see?”
I cast my mind back and thought on happier times. When was I happy? What did it feel like to be happy? Not happy about something, but to be happy. To feel pleasant, relaxed, enjoying life. What was around me? What was I doing?
“I suppose,” I said, slowly, “I might take a vacation from all the intense work and settle down for a bit. I could find a world with moderate technology, for the creature comforts. Maybe something like the nineteen-twenties America. Maybe England between the world wars. Someplace where the omnipresent eye of the Internet won’t trip me up as a stranger, and the local magic—and its practitioners—don’t disagree with me. Settle down, get a dog, hire someone to mow the yard, and conduct my technomagical researches on a more garage-inventor scale.”
“Really,” she said, suppressing a smile.
“Yes, really. Why? Don’t you think tinkering in the garage suits me?”
“No, no—I think it suits you fine. A nice little house with a small yard, a picket fence, a dog, a fireplace—a place like the Ardent farm when it was built.”
“Without the acreage, and maybe with the neighborhood,” I added.
“I can almost picture you as an English lord, complete with manor house, drawing room, and eccentric tastes. Maybe it’s the stay in the Victorian hotel, but I can see it.”
“If all it takes is money, there are ways. I might be very happy in such a situation.”
“Any place where you can tinker in the laboratory and sew together your Creature?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes. At least, I think that’s what I want. It’s hard to focus on anything but Johann and his upcoming demise.”
“Actually,” she countered, “it’s easy to focus on something else. At least, I can arrange it. You’ll always come back to this mental state to finish what you started, I think. Your field of vision is narrow as you home in on your target.”
“Is it?”
“I’ve seen this before. You’re boring straight for your goal along your planned path, and God help anyone who gets between you and what you want. Right now, it’s the only thing you want, so that makes it even worse.”
“You may be right,” I admitted. “I’m having a hard time imagining myself doing anything else, anyway.”
“So don’t. Focus on your goal. Get it done, get it over with, and then we can think about what to do when you’ve achieved your major purpose in life.”
“It’s not my…” I began, and paused. “Okay, maybe it is. For now.”
“And afterward, we’ll discuss the white picket fence and roses over the door. It does sound pleasant. At least, for a while.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? And move. I want my pants.”
Mary moved, but I didn’t get my pants. Once she was aware of the changes in her nighttime nervous system, kissing became much more enjoyable. It’s enjoyable all the time, of course, but with the enhanced sensitivity of a vampire, it becomes an erotic journey all by itself. The slow movement of lips and tongues is a language without words.
Let’s not even get into body language. Mary likes to shout.
Thursday, January 21st
We didn’t have too far to go to get the next ley line nexus. We headed northwest and were there in a matter of hours. I repeated my deep-sea diving trick with one addition. Since the process worked, I took some extra time down there to craft spells for the next nexus opening. Unlike the spells I assembled on the ship, these were built using the wellspring of power at an opened nexus point. I wanted to practice the technique before hitting a major nexus.
It ought to be just a matter of degree, but I’ve never opened a major nexus before.
The nexus I just finished and the next one were slightly bigger, but not overwhelmingly so. A nexus of four or even five ley lines I could shield, drill down into, cap off and contain. Their energies would remain as they were, buried deep in the Earth, until I sent the magical signal to open the floodgates. Even then, the power wouldn’t just spray everywhere. The spells would contain it, channel it, like a pipe in an oil well. The power would flow directly into some of the heaviest-built spells I could make, turning them into juggernauts. Irresistible ones, I hoped.
But a five-line nexus is the largest I’ve ever tapped. Next up was another five-line. After that… A twelve-line nexus, one of the major power centers on the planet. Sure, our planned course would take us through three of these major ones, but I desperately wanted to get it right on the first try. You might say I was feeling the pressure.
I could have flown to any of the land-based major nexus points, but the way magi tend to occupy power centers might have caused problems. It’s harder to build your house two miles under the ocean, even with modern technology.
So you could say I was a bit nervous about it, yeah. I decided to practice my prefabrication methods on the smaller nexus. Next trip down, I plan to use the pre-made, over-built spells on the five-line nexus and see how those do. Then, hopefully, using the power from that nexus, I can build something strong enough to cap a major one.
Mary welcomed me back aboard and helped me burble. I sounded as though I was coming through the tulgey wood. Once she was sure I was done with my spell construction and suchlike, she insisted on distracting me with a game of strip checkers. She’s not very good at checkers, or she let me win—I’m not sure which. But it was a good distraction, followed by a sunrise, a shower, and a very late breakfast.
I’m glad Mary found me. I’ve missed her. I’ve missed me, too. The me I am when I’m around her, that is. For her, I’m neither a king nor a monster. Not a god, angel, demon, or any other supernatural thing. I’m simply
myself, exactly as I am. I’m not… I’m not a “something.” I’m Eric, and that’s all she wants me to be.
I’ve noticed something peculiar about myself. I’m starting to feel… different. No, that’s not quite right. I’ve been feeling different ever since Johann had a long, probing talk with me. Now I’m doing something about it. Now I think I’m starting to feel like myself again.
I’m still a really pissed off me, and Johann is going to suffer for it, but between Mary and the feeling of doing something, I think I might be all right.
Is this what happens when we’re around the people we love? They make us feel like better people? Or they actually do make us better people? Or do we simply feel comfortable being who we are, for better or for worse?
Friday, January 22nd
The last of the smaller nexus stops. My last chance to practice before the big one. I spent most of the night down there; they started reeling me in according to schedule, rather than from my signal. I sent the signal up, of course, but it didn’t arrive before the clock chimed. Fortunately, I was already in the bucket seat.
I’m confident and frightened about the upcoming Grand Opening. If I make a mistake, the results could be unpredictable for the world and fatal for me. So, I’m confident I can do it and afraid of what I’m about to do. But I’m a coward by nature.
Monday, January 25th
Well, it worked. I’m pleased about that much, at least.
Going down was pretty much the usual thing. I sank to the bottom, bounced a little, shook the chemlight, and brought my bucket with me. Sea creatures were only interested in the light. Even the ones with respectable teeth didn’t seem too concerned with me. All normal.
The undead monster plotting the demise of a major magician in a technological world went slogging through knee-deep mud on the bottom of the ocean with a jumbo plastic bucket and a pocketful of underwater flares. Yeah. Normal.
What was not normal was the building. This nexus was not simply a geographical point, buried under a stretch of mud on the bottom of the ocean. Someone had put an enormous pyramid on top of it. Oh, the pyramid was covered in silt, too, but it was squarely on top of my nexus!
My life is too weird, even for me. Maybe especially for me.
Grumbling the aquatic equivalent of “Who left this here?” I extended my tendrils, feeling around through the mud and stone. Solid stone all along one side, two sides… aha! Hollow spaces inside the pyramid, near the surface. Is this a hidden door? Or is it just covered in silty mud? I swept away great clouds of it, urging it along in the direction of the slow current. No, it wasn’t a hidden door, merely a buried one.
Those balanced pivot-stones the mountain uses as the default door are wonderful things. Whoever built this pyramid liked them, too. Trouble is, they’re precision pieces, usually maintained by the mountain. Abandon one, bury it at the bottom of the ocean for a couple thousand years, and it will deteriorate. I had to wrestle with the thing to get it open. Even then, it didn’t open so much as I pulled it out of the doorway. It fell flat, sending up a great cloud of silt in the water. I thrashed at the cloud with tendrils for minutes, clearing it away. When the waters cleared, I saw the inner face of the slab had some sort of metal inlay. It looked strangely angular, with lots of parallel lines and sharp bends. None of the metallic lines crossed each other.
Curious, I ran tendrils over it and recognized it instantly. It was the stuff Johann used to make my chains—orichalcum, that was it. I peeled loose a strip for later analysis. You never know when you’re going to need a magical superconductor, and the formula for it could be highly valuable.
Beyond the doorway, the waters were surprisingly clear and the floor almost clean. Small streamers of muddy dust drifted in the waters, generally heading out, toward me, even though I couldn’t feel a current. The corridor was fairly sizable—big enough for Bronze, if she kept her head down, but she would never turn around. More carvings lined the hallway, inlaid with more metal. I stepped inside and looked them over. There was no light, so there were no reflections, no gleams, but I could feel them with my tendrils. Most of them were also orichalcum, but a few seemed to be magically-charged metals. Gold? Silver? There was no way to tell with the color-blindness that goes with my darkvision.
I’m no archaeologist. Unfortunately, I’d have to vampirize an archaeologist to get one down here. I suppose I could get a special camera for photographing the ocean depths, but it would take time. Maybe after Johann.
The interior of the pyramid was more spacious than I thought. Egyptian pyramids generally only have a few rooms and some narrow tunnels. This was more like a modern concrete building. I had no idea how they built it. It wasn’t grown—I think—because the mountain generally has a slightly rounded, organic feel. There are some lines and angles and sharp edges, but usually only where there’s a need for them. All of this place was sharp, angular, made up of straight lines and intersections.
Working my way in was like negotiating with a politician. I could tell the nexus was near the center, but nothing led me straight there. It was always sideways with occasional stairs up or down and openings toward the middle, like some sort of labyrinth. I eventually cheated. My tendrils couldn’t reach out to cover the whole pyramid, but I could easily worm them out between the orichalcum lines and get a much better feel for the layout in my area. It cut down on dead ends and false trails.
Finally, I climbed a short flight of stairs into the center. I tilted a thin lid of stone up and looked around. The room was almost spherical, but faceted. My entry point was a flat, triangular stone over the stairs, near the bottom but a bit off-center. I emerged from it and closed it carefully behind me.
The lowest facet—the bottom one, where it would be flat and level—was actually an open hole. It was a triangular well with stairs on the sides. The rest of the room was like the inside of a gem. It had no normal walls, just facets, gradually sloping up from the well, growing steeper the farther away they were, vertical halfway up the room, and connecting to form a dome above. Each facet was inscribed with a symbol and connected to all the others by inlaid lines of metal, running along the stone walls. I had no idea what the metal was. It was too hard to be gold and I couldn’t tell the color. Orichalcum? Maybe. Probably.
The whole webwork of intersecting lines reminded me of something. Sixty-two points, each consisting of twelve intersecting lines. Twelve intersecting lines? Wait a minute… this whole inside-out thing was a map of the world and the ley lines!
Why inside-out? Because it was a room? Or because there was a hollow place inside the world where the magic lived? If I ever meet the builders—Atlanteans, maybe? —I’ll be sure to ask.
The nexus was down in the well. I sank down the stairs, noting the well itself was covered or plated in the same metal as the connecting lines in the ley line diagram. Even in seawater for thousands of years, it was glassy-smooth to the touch. I had no doubt it was polished a long time ago, and completely lacking in corrosion. I don’t know why I was so certain, but it seemed only natural.
The bottom of the well ended at the edge of a hemispherical chamber. The floor was a flat surface of stone, inscribed with eight concentric circles around a central pillar. The pillar was about three feet high, a foot in diameter, and was crowned with a sphere—it looked as though someone had stuck a one-foot-thick pillar into an eighteen-inch ball. The pillar and sphere were otherwise unadorned.
The circles, however, were about as magical as my horse. For most people, that’s not a big deal, but for me…
I examined the enchantments, for enchantments they were, not simply spells. They were containment circles, obviously, and the only one I could get a good look at was the outer one. It didn’t seem attuned to anything in particular. That is, it wasn’t a named circle, specifically designed to contain a specific entity. It appeared to be nothing more than a basic power circle, restricting nothing but magical force.
Which, come to think of it, might not be a bad thing around
a major nexus. But who put it here? And why? And when? In the early days of Atlantis? In the days right after the fall of Atlantis? Or was this one of the reasons Atlantis sank? Did someone cut the magical foundations out from under it?
After considerable evaluation and consideration, I decided the circle was harmless to me. I risked my left hand by reaching past it. Nothing untoward happened, but I did note a material increase in magical force on the other side of the barrier. I pulled my hand back without resistance. There wasn’t enough room between the circles to stand, so I didn’t try stepping across.
Extending my hand farther, the next circle was much the same. It appeared to be an identical containment circle, only a bit smaller. The power level inside the next circle was even higher.
All right, it’s a magical power containment diagram with eight layers. What’s it for? Containing power. Why? Damned if I know.
I checked each circle as I penetrated the previous one. They were, in fact, entirely alike, but the magical differential between them grew steadily higher as I went farther in. Then I reached through the eighth circle, toward the pillar itself, and realized something fundamental.
This nexus was open.
When my hand entered the magical field of the nexus, it started flowing, changing shape. It was as though the flesh forgot about those pesky rules of space and shape and matter and simply relaxed into a primordial essence.
I snatched my hand back at the speed of dark and curled up in a ball, cradling the still-rippling flesh, gurgling agony in the watery environment—whales probably heard me around the world. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation in any way, shape, or form and completely lacked the last two. If a clay statue had his hand squished and played with while retaining fully the ability to feel, he could empathize with me. For a moment, I seriously considered cutting my hand—well, appendage—completely off and growing a new one. I didn’t, but it was a near thing. If I’d brought a sword, I might have.
