by Rick Field
He looked shocked for a moment, before almost bursting out into laughter. He'd learned the hard way not to laugh, and composed himself quickly. “A jet is an airplane,” he explained. “It burns fuel, in this case, kerosene. 'Jet Fuel' is basically fuel for jets, not a jet used as fuel.”
“I see,” the Pillar said. She whispered a few spells to clear the smell from the air, and resumed walking, deep in thought. Fuel for a floater? The only fuel floaters used was magic, enchanted power tokens. They didn't smell like this, the worst spell backlash she had ever experienced merely smelt of ozone for a few moments. No magic she knew of would produce such a horrific smell for days after an accident. Just what would she find?
The pilot remained silent, and she was aware that he was watching her more than he was watching where they were going. Her thoughts touched back to the mysterious odor, used to banishing external distractions with years of delicate spell research.
They were practically on top of the wreckage when Liane's thoughts wrenched themselves back to the present. The mangled metal looked even worse when up close, and the Pillar blinked at the sight of the intricate remains. This was no floater design she had ever seen, and a few whispered incantations told her its original shape. Unfortunately, the accident had been at such a severe speed and angle that it would be impossible for her magic to restore it to its original condition.
“This,” she whispered, “is not a floater.”
The pilot started to say something, thought better of it, closed his mouth, thought for a few seconds, then nodded. “It isn't. It's an airplane. A jet airplane.”
She shook her head. “I will keep my personal curiosity for later.” Lifting her staff, she incanted a long string of words he didn't understand, words that weren't translated by whatever magic she had cast upon him back when he was in prison. Whatever it was she was looking for, it seemed that she was getting an answer.
The Pillar's staff lowered, and she turned to face him. “You were lucky,” she admonished him. “Your... jet airplane... did not cause any casualties or injuries.”
He let out a deep breath, a tight constricting band around his chest suddenly loosening up. Regardless of the Kirian justice system, the last thing any pilot wanted was to hurt anyone should their plane come down in an accident. He hardly heard her unusual pronunciation of 'jet airplane', and merely relaxed in the knowledge he hadn't hurt anyone.
“I'm glad to hear that,” he whispered. “The last thing I wanted was that anyone got hurt.”
The local Noble frowned at him. “Then why did you operate your vehicle at unsafe speeds?”
The pilot sighed. “It wasn't an unsafe speed,” he defended himself. “It's the speed such planes always travel at.”
Liane frowned, not understanding his response. “Simply because everyone does it, does not make it safe,” she returned. Now that her investigation had declared him innocent, the whole debate was theoretical. She much more enjoyed theoretical debates rather than legal ones. Contrary to what most people thought, Liane did not enjoy the legal aspects of her job. Especially when the outcome may be the termination of a person.
He shook his head. “No, you don't understand. An airplane needs those speeds to stay in the air.”
Her frown deepened, that sounded even more irresponsible than before. “Please explain,” she half-stated, half-demanded.
For a moment, he stiffened at her tone, and she thought that he might refuse. Then, he seemed to recall where he was, and grudgingly, he explained, “An airplane generates lift by its wings. In order to get this lift, air needs to pass over them, the faster the air flows, the more lift is generated. So, in order to stay in the air, the airplane has a minimum speed, at which the minimum amount of lift is generated to carry the airplane.”
Liane's mouth opened, then closed. Her head cocked, her mind going into overdrive. It sounded fantastic to her, a novel way of looking at things she hadn't considered before. A spell formed a model of the crashed airplane out of water from the rain. She pointed. “These are the wings, yes? And their shape is related to this 'lift' of which you speak?”
He stared at the model airplane for close to ten seconds, before shaking himself and nodded. “Exactly, yes.”
“This makes no sense,” she whispered, turning and pivoting the model jet. “This 'jet fuel' of which you speak, what does it do? Why do you propel this jet airplane forward, but not straight upward? Why the need for this... 'lift'?”
He pointed to the rear of the model. “This is the jet engine, which propels the airplane. It takes in air from the front, mixes it with the fuel, ignites it, and uses it for thrust. The airplane is propelled forward, using the wings for lift.”
Again, she was silent for a little while, and he could almost see the conclusions forming in her mind. “Like those horrid engines in your horseless carriages!” she exclaimed, remembering those from her trip to New York to speak with Mariam. “They propelled themselves forward, only on wheels rather than on wings, yet they made a lot of noise and belched out foul-smelling gasses!”
He seemed to think her response through, before nodding hesitatingly. “Yes and no,” he finally said, as if glad he was able to use the same response she had given him earlier. Used to ambiguous answers in her magical education, Liane waited patiently for him to elaborate. Finally, he sighed, and said, “Internal combustion engines, like cars, and jet engines, like airplanes, work in a completely different fashion. But yes, they both burn fuel to generate thrust.”
She nodded, accepting his answer. She didn't need for him to explain all the different nuances of jets and engines and cars and airplanes; if she wanted to know more, she'd ask Mariam to send her some books. “So, in order for your jet airplane to fly, it requires sufficient speed to generate lift to make it fly?”
“Exactly,” he replied, pleased that she got the idea, and obviously hoping that she would leave him alone about it now.
“That doesn't seem very safe,” she commented. “If your speed drops, or your jet airplane develops a fault, you will fall from the sky and injure people. It seems you are traveling quite fast and quite high.”
“Air travel is the safest way to travel,” he protested. “A lot of engineers make sure the airplanes are always in top working order, and should there ever be an accident, even more engineers make sure it can't happen again!”
She pointed to the wreckage. “I only know of one vehicle such as this, and it developed a catastrophic fault,” she said. “Statistically, that makes this the worst mode of transport on Kiria. There is only one, and it crashed.”
He planted his fists in his sides, and glared at her. “Now you're just trying to mess with me!” he snapped, angrily.
“It is the truth,” Liane replied, deadpan. She pointed her staff at the wreckage, spread across a fair amount of a farmer's field. Steve maintained his pose for just a few more seconds, before he noticed his airplane sinking into the ground, vanishing from sight. “As safety ranks high in Kirian law, it wouldn't do to keep this around where people might get hurt,” the Pillar explained. “I'll sink it quite deep under the ground.”
The pilot frowned slightly. “You might not... want to do that,” he finally allowed, hoping he wouldn't offend her. The remains stopped sinking, and he became aware of her scrutiny.
“May I ask why not?” she asked, her tone level. At the same time, he became aware of the fact that he'd better have a valid reason for interrupting her. His shoulders tensed, it was curious how much infliction she was able to convey through nothing but subtext.
“Those remains contain quite a few materials that could be hazardous to the environment. Even if you sunk it, it might poison the field,” he explained. She kept her gaze on him for a few seconds more, as if trying to determine the truthfulness of his statement. Whatever it was she was looking for, she seemed to accept his explanation, as the remains lifted themselves back to the surface.
She eyed the debris wearily, thinking about a solution. An idea prese
nted itself to her, an idea that would present her with the opportunity to impress the newcomer with her magical abilities. “Please do not interrupt me,” she told him as she approached the remains of the aircraft. Closing her eyes, she worked the runes in her mind.
There was a time she would have tried this on her own, casting it straight. Those days were behind her now, her magic no longer capable of supporting magic on such a grand scale. She lamented the loss, a stray thought going to a future where all her magic was bound and unavailable for even the simplest of tasks.
She banished the thought as soon as it arrived, she had other things to worry about.
Her mind finished the construction of the runic circle she needed. Releasing her staff and permitting it to balance upright on its tip, she slapped her hands together and opened her eyes. The circle she had built formed immediately in the ground surrounding the wreckage through spells of her own design; spells that combined runic writing, engraving, and stamping spells.
She was aware of Steve eyeing her and the suddenly appearing runic circle with a weary focus. She could feel how tense he was, even from where she stood. Her right hand disappeared into her robes, and pulled out her crystal wand. This would require added focus, bringing this up to a full ritual rather than straightly cast spells.
For just a moment, she once more regretted the fact she no longer could cast spells on this scale, and was now forced to resort to rituals.
The thought vanished with ease of long practice, and the wand started dancing on the rhythm of her chanted words, the ritual runic circle lighting up to her magical sight, focusing and harnessing the environment's energy into the workings she desired.
The transmutation spells worked brilliantly, the remains slowly dissolving from their edges. The process accelerated, and within two minutes the entire wreck wavered, as if its individual atoms were dissolving into thin air, before vanishing completely. The very last part of the spell reversed the circle in the ground, and Liane stowed her wand.
A jab of pain in her chest made her wince, and she found it lucky that she had her back turned to the visitor. Grabbing her staff, she composed herself and turned around to face him.
His eyes were wide open, before he blinked and gazed at her with a healthy dose of respect and fear.
He seemed to find his voice. “What... what was that?” he asked.
“It was a transmutation ritual. In essence, it transmuted the elements in your wreckage into air molecules,” she explained. “It increases entropy, so it was quite possible and did not require a lot of energy.”
Steve stared at her again, knowing that he heard the term entropy somewhere, but unable to recall where. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“It is always easier to disorganize than it is to organize,” Liane explained. “In this instance, I turned the materials of your jet airplane into air. It increases chaos, and as such, it was easy to do. The other way around, turning air into something else, increases order. Conjuring items out of thin air is possible and doable, but requires a lot more energy than what I just did.”
He had actually understood that, and took that either as a sign that he was starting to get this magic stuff, or had totally lost it. Deciding on trying to catch her off-guard, he asked, “So that's why you couldn't fix it?”
“Not exactly,” she answered, “I checked when I scanned your vehicle's original form. The impact was at high speed and from an unusual angle. Some items were completely shattered and could not be repaired. Had the impact been slower, it's likely the disintegration wouldn't have taken place, and I might have been able to restore it. As it is, I knew too little about it to attempt to magic up replacement parts. Indeed, it would increase order to repair it, and the amount of energy required would have been substantial, but with a more intact wreckage, it would have been more than possible. As it was, the damage was too severe.”
He'd thought to catch her unaware, it was obvious that he was surprised she had even looked into the possibility. Steve looked forlornly at the patch of ground where the wreckage of his plane used to be. “You have your own flying vehicles,” he suddenly said.
“Floaters, yes,” Liane agreed. “They operate quite differently from your jet airplane.”
He turned to her. “How do they work?” he asked.
Liane conjured up the image of a floater using the rain's water. “I believe I have shown you this model before. A floater is a cart that has been non-permanently enchanted to float about two fist's worth of height above the ground.”
“But... how?” he suddenly asked, coming to some sort of realization that he wanted confirmed.
Liane thought for a few moments. She didn't need to explain the entire enchanting process, which was quite involved and steeped in theory. Perhaps the most superficial explanation would suffice. “Basically,” she explained, “the floater is enchanted to behave as an opposing pole to the Earth's magnetic field.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You are aware of the Earth's magnetic field, yes?” she asked. He nodded. “That magnetic field has a polarity. It flows from positive to negative. Negative poles and positive poles oppose each other. You are aware of this as well?” He nodded once more. “A floater is enchanted with the sort of pole that opposes the earth's magnetic field, basically propelling itself away from it. As such, it floats because it is repelled by the Earth's magnetic field. The enchanting must take a lot of variables into consideration to avoid this repelling force from propelling the floater into the skies, to allow a floater to work during thunderstorms, above water, during magnetic disturbances, and lots of other things. But that is the basic explanation.”
He gaped at her. “You people have antigravity?”
She cocked her head, thought it over. “Not exactly. Antigravity is a mistake and would result in the floater floating away helplessly.” She frowned slightly. “So yes, you could say that we have mastered antigravity, in that we do not want it and are able to avoid it.”
“Un-believable,” he whispered.
Liane, the MagicWarper, Pillar of Kiria, had never really considered how routine feats of magic would be perceived in the outside world. Hearing this foreign visitor's reactions surprised her. A feeling of pride and accomplishment lifted her spirits, bringing a small smile to her face.
They stood there, in silence, watching the empty patch of ground, for close to ten minutes, both lost in thought. Finally, Steve turned to her. “So... what happens now?” he asked, tentatively.
“You have been cleared,” Liane answered calmly. “Nobody was injured in the crash of your jet airplane. I will be escorting you to the Capital, where people above my grade will decide what will happen to you further.”
He nodded stiffly, not really liking the sound of that. “What do you think will happen to me?”
Liane shrugged, turned, made an inviting motion, and started walking. He took a few quick steps to catch up and walk next to her. “I don't know,” she said as they left the site behind. “You may be required to remain here, the outside world does not generally know about Kiria and we prefer to keep it that way. Or you may find your memories altered, before being deposited in your home country. I believe there will also be a possibility of you being placed under a magical compulsion that prevents you from speaking about Kiria, before being allowed to return to your home country.”
He fell silent, and she wondered what he was thinking. He'd asked, and she had given her honest thoughts on the possibilities. She didn't think that the man would be executed, he committed no crimes that would warrant such a treatment. Perhaps her superiors would think of a solution she hadn't considered.
“So,” he finally said, interrupting her thoughts. “I will either be a prisoner, have my mind wiped, or be under the magical equivalent of a non-disclosure agreement?”
She thought for a few seconds, and considered his summary. “If you would take the negative point of view, then yes, you are correct.”
“How else would yo
u call this!?” he demanded, raising his voice.
“I would ask you not to take that tone with me,” Liane said, voice hardening. “I am a Noble of Kiria, I will not be talked to in such a manner.” he looked mutinous as her turned on her, actually raising himself up to look more impressive. She merely lifted an eyebrow, not at all intimidated, and felt for her magic.
“I'm very sorry, your Highness, but I've just about had enough of this! Since I've crashed here, I've been knocked out, locked up, been under death threats, and now you're telling me there's a good chance I'll never get home? Or if I do, then it'll be with my mind wiped? Just why the hell shouldn't I yell at you!?”
Liane drew in a sharp breath, feeling her magic blossom in her chest. For a moment, it urged her on, her unstable magic fueling her emotions, and the first syllable of an incineration spell came to her lips. The breath left her lungs, taking much of her annoyance with it. She'd need to do some work on her magic, it was starting to influence her again.
