They continued down the stairs in silence for a minute. Lester had an uneasy feeling in his gut that finally gave voice to a question. “Just how many apprentices do you have here?”
“Including you?” Xander smiled sadly. “One, at the moment.”
His stomach tightened. This did not sound good at all. “Where are the others?”
“Most of them are dead, actually. It's a dangerous occupation, being a wizard's apprentice. Not everybody likes them. One of the first things you'll have to learn is how to make yourself invisible. And how to defend yourself. We'll talk about that presently, among other things.”
“Most of them are dead? What about the others?”
“A few are gone to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Then there's poor Ludlow, of course.” Xander stopped four floors down from the one they had left, and opened the door for Les. “The less said about him the better.” He led the way past a door that read ARTIFACTS and another labeled ARCHIVES before he opened the third, simply titled Wizard.
From his storybooks back in Inverness Les had expected to see perhaps a room filled with such things as serpents, magic wands, a hanging stuffed alligator, and perhaps a couple of humans skulls topped with the bumpy pyramids of drizzled candles.
What he saw was books. Lots of books. The walls were covered in bookshelves, row upon row of them stretching down one wall and across another. More books than he had ever thought to see together at any place in his lifetime were revealed by the light pouring into the room from the hallway.
Suddenly he found himself not regretting being kidnapped here quite so much. “Are all these yours?” he asked, awed. He had exactly six books in his room back in the inn. At the thought of them a pang of homesickness passed through him, only to be snuffed out again by the presence of all those volumes waiting on the walls.
Xander did not appear to have heard his question. “Otto? Otto? Where are you, devil?”
The old man waved a hand, and light flooded the room from overhead. Les looked up, startled, and saw a glass tube in the ceiling. A blue-white line inside the glass made him blink at its brightness, and he looked away in time to see a peculiar-looking cat hop down from a chair in a corner, dart around a low wooden table, and run up to rub itself against the graying wizard's legs.
The cat looked even stranger now that it was closer. A solid black tail grew out from an all-white rump. Most of its fur, in fact, was bright white, save for an irregular black patch on one side, another on the top of its head, and some little black spots under its mouth as if it had been recently drinking black ink. “Did you miss me?” Xander asked.
“Rrrrrt,” said Otto. Les had been expecting a meow but none seemed forthcoming.
“I doubt it, you old rascal. You just say that for my benefit, don't you?”
“Rrrrrrt”,” Otto agreed, eying Les warily.
“Otto, this is Lester, my new apprentice. Les, meet Otto. Try not to step on him, will you? I've had him for a long time, and he sometimes forgets that humans can be more careless and less graceful than his own species.”
Les squatted down and extended his hand to let Otto inspect it. Only after the animal sniffed it cautiously and satisfied himself did he venture to scratch it gently behind an ear. This Otto tolerated, before returning his attention to Xander and finally meowing.
“Ah, I see you know about cats,” said Xander, reaching inside his cloak to produce a crumbly bit of cheese. Otto deigned to accept this offering.
“Of course. My Ma has a couple at the inn, Jules and Pixie. To keep down the mice.”
“Course she does. Course she does.” Without looking, Xander let his staff go and it fell into the corner by the front door with a muffled clink! as it struck the wall. Suddenly Les realized that the staff, which he had taken for wood, must be a thin length of pipe, painted brown. From the way Xander had handled it, the old man must be stronger than he appeared at first glance.
“The Governor sounded like she's known you for a long time,” he said, making conversation. “How did you end up here? Were you born in Denver?”
“Nowhere near. But I worked for her husband, the General.” Xander removed his cloak and threw it over a chair. “That was almost twenty years ago.”
“What was he like?”
Xander flopped into a chair and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “The General? I expect you've heard a lot about him already.”
“Yes, but not from anybody who knew him. Is is true that he used to lead charges against enemy armies, instead of directing them from the rear?”
“Not everything you hear about him is true,” the wizard replied, dragging a stool toward him to put his feet up. “But that one is. He claimed he got it from someone called Alexander. Or was it Caesar? Anyway, it wasn't just bravery. He always claimed it was to inspire the troops, but between you and me, I think he knew they were afraid to lose him.” He paused, gazing at nothing. “He'd charge right in, and they just had to charge after the rascal to save his bacon.”
“Rrrrrrt,” Otto agreed.
Les rubbed his eyes and yawned. It had been a long day. “Are you really a wizard?”
Xander shrugged. “That depends on who you ask,” he said. “If you're asking, do I have a pact with the Devil, or spirits who do my bidding, the answer is no. There are no 'magic words', no matter what you've read in storybooks, and as far as I know, no demons or angels either. If you're asking if I can do things most people can't, well then the answer is yes. I can.”
“Like make yourself disappear,” Les prompted.
“Like that,” the wizard agreed. “That's just an application of what I call pathspace. Fairly simple, but surprisingly handy in a pinch. You'll start on that tomorrow.”
Les looked down, then up again. “How do you know I won't just run away?”
Xander laughed. “Two reasons. For one thing, I know where to find you. Retrieving you would hardly be any trouble – your father's inn is a regular stop for the coach.”
He had to frown at that, because it was true. He couldn't just go home, when he made his escape. He'd be running away, not toward. “And the other reason?” he challenged.
Xander just smiled. “Oh that's even simpler, and the same reason I usually don't. We're on the thirtieth floor here, and the Governor always posts armed guards outside my rooms.” He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. “But feel free to fly away, if you can.”
Chapter 10
Kristana: “and made firm the sand”
The Governor walked, and did not walk in peace. How could she, with everything that was happening? But her face was impassive as she passed the guard stations. You must always be more confident, more calm than the troops, the General had told her. She could remember the scene as if it were last night.
“Even if I'm not?” she had asked, sitting by the bed, listening to his labored breathing.
“Especially if you're not! Nothing will terrify them so much as thinking their Commander is worried.” He coughed into a handkerchief, and groped for his cup of water. “They will always assume that you know more than they do, whether you do or not. If you look worried, they'll assume there's something bad you haven't told them. And nothing is scarier than a danger you don't know the details of. Not knowing what it is makes it a hundred times as scary.”
“But I'm only human” she protested.
“Not when I'm gone, you won't be,” he retorted. “You'll have to be something more, their rock in the quicksand. You're ready for this. Tough enough for this. In the last year you've met commanders, reviewed troops, and debriefed returning sorties. We've let them see you by my side in all major decisions. This will work.. It has to. People, especially troops, need to believe that someone has a plan, that someone has the answers. Otherwise … otherwise it's all quicksand, and they'll panic.”
She stroked his head. “But what if it is all quicksand?” she whispered.
“Then you fake it,” he said. “You'd be surprised how much your troops c
an do if they don't know how bad the odds are. I've led them to victory many a time against odds of five, ten to one. Do you think I ever said 'men, were doomed, but put up a good fight anyway?' Hell no! I put on my game face and said 'let's go GET those fuckers!' And we did. Every time.” He stopped and retched into the handkerchief again. Specks of blood stained the linen. She felt as if they were coming out of her own heart.
“Robbie” she whispered, using the name no one else dared use with him, “Robbie … I don't know if I can do it. You're my rock. Without you, love, it's all quicksand.”
He just looked at her with those hazel eyes. Eyes she had worshiped for eighteen years still pierced her like darts, opened holes into her soul, wounds that would never close. Even now, in his last battle, they remained clear and imposing. “You must,” he told her. “Or everything I've done was for nothing. For nothing! Without a strong leader, it'll be civil war, and you know it. The State will collapse, and Texas will pick up the pieces. Are you going to let that happen? Is that how you are going to remember me? Is that – “ he lapsed into another coughing fit, but above the linen clenched in his fist, his eyes held hers, indomitable.
She waited until the worst of it passed. Slowly, he regained control, but his color was paler now, as if he were using up the last drop of himself to try to get through to her. Then he spoke again, but she had to lean forward to make out the words.
“If you ever loved me,” he said, “then do this. Do it for me. Do it for yourself. Do it for all the poor bastards who will be lost without you. Keep the dream alive!”
His head fell back on the pillow, but the eyes still watched her, waiting for her agreement. Those eyes clung to her as unwaveringly as the General had clung to his Dream.
There was a knock at the door. Without waiting, Collins stepped into the room. The young lieutenant's face was blank, but new lines at the corners of his eyes, a hint of redness in them from blinking back too many tears, and the way he unconsciously fiddled with one of his buttons betrayed his nervousness, his unspoken fears for the future. “I'm sorry, ma'am,” he began, “but the doctor says that we need – ”
Kristana stood. She was not a tall woman, but at the moment she refused to acknowledge that. It was now or never. “YOU NEED?” she roared. “How DARE you? Do you know who I am?”
He snapped to attention at the sound of her voice and gulped. “Y-you are the – “
“I AM THE ACTING GOVERNOR OF COLORADO!” she screamed. “Get OUT! Get out and give this man some peace, by GOD, or you'll wish you had never been born!”
Collins jerked like a he had been slapped and his hand rose without conscious thought, snapping her a salute. Without a word he turned, ramrod straight, and marched from the room.
“And tell the Cabinet to assemble in the main meeting hall in one hour!” she bellowed after his fleeing back. Then she turned back to the General.
His hazel eyes were twinkling, and a smile was playing about his lips.
“That's my girl,” he said, and closed his eyes.
He kept smiling for another minute or so. Then his face went slack.
His last battle was finally over. And he had won.
Chapter 11
Lester: “For those who walk in darkness”
Lester's mind bobbed back to the surface of awareness. What a strange dream, he thought. Groggily, he shook his head and swung his feet over the edge of the bed in the darkness of the room. No time to think about that now. Time to check the chickens for eggs. Well, that and inspect the coop to make sure no foxes had tried to get in during the night. After that he –
His thoughts scattered like a frightened flock of birds when his feet landed on the carpet. There was no carpet in his room. But here there was.
Light flooded the room, summoning the room from his dream.
“So,” said Xander, looking up at him from the chair, “you're awake. Good. Now we can get an early start.”
Les sagged into a chair and glared at the old man. “An early start at what? You can't keep me here forever, you know. I'll find a way to get away!”
Xander laughed. “Of course you will. I'll be disappointed if you don't. If you do, it'll mean you've learned a thing or two.”
Lester sighed. He knew how this would go. He's been through it all ready with Gerrold. They say they teach you, but what you basically get to do is to sweep their floors. If this old man really was a wizard he'd never share his secrets. Not in a million years.
“Let's start with some tea,” Xander suggested. He pulled his chair over to the table next to Lester's, then crossed the room and came back with a small pouch of something which he dropped on the table. Then he went off again and to Lester's astonishment he heard water gurgling into a container.
Xander grinned at his expression when he returned with two cups, a wooden spoon, a metal bowl of water with three stubbly legs, and a small jar of something, all balanced on a wooden tray when he set down next to the little pouch.
“I expect you've never had it before,” the old man said. “Doesn't grow on this continent at all. But Aria has some on the upper floors. No idea where she managed to get the seedlings.”
Lester stared at him. He had no clue what the wizard was talking about, and hardly cared. “How did you get water?” he blurted. “Did someone bring it up while I was asleep?”
“Of course not. There's rain and dew collectors on the roof that drain down to a tank in the basement. The old molecular sieves filter out dust and such, and I've restored the swizzles they put in when the 'scraper was built, shortly before the Fall, so there's no problem pulling it up from the tank.” Seeing Lester's lack of comprehension, he added, “Remind me to show you the bathroom later on.”
Lester had understood very little of that utterance, but he knew that a tank was something like the watering trough in front of the inn. Fording himself to swallow his pride, he asked a few questions and learned that 'scraper meant a sky-scraper, the old name for a very tall building such as this one, and the Fall referred to the collapse of the old civilization that had existed before the coming of the Tourists.
“I still don't understand,” he complained. “If the Ancients were so wise, with all the wonders you've described, then how could they have let it all go? How could they have fallen so far, just because they saw that some things could be easier?” He wanted to pound the table. “There has to be more to it than simple laziness!”
“Don't underestimate the power of shattered pride, lad.” Xander closed his eyes, then opened them. “For those who walk in darkness,” he said, “a little light can be blinding. The technology of the Ancients was difficult and wasteful and often poisonous. When they built their machines, the process generated some nasty by-products. I've told you about electricity, their tamed lightning that ran through metal wires to light their cities.
“But the electricity didn't make itself, like the wind. It came from other sources of power that they set to turning wheels called dynamos. Some of them were turned by waterfalls. Some were turned by the wind. But some were turned by steam-power that came from nuclear energy. And the strange metals they used to power their nuclear power stations grew ever more deadly as they burned, producing a slew of other elements that were both poisonous like snake venom and hot like cold fire that could burn for thousands of years.
“And when they saw that the alien technology wasn't just different, but actually better, cleaner, and safer, well, it broke them. Some of them just gave up, like children who have seen adults do things in a better way than they can. When they saw that the aliens had a way of magicking a wheel so that it turned without a power source, they stopped learning how to make motors and engines.”
Xander reached into a pocket and held out something for his inspection. It was a gold coin, recently struck, with the image of the General on one side and the words “ONE DOLLAR” on the other. “Do you know what the value of this is?”
Les frowned at him. “Everyone knows that. It's worth a dollar. A do
llar's worth of food, or leather, or wood.”
Xander shook his head. “You're wrong,” he said. “Some ancients would agree with you, and say because it is gold, a precious metal, that it has intrinsic value. But suppose you were out in the wilderness, with no food or water, no animals or streams, and had this. What would it be worth, when there is no one who will trade you food for it?”
Les shrugged. “In that case, I guess it wouldn't be worth much, then.”
“Wrong again. You have to learn to think of it as not just a lump of metal. All matter is made of whizzing bits of energy, and can be used to interact with energy. Especially good conductors like gold.” The wizard placed the coin on the table top and leaned forward. “Now pay attention. I'm about to make it more useful, more valuable than just a shiny lump.”
Les wasn't sure what he expected. Perhaps some magical words, or else mystic passes over it. But Xander did none of that. He closed his eyes. “I want you to try to feel what I do to it,” he said. “Close your eyes and open your mind.”
“I know how to close my eyes, but how do I open my mind?”
“That's something I can't teach you. You'll have to find your own way. Try to imagine something in your head expanding outside your own skull, and reaching toward the coin as I work the change upon the space around it.”
He tried. But he didn't seem to feel much of anything, and told the old man as much.
Xander opened his eyes. “No matter. It was only your first attempt. You would have to be quick, anyway. I've done it so many times that I can almost do it in my sleep by now.”
“Do what?” said Les, although he was beginning to suspect.
Xander slid the coin under the bowl of water on its stubby tripod legs and regarded it.. “Make it an everflame,” he said.
His hand reached out to stroke the side of the coin. A reddish mote of light appeared in the air above the coin and grew in intensity as he stroked the edge of the coin clockwise, until it was a hot point of blue-white radiance. “What I've done,” he said, it to affect a change in the space near the metal that makes it able to concentrate free energy to a point. It releases heat and light without needing to burn wood or oil, and you can turn the power, the rate at which energy is released into 3-space, up or down by stroking the side. It's just like the one your mother uses to cook back at the inn in Inverness.”
Pathspace: The Space of Paths Page 5
