Every Wind of Change

by Frank Tuttle

  He reached inside. There was an audible click, and across Meralda’s array of indicators, a bank of lights flared to life, glowing a bright red.

  “We have power and stable connections,” Meralda frowned. “I suppose we could feed the pylons a steady test signal.”

  “Good idea.” Fromarch stood. “Maybe something will melt, and we can all go home.”

  Meralda yawned as she adjusted a set of dials, flipped a row of small switches, and laid her hand on a massive red button labeled DO NOT ENGAGE.

  “Stand clear!”

  The Mages hurried away from the pylons, shooing the last of the carpenters and electricians away with them. “We’re clear, Mage!”

  Meralda stabbed the red button.

  The pylons, one by one, began to hum. Sparks crawled inside them, lighting the shadows between the wires and tubes that filled each glass cylinder. The air took on a strange sharp odor, like that of a just-passed thunderstorm.

  “Thirty cycles,” shouted Meralda.

  “All good here,” Mug said, straining to pitch his voice above the noise.

  Meralda turned a knob. “Sixty cycles. A hundred. Two hundred.”

  The hum of the pylons rose in pitch as Meralda turned the knob. Soon, the sound faded. Dogs for blocks around began to howl.

  “My sentiments exactly,” Mug shouted. “But I’m not showing any shorts or faults.”

  Meralda flipped switches and glared at her controls. “A hundred thousand cycles.”

  The pylons crackled.

  “One million cycles.”

  “Still steady,” Mug said. “Mistress, I believe you’ve done it. Whatever it is.”

  “We haven’t started the signal yet.”

  “Oh, turn it on, let’s try this thing!” yelled Shingvere. “We’re Mages. Can’t stand around all night waiting for kings.”

  Meralda briefly considered doing just that. But she shook her head and began powering down the pylons. “We have our orders. Seven o’clock. Tower, did you record all that?”

  Goboy’s Glass, which rested at the end of the line of desks, flashed. “I detected slight deviance in pylons three and eight from the test tone. Within the variances specified by the diagrams, but barely.”

  “I’m on it,” growled Fromarch, as the noise died down. “Turn that bloody thing off so we can hear, will you?”

  Shingvere hurried toward the generator.

  Meralda sagged in her chair. “You all right, Mistress?” Mug suddenly hovered beside her.

  “I’m fine, Mug. Just exhausted.”

  “Well, turn it on for King Yvin, and then let’s go home for a bit,” Mug said. “You haven’t slept in a bed in days.”

  Meralda brushed hair out of her eyes. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mug.” She met the pair of blue eyes he had fixed on her. “We will, I promise.”

  “He’ll try to bully you into working all night, you know. But I won’t have it. Enough is enough, Mistress. I’m putting my feet down.”

  Meralda laughed. “Foot. And thank you. I’m far too stiff to spend another night on that wretched cot, I assure you.”

  “Shall I fetch Donchen?” Mug asked. “He should be here for this historic waste of time, don’t you think?”

  “Why not?” She was fully aware that Mug offered only to have an ally present, should the King insist on more work, but she had not seen Donchen in days, and a part of her hoped he would bring egg rolls. “Be sure to mention that I haven’t been eating well. Oh, and fetch the crows. I’d like eyes on as many pylons as possible. Bring Felt’s Speaking Jewels as well. Aisle fifteen, shelf four, bin, um, thirty-six. I’ll need the Jewels to hear the crows, over the noise.”

  Mug waved several fronds. “I’m off!” He soared away, scattering pigeons in his wake.

  The King arrived at a quarter to seven. Pellabine and a dozen stern-faced Palace guards were with him. The guards spread out and inspected every nook and cranny of the hangar before forming a ring around the King and Queen.

  “You two can come closer if you want,” Fromarch said. “You’ll hardly be able to see or hear from over there.”

  The king shrugged. “My security detail insists we keep our distance. I could order them closer, but then they’d be surly the rest of the night. Isn’t that right, Captain Reynard?”

  “Oh, stop taunting them,” Pellabine said. “They’re only being cautious. We do appreciate your concerns, Captain.”

  Meralda glanced up at the early evening sky for any sign of Mug and the crows. She briefly wondered if Donchen was away when Mug went to fetch him. The sky remained quiet. She turned back to her audience. “First, we will engage the generator. It will be loud. Once I am satisfied the power levels are stable, we will start the signal injector.”

  “The what?” shouted the King.

  Meralda pointed to the tall copper cylinder before her. “That. It will begin to turn. The metal fingers that touch the sides of the drum? They read the signal, and pass it on to each of the pylons. Transmission of the complete signal will take sixty full revolutions of the cylinder, about four minutes.”

  “Then what?” asked the King.

  Meralda shrugged. Donchen slipped through the door and was past the guard before they noticed and stopped him.

  When Meralda waved him inside, the guards relented. Mrs. Primsbite followed in his wake, smiling.

  “Once the signal is sent, your Majesty, I have no idea what will happen,” Meralda informed the king. “I will remain at the receiving station. Presumably, the Arc specified such in the diagrams because our signal will generate a response.”

  Mrs. Primsbite waved to the royal couple but joined Meralda and Donchen by the center pylon console. “If we do receive an answer, Mage, what will you say?”

  “I have prepared a short reply of simple mathematical relationships. Much as the Arc used in the song’s introduction. I hope in time we can refine this, to allow more nuanced communication.”

  “Don’t you have a speaking tube on the thing?” King Yvin demanded.

  “I do, although I find it unlikely that the Arc speaks Kingdom.”

  “Well if it starts speaking Vonat we’re all going to be shocked,” said the King.

  Meralda heard the buzzing of Mug’s flying coils, and an instant later his cage dropped down beside her, accompanied by Nameless and Faceless in crow form.

  “They’re each wearing a speaking jewel,” Mug said. “Here’s the third one.” He offered Meralda a shiny diamond earpiece clutched in a trio of thin vines. She took it from him and fitted it over her right ear.

  “Can you hear me?” she asked.

  “Aye,” replied a crow, followed quickly by a second ‘aye’ from the other.

  “See to the pylons, if you will. If you see smoke smoke or cracking glass, I need to know at once.”

  The crows launched and began to circle the ring of pylons.

  Outside, a bell rang, striking seven times.

  “Time to give this a try.” King Yvin squeezed the Queen’s hand. “I had a speech prepared, but we’re all friends here, so pretend I said something inspiring, and start this infernal machine.”

  Meralda nodded. Shingvere moved an enormous iron lever, and lights flickered.

  Fromarch glared at his board and slammed his lever home. “Generator engaged,” he shouted. “I’d like to go on record as stating this was a terrible idea.”

  Meralda ignored him and watched her dials shiver and climb.

  “Looks good so far,” Mug said, his eyes darting madly to and fro.

  “Whatever happens, love, this is a remarkable machine,” Donchen said.

  Meralda’s heart began to race. We’re about to try to talk to – something. Something none of us understand. What if it does reply?

  She took a deep breath. “We are at power. Activating the pylons. One million cycles, test tone only.”

  She flipped switches. Lights went from yellow to green.

  “All steady,” Mug said, after a moment.”
/>   “No smoke, no cracks,” cawed a crow.

  Donchen squeezed Meralda’s shoulder.

  “Introducing the signal,” shouted Meralda. She worked her controls, and the copper cylinder began to turn.

  Goboy’s Glass flashed, and words appeared. ALL PYLONS TRANSMITTING. VARIANCES WITHIN ACCEPTABLE LIMITS.

  A timer on the panel began to count down, ticking off each second of the four-minute signal.

  Meralda had to fight back the bile rising in her throat. Panic welled up inside her. There’s so much I just don’t understand, she thought. Too much. Too much…

  The crows flew, orbiting the central pylon in a blur. “Rattle on Pylon Seven,” reported one. “Nothing serious,” snapped the other.

  “Halfway there,” piped Mug. “Nothing on the receiver yet.”

  Three minutes left. Then two. Then one. Then –

  The brass cylinder stopped turning. Needles fell. Lights went from green to yellow.

  “Generator to one-third,” shouted Meralda. Fromarch punched at his station, and the din in the hangar became a dull roar.

  “This is it,” Mug said, half his eyes trained on the receiving pylon’s rows of dials and lights. “We’ve knocked, you great big metal thing. Time to at least ask us ‘Who’s there?’”

  The crows flapped close, and then perched beside Meralda. Their sleek heads tilted as they turned their shiny black eyes on her.

  “Well?” boomed King Yvin, from across the hangar. “Anything?”

  “Nothing yet,” Meralda said.

  “How long will it take a signal from here to travel to this hub?” asked Mrs. Primsbite. “Perhaps it hasn’t had time to answer yet. It is quite a distance.”

  “Less than two seconds, round trip,” Meralda said. She thumped the nearest dial. “If there’s anything there to hear us, it’s heard by now.”

  “Give it time,” Donchen said. “Your machine worked perfectly. I’m sure of it.”

  Meralda glanced at the timer, which was now displaying the time since the message was sent. One full minute, and no reply.

  The King stepped forward before being stopped by his guards. “Oh, bother.” He halted. “Meralda, are you seeing anything? Anything at all?”

  “Nothing.”

  “We give it ten minutes,” declared the king. “Then we try again.”

  The old Mages grumbled but prepared to start again.

  Meralda watched the timer, her spirits sinking and fatigue rising as the ten minutes passed with no signs of a reply at the receiver.

  “Once,” Mug said. “We try again once. Then we’re calling it a night, Mistress. You let me deal with the King, you hear? You look as if you’re about to drop.”

  At that moment, a small black dog raced past the king and ran yapping towards Meralda.

  Mother, she thought. The time for our walk had long since passed.

  She cringed as loud voices sounded.

  “Oh, get out of my way,” she heard her mother shout. “That’s my dog! Reardon! Reardon, come back, this instant!”

  Reardon ran to Meralda’s feet, where he began to circle her, jumping and barking.

  Meralda scooped the tiny dog up. “Mother,” she cried, as the dog licked her face. “Come fetch your dog, we’re a bit busy at the moment.”

  Her mother swept past the guards.

  “Guards!” shouted Mug, every one of his eyes turned to Meralda’s mother. “Attack!”

  “Mug!” shouted Meralda, whirling.

  Donchen bowed as Meralda’s mother came to take Reardon. “Good evening, Miss Bekin. I trust you are well this evening?”

  “I trust you about as far as I could spit a biscuit,” added Mug.

  Meralda’s mother took Reardon in her arms. “Forgive the intrusion,” she said, ignoring Mug. “What are you doing, daughter? You look ghastly.”

  Before Meralda could reply, a bank of dials began to move. The loudspeaker atop her console crackled and hissed. A warbling tone grew louder and louder.

  “Mistress!” shouted Mug. “We have signal!”

  Meralda’s long fingers flew across her board. The warbling faded, replaced by a single bright note that rose up above the rhythmic thudding of the steam engine.

  “That’s a middle C,” Mrs. Primsbite said.

  “Two hundred and sixty-one cycles,” muttered Meralda. “I don’t have anything set up to handle that.”

  “Do you have a microphone?” asked Mrs. Primsbite. “I do sing, you know.”

  Meralda ignored the King’s shouted demands for an explanation and plugged a battered old Air Corps speaking tube into her console. She handed it to Mrs. Primsbite. “Wait a moment,” she said. “Fromarch! Bring up the pylons. We’re going to…sing.”

  The old wizard nodded and signaled to Shingvere. Soon the generator’s whine intensified.

  Meralda threw a switch. “Now,” she said, to Mrs. Primsbite.

  The spymaster stood up straight, cleared her throat, and began to sing into the microphone, her note matching the machine’s tone perfectly.

  They sang together for a moment, and then the note from the machine ended. Mrs. Primsbite, nearly out of breath, arched her brows. “What a strange thing,” she said, looking behind Meralda.

  Fromarch and Shingvere shouted and gestured. Their voices were thin, as though they screamed through a closed door, or across a great distance.

  The King’s guards drew swords and small black crossbows, closing ranks around the King and Queen.

  “Oh no,” Mug said, his voice perfectly normal. “Mistress, look.” He pointed toward the hangar floor with a trembling vine.

  A circle of bright white light was creeping out from the central pylon, slowly advancing across the floor toward the outer walls. The ring of light passed beneath Meralda’s feet, and then Donchen’s. It soon advanced across her mother’s and Mrs. Primsbite’s.

  “Mistress, turn this thing off,” Mug said, as the glowing circle began to slow, finally halting just beyond the ring of pylons.

  Meralda threw switches and pushed levers, but the glowing ring remained. The sounds from the steam engine grew softer with each thump, and the generator’s piercing whine faded into silence.

  “Daughter. What is this?” demanded her mother, looking just above Meralda’s head.

  A line of strange characters, each formed of the same bright glow that composed the ring of light, formed a hand’s breadth over her mother’s head. Meralda watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as similar characters popped into existence over Mug, Donchen, and Mrs. Primsbite.

  Donchen poked at the air above Meralda. “Fascinating. It appears to be harmless,” Donchen continued. “I do hope mine says something flattering.”

  Just outside the circle of light, Fromarch mouthed a silent word and brought his battered staff down hard at the glowing ring. His staff was wrenched from his hand and hurled away, and Fromarch was knocked off his feet.

  The circle of light lifted from the floor, forming a sphere and leaving behind a translucent glowing dome. The ring grew small and vanished entirely at the top, completing the radiant dome.

  “Meralda, what have you done?” her mother said, clutching Reardon as he growled and squirmed.

  The glowing dome flashed, briefly bright as the sun, and the floor fell away. Meralda fell, her arms windmilling. She heard her mother and Mrs. Primsbite scream, felt Donchen grab her waist, and then the blinding light became darkness, and oblivion swallowed the cries.

  13

  “She’s waking up,” Mug said. “Mistress! Can you hear me?”

  Meralda opened her eyes.

  A circle of concerned faces surrounded her, while Mug hovered in the center, inches from the tip of her nose.

  Donchen’s forehead bled. Mrs. Primsbite’s right eye was swollen and turning the same ugly shade of purple as her right cheek. Meralda’s mother’s face was covered with sweat, and her hair was no longer neatly contained.

  The floating strings of characters still floa
ted above each head.

  “Daughter,” demanded her mother. “Speak, if you can. Are you injured?”

  Meralda pushed herself up, her palms touching a cold, smooth surface that was neither wood nor stone.

  “What happened?” she asked. A wave of dizziness swept over her.

  “Long story.” Mug’s eyes darted and bobbed in every direction. “We’re on the run. Can you walk?”

  “I can carry you,” Donchen said, his tone grim. “But we need to hurry.”

  “Hurry?” Meralda frowned. “Why?”

  Donchen lifted her gently to her feet. “There’s no time to explain. Don’t look at the sky.”

  Meralda looked at the sky.

  Three-quarters of it was dark. Not black, but a leaden gray, like the belly of a thunderhead. The remaining quarter was divided from the dark along impossibly neat lines. It glowed a brilliant white.

  As Meralda watched that pie-slice of the sky flickered and darkened. The next quarter flared to life, shining without any hint of sun. Shadows changed direction, and a voice as loud as thunder spoke words Meralda could not understand.

  “It gets worse.” Mug pointed with a vine. “Look down there.”

  A bright yellow stripe extended from between her feet, heading straight away before it vanished in the distance. Similar lines extended from beneath everyone else, running away parallel to each other until they too disappeared.

  The ground beneath her feet was not soil and was certainly not the stone floor of the airship hangar. It was smooth metal that stretched away forever in every direction, fading into a featureless horizon.

  The sky flashed again, and another quarter of it lit while the other sections fell dark. Echoes from the booming voice lingered, never quite fading, as though the sound was trapped inside a bell.

  Mug flew his cage in a lazy circle. The line beneath him followed although its distant endpoint didn’t appear to change.

  Donchen removed his hands from Meralda’s shoulders. She wobbled but steadied herself.

  “Oh no,” she said.

  “Oh yes,” replied Donchen. “We’re aboard the Arc’s center. The hub you mentioned. The source of all the spokes. The transmission sent by the telesonde device was apparently a means of invoking a transport mechanism.”