That meant he turned to look at the Effature, who was sitting in a padded chair, a book held open in his lap by one long-nailed hand. He was wearing the same clothes he wore in the Assembly—a long robe with ornamentation of green and purple scales, and long sleeves draping around his hands. In fact, Sam had never seen him wear anything else. It reminded him of…he couldn’t bring what it reminded him of to mind.
The ever-present circlet of Nether glass on the Effature’s brow reflected Sam’s face back at him. Did he always look so worried?
“Welcome, Sam,” the Effature said, and gestured to a nearby seat. Sam numbly went to it and sat.
What is all this about? Why has the person in charge of the Nether called me for a private audience?
His hands shook and he pressed them firmly into his lap. “Um. Thank you, sir. Effature.” Sam fumbled for the right word, sweat springing up on his neck. He didn’t know how to speak, and he was probably giving offense with every motion.
“Call me Palmoran,” the Effature said. His voice was low, and soothing, like a hot cup of tea, or a line of liquid chocolate dripping across a plate of fruit. Sam’s heart slowed, his breathing stilled.
What is he doing? How can he make me so calm?
He had encountered the feeling the last time he met the Effature—Palmoran—in a little alcove while the Life Coalition were about to attack the Assembly.
“What did you want to talk about? Palmoran?” Sam asked. He blinked rapidly, swallowed.
The Effature’s lips lifted at the edges, making his wispy white beard lift from his chest. His eyes crinkled at the corners. He was obviously very old, but still had a handsome vitality to him. “It’s just a name—Bolas Palmoran—but I’ve had senior Speakers stumble over it more than you.”
Sam was silent. I have no idea how to respond to that. Thank him? Ask a question? He’ll take back his words just as quickly.
Palmoran sat forward, putting his book to one side. “I’m certain you are wondering why I called you here.”
“Ah, the thought had crossed my mind.” Sam winced as soon as his said it. That was the way he talked to his friends, not the leader of the Nether. But the Effature only smiled again.
“I don’t invite many here—mainly senior representatives and maji—but there are many things coming to a head among the ten species. You are at the center of them.” Palmoran’s eyes focused on Sam, who leaned back, pressing into the soft back of the chair.
“What things, sir? Palmoran.” A drop of sweat ran down Sam’s side.
The Effature held up a finger. “The voids.” Two more fingers. “Your arrival from a previously unknown homeworld, yet with a biology identical to a Methiemum.” Another finger. “The re-emergence of the Life Coalition with the Aridori and their claims of a source of power.” A thumb. “And now this unknown bell, or tone, rings daily throughout the entire Imperium.” He pulled his fingers into a fist. “It is coming more frequently, as if building to an ending.” The Effature looked away, then back. “I have come across several facts in my research which seem to point to this chime as a focus of sorts.”
“You think those are all connected—” Sam began, then broke off as one of the conditions the Effature listed made its way through his brain. “Wait, the re-emergence of the Life Coalition? They’ve done this before?”
The Effature shook his head. “Not at all. Previously, they were a small organization championing peace between the species. They disappeared into obscurity some fifty cycles ago. I should have paid more attention then, but had other matters to attend to.” He reached up with one finger and stroked the crystal circlet he wore, looking like he was listening to it.
Sam wondered if the Effature could hear the Symphony, but that would be…silly, wouldn’t it? He wasn’t a majus. He hadn’t looked at the colors when they appeared in the Assembly.
“But others will handle the Life Coalition, either in the Assembly, or through the group of maji led by Majus Ayama,” Palmoran continued. “Out of all of those items I listed, I brought you here specifically to talk about the ringing bell.” Sam frowned, twisting his fingers one way, then the other.
Not about the Drains? Or why or how I came here from Earth?
“I don’t know anything about them,” he said.
The Effature nodded. “I realize that. How could you? Yet I have…call it a feeling…the sound is important.” He rubbed a finger across the circlet again and looked distinctly worried.
Sam’s breathing sped up again. What could worry this man? “You said you’d recalled something about it?”
“I have been the caretaker of the Nether for quite a long time,” Palmoran said. “Long enough that old details fade after time. This circlet helps me keep important memories, yet I must know what a memory references in order to look for it. I fear the chime is one of them, lost until recently. There are, in fact, many occurrences which have been buried until lately.” He frowned, his eyes staring far away.
How old do you have to be not to remember those chimes? They must fill the entire Nether with sound.
“What can I do?” Sam asked.
“There is one other change I did not mention, and which I think may be related.” Palmoran speared Sam with his gaze again, and it was all Sam could do not to look away. “Your recent discovery of a different house of the maji.”
Sam jerked up with a guilty start. “Um. Where did you hear about that?” He’d only shown Majus Cyrysi, Majus Ayama, and Enos.
The Effature smiled, then tapped the circlet. “A long time. This is another of those events which jogs a memory. There is a central reason these odd occurrences are happening now, and I want you to find out why. It is no accident you have been apprenticed into the House of Communication, though that is not your true House.”
Sam put a hand on his green vest. “Me, sir? I’m just an apprentice. I can’t even get back home.”
“There is a word I wonder if you have heard recently,” Palmoran said, leaning forward to catch Sam’s every move. “The Life Coalition leader mentioned it today, which gave me pause. Dissolution.”
Sam felt like his blood was turning to dust. The being that stole his memory had mentioned the Dissolution. “I’ve heard of it,” he said, his voice quiet.
“I would appreciate if you paid attention to any more changes connected to these three things,” Palmoran said. “The bell-like sound, your house affiliation, and signs of the Dissolution.” He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as if remembering. “Perhaps…take a walk on the bridge connected to the House of Communication.”
“The bridge? I’ve been on it, but what does it have to do with anything?” Sam was losing track of this strange conversation.
“It connects to the wall of the Nether, and I judge this is important, though at the moment I cannot say why.”
“I…I’ll keep it in mind,” Sam said, and tried not to wince.
Could I have found anything more stupid to say? And why doesn’t he know more about this bridge? He couldn’t have just forgotten it.
“Please do so—” the Effature began, when a low note sounded from a crystal globe on a table farther in the room. The cat System Beast hissed, and jumped down, prancing to a bookcase.
Sam had thought the crystal was just a decoration, but the Symphony pushed into his head, chords swirling together. It almost sounded like a portal, formed when a majus opened a doorway between the melodies of two places. But this was different—slower, and lacking full coordination with the music of this room.
The Effature looked at the crystal, which was swirling with colors, then looked back, a line of worry between his eyebrows. “Ah, I believe I will have to cut this meeting short, Sam,” he said. “There is other business I must attend to.”
“That’s…um…fine, sir,” Sam said.
What do the chimes have to do with the part of the Symphony I can hear? And with the Dissolution? That sounds bad any way I think about it. I should get more information before I leave.
“Should I shut the door on the way out?” was all he said.
“If you don’t mind, Sam,” the Effature said. He already seemed drawn into the crystal, looking into its depths, hands reaching out.
Sam closed the heavy wooden door behind him with a click.
INTERLUDE I
Restarting
- I have kept watch on whether people speak of the Society of Two Houses. Eventually, it will fade from the memory of the Great Assembly of Species, helped by little nudges in history books and lectures. Very few understand the latest developments in technology, and only maji can fully visualize how the Symphony accentuates the most detailed fabrications.
With the loss of the Society so many cycles ago, our societal advancement has languished. The achievements of this organization were great in scope, but also troubling in their moral direction. Yet who can truly say how many should be sacrificed so a greater number may live better lives?
Now, when I pass maji in conversation, I hear no discussion of second houses. Those maji who have that rare ability, as I do, are merely interesting phenomena, not individuals to be feared and reviled. I feel I am very close to my goal. We will achieve those heights again.
Personal journal of Mandamon Feldo, Councilor for the House of Potential, 992 A.A.W.
Mandamon Feldo, Councilor for the House of Potential, knocked at the door of a moderately well-to-do house in Poler. It was near his childhood home, though that place had been transformed some twenty cycles back into a series of small shops. Mandamon pursed his lips, and kept his eyes forward. On the future. He rocked to his toes and back, though his knees complained at the motion. He wasn’t as young as the last time he’d been here.
A rhythmic squeak-tap of a mechanical joint came through the closed door. Getting louder, repeating. Mandamon ran a gnarled hand down his extensive beard, now more white than black, or even than gray. Meetings like this brought the passage of time to the forefront of his mind. His other hand brushed an old paper, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his longcoat.
Finally, the door opened with a cry for oil, and Mandamon lifted an eyebrow at the lack of maintenance.
“Hard to reach up that high anymore,” said an elderly voice. Familiar, but with a subtly different timbre than he remembered. More resonant.
“I’ve got another design to work on,” Mandamon told his old friend Timpomitnob Gompt, Watcher. He took in the contraption she was seated on—obviously some version of a System Beast, but with no discernible head. It was a bit like a giant arachnid, made of metal and wood, with a seat where the thorax should be.
“It’s about time,” Gompt said, with as little pre-amble as Mandamon. Her still-bright blue eyes glared at him from behind glasses set on her furry snout. Her fur was grayer and sparser than it had been the last time he’d been here, and she was thicker too. Well, so was he.
In all, she looked good for a Festuour of her age. If she’d been standing, she’d have been of a height with him. She still wore her bandolier of tools across her chest—most custom made—but little else, in the way of her species. “Me and Krat have been waiting for you. Come on in.” The System Beast clattered around in a complicated dance, conveying Gompt’s bulk deeper into her house.
“I’ve been out of touch for a while,” Mandamon said, for something to fill the silence. They walked down a front hall lined with certificates of invention and pictures of Gompt’s friend group. He watched her wide ears twitch as he spoke. There were several faces Mandamon didn’t recognize in the pictures. Recent members. He was normally the one to put others on edge, but now the situation was reversed. Gompt was a dear friend—one he’d not seen in far too long.
“Yeah, dealing with the Council is like lying in a bed filled with scrub fleas,” Gompt remarked, sweeping one hairy, three-fingered paw out to the side. “It’s only a matter of time until they bite you.”
“I’ve missed your quips,” Mandamon admitted. “It’s been…a while.”
“It’s been over twenty cycles, you great oaf,” Gompt said over her shoulder. Mandamon was about to retort when another voice cut in.
“Twenty cycles, two months, and four days.” It was mechanical, stitched together from words spoken by a living being. In fact—
“Kratitha?” Mandamon said. His voice shook, and it wasn’t from his age.
“Krat,” came the disembodied voice. “My namesake worked with big lug here. No help from you.”
Mandamon only realized he had stopped when Gompt and her conveyance did the same, then did another dance to position the furry Festuour facing Mandamon.
“She made all the recordings before she passed on,” Gompt said. “Helped me put Krat here together. She calibrated the personality herself. Wouldn’t let me touch it.” Gompt patted the metal and wood of an armrest.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” Mandamon said. He swallowed. “I’ve been too absorbed with other matters.”
“Scrub fleas,” Gompt humphed at him. “Never answered my letters, never came by to visit.” She gestured at the System Beast she rode—a System Beast imprinted with a name and a personality, of all things. “I don’t get around as well as I used to, and your silence made me afraid to reach out lest I disturb some part of your intricate plans.”
Mandamon looked away from her blue-eyed gaze. Truthfully, though he’d at first kept away from any majus once associated with the organization he’d belonged to in his youth, his term on the Council lately occupied all of his time. He’d seen no friends in cycles, not really. He’d never taken a lover either. That sort of thing just wasn’t interesting to him. He’d been starved of interactions with genuine friends, for the last several cycles. The Council didn’t count.
“I should have come,” he mumbled.
“Oh, I see Rilan Ayama every now and then,” Gompt continued. “She keeps me apprised of your exploits,” Gompt’s tongue protruded in a Festuour grin. “I don’t think even she realized you belong to both the House of Potential and the House of Healing. Bet you could have shown her a thing or two about the Symphony, if you wanted.”
She turned and Krat lumbered into the next room. Mandamon followed them. His fingers twitched to figure out what his old friends had done with the System Beast architecture. The commercial ones were just dumb beasts—nowhere near the true capacity of the design. Was it possible to preserve enough of a personality to encode it into the music underlying the contraption? He’d done his own work with System Beasts over the cycles, but ever since the Society of Two Houses had been dissolved, fifty cycles ago, he’d kept the more advanced aspects secret, as had Gompt and Kratitha. With the Council looking over his shoulder, he’d ceased regular contact with his old friends, for fear of letting their association take up a presence in the minds of other maji. Or that’s what he told himself. He should have come out here to see Gompt.
He’d worked hard over the cycles to keep the status of two-house maji relegated to a curiosity. The Society, and those maji with access to two aspects of the Grand Symphony, had pressed too far and used less than ethical means. That incarnation was best forgotten, and through his diligent work, now it was.
“You aren’t here to reminisce, are you, Mandamon?” Gompt snapped him from his line of thought. “What is this all about?”
Mandamon shook away the memories and took in the Festuour. He’d known she had problems walking, even twenty cycles ago, but had done nothing. Kratitha had been alive then, able to help—to take the burden off him. He’d missed the old Pixie’s death, wrapped up in a mission for the Council. Gompt herself was… Mandamon cocked his head. He was familiar enough with Festuour anatomy to see the signs.
“Something is changing in the Grand Symphony itself. There are too many new factors where nothing has changed before,” Mandamon said. “Though perhaps I should first ask how to address you.”
“Finally noticed, did you,” Gompt chuckled, brushing a paw absently down her smooth belly. “Shows how long you’ve been out of touch. I transitioned befo
re Kratitha passed on. She helped me through the toughest times.” Mandamon detected some bitterness there, certainly directed at him. Well deserved.
“Yes. I apologize.” The words were stiff, not said regularly. “I should have kept in contact. Over time, my duties in the Council have grown quite hefty.” He watched Gompt. She—no, he seemed only partially satisfied by the excuse. That was reasonable. It was time to renew this relationship for real.
Mandamon bent forward in a deep bow, ignoring the creaking in his spine. “I am here for your genius, Gompt, and your friendship, if I may have it again. There are momentous changes afoot, which require, shall we say, a higher level of competence in the maji? I have a new design to implement, and it will require the finest manipulation of the Grand Symphony.” He straightened, and looked at his partner in design of the System Beasts.
Gompt stared back for a while, his furry snout closed over his teeth, glasses pinched between hairy drawn brows. Mandamon nearly said something else, just to fill the silence. Was this the reaction others had to him, in his capacity on the Council?
Gompt’s frown broke and his mouth opened, tongue lolling out. “Oh, Mandamon,” he said. “So serious all the time. Never change.” He clapped his paws once, and Krat rose up, bringing her jointed legs together until Gompt’s face was level with his. Mandamon stiffened with a wince, smelling the Festuour’s hot breath, slightly sweet and spicy.
“What do we do first?”
“Our first task,” Mandamon said, “is to restart the Society of Two Houses.”
* * *
Mandamon focused on the Symphony, listening to the melody around him. He strained to remember the image of the swamp on Loba.
“Time’s wasting.” Gompt poked him in the back with one hairy paw.
“I know, I know,” Mandamon said. “It’s been a while. Give me a moment.”
“Be easier if we had someone from the House of Communication,” Gompt said. He had his arms crossed, leaning back in the saddle on which he sat. Krat danced from leg to leg, shifting Gompt’s bulk. They’d spent the last several days going over Mandamon’s list of two-house maji, and putting out subtle queries.
Facets of the Nether Page 8
