The film crew couldn’t see my toes curling in my shoes. Piros must have signaled to Harold to challenge the status quo.
I watched the implications of Harold’s question and Quossa’s report of chaotic magic reforming sink in with the audience.
The discipline with which they’d asked their constructive questions dissolved.
They wanted the world they’d signed up for, the Earth of stable magic flows that had lured them into joining the Migration. That world was gone, no matter what Yngvar promised them in terms of re-establishing the latticework. It wouldn’t hold. It couldn’t.
I stood. “Old solutions don’t fit new worlds.”
My words dropped into the clamor, and ripples of silence spread out from them. Heads turned as people stared at me. I wasn’t meant to be a contributing member of the Fae Council.
I saw their shocked outrage and rejection. How dare an ignorant, powerless human speak up in the middle of a Faerene emergency?
Except, this wasn’t solely a Faerene crisis. This was Earth’s future on the line.
Piros scrunched down a little so that everyone could see me clearly.
“Old solutions don’t fit new worlds.” I repeated myself for emphasis, for those who hadn’t heard me initially, and to show that I wasn’t scared of their disbelief and disdain. I gestured at the orb. “This is a new world. The orb that ancient humans created isn’t just humanity’s orb, not any longer. It is Earth’s orb. We will all contribute our knowledge to the next layer we add to it. Humans will share the story of the apocalypse. You will share the story of the Migration. What comes next will involve all of us.”
“Empty words,” an elf sneered. “You wish to sacrifice our stable magic so that humans gain magic abilities. I know! Restoring the latticework meant locking away your magic.”
“Except that it didn’t,” Jakov interposed. “I checked that datapoint with Quossa and Nora. Amy can still channel magic to Istvan and use it herself.”
I could channel magic into a charm and telekinetically nudge a marble. They weren’t major achievements, but then, I was a fledgling magic user. It was proof of concept: that the latticework the ancient mages had designed to lock away human magic hadn’t locked away mine. Which was a point of instability. The reason for it might have profound implications.
“But she shouldn’t be able to,” the unknown elf stuttered.
“That depends on our understanding of what Amy is.”
Instinctively, I glanced across the crowd. Although I wouldn’t be able to see Rory’s expression from here, I knew he’d hate Jakov referring to me as a what, not a who. But what I was would advance this discussion. “I was among the one hundred people you selected from among four hundred or so humans whom your scientists identified as human mages.” I didn’t look at Nora who’d overseen the selection and our ongoing monitoring. I looked at the audience. “I accepted your definition of who I was, but the orb and the spindle activating bring that into doubt.”
Thane had raised the idea at the cookhouse. He could claim ownership of it later, if he liked.
For now, I tried to present the case neutrally. “None of us whom you call human mages should have magic. We are oracles, a concept the ancient mages knew about. Truth Sayers. Prophets. We were the ones the world spindle was meant to attract. Something went wrong and the latticework locked away human magic for far longer than the ancients intended. Then you arrived on Earth and your magic shook things loose.”
Everyone stayed silent.
“It is convenient to blame activating the orb for destroying the stability of Earth’s magic flows. But what if they were already fraying, as they are now with the reforming of the djinn? Your arrival was the catalyst for change. Six-sevenths of humanity died. I’m not raising that point to accuse or blame you. You saved us from the Kstvm. Thank you. I mention it because it tragically highlights the cost of change.”
I looked at Quossa. “The djinn Quossa mentioned matter because I think they’re a pattern of instability. Maybe they’re even a source of it. They are a threat or promise that Earth’s magic can’t be tamed.”
“Nonsense,” Yngvar said. “The magic flows are stable.”
In a nervous gesture I tried to push up the narrow sleeves of my dress. The fabric resisted. “At what price? When I used the world spindle, the magic flows that it spun into yarn vanished. They ceased to be.”
Over half the Fae Council turned to stare at the world spindle on its green cushion. The film crew probably gave the broadcast the same focus.
Without the spindle, my hands felt empty. I couldn’t claim it, though. It belonged to everyone, and as much as the scientists might perceive my words as an attack on their work, I respected their expertise. People like Nora and Yngvar needed to study it. If I ever held the spindle again, it would be under their supervision.
I wrung my empty hands together. “Think of the spindle as winding up the latticework. It concluded the old pattern. Then the next stage starts. The ancient mages wanted us to be free to choose how we stabilized Earth’s magic. That’s what the net inside the bathuma hide and enclosing the world spindle was meant for.”
I gripped my hands together, stilling their restless movements. “The latticework that you tried to repair was part of the ancient mages’ story, so they included the design of it in the orb. But they set up the world spindle and orb in such a way that activating the latter tore down the latticework. They intended for their descendants to be free to inhabit the world, and shape it, to their own needs. However, they left us a clue.”
Looking over the audience, I felt a disconcerting sense of detachment. Their opinions, feelings and desires didn’t matter to me. They flung their emotions and words at me as if I should care for their view of me. I didn’t. It was for Earth’s stability that I stood here.
Tineke’s tragic story of her sons buried on Elysium convinced me that the Faerene would never accept the truth that was so obvious to me and to other humans; the truth that Digger had spoken. You didn’t need magic to lead a good life. That truth was why I was relaxed about when humans gained magic. It would happen, and I believed that it would happen within a generation or two, even with the restored latticework that had been designed to lock magic away from humans.
What I had to accept was that the Faerene weren’t like humans. They had to have access to magic, reliable magic. Without it, they wouldn’t just get sick, they’d infect Earth (via their actions) with their fear and desperation. So I had to do everything I could to ensure that magic stayed within the parameters that enabled the Faerene to use it smoothly; whether they approved of the method I proposed or not.
It was Istvan who’d started me thinking about this alternative. He’d noticed that I instinctively used magic differently to him. Where he had it flow and stream, left to myself, I’d spin it into threads and knot them together. I don’t know how he’d seen that, for a metaphorical definition of “seen” in magic sight. I certainly didn’t know what I was doing. Nora had been interested before they’d both become distracted by the pressing need to respond to the crisis of rough magic and the damage it wreaked.
Would she remember that the origins of this idea came from Istvan, and would that mean she’d actually consider it?
I resolutely faced the audience. “When we retrieved the world spindle Nils used a steel arrowhead to pierce the bathuma hide that secured the spindle to the roof of the cave. Within the hide it was wrapped in a knotted net and three scarves. The scarves were protection for the spindle for when it dropped. But the net, inside the bathuma hide, what was it for?” I didn’t wait for their guesses. “I believe it was a hint from my ancestors that a latticework pattern couldn’t be used in the future to artificially fix Earth’s magic flows. But a knotted net, something that lets some possibilities through and traps others, would protect Earth’s shield.
“The ancient mages didn’t prescribe what we should do by leaving instructions in the orb. But they wanted to suggest a good plan of
action to their descendants.”
“Why not simply tell you?” Fiona asked.
“Because they couldn’t guess how things might have changed. They left us free to decide how to act in the unforeseen future.”
Yngvar exclaimed in disgust. “A net! You think we should discard the stable, proven model of the latticework for a primitive, inelegant net? Bah!”
“Yes,” I said simply. “The lack of the net damaged us. According to your theory, humanity created the Rift in Earth’s shield by our dedication to linear progress. If the ancient mages hadn’t locked away human magic, would humanity have developed differently, with less destructive focus on linear development? A net is more resilient and less prescriptive. The rigid, unnatural framework for magic that you want to maintain hurt humanity. What might it do to you?”
A buzz of exclamations, opinions and questions rose louder than my spell-enhanced voice.
Nora managed to make her voice heard as she stood, ruffled up, beside Yngvar. They were both invested in their solution to the rough magic and their reputations as magician-scientists. “Why didn’t you raise your concerns earlier and quietly?”
Harold intervened, reprovingly. “Earth’s Migration is founded on transparency. That we had to delay explaining our actions during the feral magic crisis was regrettable but accepted because of the emergency status. This is the appropriate forum in which to raise your concerns, Amy. I’m aware you’ve spoken with different people, and not just those whom you know and trust, about aspects of your concerns. At no stage were you withholding pertinent information.”
Piros stretched, attracting everyone’s attention, before settling back so that he didn’t block anyone’s view. “I advised Amy to present her alternative view of our situation at this forum. She has done so admirably. Now, it is for all of us to consider our response. I am somewhat ahead of you because I’ve had time to consider the idea of a net.”
“You’re not a scientist,” Nora squawked.
Beside me, Radomir scuffed his feet in the equivalent of a face palm.
Piros ignored her and called Istvan forward.
As the audience parted to let Istvan through, Rory walked in his shadow.
“Rory and Istvan are the two most important Faerene in Amy’s life. Arguably, they are the two most important people in her life.” Piros paused.
The idea was startling, but true. I nodded.
Piros and Adara shuffled back so that Istvan had room at the base of the steps.
Rory squeezed in. He smiled at me, quick and fierce, as Piros continued.
“I want everyone to look at the magic surrounding Amy. She is not actively using any, nor is Istvan channeling any through her. For those with lesser magic ability, you mightn’t see it. Those of you who are magicians, observe critically.”
“There is no magic around Amy,” Quossa reported. “Yngvar, can you confirm it for the broadcast?”
The elf confirmed Quossa’s report grudgingly, and added to it. “There are, however, two lines. Both run from Amy to Istvan, although one line is weaker.”
“Nora?” Piros asked.
“The oath bonds have been in place since Amy became Istvan’s familiar. They have strengthened as he channeled her magic. We expected the main bond, the channel through which Amy’s magic passes to Istvan. The secondary channel, and this is only an hypothesis, is a result of Istvan channeling his magic to teach Amy and structure her magic, and possibly, to protect her. Istvan is an honorable magician, and his acceptance of Amy vowing her magic to his service in the ancient familiar oath was the promise to honor her service. For him, that would entail comprehensive support.”
“The other familiars failed,” Jakov observed. “Why?”
Harold intervened. A moderator’s job was never-ending. “A good question, and one to be considered when we investigate Amy’s idea that these modern human mages are actually oracles. But our current focus is the lines of magic between Amy and Istvan. Those of you who can see them, please indicate if there is any magic between Amy and Rory, her mate.”
A chorus of no’s was accompanied by headshakes.
“That’s confirmation that it is not a human’s love and trust that creates or sustains the lines of magic between Amy and Istvan,” Harold said. Piros had briefed him exceptionally well. “As Nora referenced, the bonds are derived from the familiar oath. Examine them closely. I’ve read and re-read Nora’s reports on them, and will ask her to make those reports available to everyone.”
“Do you have Istvan and Amy’s agreement for that?” Thane asked sternly from the audience.
“Yes,” we both agreed.
“You knew this would happen!” Yngvar and others in the crowd challenged.
Harold didn’t answer immediately. He surveyed the audience and allowed the silence to build. “Amy is a Fae Council member. I knew she had concerns that would become relevant if and when we received news of the restored latticework fraying. The djinn reforming in North America is that proof. We may be able to maintain the latticework. We may be able to lock it in so thoroughly that it becomes the natural order for Earth, as we believed it to be when we started this Migration. However, Amy has brought to us a fundamental question. Which risk do we take? Do we bet on the latticework or do we construct a net? Piros?”
The red dragon nodded solemnly. “To return to the point I was making, the bonds of magic between Istvan and Amy are the beginning of a net. The term is as imprecise as when we call the current Earth pattern ‘latticework’. The net is the joining of lines of magic. When we currently employ magic we channel it directly through ourselves to affect the world. What Istvan and Amy show is that magic can be channeled through another person. Instead of stabilizing the magic flows by pinning them with the quintessences of the latticework, the trust and commitment of another person provides a living, shifting, resilient quintessence alternative. The result is a far more flexible, but also unexpected, pattern of global magic—or that’s what we’d have if enough people committed to the model.”
“Walrus balls,” Geat, the Orc Champion, swore. “You want us to become each other’s familiars.”
Piros smirked. “In a sense, yes.”
Chapter 15
Istvan used his beak to rearrange the floor cushions he’d piled up as a nest in the family room at Justice’s magistrate hall.
Amy plumped up another two cushions and popped them behind his head.
Back on Elysium, he’d never have dreamed of nesting in public. Not that the family room, warded so that only those Amy invited could enter, was truly public. However, Istvan wasn’t accustomed to relaxing like this anywhere but alone in his room.
He had to admit, being with the Faerene and human family Amy had formed was better.
They chatted around him.
Amy returned to her seat on Rory’s lap. Those two didn’t want to be separated.
It was three days since the epic Fae Council open forum. He and Rory and the rest of the magisterial guard unit and hall staff had worked miracles cleaning up the worst of the rough magic’s effects in the territory.
Consequences like the Faerene town of Atlanta becoming visible to its human neighbors in the city during the moratorium were problems for others. The Faerene involved had to choose their path forward: to embrace humanity on yet to be determined terms; or, relocate.
For those at the magistrate hall, they could afford a night’s break. Piros’s visit provided the excuse.
Peggy had cooked a feast before being forcibly removed by her long-suffering husband to rest. Amy had been forced to add her weight to Arthur’s insistence that Peggy take a two day break. Peggy liked to be in the middle of events.
She had that in common with Piros, although the red dragon was slyer about worming his way into the heart of things.
“You look smug,” Istvan told his friend.
At the back of the room, Piros refilled his and Dorotta’s goblets with Istvan’s brandy. “That’s because I am smug.”
<
br /> “He’s earned it,” Amy said.
From being doubtful of Piros, Amy now treated him as a close friend.
Istvan wasn’t sure that was necessarily an improvement. Piros could lead a person into all sorts of trouble. He’d have to keep an eye on them both.
Yngvar, Nora and the other scientists were keeping an eye on Earth’s magic flows and patching the latticework, as required, under Quossa’s supervision. Officially, the Faerene had elected to maintain the latticework originally designed by the ancient human mages and restored, with a couple of minor tweaks, by Yngvar’s team. The vote earlier today had been entered into the Migration record.
Unofficially, Piros and Amy had triumphed. While the scientists had prevailed in the sense that the latticework would be maintained, the ordinary Faerene living outside the bunkers and often possessing lesser magic talents, had heeded Piros’s message that they were vital in building a safety net for the world.
As a magic user, and with her current lack of training and experience, Amy was among the least powerful of the Faerene. Yet by her example, she’d shown that vowing her magic to Istvan’s service was both possible, and in accordance with Piros’s espoused theory, capable of stabilizing Earth’s magic flows if replicated across the Faerene population.
Across the globe, Faerene had spontaneously bound their magic to the service of others using the same familiar vows Amy and Istvan had spoken at the conclusion of the human familiar trials. Instead of being demeaned by offering their magic in service, people were proud. The familiar oath bonds confirmed and celebrated existing bonds of trust and respect.
Justice had been one of the first adopters of the notion. In magic sight, the town was crisscrossed by bonds of magic. Even the family room shone with them.
Jarod’s elf friend, Hew, had vowed his magic to Tineke’s service, and now sat on the floor near her, with Jarod sprawled beside him. Lajos sat beside Tineke, holding her hand and every so often touching his promise ring that gleamed gold on her finger.
Rough Magic Page 19
