The Questing Game

by James Galloway

  The mage was there that morning, sitting in a chair usually reserved for Keritanima, wearing a silly black robe with patches portraying mystical symbols sewn randomly to the fabric. And that hat. It was a truly ridiculous conical hat, with a wide brim, that tapered to a sharp point some two spans over the mage's head. It was Phandebrass' stage costume, and he was wearing it because he'd spilled ale on all his other robes. A mug of ale was casually held in his left hand, threatening to soil the last garment the mage had left with each movement of his hand. Turnkey and Chopstick--or was it Chopstick and Turnkey?--sat on his shoulders, glaring at the Were-cat as the mage finished off what was left in the tankard. The two little drakes, with their reddish scales, looked almost exactly the same. Their scents were different, but Tarrin had yet to figure out which drake was which. Phandebrass rarely called them by their names, nor were they often separated from each other. The mage was relaying a tale of the gods, of the twin gods of death, Dakkii and Dakkuu. The origins and histories of the Elder Gods were very blurred and uncertain, but what was generally known of the twin gods was their roles. Everyone referred to death as she because nobody wanted to see the male Death come to claim them. Only those who had lived a live of selfishness or evil, whose afterlife would be a punishment, were claimed by Dakkuu, the male Death. Those who had lived a good life, and were being carried on to an afterlife of reward, were claimed by Dakkii, the female Death. When Death Herself came to claim someone, it was a fear only of what was lost. When Death Himself came for a person, it was a fear of what was to come.

  The story he told was the story of the twin gods' eternal hatred for each other. So the story went, they had been borne at the same instant, and had originally been meant to be only a single entity. But fate had split them into two, and each secretly felt that they were what was originally intended the god of Death to be. Dakkii saw the god of death as a nurturer, to gently carry the souls of the deserving on to their patron gods, who would mete out justice. Dakkuu saw Death as an avenger, someone to keep the souls of the damned and torture them for their failures and evil natures. They had nearly went to war with each other, until Ayise, Allmother, the creator of the gods, stepped in and separated them. To each she granted that position in which they believed. Dakkii became the god of Death for the vast majority of the world, someone to ferry the souls on to their final destination, doing it with compassion and love. Dakkuu became the punisher, who kept the souls that the other gods told him were beyond hope of redemption, to make them suffer for the hatred and evil he had in his own heart. Because of the horrible finality of this punishment, the very name of Dakkuu became taboo to the world, and nobody ever spoke of death as male. To be claimed by Dakkuu was a fate worse than a million agonizing deaths, because it meant that an eternity of torment awaited the hapless fool.

  "Of course, Dakkuu rails against this custom," Phandebrass concluded. "Dakkuu wanted to be a punisher, and he became one. But the fact that when everyone thinks of death, they think of his sister, causes him even more anger and frustration. Ask a common man about death, and he'll tell you it's a she. Ask him about what happens to the damned, and he'll tell you that it comes for them. That's what Dakkuu has become to the world. An it. A nameless spectre everyone fears, but nobody completely understands."

  "Isn't it a bad thing to speak his name then?" Tarrin asked. Tarrin was impressed. He didn't know that. He knew there were ten Elder Gods, but even he could only name nine. The tenth was a mystery, a mystery that the mage had just solved. He knew about the nameless reaper of the damned, but had never been able to put a name to it--no, he.

  "Oh dear me, no," Phandebrass chuckled. "If anything, he probably appreciates the fact that some mortals remember him, and remember, Dakkuu is a punisher of the deserving. If you're not deserving eternal torture, then you have nothing to fear from him. I'm not saying he's going to appear before us and shake my hand, but I also don't doubt that he knows we're talking about him. To mortals, Gods are capricious beings, my boy. They seem to adore attention. Why they adore attention is something that sages still argue about. Us lowly mortals will probably never fully understand the minds and motivations of the gods."

  "Probably not. If we could, we'd be gods too."

  "Excellent observation. I must write that down. I say, where is my pen?"

  "In your hand," Tarrin pointed out delicately.

  "Ah. So it is."

  "I've been wondering, why are you in the carnival, Phandebrass? You seem too, experienced, to be in a travelling circus."

  "True, my boy, but to be honest, I love telling stories, and it always makes me smile to see people marvel at my magic. They see my magic, and some of them become interested, and want to learn about it. It helps spread the learning of magic through the world, and if my efforts help bring only one child to the path of the Arcana, then it makes me happy. And this circus visits some of the largest cities in the western world, where they have very comprehensive libraries. I say, the fact that I'm allowed into the Imperial Library in Dala Yar Arak when we perform there makes my employment with Renoit more than worth what I lose in quiet study time. That library has the most complete collection of magical works in the world. Mages drool over the idea of being allowed unrestricted access to it."

  "So it's mutually beneficial."

  "I say, my boy, that's the best kind of agreement," he said. "I do alot of experimenting on the ship. I have my own lab, you know. I just have to break my studies from time to time to go perform, which I don't mind doing at all. Father always said I had a flare for the dramatic."

  The door opened, and Azakar stepped in. "How are you feeling?" he asked Tarrin without greeting him.

  "I feel alright, Zak. Dolanna says I'll be off bed restriction by tomorrow, but I think she's being protective about it."

  "You need to listen to her. She's trying to keep you healthy."

  "Are you going to start trying to be my mother again, Zak?" the Were-cat asked in a dangerous tone.

  "Yes," he said flatly. "You need to start taking better care of yourself, Tarrin. If you're not going to do that, well, then I guess we'll have to do it for you." He wiped sweat from his brow absently. "Anyway, I'm done for today, and I was wondering if you wanted to play stones or cards or something."

  "Sure. I think Phandebrass knows how to play King's Crown, and it's always more fun with three people."

  "King's Crown? I say, do you know the tale behind the game?"

  "We can hear it some other time, Phandebrass," Azakar told him immediately. "I can't concentrate if you're distracting me with your stories."

  Phandebrass glanced at Tarrin, then he winked. "Well then, I'll just save it for later, then. I say, you have a deck?"

  "I do, but only if you promise the dragons won't eat the cards this time," the huge Mahuut said steadily.

  "I scolded them for that, my boy," he replied with a straight face. "I say, do you know that the suit of crowns started out as the suit of gold? There were four suits, all named after precious metals. The suit of gold, the suit of silver, the suit of copper, and the suit of platinum. But time and the need for pictographic cards, which are easier to make, brought about the changes. Now we have the suit of crowns, the suit of clubs, the suit of diamonds, and the suit of swords."

  The door opened again, and Dolanna entered with Keritanima, Allia, and Dar in tow. Tarrin's small cabin wasn't really meant to hold so many people, so Allia and Dar stayed by the door as Dolanna and Keritanima entered. "Gentlemen," she said brusquely, "your presence here is no longer required. I wish to speak with Tarrin alone."

  "That's a sweet way of saying 'get out'," Azakar told Phandebrass.

  "If that is what you wish to hear, then get out," Dolanna said in a calm voice, but with a light smile that made her face radiant.

  Azakar chuckled, but Phandebrass gave the Sorceress a curious look, then he too broke out into laughter, giving Azakar a wink. "Very well. I say, this must be secret Sorcerer business. They must be preparing to exchange the sec
ret handshake."

  "I've seen it. It's nothing compared to the Knights' secret handshake," Azakar said with a straight face.

  "I will give you reason to wish you were not here in a moment," Dolanna said flintily. "Out."

  "Yes ma'am," Azakar said calmly, standing up. "We'll play later, Tarrin, when Dolanna's not being pecky."

  "I am about to show you pecky," Dolanna challenged the huge Mahuut. She pointed towards the door imperiously, her eyes hard and impatient. Azakar, being taught the wisdom of retreat in the face of a more powerful foe, bowed out with an elegantly overwhelming bow to the Sorceress, nearly brushing his forehead to the deck. She smacked him lightly on the top of the head when he started rising, making Phandebrass laugh heartily. Then the two filed out between Allia and Dar, who closed the door behind them.

  "Now, down to business," Dolanna said. She seated herself in the plush chair Keritanima had dragged in so she could sit with Tarrin. That got her a nasty look from the Wikuni Princess, who sat down on the end of the bed as Tarrin sat up and sat cross-legged at the head. Allia sat in the middle of the bed, and Dar took the sturdy wooden chair after moving the small end table aside, that had been put there to hold cards. "It has been made clear to me that I was in grave error to allow you to ignore your training, Tarrin," Dolanna said. "So we are here to study, practice, and learn. The first thing we are going to do is listen to you explain exactly what it is you did to make new strands."

  "That doesn't sound much like instruction," he countered.

  "For us, it will be," she said. "Perhaps the relation of your discovery will help us come into closer contact with the Weave, or learn new ways to apply its power. Besides, a good Sorcerer learns everything he or she can, whether or not it is knowledge that can be applied practically."

  "I guess that's a good way to look at things," Tarrin admitted. He closed his eyes and conjured up the memory he had of that, but it wasn't easy. The entire affair was heavily tinged by his outrage and anger, and it made the dynamics of the act hard to recall in words that could easily be explained. "I remember pulling out all seven flows, then sending them out in groups," he said in a quiet voice, as the others all leaned in to listen. "Groups of flows that would make strands. I braided them together and made them connect to existing strands, then I, well, pulled on them. That's how I remember it, anyway."

  "You charged them with your power," Dolanna told him. "That caused them to snap taut, just like loose-weaving a spell, then snapping it down to release it. I suppose you charged them with enough energy for them to interact, and form new strands."

  "I remember that," Keritanima said. "The entire Weave shifted when he did that."

  "It shifted because he was making it move with him," Dolanna replied. "Do you remember that, Tarrin?"

  "I think so," he said, trying to pierce the veil resting over much of his memory or the episode. "Maybe."

  "Do you think that you would remember how it was done?"

  "I could do it again," he told her confidently. "I'd rather not, though."

  "I do not want you to, dear one," she told him immediately. "The amount of energy it cost you to do it was staggering. I am still shocked that you did not tear the Weave in the attempt, and that you were not burned to ash within seconds. This is something I never want you to attempt alone again."

  "I saw the scorchmarks," he said quietly, memory of the pain making his spine tingle. Up above, on the deck, were two blasted, charred marks that were perfect imprints of the bottoms of his own feet, right down the the texturing of his pads. Branded into the deck as a testament to what had occurred. "Was it really as bad as it looks?"

  "Worse," Allia answered evenly. "You were all but on fire, brother."

  "I don't really remember that."

  "I think I'd be happy not to remember something like that," Dar noted.

  "No doubt," Tarrin agreed.

  "This is something that we will work on later, Tarrin," Dolanna said. "For now, you are too weak to attempt anything, and I am unsure as to how safe it would be to try. But I would very much like to see if there is a safe way, and that brings us to the real reason we are here."

  "What is that?" he asked.

  "I recall that the Tower never trained you in Circling," she announced. "You will learn this skill with us."

  "What good will that do?"

  "I did not see what happened when you interposed yourself on the Council's Circle, but I did hear about what happened. If you could circle with us, it may be possible for you to wield your power in a much safer manner, spreading it out among the five of us instead of shouldering the burden alone. There would still be danger, but it would take much longer for it to reach a critical point. In the interests of safety, we should practice and prepare for the possibility that we may have to defend this ship from marauders again."

  Tarrin mulled it over, and he found her reasoning somewhat sound. When he had managed to hijack the circle of the Council, it did allow him to spread the burden of his power among them, allowing him to keep control of it much longer. He remembered that clearly. He even had the control necessary to let go of the Weave without having to sever himself and suffer a backlash. He didn't like the idea of putting his friends and sisters at risk, for he remembered clearly the effect he had on the Council after the circle was broken.

  And he remembered what had broken the circle. The Cat had done it, rejecting the intimate mental communion that came when Sorcerers formed circles. Even if he was willing to learn, it was very possible that the Cat wouldn't permit him to form a stable link to the others. "There may be a problem, Dolanna," he told her.

  "What with?"

  "Your idea is good, but they didn't tell you why the circle broke up when I got dragged into it. The Cat rejected the link. It took the circling link to be a foreign entity and attacked it. If I hadn't released the Weave and dissolved the circle myself, the Cat would have broken in for me. I remember that. I'm not sure if I can circle."

  "Yes, but you know the four of us intimately. There is a good chance that your trust in us will allow your instincts to accept our bonds."

  "Well, I'm not sure, but we can try. If you're willing to accept the risks."

  "I'm aware of the risk," Dar told him. "Dolanna explained it to us. I trust you, Tarrin."

  That meant more to him than he could easily express. He gave Dar a sincerely grateful look, then nodded. "I know how my sisters will answer."

  "If I was not prepared to face danger for my brother, I would not have the honor to call him so," Allia said bluntly.

  "I'll do almost anything to further the cause of Sorcery, even if it wasn't my brother and sister doing the risking with me," Keritanima said with a toothy grin.

  "Very well then, it is decided," Dolanna said dismissively. "To start, Tarrin, the key of a circle is communion. The Sorcerers join together, both their power and their minds, forming a cohesive will led by the designated Sorcerer commanding the circle. A circle cannot have more than seven, because too many minds in a circle cause the creation of a mass mind that dies when the circle is broken."

  "That's not entirely true, Dolanna," he said absently. "Only seven of the same species can circle."

  "Where did you hear this?" she asked quickly.

  "I didn't. I remember it from when I joined the Council's circle. If you don't mind me sounding obvious, there were eight of us in it. It didn't form a mass mind because my mind isn't human. My different mind blocked it. I realized it when I dissolved the circle. I think that's one of the reasons why I had trouble holding it. If it had been seven other Were-cats, I don't think the Cat would have rejected the contact."

  Keritanima gave him a strangled look, then she laughed. "I forgot all about that!" she admitted in a loud voice. "You even told me that!"

  "Kerri forgot something?" Tarrin asked, giving her a smile. "Someone look out and see if the sea hasn't turned to glass."

  "Well, maybe not forgot. Maybe more like misplaced," she said with a chuckle.


  "The theory does have merit," Dolanna said after a moment of tapping her chin, obviously in deep thought. "A great deal of merit. The reason a mass mind forms is because of the presence of numerous minds linked together in the communion of the circle. It only stands to reason that a mind of a dissimilar nature would reject such a formation, and prevent the mass mind from forming. The different mind would insulate the other members of the circle, protecting them from the formation of a mass mind. After all, the mass mind cannot form unless all participants of the circle join with it. If one does not, then all do not. It is the very nature of a circle."

  "What does that mean to us students?" Dar asked curiously.

  "A circle is inclusive, Dar,"she explained. "It is like a school of fish, or herd of goats. Where one goes, all go, when one turns, all turn. But if one does not jump off a cliff, for example, then none will."

  "Even if other goats go first?" he asked.

  "It is an abstract concept," she reiterated. "Think of the herd being tied together with rope. If the one goat that does not jump is strong enough, it holds all the other goats up, preventing them from falling to the bottom."

  "Oh," he sounded. "I think I get it. Even if all the other goats want to jump, they can't do it because the one goat that doesn't want to jump won't allow them to. Because they all have to go together."

  "Pecisely," Dolanna agreed. "They must go together."

  "So, if we had seven human Sorcerers aboard, we could conceivably make a circle as large as ten," Keritanima mused. "The seven humans and use three non-humans."

  "Perhaps larger," Dolanna elaborated. "There are many ways to circle, young one. If the lead of a circle were to join to another circle, they could conceivably expand the total number to fifteen. Seven in the first, seven in the second, with the non-human mind between them to act as a buffer." She tapped her fingers on the bed. "It certainly makes sense. The old stories tell of the Ancients joining in circles numbering in the hundreds, to perform their mightiest magic. That was when the Sha'Kar lived. Non-humans, to buffer their circles and permit them to join in such large numbers."