“It is good to see you, Baluka.”
His smile widened. “And you, Rielle.”
“Come join us,” she invited.
The waiter hurried over to place a chair beside the one they’d reserved for Qall. As the pair sat down, he poured wine for the newcomers.
“I don’t know that you can call a war ‘over’ when there are still plenty of attacks on worlds,” Qall said.
“Your last messenger said the Restorers had dealt with most of Kettin’s followers,” Rielle pointed out.
“That’s what I want the worlds to think. The truth is, a group of them went into hiding and are trying to establish their own little empire.” Qall shrugged. “We need to extinguish that little fire while they’re only made up of minor sorcerers.” He picked up his glass and sipped, then nodded in approval. “This is good. I wish I could stay and enjoy the rest of it.”
“You’re not staying?” Rielle asked.
“I can’t, unfortunately.” Qall grimaced. “I would have cancelled but for the fact that Baluka wanted to come.”
Baluka straightened. “I am here to say goodbye,” he said. “I am leaving the Restorers, as you know I have planned for some time.”
Rielle and Tyen nodded, Tyen’s expression reflecting Rielle’s sadness.
“Have you found somewhere to settle?” Tyen asked.
Baluka shrugged. “Not yet.”
“We won’t see you again, will we?” Rielle asked, though she knew the answer. With too many enemies likely to seek revenge if Baluka did not have the protection of the Restorers, he would have to start a new life away from everybody who’d known him. That included her, Tyen and Qall, and even the Travellers.
He shook his head. “Probably not.” Then he smiled. “But who knows? I might sneak into your world and visit you one day.”
“We’d like that,” Tyen said.
Baluka looked at Qall. “I’m done. You can make your proposal now.”
Rielle and Tyen exchanged a look. He smiled faintly, as if to say ‘I told you so’.
Qall’s gaze moved from Tyen to her and back again. “The worlds need you. Both of you. And I don’t just mean to make machine-destroying beetles. There are over a thousand dead worlds to restore and countless broken machines to dismantle so that others can’t repair and use them. Surely everything is under control here now.”
Rielle smiled.
“We thought you’d say that.” She looked at Tyen, who met her gaze and nodded. They’d discussed this many times in the days since they’d last seen Qall. “We want to help, to restore worlds and clean up the machines. But we don’t want to work with the Restorers.”
Qall’s eye widened in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t been reading Tyen’s mind, Rielle mused.
“If we work with you, your enemies will become ours,” Tyen explained. “Since we’ve agreed we won’t do anything that will endanger my world,” Tyen glanced at Rielle – “our world,” he corrected – “we have to remain independent.”
Qall opened his mouth but no words came out. He looked from her to Tyen and back again, then closed his mouth again. His eyes narrowed.
“So what are you suggesting?”
“You appeal to us when worlds come to you for help,” Tyen answered. “But we also help worlds that come to us directly.”
Qall nodded slowly. “That could work. But people already think of you as Restorers.” He frowned. “Do you want us to have a public disagreement, to make sure it’s known you are independent?”
Rielle shook her head. “No, if people think we’re enemies that will cause problems too. It will all be in the way you refer to us, and us to you. Perhaps you could ask us to help someone we clearly wouldn’t help, so that we can be seen to refuse. But mostly we’ll just give it time. People will work it out eventually.”
Qall’s nods slowed to a stop. He looked at them in turn, an odd expression on his face. “Did you know that people have started calling us the Three. Rielle is still ‘the Maker’ and Tyen is now ‘the Builder’.”
From the way Baluka’s eyebrows rose, he didn’t know about this.
“Well, that’s a change from ‘the Spy’,” Tyen said.
“What are you, then, Qall?” Rielle asked.
“The Successor?” Baluka guessed.
Qall shook his head. He looked a little embarrassed. “The closest translation is ‘the Fixer’.” He sighed. “They are building temples to us in some worlds.”
Rielle winced. “You’re discouraging that, I hope.”
“I’m trying to. When people believe you are gods, they will only be disappointed when it becomes clear you are human.”
Except, I’m more than human, Rielle thought. Yet definitely not a god. I’m much closer to human than god. The word “demon” rose in the back of her mind, but she pushed it away. Instead she thought of Annad, who had returned to his world intending to create a library of knowledge. He’d asked her to visit, but she was worried she’d be recognised as the goddess Rel and that would make life hard for him.
She sighed. “It wouldn’t be so bad if we could do good as gods, then return and live our ordinary human lives in peace.”
Tyen straightened a little. “I wonder, could we do that? Well, not claim to be gods, but take on a different identity when we help a world. If we changed our appearance, people wouldn’t recognise us when we were ourselves again. It would help to protect Leratia.”
“But then nobody will recognise you as the Maker or Builder when you go out in the worlds,” Baluka pointed out.
Tyen shrugged. “Most people in the worlds don’t know what we look like anyway. In time the memory of our true likenesses will fade and our adopted ones would be what we’re known for.”
Qall smiled crookedly. “If I did the same, it would allow me to help people when being the head of the Restorers restrains me. It is an interesting idea.” He rubbed his hands together, then got to his feet, the rest of them following suit. “Well, I’d best get back to the Restorers, before they send someone out to drag me away. Why did I ever agree to lead a bunch of contrary, bossy sorcerers?”
“It’s not like you didn’t know what you were taking on,” Baluka reminded him.
“Yes, I did and I don’t regret it yet.” Qall chuckled, then kissed Rielle on the cheek and reached out to pat Tyen’s shoulder. “Take care, old friend.”
Tyen frowned. “Who are you calling ‘old’?”
Qall grinned. “No matter how old I get, you’ll always be older.”
Rolling her eyes, Rielle turned and enveloped Baluka in a hug. “Take care, Baluka.”
“Always.” He hugged her back, then stepped away and was embraced, somewhat awkwardly, by Tyen. “You be careful too.”
“We always are,” Tyen assured him. “I hope you find happiness wherever you settle.”
“Thank you.” Baluka stepped back, then took Qall’s offered hand.
The pair slowly faded from sight. When Rielle could not make them out any more, she sighed and turned to Tyen. “Meal first, then home to make arrangements to restore and clean up the machines?”
He smiled. “I’ve always found I am much more effective at saving worlds on a full stomach.”
She sat down. “Then let’s not disappoint the chef; there are some fine aromas coming from that kitchen.”
Tyen reached out and took her hand. “So by ‘home’, do you mean my world?”
She smiled. “Yes. I’m staying, if you want me.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. “It would make me very happy.”
RIELLE
Machines rained down from the sky.
A few bounced off Tyen’s shield and landed on those that had already fallen. A ring-shaped pile was growing around him as the beetles he’d released far above them did their work. Soon he and Rielle would have to move or sweep away the accumulated debris, or they’d be buried.
They’d come to this world to restore it, after representatives of its former occupants had ap
pealed to Rielle for help. Though reconstruction was underway, the magic that ought to be generated by people rebuilding and making repairs was drained away as fast as it was generated, and now and then a machine came back to life and attacked someone. It was a common problem. Machines that had simply run out of magic were revived whenever magic returned to a world, making restoration a difficult and dangerous task.
But it just happened that Rielle and Tyen had the right match of skills to tackle it.
He drew in more of the magic Rielle was generating to strengthen his shield, then blasted a swathe of machines out of the sky.
“Another,” Rielle said.
Tyen paused and opened a gap in his shield for long enough to let a dead machine tumble through. Before it landed, Rielle had seized it with magic and drawn it close. The carapace split open. Five beetles fell out. Rielle swept them towards Tyen with magic.
He caught and inspected them in turn. Three were easily repaired, one just needed recharging with magic, and the last was beyond repair. Selecting what he needed from a box at his feet, he set to work, tossing the restored beetles into another box.
“Another.”
When she split open the next machine, only one beetle fell out, so after he’d dealt with it he stopped to watch her work. She stared intently at the machine’s remains. Soon they began to glow. The parts melted and blended together until it had become a molten mass. That mass began to twist and stretch, rising in the air and moving towards the sculpture she was creating. In this case, a life-sized metal tree. The cooling remains of the machine slotted into existing limbs, becoming another branch.
They could have simply let the dead machines pile up, then transport them away when all had expired, but in order to generate the magic needed to deliver the beetles, defend themselves and fight the machines, Rielle needed to be creative.
Rielle paused to look up at the tree. She frowned, and leaves and flowers began to sprout from it.
“You’re getting very good at this,” he said.
She glanced at him and smiled. “Not as good as you. I’ve always worked flat. You’re far better at sculpture.”
“A few badly thrown pots doesn’t compare to this.”
“I’m not talking about pots,” she told him. “The machines you make are more than just practical items. They have beauty in them. And the pots aren’t too bad, either.”
“Perhaps, but I am better at making insectoids than working with clay.”
“Insectoids?” She raised her eyebrows, in her gaze a challenge. “You’ve been far more creative than that.”
He thought back to the objects he had once made. Contraptions his father had kept. Toys. Clocks. Music boxes. She has a point.
She paused to look up at him. “Why don’t you let the beetles do their job for a while and take the opportunity to make something?”
Endless machine smashing had been satisfying at first, but it had grown boring. Letting another machine fall through his shield for her to reshape, he allowed a second in and began to work. Soon he had lost himself in melting and fusing. At first, he missed his tools, and standardised screw and cog sizes, but once he let such restrictions go and made parts the size they needed to be he felt freer. When he had finished, a music machine the size of a cart stood before him.
Rielle’s voice spoke at his shoulder. “You’re quite a strong maker when you get involved.”
He turned to regard her. “Not as strong as you.”
“Of course not. My ability was enhanced.” She tilted her head a little to the side. “As yours could be if you wanted. The offer still stands, you know.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“Becoming an Ancient seems like something I shouldn’t do just for my own benefit. I’d rather wait until the worlds need it. Though it doesn’t seem fair that I’m free to create without making too much magic when you aren’t. If you’d rather I—”
She pulled him close and pressed her lips against his. Delighted by her sudden passion, he let the machine part he’d been holding fall. As it clanged to the ground, she pulled away, her expression slightly apologetic. “Oops. Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.”
“Yes, you did.”
She laughed. “Well, it wasn’t my main purpose.”
“Which was?”
She shrugged. “Nothing more than to remind you that I love you.”
He drew her closer. “Then I should remind you how much I love you.”
She placed a hand on his chest. “As much as I would enjoy that, any further delay may see us buried by machines.”
He glanced at the pile of dead machines forming around them, held back by his shield. Only a small hole remained at the top. “You have a point.”
As she stepped away, he gathered magic and thrust his shield up and away with great force. Machines were flung off in all directions. Without their bodies blocking the light, the area suddenly seemed brighter. He looked over to see if Rielle was ready to take another one to dismantle, and found that she had turned the leaves of the tree into hundreds of little books.
He thought of Vella, now safely in the possession of the Librarian, absorbing all the knowledge in the Academy. And Beetle, the toy that had inspired a solution to Kettin’s machines, now kept in a display cabinet dedicated to significant Academy inventions. He recalled Mig’s admiration of it. The southerner had taken over from Zeke as the most admired inventor in the Academy, despite not having any magical ability.
That brought his train of thought around to Zeke and Dahli. He hoped that the pair were still alive, surviving on their isolated world. Rielle had not yet attempted to re-link the world. Dahli had told her to wait at least five cycles before attempting it, in case Kettin survived. Rielle had decided that, when she did, she would travel to the furthest edge of the habitable worlds. Which would mean she would be away from him for at least a cycle – something he wasn’t looking forward do.
It had better be worth it, he thought. Linking worlds had to be possible. It had been done many, many times before, as the great number of linked worlds proved. Tyen suspected it would not be easy, though. All too often, it was far easier and faster to destroy something than to make it.
Rielle was the Maker, however. If anyone could do it, she could. He looked over to her, to find her sitting on the ground staring at nothing, her expression one of intense concentration.
“Rielle?” he asked, concerned.
She blinked, but her eyes did not focus on him. “We’ve been here quite a while now,” she observed. “Have you looked at how much magic we’ve made?”
“No. I’m sure if I do, my senses will be overwhelmed.”
“Well… I’ve always wondered what would happen if I kept filling a world with magic. I think I’ve just found out.”
Tyen looked around. The world was, indeed, saturated with so much magic it was dazzling. “I can’t see anything but magic. What do you sense?”
“I… I don’t know. The magic doesn’t stop at the edges of this world now. It seems to have reached a point where the force that keeps it close to this world no longer contains it. It has… gone beyond.” She shook her head. “It’s… amazing. I can see the distances between worlds. They are, in a physical sense, immense.”
He drew in a sharp breath. “You can sense other worlds?”
“Yes.” She blinked, then her eyes focused on his, bright with excitement. “I think I know how to link worlds.”
He drew in a quick breath. “You can free Dahli and Zeke!”
“Yes. But… not for some time.”
“Well, yes. He said to wait.”
“Oh, not because of that.” She got to her feet, dusted off her clothes. “It’s going to take at least that long to generate enough magic to forge a link. And all that magic has to be in one world.”
“Well, then, you have no excuse not to practise your painting now.”
She smiled. “None but the fact that if we stop restoring the dead worlds an
d getting rid of the war machines so I can paint, it won’t go down so well with most people of the worlds.”
“No, but most of the work is in dealing with machines. If worlds were stripped of them before you arrived, all you’d need to do is restore the magic.”
She looked thoughtful. “But if I create enough magic, we can lure the ones still functional to a single location, ready to transport. But where would we put them?”
“A dead world, where they could be dealt with safely, taking as much time as required.”
“Who is going to do that?”
Tyen chuckled. “In a few years the Academy will have more graduates than it can cope with. We have to keep them out of trouble somehow.”
She laughed. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to find they’ve become otherworld cleaning staff.”
“They’ll do anything to finally get to travel the worlds.”
“And what will they do with all that metal?”
Tyen considered. “Give it back to the worlds it came from?”
Rielle nodded. “That seems the right thing to do.” She smiled and took his hand. “Well, I see no reason to wait. Let’s see if we can find a nearby dead world to store these machines in.”
He picked up the box of beetles and pushed out of the world – and as his shield was removed, the pile of machines collapsed in on itself. Together they headed into the whiteness.
DAHLI
Of the forty or fifty sorcerers who had followed Kettin into the trap, only twenty-three remained as far as Dahli could tell.
Twenty-four now, he corrected, watching one of the two younger women playing with a baby. The group had settled near the equator, where the weather was warm though subject to violent seasonal storms. Fruit was available for most of the year and they’d learned which sea creatures were safe to eat through trial and a few fatal errors.
Maybe in a few centuries their descendants would retell the story of their arrival in this world. Maybe those tales would include Kettin as some mythic godlike figure.
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