The Stars Asunder: A New Novel of the Mageworlds (15 page)
Read The Stars Asunder: A New Novel of the Mageworlds Online
Authors: Debra Doyle,James D. Macdonald
BOOK: The Stars Asunder: A New Novel of the Mageworlds
12.26Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
First time out from the city and she’s lost her way,
Ty decided instantly. He had already drawn breath to give her instructions for following the Hall road back to the main highway and, presumably, her abandoned groundcar when she spoke.
Ty decided instantly. He had already drawn breath to give her instructions for following the Hall road back to the main highway and, presumably, her abandoned groundcar when she spoke.
“Please forgive me if I shouldn’t ask … but is there a Circle here?” Her glance flicked downward from his face to the staff at his belt, and back up again. “Because if there is … then I think I have come to ask for instruction.”
Year 1123 E. R.
ILDAON: COUNTRY HOUSE OF ELEK GRIAT
ERAASI: DEMAIZEN OLD HALL
T
he guest bedroom in Elek’s manor house, with its cut flowers and crystal, was everything Jaf had expected from the greeting he had received so far. If the material results spoke truth, his friend and mentor had prospered beyond even Jaf’s own hopes of success. The bed was soft and wide, the covers warm, the air pleasantly chill. Jaf slept well.
he guest bedroom in Elek’s manor house, with its cut flowers and crystal, was everything Jaf had expected from the greeting he had received so far. If the material results spoke truth, his friend and mentor had prospered beyond even Jaf’s own hopes of success. The bed was soft and wide, the covers warm, the air pleasantly chill. Jaf slept well.
Some hours after noon—his body was still on ship’s time—he awakened feeling rested but hungry. While he’d slept, the household
aiketen
had unpacked his luggage and placed the contents in the wardrobe. The servitors had augmented his personal effects with items from the household stores, including fresh hand towels and a satin-faced dressing robe. Jaf put on shirt and trousers, sandals as befitted a private visit, and the robe, to honor his host. Then he left the room to go exploring.
aiketen
had unpacked his luggage and placed the contents in the wardrobe. The servitors had augmented his personal effects with items from the household stores, including fresh hand towels and a satin-faced dressing robe. Jaf put on shirt and trousers, sandals as befitted a private visit, and the robe, to honor his host. Then he left the room to go exploring.
He heard music playing, somewhere out of sight, and followed its strains down the hall to a sunny conservatory. There he found Elek, also informally attired, playing the contra-cithara in harmony with a recording of the Brightwater String Consort’s performance of “The Turning Year.” The sound system, Jaf noted, was excellent.
The conservatory’s high windows and solarium ceiling let in the strong rays of the afternoon sun. Elek’s back was to the door. His shoulders moved with steady rhythm as he drew his bow across the strings of the contra-cithara, the magnificent music swelled, and Jaf stood rapt.
At last the crescendo peaked, the Solstice theme reasserted itself one last time, and silence replaced the notes of the Brightwater Consort. Jaf stepped forward as Elek laid the contra-cithara on its rest, stood, and threw back his shoulders.
“You never told me you played,” Jaf said.
Elek turned, brushing his hair back away from his forehead. “Only for my own pleasure,” he said. Perspiration shone on his face. The contra-cithara required vigorous motion.
Jaf stepped toward the older man, even as Elek turned again and walked over to one of the conservatory’s tall windows overlooking the grounds. Jaf followed him. They stood there side by side for some time without speaking, until finally Elek let out a quiet sigh.
“I never expected to see you again in the flesh,” he said. “Though I sometimes hoped … Tell me something, Jaf. Why did you really come?”
Jaf winced; his friend’s question stung all the more for the truth behind it. “Does there have to be another reason?”
“If being with me was all that you wanted, you’d never have left Ildaon in the first place.” Elek smiled and shook his head. “You don’t have to hide your ambitions, Jaf; if they’ve brought you home for a little while, then I’m grateful for them. Now let me indulge my pride and show you about the estate before dinner.”
Jaf was suitably impressed by Elek’s house and lands, both of which more than lived up to his initial glimpses at the time of his arrival. The tour ended in the dining room, where one of the
aiketen
waited—a faceless, columnar construct with a dim “inactive” light glowing behind its blank front panel. The shell would be Ildaon-built, to harmonize with local styles and requirements; the interior workings, Jaf knew, would contain more Eraasian imports than native ware.
aiketen
waited—a faceless, columnar construct with a dim “inactive” light glowing behind its blank front panel. The shell would be Ildaon-built, to harmonize with local styles and requirements; the interior workings, Jaf knew, would contain more Eraasian imports than native ware.
“I should allow you time to change before the meal,” Elek said. “But if you don’t mind informality …”
“What pleases you pleases me.” Jaf allowed himself to be guided to a chair, and the
aiketh
brought in their first course, a chilled sour-fruit soup.
aiketh
brought in their first course, a chilled sour-fruit soup.
“It’s only kitchen-work,” said Elek, when Jaf remarked on the dish’s excellent flavor. “Assembled by the numbers, no improvising. Employing a professional cook just for myself would be … excessive.”
“Then my compliments to the kitchen’s instructor,” Jaf said. He waited until the
aiketh
had brought in the next course, a platter of grilled vegetables drizzled with peppery oil, and said, “Elek, I need your advice.”
aiketh
had brought in the next course, a platter of grilled vegetables drizzled with peppery oil, and said, “Elek, I need your advice.”
“Aha—I thought so.” To Jaf’s relief, Elek looked more flattered than dismayed by the revelation. Perhaps over the past few years he had felt the lack of a protege as keenly as Jaf had at first felt the lack of his former guide and sponsor. “Bring forth your problem, then, and we’ll think about how to handle it.”
“The problem is an old one,” Jaf said. “But not something I was in a position to worry about before now.”
He paused. Having finally come to this point, he felt a considerable reluctance to speak of the matter aloud. Talking mercantile politics with Kammen and Riet had been a thought-exercise, abstract plotting in an artificial vacuum; speaking on the same subject with Elek Griat could set into motion processes that he might not be able to halt.
“The Eraasians are strangling us,” he said finally. “There must be a way to stop them. Stop the star-lords, anyway; they’re the worst of the lot. I want to do it, Elek—I think that it can be done.”
“Have you spoken this way to anyone else?”
“It’s come up in conversation a time or two,” Jaf admitted. “Among like-minded friends.”
Elek’s expression became unreadable. “Tell me the truth, Jaf: Are you merely grumbling, or do you and your like-minded friends honestly contemplate something more?”
“We’ve had talk without action for long enough. That’s why we need your help—if this thing is going to be done, we have to get it right the first time or we’re lost.”
“‘We’?” Elek said. Jaf looked away, accepting the implied rebuke, and said nothing—too much persuasion, at this point, would be worse than too little. Finally his former mentor gave a faint sigh. “Since you’ve already enrolled me in your conspiracy, you might as well tell me what prompted you to start conspiring in the first place.”
“Nothing dramatic, I’m afraid,” Jaf said. “Just that over time, I came to realize that I wasn’t happy with the idea of living off of the star-lords’ leavings.”
“Those aren’t enough?” Elek said. He gestured at the well-groomed lawn of his estate, stretched out beyond the conservatory windows. “If all the star-lords happened to vanish overnight, what more could I ask for that I don’t already have?”
“Freedom?”
“A highly over-rated commodity. It doesn’t trade on the Ildaon Exchange.”
Jaf shrugged. He had made the effort to win his friend’s assistance; becoming importunate would help nothing. “I won’t speak of the matter any further, then.”
Elek laid a hand on Jaf’s arm. “Wait,” he said. “You didn’t say anything that I haven’t thought more than once already. I took my accumulated weeks of holiday-time as soon as your message arrived—you see, my feelings for you have continued—perhaps, in that period, something can be arranged.”
On the morning after Arekhon’s return to the Hall, the three ranking Mages of the Demaizen Circle came together in Garrod’s private study to discuss—among other things—the matter of the sus-Peledaen charts.
Though he would never have admitted it, Arekhon felt somewhat intimidated by the occasion. He had been in the First’s study before, and the room and its furnishings were familiar to him: Massive antique bookcases, built in another century to support the weight of heavy, board-bound volumes; an ugly, once-fashionable light fixture a much earlier lord of Demaizen had added to the plaster ceiling when the hall had been converted to electric power; solid wooden chairs with threadbare velvet cushions.
He had sat opposite the First of the Circle more than once, with the wide top of the office table stretching out between them, talking of the group’s work-in-hand and his own progress as a Mage. But today marked the first time he had come here as one of those responsible for the welfare of the Circle, and for directing its efforts.
Clear yellow light poured into the room through the eastern windows, and dust motes floated lazily in the warm sunbeams. Garrod was there already; the satchel that held the star charts rested on the table in front of him. He gestured at Arekhon to take a seat. Yuvaen arrived a few seconds later, nodded to Arekhon as if the younger man’s presence at the conference was already an accustomed thing, and took the remaining chair.
“Before we get to these”—Garrod nodded at the satchel—“we need to talk about our newest student.”
“The wildlife observer,” said Yuvaen. He sounded amused, Arekhon thought, and a little skeptical. “Syr Vai’s appearance on our doorstep could, I suppose, be a mere accident of time.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Arekhon said. He wasn’t sure why he was taking Iulan Vai’s part in the matter, unless it was out of the principle that all sides of a thing bore discussion. “We’re lucky we haven’t had more people come looking to join us before now.”
“Luck is strong here. And there are advantages to isolation.” Garrod looked from Arekhon to Yuvaen. “What do the two of you say—shall we take her in?”
“If she was searching for us,” Arekhon said, “then we have an obligation to teach her.”
“Or to find some other Circle that can,” said Yuvaen.
“Granted. But it was us she came to, and not some other Circle. We owe her at least a trial before sending her on.”
“And if she isn’t what she seems?”
Garrod chuckled. “Peace, Yuva. If the young woman is not, after all, a seeker of instruction, it will become obvious soon enough, and we can deal with the situation as we see fit.”
“That’s fair, I suppose,” Yuvaen said. Arekhon nodded agreement.
“Good—then we’re in accord.” Garrod paused a moment, waiting for an objection that didn’t come, before continuing, “Now we come to the serious business.” He pushed the leather satchel across the table toward Arekhon. “Show us what we have in here, ’Rekhe.”
Arekhon took the satchel and worked the code on the lock. The mouth of the satchel gaped. He reached inside and started removing the charts—house copies, as he had promised, palm-sized slices of stiff transparent plastic. “We’ll need a reader.”
“There’s one on the shelf behind you,” said Garrod. “It’s old, but it can talk with the Hall’s house-mind and most of the newer ones can’t.”
The reader didn’t look promising. It was almost as big as the satchel the charts had come out of, and its blocky, unornamented lines embodied the aesthetic standards of several generations back. Scrapes and smudges marred its black plastic housing. Arekhon settled its feet into the take-up slots on the office table and waited for the yellow display lights on the reader’s side panel to stop blinking and turn to violet.
He wondered, uneasily, how old the hall’s house-mind actually was. Newer than the light fixture overhead, certainly … maybe … he hoped. Older than Garrod, without a doubt.
A fine help to the Circle I’m going to be,
he thought,
if it turns out that the family charts are too new for the Hall to cope with.
he thought,
if it turns out that the family charts are too new for the Hall to cope with.
The telltales on the side panel stabilized. Violet … that was good. Arekhon slid the first chart into the reader’s intake port and held his breath.
The scuffed and dusty black box began to glow internally, a crimson light that pulsed like a beating heart. Arekhon let himself exhale, giving thanks for his brother’s innate caution and conservatism as he did so. The charts were good.
“You aren’t going to get the same level of detail that you would from a more extensive house-mind and a newer reader,” he said to Garrod and Yuvaen. “But for what we’re planning, this should be clear enough.”
“If we have to, we can always get better hardware,” Garrod said. “Bring up the first image.”
Arekhon laid the flat of his hand on the reader’s upper surface. The plastic felt cool and slick against his skin. Inside the box, the crimson light flared twice, checking his palm print against those recorded as having access to the sus-Peledaen charts. The telltales remained violet—his identity was confirmed. He lifted his hand, and the chart began to take form in the air above the reader.
He heard a faint intake of breath from Yuvaen. The Second came from a landowning family, not from the star-lords or those who dealt with them; if he had seen a star chart before, it had never been one like this. It spread out over the tabletop like a floating carpet: The misty grey base layer, the multicolored sparks and swirls and whorls of star systems, the red and blue streaks that marked off the normal-space routes and the Void-transits of the family’s fleet.
“One thing you have to remember,” he cautioned the other two Mages, as the
Ribbon’s
prentice-master had cautioned him, “is that all of this is nothing more than a picture to make some things easier to think about. The real chart is a construct that only the ship-mind can see.” He paused, remembering his sometime encounters with the raw data of starship navigation. “Curves of probability, mostly, and their solids of rotation.”
Ribbon’s
prentice-master had cautioned him, “is that all of this is nothing more than a picture to make some things easier to think about. The real chart is a construct that only the ship-mind can see.” He paused, remembering his sometime encounters with the raw data of starship navigation. “Curves of probability, mostly, and their solids of rotation.”
Garrod gave him a quick, impatient nod. “I understand. But for what we need, the picture will do. Which chart are we looking at now?”
Other books
Lazos que atan by Jude Watson
Peach by Elizabeth Adler
Great Sex, Naturally by Steelsmith, Laurie
Mayor Hubble Is in Trouble! by Dan Gutman
The Raphael Affair by Iain Pears
The Sweetest Thing by J. Minter
Feral: Part One by Arisa Baumann
Amanda Scott by Highland Princess
La luz en casa de los demás by Chiara Gamberale
Haywire by Justin R. Macumber