The Stars Asunder: A New Novel of the Mageworlds (18 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
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“Beyond the Edge,” Vai repeated in a whisper.
“If the thought frightens you—”
“No, no,” she said. “I just didn’t expect to walk into something quite so big.”
“You’ll do fine,” he said. “Rest while you can; I have a few more things to take care of before we start.”
He left. Vai waited until his footsteps had receded into the distance of the stairwell at the other end of the hall. Then she put her hand into her jacket pocket and closed her fingers around a small, flat object about the size and shape of a drinking flask or a hiker’s posit-finder—neither of which it was, though its appearance, when she pulled it out into the open, did a fair job of mimicking the latter tool.
She flipped the case open to reveal a flatscreen and keys like those of a miniature pocket-scribe. Using the stylus from her wildlife observation log, she carefully picked out a message: BELIEVE SUS-PELEDAEN INTEND TRADE BEYOND EDGE. CONFIDENCE LOW. TAKE NO ACTION AT THIS TIME.
Then she erased the visible text, set the flat object on the floor near one of the power lines that fed into her room, and used the stylus to press another key. Her encrypted message entered the house power system, and went along the backflow toward the district distribution system to be lost in the surge and roar of power’s creation.
Long before then, however, the small repeater that Vai had fastened yesterday to the grid between the Old Hall and the nearest substation had already found her intelligence mixed with the carrier. The repeater extracted the message, boosted its strength, and with a tiny camouflaged antenna squirted the information to a fixed satellite belonging to the sus-Radal. From there one copy would go to Vai’s files, with a second copy eyes-only to Theledau syn-Grevi in Hanilat.
That done, Vai closed the device and put it back into her pocket. Then she went downstairs to see if there was anything she could do to help the Circle with its preparations.
 
Year 1123 E. R.
 
ERAASI: DEMAIZEN OLD HALL
SPACE: SUS-PELEDAEN SHIP
WIND-ON-THE-MOUNTAIN
 
During her employment as a confidential operative for the sus-Radal, Iulan Vai had done any number of unlikely things, but until coming to Demaizen, she had made it her practice to leave the internal workings of the Mage-Circles strictly alone. She had thought, when she left her observation post on the hillside, that a rational calculation of risks and benefits had led her to abandon her usual methods in favor of investigating Garrod’s Circle from within. Since the episode in the long gallery, however, she was no longer certain that rationality had played any part in her decision.
She sat where Yuvaen had directed her, in a corner of the big downstairs room at the heart of the Hall. The Second had told her to care for those members of the Circle who might need help, and had shown her the part of the room where the materials—the water jugs, the extra candles, the ominous, carefully labeled medical packs—were stowed. For the present, at least, she would obey his commands as if she were here to seek instruction.
Heavy black curtains blocked out light from the outside—if the room possessed windows at all, which her mental diagram of the Hall’s exterior dimensions suggested that it did not—and made the room’s size difficult for her to estimate. The only illumination came from fat candles in freestanding holders set around the room’s periphery. The white-painted circle in the middle of the black floor was big enough that all of Garrod’s Circle could kneel around it without crowding.
Except for Garrod himself, they were kneeling there now. All the Mages, from Yuvaen down to young Ty, had short wooden staves lying on the floor in front of them. Some of them had brought to the working the same staves that they habitually wore at their belts, or others much like them; but one or two had weapons considerably more ornate. Narin Iyal from Veredde, for example, who during the day had carried only a polished brown rod of common wood, had a gleaming black staff wrapped with an intricate lacing of silver wire.
The Mages wore hooded robes of black cloth, with plain cloth belts, as well as—on a prosaic note—sturdy but flexible boots. Arekhon’s pair, Vai suspected, had once been part of his sus-Peledaen fleet uniform; they had that look about them. Like the rest of the Mages, he also wore gloves, long and gauntlet-wristed, made of black leather supple enough to let the hand within grasp and move freely.
None of the members of the Circle had moved or spoken since they had taken their places. Vai, in her corner, tried to remain equally still and quiet. She had heard any number of highly colored stones—who had not?—about what could happen during a working. Now she would have the opportunity to learn whether the stories were true.
She heard the door to the room swing open, but no light came in—the wall-enshrouding curtains blocked that source as well. Then she heard the latch click shut. A moment later the yellow candle-flames bent and came straight again as the curtains parted and Garrod stepped through them into the light.
His choice of clothing and equipment for the working startled Vai briefly. Unlike the other Mages, he wasn’t wearing a robe at all. Instead, he had chosen to dress in the fashion of a hiker who planned to spend a week or more rambling through the back-country: Sturdy trousers and high lace-up boots; a many-pocketed cloth jacket similar to the one Vai herself had chosen for her role as an ersatz wildlife observer; and a well-furnished metal-frame pack big enough to hold all the necessities for an extended holiday. Even the staff in his hand, if she overlooked the black wood and the silver bindings, could have been taken for a rover’s cudgel.
The only things that marred the illusion were the breathing mask that Garrod carried slung across one shoulder, and the sailor’s life-vest he wore uninflated over his jacket. Vai was inclined to find those items humorous, until she considered what they meant—that Garrod had no idea what he might encounter at the end of his journey, even to the presence of breathable air or solid ground under his feet.
What will he do,
she wondered
, if he comes out of the Void in a place where the gravity can crush him flat, or the heat of the sun broil him between one heartbeat and the next?
Considered in that light, it was no wonder that the Mages of the fleet-Circles were so reluctant to find new worlds for trade, if the stargazers couldn’t at least point them to a less-than-fatal destination first. She watched with a new respect as Garrod entered the painted circle, passing between Ty and Yuvaen and—without pause or sign—vanishing in mid-stride when he reached the center.
 
 
Pilot-Ancillary Elaeli Inadi—
Inadi syn-Peledaen,
the notification of approval for outer-family status having come onto the board as the ship left orbit—eased the waistband of her uniform trousers with her thumb before sealing the front of her tunic and straightening the lower hem. She’d had the new uniform tailored to her measure during her first day in Hanilat on leave from the guardship
Wind-on-the-Mountain.
But that had been over two weeks ago, and the water-bloating that came with the arrival this morning of her monthly courses was making the snug fit of the trousers just tight enough to be annoying.
The mirror on the inside of her locker door annoyed her further by giving back the reflection of a trim young woman who—regardless of how she felt—looked fit and eager for action. Captain syn-Evarat would have no qualms about keeping her hopping well past the end of her watch.
At least my luck is good,
she thought. She closed her locker and headed for the bridge.
But I’ve probably got ’Rekhe to thank for that.
There were advantages for an unmarried woman in consorting with a Mage and a luck-maker, and not having to worry about the expiration date on her contraceptive pod was one of them. She’d pushed the renewal on her current one somewhat farther than was prudent. With no need for it on the last voyage, she’d forgotten all about the matter until the fleet came back to Eraasi, and then she hadn’t wanted to waste her precious port time putting up with a week or so of new-implant nausea and fatigue.
As soon as we’re in the Void,
she promised herself.
I’ll get the
Wind’s
physician to do it then.
Elaeli, in her rank as Pilot-Ancillary, and now also as part of the family of the sus-Peledaen, had both the right and the obligation to be present on the guardship’s bridge during the jump to transit-in-convoy. Fleet Captain syn-Evarat and Pilot-Principal Kuyiva were already waiting on the bridge when she got there; the rest of the Wind’s bridge crew followed shortly.
The Wind would be going ahead of the convoy, as usual, to clear the path on the way to Ayarat, sister-planet to Ildaon—a short voyage this time, as she’d predicted when she spoke to ’Rekhe’s message-taker at the Hall. Ayarat claimed to be the original home of men, and had some fossils that seemed to prove it. Elaeli wasn’t certain she believed in Ayarat’s fossils. Too many other worlds had something similar. Eraasi even had radio sets, or something like them, mixed into sedimentary deposits laid down before the start of the historic record.
Moreover, Ayarat lacked significant in-system reserves of natural adamant, without which the first Void-capable engines could never have been constructed. In fact, the bulk cargo that
Wind-on-the-Mountain
was guarding on this run consisted mostly of refined adamant for the Ayaratan shipyards, which constructed small short-hop craft under license from the sus-Peledaen. The local builders paid for the license and for the imported materials both, enriching the family considerably in the process.
Unless, of course, somebody decided to attack the convoy and seize the adamant for themselves. The fleet-families weren’t above such tactics, though most of them were inclined these days to contest for trade routes and jump-points instead of cargo. The planetary merchants presented a threat as well: Not all of them appreciated the chance to buy pure Eraasian product at the family’s established price. Sooner or later somebody on Ayarat was going to figure out a way to outfit a locally-designed short-hopper with guns, and then the guardships would have to fight.
The Pilot-Principal cleared his throat. “Transit briefing,” he said, and the faint buzz of conversation among the bridge crew stopped. Elaeli took a step closer to the main chart-reader, not so much to gain a better view as to make a good impression, and looked attentive.
“Flip on chart section one,” the Pilot-Principal continued after he had everyone’s attention. In response to his words, a projection filled the air above the pilot’s station. “Here in-system we’ll be flying the markers. I have the path and times highlighted here, in pink. They’ll be displayed in pseudocolor out of the ports on approach. Marker One-five-seven is our hop, approach along line Two-two-seven true. We should be lined up two markers before. Jump bearing is One-eight-one true on Marker Four-four-three. Normal transit, no emergence for course changes. The emergence pattern for Ayarat is a standard sphere; our sector is dorsal four, distance eight to twenty, guide on the cargo-haulers. From emergence, if we’re in the slot, finding the landing field on Ayarat is their problem. Questions?”
Elaeli shook her head. No one else on the bridge team had any questions either. This was, as the captain had said, a normal run. Half of the guardships would jump before the cargo carriers while the other half watched after the convoy’s departure. The advance force would—at least theoretically-emerge from the Void in an open ball formation. After they had swept the globe’s interior volume clear of any lurking ambushers, the cargo ships would drop out into the protected area, and the remainder of the guardships would follow to strengthen the enclosing sphere.
“Right, then,” Kuyiva said. “Departure is in three hours. Who’s handling the out-leg?” He glanced over at syn-Evarat. “Captain?”
The Fleet-Captain shook his head. “The Pilot-Ancillary takes it.”
So much for a short watch,
thought Elaeli, resigned.
“She’ll want to finish her qualifications in a hurry,” syn-Evarat continued. “Good news makes a fortunate beginning for a voyage, and we have word today that Pilot-Ancillary Inadi is going on to better things. She’s syn-Peledaen now, and after this run she’s off to the family yards to work on new construction.”
The Fleet-Captain was looking pleased; the new billet must have been his pet project for her advancement, as the adoption had been ’Rekhe’s. “Plate-owner of a fresh craft—it was years before I was honored like that. You have luck, Inadi.”
“Thank you,” said Elaeli, as the bridge crew cheered and applauded and a few of the younger, rowdier ones made a show of tapping at her insignia to see if some of her good luck would rub off on them. What she actually had was cramps—but this didn’t seem to be the time to say so.
 
 
Arekhon knelt on the painted floorboards and let the clean, waxy smell of burning candles drift around him on the barely moving air. His staff lay on the floor in front of him, a horizontal slash of silver and ebony against the white of the circle. He focused his thoughts and his gaze on that bold design of black and white.
The world around him receded from his awareness, and his mind slid out of the physical universe and into the interior landscape of the working—not a garden, as the Circle’s intentions often seemed to him, or a flowing river, but a harsh expanse of broken stone. There was no help here in his vision, and no sustenance, save what he had brought with him.
The
eiran
coiled around him where he knelt on the rough ground, and ran outward again toward the distant parts of the universe. He took the threads into his hands and sorted through them for those he knew best: Yuvaen, steady and dependable; Narin, whose self-effacement could never entirely hide her strength; and Ty, with the undefined boundaries of the mystic—a thread not unlike what little he could perceive of his own.
He followed the lines out to where they intertwined with the rest of the Circle, and beyond, as the single many-twisted cable of their collective will wound itself around the heavy, pulsing line that was Garrod syn-Aigal sus-Demaizen, walking through the Void. The Circle had tied itself to him, to hold him, to find him again. The rope of their combined intention would not be unwound until his return.
There was another line among the many that stretched across the rocky landscape—this one was rough with luck, in flecks of scarlet and grey amid the silver, and he knew without having to search further that it belonged to the newcomer, Iulan Vai. She was here as she had said she would be, apart from the greater working, an observer only.
Arekhon stood. The sun above him was harsh and burning, in spite of the cold wind that blew across the field of stone. He had made a decision—or had chosen one possible future out of many; here in the landscape of his mind the two were often the same—and it was time to act upon it. Iulan Vai would be a member of the Demaizen Circle.

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