The Witches of Ne'arth (The Star Wizards Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

“What do you want?” a deep voice rumbled. It was the deepest voice Carrot had ever heard.

“We are visitors,” Carrot said.  “We wish to pass over the bridge.”

“Where are your sponsors?”

“What do you mean, 'sponsors?'”

“Sponsors are Henogalian citizens under royal license to serve as keepers of humans during the visitations of said humans into the sovereign Kingdom of Henogal.”

“Where might we find sponsors?”

“Do I look like a tour guide?  That's your business.”  The cover slammed shut. 

Carrot knocked again.  And a few more times.  The cover remained shut.

Mirian broke the silence: “For the record, we don't have three kilos of silver either.  Although I have an idea for a troll sponsor.  Carrot, climb onto Norian's shoulders and wrap your sleeping blanket over  – ”

“Shall we try the hedge?” Norian asked.  “See if we can chop our way through?”

They stepped off the path, walked around the building, approached the hedge.  Carrot inspected the length for a few meters, hoping to see a break, if not something to slip through then at least a glimpse of light from the other side.  It was a complete barrier. 

The black leaves started to stir.  Carrot thought at first it was the breeze.  Then she realized there was no breeze.  Then the vines twitched, revealing thorns as long as her arm.  Carrot drew her sword and approached. 

Suddenly, like tentacles of a sea monster, a thorn-covered vine lashed.  Carrot hacked and her blade sparked as it struck the vines.  It did not cut.  Carrot dodged the dagger-like thorns.  Before the vine could whip at her again, she scrambled away.

Mirian touched Carrot's forearm.  It had a nasty scratch.  Mirian opened her pack, rubbed a salve over the wound.  The salve was soothing, but the puncture took longer to dissipate than Carrot expected. 

Mirian asked.  “So how do we get through?  Or do we?” 

Carrot absent-mindedly rubbed her arm as she regarded the monolithic silhouette of the hedge in the dusky twilight. 

“We must return to Ravencall as soon as possible,” she said. 

“We're giving up?” Mirian asked.  

Norian observed Carrot's skyward gaze and broke into a grin.   

“No, Mirian,” he replied.  “We're
going
up.” 

8. 

Two morning later, Matt awoke on the floor of his hut at Fish Lake with a start.  He caught his breath and rubbed his forehead, frowning.

“Wow, I just had a strange dream,” he said. 

Ivan responded:  “I have a suite of dream analysis applications which may be informative.”

“Forget it.  It was just a dream.”

He was still thinking about the dream as he dressed, as he walked to Ravencall in the morning chill, as he ate breakfast at the meal hut, and as he started to work at the hangar.  He thought about it as he was supposed to be inspecting, reviewing, approving plans. 

Prin handed him a clipboard and Matt signed off the papers and handed it back.  Prin, instead of leaving, remained to look at Matt oddly.

“You seem distracted,” Prin said. 

“Why do you say that?” Matt asked, trying not to sound defensive. 

“Well, to begin with, you signed your engineering approval to the base football pool and weekly menu.  Would your faraway look have anything to do with a certain flame-haired personage?”

“I'm not sure.” 

Prin motioned him aside to a walk-in storage locker, so that they could not be seen or heard by the lieutenants whom Krobart had sent to watch them from a few paces distance.  “Why don't you tell me and I'll help you decide.”

Suddenly Matt found that he had to talk about it:  “I had a dream.  There was a girl on Earth I knew.  She was here in Britan, and she told me to kiss Carrot.”

“Which, you have done.”

“Yes . . . . “  Once again, Matt marveled at the power and speed of the Britanian Gossip Machine. 

“When you were on Earth, did you have a special relationship with this particular young lady?”

“We were just friends.  Well, I was always hoping for something more back in those days, but we were just friends.”

“Perhaps, then, the dream was your inner self giving you approval to leave the past behind.  There is one thing I know for certain.  Don't mention the dream to Carrot.  She will assume you yet have feelings for your friend.  Women often suspect the worst when it comes to the inclinations of men.”

“Yeah, why is that?”

“Long experience.”

Minutes later, Matt crossed paths with Savora.  It wasn't much of a coincidence, as Savora seemed to live in the hangar these days and had taken a major role in assisting the outfitting of the airship.  It wasn't much of a meeting either:  they simply traded glances.  Savora went on as if nothing happened.  Matt, however, was struck again by the Britanian's resemblance to Synth.

“Ivan, do you suppose Savora triggered my dream about Synth?”

“As I have stated many times, Matt, I am not qualified for in-depth psychological analysis.  However, I do observe that it is known that the human mind operates by association rather than logic.”

“In other words, I'm being illogical.”

“Sometimes random association provides insights that logical deduction cannot.”

Around mid-morning, Matt was accosted by a Leaf lieutenant.  The lieutenant escorted him to the command hut.  Krobart sat at a new and very large desk and wore an elaborately-decorated, tailored uniform with the collar insignia of colonel.

“I've queried my officers on the status of training,” Krobart snapped without preamble.  “It seems you are emphasizing the mere figuring of numbers over more practical matters.”

“Mathematics is important,” Matt replied, “in order to understand the principles of navigation.”

“Is not navigation simply a matter of steering by landmarks?”

“What if you want to plot a course?  What if you want to calculate your travel time and fuel expenditure?  What if you're going to a destination where the landmarks are unknown?”

“A destination such as the other side of the world?”

Matt realized he had said too much.  “Well, there are places even here in Britan that haven't been fully surveyed.”

“Training must be accomplished as quickly as possible.”  Krobart shuffled his papers loudly.  “Now, another matter.  What has happened to the girl?”

“Girl?”

“Don't feign ignorance.  You know who I mean.”

Matt shrugged.  “I don't know where Carrot went.”

“She's an officer in the Leaf.  She can't just wander off.  Being away without leave is a serious offense against regulations.”

You didn't give her any assignments.
  Matt, having grown up in a post-Singularity society where wars were obsolete and military discipline had become all but extinct, privately rankled.  Nonetheless, part of him admitted that Krobart had a valid purpose in imposing discipline; the Romans weren't going to be defeated by a herd of kittens.  Still, in Matt's opinion Carrot had been right to leave on her quest, and in the current situation it seemed to Matt that Krobart was only throwing his weight around. 

Balancing all the factors in the issue of how much to disclose about Carrot's activities to Krobart, Matt chose not to retaliate to Krobart's badgering questions, yet neither did he cooperate.  

After Krobart curtly dismissed him, Matt wanted to be alone to think.  He wandered to the fence behind the hangar, faced the woods and growled to Ivan, “Do
you
know where Carrot is?”

“I have been unable to locate her via satellite reconnaissance due to adverse weather conditions.”

“I should have gone with her.  For all the good I'm doing here.  Krobart will never let us explore the Other Side.  I can tell, he wants us to finish training so that he won't need us to run the ship.  The reason for this fence he's built around the hangar is so that one day I'll come up to the gate and won't be allowed through.  He really believes a single airship is enough to stop the entire Roman Empire.  Prin and and Andra and Archimedes and me, we keep telling him . . . by the way, where is Archimedes?”

“I have no record of Archimedes in my telemetry archives for today.”

“He used to spend all his time at the base.  I hope he didn't feel that I thought he was in the way.”

“Matt, Savora is approaching you.”

“Oh Matt!  There you are!”

Matt whirled.  Savora smiled and blinked.  Or – Matt wondered – was this the feminine 'batting of the eyelids' that other males had spoken of?  He had already noticed that there was an element of precision to her mannerisms, as if calculated for optimum effect.   

“Hello, Savora.  Something I can do for you?”

She bore a cup in each hand, holding one out to him.  “I thought you might like a refreshment.”

“Well, uh – “

“It's apple cider.  I made it myself.”

He wasn't thirsty, but for some reason he felt that he owed her a favor.  He bowed and took the cup.  The liquid was dark and smokey and he had a moment's hesitation.  She looked at him expectantly, almost pleadingly.

She raised her cup.  “To the Project.”

“Project?”

“Yes, the Airship Project.”

“Oh.  Right.”  Matt raised his cup. 

She drank deep, and Matt overcame his hesitation and copied.  The natural flavor was sharper than any cider he'd tasted from a beverage printer.  He decided he liked it.

“This is nice,” he said.  “Tangy.”

He reflected that making cider wasn't something he'd normally expect Synth to do.  Doing anything that didn't involve a complex mathematical equation was beneath Synth.  Perhaps, then, Savora wasn't Synth.  Standing there, watching her, the very idea seemed far-fetched.

Still –
People do change
.  Especially over centuries.   

“Matt, I was wondering about when you plan to leave on your journey.”

He contemplated the foam clinging to the rim of the cup.  “At this rate, never.  The Leaf is making it clear, they control the airship now and they won't approve the mission.”

“Surely you'll find a way to gain their approval!”

“I'm not even sure anymore that the mission is necessary.”

“You were in search of your brother!  Surely you care for your own family!”

“My archival clone disappeared a century ago.  There's been no mention of him since.  He's probably dead.”

“Aren't Wizards immortal?”

“We can live a long time, but we can still 'die the real death' as it used to be called.  This is not a safe planet and I've come close to dying for good several times already even though I've only been here a few months.  I can't imagine him being able to survive here for decades.”

“But he's your brother!  Surely you can't abandon him!”

Matt hotly replied:  “Even if I had absolute proof that he was alive, do I have a right to drag others along with me on a dangerous mission?  What's the value, what's the risk?  No one in Britan and no one in Rome seems to know anything about the Other Side.  It's like anyone who tries to cross over doesn't come back, and the same in the other direction.  Something is stopping them and no one lives to tell about it.  I can't ask others to come along when I don't know the risk.”

On impulse, he drained the rest of the cup.  It had a pleasant buzz, though Ivan's analysis of the chemical content, appearing in a pop-up window in Matt's vision, indicated no alcoholic content.

Matt continued:  “And another, another thing.”  He paused, aware that his tongue suddenly felt thick.  “About Carrot.  She's right to look for the Box.  The Box is what matters.  We should both look for the Box together here in Britan.  Forget airship . . . because . . . because . . . . “

Matt felt hot and flushed, and the world was wobbling. 

“Matt!” Ivan said.  “My biometric sensors indicate that you have been drugged.”

Matt blinked and swayed.  Savora was staring at him.  No, not staring.  Scrutinizing. 

“Drugged . . . what kind of . . . . “  he said aloud.

Ivan replied, “My analysis indicates a sophisticated protein folding structure.  The protein's initial configuration is inactive, which is why I was unable to detect it immediately upon ingestion.  However, your body temperature seems to have initiated a reconfiguration of the protein into an active structure which is strongly affecting your cerebral processes at this time.”

“Drugged . . . . “  The cup slipped from Matt's grip. 

“In anticipation of your wishes, I am working to neutralize the drug.”

“Matt,” Savora said.   

He raised his eyes.  She was standing close, face to face, her pupils only centimeters from his.

“Matt,” she said.  “Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Matt, I'm your friend, Synesthesia.  I've come to this planet to help you, Matt.  Please listen to me, Matt.  It's very important.  I can help you if you listen to me.  Please listen, Matt.”

“Yes.” 

“Matt,” Ivan said.  “I strongly believe that Savora is the instigator of the drugging and has a motive that is contrary to your interests.  I therefore recommend that you do not listen to her.”

“Matt,” Savora said.  “I've come to this planet to help you and Carrot and your archival clone, who is your brother.  You can trust me, Matt.  I'm your friend.”

“Yes.”

“Matt, Ivan has been corrupted.  Athena has interfered with his programming.  He is trying to stop you from helping Carrot.  You must believe me, Matt.  You know that I care about you.  I'm Synth, Matt.  Your friend.  You must trust me over Ivan.  I'm a human being like you, not a machine.  I care about you.  I love you, Matt, as a friend and brother.  Please trust me.  I can help only if you trust me.”

“Yes . . . . “

“Matt, I need you to give me Ivan's master control passcode.  What is Ivan's passcode?”

“Four two five seven five – “

“Matt,” Ivan said.  “My appraisal is that you are not responsible for your actions at this time and you are engaged in an activity that is life-threatening.  Therefore, as per our host-implant agreement, I am intervening to prevent you from proceeding in this activity.” 

“The rest of the passcode, Matt.  Give it to me.  I want to help you, Matt.  I can help you if you give me Ivan's master control passcode.  You need to give me the passcode, Matt, so that I can rescue you and Carrot and your brother and all your friends.  You want to save them all, don't you?  Please give me the passcode, so that I can help you save them.”

“Four two five . . . four two . . . four . . . four . . . . “  He had memorized Ivan's passcode since the age of twelve, but suddenly he could go no farther.  It was as if a spoon were stirring the calcium waves in his brain.  Every time he tried to think, the spoon stirred harder, and his memories scattered.   

Savora placed her palm against Matt's forehead.  He felt a mild tingle.  A voice like Savora's spoke inside his head:   “Ivan, you will cease to interfere or I will kill Matt.”

Ivan replied, “Per our host-implant agreement, Matt has stated that he prefers death to mind control.”

“I am not bluffing.”

“Neither am I.”

Suddenly Savora yelped, extracting her hand. 

Matt droned:  “Four . . . four . . . four . . . . “