“Apparently I’m going to get an education on Kasari crafts, too,” Gareth sighed. “Including wilderness survival, fire safety, trapping, hunting, fishing . . . it’s a lot.” He sounded as if those lessons were going to be dreadful, and perhaps he was right. Gareth was not a strong man, nor did his constitution encourage a lot of physical activity. There was good reason he failed out of warmage training at Relan Cor.
“You’ll do fine,” I encouraged. “Just be glad the Kasari don’t go in for ritual tattooing or scarification. As tribes go, they’re quite civilized. And you already know how to read and write. That will help.”
Lilastien finally entered the hatch, her medical tablet in hand. She slumped in the front chair as the hatch closed behind her.
“Just had a few last-minute things to discuss with the crew,” she explained. “I’m ready to go, if you are.”
“Just waiting on you. The way is clear,” Gareth assured, pointing to the navigation panel. “Spectrum is green. Estimated time to Tyr Morannan is nineteen hours.”
“Nineteen hours? It took us three and a half days to get here from there!” I said, shaking my head, impressed.
“The Beast doesn’t get tired or need to breathe,” Gareth chuckled. “Beast, initiate route. Optimum speed.”
“Route initiated,” the machine said, and we began to move.
At first, it was a bit like riding in a big, comfortable wagon. But as we descended the long causeway past the spot the boulder had been removed from, the vehicle sped up until I was uncomfortably aware of how fast we were going. It was a little disconcerting, like being on a wagon pulled by eight horses down a slope. I had experienced speed, before, particularly the time I was borne on hawkback. But this was a new sensation, and it took some getting used to. For one thing, there was a lot more vibration in the Beast than there had been riding a hawk.
“Beast, a little traveling music, please!” Lilastien said, as she touched her pad. “Play List One.”
“Enjoy the music,” the machine said, automatically. Some strumming strings began to play a very peppy tune. It was vaguely familiar to Andrews, but he wasn’t sure who it was.
“Ah, Willie Nelson,” Lilastien sighed, nostalgically. “The perfect song! I put together a whole list of them to keep us cheerful along the way. Road music. How are you doing, Min?” she called back over her shoulder.
“I’ll be fine,” I dismissed. In truth, I wasn’t feeling very well at all. My shoulder ached, despite the poultice on it. It itched a bit, too, where the stitches were. And I felt nauseated after dinner. My left side was growing increasingly numb and unresponsive. “Just get us home.”
“We will,” she said, confidently. “We’ll stop in a few hours, and I’ll take your vitals, again. But if we can get to Tyr Morannan in the next twenty hours, we should be able to get you back home by this time tomorrow. And I can administer the healing spell.”
“How are you feeling?” I countered. “You’ve been awake for . . . well, I’m assuming you haven’t slept much.”
“I’m not inclined to sleep, just yet” she admitted. “The dreams are intense. And my attention is needed elsewhere. Don’t worry, I’ll nap on the way,” she promised. “You should, too. The more rest you get, the better you’ll feel.”
I didn’t believe her. But then I didn’t much feel like moving around, either.
We rolled merrily along to the edge of the valley, where the scrub grass turned to barren dirt. We had entered the wastes. The vehicle slowed a bit, and then sped up as it negotiated the terrain . . . all by itself. Gareth was not actively piloting, the Beast was.
We chatted over the music for an hour or so as we plunged through the wastes. The lights activated automatically, as darkness fell, and our route ahead was lit by an unearthly light that bounced around as the carriage found its way down the slope. But then our voices grew quiet, as reasons for discussion dried up. The rumbling vibration of the big wheels rolling over rocks, sand and gravel discouraged conversation. And it’s hard talking to the back of someone’s head. The vibration also encouraged me to close my eyes.
I was getting tired, anyway. Just walking outside from the infirmary had been exhausting. I was about to fade into sleep when Gareth suddenly touched the console.
“Beast, radio check with Unger Station,” he directed. The console beeped.
“Beast One, this is Forseti. You called?” came Forseti’s voice from the console.
“Just checking our range, Forseti,” Gareth informed him. “Signal still good?”
“The antenna array appears to be working. How is Minalan?” asked the machine. I had to admit, Forseti did sound far more intelligent than the Beast.
“He says he’s fine, but I’ll send my medical report as soon as we take vitals, next,” Lilastien proposed. “No trouble, so far. Beast One, out.”
“They can talk to Forseti from here?” Alya whispered to me.
“Apparently,” I agreed.
“I suppose that makes sense,” she nodded. “The Ancients did that sort of thing all the time. Even over incredibly long distances.” She was quiet for a moment. “You scared me,” she stated, accusingly.
“I know. I’m sorry,” I said, sincerely.
“You went away without telling me and did something stupid. You could have died,” she said.
“Alya, I did die,” I pointed out. “And I came back. To you. For you.”
“Damn it, Min, that was the stupidest, most foolhardy decision you’ve ever made,” she said, harshly. Her whispered voice was full of emotion. “More than going to war. More than going to Olum Seheri. You’re my godsdamn constant in this world, and don’t you dare leave me ever again!”
I didn’t want to argue with her, so I didn’t. I shut up and let her speak.
“It was bad enough you wanted to leave me behind in the first place. And then you went off looking for Ameras and left me behind. But to just disappear in the middle of the night? After such a beautiful night? To crawl into some godsforsaken cave to speak to some . . . some . . .”
“Ancient alien would be most apt,” I suggested. “Szal the Yith has lived for millions of years.”
“And you died because of it. Died! I’m still trying to get used to that idea. Lilastien told me that you have the memories of other people in your head, now.”
“Nine of them, yes,” I agreed. “Although calling some of them ‘people’ might be overstating it.”
“Who are they?” she asked, her voice still mad but her curiosity undeniable.
“A human warrior-scientist whose family was slain in a war a hundred thousand years ago. A human historian who lived fifty thousand years ago whose best friend was a bug. A mystic from Ancient Terra who is terrified of women. A brave explorer from our colonial period who had a beautiful wife. An Alka Alon Spiritsinger – that’s a kind of a priestess – on Alonaral, the homeworld of the Alon. An Alka Alon prince and poet. An Alka Alon executioner devoted to his duty. A Karshak stonesinger from the early Magocracy. And . . . an impossibly old, impossibly paranoid creature from the mists of time with two brains who knows more magic than every being on this world, combined. Excepting Szal the Yith,” I conceded.
She was quiet with her thoughts for a time. “And did you find the knowledge you were looking for? Why was this so important?” she demanded.
“I did,” I agreed. “I know why Callidore is going to lose the Magosphere in three thousand years.”
“Is it terribly complicated?” she asked with a sigh.
“Surprisingly, no,” I said, considering the matter, all the little pieces of information that my hosts had given to me. “When a star, bigger than our sun, comes to the end of its life, after billions of years, it sometimes collapses in on itself rather spectacularly. It becomes a singularity – a ‘black hole’ in space and time, as our ancestors called it. They are stars that consume everything in their vicinity. Their gravity is obscenely high, so they draw all sorts of matter into themselves. Nothing gets out – n
ot even light.
“There’s a massive singularity in the center of our galaxy – think of it as a group of a billion stars. The forces are so massive that it keeps all the other stars circling around it, like a drain in a tub.
“But singularities also produce a kind of reality-splitting ray,” I explained. “Our ancestors called it ‘Hawking Radiation.’ It’s hard to detect, but among other things, it apparently . . . kills magic. Or at least severely interferes with the ability of a conscious mind to affect the universe beyond their reach.”
“So Callidore has none of this Hawking Radiation?” she asked.
“Not very much. Thankfully, there is a massive and dense cloud of dust between Callidore and SagA – that’s the gigantic singularity at the center of the galaxy. And there don’t seem to be any others in the vicinity of our star. It’s a very big cloud. So Callidore has managed to keep its magical field intact for a very long time.”
“So why are we in danger?” she asked, concerned.
“Because stars move . . . and our sun is slowly but surely moving beyond the shadow of the cloud, into the so-called ‘realm of the Withering Light’ by the Alka Alon. It’s happened before, but the Celestial Mothers’ magic was powerful enough to drag the sun back behind the cloud.”
“But there are no Celestial Mothers, now,” she nodded.
“Exactly. Which is why finding the last of their eggs was so bloody important. If it can be hatched, or whatever, then there may be a chance to pull us back behind the cloud again. Which will preserve our Magosphere longer.”
“And snowstone? You said you knew how to make snowstone, now?” she asked.
“Well, I have a much better idea about how to do it,” I conceded. “That ancient alien made some, while I was locked in his head. It requires . . . well, it’s complicated, even for a mage. I know the specific energies required, and the conditions needed to make it. With Stonetrunk’s heart, I should be able to figure it out. That will make the Vundel even happier, I hope. Just as important, it will give the Vundel back their . . . queen? Whatever they consider them. If they can get their reefs growing again, and they have their queens—”
“They are the mothers,” Alya said, with quiet certainty.
“Mothers to thousands,” I nodded. “One of Lilastien’s hosts was a Vundel clipperman. That’s why she can speak Vundel. I’m still wondering why you can speak Vundel,” I pointed out.
She looked guilty and confused. “I don’t know how I know that,” she admitted. “It just came to me. It’s probably because of the Handmaiden,” she decided. “It . . . it gives me some strange dreams.”
“That’s the most likely answer,” I agreed.
“And that’s why I’m so angry with you,” she said, to my surprise. “Without you here, it would just be me . . . and her. And I don’t think I could deal with that. You are my constant,” she said, with special emphasis. “You are the one godsdamn person in the universe I feel I can count on. You went to Olum Seheri for me. You . . . you rescued me. First from Boval Vale, and then from my own mind. I cannot live without you in the world,” she said, simply, as if it were a law of nature.
“Alya I—” I began, and then stopped, and started again. “Alya, when I was suffering in the mind of that ancient alien, it was for thousands of years. Time didn’t pass, there. But I remember thousands and thousands of years being trapped in his mind. It was horrible. It was maddening. The creature was mad. I went mad. Hells, I probably am still mad.
“But the one thing that kept me from plunging over the cliffs of insanity was you. You were my constant,” I insisted. “You still are. Just like the Triad is always in the north. Because you are the one godsdamn person in the universe I feel I can count on. You aren’t perfect – neither am I. But we’re in this life together. Always.”
“Always,” she repeated, and that seemed to ease her mind.
“Always. Not even death is an escape. And I am very, very happy about that. Because I can’t live without you in the world,” I confessed. “You kept me sane when there was no other reason. I’m still kind of amazed we’re back together again. I feel like I’ve been gone lifetimes. But here you are. And here I am.”
“So don’t die on me, then,” she said, suddenly. “Or I swear to all the gods that I’ll go to the Land of the Dead or wherever else I need to go to get you back.”
I gave her a kiss when she leaned over. “I won’t,” I promise. “I’d feel pretty stupid if I went through all of that and I died from getting stabbed in the back. Died again,” I added. “The first time was bad enough. The novelty has worn off.”
She carefully lay next to me on the couch. That put a little pressure on my shoulder, but I didn’t mind. I was back in Alya’s arms after an eternity. That was worth a little pain.
“I miss my cows,” she whispered into my ear. “And my kids. I want to go home.”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “I need to rest from my holiday.”
I drifted off to sleep like that, ignoring the tossing and turning of the vehicle as it sped through the wastes. I didn’t awaken again until I felt the coach slow, and heard Gareth swear.
“Ishi’s tits!” he yelped, as he grabbed the controls and steered the thing to a halt. “What is that?”
“Those,” corrected Lilastien, pointing through the front window.
I blearily opened my eyes and tried to see what they were concerned with. Alya helped me get to a seated position, where I could see. The harsh lights on the Beast splashed onto a darkened wasteland turned carnal pit.
We were still hours away from Tyr Morannan when we saw the first of them. But for miles we came across smoldering bodies – gurvani – who had been slain by dragon fire. Sometimes in groups, sometimes alone or in pairs, the gurvani had been fleeing attack when they were burnt to a crisp by the fury of Avius.
“Beast, initiate sensor suite,” Gareth ordered. “Scan for survivors.”
It took a moment for the Beast to answer. “Scan complete. There are no surviving aboriginals within range.”
“She was thorough,” Lilastien noted, as we passed one smoldering corpse after another. In places it looked like the rocks, themselves, had melted with the heat. In other places Avius had taken a more personal approach, ripping the gurvani and their commanders asunder with her claws and teeth. From the widespread nature of the bodies, she had enjoyed herself, too.
“It really is nice having a dragon on our side for a change,” Gareth sighed, as he urged the Beast forward, more slowly.
“I just hope she stays friendly,” Lilastien said, shaking her head at the carnage. “That’s something else the Alka Alon Council isn’t going to be happy with. Dragons were proscribed millennia ago because they were just too dangerous.”
“Treat them as beasts of war, and that’s how they will act,” I pointed out.
“We didn’t know they were intelligent,” Lilastien objected.
“One wonders if that really makes a difference. I think if we give Avius some guidance, she and her hatchlings will not bother anyone but the stora,” I predicted. “I’m kind of disappointed that I didn’t see the stora.”
“You got to meet a lizard man,” Lilastien reminded me. “And the Leshi. Save some fun for next time. But the dragon could become a problem,” she continued, as started another song. “The Alka Alon Council is upset enough that the Enshadowed are using them. They will not be happy to have them in the wild.”
“They aren’t going to be happy about a good many things, soon,” I promised. “I don’t mean to alarm you,” I added, faintly. “But I can’t move my left leg now. My entire left side, actually.”
Lilastien pushed her way back and began taking my vital signs as Alya helped me lay back down on the couch. Lilastien’s face told me she was concerned.
“Your cortisol levels are down,” she began, “but the paralysis is starting to spread more rapidly. Your temperature and white cell count are both rising. We need to get you home. If it keeps going at thi
s pace . . .”
“My heart,” I nodded. “I know.”
“Get some rest, Minalan,” she urged. “I wish there was something I could give you, but . . .”
“I know,” I sighed. “I can feel it in my face, now.”
“Just get some rest,” she repeated. “How much longer, Gareth?”
“Five hours, fifteen minutes,” Gareth reported. “I’ll see if we can go faster.”
I closed my eyes, Alya grasping my right hand with a tight grip, as if she could keep me from slipping away by holding it. I smiled to myself. I wasn’t in much pain, actually, despite my shoulder wound and other injuries. The vibration from the wheels lulled me quickly to sleep . . . and that’s when the dreams began.
It was a chaotic mixture of memories, my own and my hosts, that I endured, one person’s recollections mixing with the next in a way that my mind was not comfortable with. Flashes of family, first loves, great loves, incalculable tragedy, and bitter disappointments all conspired to whip my mind into a frenzy of torment in my sleep. I watched good friends die, the triumph of my enemies, the misery of loveless existence, and all manner of confusing situations that weren’t mine. They happened to people long dead.
I don’t remember us arriving at Tyr Morannan. I don’t remember Lilastien and Alya getting us into the squat little tower, or our trip through the Ways. I vaguely recall the acrid bitterness of the air, outside, but that’s about it. I was hallucinating, too, from what I can tell. I even saw a few of my hosts manifest out in the wastes, I think. Or that could have been a dream.
The last thing I really do remember was the moment before we went through the Ways. Alya kissed me for luck, or because she was desperate – she looked awfully concerned, I recall – and I remember Lilastien looking grim. But that was about it.
I was unconscious. And that was probably a mercy. But I went into my dreams of madness with Alya’s kiss warm on my lips and Julie London singing “Dream A Little Dream of Me” on Lilastien’s scanner, and that made it the slightest bit better.
Sometimes, that’s all you can hope for.
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