WebMage

by Kelly McCullough

  "That's so much better," she said as she peeled off the last greave. She gave her breastplate an assessing look and flicked it with a fingertip. "This was custom-made to fit me. It's supposed to conform to my shape, not make me conform to its. Oh well."

  She flipped open the purple clamshell of her laptop and typed a command. The rounded curves of the computer slithered about until they had become the even more rounded curves of Share's goblin form. The little purple temptress threw me a wink and hopped down to the floor. She walked over to Melchior.

  "What's a nice boy like you doing in a mess like this?" she asked, patting him on the cheek. There was genuine sadness in her voice, and I was touched.

  "He keeps bad company," I said, dropping back onto the couch. I wasn't yet recovered enough that I felt like spending any more time than I needed to on my feet.

  She turned an appraising look at me. "I don't know about that. Cerice's taste isn't half-bad. If you were three feet shorter and I was anatomically correct, I'd give her a run for her money."

  "Shara!" said Cerice, sounding shocked.

  "You gets what you programs," said the webgoblin. "Or perhaps I should say; lechery in, lechery out."

  "I haven't a clue what you're talking about," said Cerice, though she blushed.

  "Of course you haven't, deary," said Shara, tipping her mistress a broad wink.

  "I hate to interrupt," I said. "But we're losing focus, and for me it's only a short step from there to losing consciousness at the moment." I nabbed a mug of coffee. If I was going to have to stay vertical for a while, caffeine was a necessity. "You still haven't answered my question about sources, and I'd really like to find out what in Hades' name I'm supposed to have done."

  "Fair enough," said Cerice, picking up a dense shortbread biscuit drizzled with dark chocolate. "Shara, show us the feed from Tinka."

  "You didn't say the magic words."

  "Or else," growled Cerice.

  "Here we go," said the webgoblin, grinning again.

  Shara opened her eyes and mouth wide. A three-dimensional scene appeared, centered on a miniature Doric temple. The Temple of Fate marked the point where the three demesnes of the Fates intersected. It was where they met in conference. It was also where the machines that housed the Fate Core were located. Tall fluted marble pillars were painted a rich purple, the stairs crimson. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos stood close together on the steps. Off to one side hulked a fourth squat shape I recognized as my grandmother's webtroll, Phalla.

  "We are betrayed," said Atropos.

  "Yes," agreed Clotho, "seemingly. And by flesh of our flesh."

  "That has not yet been proven," said Lachesis, but her tone was resigned.

  "Let me show you the evidence," said Atropos.

  The three figures entered the temple. Inside, the classical Greek trappings had been swept away. Thick carpet filled the long room, and a heavy mahogany table ran down the center. Off to one side stood Atropos's familiar, Kalkin. The view seemed to focus very tightly on the troll's heavy features, and I found myself paying more attention to them than I ever had in the past. Something about the eyes drew my gaze. On closer inspection, I realized what it was. His left eyelid was twitching in a nervous tic. For a long moment, the point of view held there, and the twitch became something that might almost have been a wink, but the picture shifted before I could be certain.

  "Wait a second," I said. "What's going on? How did you get this? Kalkin's a vicious carnivore. He never winks."

  "Wait and see," said Cerice, holding up a hushing finger.

  Our point of view focused on the table where the Fates had taken seats. Atropos beckoned, and Kalkin edged up beside her.

  "Kalkin," said Atropos, bobbing her head regally. "Witnesses For The Prosecution. Execute."

  The troll opened his piggy eyes and huge mouth wide. On the table, a scene took shape. My own point of view closed in so that this new scene was all that was visible. Hwyl lay on a low pallet. The focus zoomed in on the charred puncture in his thigh, then pulled back to show his face.

  "It was Ravirn, grandmother," he said. I was shocked. There was no growl in his voice. It was completely human and utterly subservient. "I found him with Laric's corpse."

  The point of view suddenly shifted to a close-up of Laric's face with the coins on his eyes. It paused there for a moment, then panned to the ruined athame and the scorch marks on his arm.

  "Ravirn gave me this," continued Hwyl, gesturing at his wound. "Then he had his familiar open up some weird kind of gate, and the two of them dropped through it."

  The point of view pulled back, and Dairn stepped into view.

  "Then I arrived," he said. "I offered to care for Hwyl, but he told me to go after Ravirn. Apparently Ravirn isn't as clever as he thinks, because he forgot to close the ley link behind him. I was able to follow him without having to craft my own path."

  I winced. He was right, I should have remembered it, and I hadn't.

  "When I reached the other end, I found a small cabin. Ravirn wasn't there, but I found evidence he'd left very recently. Outside, a terrible snowstorm had started. The visibility was awful, but I did get one glimpse of what I thought was Ravirn, and sent an arrow after him. I wasn't really dressed for the weather, but I followed his trail as far as I could. I got off a couple more shots, but I don't think I marked him."

  I snorted and looked at my arm where Patch & Go was beginning to fray. I was going to have to do something about that soon, and I wasn't looking forward to it.

  Dairn continued, "When it was clear I'd lost him, I returned to the cabin. Uncle Khemnos was there, examining the site."

  They'd called out the heavy guns for me. Khemnos was Atropos's second son, and one of the best sorcerers in the family. His scarred face filled the picture.

  "Ravirn had been using the cabin as a hacking base. It didn't look like it was occupied for long, but I don't think anyone could have cracked into Atropos.web the way he did without at least a couple of days' work."

  It had taken less than two hours. I blew on my fingernails and buffed them on my shirtfront. I'd have said something clever as well, but for the glare Cerice threw me.

  "Just listen," said Cerice.

  Khemnos continued. "He exploited the patchy security at the junction of the ley net and the modern systems. It was a clever ploy in a low and vicious sort of way."

  "That is all very well," said my grandmother's voice from off-screen. Immediately the view shifted from Kalkin's projection to Lachesis's face. It was, as almost always, serene. However, an almost imperceptible tightening around the corners of her mouth was enough to let someone like me, who'd spent too much time on her bad side, know she was furious. "But I have yet to see you produce evidence of Ravirn's hand in anything more serious than his usual pranks. I admit his behavior to be reprehensible, but if you are incapable of keeping a barely weaned puppy such as my grandson out of your systems, I hardly see that as a reason for calling a council of the Fates. Were it my defenses thus compromised, I'd be ashamed to admit I was so lax."

  "Thank you, sister," said Atropos, and her voice wrapped the words in razor blades and cobra venom. "It pleases me that you are giving this matter the serious consideration it deserves. Rest assured there is more here than what you have seen so far."

  "Then demonstrate it," said Clotho.

  "Kalkin," said Atropos, "Damned Treachery. Execute."

  The point of view supplied by Shara returned to the image Kalkin was projecting on the table. It showed what looked like a tunnel mined from raw gold; the line I'd followed into the Fate Core.

  "This is the route he built to violate our sanctum sanctorum," said Atropos, as the view followed the line through the gate and into the data sea where it hovered over the remains of the dragon virus. "And this is what he did there."

  "Sweet Necessity!" I whispered.

  It was the same dragon in general shape, but not in substance. Someone had done considerable cosmetic work on it. It looked mu
ch more solid than it had after E-bola chewed it to ribbons. In fact, it appeared to be in almost as good a shape as when I'd first seen it, though admittedly less mobile. Also, its scales were no longer patterned with Eris's gold and black. Instead, they wore my own black and green. Where the golden apple symbol had been, there was now a grinning blue webgoblin.

  "Dammit, that's not right!" I leaped out of my chair and started to pace.

  Cerice raised an eyebrow and gestured for Shara to pause.

  "You deny that thing was in the Fate Core?" asked Cerice.

  "No. What I deny is that it's mine. When I left, the damn thing was a bleeding wreck. It was also sporting Eris's colors and sign. I've already told you that."

  She waved at the image. "That's not how things look now."

  "Atropos could easily have been responsible for the changes."

  I felt a tiny discharge of magic play around my lips and a look of disbelief and pity flashed across Cerice's face as the damned Cassandra curse did its work. I'd never be able to convince her of Atropos's guilt on my word alone.

  "Do you think you're the only one who thought of that? Watch."

  The show continued. In it, my grandmother asked to examine the dead dragon directly. So did Clotho. I watched as the two Fates pulled out athames and jacked into their respective webtrolls. For several long minutes, nothing more happened. When they returned, the look on Lachesis's face was terrifying.

  "I will cut his thread myself," she said, and I felt my soul shrivel. Her voice was as flat and hot as an iron. "Atropos, I have wronged you. Ravirn's signature runs through that virus like the veins through my own flesh. There can be no doubt the thing is his. He has betrayed Fate and family. Worse, he has betrayed me. Every time I have held out my arms to shield him, I have been taking a viper to my breast. How he must have laughed at me."

  It was plain from her tone that this last was the unforgivable sin, lèsé-divinité, as it were. I shuddered. No one likes to be made a fool of, but those of us who are less than truly divine have to expect a certain amount of it. To make a goddess less than she was, especially in the eyes of her sisters, was to take a piece of her immortality from her.

  "He must die, and on the instant," said my grandmother.

  I wanted to argue with her. It wasn't right! The dragon wasn't mine. It belonged to Eris. Clearly Atropos had faked things up somehow. But I couldn't begin to guess at her methods. Sure, Atropos was a damn fine programmer, but faking my signature should have been impossible. How in the Titans' names had she done it?

  Atropos smiled, and it was a dreadful thing to behold. "I forgive your suspicion, sister. It's well-known the child and I have been at loggerheads before. It was only reasonable for you to want to support your own blood in all things. It pains me to bring to your attention the boy's criminal ways. But don't you think immediate termination is a bit rash?"

  "What?" I said, my knees giving way, and dropping me into a chair. There was something terribly wrong with the universe if my grandmother was calling for my head and Atropos was urging moderation. "I don't understand."

  But Atropos continued. "Surely he must be punished. But we must first discover how he did this." She reached into the image projected by Kalkin and plucked out one of the colorless life strands. "I think imprisonment rather than death should be our choice, at least until we've drawn the details from him. How say you? I have just the place. Kalkin, Heart of Darkness Image File. Execute."

  On the table, the projection changed to show a clear bubble suspended in a sea of chaos. It was the place Atropos had summoned me when she first asked for my help with Puppeteer, or another just like it. I suddenly understood her ploy. My greatest fear for the past few months had been that Atropos would find some way of finishing her evil spell without me. But if she was trying to keep me alive in spite of my grandmother, it meant she couldn't do it on her own. Instead, she wanted to have me locked quietly away where she could lay her hands on me. I relaxed into the support of the chair and let out a huge sigh of relief. For the moment at least, Puppeteer was blocked.

  Cerice turned her attention to me. "Don't rest easy just yet," she said, misinterpreting my sigh. "Keep watching."

  My grandmother's face was pinched and white. She shook her head sharply. "No! I don't want the traitor besmirching my honor an instant longer. I will have his name struck from the rolls of my descendents,' and I will have it now."

  "Reluctantly, I must agree," said Clotho. Her tone was regretful, and I was reminded she'd always had a bit of a soft spot for me. "He appears to have brought home an attack on the heart of our power, one that was nearly successful. That is something not even Eris has ever accomplished. His is a life too dangerous to continue. Let us cut him from the great tapestry of existence before he wreaks further havoc."

  Atropos looked as though she wanted to argue, but even to me it was plain she had no chance of winning the point. Clotho's resolve was apparent from the set of her features, and my grandmother was tapping a foot in her rage. For her, that was the next best thing to frothing at the mouth.

  I should have been terrified, but I wasn't. This was all in the past, and Cerice had already told me about the decision to cut my thread. Instead of being afraid, I was fascinated, itchy to find out what miracle had prevented my discorporation.

  "Let us summon his thread," said Atropos, after a moment.

  My grandmother walked to the altar of the temple. Extending her hand above its plain marble slab, she made a gesture like plucking a harp string. Even though I knew this was a scene from the past, I braced myself. The sensations I'd felt when Atropos plucked my string once before were not the kind I wished to repeat. But after several seconds passed without anything happening, I began to relax. The Fates had the opposite reaction.

  "I can't find it," said Lachesis, and for the first time in my life, I heard uncertainty in the voice of a Fate. "Lend me your aid, sisters."

  First Clotho, and then Atropos left their seats and laid their hands on my grandmother's wrist. For what seemed like forever nothing happened, and I was beginning to wonder if they simply hadn't been able to find my thread because of some sort of bizarre data-processing error. That the only thing between me and instant death was a slight hiccup in the filing system, one that could be corrected at any time. But it wasn't so. It took over an hour—Shara sped the replay up so Cerice and I didn't nod off—but finally a thread faded into being in my grandmother's hand. More accurately, it was a thread segment. Both of its ends vanished into some other space. It was also as clear as a newly drawn fiber-optic cable.

  I'd seen the effect before, on threads coming out of the back end of Eris's dragon, but I still didn't know what it meant. Apparently the Fates didn't either, because all three glared at it with their identical eyes.

  "I don't understand," said Clotho.

  "Neither do I," agreed Lachesis. "But that's no reason to delay the justice my grandson so richly deserves. Atropos, your shears are needed."

  "If you will," replied Atropos, nodding.

  When she stepped forward, the blades were in her hands. With a deft flip, she closed them on my life thread. Even knowing I hadn't died, I expected to keel over as soon as the strand was cut. And perhaps I would have, if they could have cut it. The shears snapped shut, but it was like trying to cut smoke. There was nothing there to impede their progress. Instead, the strand stood out on both sides of the closed blades somehow appearing to continue right through them.

  "Shara," said Cerice. "Freeze that frame."

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

  "Now do you see why I don't believe you?" she asked, and her voice was sad.

  "But I didn't do that!" I exclaimed. "I don't even know how to do that. Chaos and Discord! Even seeing it in action, I have trouble believing it's possible. I told you what happened in the Fate Core. The dragon must have gotten my thread when it was eating all those others. It has to be a coincidence."

  "That's one coincidence too many for me," s
aid Cerice. "You needed to make sure Atropos couldn't get you, and quite clearly you have."

  I didn't know what to say. I looked at the picture of the shears and the thread again. I couldn't have arranged things any better for myself, not if I'd had a million years to plan.

  "I can't think of any way to prove I'm not responsible, Cerice. All I can do is give you my word that I didn't do it."

  "I can't believe you," she said, and it was plain from the pain in her voice that she wished she could. "I've gone over this recording several times. There are only a few tens of thousands of affected life strands among all the countless trillions in the Core. What are the odds Eris would have picked yours? How could you do this?"

  What response could I make? Even I was beginning to doubt my innocence. Cerice's eyes burned with anger, and I felt those flames charring a soul that seemed to have turned to paper. The world went gray at the edges, and I found myself curled into a ball on the floor. Maybe it was time for me to die.

  "Wait," said Ahllan. "Perhaps there's a third answer that is neither coincidence nor crime."

  "What could that be?" asked Cerice. "One of the muses inspired him to do it? 'It wasn't breaking and entering. It was art.'"

  "Don't be so quick to condemn," said the troll, pouring her a cup of tea. "The clues are all there in Ravirn's version of the story."

  "They are?" asked Cerice, a sudden uncertainty in her tone.

  "They are?" I said, raising my face from the rug.

  "They are," affirmed Ahllan, meeting my eyes. "Remember how you and Laric killed the dragon?"

  "What does that have to do with anything?" asked Cerice.

  "A life strand is the essence of the person. What happens to our strings also happens to us. That's common knowledge. What's less well-known is that it works both ways. What affects us affects our threads. Ravirn's thread didn't need to go down the dragon's throat. Ravirn did that himself."

  "That's—" Cerice started. Then she stopped. "That would explain the life strand. But what about the fact that both Clotho and Lachesis agreed the dragon had his fingerprints all over it?"