Ailanthe put both elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands, and indulged in a little daydreaming. To think she’d spent so much time pining after him, when just one word…well, they’d said the right words now, and she intended to look forward rather than blame herself for the past. Except that “forward” contained hundreds more experiments. She groaned and bowed her head, gazing at the meaningless symbols—
—and in the center of the page, beneath the lens, the words
for Rhedyth, I begin
from my research. I enjoyed
of those I visited understood the nature
changed in heart, and I have no
to Rhedyth as I intend.
I hope will be few experime
Ailanthe stared for a moment. Then she carefully moved the lens to one side, closed the book, and banged her head on the desk a few times. The base setting. Of course. Well, at least her experiments hadn’t been a total waste of time, though she couldn’t imagine why they might want to see opaque green sprites. She banged her head gently one more time, then opened the book, set the lens at the top, and read.
17 Wefror
Having laid the groundwork for Rhedyth, I begin this record in the hope that some future generation may benefit from my research. I enjoyed my journeys less than I had imagined, as too few of those I visited understood the nature of my work. Nevertheless, I left them much changed in heart, and I have no doubt that when it is complete, they will be as drawn to Rhedyth as I intend.
Today was the first of what I hope will be few experiments on the nature of inanimate objects. I discovered that although the creation of such is a trivial matter, convincing existing objects to assemble is far more difficult; they resist state changes of both nature and position. Would that I need not proceed in this manner, but my initial efforts indicated that I must understand mundane construction if I wish my magical construction to have what I believe is referred to as “structural integrity.” But enough maundering! I believe I have discovered the key to my problem, and I shall apply it tomorrow.
Ailanthe realized she was holding her breath and let it out slowly. Gweron was writing about the Castle, that’s what Rhedyth had to be, and this was a record of his building it. No wonder the Castle wanted to stop her reading it; within these pages had to be the secret of how it worked, some key to forcing it to let them go.
She re-read the second paragraph. Gweron was definitely no ordinary kerthor, if he could speak so casually about creating and manipulating objects. Well, this diary was probably centuries old. Maybe kerthors in those days used different instruments or different melodies.
She removed the lens and closed the book, then set the lens to green-opaque-sprites and followed the two in the room until they drifted through the skylight and she’d calmed down a little. She had to remind herself she hadn’t escaped yet, but—We’re so close. She breathed in deeply, set the lens to clear and began reading, feeling everything else fall away.
“Tristram’s bringing dinner. Have you had any luck?” Coren said, startling her. She flipped ahead. She’d read almost to the end without realizing it.
“The lens reveals the diary,” she said, deciding not to tell him how unnecessarily long it had taken her to discover this. “It’s…I can’t begin to tell you how valuable it is.”
“So this Gweron knew something about the Castle?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re incredibly tense.”
“I must’ve been hunched over the lens for hours. He didn’t just know about the Castle, he built the Castle. Oh….” Coren had begun rubbing the knots out of her muscles. “That feels so good. I had no idea how tense I was.”
“My lady, good sir, I have brought—I beg your pardon,” Tristram said from the doorway.
Ailanthe turned to look at him, his arms full of food, including a plate with a slab of salmon on it. “Good news, Tristram!” she said cheerfully. “Your lens makes the diary intelligible. Why don’t we eat, and I’ll tell you about it.”
Tristram eyed her skeptically, glanced at Coren, whose hands remained loosely gripping her shoulders and whose expression Ailanthe couldn’t see, then said, “Very well,” and left.
Coren chuckled. “I think he figured it out,” he said. “I know I looked smug just now.”
“I don’t know. He’s fairly certain he’s my true love and you’re the uncouth Hesperan I’m hopelessly pining after. It will take more than a shoulder rub to convince him otherwise.”
“We lost the perfect opportunity to execute your kissing plan, you know.”
“As fun as that would be, it would also be cruel, and I don’t want to do that to him.”
“You’re so kind-hearted,” Coren said, and bent to kiss first her forehead, then her lips. Ailanthe slid her left hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer and kiss him more intently until he knelt before her and took her in his arms. “Don’t think I need dinner,” he murmured, and they kissed a while longer until Ailanthe broke away and laid her cheek against his. It was scratchy and smelled faintly of oranges, the most wonderful smell ever.
“Food first, diary after, then—”
He nuzzled her earlobe. “That diary had better be pretty damn important.”
Ailanthe smiled. “I think it is.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Tomorrow I’m going to try creating hot food,” Ailanthe said, sweeping all her tiny bones into a pile and sending them somewhere Miriethiel couldn’t find them later. She hoped. She thought they went where the cushions had, but she still didn’t know where that was, and so far nothing bad had happened. Or something bad had happened, and she didn’t know about it yet. Better just to assume everything was fine.
“My lady, if you can bring me a roast chicken I shall be eternally in your debt,” Tristram said.
“Agreed,” Coren said. He dusted crumbs off his trousers—he really had developed the most appalling habits, and if she weren’t so in love with him, they might have been off-putting—and leaned back against the eastern wall of windows. “So. This diary. Gweron built the Castle.”
“I think so. I’m afraid I couldn’t stop myself reading it, most of it anyway.”
“Understandable, my lady,” Tristram said, bowing without standing, which took some doing even for him. “A woman’s natural curiosity would make such an action inevitable.”
Coren rolled his eyes. Ailanthe stifled the urge to throw something at Tristram. “Gweron was extremely methodical. He starts by writing about his experiments on non-living things, both creating them and using magic to put them together, like this house he builds himself. He says it’s because Rhedyth has to be built by combining smaller units instead of being formed all at once through magic.”
“What is Rhedyth, pray tell?”
“It’s obviously the Castle,” Coren said drily. Tristram glared at him.
“Gweron wanted the Castle to do something to make the world a better place,” Ailanthe went on, ignoring the byplay. “He’s always saying things like ‘it is sorely needed in this fallen world.’”
“So he meant it to do something,” Coren said. “But is it doing what he had in mind, or not?”
“Perhaps, good sir, we should allow the lady to continue?” Tristram said, and it was Coren’s turn to glare.
“Thank you, Tristram,” Ailanthe said, torn between enjoying watching the two men puff out their chests like bantams and feeling impatient that they weren’t taking this seriously. “I’m getting to that. Next he moves on to experiments with living things. Gweron had a very organized mind, I think. I wonder if his notes are somewhere in that study. Here, let me read this part.”
She read on: “‘The initial magic was successful. The grove of trees perfectly encircles my house, though to my shame I did not realize the magic would duplicate the tree I used as a model rather than create unique organisms. An amateur's mistake, and one I do not intend to repeat. However, the principle is sound, and I believe after one more trial I shall allow myself to
celebrate. I have already enshrined the model and at this moment am admiring it on the shelf. But I have no time for self-congratulatory reflection. On to the next trial!’ Did you notice what he wrote about enshrining his model? I think that could be the tree in the water-globe we found in the study.”
“Likely,” Coren said. “But please continue.”
“Most of this is technical and a little boring. Let me skim ahead…something about learning how living organisms are all the same…long lists of what he’s created…here, this is interesting: ‘The creation of intelligent life lies at the heart of my plans for Rhedyth, and I confess myself a trifle reluctant to proceed as lightheartedly as I have heretofore been. And yet do not the commonest of folk, men and women of intellectual vacuity, see fit to bring new life into the world? How much greater a creation might I engender, clear-sighted and logical as I am? Thus do I cast off such fears and begin what will be the key to my greatest creation.’ ‘Men and women of intellectual vacuity’? He sounds terribly pompous.”
“Methinks he sounds but clear-sighted and rational,” Tristram said. “I have often reflected that it is a pity there be no mechanism in nature to encourage those of high breeding to reproduce more successfully than their lesser brethren and sisters.”
“I’m glad you’re not in charge of nature,” Coren said. That earned him a glare from Tristram.
“Well, he talks about what he creates…I think these ‘pixies’ of his are our sprites, and he says they’re intelligent.”
“That’s a surprise,” Coren said. “They’ve never struck me as very bright.”
“I gather they’re just bright enough to take simple commands. Too bad we don’t know how to do that.”
She turned a page or two. “Listen to this: ‘I envy the kerthors of my homeland at times like this, however ridiculous that might seem, as I am certain it is possible to play the flute when one’s head is stuffed and one’s nose drips incessantly. However my own, unique magic works, it is most definitely affected by the condition of the body. This miserable cold has affected my exercise regimen as well. If only there were a way to work magic upon oneself!’”
“I wonder that he wrote about something so mundane as a simple illness.”
“Tristram, the important thing is that he says he’s not a kerthor. That explains so much! No lone kerthor could have built this Castle—probably not even a hundred kerthors. Gweron’s magic was unique.”
“As yours is,” Coren pointed out.
“I couldn’t do any of the things he writes about,” Ailanthe said. “I certainly can’t create life, intelligent or otherwise.”
“Yet you, my lady, have been exercising your powers for a mere handful of weeks, if I am not mistaken. Who knows but that you may yet discover strange new talents?”
The idea made Ailanthe’s stomach clench. Whatever magic she possessed, she welcomed only so far as it was a weapon against the Castle. That she might discover new abilities—that she might have anything in common with Gweron—raised the old fear that she might be turning into some creature of magic, someone no longer human with none of the dreams and desires that made her Ailanthe.
She didn’t know what expression passed across her face, but it made Coren sit forward and say, “Is it something disturbing?”
She made herself smile at him and shake her head. “No, just confusing. He says he succeeded at creating intelligent life, then that he failed—oh, I understand now. He was trying to put intelligence into non-living things, apparently to make servants for the Castle. Like a broom that sweeps by itself. Only he found out it was impossible. Then—oh, Miriethiel!”
The cat leaped onto her lap when she said his name, forcing her to lift both book and lens as he kneaded himself a nest in her lap. “I will remove the beast from you, my lady,” Tristram said, but she waved him away when he was halfway up from his chair.
“No, that was coincidence. Gweron made Miriethiel. Listen. Move your tail, cat. ‘I cannot decide what name I shall give the animal. I believe I have made him of more than usual feline intelligence, though I refrained from giving him human intellect and voice; such an act would violate the natural order, and my desire to serve mankind does not extend to elevating the beasts of the field to an equal status with man. He is, however, a most handsome animal, black with pleasant white markings and a companionably silent purr, and I confess I have altered him somewhat in extending his lifespan. After all, I know not how long my own life will extend, and I desire a companion to ease my lonely hours.’” She scratched behind the cat’s ears and he began to vibrate. “Did you hear that, Miriethiel? You’re a most handsome animal.”
“And he’s several centuries old. Gweron does good work,” Coren said. Miriethiel lifted his head and looked in Coren’s direction, as if accepting a compliment.
“Then there’s more about living creatures, and something about the Castle needing to be enormous to provide enough magic for the—he calls it the ‘destiny spell.’ Doesn’t that sound familiar? Then—I’m just going to read this. ‘To know a person’s heart, truly to know it, necessitates awareness, but to provide a thing that will bring out the best in that person—that means creation, and analysis not only of the person but of the world as well. Would that I were capable of such wisdom…but no, Rhedyth is the answer, and men and women everywhere will make their way here and be changed forever.’”
“But that is what the Castle does!” Tristram exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “It reads our hearts and gives us an object that sends us to our destiny! So then why does it not do so for you, my lady? It is a true mystery.”
“Sit down, Tristram, Ailanthe won’t read any faster for you looming over her,” Coren said.
“I think it’s perfectly natural for us to be excited, Coren,” Ailanthe said, doing some glaring of her own. “And I didn’t get far enough to have an answer to that question, but—just let me finish this, all right? What I did read left me a little frightened.”
She used the lens to find her place again. “Lots of organizing. More work on putting the pieces together. Then there’s this piece: ‘It was as if the Honor Hall, as I call it, wanted to come into existence. The simplicity of its structure belies the immense complexity of the magic at its heart. Here men and women will come to have their hearts read and their destinies woven. Hence will heroes go to free the world from tyranny and sorrow. Its magic is so powerful I have had to surround it with another chamber of pillared and vaulted stone to anchor it to the physical world. It is exquisite. Almost I cannot believe the mind of man created such a thing of beauty and power.’ He really loved this place.”
“Would that we might have known this great man,” Tristram said. “His vision was extraordinary.”
“Even if he was a bit of a self-righteous ass,” Coren said.
“You call it self-righteous to wish for the betterment of mankind and to take action to see it come to pass?”
“I think he had some pretty strong ideas about what kind of people deserved to be bettered.”
“He created the Castle precisely because he felt his own wisdom was inadequate to the task. I see not how that can be held to his discredit.”
“If you both don’t mind,” Ailanthe said, now widening her glare to include Tristram, “I’d rather set aside the question of Gweron’s personality in favor of learning why the Castle won’t let me go.”
Tristram nodded. “I beg your pardon, my lady. Mayhap my enthusiasm overwhelmed me momentarily.”
“Thank you. I forgot where I was. All right. So he built the Honor Hall and started assembling rooms around it. They had to go in in exactly the right order to make the magic work—he doesn’t really go into detail about that, except that most of them were places he remembers from his travels. He mentions one called the Atelier that I think is this room—he created it with all the contents intact. At least we know he’s not the one who made that horrible painting.”
“It doesn’t make me like him any better.”
�
��But he also says for most of the rooms, he summoned the furnishings rather than creating them. Like your sword, Coren—isn’t it interesting to wonder who it might have belonged to, centuries ago?”
“Just so they don’t come looking for it now. I’m sort of attached to it.”
“And he writes about making the food stores so their contents never rot, and the museum rooms, and that goes on for a while, until we get to this. Be patient, it’s long.
“‘This morning I discovered five new rooms had been added, two of them planned by myself and three that came from no thought of mine that I could discover. I can scarcely credit it, but further analysis and study reveal there is only one possible conclusion: Rhedyth is alive.
‘This throws all my research into question. I was never able to succeed in imbuing non-living things with intelligence, nor could I create such intelligent objects with any measure of success. I believe—though this is subject to further evidence—that the vast quantity of magic has produced a kind of limited awareness that allows Rhedyth to, as it were, participate in its own construction. It staggers the mind.
‘And yet…why not? Do not creatures who are aware seek to better their lot? If this magic has indeed created new…I hesitate to call it “life,” but for lack of a better word…new life, would it not take an interest in its own creation? I must study this phenomenon more, and hope that Rhedyth understands the plans for its construction well enough not to add anything that would be detrimental to my intent.’”
Coren closed his eyes. Tristram stood and paced in a large circle, passing near the western windows but not looking out over the darkened valley. “It confirms what we have guessed,” he said.
“It chilled me, seeing it written down so bluntly,” Ailanthe said. “The idea of the Castle paying attention to things…I’d hoped it was just, I don’t know, a figure of speech. Some way for us to come to terms with what we experience. But Gweron seemed convinced he was right.”
The View From Castle Always Page 17