by J Jordan
She would need to be destroyed. A pity.
And the two women embracing in the center of the group. They were new. Beautiful, athletic, sleek. But, somehow, they were still boring. Improvements would need to be made, at a later time, when she had finished the important alterations. First, she would start with the machine as a whole. Many great changes would be made. Great and necessary.
The Matron knew the little man in the dirty dress shirt, with his tussled brown hair and the frazzled sideburns. She crossed over to him and examined his face. Completely ridiculous. Small eyes, big nose, weak chin, with all the vim of a ferret. His arms didn’t ripple underneath his shirt, and his thin legs seemed to buckle under no weight at all.
But he was different from these other ones. He didn’t cower from the catastrophe, didn’t cover his ears or shut his eyes. He stood straight, hands balled into pathetic fists, meager eyes fixed on his shattering world, stupid mouth fixed into a grin. This little man was dangerous. Small, thin, meek, but there was a deeper fire within him, a cleverness unmatched by any other person in the room. She would need a special place for him. A cold place, lonely and desolate. An ice cavern at the bottom of an ocean, perhaps. Or a cold moon somewhere in the vacuum of space.
The Matron wouldn’t kill him, mind you. She knew better than to murder her enemies. If you couldn’t beat them, then you locked them up and studied them. This was a lesson she had spent eons learning for herself.
The quakes and shivers died off by degrees, and the world began to focus once more on existence. The world machine was coming up to speed. Time slipped back into place, gravity righted itself, and the other natural laws took their markers. The big show, creation, was back from intermission. Katrese took her place between the Matron and the dragon slayers, then folded her arms. The goddess said nothing. The growing ire on her face spoke volumes enough. The Matron turned to the group of bewildered mortals and raised her hands. She smiled.
“I am here, children,” said the Matron. “All is well.”
The group looked to her, slowly removing hands from ears and faces, still blinking the intense light from their eyes. Only Romney looked at her directly.
“Like hells it is,” said Romney.
The Matron’s gaze turned on the little man. Her smile lost any trace of warmth.
“Romney,” she said, “good to see you. Doing well? Glad to hear. Pardon me.”
She made a light motion with her hand. A sudden force dropped Romney to the floor and pinned him there. The machines of the world groaned under the strain of impossible movement. He skated to the right wall and then toppled along its surface up to the ceiling, all with a second careless brush of the Matron’s hand. She renewed her smile to the remaining group. They had taken up their wands again.
The Matron recognized these weapons for what they were. She could see the raw power cascading from wood grain, simmering within each jeweled handle. These were heavily enchanted things, pieces of magic, things that did not belong in Katrese’s little machine. Even her greatest creation needed magic to thrive.
“A pleasure to meet you all. You may call me the Matron.”
Katrese made a complex motion with her hands and eased Romney to the ground. She rounded on the Matron, accusing finger out and pointing at her face.
“You,” she growled, then tried with more composure. “You should not be here.”
“I didn’t think I needed an invitation,” said the Matron, passing her with a graceful side step. “I’m only stretching my legs anyway, enjoying the scenery, meeting new faces.”
She took a step toward the group, but found Katrese in her way once more. The smile strained.
“Are you going to introduce us? Or would you rather I do it myself?”
“Don’t bother. You’re leaving.”
Unseen forces tugged at the Matron’s robes. She could see the dark prison looming below.
“There’s no need for that. What would a harmless conversation do? Are you really that afraid of me?”
She sneered at Katrese. The forces pulled at the Matron’s arms and legs. She resisted with her own magic power.
“I thought the point of this whole thing was to let events run their course,” she said. “But here you are, yet again, interfering with their fates. You’ve acquired quite the knack for divine providence. Face it. None of this works. It never has. You need magic.”
“You’re only making this worse on yourself.”
“If you truly believed in any of this, then you would let them choose on their own. Let me speak.”
“We want nothing you’re offering,” said Romney. “Get her out of here, Katrese.”
“Hold on a second,” said Cora. “Let’s hear her out.”
The room turned to Cora as one person. The Matron beamed at her new ally.
“She is right. If you want it to be fair and balanced, then you need to hear all sides of the argument.”
“Thank you so much, Cora. I knew I could count on you.”
“We’re not friends yet, lady,” said Cora, pointing her wand. “I don’t know you and it’s been a really long day. You have five minutes. Start talking.”
Katrese freed the Matron and stepped back, her arms crossed once more. The Matron brushed her velvet robes and readied her smile once more.
“My offer is simple: a world without pain or suffering or want. Everything you desire is yours. All you have to do is ask.”
“All right,” said Cora. “I want a professorship at the College of History, Lanvale Prime, full tenure, unlimited funding for research, all expenses paid. A house on campus, two-story, mortgage paid. A dog, a new guitar with amplifier, neighbors who don’t mind midnight practice. And a handsome man to cook meals and laze around in the nude, who shares interests in death metal and Camerran history.”
The Matron tallied the requests on her fingers. It seemed like a lofty request, but not for the Matron.
“Easily done.”
“Okay,” said Cora. “How?”
“With magic, all things can be true,” said the Matron. “Your greatest aspirations, your wildest dreams, every desire, every whim. Yours.”
“All right, then. Poof my dream man into existence. Go on. Let’s see some more magic.”
The Matron grinned. With careful motions, she began to weave her magic into place. The elf that took shape was tall, dark, handsome, with a tasteful lip piercing and a couple of artful tattoos on his arms. His shirt was sleeveless, his pants fashionably torn, his sneakers brand name, his dark hair slicked back in a nice mess. As he came into focus, the elf smiled and winked at Cora.
“Hey, babe. How about pancakes for dinner?”
“He reads minds too,” said Cora. “Interesting.”
“How about a shirtless ranch hand with a trimmed beard and a soft spot for puppies?”
The room turned to Arindale Kinsey, who looked to a corner of the room as if someone else had asked. She turned back to the Matron and shrugged.
“If you’re taking requests.”
“Every request, granted. Every dream, reality.”
The ranch hand that materialized was shirtless, bearded, muscular, and enthralled by the two-month-old Camerran bulldog in his arms. He looked up from the puppy to smile at Arindale.
“I’m gonna call him Buster.”
“That’s a great name,” said Kinsey.
“Can you make Azerran princesses?”
The room turned to Tykeso, visibly disgusted by his request.
“Oh, sure, you get to poof shirtless men into the room, but the second someone asks for a woman, it’s suddenly wrong.”
“It is wrong,” said Romney. “All of it. You can’t just poof people into existence. They need to start from somewhere.”
He turned to Cora’s new beau.
“What’s your name, pal? Where were you born? Ever pay taxes? Can’t answer, can you? Then let’s start with your shoes. Where did you get those bad boys? Do you have a degree in Camerran history, or is
it just a hobby?”
The newly conceived boyfriend had no answers for any of these questions. In fact, the words didn’t seem to register. Romney moved to the ranch hand.
“Nice puppy,” he said. “Where did you get him? And what was it you do on the farm again? Do you live in the Lanvale area, or did you drive up from Faeland? Long commute, wouldn’t you say? Six hours, accounting for road construction on the I-11.”
The ranch hand looked down at his prized bulldog. Something struck him as odd.
“I think it’s a girl dog,” he said to Arindale, his other greatest love.
“Let’s name her Daisy.”
“I like it.”
Romney turned to Cora. She was examining her new elf head to toe, her wand still at the ready.
“Cora, listen to me. You can’t believe any of the stuff she’s saying. You can’t just make every dream come true. There are real consequences to this kind of magic. That’s how the real world works. Actions and reactions. You know that better than anyone else. Come on, Cora. Please. Listen to me.”
She looked to Romney. Her face wore a frown, but not the typical menacing one. She seemed confused by this. The elf looked real, and he probably made real pancakes, and there was probably some other real aspects of his character that Cora would like to know. But something about him seemed unnatural now. She eyed him suspiciously.
“What is your name?”
The Matron smiled. “Whatever you want it to be.”
Cora addressed the elf again, ignoring the Matron entirely.
“Where are you from?”
“Wherever you like.”
“Okay,” said Cora, in a condescending tone. “Whatever you want from wherever you like. What is your favorite genre of music?”
“Whichever one you like,” ventured the Matron.
“What subgenre?”
“All of them,” said the Matron.
Cora nodded, taking these answers into consideration. The choice was clear to her. She waved the wand over her head and summoned another army of missiles, then blasted her dream elf to smithereens. The Matron yowled at the sight of her obliterated creation.
“Why did you do that?”
“Romney is correct. You can’t just make matter out of nothing. It has to come from somewhere. It’s the first law of conservation of mass. So, where did he come from? What are the consequences of making an elf from thin air? What are the moral implications of that? Did you think of any of this before you whipped him up?”
She waved her wand in another long stroke and summoned more attack orbs from thin air.
“I don’t know where you’re from, but you can’t go around doing things like this in our world. Things, people, magical orbs—they all need to come from somewhere. They need explanations built on established natural laws. You can’t just poof sexy men into creation.”
“I can,” the Matron flared. “It is possible. You only think these rules can’t be broken because you’ve never been freed from them. Her laws are ingrained in you.”
“That’s because this world works,” said Katrese. “Sure, there are times when it doesn’t work right, and maybe it doesn’t always end up the way people like it most of the time, but it works. The flaws make it real; they give each thing verisimilitude. You still can’t see that, even after all of this time. These laws come together to make a self-sustaining world. And it only works if you keep those laws intact.”
“My world is better!”
The Matron gained a wreath of blue flame. The fabric that made the world began to curl around her form. Her eyes became two burning stars once more. She had rooted them so deeply in her little machine. They would never truly understand her world, no matter how hard they tried.
Perhaps they all needed to be destroyed. She would shatter the entire engine. She was capable of this power. But first she would show them her world. She would give them a taste of her power.
“You never understood. My world will thrive on the power of magic. It can work. All you need is to believe.”
She began to weave the spell of creation. The shapes of her new world began to take form all around the room. Elves and humans rose from nothing, gaining form and color, then the spark of sentience. The newly made crowd began to pace around the growing world, busied by purposes they had just made up. The horizon of this world grew with each new shape, bleeding past walls and into the air beyond them, stretching into the tangible world like a veil.
But then again, the Matron’s world was tangible too. It had cool mists and earthy smells, and even the soft chattering of woodland critters. But something was still not right about it.
Mythic trees sprouted from the juvenile earth. They gained thick canopies with a simple flick of their branches, and grew wizened eyes and smiling faces. The people of this new world gained eyes, lips, and hair, and then elaborate robes adorned with beautiful filigree patterns. In no time at all, each had become an impossibly majestic creature with piercing eyes and striking features. It had become an enchanted forest of supermodels. And it continued growing.
As it passed over Romney, he felt the tremendous weight of it. An entire world was pressing down on him.
Katrese began a counter-spell to drive back the new world, but each of the Matron’s complex incantations brought more of the enchanted forest into being. Fantastic creatures emerged from the periphery, taking on coats of fur and bright plumages as they moved about. Owl bears, pixies, a sprinkling of nymphs, a docile manticore. Phoenixes, the sleek and elegant kind. Dire wolves on all fours as tall as Romney. A group of minotaurs adorned in shimmering cloaks, a flock of unicorns following behind them, and a grumpy Cerberus taking up the rear. Satyrs. A rookery of penguins in merchant’s attire. And to think they had come all this way to do trade. Each of the Matron’s creations brought Katrese’s world closer to ruin. The gears and axles of creation had seized once more. Another loud pang came from a divine pinion that was having none of this.
Only one world could exist in this space. With each fantastic spell, the Matron’s world was winning.
Katrese continued her own onslaught of counter-magic. She stripped owls of their bear-ness and bears of their owl-icity. She shrank each dire wolf into something more suitable for their diet. She split the grumpy Cerberus into three equally disgruntled midshore setters. And with an elaborate wave of her finger, she stripped the penguins of their mercantilism. Then she worked in a small patch of snow for them to stand on. No more fretting over that trade deal in Gevenbluth.
Cora and Rikka joined in. With great effort, they pushed into the veil, wands out and blasting fantasy creatures into oblivion with magic orbs and cutting beams. Then Kinsey took up the cause, hefting a bent war hammer into the dreamworld, knocking out a dreamy-eyed satyr in the process. The Matron roared.
“Stop this at once! This is my world. It will be a wondrous place.”
White cobbles emerged from the underbrush and carved a path through the enchanted forest. A leather-clad centaur moved onto the new walkway, towing a cart of magic potions and baubles. She was headed for the town of Alderbury, where the local apothecary had been running low on healing stores. The small town had become a hub of adventure, between dragons and mountain giants spotted in the untamed Wests, a war band of thieves and cutthroats settling along the northern borders, the gnomish inventions running amok in the East, and two rival nations at constant odds in the South.
Rogues and wizards, foreign soldiers and wandering strangers, noble warriors and clandestine knights, all gathered in Alderbury to stake their claim on the glory. And, of course, to share in the bounty. This would need a constant stream of healing potions, enchanted scrolls, magic keys, and any other tool of the adventuring trade. And the shopkeepers of Alderbury were paying good coin for them.
Except that such a place would have very little money for healing items or for the services of any good adventurer. The town was cut off from other nations on all sides, effectively ending any trade or foreign aid. And
, for that matter, how would the adventurers get there? Why would they stay in a town at the center of these epic conflicts? Sure, they could wheel in potions and bracelets, but what about the true fuel of any adventurer, of any living creature? Where did they get their food? Where did they get drinking water? What was the lavatory situation? Who picked up after the centaurs? Was it all knights and thieves and wizards?
The town of Alderbury was quickly becoming a penniless, overpopulated, disease-ridden hovel for mercenaries with gold and insatiable blood lust on their minds.
“Stop it!” the Matron wailed.
“No, you stop!” Katrese countered. “Get out of my world!”
The town of Alderbury was clean and reputable, with plenty of inns and taverns for wandering adventurers, as well as apothecaries with potions and blacksmiths with arms for any adventure. Alderbury had a healthy supply of gold from times of peace, which gave it the means to reward heroes accordingly and to pay it citizens for their hard work. A clear stream crossed through Alderbury, supplying fresh drinking water from the mountains to the north. This allowed them to plant crops and to maintain livestock, including chickens and a few cattle. And there were the wild deer in the forests that provided more food. The town was quite large, and growing every day, but each citizen and adventurer had a job, a place to sleep, water to drink, and food to eat. Alderbury was even voted “most sanitary place to live” in all the Enchanted Forests of Geliluen.
Alderbury, voted most sanitary by the only township in the Geliluen District of Enchanted Forests. This meant their mayor and a few of his cronies were casting votes on a fake survey while their town was set upon by drunken rogues and fervent paladins, which is a terrible combination on a good day. And their only source of drinking water was now in the hands of the mountain bandits. Perhaps they didn’t know what bandits did to open water sources.