“We'll talk about it later,” said Isaac, climbing in beside him. He rapped on the roof, and the driver picked up his reins.
The coach lurched ahead. Isaac looked at his wife. “What could I do? It's my job.”
Rebekah laid a hand on his arm, melting a few snowflakes that had landed on his sleeve. “You don't have to solve every squabble, you know.”
“No,” he agreed. “Only the ones I know about.”
The coach jolted as the driver pulled off the road onto the farm path. Rebekah shook her head, but Nathan could see she was smiling.
Soon enough, the driver pulled up in the driveway of an old farmhouse. The man with the hat was standing there among a flock of sheep, gesturing to his right. “You see? The pond is frozen over. My neighbor has a pond with a spring, and it keeps the ice melted over where the water comes up. But I don't have a spring.”
Isaac got out of the coach again. “I see,” he said. He turned to the farmer with the hat. “Do you have faith, sir?”
The man swallowed. “As much as any man.”
“That will have to do. If God allows you water, will you agree never to lead your livestock to trespass on your neighbor's farm again?”
The farmer nodded, never taking his eyes off Isaac.
“Very well,” said Isaac. “Lead your animals down to the edge of the pond.”
Looking baffled but hopeful, the man picked up a shepherd's crook and began to lead the sheep down toward where the frozen pond lay nestled in the cupped hands of the earth.
Nathan looked at his father in that white robe. “But it's still frozen.”
“Watch.”
The man and his sheep were almost to the edge of the pond. Suddenly, as if on cue, a semicircle of ice at the edge simply melted away.
He heard the farmer's joyful cry as the sheep began to cluster around the melted part, drinking the water.
Nathan looked at his father again. “What happened?”
Isaac shrugged and smiled. “A miracle,” he said, and climbed back into the coach. “Let's continue on,” he told the driver. “If we linger we'll be here half the night.”
Nathan climbed back in too. He looked at his father again, as if seeing him for the first time. It occurred to him suddenly that he had never asked his father's occupation.
Chapter 6
Jeffrey: Homecoming
“Honesty is praised, and left out in the cold.”
– Juvenal
The chill that ran through the crowd was not born of winter.
When they had crossed over into Texas land, the first witnesses had been dumbstruck. But perhaps not totally, because someone had the presence of mind to send a messenger galloping ahead to spread the word. Whenever and wherever they cared to stop for the night, there would be firewood and supplies provided.
Jeffrey tried to sit straight in his saddle, although it was a Rado saddle and not one his butt was happy with. The ride down had not been exhausting, but it had been tedious, and while he was an excellent rider, the days had seemed to last forever.
To his left and right, outriders paced him, in uniform but riding Rado horses as he was. On his orders, the men with him did not smile or frown. They looked neither victorious nor beaten. This was going to be hard enough, he knew, without causing a panic.
They drew up outside the Honcho's headquarters, and men rushed out to jabber questions at him.
Jeffrey held up a hand for silence. “The war is over,” he said.
“”I don't understand, one of the ones nearest to him said. “Where's His Excellency? Where's the Honcho?”
Jeffrey looked him in the eye. “His excellency fell in battle.” Yeah, fell right into a tomb of ice. “I'm the Honcho now.”
Expressions shifted. He could guess what they must be thinking: is he ready? Well, he was wondering too.
There was some muttering. “But we won, right?” “Where are the tanks?”
His eyes roved over the crowd, seeing officers, men, civilians, all looking to him for answers. For leadership.
“We left them in Denver,” he said. “To remind the folks in Rado what we can do if we need to.” He paused, searching for the right words.
“I don't understand,” said someone he didn't know. “Did we win or not?”
Best stick to the truth. “We didn't lose,” he said. “But Rado didn't either. Instead of war, we have alliance.” He nodded to the man beside him, who unfurled the flag. It was just a bit of cloth, dyed red, white and blue. But it was not a Texas flag.
“What's that?”
“Something old, now something new,” he said. “We're putting the Union back together, started with Rado and Texas.”
An officer stepped forward, frowning. “What are you telling us, sir? Did you surrender to Rado?”
“No, nor they to us. We both keep our governments and armies, but we are not at war anymore. We're both part of something bigger.”
There were more questions, but he waved them off. “I'll be meeting with you in my offices tomorrow,” he said. “But right now, if you don't mind, I have something to do.”
“What's that?” someone wanted to know.
“I have to go tell my mother that her husband is dead.”
That, at least, they understood.
Chapter 7
Kareef: A Scary Request
“Conspiring secretly together is of Satan, that the believers may sorrow;”
– Quran 58:10
He could hardly believe his ears. “You want me to do what?”
So the Mullah repeated it. “We want you to go to Denver.”
“That's what I thought you said. But why? Surely we have diplomats there.”
“Yours is not a diplomatic task.”
“Then why do you want me to go?”
“Word has reached us that Denver is setting up a school for wizards. We want you to go there, as a student.”
Kareef stared at the Mullah. What was the man thinking? “But I'm not even a good student here. Why would you send me? Forgive me, sir, but I do not understand this.”
Nizar smiled and shrugged. “You are young enough to go, but old enough to be firm of purpose,” he said. “We cannot send someone older.”
“Why not? Surely their students will be of all ages...”
“Because all of the older candidates have already taken their oaths and put on their black robes. They are needed elsewhere.”
Black robes? What was his teacher saying? Only the Order of the Sihr wore black...
“Yes,” said the Mullah, as he were reading his mind. “I had a second reason for asking you to stay after classes. I was going to welcome you to the Sihr...before I received new instructions. Now, of course, I cannot do so. You cannot go to Denver wearing the black.”
“But...” his mind faltered. “I never even asked to be considered for the Order. Why me?”
“I know,” his teacher said. “We do not accept those who ask to join. It is by invitation only. To act otherwise would be cruel, because it would raise false hopes. Only those with the ability already developing within them are considered.”
“But I've never even been tested! What makes you think I have the ability?”
“Enough argument,” said Nizar. “We have ways of telling that have never proven wrong. At any other time, I would have been welcoming you to the order and sending you to a teacher. But the times are different, so, I am sending you to Denver.”
He knew better than to argue. “But how am I to get there?”
“You will be traveling with our new ambassador to the government of Rado.”
“New ambassador? What happened to the old one?”
“Nothing. But there have been ...developments. You will understand by the time you arrive.”
He exhaled. “When do I leave?”
The mullah smiled. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Go home and say your goodbyes. And pack, but not too much.”
Chapter 8
Lester: The Offer
&
nbsp; “A person who never made a mistake never tried anything new.”
– Albert Einstein
His mother came out while he was sinking the pipe next to the old pump. She stood there, holding the bucket handles. “What are you doing?”
“Making an improvement,” he said. “Here, let me show you.” He accepted one of the buckets for her and set it down under the new pipe. Then he concentrated for a bit, weaving the pathspace around the pipe.
She was about to say something, but her mouth closed again when he stroked the pipe and after a few seconds of gurgling water began pouring into the bucket. When it was full he shoved it aside and took the other one from her and filled it also. Then he stroked the pipe downward, turning off the flow.
“Now you don't have to pump anymore,” he said. “The swizzle will bring up the water for you.”
Her eyes were wide. “How did you do that?”
“Xander taught me. I'm his apprentice now.” He smiled slightly. “Don't worry, I'm not putting salt n my beer yet.”
She was quiet for a moment as he picked up the buckets. “Carolyn came by last night. You were already in bed, so I didn't wake you.”
“I was pretty tired,” he said. “But I'm glad you reminded me. I wanted to have a talk with her today.” He followed her back in and set the buckets by the sink.
“What about?”
“I'm going to ask her to come back to Denver with me.”
She stood stock still there in the kitchen, staring at him now. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?”
He shook his head. “It's not like that. I'm going to ask her to come to Xander's school.”
She frowned. “Why on Earth would you ask her to do that? Jonathan won't like it, not at all. He still thinks she has feelings for Burton.”
“Because I think she can become a wizard. And I think she deserves the chance.”
His mother lifted an eyebrow at that. “But she's a woman.”
“So? Who said wizards have to be men?”
'Wouldn't she be a...a witch?”
“No. It's not really magic. She won't be adopting black cats or wearing a pointed hat. In fact, Xander would rather we call ourselves 'psionic engineers' or something like that. But I think the old word is fine by me. I'm becoming a wizard.”
His mother leaned on the counter and looked away. “Then what does he need her for?”
“He doesn't need her. Rado does. We all do. We need all the wizards we can find, especially now., because you can't have a school without teachers.”
“But what do we need wizards for?”
“Well,” he said. “Two of us stopped the Honcho's invasion. That's the first step. Right now his son is convincing Texas to join with Rado to start a new Union. That's the second.”
“I see. And now what? We join Texas in their war of conquest?”
“No,” he said. “Now we find ways to get the rest of the countries to join us instead of fighting us. That's going to take a lot more than two wizards. And so we need the school.”
“And are you going to kidnap her, if she doesn't want to go to Denver?”
He stared back at her. “I'll try reasoning with her instead.”
Chapter 9
Kareef: The Reluctant Dropout
“It is the men of knowledge who can truly realize God.”
– Quran 35:28
All the way home from the madresah he tried to figure out what he had done to deserve this disaster. The briefing the Mullah had provided, what little there was of it, had done nothing to reassure him that this was not a colossal mistake and waste of his time.
For one thing, he would not even be graduating. Instead of receiving his certificate, he would be trekking off to a foreign land to enroll in a sketchy establishment run in the headquarters of the Governor of Rado. From his geopolitics studies he knew that Kristana D'Arcy was a ridiculous anomaly. Imagine: an entire country taking orders from a woman! And yet she had succeeded and survived for two decades of attacks from Texans and other barbarians.
What this meant was that either (a) she was a mere figurehead and smarter men were running the country, or at least its military...or (b) that she was some kind of fluke: a woman who could handle authority almost as well as a man.
But it made no sense, her supporting the school of Xander. Unless, as certain members of the Order had apparently decided, she had powerful wizards tipping the military balance and wanted more of them.
But as bad as it was that he had now spent years of his life on an education that would not be recognized (instead of learning a useful trade), what made it even worse was that he would not be able to explain his failure to graduate. He could not explain it, because to do so he would have to reveal his membership in the Order of the Sihr.
Like most of his classmates did at some point in their lives, Kareef had fantasized about being in the Order. The one thing, however, that everyone knew about them was that none of them joined to become famous. Their identities were kept secret.
With a start he remembered that he knew one member's identity, at least – the Mullah Nizar. He wished he didn't. It could be dangerous to know things other people want kept secret. And now he had to keep his own involvement with the Order secret, to avoid spreading the danger. So he expected an awkward dinner tonight.
When he divulged that he is dropping out of the madresah and going to a foreign country to study at a school they have never heard of, he was fairly certain they would be neither pleased nor amused.
Chapter 10
Esteban: Inopinatum Audientibus
(an unexpected audience)
“For in much wisdom is much grief, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow.”
– Ecclesiastes 1:18
He nearly tripped over his robe going into the waiting room. His mind was a jumble of nervous anticipation and apprehension. What could His Holiness possibly want to speak with him about?
Esteban's fingers twitched as he handled the beads of his rosary, but he was not using it in the traditional way, to count prayers, but to enumerate reasons why the Pontiff would be interested in him.
One. He could be about to be ordained, to leave his brothers at the monastery and take up a new calling. But that seemed unlikely, given that he had heard nothing that might indicate anyone was particularly impressed with his aptitude.
Two. He had committed some sin so grievous that he was about to be thrown out of his Order. But try as he might, he could not conceive of any way he might have given offense.
Three. He possessed some bit of information that His Holiness needed. Also unlikely, because as a member of the Custodians, all he did was look after the Reconditorium Prohibitum. As such, his duties were not complicated. When priests brought artifacts to him all he did was to classify and store them, and make sure they never left to tempt the faithful.
There had been only one exception to this rule. Some weeks earlier he had been ordered to allow a number of swizzles and everflames to be handed over to officers sent by the Honcho. But that could not be counted against him as dereliction of duty! The seals on the orders had been genuine.
His fingers hesitated on the fourth bead. What other reason could there be?
The door opened and Cardinal McTavish poked his head in. “His Holiness will see you now.”
Esteban forced himself to stand up and take a moment trying to calm the trembling in his knees before following the cardinal into the audience chamber.
Pope Enrique II was engaged in quiet conversation with another of the cardinals as Esteban approached and prostrated himself.
He looked up. “Ah, brother Esteban. We are pleased to welcome you. Please rise and be seated.”
Esteban sank into one of the chairs facing the papal throne. “Your Holiness,” he began, “I do not --”
“You are no doubt wondering why we have summoned you. Let me put your mind at ease right away by telling you that you are not in any sort of trouble. We have heard only good
things about you and your service to the Church.”
Esteban swallowed. “Then why?”
“Have you heard about the recent developments in Denver?”
Denver? What did that have to do with him? “I must confess, Your Holiness, that I do not follow events in the secular world very closely. Has something happened in Denver that I need to know about?”
“Indeed it has...or is about to.” The Pontiff leaned back in his throne, regarding him. “Word has reached us that the Governor of Rado is finally opening a school to teach people about the alien artifacts known as the Gifts of the Tourists. It is a school meant to produce sorcerers.”
Esteban blinked. He supposed he should not have been surprised. Such a thing was unthinkable in lands where the Church was powerful, such as Texas, but in Rado...“I had thought, Holiness, that the Honcho was going to invade and conquer Rado,” he said.
“Such was his plan. Apparently, though, it has come to naught. His invasion forced was defeated and he died in battle.”
Esteban drew in a sharp breath. “I was not aware of this.”
“Nor were we...until his son Jeffrey, the new Honcho arrived in Dallas yesterday and broke the news. But here we are. If the invasion had succeeded we would not be concerned, but now Governor Kristana is free to go ahead with the plans for the school.”
“This is grave news, Holiness. But if you will forgive my asking, what does it have to do with me?”
His Holiness steepled his fingers. “What, indeed? I have a mission for you, Brother Esteban.”
That didn't sound good. “A mission, Holiness?”
“I want you to enroll at that school.”
What? “I, I do not understand. My duties...”
“Your work at the Reconditorium can be handled by one of the other monks of your Order. You can therefore be spared for this task. The others, however, cannot. They are too old.”
Spinspace: The Space of Spins (The Metaspace Chronicles Book 2) Page 3