And that is meant to comfort me?
Niðhoggr turned and looked over his shoulder at Adam as he launched himself into the black void of space. I would find it of great comfort, were our positions reversed, Steelsoul.
They returned to the Judea house, and Nith remained steadfastly in the backyard; it was no longer safe to leave Sigrun there alone, but the dragon would not shrink down to lindworm size and enter the house at the moment. The rooms were filled with the scent of the apple Sigrun had eaten on coming home, and it perfumed her skin, and all Adam could think of was taking her to bed and showing her how much her gesture had meant to him.
But it was, as it so often had been in the past several years, an exercise in frustration and futility. His body was finally behaving better, thanks to her care, but she didn’t really respond to his kisses and caresses. It wasn’t emotional indifference. He knew she still loved him. The trip to the moon had shown him that. It could be his physical condition, or her self-admitted state of goddess-based coldness. But whatever the root cause, it made it difficult for him to stay interested and focused. “Sigrun, sex is mostly mental, no matter what age someone is,” he told her, in some annoyance, about halfway through the night. “I need you to respond.”
The light had been off; she didn’t need light to see anymore. But he could feel, in her silence, words she would never say: You want me to pretend. You want me to lie.
No, I want you to feel it. I want you to remember how it used to be, and feel it all over again. He braced himself on his elbows, and tried again. “Sig? You can shape yourself. It’s not just human belief that will build your image. You also build it, yourself. You can be passion, if you want to be . . . .” Not like Lassair, though. In your own image.
“That’s not who I am.”
“It’s who you used to be!”
Her silence, however, told him another story, and he rolled away, in frustration and anger. It’s difficult for you to be passion, when passion went and died on you. Love is still there. Love will . . . probably always still be there. But god damn it, I’m still alive.
And in the morning, she was gone again, before he’d even awakened, and he was left with a raw sense of anguish. He hadn’t wanted to leave it like that. He’d wanted to hold her tightly, and tell her what a wonder she’d given him, that view of the fragile blue world on which they lived. But she’d gone without a sound.
And on her pillow, on her neatly-made side of the bed, he found the moon-rock he’d picked up from the lunar sands, and a fresh-plucked golden apple from the tree in the yard. Adam picked up the rock, and held it, tightly, in one hand, feeling it cut into his skin. And stared at the apple. Two silent messages.
Chapter 10: Fetters
For a pure scientist, there is no greater joy than discovery. Discoveries tell us why the world works, and from that, we can extrapolate outwards into many different realms. As a technomancer, I am part engineer, part mage, and part scientist. I look for applications for my discoveries, but I also know that once I have developed something, I have very little control over how others will use it. They may not make the same ethical choices that I would make.
That is the difficulty with all creation. That which is created, inevitably transforms. Whether it is a child who grows up and has a mind of his or her own, or an invention that falls into hands other than those of its creator . . . there are always consequences unforeseen at the moment of inception. And those consequences are perhaps the hardest things to live with of all.
—Minori Eshmunazar, speech given to the graduating class of the School of Thaumaturgy at the University of Judea, Maius 11, 1995 AC.
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Caesarius 4, 1993 AC
Zaya slumped at the table in the small, locked room in the Praetorian Guard’s Judean offices. That her mother and father were out in the waiting area, along with Uncle Adam, was hardly a comfort. An adversarial Judean Intelligence officer, an Egyptian Praetorian agent with a shaved head, and a local gardia member who looked exhausted, were in the process of questioning her about Ninson Tehro . . . at length. Her mother had retained a barrister for her, a Chaldean woman of good family who typically represented the Magi in conflicts with the local authorities. The barrister sat to her left, and occasionally murmured to her when she didn’t need to answer a question. At least Zaya didn’t feel completely alone.
One of the major problems had been determining what or who currently had jurisdiction in the case involving Ninson Tehro’s murder. Half of what the media had been terming the ‘Eastern Alliance’— the swathe of land from Tyre to southern Judea, and from Judea west to Egypt and eastern Carthage—currently believed that the Praetorian Guard had no legitimate authority to investigate crimes, because the Praetorians were Roman. A good number of citizens and residents of the Eastern Alliance believed that they were no longer a part of Rome—something that Caesarion endeavored to correct in his weekly broadcasts. We are Rome, he said, repeatedly. We are that part of Rome that desires to remind our government what it means to be Roman. The instant that Julianus rescinds his illegal and insulting orders, and makes efforts towards reconciliation with the subject nations of the Empire, and steps down in favor of Hadrianus, to ensure that the disparate parts of the Empire can be knitted together again in amity, I will be the first to swear fealty . . . not to the Emperor, but to the Empire, once more. Caesarion’s stated goal was allowing the Senate to choose one of the two remaining sons of Caesarion IX for the Imperial throne. He’d repeatedly had gone on record as preferring his brother Hadrianus for the job.
Unfortunately, news out of Rome suggested that Hadrianus was under house arrest in the capital.
The regional Praetorians had been ordered to arrest Caesarion, Marcus Livorus, and Adam ben Maor, not to mention Trennus Matrugena and Sigrun Caetia. However, when a handful had made their move against Caesarion, the governor had been ready for them. Zaya knew that Rig, Solinus, Masako, and Latirian had all been there to protect him. And as a result, Caesarion had given every Praetorian, not just the ones who’d attacked him, a threefold choice. First, they could accept banishment to the edge of the zone controlled by the ‘Eastern Alliance.’ Second, they could accept detention in a Judean prison. Or last, they had the chance to swear their allegiance to the cause of retaking Rome from Julianus.
All of which meant little to Zaya at the moment. “Let’s start over again from the beginning,” Agent Siptath suggested, sitting on the edge of the table, his dark eyes hooded. “When precisely did you first meet Ninson Tehro?”
“Iunius, 1992,” Zaya replied, with a degree of confidence. “I know it was late in the month, and the Archive records I checked yesterday tell me he first petitioned for use of the facility on the twenty-third.”
“What was his area of interest?”
“He wanted the Maqlû incantations. They’re early protective incantations, but because they involve calling on gods that died thousands of years ago, they’re mostly a historical curiosity.” Zaya clasped her hands. “He said he was looking for new avenues for protective spells.”
“And thereafter his project became of enough interest that it was picked up by Erida Lelayn and Minori Eshmunazar, and became the missile shield currently being tested over Jerusalem?” That, from Detective ben Dar.
Zaya nodded, rapidly.
“And after that, he was picked up for work on the so-called hydrogen spell?”
“Yes.” Details on that were being kept largely under wraps, although someone had leaked a video of the spell detonation to the news media. INN had run the footage under the headline of The Power of the Gods in the Hands of Man. Apparently, Potentia ad Populum’s various factions had alternately decried it as ‘yet another example of mages gone mad’ or applauded it as ‘a step towards giving all men the power of the gods.’
“Masako Matrugena asked JI and the Praetorians to run a secondary background check on him last year. This was in response to a few uncharacteristic remarks he made to yo
u. Could you characterize the level of your interactions with him?” Agent Siptath asked.
“I provided research in response to his queries at the Archives. When he realized that I actually knew what I was talking about, and . . . more particularly after he realized who my parents were, he spent a lot of time talking to me about his projects.” Zaya squirmed.
“You seem young to have that level of clearance.”
“I was permitted to hear about the projects because it allowed me to find articles and ancient texts that might help people with their work.” Zaya tried not to sound defensive, and the Chaldean barrister put a hand on her arm to calm her.
“Anything else?” Siptath asked.
“It . . . didn’t strike me as odd at first, but he kept inviting me to a taverna called Psyche’s Wings. It was only after I went there with my husband, and, well . . . I had to have it pointed out to me that it’s the sort of place that people go who are looking for . . . assignations.” She winced in embarrassment. “My brothers-in-law suggested that it was odd, and Masako reported it to project security.”
“Did you ever talk to Tehro about the place again?” ben Dar asked.
“I told him that I’d gone there with my husband. He told me that if I wanted to go there again, he’d be happy to escort me, given that he knew that my husband is away on military duty a good deal of the time.” Zaya flushed. She hadn’t remotely gotten that impression any of the times that Tehro had mentioned the place to her before that. “I told him it wasn’t my sort of place, and I refused to discuss the matter with him again. In fact, every time he tried to engage me in social conversation after that I cut him off. Pled other work.” She looked around at them all. “It seemed embarrassing and out of line, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.” She touched the necklace at her throat; it was some of her mother’s finest spell-crafting, and would establish a flame-ward around her body if her emotional reaction became that of intense anger or fear. It didn’t require a command word; it responded directly to adrenal and hormonal responses in the body. The bracelets on her wrists, other than the charm bracelet she always wore, were designed to emit shockwaves in response to keywords, and she still had an invisibility charm on a second necklace. Not to mention the spells contained in the three rings she wore, and the attendant spirits who guarded her at all times. “I just didn’t want to have anything more to do with him.” Zaya regarded the officers steadily. “Do you have any leads on who killed him?”
“The autopsy came back positive for pentobarbital. It’s a short-acting barbiturate. Some Romans recommend it as a peaceful method of suicide.” Ben Dar’s voice held disapproval. “The amount in his body, however, was insufficient to have killed him, and we’re actually not sure what did. No wounds, no marks, no signs of a struggle. Praetorian sorcerers are in short supply at the moment to examine his body for latent energy patterns.” He paused. “Are you aware of any drug dependencies he may have had? Any debts he may have spoken of?”
Zaya shook her head, numbly. “He considered himself a wine connoisseur, and had a collection of wines he liked to brag about.” She thought about it, and shrugged. “But I think he liked owning them more than he liked drinking them. It made him feel important, to be able to invite people to his house, and offer them a rare bottle. He’d talk more about people’s reactions, than what the wine actually tasted like, when he finally would open the damned things.” She sighed. “Debts . . . no, not really. Just, Psyche’s Wings . . . oh.” Recollection tapped her on the side of the head. “He mentioned a young lady who worked there quite often. Ariadne. She’s a dryad, I think. I never got a last name.” Zaya shrugged. “I’m sorry I haven’t been more help.”
“You’ve actually been very helpful,” ben Dar told her. “We’ve been working on the assumption that this has to do with his involvement in the hydrogen spell project.”
Zaya swallowed and nodded. Her mother had been informed by the Judean gardia that Tehro’s house had been ransacked after his death. His wife and children had been away at the time. No witnesses. His library had been hard-hit, and his wife had admitted that she wouldn’t know if any of his books or notes were gone. Nothing appeared to be missing from the Archives, not even the calculi crystals from the hydrogen spell project . . . but Tehro could have carried out copies. Every scholar in the Archives was subjected to a search when leaving every day . . . but items could be missed. He’d been a limited summoner, so he could have handed a crystal to a spirit to carry out for him, but it took a fairly powerful spirit to manage that. But he could have carried the spell out in his mind, Zhi had said, grimly. Memorized a portion a day and written it on paper at home, to try to bargain for it to the highest bidder.
There is no evidence for why he was murdered at the moment, Erida had reminded Zaya’s father, but her golden eyes had been glinting with a kind of suppressed, directionless fury. He didn’t have debts or addictions. His mind was shielded by a blood-bond of some sort, but that’s common among the Magi. He seemed to be a secure person to have on the project. He passed several other background checks . . . damn it all.
Zaya finally left the questioning area, and found her parents and Adam in the waiting area. She leaned against her father for a moment; Zhi was in his smoke form, as usual, out of the house, but he passed a hand lightly over her hair. You have done everything that you could, Fireflower, he told her, with an uncommon note of gentleness in his voice. You have done nothing wrong.
That night, Maccis came back from his work with the landsknechten. It was supposed to be his last night in Judea for a while—Fenris was taking him back to Novo Gaul to help hold the borders secure against any Nahautl raids, not to mention dealing with the Roman garrisons that dotted the landscape. He was excited about it, but in a quiet, suppressed way. His work with the fenris packs was a part of his life that Zaya didn’t share. She felt a little excluded, but in fairness, most people didn’t share their work lives with their spouses. “How did the interview with the gardia go?” Maccis asked, digging in the electric refrigerator for a paper-wrapped chicken and a basket of fresh dates, to start making dinner. Zaya was just grateful that Maccis knew how to cook; she’d been in the kitchen of her mother’s home precisely once in her life.
“It went all right,” Zaya told him, taking a seat in their tiny kitchen to watch as onions, garlic, cinnamon, and a half dozen other spices were tossed in a bowl, Maccis leaning over to sniff them with obvious enjoyment, before settling it all in a large pot to cook for the next hour or so. “I just . . . I wish I knew what happened.”
Maccis leaned down, and gave her a quick kiss. “They’ll figure it out. In the meantime, make sure you vary your routine a bit, all right? Take different routes to and from class. Don’t go to the same cafés at the same time every day.”
Zaya’s head jerked up. “You think I could be a target?”
“You know a lot about the various defense spell projects, and you’re not a sorcerer. You look like a soft target.” Maccis turned around at the stove and looked at her, steadfastly. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse, but someone could also look at you and see . . . leverage. Take you hostage to try to blackmail your mother into turning over information on the spells.”
Her heart sank. “You think that’s why Tehro kept trying to get me to go to Psyche’s Wings?”
Maccis snorted. “I think he thought you were young and pretty and interested in him, when all you were interested in was the work.” His movements at the stove suddenly looked tense. “Technically, I should be a suspect, I guess, but no marks on the corpse.” He turned, his eyes blank and a little alien. “Not really how I do my killing.”
Zaya stiffened a little. “You wouldn’t, Maccis.”
“Probably not, but don’t think I wasn’t tempted when you mentioned that he was trying to get you to go visit tavernas with him.” He paused. “Don’t get me wrong. If you want to go out for dinner when I’m not here, that’s your choice. But . . . .”
“Not with peopl
e of the opposite sex,” Zaya replied. “That goes without saying, Maccis.”
“I know that and you know that, but there’s a whole world of people out there who seem to be too stupid to realize that going out with just one other specific person sends messages. If you want to send the message of ‘just friends,’ stay in a group.”
“Vorvena again, I take it?” Zaya stood and leaned in behind him.
He sighed. “My sister finds someone to break her heart at least once every other month. Let’s not talk about her.”
“Fair enough.” She wrapped her arms around him from behind. “Don’t worry so much about me. I’ll be fine.”
He turned towards her, worry in his blue eyes very plain. “I hate that I’m not going to be here.”
“You could tell Fenris no. You could work with the JDF on securing the borders here,” Zaya hesitated over the words. “Or the landsknechten.” She knew that there were bonds between him and Fenris, between him and the pack, which went beyond words.
“. . . I think I might,” he told her, after a long moment. “I’d be a little closer, that way. Though I’m still not going to be in town most of the time.” Nothing else he could have said, would have reinforced how concerned he actually was. Maccis turned back towards the stove.
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