by Frank Morin
“Unless he tried to ride it underwater,” Wolfram said with a smile.
“Don’t ever give him that idea,” Connor warned.
They rose high into the early morning sky and pointed toward the rising sun. Hamish found an eager tailwind that threw them across the landscape at tremendous speed. Without the shielding over the windows to block out the howling wind, and the marble heaters fighting back the bitter cold, they would have suffered a miserable journey.
Hamish leaned back in his comfortable chair, with his feet up on the front window sill and sighed as he studied the landscape flowing past, thousands of feet below. “I never thought I’d say I preferred flying any way except in my suit, but I have to admit this is pretty nice.”
After an hour of cruising, with the peaks of the Abwehr Mountains marching along the horizon to their right, Connor asked, “Gisela, can you tell us about Dagmanson?”
Gisela, who seemed to be a nervous flyer, seemed eager to talk. “Althing is much sparselier populated, especially compared to Ravinder or Sehrazad, but we are having beautiful, wild countryside.”
She explained that the center of the country did produce bountiful crops, and their rocky coastline along the Sea of Olcan offered excellent fishing and trade routes with the rest of the continent.
“Dagmanson is being the jewel of our nation. More than a quarter of all Althins are living there. It lies to the east, protected by the Kalfafell mountains that form the border between Althing and Granadure. It also is serving as the seat of the Arishat League for over two centuries.”
“What do you call those mountains in Granadure?” Connor asked.
“We just use the Althin name,” Wolfram said.
Hamish frowned. “But why did you rename the Maclachlans the Abwehr mountains and change Mount Macduib to Osterwald?”
Wolfram shrugged. “We haven’t fought as much with the Althins.”
Hamish chuckled. “Really? You changed the names just out of spite?”
Mattias actually smiled. “Something like that. Think about it. When you grew up thinking Granadure was evil, would you have wanted to use our names?”
Hamish shook his head. “Of course not, but not because we hated you. Our names are just better.”
Before they could get that argument heated up properly, Connor interrupted. “I don’t understand how Althing can be bigger than Obrion and Granadure combined.”
Hamish also found that odd.
“You’ll seeing once we cross the Kalfafell,” Gisela promised. “Dagmanson has building in a spur of the mountains that running east, called the Skaftafell.”
Hamish loved how the foreign words flowed off her tongue with a grace he could never manage, but Connor grimaced. “Your names are so weird.”
Wolfram muttered, “Says a man from a nation that named the Drumwhindle Pass and Mount Macduib.” He pronounced it mac-dweeb.
“Well, when you say it like that, it does sound pretty bad,” Connor admitted.
Gisela explained how Dagmanson stood at the head of the Three Sisters, great rivers that formed the backbone of the nation. They brought life, trade, and travel across a land that would surely fall barren without them.
The first was the deep Saol river, which flowed southwest and eventually formed the border between Althing and Obrion. It served as an important trading waterway between them all the way from Trodaire to the twin trading centers of Freastal and Deifur. There it melded into the mighty Macantact in the final stretch of its miles-wide journey out to the sea. At the mouth of the Macantact stood the cities of Fossholl on the northern Althing side and Cromarty on the southern Obrioner side.
“I’ve barely ever heard of those,” Connor said, and Hamish nodded agreement.
“How can you not knowing such important cities of your own nation?” Gisela asked.
Connor shrugged. “In Alasdair, we didn’t know much about anything but cutting granite. Seems like whenever I think I’m starting to get a feel for things, I learn about so many more places I never knew I needed to know.”
Wolfram said, “Don’t feel bad. With how the different high houses of Obrion squabble for power and influence, fewer travel widely in Obrion than in most of the rest of the continent. You’ve already seen more than most.”
Hamish loved learning about the wider world and asked, “Tell us more about those three rivers.”
Gisela said, “The second sister is the Bergrin. It is flowing south through the fertile plains of central Althing. The last is the Enok. It is the littler sister that does racing southeast to plunging into the icy fjord of Finnlauger.”
Mattias said, “Althing is big, but the land is harsh. That’s one of the reasons they ended up with so much after the Tallan Wars.”
“And good treaties,” Gisela said.
Mattias nodded. “What’s the term you Althins always use? Good treaties are the lifeblood of the nation?”
“Very good,” Gisela said.
He said, “That’s probably the most important thing to know about Althing. I’d wager it’s got more politicians than every other nation combined.”
“We must having many treaties to keeping order with all nations of the Arishat League,” Gisela protested.
“And then some. I believe your parliament seeks to win over the entire world by sheer weight of signed formal papers,” Mattias chuckled.
Student Eighteen, who had sat silently listening for most of the journey suddenly laughed, a more girlish sound than Connor had ever heard from her. “He has making a valid point. Althing has gaining advantaging over other Arishat nations by cleverly treaties.” She spoke in a high-pitched, girlish voice with a strong Althin accent.
“Have we now meeting a new person in your head?” Gisela seemed happy to turn the conversation in a new direction.
She actually flushed and looked around the group, a nervous little smile on her lips. “I am pleasing to meeting you all. I am Eystri.”
Gisela gaped. “I have hearing of you if you are being the same Eystri who did suggesting the new cataloging system for ancient artifacts for quicklier sorting.”
Eystri’s flush deepened and she dropped her gaze and said in a soft voice. “I had much helping from many peoples.”
Connor grinned. “Pleased to meet you, Eystri.”
Hamish added, “Tell us about yourself.”
She again dropped her eyes and spoke toward her hands, which were clasped together in her lap. “I did growing up in the port city of Grafarkirkja, at the mouth of the Bergrin.”
Hamish barked a laugh. “You lived in Gaffer-kicked-ya? I’ve got to send old Mhairi down there. Do they have an annual kicking competition for elderly? She’d win ultimate champion for sure!”
Connor laughed with him, and even General Wolfram cracked a smile. Mattias tried to look like the humor was beneath him, but he probably just didn’t get the joke. Gisela sniffed, clearly not appreciating the jab at her homeland’s strange names, and Eystri turned bright red. “Oh, no. We having too many respecting the elders for kicking.”
“It’s all right, Eystri,” Connor told her in a comforting voice.
Hamish marveled at how different she was from the other strong, confident personalities living in that head. No wonder they hadn’t met her before. She must spend most of her time hiding in there.
Hamish said, “We heard that you spent a few months in the vault. I take it that’s some kind of library, right?”
Gisela looked shocked and Eystri’s shy gaze snapped up to meet his. She sat straight and in a deeply offended tone declared, “The vault is being nothing less than the finest library and housing the most informations than anywhere in the world.”
General Wolfram said, “From what I’ve heard, that’s the one place built like a fortress, with a substantial guard on permanent duty.”
“Information is the most vitalest things,” Gisela declared, and Eystri nodded solemn agreement.
Wolfram said, “Indeed. With the vault intact, your research s
ecrets secure, and your treaties protected, you don’t need much of a standing army. Your treaties require the other nations of the Arishat to supply most of the soldiers and shoulder the immense financial burden of maintaining all your troops.”
“We all focusing on our strengths,” Gisela said a bit sharply. “Althing has developing the best scientists and researchers of all the continent.”
“And you now have researchers assisting Jean,” Hamish pointed out. “How much are they reporting back home?”
Gisela looked surprised by the question. “Every things, of course. We can protecting the information best and assigning large teams of additional researchers to reviewing it for accuracy.”
Connor said, “No doubt your research teams feel the need to build replicas of everything they can. Just to prove the concepts, right?”
Gisela nodded. “We can having no Builders so we cannot operating mechanicals, but we can helping in every other way.”
Hamish exchanged a look with Connor, who nodded in silent agreement. Neither of them would discuss the keystone with the Althins. It sounded like Jean hadn’t shared that secret yet, and he hoped she kept it from them as long as possible. Once they learned about the existence of the keystone, no doubt they would find ways to obtain some of them, thus gaining the ability to activate at least some mechanicals.
The Althins were important allies, but he reminded himself to tread cautiously. The Althins would negotiate with their own best interests in mind. They needed to do the same.
He was starting to think the visit might turn out far more interesting than he’d first expected.
40
What Would You Do with a Perfect Memory?
They reached the high range of the Kalfafell mountains on the eastern border of Granadure by nightfall. The sun set behind them in a blaze of orange and red. The weather remained clear and cold, and when Connor placed his hand against the gently pulsing shield forming the side window, he could feel a hint of the brutal cold seeping through. Thankfully the little bits of active marble kept the cockpit comfortable.
Camping on the cold, snow-covered mountainside didn’t look very appealing, so they decided to fly through the night and arrive at Dagmanson that much earlier the next day. The little wagon bed in the back was stuffed to overflowing with mechanicals and supplies, so it took a few minutes to prep the cabin for sleep.
Luckily, the armrests for their seats were removable, transforming the three rows of seats into narrow, but functional beds. Gisela and Eystri got two of them, and since Wolfram was the eldest, he scored the third. Connor and Mattias slept on the floor between rows, and Hamish floated up to the ceiling in his suit.
It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but they’d brought enough bedding that it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either.
Hamish and Mattias apparently challenged each other to a snoring competition, and for a while the little cabin vibrated with their throat-rattling sounds. Connor pushed his blankets off with a groan and sat up, planning to fill Hamish’s suit with warm water.
Eystri was lying on the nearest bed of seats with her hands pressed over her ears. She glanced at Connor and whispered, “We have never hearing Hamish snore like this.”
“I wonder if it’s the altitude,” Connor suggested. “Verena said something about the air being thinner up here, so maybe it can’t contain the sounds as well. I think I’ll tie their mouths shut.”
“We are having a better idea,” she said and timidly handed him a tiny piece of serpentinite. Her features shivered and her voice shifted to Student Eighteen. “Watch and learn.”
He still liked his idea, but took the stone and connected with serpentinite. Immediately, the loud snoring became visible as brightly colored streams issuing from both of their mouths. The sounds bounced all around the little cabin and seemed to take far too long to fade away.
Student Eighteen seized those streamers of sound and pointed them between Hamish and Mattias, as if fired from invisible bows. The rest of the cabin faded to blessed quiet as she somehow wrapped an insulating layer around them to keep the sounds from escaping that narrow conduit.
With all that sound directed between them, Mattias grunted and grimaced in his sleep, then rolled over and stopped snoring. Hamish coughed a couple of times, then he too fell silent.
“How did you insulate the sounds like that?” Connor whispered.
“It’s a—” Student Eighteen winced and rubbed her temple. When she spoke again, her voice had shifted to the gruff tones of Tresta.
She hissed, “Hold the line. That wall’s critical.”
Back to Student Eighteen. “I know. Who do you think created it?”
Tresta responded, “Then stop whining and do what needs to be done.”
Rith’s fast, cocky voice jumped into the conversation. “We can’t outrun it. We need help. Just tell him.”
Student Eighteen shuddered, clutching her head, her lips moving but the sounds so weak they looked like pale, smoky whispers to his serpentinite-enhanced eyes. Again Connor was struck by how much he missed Aifric. So many different women resided in that head, but that face would always be Aifric to him. He’d tried to bury his grief at her death, could easily imagine Aifric was still somewhere in that head when he talked with Student Eighteen, but now in the quiet, dim cabin, he felt overwhelmed by grief and guilt.
So he couldn’t help himself. He tugged those whispered sounds to him. It was like that moment right after Aifric died when she’d momentarily lost her ability to shield her internal dialogue from the outside world.
He couldn’t keep up with the many different personalities as they argued rapidly together. Worse, about half of her words were so soft, they faded away before he could snatch them. What he did hear made him suddenly worried. She seemed to be arguing amongst herself about some kind of internal damage she’d suffered when Aifric died. It sounded like it was threatening to spread, like a disease of the mind.
Kilian had suggested that she’d suffered more trauma from Aifric’s death than she’d admitted. She hadn’t spoken of it, and Connor hadn’t brought it up. He’d told himself it was because he wanted to give her time to mourn, but the truth was, he was scared to. He wasn’t sure he could bear the thought of her dying inside any more. Would she blame him for her pain?
“Are you all right?” he finally interrupted.
“We’re fine,” she answered, her voice somehow carrying the sounds of several of her personalities at the same time.
“It didn’t sound like you’re fine,” Connor insisted.
She took a deep breath, then spoke as Student Eighteen. “We need some time, Connor. Aifric’s death unsettled our internal balance. We just need to figure out how to restore it.”
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Yes. Don’t say anything to anyone else about it.”
“But—”
She fixed her steady gaze on him. “Connor, give us some time. I’ll let you know if there’s anything else you can do.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She lay down and turned away. Connor reluctantly returned to his blanket. He worried about her for a long time before the soft humming of the window shields finally lulled him to sleep.
By morning, they’d soared over the craggy peaks of the Kalfafell, which formed an impressive natural barrier against anyone not flying. The land to the east settled into rolling hills, covered in dense forests of mixed hardwoods and pine. They found a wide river flowing out of the northeast and Gisela confirmed it was the Saol.
Turning upriver, they followed the Saol through much of the rest of the day, passing mile after mile of heavy forests, followed by wide open lands that Gisela said were either farmlands or grazing lands for cattle or the famous Althing sheep.
“My mother said Althin wool is supposed to be pretty good,” Connor offered.
“Best in the entirely world,” Eystri confirmed in her timid voice. She showed no sign of any lingering issues from
her late-night argument with herself. He wanted to ask her how she was doing, but couldn’t in front of the others.
Mattias said, “The crown prince insists on using Grindavik wool in winter uniforms.”
Gisela said, “He has being very wise. Grindavik wool is one of the best varieties.”
“What makes it special?” Hamish asked.
Eystri answered, speaking as if reciting a written description. “Grindavik wool is unusually dense, making it exceptionally warm and weather proof, but still lighter than most other wool.”
“What happened to your accent?” Connor asked, wondering if she was slipping a different personality into the conversation.
Eystri flushed, looking down and making a bobbing motion with her head. “I have many sorrowing. That was part of a report I have reading once in the vault.”
“You memorized a report on wool strains?” Hamish asked, sounding impressed and confused at the same time.
“I have developing ability for remembering every things I have reading,” Eystri explained.
“Wow. How many sweetbread recipes have you memorized?” Hamish asked.
“Sixty-three,” she answered without hesitation.
Hamish twisted in his seat to face her, his expression amazed. “You have to write all those down for me.”
Eystri gave him a shy smile and agreed. That was an incredible ability, although Gisela suddenly looked a bit uneasy. Maybe she worried about how much access Eystri had gained in the vault. How many precious documents had she seen?
If she could indeed remember everything she ever read, there was nothing preventing her from making copies. Connor bet there were secrets in the vault that some people would pay dearly for. Was that why Aifric had developed Eystri in the first place?
Half an hour later, Gisela pointed toward the north where several mountains extended east out of the unbroken Kalfafell range. “That is the Skaftafell spur. Dagmanson lies at the easternly edge.
An hour later they soared over the last row of round-topped foothills and gained their first good look at Dagmanson. Connor whistled softly as Hamish slowed the Hawk so they could stare.