The Spell of Rosette

by Kim Falconer

  A lock clicked shut, the sound sharp over the drone of the waterfall.

  Kreshkali paused at the double doors before securing the lock. She knew the girl would take some convincing if she was going to get her help, and what she wanted could not be coerced. A few hours’ rest and refreshment would put the young witch in a better frame of mind and meanwhile, she had another stop to make. The nearest grunnie rubbed his forehead on her back as if she were a sturdy post, pushing her over.

  ‘Come on with you both.’ She gathered up their reins. ‘Time to get you home.’

  She led them down a side corridor and through the portal. Unsaddled and curried, she turned them loose on a high mountain pasture, their bellows ringing through the valley as they trotted down the slope, returning to their herd.

  ‘Don’t get too comfy. I’ll need you again soon. I don’t think the girl’s fit enough to walk back to the top.’

  She slipped into the portal and braced for the return to Earth.

  Rosette looked at the food and thought there could be worse prisons. The drink had revived her mind, and her appetite as well. She leaned over the table and sniffed. It looked good and smelled fresh. She broke off a small piece of the bread and popped it into her mouth. It was like cake, melting as it touched her tongue. The meat was unidentifiable, spicy and rich, and when she ate the fruit she thought it was the most delightful thing she had ever tasted. She didn’t know what it was, but she saved the seeds, tucking them into her leggings pocket.

  Satisfied, she left the table to take a closer look at the mosaic walls only to discover that closer wasn’t better. From a few feet away, she could only see little squares of colour. There were no heroic figures or sword fights or wild embraces between lovers in the woods. It was all a blur. She moved backwards, one step at a time, until the swirls of colour came into focus and the images returned. Who was the artist who created such a thing? They certainly had a fancy for the Draconic folk—dragons and lizards of the most fantastic colours featured in every panel.

  She dropped her coat and moved to the pool’s edge. It was lit from within by some unknown means and through the churning water she could see the image of a great dragon tiled into the bottom, its body lying across the entire floor, its wings extended up the sides. It was so realistic Rosette took a step back.

  Just another mosaic. Nothing to fear. She laughed. Nothing to fear?

  She automatically reached out to Drayco in her mind and then pulled back. It was doubtful she could connect with him through all this rock. He’d be sleeping anyway, warm by the fire, belly full. And what could she report? She was effectively imprisoned with no clear understanding of why, nor was there an obvious route of escape. She shook her head. It was out of her control, for now, and panic wouldn’t help. Her captor had said to bathe, to prepare for something, and the water did look inviting.

  She undressed, layer by layer, until she stood naked beneath the endless dome ceiling. Stepping into the pool, she sighed. It was wonderfully warm. She lowered herself into the water, floating on her back, fully submerged except for her face. She allowed herself to drift and relax. Vitality returned to her limbs and she swam from edge to edge, diving down to skim her belly along the tiles of the dragon’s ridged back before shooting to the surface for a quick breath and diving again.

  She floated in the warmth a while longer before getting out. The smooth rock floor was cold to the touch, making her shiver while she stood dripping under the glow of lanternlight. She searched the living area for a towel, finding a large red one that went round her whole body twice. She dried off, dressing quickly. The star chart on the desk had caught her eye again and she wanted to read it.

  After checking that the door was still locked tight, she sat in the cushioned desk chair and scooted it forward until she was right in front of the work space. The chart was curious, completely different from the way she’d ever seen one drawn. There were outer planets in distant positions—far too distant to be seen, and she didn’t recognise their names. The latitude and longitude were wrong as well. They were southern, and there was nothing but ocean in Gaela’s lower hemisphere. She shifted in her seat, replacing the chart at the exact angle she’d found it. As her hand drew back, a letter slipped off a shelf and fell partially open onto the desk.

  ‘What’s this? You want me to read you?’ she whispered.

  She tilted her head, listening for footsteps outside the door. Convinced that she was alone, she returned her attention to the letter. It was written in a strange calligraphy; each letter was perfectly juxtaposed to the next in the most unnatural way. She got no feeling of the author at all by studying the script. It was old, though, and read many times. That, she could tell. The pages were discoloured and the edges torn, leaving much of it illegible. She angled the first sheet to the light and began to read.

  My dearest Ruby,

  I’ve missed you deeply. So many times I’ve wanted to risk a visit but you know how AS—

  There was an abbreviation, but she didn’t recognise it. The rest of the page was impossible to read save for the bottom. Rosette squinted. The ink had run and it was badly stained. She could only make out the last paragraph.

  …total relief. The single discovery I’ve been dreaming of is clear in front of my face. It’s so simple really—DNA employs quantum computation for a range of functions including communication. It’s all about consciousness, Ruby—what you think is what you experience.

  Rosette’s brow creased. DNA? What did that stand for? Only the last sentence made any sense. This must be a letter from a mentor to a student. She picked up the page beneath it and read on.

  It’s getting tight here. ASSIST is taking over—martial law. I’ve been questioned daily. I won’t even put in print who they ask about. It’s like a witch-hunt…so primitive. I hope you never understand such things, but if you do make it back, you need to know. They hunt us here, Ruby, and they don’t take prisoners—at least not for long. They’ve declared war, and they think we’re the enemy! I’ve managed to stay a step ahead. They still need me, but Luka says we have to get out, and soon.

  Rosette looked up at the beams over the pool and shivered. They hunted witches? Where was this letter from? She returned to the page.

  Before I vanish, there is something you need to know. Something you need to pass on. There is a certain kind of energy that occurs in all cultures, in all places, in all times. It goes by different names but has the same signature—strange ‘happenings’ that transgress the classical laws of physics. Different civilisations give it different names—witchcraft, psychic phenomena, shamanism, divine miracles, quantum physics. It’s all magic, one and the same—something that possesses unique qualities producing unaccountable or perplexing effects.

  It includes telepathy (mind-to-mind communication), precognition (awareness of future events prior to occurrence), clairvoyance (‘clear visions’ of the past, present and future), psychokinesis (mind affecting matter), therianthropism (shape-shifting), astral travel (out-of-body experiences), lucid dreaming (conscious awareness and control in the dream state), and the deliberate and intentional use of Qi (life force). However it is manifesting in you, know that it is very strong in our line. Why else would you have been chosen to settle the pups on the other side? You’re the most magical of all, Ruby.

  ‘Pups?’ Rosette said aloud.

  The biggest problem ASSIST has with magic is its perplexing effects—a blanket disregard for the laws of classical physics. Of particular concern are concepts to do with location and the arrow of time. Classical physics holds that time flows in one direction, from past to present to future. It also holds that matter has specific and definable mass, weight and location. In spite of formulas like E=MC2 acknowledging that all matter is energy, ASSIST can’t get their heads around anything that appears to be in two places at once, whether it’s a photon or a human being. Communication faster than light speed is also a concern, as are situations that spin the arrow of time in different direc
tions. Lacking empirical bases for these events, the scientists are losing their reference points and without such ground they’ve concluded that magic is a hoax, unprovable, impossible, a danger and a misconception. My funding has been suspended and all government support withdrawn.

  Just when Rosette thought she understood the lesson, she was thrown by unrecognisable words. Photon? Physics? She picked up the next sheet.

  But magic has a mind of its own, Ruby. Never forget that. It not only ignores the causal, mechanistic world view, it also ignores the scientists who are ensconced in it. Magic thrives, always has, showing its wares to those who care to study it, and sometimes to those who do not. I know that many of the ‘strange happenings’ seen in magic mimic the inexplicable events found in quantum theory. Have you discovered that as well, my daughter? He can help you there. I hope you’ve found each other.

  A chill went up her spine. This was a parent’s letter to an offspring.

  The perplexing effects that are difficult to explain in classical terms make sense in the quantum paradigm. In the world of the very small, the arrow of time flows symmetrically forward and back with no distinction between past, present and future. Precognition and the divinatory arts function in the same way, where future or past events can be perceived in the present, and events in the future can affect the past, even an extremely distant one. I’m not talking about causation, Ruby, but about participation. This isn’t one universe, it’s a multiverse.

  You understand this, don’t you?

  ‘No,’ Rosette answered, even though she knew the question was not for her.

  We think we are going from point A to point B, that A causes B. It feels right subjectively—you eat the ice-cream and then you experience its taste. But that’s not what’s going on in the brain, Ruby. Not at all. The brain responds to stimuli, a touch, a taste, a colour, a voice, before the object or colour or sound actually gets to it. We think we are ‘in the moment’, but it is actually a past response to a future event that’s already happened, and that’s not all. As soon as we choose to taste the ice-cream, our world splits, branching into two—one where we took a bite and one where we did not. Here, let me draw you a picture.

  ‘Ice-cream? What in Gaela’s demons is that?’

  Rosette looked at the pages, shaking her head. The diagram was impossible to discern and the rest of the letter made even less sense.

  Because quantum theory provides a theoretical model for how magic ‘works’, quantum theory-based experimentation has been my playground. I can see behind the veil into a whole new reality and quantum computers are my lens, just as he is yours. He is with you? All is safe? He can help you understand the perplexing effects on both the quantum level and in the divinatory arts. It’ll open doors, Ruby. This one’s only the beginning.

  She picked up the final page.

  Before I made the quantum-sentient breakthrough, the classical binary code bound computers to certain functions: calculations, information storage, communications and networking. A language that consists solely of zeros and ones has its limitations. But quantum computers employ superposition, which means they can be both ones and zeros at the same time. Even deeper, the old belief that consciousness resided in humans alone is over. I’ve changed that paradigm forever, though the effect my discovery is having on the many-worlds is still not clear.

  Now ASSIST is stepping in, pulling the stops.

  The conspiracy began slowly, accelerating into a ruthless, violent deluge. Magic, quantum theory, divination and psychic phenomena are all being lumped together, termed ‘occult arts’ and condemned for their disrespect of natural law. Natural law? Are they joking? This has nothing to do with nature, I promise. She is like magic, a force with plans of her own. She’s rebelling, even more so since you left, and ASSIST can do nothing to stop her.

  Please don’t worry about me. I’m like nature too. Resilient. You know this. I’ve taken action to save the Earth, and our line is the key. He is the key. You two have to look after each other, and the pups. I can’t cross over again, nor can Luka. We’d be traced. It would be the end.

  Oh, Ruby, be warm. Be well, and safe. Love keeps you in my heart always.

  She couldn’t read the signature. It was a scribble, and the ink had smeared. She folded the letter, tempted to take it; Nell might make some sense of the words. But after a moment Rosette put it back and moved away from the desk. There was a spell on this place and though it didn’t feel malevolent, she wasn’t going to put it to the test.

  She ran her fingers along the mosaic tiles, stopping at a wall that sported Lupins romping beside long-limbed women on massive grunnies. It looked like a boar hunt or a festival of some kind. She closed her eyes and sank to the cushioned floor. Without another thought of her strange predicament she pulled her coat up to her neck, tucked her arms into its warmth and fell asleep.

  Kreshkali flipped the compass shut with her thumb, folding the horary chart into quarters. She put both into her cloak pocket. Could this be it? She’d followed the text, a seventeenth-century work from the most famous astrologer of that time, William Lilly. The instructions were not cryptic in this edition. It was a copy straight from the original work of 1647. She’d memorised the relevant section—the rules for identifying witches.

  If the Lord of the ascendant be ruler of the twelfth, and combust the Sun, you must observe of what house the Sun rules, and in what sign and quarter of heaven he and the Lord of the ascendant are, and judge the Witch liveth that way; describe the sun sign as he is, and it represents the person.

  The horary chart she’d calculated had Leo rising and Leo on the twelfth, so the Lord of the ascendant was the Sun—as close a combust as you can get. The Sun was in Gemini, in the tenth house, ninety-two degrees of south longitude. She’d checked the Moon’s aspects, and followed her compass here, to this street, to this building, number ninety-two. Inside must be the witch she was after, and if she did have those Gemini characteristics, she’d be sharp, astute and ready to go, no matter what her age, or his. She’d be a communicator, by voice, letter or message, no doubt with a notebook already in her hand. Kreshkali took a breath and let it out slowly. This venture was a risk, but she had to take it.

  The building in front of her was bleak and weathered—indistinct from all the others in the long line of street-front apartments. If anything, it was in the worst condition. The rusted downspouts were hanging at strange angles from their brackets, useless for the most part. Water fell in sheets down the walls, as if the building wept. The windows were empty, lifeless, but from somewhere inside, Kreshkali felt she was being watched.

  She climbed the concrete steps to the front door, her heart racing. It was dangerous business, stepping outside her turf. Before she found Gaela her survival skills had been honed scalpel-sharp, though now that her plans were finally coming together she felt vulnerable—one witch in one world—and everything rested on this errand’s success. She stood before the metal security door, her throat dry, hands sweating.

  This has to be it.

  According to the chart, here lived a witch who could tell her all she wanted to know about the source inside ASSIST—the mole she needed to contact to set her plan in motion. Whoever was behind this door, she had to get them onboard. If she couldn’t, or worse, if it was a tracker, she had to get the hell away, fast.

  She knocked.

  ‘What do you want?’ A woman’s voice, sharp, suspicious.

  So far, so good. ‘I’m looking for directions. I was told you might help,’ Kreshkali called out above the rain.

  After a pause, the bolt inside the door slid back and it opened as far as the chain-guard. She could see eyes checking her out from head to foot. The door clicked shut and was opened again, this time wide. A grizzled woman with twin lines etched between her brows stuck her head out into the gloom. Her steel-grey hair was pulled back into two thick plaits that hung over her shoulders to her breasts. Her face was broad, her cheekbones strong, her eyes dark, like a jagua
r’s.

  ‘There are many directions to ask about,’ the woman said, her voice softer than before.

  ‘Which is your favourite?’

  ‘I’d have to say the north node.’

  ‘Me too.’

  The older woman motioned Kreshkali in and led the way to a small kitchen. It had a single cupboard and bench, a small sink, and in the centre was a broad wooden table with mismatched chairs.

  ‘You live alone?’ Kreshkali asked, pulling out the seat next to the stove. It was warm from recent use.

  ‘More or less,’ the woman replied. ‘My name is Annadusa.’ She held out her hand, bangles and beads sliding down her arm.

  ‘I’m Kreshkali.’

  Annadusa sat opposite her. ‘You a bit lost, are you? Need directions?’ She said the words offhandedly, flipping her thumb across the edge of a worn diary.

  ‘If you could, please.’ Kreshkali matched her casual tone.

  ‘First some tea to warm you up, and then I’ll send you on your way. You won’t get lost with this.’ She scribbled on a loose leaf and pushed it across the table. Kreshkali smiled softly. ‘I thought it might be that simple.’

  The note said, Can’t talk here. Take me to yours?

  Kreshkali folded the note and tucked it in her pocket, turning her attention to the steaming cup in front of her. She took a whiff. ‘Coffee?’ she whispered.

  Annadusa beamed. ‘I have connections.’

  The aroma filtered up her nose as she drew in her breath, the vapour enveloping her face, making her eyes dance. She let out a soft sigh as she sipped it. If this was a tracker, at least she’d die happy. Coffee wasn’t a commodity on Gaela and she hadn’t the time to trade for it here on Earth. She’d forgotten how rich the taste was, how welcoming.

  ‘It’s not quite that simple, actually.’ Annadusa spoke in a merry tone again, like a youngsters’ storyteller.

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘I think I’ll have to guide you.’