Key to Magic 03 King

by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

  Dhavif did not move. “Sir? Are you certain?”

  “Yes!” nhBreen snapped. “Collapse the Wards now!”

  The Chief Warder pushed himself away from his console and stood. “Sir, I cannot obey that order.”

  “You are relieved. Place yourself under arrest and report to the lower bunkers.”

  As Dhavif saluted and walked to the drop shaft to the lower levels, nhBreen sank heavily his chair, and keyed in a lengthy set of commands.

  For a moment, Rhynn felt only dread. This was it. The end of the world.

  In a frozen moment, he had the first prophetic vision of his life: magic itself would kill the City.

  In panic, he shot to his feet, overturning his chair and ripping off his headset. “Sir, my family is billeted in Ol’Lighton!”

  “Dismissed!” nhBreen barked instantly.

  Rhynn savagely punched Home on his combo unit and appeared in his bedroom. Almost sobbing, he shouted for Eilia. Pherarl, in his crib, woke and started crying.

  Annoyed, his wife came in from the study, where the sounds of an Emergency Alert were blaring from the entertainment wall. "What are you doing home?" She went to the crib, picked up the baby and tried to quiet him. "Well, what's going on?"

  Rhynn dropped to his knees without wasting time to respond and dragged his loaded rucksack from under the bed. Up in a flash, he leapt to Eilia's side, making her eyes go wide, wrapped his free hand around her waist, and then screamed into his combo unit, "Byaetrol Hills Transfer Station!"

  The port target at the station was under one of the old style rotundas. The lighting around its thirteen gold painted columns was still on when they appeared, but as Rhynn dragged Eilia, now crying and frantic, and his squalling son down the steps, the self-powered globes went out. The neighborhood south of the station had already gone black, but some portable lights were starting to show. Knowing he could not wait to let his eyes readjust, he stopped only to strip off his combo unit and cast it aside, then barreled blindly on up the dark, gravel trail, pushing Eilia ahead of him toward the top of the first hill and the border of the Primitive Reservation.

  She suddenly balked, twisting out of his grasp and hugging the baby to her bosom. "Stop, Rhynn! Tell me what's going on right now!"

  "The City is about to be destroyed, Eilia! Every bit of magic is going to go unstable and our only chance is to get away from all of it now!"

  Eilia went instantly pale, seeming almost like a ghost in the dim starlight, but did not protest when he urged her on up the hill.

  Byaetrol Hills Transfer was right outside the Primitive Reservation, making it a good half a day's brisk walk from his father's place. They could not reach its presumed safety in the moments before the attack transpired, but he hoped that that they could at least get deep enough in the magic free zone to survive the impending attack.

  Just as they reached the crest, Eilia screamed in pain and sagged on her left side. "My anklet! It's burning me!"

  Reacting instantly, Rhynn dropped and snatched the fabric of her pants leg with both hands, ripping it up to her calf. Her anklet, a simple gadget that cycled designs and colors on her clothing according to her mood, was glowing orange and had started to blacken the skin under it. Cursing himself for having forgotten it, he grabbled hold of it, searing his fingers as the catch resisted, then gritted his teeth and broke the thing with brute strength. As he hurled it away into the bushes, it ruptured in a ball of blue fire.

  Then the entire sky to the south went white.

  The ground heaved and rent, toppling the both of them from their feet, and a torrent of wind tore across the hilltop, breaking branches and smashing down smaller trees. Lighting and fire cracked across the sky and the impossible sound of the ether itself shrieking in mad panic pressed down upon them.

  He and Eilia huddled together on the ground with the baby sheltered between them as the tumult continued without seeming end. But, mercifully, it did come to an end and he climbed unsteadily to his feet looked back. Sobbing silently, Eilia stayed sitting, rocking their wailing son.

  All the way to the horizon, the City was on fire and the light of the conflagration lit the area around them like day. It looked as if every single building was ablaze and some of the flames reached ten storeys into the air. The sky-reaching spires of the city center, which should have been easily visible, were missing. In their place was a tremendous vortex of white-hot gas and dust. Just down the hill, the Port Station had been swallowed by a crater a hundred paces wide.

  He started to get Eilia to her feet, when something large over to the left and not very far away went up. The concussion almost knocked him down again. "We have to get farther away," he told her. "It's not over yet."

  She wiped her eyes with a shudder and then let him raise her up, leaning against him as she favored her left ankle. Looking back toward the City, she said dully, "It's all gone. They're all dead. Mother and everybody."

  He picked up his rucksack and slipped his arms through the straps. "But we're still alive and so is our son."

  Mention of Pherarl seemed to lend her strength. He was still crying, but the sounds were now hackneyed and hoarse. Cradling the baby in her right arm, she pulled up her shirt with her left hand to expose her breast and then encouraged him with the nipple until he latched on. With him thus quieted, she took in a deep breath and visibly steadied herself. "You'll have to help me walk. I don't want to stumble with the baby."

  The death throws of the City continued through the night, with the frequency of the thunderous blasts gradually diminishing. As the trail continued to rise through the hills, with a series of switchbacks on the steeper sections, its raked gravel faded to scuffed dirt, but there had been no rain in several days and they managed the hike well enough. The covenants of the Reservation prohibited habitations in a wide buffer zone around its periphery, and they encountered nothing and no one as the forest closed in around them. After some time, the trail went up and down a bald, rocky hillock that made a natural overlook, presenting a southern view over the tops of the trees, but neither of them dared look back. When the day dawned on a sky gone all gangrenous and leprous, they finally lay down alongside the trail in a bed of pine straw to sleep. Afraid of what the magic might bring down upon them, he did not attempt a shelter ward.

  Rhynn dozed only fitfully, and around midday -- it was hard to tell since the sun was not visible -- he roused, gently disengaged from Eilia and the baby so as not to wake them, and started going through his rucksack.

  He was not sure what was in it. He had kept it around for unannounced field exercises, but since he had gotten duty in the Command Bunker, he had not used it. He started taking out items as he came to them and spread them out on the pine needles around him.

  A field jacket was crammed in on the top. He took it out and methodically went through the numerous pockets, recovering fourteen coins of various denominations, two pencil stubs, a small paper pad, a moldy half bar of melted candy, some tissues, and a couple of colorful pebbles that he had picked up in a stream and forgotten. Next were four pairs of dirty and quite rank socks. Under those were an empty canteen, four unopened flasks of distilled water, and six just-add-water field rations. Finally, at the bottom were his standard issue magicless first aid kit, chemical water treatment kit, and manual sewing kit.

  Eilia stirred, blinked her eyes open, then raised her head to check on Pherarl, who was snuggled in the crook of her arm, relaxed and sleeping soundly.

  "I love you," he told her. It was all that he could think of to say.

  She took in the wounded sky and then drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I was hoping that it was just a nightmare."

  "How's your ankle?"

  "It still hurts and now it itches too."

  "Let me have a look at it."

  The blistered skin had pealed off the ring of the burn, but it looked to him as if the damage had not gone deep. She would have a terrible scar but probably was in no danger of serious infection. There was so
me burn ointment in the first aid kit, but it had a prominent warning that it was not to be used for severe burns. He poured some distilled water from one of the flasks over her ankle instead, wrapped it loosely in gauze, then tipped an analgesic from its metal tube and had her swallow it with some of the water.

  "I've got some field rations," he told her, holding up the pouches. "You should eat."

  "I'm not really hungry."

  "Eat anyway. You'll need food to make milk for Pherarl."

  "You're right. What do you have?"

  "Beef and Rice, Noodles and Cheese Sauce, Vegetable Stir Fry, Pound Cake, and two Wild Game Surprise."

  "Which tastes better?"

  "None of them. They all taste like toxic waste and sawdust, except the Pound Cake, which tastes like sawdust and toxic waste that has been put through the digestive tract of a pig."

  She did not laugh at his pitiful attempt at humor but did quirk a smile for a second. "Then by all means let me have the cake."

  After a little while, Pherarl woke up and demanded to be fed. Once that was accomplished, they got back on the trail and followed it till it joined a half-overgrown wagon road that snaked along the top of a generally northwesterly ridge. Having been one of the first freeholders in the Reservation, his father had been granted an allotment in the settlement tract nearest to the City and they reached his farm some time before dusk. Built almost in the exact center of a dozen acre plot of pasture, orchards, bean and grain fields, and vegetable gardens, the small fieldstone cabin sat on a low knoll next to a rocky stream.

  Rhynn allowed himself a smile when it came into view around a bend in the road and felt tempted to start running, but did not do so in concern for his limping wife. He did call out a loud greeting as they crossed the yard to the stoop, spooking chickens in all directions, then frowned when there was no answer.

  A note dated the morning before was pinned to the door.

  Susaeni,

  I've gone down to the City to visit an old friend who's in the hospital. I'm going to spend the night with another friend and I'll be back day after tomorrow. Please tidy up as usual and check the cat's water for me. I've left plenty of food out for him and the goats and chickens will tend to themselves.

  Thanks a bunch!

  Edhaerd

  By the way, I've put your pay for the chores under the flowerpot in the window over the sink.

  Without a word, Rhynn took the note from the door, folded it precisely and placed it in the breast pocket of his service uniform. With steady hands, he pushed to open the door. There was no need of locks in the Reservation; the rugged individualists who lived there were to a soul frightfully honest.

  Eilia said simply, "I'm sorry, Rhynn."

  He hugged her and then ushered his wife and child into what he hoped would be sanctuary.

  The four rooms of the cabin were cluttered, as always. His father had constantly been puttering about with something and the debris of his dalliances were everywhere: incomplete models of mechanical devices, wood carvings, drawings both artistic and technical, loads and loads of half-read and re-read physical books

  While Eilia settled the baby on his father's big bed, he set about building a fire in the cook stove. The first thing that they would need, end of the world or not, would be a good meal.

  Still leery of using magic, he started a pile of shaved chips with a match from the tin on the shelf above the stove and quickly fed kindling and stove wood into the firebox till he had a steady blaze. Next, he went back outside and around the cabin to the door to the root cellar, propped it wide to let in light, and went down the brick steps. There were several hundred home-canned jars of corn, tomatoes, beans, and so forth on the shelves, but he decided on a solider meal of potatoes, cornbread and ham. After taking down one of the smaller heavily salted hams, he loaded it and four large red potatoes from the bin into a wicker basket. Then he looked through the barrels until he found the cornmeal and put a large measure in a pottery bowl.

  He had to make the rounds of the yard twice before he found four eggs in the haphazardly placed roosts; the hens seemed to be off their laying. It took him a little bit longer to temp one of the nannies in to the milking shed, but eventually he snared one with a handful of oats and led her up onto the stand. Munching steadily, the brown and white goat ignored his inexpert milking and after another few minutes he finally had all of his ingredients.

  He wheedled Eilia into peeling the potatoes while he mixed up the cornbread and put it in the oven, and as soon as she was done, he added the cubed spuds to a pot of water on the top of the stove. When the cornbread was done and cooling to the side and the potatoes tender, he fried slices of the ham.

  Not knowing whether this might be their last opportunity for a hot meal, he served them both twice as much as they would normally eat. Eilia ate without much comment and he found that he had little desire for conversation himself. He did finish all of his plate, though, and insist that she do the same. After drawing water to wash the dishes and pots and putting everything back exactly as he had found it, the two of them laid down to sleep with the baby in his father's bed. Normally on their infrequent visits, they slept on a narrow bunk in the tiny guest room, but there was no real reason not to use the larger one.

  Heavy earth tremors woke them during the night, and they held each other anxiously, but the tremors subsided and there was no further disturbance.

  In the morning, while Rhynn made a breakfast of eggs, biscuits, and grits, Eilia asked him, "What are we going to do?"

  "Eat breakfast."

  "You know what I mean."

  He set out their plates and sat down at the small table across from her. "We're going to live. That's why I brought you here."

  "How are we going to live without magic?" She waved her hand vaguely. "There'll be no ports, no comms, no lights, no waste disposal, no ..."

  "We can live without all of those."

  "How about food and water?"

  "We have the stream and the well and you don't need magic to get food, just hard work."

  "What about the rest of the world? Is everyone else just gone?"

  "No. There are a few thousand people who lived, at least part of the time, here in the Reserve, and there are a number of people in a lot of different places who did not use magic, for one crackpot reason or another. You've seen the stories on the news. Plus, anyone that wasn't in the cities probably has a good chance, as long as they didn't have any implants."

  Eilia looked at him with a flat expression. "You know, I almost got a music player put in when I bought your Evershines. Last year's model was on sale for fifty percent off."

  "If you had, it would probably have blown your head off."

  Rhynn said this in a half-joking way, but Eilia's face went white and she hung her head and began to cry, fat tears falling unheeded into her food.

  "I'm sorry, Eilia. I didn't meant to --"

  "Mother ... had ... one," she gasped.

  Rhynn got up and put his arm around her.

  Around noon the sky cleared somewhat, fading to yellow, but then a foul smelling wind blew through from the south and a heavy ran began. The drops had an off-color, oily sheen and the puddles that formed gave off a bluish vapor. As they would from a normal rain, the goats and chickens fled into their sheds of their own accord. He and Eilia stayed inside until the storm had passed and only ventured out when all of the water had drained away.

  Later that afternoon, survivors appeared on the road.

  It was an older man and four young children, plodding along at the pace of the youngest child, who could have been no older than eight. Though they glanced over at the farm, they showed no sign of stopping.

  "You should go out and talk to them," Eilia told him.

  He hesitated. "The farm is small. It was never intended support more than a few."

  "I'm not saying to invite them to join us, just to get information. Maybe a lot more people than we think survived."

  "Alright, but yo
u and the baby stay in the cabin."

  When the man saw Rhynn coming down the path, he stopped, circled the children behind him, and waited. The children watched Rhynn approach with cold, emotionless eyes. There were two girls and two boys, about evenly spaced in age. All five had clothes that were dirty and stained, and all looked tired, but otherwise they appeared hale enough.

  Though quite elderly, with all the hair on his head gone white, the man was a good bit bigger than Rhynn, and had the trim and muscular physique that Rhynn had seen on many long service veterans. He was also -- Rhynn had to look twice to make sure -- wearing a sword. Not an ornamental saber like officers of the Defense Service wore to parties, but a double-edged hand and a half broadsword. Rhynn had never seen one outside of a museum.

  "That's far enough," the fellow told Rhynn. "What do you want?"

  Rhynn showed his hands to demonstrate that they were empty and smiled. "Nothing, sir. My name's Rhynn. I just wanted to ask if you had come up from the city."

  "We did," The man begrudged, eying Rhynn's uniform. Seeming to make up his mind that Rhynn presented no immediate threat, he relaxed slightly. "You're in the City Defense Service?"

  "I was." For the first time, Rhynn realized that others might consider him a deserter, but decided that that did not really matter any more. "Did you see many other survivors?"

  The population of the City before the attack had been over ten million. If even one percent of those had survived, the resources available in the Primitive Reservation would be overwhelmed.

  "Not a one."

  Rhynn blinked. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you manage to make it out of the city?"

  "My grandchildren and I were visiting the Catacombs under the Castle at Trigen. There's no magic down there except the lights and those went out first. When the Port Station in the castle courtyard cooked off, we were deep enough to be protected from the blast. As soon as it was over, we started walking."

  "How safe is it to travel there?"