by Jim C. Hines
I finally found him behind the mini-fridge, pulled into a fuzzy ball and enjoying the heat of the compressor. I scooped him into his cage and set him on the windowsill, grabbed my shock-gun, and snuck out of the room.
The hotel offered a complimentary continental breakfast. My first thought upon seeing it was rather less than complimentary. A young man with unkempt hair to the middle of his back was setting out a bowl of questionable-looking apples beside a cafeteria-style cereal dispenser. I grabbed the best of the fruit and a bowl of technicolor sugar puffs and made my way to the table closest to the television on the wall.
A morning news host was interviewing Randall Nickles, a noted skeptic who had spent the past decade debunking the claims of psychics, ghost-hunters, alien abductees, and other stories of the supernatural. He wore a simple navy suit with no tie, and appeared utterly relaxed as he deflected one question after another. To listen to him talk, the various reports of magic were the result of overeager Internet rumormongering, human gullibility, and wishful thinking.
I imagined what would happen if word got out that Randy was a high-level field agent for the Porters.
“That doesn’t look like food.”
The soft, worried voice made me jump. “You got here faster than I expected.”
Bi Wei sat down on the opposite side of the table. “Your message implied that this was an urgent matter.”
Bi Wei had changed since I last saw her. Now, only a month after her rebirth, her English was flawless. She was dressed in a red-and-white floral dress with matching flip-flops. Black-framed designer sunglasses were pushed up on her brow.
“You could say that.” I scooped a spoonful of stale cereal into my mouth. “You look like you’re adjusting well to the twenty-first century.”
“Your world is amazing and terrifying, but the people are much the same.”
“That sounds like something Gutenberg would say.”
She tilted her head to one side. “What happened to him?”
I hesitated, but if I wanted her help, I needed to tell her the truth. She was strong enough to pull the details from my thoughts anyway. The fact that she hadn’t already done so was another point in her favor.
I told her about the attack, about Meridiana’s prison and the Ghost Army, and about Jeneta.
“The si gui ju¯n duì, Meridiana and her army, exist in the river of magic that runs through the Land of Midday Dreams.” She smiled at me and added, “I remember your distaste for the poetic, but our poetry helps us to see and understand that river, as if through a glass-bottomed boat. Meridiana has clouded the purity of those waters, but we felt the ripples of Gutenberg’s death.”
I could hear her fighting to control conflicting emotions. Gutenberg’s automatons had killed her peers. Her teachers. Her own brother. What would Nidhi say if she were here? Something gentle and nonjudgmental. “After five hundred years, I imagine that was hard to process. Overwhelming.”
“For all of us, yes. We wept. We raged that Gutenberg would never be called to account for his actions. And we grieved. Not for the man, but for . . .” She brought her hands together. “For the waste, perhaps.”
She studied me more closely. “Your magic remains buried by Gutenberg’s spell. How did you contact us?”
I pulled the gold pen from my pocket.
She took it and turned it in the light. “This pen belonged to Johannes Gutenberg.”
“How can you tell?”
“His magic is distinctive.”
The hotel doors swung open, and Lena strode into the lobby, yawning. “Good morning, lover. Hello, Wei. Ooh, donuts!” She hurried to the counter, returning with a bowl of cereal and a glazed donut that looked far too plastic for my liking. “There’s a lovely maple in the park a block from here,” she said. “Eighty years old, give or take. Strong and sweet. Is Nidhi awake yet?”
“She was sleeping when I left,” I said.
“She’s not a morning person.” She tore the donut in half, took a bite, and turned toward Bi Wei, who was watching with a bemused expression. “How’s Guan Feng?”
“Very well, thank you. Feng has been staying with us. She’s served as a guide to your world.”
Guan Feng was a “reader,” and had guarded Bi Wei’s book for years before her restoration. Not only did she act as Bi Wei’s protector, it was her duty to read the book each day. The belief—the faith, really—of such readers was what had helped Bi Wei and others like her to survive for so long. I suspected most readers possessed some form of low-level magic as well.
“Last week, she taught us how to ‘Google’ things,” Bi Wei continued. “It’s amazing. A living library, eternally growing, all contained within your computers.” She fixed her attention on me. “With Gutenberg gone, who commands the Porters? Will they leave us in peace?”
“I don’t know,” I said, answering both questions at once. “Between Meridiana, Gutenberg’s death, and your letter, the Porters are scrambling to stay on top of things. That letter was like setting off a firecracker in a hornet’s nest.”
“Familiarity with the field of battle is worth more than a thousand swords,” she said. It sounded like a proverb, but I didn’t recognize it. “The Porters know this world. It gave them an advantage. Thanks to our letter, the battlefield is changing.”
“Confusion and chaos give Meridiana an advantage, too,” I pointed out. “If you help us—”
“The Bì She ng de dú zhe prefer to fight our enemies in our own way.” She picked a tiny red ball of fruit-flavored crunch from my bowl and studied it.
“What way is that?” asked Lena.
She hesitated before answering. “Meridiana’s pollution spreads through all who drink from the river of magic. We lost four of our number to her poison.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Alone, we would have all fallen in time, but together we can stand against the current.”
“Less metaphor, please,” I said.
“Our individual stories are now one. I share the senses of my fellow students. When one of us weakens, the rest of us cleanse his or her story.”
I shifted in my chair and casually dropped my hand toward my shock-gun. “What does that mean, exactly? Am I talking to Bi Wei, or to all of the students of Bi Sheng?”
“Both.” She smiled. “For so long we were alone. Five hundred years of solitude. I am still Bi Wei. I remember my life, my family, and my ancestors. I have a voice.”
“What happens if they overrule your voice?” I had read countless books about group minds. They rarely ended well.
“They wouldn’t do that. But they share their thoughts and experiences, and I would be foolish to ignore them.” She popped the cereal into her mouth and grimaced. “This is not food.”
“Don’t mock the Sugar Fruit Puffs,” I snapped. Her answering grin eased my tension slightly.
“We didn’t choose this path lightly, Isaac. Not only does our bond help us to resist Meridiana, but as the magic flows through us, we’re able to purify it of Meridiana’s influence. Like the wetlands cleansing the river.”
“Can you stop her?”
“She will weaken in time, but it will take centuries for us to undo the damage she’s caused. And if she escapes her prison, our combined strength may not be enough.”
“Then help us,” said Lena.
“The Bì Sheng de dú zhe don’t trust the Porters.” Before I could respond, she added, “But I will help the two of you if I can.”
I sat back in my chair, wondering what exactly I had gotten us into. “Thank you.”
“It’s good to see you again, Isaac Vainio. What is it you need?”
“I’ve translated the poem Gerbert d’Aurillac used to hide Meridiana’s prison. Without magic, there’s no way for me to reach into that poem and retrieve it.”
Bi Wei set the pen on the table between us. “This isn’t the kind of magic Bi Sheng taught.”
“It’s not libriomancy, either. I’m not completely sure
how it works. I hoped that together, we would be able to figure it out. Assuming you’re willing to try . . .”
“Of course she’ll try.” Lena looked at me like I had asked whether the Earth was round. “She geeks out about this stuff as much as you do. A thousand-year-old word puzzle that reeks of forgotten magic? Do you think for an instant Wei is going to turn her back on that?”
Bi Wei grinned. “When do we begin?”
MesaCon, Arizona’s premier fantasy convention, is proud to announce the addition of an exciting new programming track to this year’s schedule.
“Magic: Busting the Myths” will feature discussion about the apparent emergence of magic in the world today. We have three popular fantasy authors, a historian, a professor of mythology, and an ordained minister who have all signed on to participate.
Some of the panels we’re hoping to present include:
Johannes Gutenberg: Man or Magician? A fifteenth-century court record describes Gutenberg as the master of “a secret art.” For generations, we assumed this referred to the printing press, but the Bi Wei Revelation suggests otherwise. Could the father of the printing press have been a sorcerer? Panelists review known facts about Gutenberg’s life and discuss who he really was.
The Future of Fantasy. What happens to the fantasy genre when magic becomes real? Does The Name of the Wind get moved to “alternate history”? Should Dracula go into the biography section? How will readers suspend disbelief when they know an author got the magic wrong? Does true magic mark the death of fantasy?
Magic is Real. Now What? If magic is real, what does that mean for the world? What new problems are we going to face, and what problems will become a thing of the past, solved with a wave of a wand? Are we headed for a grimdark dystopian future or an era of unimagined peace and prosperity?
Magical Myth Busting. In an age when a single click can forward rumors across the globe, how are we supposed to separate truth from hoax? Our panel discusses popular hoaxes of the past and presents tips on filtering out the junk. From manipulated photos to paranoid conspiracy theories, learn how to check your sources and find the facts.
I, For One, Welcome Our New Wizard Overlords. For every Gandalf, there’s a Sauron. For every Harry Potter, a Lord Voldemort. What’s to stop these dark forces from seizing power? Assuming they haven’t done so already!
If you’re interested in being on programming or have suggestions for panels or guests, please e-mail [email protected].
BI WEI GRUDGINGLY ACCEPTED a cup of apple juice, though she refused to try the tea, calling prepackaged teabags “abominations against civilization.”
By now, a handful of other people had joined us in the dining room, so we tried to keep the conversation light as Lena and I finished eating.
“The show is called Pi lì,” Bi Wei was saying. “The puppetry is amazing. Magical, in its way. Feng also introduced us to the work of Jim Henson.”
“Has she shown you Labyrinth?” I asked.
“Not yet, but we’ll ask her about it. Her favorite is The Dark Crystal.” She looked more closely at Lena. “You seem different.”
Lena held out an arm. Bi Wei touched her index finger to Lena’s inner elbow and traced an invisible line. I guessed she was sensing the branches Lena carried within her.
“Interesting.” She touched Lena’s palm. “How long can they survive inside of you?”
“Almost a month so far. They’re stronger when I grow the shoots and let the leaves absorb the sun.”
“If the tree grows too strong, it could overpower the flesh,” Bi Wei warned. “Are you certain this is safe?”
“They haven’t hurt me yet.” She tilted her head toward me. “If you want to talk about dangerous, ask Isaac about his trip into space to break into a vampire-owned satellite.”
There really wasn’t any good response to that. I looked around to see if anyone had overheard, then downed the last of my juice and brought the Styrofoam dishes over to the garbage. When I came back, Lena was talking to Bi Wei about the optimal environment for growing bamboo. “I can make a lot of things grow, but northern Michigan gets nasty in the winter. I don’t imagine bamboo would survive.”
“You might try máozhú bamboo,” Bi Wei said. “If you lent the new shoots your strength to protect them from frost . . .”
They were still discussing Lena’s plans for her new garden when we returned to the rooms. We found Nicola waiting in the hallway in front of our door. Her wet hair had dripped dark spots onto the shoulders of her shirt. I had a hard time reading her expression, but she seemed calmer than yesterday. A pair of black earbuds was looped around her neck. She studied the three of us, devoting most of her attention to Bi Wei.
Bi Wei bowed slightly from the head and shoulders.
Nicola pressed the left earbud into place and began to sing. Bi Wei merely waited, her hands clasped in front of her. I got the impression of a silent conversation passing between them, or perhaps it was a test.
Whatever it was, Bi Wei apparently passed. Nicola pursed her lips, stepped to the side, and opened the door to our room. Without a key. Damn, I missed magic.
Inside, Nidhi was awake and dressed, and was brushing her hair in front of the mirror.
“I grabbed you breakfast, love,” said Lena, tossing a cinnamon raisin bagel her way.
I dropped a piece of cereal into Smudge’s cage and checked the temperature of the air above him. He seemed cool enough. A bit nervous, but certainly not scared of Bi Wei. I caught Lena watching us, and gave her a small, reassuring nod.
“Is this the poem?” Bi Wei whispered, moving toward the desk.
“Gerbert’s original is on the left.”
“Wa,” she breathed.
A month ago, I would have understood the word. My magically-powered universal translator might be gone, but I could still recognize her excitement and awe. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“It is.” Her forehead crinkled. “But it’s also wrong.”
“It’s outdated.” I turned on the lamp, then pointed to the second, larger poem I had finished last night. “This version should be accurate for at least the next two weeks. Maybe longer, depending on how precise the spells are.”
“It’s beautiful.” She sat down and pulled the lamp closer. “I can’t read the words, but we can see ideas. The stars within the pages.”
I did my best to stifle the envy those words roused, but it wasn’t easy. I could appreciate the cleverness of d’Aurillac’s work, but I couldn’t truly see it. Not like Bi Wei could.
She sorted through my notes until she found the translation, complete with the various constellations highlighted in different colors. She grinned up at me. “I’ll expect you to provide such gorgeous puzzles every time you call for my help.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She read as fast as I did. Maybe a tiny bit faster. “This was a man who found beauty in structure and order,” she said. “Despite his grief and fear, you can feel his love for this work. The satisfaction of fitting each letter into its proper place.”
“D’Aurillac saw no boundary between science and religion, math and magic,” I said. “He tried to incorporate them all.”
“The poetry of the stars.” She touched one of the constellations. “The letters of her name are the heart of the poem—this triangle here, and the base of these two spokes. The rest of the poem is structured around her.”
“Can she do it?” Ponce de Leon stood in the doorway, looking like he had aged ten years overnight. He had changed into a gray pinstripe suit with a silk tie the color of arterial blood. But he leaned against the door like a man exhausted beyond endurance.
“I think so,” said Bi Wei. She looked from me to Lena.
“Bi Wei, this is Juan Ponce de Leon,” I said.
She stared. “Who?”
Ponce de Leon almost smiled. “Thank you. That’s the most refreshing thing I’ve heard in years.”
“I spoke with Babs Palmer earlier this morning,” s
aid Nicola. “She has instructed me to bring the poem to her so she can supervise a team of Porter researchers, who will retrieve the sphere in a safe, controlled environment. She’s also ordered me to cease all contact with ‘potential enemies’ who might attempt to use Meridiana against us.”
“Potential enemy?” Ponce de Leon made a face. “It lacks panache. I prefer to be called ‘rogue’ or ‘outlaw.’”
“What gives Babs the right to tell you what to do?” asked Nidhi.
“Nothing, which is why I’m currently ignoring her orders.” Nicola’s chin rose slightly. “But she’s correct about the danger. Meridiana murdered Gutenberg through a magically active book. We don’t know what she might be able to do through the poem or the sphere. We can’t risk retrieving it here.”
We needed somewhere we could hide out and study Gerbert’s creation without being disturbed. Somewhere Meridiana and her ghosts would have a harder time reaching. The werewolves would probably take us in, but I didn’t want to put Jeff and his pack in that kind of danger. “Oh, crap.”
“What is it?” Lena reached for her bokken.
“I never called Jeff. He probably thinks Mahefa Issoufaly tossed my body into a ditch somewhere.” I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text: STILL ALIVE. BLOOD WORKED, THANK YOU! ALSO, MAHEFA IS AN ASSHOLE.
Bi Wei was scanning the poem again. Back and forth her hands moved, touching letters like a musician playing an instrument. I saw the movement, but I couldn’t hear the music.
“Babs also wants Gutenberg’s body turned over to her,” said Nicola.
“Is that so?” Ponce de Leon rested both hands on his cane. “I’ve tended to Johannes’ remains. Please tell the Regional Master that she’s welcome to bring any requests or complaints to me personally.”
My phone buzzed with Jeff’s reply: GLAD UR NOT DEAD. TRY 2 STAY THAT WAY.
I was sick of running and hiding, and judging from the frustration charging the air like an overloaded power line, I wasn’t alone. But we needed that sphere before we could act against Meridiana. Like Dorian Gray’s painting, the sphere held her true life, keeping her safe from anything we could do. “What about Fort Michilimackinac?”