by Garon Whited
In the World of Tauta
I still find it peculiar how magic and technology seem at odds. I know, I know. Magic tends to shoot down technological progress. Who wants to go to all the effort of research, prototyping, testing, and rebuilding a machine when a wizard can do the job right now? Or, contrariwise, who wants to rely on some unpredictable, low-powered spell by a crazy old coot when a machine is more reliable? Humans are lazy. They always want the cheap and easy way. I know because I remember being one.
Is there a world out there with only middling-level magical power and a thriving culture of both magic and technology? Maybe. Someday I might go look. Right now, I have once and future problems.
I’ve been exploring, scouting. This is not a simple process. I’m evaluating worlds! I hunt for a world with my Ring of Spying, look it over as best I can, and, if I don’t spot anything that’s a deal-breaker, I go there and scout it out. Much of the time, I find a free-roaming world in the void and see something I don’t like. The rest require the personal touch.
Fifty-eight of them.
Some are borderline acceptable. Most are places I don’t want to stay, for one reason or another. I’m not against dragons, exactly, but I need to live in an area near a dense human population and many dragons appear to want the same thing. Food? Treasure? Someone to torment with riddles? Neither Firebrand nor I know these dragons.
Wizards are also, by and large, acceptable. Most of the void-worlds have a middling-to-high magical environment. However, a society ruled by the magical elite is not entirely to my taste. They’ll notice me and want to bother me. It’s kind of like a high-tech world. Someone’s going to go, “Hey, who is he? I’ve never seen him before.” True, the wizards are going to wonder more about why I’m wearing such dense cloaking spells rather than question me about lacking a tax ID number, but in both cases, someone’s going to show up and demand answers I don’t want to give.
Likewise, theocracies abound. The less said about those, the better.
Tauta is a void-world and, as is usual, a magical world. I did some scrying on it from a more omniscient perspective and decided, as magical worlds go, it wasn’t too bad. The world is a sphere, at least. Their sun orbits around the equator—that is, it rolls around on the inside of the spherical Firmament. The world doesn’t spin, so there are no poles, so there’s no midpoint between them. Instead, there’s the path the sun follows, which is close enough to an equator. The place also has a moon, but it’s in what I’d call a polar orbit. The orbits of the sun and moon intersect, but the timing is such they’re an hundred and eighty degrees off from each other. When the sun would cross the orbit of the moon, the moon is on the far side of the planet. About six hours later, the moon crosses the orbit of the sun—but the sun is halfway around the planet.
I’m not sure this orbital setup is actually a stable one, but I’m not sure the sun or moon actually have gravity, either. I haven’t checked the tides.
It’s almost as though someone designed this universe to function a specific way. If so, kudos to them. I like this a lot better than the whole flat world with a daily sun-generating mechanism.
From what I’ve seen of the place, there is one major area of civilization, along the eastern and southeastern portion of the largest of the three continents. Other civilizations are about the tribal level of organization, although some are quite widespread. The most advanced civilization has cities. A cursory look at the planet along the night side says the rest of the planet has villages, possibly towns. Cities have lights. The rest, for the most part, do not.
Even so, the big technology in the largest piece of civilization appears to be the overshot water wheel. They also have windmills, usually one for every village. Vast amounts of land are plowed and planted, mostly in some river deltas and large plains. They do understand the aqueduct and use it for irrigation and for supplying water to the cities. I’m guessing it’s a feudal society, but I don’t know for certain. The local technology won’t support real-time democracy, but a representative democracy could work. I’d bet on some sort of ruling class, though—a monarchy, a council of nobles, a hereditary Senate, something along those lines.
Still, they have people in varying forms of ornate armor, several kinds of swords, lots of horses, shops with goods, professional wizards, and decoration from here to breakfast. They decorate everything. They have excellent metalwork and can produce decent steel, so swords and armor are inlaid with elaborate tracery, often in gold or silver. Their best swords seem to have what I think of as Damascus striations, so Firebrand blends in nicely here, except for the size. It’s at least a foot longer than any other hand-held blade and correspondingly heavier. They also make swords with other techniques, but the ripples in the Damascus technique caught my attention.
Their tendency to decoration doesn’t stop with swords, shields, and armor. The leatherwork on saddles involves embossing it to death. Even the hitching rails outside buildings have at least carved heads of fantastic beasts on the ends. Constructing a house doesn’t simply involve throwing up walls and a roof. No, it involves a lot of carving on everything. It extends to their clothes, too. I haven’t seen a solid color. Everyone has some sort of design, whether it be stripes or checks or complex embroidery.
Even people in armor aren’t immune. The armor itself is usually a combination of metals, such as steel, bronze, and brass, with silver or gold as highlights. The lighter armor, like scale, is usually enameled, while chain is decorated with extra links of different-colored metals. The heavy armor is where the really intricate decoration hits. It’s worked into animal and monster forms, or abstract designs of great delicacy.
The helmets have the same financial dichotomy. Lower-income? Open-faced things, like Greek helms. Higher-income? Same basic design, but with ornate designs in the structure, patterned after birds or monsters. They’re functional, but they’re also works of art. I’d hate to wear one in combat, though. One solid hit would not only ring your bell but send your helmet to the shop for a week. I’ll stick with mine—more like a motorcycle helmet. I like padding, and the smooth exterior lets things slide off rather than catch in something fancy.
I’ve seen a lot of cooling enchantments in the tabards and cloaks. I am not surprised. Down near the solar track, it’s positively tropical. There isn’t much in the way of desert on the more populated continent, but there’s a fair amount of jungle and what looks like rainforest. At least, anywhere there isn’t a strong human presence.
All this effort to make things look fancy falls down hard when we get to the lousy roads. Most of these are dirt ruts between settlements. Inside the villages, it’s no better. Streets are still dirt, but raised wooden walkways may line the storefronts of the main street. It’s the same in most small towns. You can tell the prosperous places by the cobbles or paving slabs. Real cities have special channels under the walkways—they invented sidewalks!—for water and sewage runoff.
Magic, as far as I’ve seen, is mostly of the enchantment variety. I haven’t seen anyone actually casting spells, but I’m also not poking my nose into a wizard’s laboratory, either. Magical lamps, enchanted cloaks, enhanced armor, self-sharpening swords—all these are available. Any number of things also have a sort of self-repair enchantment in them. Well, if you’re going to have something finely carved and intricately decorated, you want it to last. No doubt I’ll find out more about their magical systems by bumping into them.
With an eye to what sorts of traveling I might need to do, I looked around for the right combination of geography, geology, and genealogy. What caught my eye was a city with a harbor, near a range of mountains. There were old mines and some caves, either one suitable for a hermit wizard. The proximity to the city would make eating simple, as well as provide a ready source of goods too cheap to be worth opening a trans-universal gate for.
So we arrived early one evening at the mouth of an old mine. It ran back into the mountain behind us for some distance. I picked it because the mout
h of the tunnel was a natural cavern someone expanded. It had a high ceiling and plenty of room. Bronze fit in it without trouble. It also had two other things going for it. The road was wide enough for her all the way up, and there was a natural spring inside the mine. It flooded the lower levels, but I didn’t care. It was a place to stay until I reassembled my air cannon, summoned an Evil Orb, and blew it away.
I hung a tarp over the mouth of the tunnel and got busy with the chalk.
Tauta, 9th Day of Varinskir, Year of the Monvar
I hate their calendar. They don’t have seasons, but they do see the need to mark time. Years are an arbitrary three hundred and thirty-three days, divided into eleven months of thirty-three days each, and further divided into three eleven-day weeks.
It works out neatly, sure, but I still don’t like it. Why isn’t it a thousand days? Or a hundred? Wouldn’t it make more sense to be decimal instead of combinations of three and eleven? And why three and eleven? Why not fives? For that matter, why not seven?
It gets worse. The simplicity of the divisions in a year are the only simple part. The years themselves are named, not numbered. There’s some complicated list of “Year of the Something” for about ninety or a hundred things, then they start over. I didn’t get a list, but I spoke to some locals who reminisced about previous “Year of the Somethings” for a while. One absolute geezer commented he was born in the Year of the Falkennin—whatever a falkennin is—and would see a second one next year. He was looking forward to the celebration since it was a rare event. It also, supposedly, assured him a quick rebirth when his time to die came around.
The local religions preach reincarnation, by the way. I’m okay with it. I have some hints there may be some substance to the rumors.
Setting up shop in the old mine was relatively uneventful. I spent the last few days smoothing out the floor, adding recesses in the walls for shelving, putting scryshields around the place, carving out a bathing area under the spring, and otherwise making it a place to stay. There were no rails, so they didn’t use those sorts of mine carts for extracting ore. The tunnel floors were smooth, though. Wheelbarrows? Small wagons? A horse wouldn’t like the tunnels at all, but could be persuaded and, at a junction, even turn around. Ponies or donkeys might be practical. Bronze could worm her way down, but turning around would be an operation and probably involve some impromptu excavation, unholy amounts of noise, and terrible scratches. I hate it when she gets scratched and dinged up.
I have a few repair spells running on the braces and beams nearer the entrance.
After a few trips into the city—Sarashda—I have some basic furniture, a good, solid door, and a couple of lamps. They make magical lamps that require no fuel, but they want more gold than I have on hand. I bought regular lamps and put a light spell in them after I brought them back. In another day or so I expect to have a mirror here for my Ring of Spying. They make good mirrors, with heavily-worked, ornate frames. I also plan to assemble and enchant my divinity dynamo here, as well as install three iridium-wire gates on a prepared wall. The full-size gate is the priority, in case we need to leave. The medium-sized gate will be for snatching air tanks, piping, and other big-ticket items. The smallest one, eventually, will be for chucking an Orb.
I’m still concerned about what it’s doing in the belly of a Thing. More properly, I’m concerned about what it’s doing with a Thing. Hell, I’m worried about what it’s doing.
In other news, the locals are impressed by Bronze, but not screaming about the sorcery. The city has lots of magical devices, both in public and on persons. They have public lighting along the streets, for example. Those who are at least moderately prosperous wear magical jewelry, usually a ring or an amulet, as well as enchanted clothes! I don’t know what they all do since I haven’t stared at anyone long enough to identify anything, but I can tell the enchantments vary in power and complexity. Most clothes seem to be utilitarian things, probably to waterproof someone’s boots or the like. I’m less certain about the jewelry.
So, clearly, I’m a wizard and I have a magic statue. Amazing, remarkable, and a wonder of modern magic, but just magic. I do still get funny looks from people when I ride into town, but I’m not sure why. I decided to ask. It wouldn’t be the first time I completely missed the cultural significance of something I didn’t care about.
“I notice you’re staring at me. May I ask why?”
“Was I? I apologize. I was not aware of it. I humbly beg your forgiveness!”
“You’re forgiven. I’m still wondering why.”
“Thank you! Thank you for your kindness, great sir!” Cue the scurrying away.
I admit I can appear intimidating in my armor. Firebrand isn’t a source of comfort for people, either, unless they’re on my side.
Firebrand? I asked.
He was staring because he’s not sure what to make of you.
Make of me?
I don’t know. It was all jumbled up in his head. You’re a warrior with a magic steed, and that’s fine. Probably hideously expensive, but it just means you’re rich. So you must be part of a great House. But you don’t have a House symbol. You wear a single color, so you must be a priest. Priests don’t come in black. You’re not one thing or the other. You’re alien to his experience, somehow, and it makes his thoughts go all crazed. He noticed you’re pale, too, compared to everyone else, but it was the least weird thing about you.
Weird. They do all have at least a deep tan, but it might be genetic. Maybe I should darken my skin a few more shades.
I don’t think it’ll help, Boss. It’s not the main thing. He was confused and scared about not being able to immediately identify you as something definite. You can’t be a warrior and something else, and wearing armor means you’re a warrior. Your colors—your color, rather—is a symbol of the priesthood, somehow, but black isn’t one of their colors. So he’s confused.
Well, they’ve seen me in my armor. It’s not my fault Diogenes went for pure functionality instead of ornamentation. I’m not taking it off to make them feel better, especially when I don’t know these people too well and feel much better with it on!
I didn’t say you should, Boss.
Good. Maybe we can sort out what the problem is with solid colors versus elaborate designs and I can get my own. Meanwhile, let’s get the rest of my supplies and head back up.
Tauta, 10th Day of Varinskir
I’ve got my gates set up, a divinity dynamo enchanted and running, and some support framing lashed together for my future air cannon. Along with some architectural reshaping spells running to adjust the mine entrance—the door doesn’t fit exactly—I’d say it’s not a bad night’s work. Things go so much faster in a high-magic environment!
I also have some new crystals for my gates. They still take time to charge, but I figured out a way to speed them up. The mine shaft goes back for a couple hundred yards, twisting back and forth a bit as it followed a seam of ore. I have power-fan spells sucking in power from the sides and concentrator spells centered on what used to be lamp brackets. I put a crystal in a bracket and it charges quickly! Now I’ve got a dozen or so set up this way. I figure I can do two, maybe three component-snatching gates every day without touching my emergency gate’s charge.
I also had a visitor.
My divinity dynamo is powered by magic, mostly because I don’t have Diogenes to supply all the conveniences of a laboratory. I initially started work on my osmium dynamo in a technological environment, but without an electrical supply, spells have to take the place of the electric motors. Still, I don’t think the magical operation is what attracted the visitor, though. The output of the dynamo is mostly tuned to my altar ego by virtue of a direct connection to his sigil. The leakage into the sidebands is what it found attractive.
My visitor is a faintly-glowing, smoky ball of light about the size of my head. I first noticed it when it flew through me. It must have entered my back because it emerged from my midriff and orbited me a couple
of times before floating over toward my divinity dynamo. After my courageous yelp and some manly scrambling about, I determined I was unharmed. The light was mostly a bluish color, but it flickered redly whenever I swatted at it. I had to swat it, too. It kept trying to float over to my dynamo and engulf it. It takes longer to try again every time, so I assume it’s learning. After a while, it sat on the workbench near the unit and slowly crept closer.
“Firebrand?”
Not getting anything, Boss. Either it doesn’t emanate thought the way you and I do, or it has a tight grip on those emanations.
“Got it. Does it appear to be sneaking up on the dynamo to you?”
It does.
I swatted it again, my hand passing harmlessly through it. A brief halo of crimson surrounded my hand while it was inside and left rapidly-fading trails through the ball, but it skipped back to the end of the workbench. The thing is completely immaterial. I’m not sure if it’s even visible to normal eyes.
Bronze turned in place and stepped closer, sniffing at the ball of light. She extended one strand of her mane and would have stroked it if it was a material object. A pale nimbus of lighter blue surrounded the strand of mane where it intersected the ball. The light sat quietly through all this. If it noticed, it gave no sign. In Bronze’s opinion, it wasn’t magical, but it might be some sort of celestial entity. A small one. She would know better than I would.
I had an idea. I drew a line on the workbench and invested it with a small amount of power—enough to make it plain to something without eyes. The ball moved forward to the line, then back and forth along it before coming to rest in the middle. It didn’t cross it.
Since it didn’t cross the line, I drew another line, a rough parabola, in the workbench top around the dynamo. Any leakage from the device should be reflected in the direction of my visitor. I don’t know for certain. I don’t perceive those forces as readily as my altar ego does. The principle was sound, though, and the ball appears content to sit quietly. The energy its absorbs is only a tiny fraction of what’s being produced—leftovers, really—but it seems to like it. The equivalent is probably along the same lines as illuminating an area with an iron bar fresh from the forge. The heat of the iron is going to my altar ego, but the ball is happy to absorb the visible light.