Mobius

by Garon Whited

  Hmm. The valley is most of the way toward the far side of the mountain range. There are “barbarians” on the other side, the kustoni, or so I’m told. There’s a mark against the area. Another mark against it is the difficulty in reaching it. Hiking to it doesn’t look like a problem—at least, not on a scrying-sensor flyover—but the actual terrain may be more difficult. There’s no way wagons are making the trip, but I know a little bit about roads through mountains. I get along well with rocks. Better than with people, certainly.

  So, build a village in the valley. Establish mines. Establish farms. Expand. Before I know it, I’ll have a barony or whatever the locals call it and, potentially, the ability to tell the rest of the local civilization to go to hell if they want to argue about my caste.

  It could work. It might even last long enough for me to do my timeline research and depart.

  I told Leisel I would be out for a day or two.

  “May one ask?”

  “Sure.”

  We both looked at each other for a moment. Her lips quirked in a suppressed smile.

  “Where are you going and why?”

  “I’m off to the mountains to check out a valley. It might be a good place to live.”

  “We are in the mountains.”

  “I mean the mountain range to the west, not this eastern branch. The big mountains.”

  “The Kasnakani mountains,” she said, carefully, “are four days’ hard ride.”

  “Are they? Then I’ll probably be back tomorrow.”

  Leisel’s eyes flicked toward Bronze. Bronze nodded, mane tinkling like shaken wires.

  We arrived in the valley a couple of hours after sunset. I decided not to go until after dark. I hate sitting in the solar furnace with nothing between my face and the sun but a protective suit. Plus, the smell is awful. But we made the trip at high speed, cutting north past Sarashda and ignoring the roads. We hit the foothills of the Kasnakanis and worked our way southward, back toward the sea, looking for a good way into the mountains. And we didn’t step on anyone.

  Bronze, by the way, finds it amusing when I’m impressed at her not stepping on anyone. She knows she wouldn’t step on anyone—not unless they needed stepping on. Instead, if she hits something she’ll ram through it like an express train. Stepping on people is for when she’s not in a hurry.

  As it turns out, I was right. The locals have a settlement on the eastern side of the range, but the road ends there. After that, there’s some goat paths, but nothing they want to ride a horse along, much less drag a wagon. Getting across the mountains is generally regarded as impossible without climbing gear.

  I did some aerial-view scrying, a location spell for direction, and a teensy bit of gravity-warping. It’s not impossible. It’s not even all that difficult, provided you can leap thirty feet straight up or cling like a spider.

  The valley was in the southern end of the range, only a dozen or so miles from the sea. The land beyond the mountains spread out more, however, both west and south. The southern coast curved southward with the mountain range, leaving a lot of open space beyond.

  Once in the valley, I did a ground-based evaluation. A lot of things look good from satellite photos, but there’s nothing to replace boots on the ground. The valley had plenty of trees. There were so many trees, I couldn’t see the forest. Still, there was plenty of game, as well, and a hefty stream running down the length of the valley. I don’t know what the technical definitions of a stream, creek, or river are, but this was enough water to need either a bridge or a ford, and it didn’t have any fish. There were places where an undershot waterwheel might go well. Upstream, a waterfall practically begged for its own waterwheel and irrigation system. The whole valley sloped slightly down, generally southward, from the pool at the base of the fall, and the fall itself was twenty feet or more. Plenty of distance for a hollowed-out log aqueduct or two.

  As for the mine sites, they were inconvenient—aren’t they all?—but reachable. The distances weren’t too bad, but it was still a big valley. It looked like a five-community project, one for each of the mines and a farming village in the middle.

  I approached as closely as possible to the start of the iron. A spell started the gradual reshaping of rock, rolling it out of the way. It was imperceptible to watch, but it was also constant. Another spell marked out a path down the mountainside, switching back and forth along the easiest approach. The second spell would encourage it to be wider, flatter, easier to traverse. Another set of spells, lining out the future roads from the valley center to each of the proposed mine entrances, could start the slow process of forming clear paths on the way to making actual roads.

  I spent a couple of hours on these, setting up semi-permanent spells. I could leave them all running indefinitely, but I would probably shut them off manually when they reached a certain point.

  I also discovered something.

  While putting down a road spell to shuffle aside trees, flatten rocks, and all those sorts of things, a glowing ball of light came over to investigate. It was dim and smoky, much like my pet light when it first arrived. This one drifted slowly closer, as though to examine my handiwork.

  The spell’s intake section, the part that powers the whole structure, slurped it up like smoke into a jet engine. Poof! Gone in an instant! The spell’s charge, on the other hand, jumped up materially.

  A quick check told me the light was gone, dissipated and destroyed. The spell was fine, though.

  Interesting. This world has magical lights similar to energy-state beings. They don’t register as magical force, but they can be disintegrated for magical energy. I’m not sure how this works, but would it work on other celestial beings? I’m guessing not. Oh, the principle might work, but the spell intake was massively more powerful than the little light. To do this to an angel or a demigod would require a construct more powerful than either. Plus, the lights don’t seem to be intelligent. How do you get the celestial entity to step into the shredder?

  Still, it gives me a trifle more hope. While the specific effect might not be useful, the principle might. I wonder, can I hand the Lord of Light a darkness bomb and see how he copes with being negated? Possibly. Still, I don’t like the idea of attacking him in a force-versus-force manner. He’s got more to draw on than I do.

  Can I open a gate to suck the Lord of Light into a black hole? No, probably not. As an energy-state being, he wouldn’t be concerned about it until the gate was beyond the event horizon. Good idea, but impractical, darn it. Well, I’m sure I’ll come up with something. Okay, no, I’m not sure, but I will keep thinking about it.

  I finished laying out the future roads and mine entrances. I’m all about city planning.

  On the way back, of course, the question was how to make it possible for a horse and wagon—a normal horse and wagon—to reach the valley. A man on foot wouldn’t have much trouble even though he had to take some long, winding detours around steep drops and impassable cliffs. But a road would be more difficult. The easiest right-of-way would meander through and around for miles, or I could build one bridge and carve out several chunks of mountainside.

  If my pet rock were doing this, it would take a week. With my spells? I’m not sure. I know I can do it—eventually. Once I set the spells up, they’ll run until the conditions are fulfilled, then shut down or burn out, depending on how I set them up. It’s still a lot of spells. I can’t simply lay out a path that long and tell it to get busy. Even the road-clearing spells in the valley were sections of spells, laid out in series along the length of a future road. Well, technically, I can do each of them in one spell, but it’s a single spell with its effort spread over an unreasonable amount of area.

  Using multiple spells takes more effort, but they’re each more focused. By casting a bridge-building spell on one side of a ravine and another bridge-building spell opposite, the two meet in the middle and finish in half the time. Although, if I want to be even more technical, there’s a third spell acting as a guide
marker for the bridge spells…

  Oh, to hell with it. I have a pretty good idea where a road should go. I better get busy casting road-shaping spells along the way if I expect to finish by dawn. Then I’ll speed things along by hand.

  Tauta, 22nd Day of Varinskir

  I hate space-suiting my way through a sunrise. Sunset isn’t so bad, really, since I stop breathing before the smell gets to full strength. For sunrise, on the other hand, I have to start breathing about halfway through. If it weren’t for cleaning spells, I would have a real undead’s reputation for smelling like a rotting grave.

  I didn’t finish with the preliminary road-work last night. I did cast some on my way out of the valley, but all I really managed was to—finally!—lay out the path for it. It does no good to start laying down a road if the project hits a dead-end and has to backtrack. So the latter half of my night was spent with aerial views, fire-shot running, and occasional swearing.

  Today, though, I’ll be casting a lot of spells. There are markers all along what will become the right-of-way, so it’s simply a matter of walking, hiking, and sometimes climbing from marker to marker so I can cast the next spell in the series. I anticipate it will take me all day. I don’t channel the same level of voltage during the day. On the other hand, between Bronze, me, and a Saber of Sharpness, we hurry some of the road-shaping spells along quite nicely. She kicks big rocks into smaller rocks, I move some of them to spread them out, and sometimes carve with the saber. Mostly, though, the spells do the work.

  I should have brought snacks.

  Sunset is never a pleasant experience, but I had a convenient cave for it. The cave was surprisingly nice. I would have thought it was the lair of some terrible beast. Although, technically, since I crawled into it and collapsed in an exhausted heap…

  At night, I finished up the road-laying spells in less than an hour. Since I was out in the wilderness, I also swept a net of tendrils through the forest as we moved from marker to marker. Plants and animals, even the insects, all gave up a little vital essence. I kept it toned down to avoid killing anything. The last thing I want is for people to mutter meaningfully about the death-line along the sorcerous path. There are going to be enough odd looks when they reach the arched, stone bridge grown out over the ravine.

  The nearest village—it’s not a town—is Spogeyzer. In the local language, it means something like “mirrored lake.” It’s a fair distance east of the valley, a little way off from the mountains, and built around a large pond. Although, technically, since it has a spring replenishing it, I guess it is a lake. A creek runs off through fields. But the “lake” is maybe forty feet across. The locals have lined the outer edge with stone, making it more of a pool than a lake, or even a pond. I rode through the village slowly, looking around and listening. These people were likely to be neighbors. It’s good to have some idea what to expect.

  As far as I can tell, they mind their own business, don’t get many travelers, grow enough food to feed everyone, raise a variety of farm animals, hunt a little in the mountains, and are taxed too heavily. Then again, everyone thinks they’re taxed too heavily. I saw a moderately-prosperous village, so it couldn’t be too bad.

  Bronze and I went home to our rented mineshaft. At least the trip went quickly.

  Leisel was pleased to see us and had news.

  “We had a visitor while you were out.”

  “Oh?” I slid down off Bronze and we all went inside. There were scorch marks around the door and the carbonized remains of what I presume were boot soles outside it.

  “Yes. I was asleep when someone tried the door. I heard a heavy thud, like a kick or a shoulder—I’m a light sleeper—and what sounded like… frying bacon?”

  “I’m guessing someone can’t read. Couldn’t read, rather. What did you do with the body?”

  “His friends decided not to leave it.”

  “Probably for the best. Anything else while I was out?”

  “All quiet,” she reported.

  “Not too dull?”

  “I’m fine with dull. Easy money.”

  “Ah, I see. I’m still glad you’re here.”

  “Good. Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, but once the sun comes up, I’ll probably want breakfast.”

  “I’ll put some wood on the fire.”

  “It’ll be a while, yet. No rush. You know you’re not hired as a maid or a cook, right?”

  “I know, but isn’t it fair to cook if I’m not doing anything else? You do, when you take the notion. If my employer can stoop to cooking, I can.”

  I made a mental note. I’ll have to hire someone to do the housework. How many of these things am I going to trip on? She already mentioned some of this and I didn’t pay enough attention. I need to eat more of the locals.

  “All right. How do you feel about camping?”

  “Camping?”

  “I plan to abandon this mine and head west, into the mountains. There’s a road to clear, a valley to claim, mines to dig, farms to plow, and a village to build.”

  “Just like that?”

  “No, it’ll take way more work than I make it sound. There’s a lot I can start on, though. The more I get done, the easier it will be to attract people.”

  Leisel pondered on the idea while I started packing. She took note of my preparations with mild surprise. She didn’t think I meant today.

  She put off breakfast and helped me pack.

  Everything we owned—everything not part of a giant cannon—fit on her horse. Bronze could have carried all of it and more, but Bronze is a pack horse only when necessary. Besides, I wanted to see what sort of time we could make with Leisel’s horse loaded.

  I had flashbacks to a journey with Raeth and Bouger. Bronze runs at ludicrous speed, bordering on plaid, but meat-and-bone nags don’t do much better than a man. They carry more, yes, but once you factor in the care and feeding, their long-distance speed is better, but not much better.

  The trip was lightened a bit by the fact my glowing little friend came with us. With the dynamos shut down and packed in saddleboxes, it had no reason to hang around. Yet, it persisted. It floated along over Bronze’s head, as though trying to stay between her ears. Bronze didn’t mind and Leisel didn’t notice.

  Leisel, her legs folded under her, sat on Bronze’s broad rump.

  “Why do you have such a huge horse?”

  “Overcompensation.”

  “Sorry?”

  “The original statue,” I explained, half-turning to address her, “was this size. I was in a hurry, so I took what I could get.”

  “Oh,” she replied. “I guess there’s a story that explains what you just said?”

  “Yes, but it’s a long one.”

  “I guess I can see that. Another question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “You’re going out to nowhere to start a village?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t have any people for the village?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you’re hoping to attract some?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “How?”

  “Work. The area is good for farming, but so are lots of other places. The rocks are largely sedimentary or metamorphic, not igneous, with says a lot about the geology around here. I have no idea what it says. I know the three types of rocks, though. I also know the mountains around the valley have deposits of coal, iron, silver, and copper. Between farming and mining, I think it’s a good place to settle.”

  “Sounds like,” she agreed. “How do you know so much about this valley? A few days ago, you didn’t know much at all.”

  “I’m a wizard and I know how to find out things. I have arcane powers.”

  “I guess I have to accept that,” she decided. “Not to cut your plan, but the mountains are impassable. How are you going to get people to come?”

  “I’ll build roads.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You sound doubtful.”


  “I’m thinking,” she replied. “You want people to come to the middle of nowhere on a hope?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Do you have any money to get people to come with you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Now I agree.”

  “Agree with what?” I asked.

  “We can get people to come. Can I have some of the money?”

  I liked the way she said it. She said “we,” not “you.”

  “When we get to Sarashda,” I agreed. “I’ll have to get it. You’re going to rent villagers?”

  “Sort of. I think I can persuade a fair number of people to join you. It’s wilderness, right? Sleeping under the stars, chopping trees to build everything, wild animals, all that?”

  “Yes. I plan to do a lot of work before the village is large enough to grow on its own.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me surprise you.”

  “I’m not sure I like surprises.”

  Leisel smiled. I had misgivings, but I didn’t press.

  When we reached Sarashda, I dug out the smaller loop of wire, my mirror, and a power crystal. A few minutes later, I reached through it, grabbed a gold bar, dragged it through, and handed it to Leisel. She took it in both hands and looked at me oddly.

  “What? You think I carry gold bars around with me?”

  She shook her head and went away with the money.

  As for me, I found a moneychanger to turn another large bar of gold into the tiny, local bars. Starting a village is expensive.

  I bought a little cart for her horse. It rolled on two wheels and had a wooden railing surrounding the square base. I think it used to be a haycart, but it certainly smelled like a farm. It had some structural defects—cracks in the floorboards, wheels, and axle—so I hit it with repair spells from three different directions.