Mobius

by Garon Whited

  “Good afternoon,” I offered, and moved to stand in front of my mirror. I made a mental note to get a chair.

  “Good afternoon,” he replied, hands tucked through the crossed bandoliers of pouches. He bowed slightly and stepped hastily out of the way. A younger man, maybe thirty, took his place. He reminded me strongly of Palan, the man I killed in the stands. Younger, slimmer, with the same brow and jawline, but thicker eyebrows, a shade darker skin, and narrower eyes. Not his son, certainly, or we wouldn’t be having problems. Younger brother, probably.

  “Al of House Lucard,” I offered.

  “Naskarl of House Sarcana.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “You have our decree of vendetta?” he asked. I thought to myself, So that’s how it’s going to be, is it?

  “I do.”

  “How say you?”

  “I say you’re in for one hell of a beating if we can’t come to terms. You have my attention, sir, without my goodwill. This has been known to be a horrible combination.”

  “Your posturing does not move me. Give us what we want or face destruction.”

  “Ah, what you want. Yes. I’ve been considering what you really want. As I understand it, you asked—let us say ‘asked,’ rather than ‘demanded.’ It seems more civilized. You asked for Renata, a lot of gold, and a public apology, I think. Did I forget something?”

  “No, you have listed our…” he trailed off, lips twisting in a sneer, “…requests.”

  “What do you intend to do with Renata, should I hand her over to you?”

  “That is none of your affair.”

  “Let me put it another way. Why do you want her?”

  “As I said, it is not your affair. The fact we want her is all you need to know.”

  The idea of opening a gate through the mirror and dragging Naskarl halfway through it before it closed was one hell of a temptation. I resisted. It’s good practice. Besides, I’m not sure how such a gate would work if his end was a crystal ball. I pasted a smile on my face and tried not to show how much I wanted to sort this out by killing everyone involved with his House.

  “Manzhani Naskarl, I acknowledge your request for the woman. However, I believe you want something more fundamental than simply having her in your possession.”

  “You presume to know our wants?” he asked, and not nicely.

  “Not at all. I’m making a guess. A good guess, I think, given what I know. For example, if she remains as she is, an independent warrior, she could claim… oh, I don’t know. She could get herself pregnant, for example, and claim it was Palan’s child. I’m sure you don’t want the trouble and difficulty of this sort of thing. After all, who would? It is a wise course to seek her out and keep her under close watch until any doubts about the matter are resolved. Am I wrong?”

  Naskarl clasped his hands and tapped his forefingers against his lips, thinking. I kept my idiot grin in place and waited.

  “What do you want with her?” Naskarl asked, pointing at me with the little finger of one hand. “You have already demonstrated a keen desire to keep her. Why?”

  “She’s signed on with me. If you kidnapped any other guard, I’d have reacted the same.”

  “So you say.”

  “In the interests of continuing our discussion, I’m going to ignore the fact you just called me a liar.”

  “Wise of you,” Naskarl replied. “Very well, yes. Your reasoning is not inaccurate. It is partly why we wish to have this woman in our care.”

  “I’m glad we have that established. With this in mind, I should mention I’m giving serious thought to marrying her and making her my galvanais so she can provide me with an heir. She strikes me as suitable. If I were to do so tomorrow, let us say, would you still be so interested in declaring vendetta?”

  Naskarl looked startled, then his eyes narrowed.

  “You think I’m a fool?”

  “Not at all,” I said. Not yet, I thought.

  “You intend to usurp control of House Sarcana through this bastard of my brother’s! You are not defending some petty warrior! You have designs upon the whole of my House!”

  Now I think you’re a fool, I thought, but did not say. He as much as admitted he knew Renata was already pregnant, and by his elder brother. The House might have bigger and more immediate problems than a bastard child potentially inheriting the place.

  “As I understand it—and we can ask the priests, if you like—a child isn’t a child until it’s born. If Renata is my galvanais when the child is born, it’s my child and has nothing to do with Palan, you, or the House Sarcana. Am I wrong?”

  “Within the law, this is so. But the fact of the child’s bloodline gives you recourse within the Temples. If they see fit, they may declare it the heir, and you know it! This is your plan, all laid bare before me. I see your thought and will have none of it!”

  “Hang on. Didn’t I hear Palan’s galvanais finally conceived? Wouldn’t that child take precedence, regardless?”

  Naskarl’s built-in tan lightened several shades as he paled.

  “Speak not of this matter! I know your mind! You seek only to benefit yourself at the expense of a great House! We will have our vengeance for the death of our manzhani!”

  He stepped away from the mirror. Someone else’s hand came into view to strike the other end of the connection—mirror, crystal ball, whatever—with a fingernail. The image faded into reflection.

  Leisel regarded me in the mirror.

  “What do you think?”

  I turned away from the mirror and looked reflexively for a chair. Nope. I have to get more furniture.

  “I think they don’t care if I take Renata as my galvanais or not.”

  “Was it high on your list of things to do?”

  “No, but if it would move her outside their sphere of interests, I can let her have the station. It’s not like she has to do anything as long as the paperwork is all filled out, right?”

  “I suppose not. I am surprised you would do this.”

  “To be blunt, I barely know her. If it would get Sarcana to leave us alone, Renata could have the titular position and we all go about our business. They don’t seem to be content with that. Moreover, Hazir mentioned to me it was suspiciously good timing for Palan’s galvanais to be declared pregnant within days of his demise. I’m not sure how this relates, but I’m sure it does.”

  “Renata’s child will have a claim to the leadership of House Sarcana,” Leisel pointed out. “Assuming Nironda is truly with child, hers would be the first heir, since she is the galvanais. It would not be first time, however, someone has lied.”

  “Lied? Lied how?”

  “Perhaps she is not yet with child and hopes to conceive one with Naskarl. Perhaps she has already conceived by some other man and hopes thereby to retain her position as mother to the heir. She miscarried, as I recall, several times while galvanais to Palan. She may be feeling her youth slip away and seek to establish a more permanent position. Naskarl, too, may have some motive, although I think he would be loath to have Nironda bear his brother’s child. It would take precedence over any of his own.”

  “Unless he’s the one who sired the hypothetical child with Nironda?”

  “Exactly. He may have done so, but then he would not need Renata—killing her would be simplest. He may also have nothing to do with Nironda and be presently plotting against her and Renata equally, to clear the path of his own lineage to control of the House. This, too, would mean killing her is the easiest course. He obviously wants her, either in her own right or for the child she carries. Possibly both.”

  “I hate politics,” I sighed.

  “Possibly a mark of an enlightened soul,” Leisel pointed out. “You have little patience for things built on customs rather than on higher truths.” I glanced at the guard on mirror-monitor duty. She didn’t miss the comment.

  “If you say so,” I hedged. “Come on. We need to deliver tools.”

  We wen
t downstairs, through the upper bedroom, lower bedroom, and down to the ground. Leisel sent for someone while I bundled up the tools. Rather than deliver them ourselves, Leisel sent them, along with instructions to duplicate them.

  “Bronze and I could get there faster.”

  “You have something else to do.”

  “I know.”

  “Good.” She took me by the hand and led me to the upper bedroom. At least it had furniture. Leisel thinks ahead.

  I gave Leisel plenty of warning before the transformation started. She waited while I stood to one side and sweated.

  In a world where there are no seasons, I don’t think we need a fireplace. We do need more ventilation, though. I made a note to do some drawing in my mental study and plan out some ventilation pipes in the structure of the tower’s shaping spell. For now, I sweated through my transformation, gestured the byproducts into a compact little mess, and put it in a chamber pot.

  Leisel sat in bed, watching the process.

  “You once offered to teach wizardry,” she started.

  “Yes.”

  “I had some discussion with others.”

  “Oh? How did it go?”

  “Some are more religious than others.”

  “So, mixed results?”

  “In a way. Anyone can swing an axe, but it doesn’t make us woodsmen. Most of us can bandage a wound, but it doesn’t make us physickers. Others can hide behind a shield or hold a spear, but it doesn’t make them warriors.”

  “It’s study and practice that bothers them?”

  “Everyone has a place,” Leisel pointed out. “They learn their calling and their craft because it’s what they’re meant to do. It’s what the gods want, how they arranged and ordered the world. Copying what someone else does because it’s too simple to not do… it’s just what people do. Delving into the secrets of another caste is where most people draw the line.” Her lips quirked into another smile. “What do you think?”

  “I think people should learn anything they want, do anything they want—from an occupational standpoint, anyway.”

  Leisel shifted on the bed like a cat, moving from a reclined to prone position, watching me.

  “I want to ask you a question.”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you believe this because you are an enlightened soul, come from beyond the mortal realm, or because you are a creature, not a man?”

  “Good question.”

  “Thank you.”

  “May I ask what brings this on?”

  “I’ve watched you… change. It’s strange to watch, but not half as strange as what you are. The tongue, the teeth, the eyes… even the fingernails and ears. Black is the color of death, and everything about you is darkness. I work for you, but maybe I shouldn’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “I’d rather not have to cope without you,” I admitted. “I need someone to be my organizer, my right hand. If you don’t think you should, I’ll understand. Say so and I’ll give you a big sack of gold and let you go.”

  “Oh?”

  “I won’t like it, but it’s your life. You can do with it anything you want. I’m pleased to have you helping me, but it is your decision.”

  Leisel nodded, smiling impishly. I had the distinct feeling I passed some sort of test.

  “And what if I don’t trust you to give me anything after I decide to leave?”

  “Is there someone you trust to hold the money for you? I can have a box delivered. You can leave me a note to tell me why you can’t work for me anymore. I’d rather have the chance to talk you out of leaving—or explain my view on whatever caused it—but then you can leave and still have your severance pay. Or just take whatever money we have lying around and leave. I’d appreciate it if you appointed someone to take over for you, though.”

  “What’s to stop you from finding me?”

  “Nothing, I guess. Do you want me to beef up your protection amulet so it’s hard to find you, too? There are drawbacks.”

  “Drawbacks?”

  “If someone kidnaps you to blackmail me, I won’t be able to find you then, either.”

  “Hmm. Fair. No, I’ll stick to the magic I know.”

  “Speaking of which, you mentioned a desire to study magic. You could learn to cast your own hiding spells.”

  “Really? How long would this take?”

  “I don’t know. Everyone has different levels of talent and dedication. If you only want to learn some spells, we could do it in a week, tops. If you want to learn theory, so you can design your own spells, it’ll take longer, but you’ll be much better at it.”

  “Let’s start with some good tricks, first. Maybe I’ll like it.”

  “We’ll start with teaching you to perceive magical forces,” I decided. “You almost have to if you want to work any spell well. After, how about conjuring a light? Like I did in the mine?”

  “I’ve got some time before I need to sleep. And, since you…” she trailed off, gesturing at my body.

  “…I’m not going to be as useful as I was?” I guessed.

  “Close enough.”

  Tauta, 18th Day of Milaskir

  Leisel’s lessons are going well. She’s a warrior, not a wizard, and insofar as the caste system goes, they put her in the right one. On the other hand, she’s not untalented. She could, with time and training, make a living as a wizard in Karvalen, I’m sure. With a little help and a vampire-wizard mind-meld—I’ve explained it as teaching her in dreams—she’s mastered the special mental state required to see and manipulate magical effects. Technically, she’s now a wizard. She’s also almost mastered the basic ball of light illumination spell. She still has to do the large, sweeping gestures to gather power, the hand motions to form it into a ball, and speak the local magical sound-symbol for “light,” but it works.

  I wonder if this makes her a heretic or merely a blasphemer. She’s not quitting her job as a warrior, but she’s learning some basic skills in another profession. Is this regarded as acceptable, or simply ignored unless one makes a production of it?

  Morning practice is also going well. Tessera had a bad day after I adjusted her healing spell, but she’s fit and happy again. She’s not much of an instructor, since her hand and eye simply do things. She can’t explain them. She makes a great sparring partner, though, and she’s my demonstrator when I’m going over a new drill.

  We’ve had major progress on the iron and coal mines, so much so I’m considering a direct road between the sites, rather than have everything go through the village. I keep surreptitiously zapping various things around the sites to improve them. All the smelting furnaces already copied my design for taller chimneys to improve draft. I had to put spells on their firing chambers to reflect more heat, though. At least the builders went to the trouble of putting air intakes through the walls of the chimney to pre-heat the air, saving me a lot of work on the heat-transfer spells. And, of course, my drum-fans are connected to treadmills through wooden gears to force air through the whole arrangement.

  If this keeps up, we’ll be exporting steel, soon. We’re certainly manufacturing more than I expected.

  Labor isn’t a problem, either. More people keep showing up, looking for work. Mostly it’s miners, but we have a steady trickle of farmers. We can’t quite clear land fast enough to keep up, but it’s going much faster with better tools. Axes, saws, and shovels are such basic things, you’d think they’re obvious. They’re not. The ones I stole are being copied willy-nilly, exactly as I wanted.

  Plowing is another issue. We have several horses—we still have the ones from the kidnap attempt, plus the ones from the ambush—and plowing goes on from sunrise to sunset. I’ve had more of the basic plows built, but they’re not exactly what I’d call efficient. I’ll see about upgrading them soon, but they have enough to do producing new tools as it is. Building a plow they know is quicker and easier.

  I’ve confirmed they don’t have cattle. They have a
horsecollar, so plowing isn’t a problem, and our agribusiness is booming. The sun goes around the equator, never varying, so there are no seasons. Hence, they plant anything at any time. It’ll still be a while before anything is ready to harvest, but we have three granaries all ready to go.

  Another peculiarity of the world, one I didn’t notice in my original reconnaissance, was its rotation. One night, I was out on a mountainside, tying a spell to some of the upper trees. We wouldn’t be cutting them down—too difficult to reach and not anywhere we wanted to be. If a jungle giant of a tree leached away some of its vital force into the fields, any crops would grow slightly faster, slightly better. If a dozen did so, or a hundred… At the very least, it should counteract my unintentional tendency to sponge up any loose vitality. I wear a spell to keep it in check, but it never hurts to be cautious.

  Anyway, I was up there, doing my spells, when I noticed the moon. Its path seemed odd to me. Where we were, I expected it to always rise in the north about sunset, pass overhead about midnight, and set around sunrise. It was nearly midnight, so it should have been high overhead. Instead, it was off to the west.

  Finally, I’ve figured it out. The world rotates. The sun travels from east to west, but the world turns slowly under it, too. If it were only the sun and the world, it would be impossible to tell, but the moon—the moon orbits from pole to pole! If the world didn’t turn, the moon would always follow over the same track. Since the world turns under it, the moon’s track through the sky seems to slowly drift from west to east.

  It takes thirty-three days for the world to make one revolution. Thirty-three days for the moon to go from high-moon at midnight to the next high-moon at midnight. It gives off light of its own, which I don’t understand, so it’s always a full moon, but it has a thirty-three day cycle.