Mobius

by Garon Whited

  Their wizard contingent may be small, but I’m sure they do have wizards, even if I haven’t actually seen them. Spells for looking inside the boxy, mobile-home-type wagons encounter a block, but it doesn’t feel the same. I think they have a spell on the wagons rather than a portable enchanted crystal or whatever. I’m not discounting the possibility those wagons are enchanted, though. I’m wondering if I haven’t seen any wizards because they’re staying in their wagons and scrying on Bridgefort. I’m spying on the army, after all. If they are, I’d guess they’re going to the trouble to cast a scrying spell on a bowl of water rather than risk an enchanted mirror. I’m not saying they’re afraid to scry on the valley, but maybe they are.

  They also have a full rainbow contingent of priests. Those, I’ve seen. There are seven of them, each of them in a different color of robe. They aren’t in full robes, but shorter, traveling outfits, like tunics and pants instead of a sack from shoulder to ankle. They preach and lead prayers and listen to the troops, all the priestly stuff. I don’t think they’re actually accomplishing anything directly or divinely. I think they’re there as a morale boost and as political officers. But I might be cynical. I find it interesting they didn’t bring someone in a white robe. The first one might have been specifically for me, but surely they didn’t expend him. Maybe they just didn’t anticipate having the opportunity to get one close to me. Or, since the first one didn’t react, maybe they thought they were on the wrong track.

  What does all this tell me? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m just tired.

  Before I called it a night, I checked on the Temple in Sarashda.

  Shortly before leaving Sarashda, my closing gesture with the wand dismissed the various sky-based spells and channeled power into the gravity-distorting spells on the ground. They cycled up and started rocking the Temple and everyone still in it more forcefully. I didn’t know how long they would last, but by the time I checked, they were gone.

  Arguably, the Temple was also gone. Most of it was still there, of course, but not in a Temple sort of shape. It was still sort of dome-shaped, but more like a pile of rocks can be dome-shaped. I forgot I’d separated the upper Temple from most of its foundations. I’d only intended the vigorous rocking to express my displeasure by disturbing everyone in it. Technically, I suppose I did.

  Tauta, 1st Day of Lorinskir

  Leisel is feeling much better. Not a hundred percent, of course, but well enough. She’s had her breakfast and is presently closeted with Velina and the mirror communications people, getting up to speed.

  I’ve been wondering why nobody has told me anything about Renata. I can’t seem to find anyone who knows anything. I can’t find Renata, either, so now I’m starting to become concerned. I don’t think Naskarl has any reason to send a goon squad to grab her—not now, anyway—although I admit I don’t know the ins and outs of the inheritance rules. It could be the kid has a claim and is therefore a potential problem, but from the way we talked, I don’t think so. His worry was his sister, not the half-breed manzhani-warrior bastard. Renata’s only value to him was as a potential deception about her child being Nironda’s. With that out of the picture, he ought to lose interest, aside from a minor sense of malice for being thwarted.

  Grumbling about how nobody ever tells me anything, I went up to my workroom and twanged my Ring of Spying, hunting for Renata. Screw the whole scrying-resonance-correspondence-imprint crap. I let the mini-gate find her and followed it with the scrying mirror.

  Renata lay, quiet and pale, wrapped in a large, thin cloth. A quick look around showed me a trio of warrior-maids putting together a pile of wood for a pyre.

  All right, we went from “She’s going into labor,” to “She’s dead,” over the course of a day or so. Clearly, something went wrong and no one bothered to tell me. I was angry about this for a moment, but decided it was possible things went wrong too quickly for me to be involved. If it was at night and involved bleeding, her odds were probably better if I wasn’t involved. Although, obviously, her odds were poor to begin with.

  Nevertheless, there should be an infant—or the body of an infant—somewhere in the picture. Since Renata was pale and lovely corpse, it was easy to see the baby wasn’t still inside. One way or another, it was born. Now, if the child died, wouldn’t it be with her? If it was alive, then where was it?

  I rang my ring again and hunted for an infant. I got several hits in the villages. Twang! The mirror showed me a kid nursing at mama’s breast. Not a newborn, so not the kid I wanted. Twang! Nope, not this kid, either. Twang! And on to the next-nearest, one after the other.

  For the record, there were thirty-four infants in the villages. Pioneers love having a family, so they bring them along.

  I finally realized I was going about this all wrong. If Renata died in childbirth, who would be most likely to know what happened? Who would be the one she trusted to take care of her child? I did another scan, this time looking for Illaria, Renata’s what-do-you-call-it—ishanda, that was it. The image came up immediately. She was on the southern side of the valley, climbing into the mountains beyond the wooded border. She had a baby with her, slung papoose-style on her back. The child was not at all happy, but Illaria was busily headed south and paid it no attention.

  My question was profane, but, fundamentally, rhetorical.

  All right, weird. There wasn’t anything in the area, not so much as a log cabin or even a decent rocky overhang. I watched, puzzled, for several minutes. I couldn’t figure where she was going.

  She unslung the bawling infant and lowered the swaddled bundle into a cleft between two rocks. It was a moderately-steep section of mountainside and, while in no sense impassable, in every sense inconvenient to get to. She made sure the infant was settled, possibly even wedged, and turned away, heading back toward the valley. The child continued to wail.

  I repeated my rhetorical question, somewhat more forcefully. I scanned around. Illaria was making good time back down the slope after leaving a baby in the wilderness. Further investigation showed no signs of anyone within a couple of miles, but there were some medium-sized predators.

  The alpha predator of the valley, possibly the Empire, and maybe the planet moved the mirror viewpoint to get a close-up of the baby. My ears did not appreciate this, since I hadn’t yet installed a mute function on the mirror.

  I miss my workroom in Karvalen. Vios. Mount Arthur. Back there.

  I opened the mirror, reached through, and lifted the baby through. I held it against my shoulder, patting its back while the mirror closed and shut down. It stopped crying immediately, hiccupped a couple of times, and, momentarily content, was quiet. Why? No idea. I know I have that effect on little people, but I have not a clue how it works.

  Half an hour later, I determined the child had no structural abnormalities. It occurred to me Illaria might have abandoned it much like the Spartans were reputed to have abandoned malformed or imperfect babies. No, this baby girl was as pretty and perfect as any I’d ever seen. At least, once I’d removed all the dried post-birthing yuck.

  I tried five or six ideas on how to feed an infant without a rubber nipple or a wet nurse. What I settled on was a twisted and folded cloth with one end small enough to suck on with dribbles of milk going in the other end, to soak through as the child—as she—nommed on it. I would have stolen a suitable set of newborn stuff from another world, but most of my stuff was in a recharge cycle after the tornado.

  She opened her eyes as she ate. They were a coppery color. Even I know it’s not a normal color for infant eyes. Thinking back, Palan’s eyes were a dark color, much like Renata’s. Naskarl’s, too, if Renata was right about him being the father. Maybe the local genetics call for baby eyes to be this color? Like the way some babies in my homeworld start with blue eyes and they change color later in life? Do all the baby eyes around here start this color and darken to some shade of brown?

  She finished her breakfast, spat most of it up, and ate some more. There were other, inci
dental messes, but given my own early-morning routine, I’m surprisingly well-prepared for such minor nuisances. My stuff may be recharging, but I can cast a cleaning spell without much trouble.

  Once fed, cleaned, and wrapped up warm again, she went to sleep. Well, she’d had a busy first day. I installed her in my own bed, laid my cloak over her with instructions not to let her roll off, and shut the door gently. My cloak may not be as dangerous during the day, but it was enough to terrify some professional vampire-hunters into killing one of their own in an attempt to destroy it. I was pretty sure it would be as safe as any crib or cradle.

  Now I could be furious.

  I stomped down the stairs, slammed out through the front door, and glared southward. Illaria was nowhere in sight. She probably had a horse waiting at the edge of the forest. If so, she might already be back. I did a quick search-and-scry. Yes, she was in the cabin she once shared with Renata.

  So I stomped over to her house and didn’t kick the door down. I knocked hard enough to be mistaken for pounding, though. Illaria opened the door with a blade in her hand. I waited until she lowered it and backed away. I advanced on her and she backed farther, half-tripping on the edge of the bed to sit down sharply. I kept my hands behind my back to keep them away from her neck as I leaned down to look her in the face.

  “Explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Why you don’t have a baby in your house. Hold it,” I snapped, as she started to speak. I leveled a finger at her like it was loaded, which, from any mortal perspective, it damn well was. “Think for two seconds.” I paused. “Now speak.”

  Illaria took her two seconds instead of answering immediately.

  “Attekytees,” she replied. The word meant mostly abandoned, but it was more specific. I think the Greek idea of exposure is closest. It means you have an unwanted baby, so you put it in a basket and float it down the river, leave it in a secluded wilderness spot, or otherwise get rid of it without killing it outright. I haven’t eaten enough people to understand much about it, only enough to recognize the word. Then again, when it comes to knowingly murdering minors, I’m not sure I’m equipped to understand.

  “I already know you abandoned the child on a mountainside. I want to know why.”

  “No one would want it—”

  “Her,” I corrected.

  “It killed Renata!”

  “And you leave it to die in the wilderness because Renata wasn’t strong enough to bear the child?”

  “Any child that kills its mother has to die!”

  “So,” I sneered, “the child’s a murderer?”

  “Yes.”

  That brought me up short. Not the idea, but the matter-of-fact tone.

  I had to admit, from a purely evolutionary standpoint, it was a good idea. If the mother wasn’t the sort to bear children easily, then by eliminating the offspring, you eliminate that genetic branch. The breed improves because the survivors are the ones who do bear children easily. It’s great for the species. It’s not so great for the individual.

  “Back up,” I told her, and found myself a seat. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Renata bore the child, but she bled too much. If you had been here, perhaps she would not.”

  “Perhaps,” I agreed. “If you’re going to blame me, I suggest you do it after the debriefing, warrior.”

  “Yes, Mazhani.”

  “Continue.”

  “Renata died,” Illaria continued, bitterly. “The baby killed her. As Renata’s ishanda—she has no family in the valley—it fell to me to take it into the wilderness. I found a cleft in the rocks and left it there.”

  “It’s out in the mountains, unprotected?”

  “Yes. Whatever fate the gods have in store for it, they’re welcome to visit it upon the child.”

  “What’s to prevent someone from coming along and simply taking it?”

  “If the gods will it,” she shrugged. “Anyone finding it would know it was attekytees.”

  “And they won’t take it?”

  “No. Kustoni, perhaps, but no one civilized.”

  “And you don’t think you’ve done anything wrong, do you?”

  “I have done my duty.”

  I didn’t have a good answer to that. Culturally, this might be the norm. It probably was. I was a bit distracted by a number of emotions, however, and not in the best shape for achieving a detached, rational perspective. There were a lot of feelings going on and none of them pleasant. Renata was dead, for one. Then there was all the effort on her behalf wasted—or almost wasted. A child was abandoned in the wilderness. Illaria believed she did the right thing, this attekytees, leaving an unwanted child out to die.

  And, on top of all this, I still had no idea what effect, if any, my pet light had on the baby.

  I swore under my breath and turned on one heel, heading for the door. I stomped back to the keep. We really need a bridge, not just a ford. I made a note to start one sometime.

  Leisel was still working, so I went upstairs, pulled out my pocket mirror, and had a discussion with Hazir.

  “My friend! I see your campaign has been favored by the gods!”

  “I would say so,” I agreed, thinking about one in particular.

  “Did you recover that which was taken?”

  “I did. She’s mostly recovered and is getting ready for the Temple’s assault.”

  “They are still—? Ah. They have not been recalled,” he said, nodding. The image in the mirror moved as he walked.

  “Is this not a good time?”

  “I am on my way to discuss my employment with a mahrani,” he said. “I may have a higher calling.”

  “Oh? May I ask?”

  “After last night, a gentleman of my acquaintance feels it may be time to take a more active role in questioning the idea that priests are the only ones who may speak to—or for—the gods. Who else would know best the spirit of the Warrior than one who was born to the station, for example?”

  “A fair and valid point,” I agreed. “I do have a rather heretical question, though.”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s with the abandonment of babies when the mother dies in childbirth? Attekytees, I think? I’ve never had to deal with it, myself.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “Strange.”

  “I have no children of my own, remember.”

  “I suppose. The law is not only for the children of dead mothers, but also for those born deformed. Missing fingers, strange shapes, odd coloration—anything out of the ordinary may be cause for attekytees.”

  “Good to know. About the odd coloration… what color are babies’ eyes?”

  “Brown, usually. I have heard they are sometimes blue, but those few almost always change. Farther north, blue is more common. It is not cause for concern.”

  “What about a really light brown? Almost copper-colored?”

  “I seem to recall a case,” he mused, scratching under his chin. “There was a ruling by the priests… oh, a decade ago? They declared a copper-eyed child was deformed in the soul, not in the body, by lacking that organ.”

  “So, copper-eyed kids don’t have souls?”

  “I believe that was the ruling,” he agreed. “I do not remember the details.”

  “Okay. I’m not sure how they’d be able to tell, though. What, exactly, is the problem with these soulless ones? Do they not grow up? Do they become monsters as they get older? What?”

  “I…” he paused, thinking. “I cannot recall. It is a rare case under the law, as far as I know.”

  “Was it a ruling by the priests or an actual offense under the law?”

  “I am uncertain. I have only heard of it once. Still, the color of the eyes was not the prime issue. The mother had died in delivering the child, so attekytees was certain.”

  “Interesting. I’m tempted to find a copper-eyed kid and raise it to see what happens. And,” I added, as he shook his head, “to taunt t
he priests. Who knows? It might not be so bad. It might make a good point of proof that the priests don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Of course, it would also take a while.”

  “I am not certain it is worth it,” he advised.

  “Fair enough,” I decided, and changed the subject. “Is there anything I can do to help your friend in questioning the Temples?”

  “I will mention your willingness, but I am not highly placed within the organization. It may take some time for any message to reach him, traveling as it must by circuitous means.”

  “Of course. And thank you for all your assistance.”

  “It was my pleasure. And congratulations on your success.”

  “Thank you.” We signed off and I went from workroom to bedroom to sit by the bed and consider the sleeping problem.

  My first instinct is to distrust priests. No, that’s not quite true. My first instinct is to regard priests as opponents, possibly enemies. I acknowledge many, possibly even most, are good people trying to do the right thing. They have the handicap of either having to make it up and say it’s the Word from On High, or they’re being guided by an entity with an ulterior motive. Neither is ideal. So when priests say something, my knee-jerk response is to doubt them.

  I do try to be reasonable. I fail, but I get karma points for trying, don’t I?

  So, with this in mind, is it possible the local religion is right? Do copper-eyed babies have no souls? I have to admit the possibility. Renata had an encounter with my pet globe of light. It went into her and didn’t come out. It might be a possessing spirit, occupying the embryo and now possessing, effectively, its own body.

  How is this different from a soul? If it is different, how do I tell?

  Come nightfall, though, I’m going to take another long, hard look at the infant. Meanwhile, I suppose I should get ready to feed her again. Nobody else is going to be any too pleased with me, apparently.