by Sarah Wynde
“Stop,” Fen said. The voice stopped.
What the hell had Gaelith done?
Classic Elf Crap
“Can you answer all my questions?” Fen asked.
“No.” The reply was immediate. “Data access is restricted to Library Level One.”
“So you’re like a reference librarian? In my head?”
There was a moment of silence before the voice said, “Information retrieval service, yes. Information transmittal, however, is accomplished via mechanotransduction and the stimulation of auditory cells to produce electrical signals which depolarize—”
“Stop, stop.” Fen didn’t understand a word the voice was saying. Well, maybe the little ones. “Call it magic. That works for me.”
She lifted her arm to look at the tattoo on her wrist again. It hurt the way tattoos did, not an agonizing pain, but a definite sunburn-like sting. If she were dreaming, wouldn’t the pain wake her up? No, this was no dream.
“How do I get out of here?” she asked, sitting up and swinging her legs off the side of the bed.
The voice in her head didn’t answer.
Fen scowled. What use was it if it couldn’t tell her what she most wanted to know?
“All right, what about clothes? Can you tell me how to get something clean to wear?” she asked. Her dress was draped across the end of her bed but she didn’t want to put it on over her bikini. By now it probably smelled of sweat and fear and nightmares.
Again, the voice didn’t answer.
“A toilet? Can you handle that one? If I need to pee, where do I go?”
“In spaces created using nanomite-infused materials, modifications are accomplished through directed attention and specific communication,” the voice responded.
“What the hell does that mean?”
If Fen was going to have a voice in her head, she wanted one that spoke plain English. Okay, sure, maybe she was better off than the homeless people she knew in Chicago who couldn’t get their voices to quiet—at least hers had followed a direct order to shut up—but still, the geek speak was damn annoying.
“Successful nanomite direction requires concentrated will and…”
“Enough,” Fen snapped. “Tell me in English or not at all.”
The voice fell silent. And then, carefully, it said, “The ability to work with magic depends upon a confluence of factors impossible to measure in isolation. A novice magician must test her skills by trial-and-error.”
Ugh, that was supposed to be plain English?
“How do I test my skills?” Fen asked.
“Try them.”
Fen blinked. For once, the voice’s answer seemed straightforward. “Tell the room what I want, the way Gaelith did?”
“Not the room, but the magic that infuses it,” the voice corrected her.
Fen rolled her eyes. Why did the distinction matter? Gaelith spoke and the walls and floor listened to her. Call it the room, call it magic, call it nanomites, what difference did it make?
Standing, she cleared her throat. “I need a bathroom, please.”
With impressive alacrity, a gorgeous claw-footed bathtub shot out of the floor, six feet long, deep enough for Fen to submerge, complete with garish golden faucets and a wall of shampoo and bubble bath options. The faucets turned on and steaming water began filling the tub.
Fen pressed her lips together, not sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. Bathroom, bathtub, yeah, okay, she got where the magic was coming from. “Not what I had in mind,” she said. “But nice try.”
The voice inside her head whispered, “Successful magic requires a clear image of the desired outcome. The ability to visualize a precise goal marks the difference between aspiration and achievement.”
Fen folded her hands in front of her face as if she were saying a prayer. Not that she needed to pee so badly she was going to pray about it—hell, she’d pee in a corner of the room if she had to and damn the jerks who had to clean it up—but her life would feel better if her bladder were empty.
She closed her eyes and pictured a toilet. Opening them, she started to say, “I need…” but it wasn’t necessary. The exact image from her mind’s eye sat next to the tub.
It even flushed.
Finished, Fen looked at the tub.
Yep, definitely.
She stripped off the bikini and stepped into the bath, gently lowering herself into the water. She closed her eyes and leaned back.
Questions, questions. She had so many. Where to begin? Think softly. What did that mean? Her crystal, the voices inside her head, Kaio and Luke, the city itself. Who the hell were these people?
“Is Kaio gay?” The words fell out of her mouth without conscious volition. Face hot, Fen sank below the steaming water, burying her head in the tub. What the hell had she asked that for? She knew the answer. Of course he was.
But the voice in her head didn’t care that she was immersed in water. Remorselessly, it said, “Probability that Kaio Del Mar is exclusively homosexual, less than eight percent. Probability statistics based on—”
“Stop,” Fen managed to gasp, sliding up and out, shaking off the water. “Stop.”
Oh, God. Did she want to know? Yes, hell yes, she did. What were those statistics based on? But come on, what a creepy thing to do. Was she some kind of voyeur that she’d let some weird artificial intelligence fill her in on the details of Kaio’s sex life?
Oh, lord, yes.
And no.
No.
Absolutely no.
She was not that kind of person.
“History of the city,” she said desperately. “Tell me about the history of the city.”
Less than eight percent.
“The city-state of Syl Var was founded approximately forty thousand years ago,” the voice began obediently. “Over the course of many millennia, Syl Var became one of the major cities of the Sia Maran people because of its coastal location, temperate climate, and access to natural resources.”
Less than eight percent was low. But not zero low.
“Approximately 10,000 years ago, the Sia Mara realized they were in danger of being eradicated by a younger species, Homo Sapiens. The Sia Mara could not compete with the speed with which Homo Sapiens grew, moved, and bred, nor with their aggressive nature.”
Of course, it wasn’t as if the voice knew for sure what Kaio thought. Or liked. Or was attracted to.
“The Great Council of the Sia Mara, composed of representatives of all of the major cities and many of the minor, debated for decades. Some argued for a wholesale elimination of Homo Sapiens, considering them a lesser species. A majority, however, believed that Homo Sapiens had a right to live and deserved an opportunity to thrive.”
On the other hand, it wasn’t saying he was clearly het either. Like, really, in two hundred years, he hadn’t knocked up some hot babe? No marriages? Nothing conclusive?
“Eventually, the options came down to three: continue on the current path which seemed to lead inexorably to the end of the Sia Mara; eliminate Homo Sapiens; or separate themselves from Homo Sapiens until such time as the species grew less aggressive. The Sia Mara chose the third option.”
Wait, what? Eliminate Homo Sapiens? Abruptly, Fen started paying attention to the voice in her head.
“Seven cities were selected to become refuges, including Syl Var. Together, the Sia Mara worked to set off a series of volcanoes, using the geothermal energy produced by the massive explosions to sink their cities into the oceans of the world, hiding them from human awareness and protecting them with shields of magical energy capable of maintaining healthy environmental conditions.”
“They set off volcanoes?” Fen interrupted. “Like, real volcanoes?” Shit, these people were scarier than she’d imagined.
“Indeed,” the voice continued. “It was both a great achievement and an enormous tragedy. Between the volcanoes, the earthquakes, the resulting tsunamis, and the changes caused in the global climate, many Sia Mara died, as did
nearly half of the living Homo Sapiens.”
Volcanoes, earthquakes, death and destruction. It reminded Fen of Caye Laje. “Is that what the mural in the dining room on Caye Laje is about? To remember they killed a shitload of people a seriously long time ago?”
“Insufficient data. Probability high.”
Fen blinked, puzzled, before guessing at the voice’s meaning. “You don’t know what the house on Caye Laje looks like?”
“Correct. Also ‘shitload’ does not translate to a measurable or verifiable number.”
Fen rolled her eyes. Librarian in her head, cool. Prissy librarian, not so cool. But she didn’t say anything as the library voice continued. “Many Sia Marans, in particular those in the Great Houses, memorialize the events of those years, called the Cataclysm, in the hope of ensuring such action is never repeated.”
God, wouldn’t it be creepy to eat with that hovering over your shoulders every day? Not that it would be bad, necessarily. Humanity had a way of pushing guilt away, trying to forget it. Maybe a few more murals acknowledging wrongdoing wouldn’t go amiss in the human world.
“So how many people died?” Was her curiosity morbid? Probably. It was thousands of years ago. Why did she care?
“Approximately two and a half million.”
“Yeah, that’d qualify as a shitload.” Despite the warmth of the water, Fen shivered. Millions of people dead. “That’s not Hitler numbers, though,” she added pragmatically. “Or Stalin. Come to that, the Europeans did worse by a long shot when they made it to America. I read that a hundred million Native Americans died. You guys are amateurs. Still, definitely uncool.”
The library voice didn’t respond. Fen couldn’t tell what its silence meant, if it meant anything at all. “Go on. What happened next?”
“After a period of turmoil and disruption, the Sia Mara settled into a time of tranquility. While the civilizations of Homo Sapiens rose and fell, the Sia Mara refuges became peaceful havens, centers for art and beauty. Syl Var is known particularly for its music, the artistry of its food, and the warmth of its people.”
Warmth? Fen’s eyebrows rose. She wouldn’t call Kaio warm. Hot, sure. Warm, not so much. But maybe she was letting his cool elegance bias her against his city. Gaelith was warm. And Luke, yeah, she could see him being described as warm, too. God, she hoped he was okay.
“Those Valkyrie guys, they’re not peaceful.” Fen leaned back, resting against the back of the tub, knees up so she wouldn’t slide under the water. She could swim in this thing if she knew how.
“Within the borders of the refuges, the Sia Marans follow strict social codes. Laws are rigorously enforced and transgressions punished. Outside the cities, however, no laws apply.”
“So the Valkyries can do whatever they want?”
“All actions have consequences. The Val Kyr reputation does not serve them well.”
“What does that mean?” Fen squeezed a dollop of soap from a purple bottle into her hand. She sniffed it. She didn’t recognize the smell but it’d do.
“Not all of the repercussions of the Cataclysm were anticipated. Communication and travel between the seven cities posed unexpected challenges. The cities became more isolated than expected. And over the course of centuries, other issues developed.”
“What sorts of issues?” Fen asked, soaping up her hair briskly.
“Of primary importance is an increasing demographic imbalance. The Sia Mara live for hundreds of years, but children are rare.”
Elves. Fen knew it. Luke might have denied the whole Faerieland thing, but come on, long lifespan, few children? Classic elf crap.
“The average Sia Maran female might, over the course of her years, bear two or three children. In the centuries since the Cataclysm, more and more of those children have been male. Currently, the gender ratio is skewed at approximately four to one. As a result, the population has begun to decline. Slowly at first and precipitously in the last millennia.”
Huh.
Elfland filled with men.
Suddenly Fen felt cold.
And naked.
And just a little too defenseless.
Out, Out, Out
“So, four men for every woman. That means, like, out of every million Sia Maran, 800,000 are male, yeah?”
“It would,” the library voice responded. “However, as of the census of 9751, there were only 57,323 living Sia Mara. Genetic males totaled 45,948.”
Fen’s jaw dropped.
Holy cow.
“Fifty-seven thousand?” she squeaked. “That’s all?”
“Approximately. The numbers are flawed. City populations are tabulated during the Great Councils and the last was held 174 years ago. Additionally…” The library voice paused.
“What is it?” Fen asked as she slid under the surface of the water to rinse her hair. She ran her hands through it, loosening the shampoo as quickly as she could. She wanted to finish her bath and get out of the water.
“The city of Wai Pa sent no representative to the Great Council of 9751,” the library voice said slowly.
“Why not?”
The voice paused again. “No answer to that question is to be found within the information available at Library Level One.”
“How about you look at Library Level Two?”
“Data access is limited to Library Level One,” her inner librarian answered. “But…” The voice trailed off.
“But what?” Fen splashed up in the tub. Hell with it. A little shampoo in her hair wouldn’t kill her.
“The records of the Great Council of 9548 indicate that of the seven cities, Wai Pa and Val Kyr were experiencing the greatest difficulty. Based on incomplete data, probability analysis indicates a strong likelihood that the city of Wai Pa fell sometime between 9548 and 9751.”
“Fell?” Fen’s eyes lifted to the blank ceiling. When she’d been outside in Syl Var, the sky of the city had looked like a night sky, but it couldn’t be, of course. Was it a dome? Were thousands of tons of water waiting to come spilling into the first crack? She glanced around for a towel. Of course there were none. “Great. That’s just great,” she muttered.
“The data does not support that assessment,” the library voice said, sounding stilted.
“No.” Fen shook her head. “I mean, yes. I mean, no. I mean, I wasn’t talking about the city falling. I need a towel.” Fuck it, she would adapt. She stepped out of the tub and grabbed the sheet from the bed.
“Correction acknowledged.” The voice sounded friendlier.
Briskly drying herself off, Fen said, “Fifty-seven thousand doesn’t sound like very many people.”
“It is less than the Sia Mara population of ten thousand years ago by approximately thirty-seven percent.”
“So their great plan’s not working so well?” Fen wrapped the sheet around herself.
Clothes, she wanted clothes.
“It is difficult to say. Had the Sia Mara not gone into hiding, they would most certainly be extinct by now. However eliminating Homo Sapiens might have been the more fruitful strategy.”
Fen hunched her shoulders. Something about the calm way the voice inside her head said that—her voice, inside her head—made her profoundly uncomfortable.
“Homo Sapiens here,” she muttered. “Maybe not be so relaxed about genocide? The genocide of my species?”
“My apologies.” The library voice even sounded apologetic. Fen had a sudden vision of what she would look like: an exact facsimile of Fen herself but with a frozen, expressionless face and the school uniform of the private school down the road from the bookstore.
“Yeah, no worries.” Fen made a dismissive gesture as she grabbed her dress from the foot of the bed and held it up. “Pretty sure that six billion to fifty-seven K means that my side is winning. Without even knowing it. And if we knew it, we’d wipe you out with two minutes’ notice. Maybe less.”
Damn if she was going to defend humanity.
No, the Sia Mara were right to be parano
id. But how far did that paranoia extend?
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was just being herself, typically anxious and suspicious. But if she were one of a species that was outnumbered on this planet by about a hundred thousand to one, she’d treat strangers exactly as they were treating her: she’d lock them up.
And then she’d throw away the key.
And then, realistically, if she were smart, she would—sadly, very sadly—make sure they would never, ever, under any circumstances, ever share what they knew with their militant relatives by spiking their food with something painlessly deadly.
She was never going to eat in this room again.
Fen stopped her restless movements and took a deep breath.
“How can I get clothes?” Her dress was disheveled, salt-stained, crumpled and smelly. She didn’t want to put it on. She could wash it in the tub, of course, but a wet dress was barely better than the sheet she was currently wearing.
“Nanomite-infused materials are inclined to stay in fixed states,” the library voice said. “The nanomites comprising a table, for example, may readily move into a different material structure while maintaining their shape, or as readily become a chair composed of the original material, but they are unlikely to easily accommodate to the flexibility of cloth. And non-nanomite-infused materials do not change, of course.”
“English,” Fen snapped.
“Try the sheet,” the voice said. “Probabilities suggest it was once a tablecloth brought into the room by Gaelith Del Mar.”
Fen pulled the sheet away from her and shook it out. Standing naked in the room, she closed her eyes and concentrated.
Clothes.
Clothes that will fit me.
Clothes that will fit in.
She opened her eyes. She was holding a tunic like the one Gaelith had worn, only in green with attractive green embroidery around the collar and sheer sleeves. A pair of soft trousers in a deeper green had dropped to the floor.
She exhaled.
And then she scrambled into the clothes as quickly as she could.
Her heart was racing as she scraped her hands through her wet hair.