Quintessence Sky

by David Walton

  Barrosa crossed to an elaborately carved wall and leaned his weight on a piece of molding, which rotated down like a door handle. A portion of wall swung inward, mirror and all, revealing a stairwell leading down. Ramos raised an eyebrow. Barrosa beckoned.

  Once inside, Barrosa pushed the secret door shut, then led the way down the stairs. A light shone from somewhere below, but Ramos couldn't identify it. It was clear and white, not yellow or flickering like light from a candle or torch. Like starlight.

  When they rounded the corner, he could see the source: an elegant glass ewer, made for water or wine, from which a pure light poured as if a star was captured inside. Ramos was so taken with the light that it was several moments before he noticed the other marvels in the room.

  It was a large cellar, with driven beams between earthen walls, and it smelled dank. Three stout oak tables were cluttered with books, glass retorts and spiraling alembics, wooden boxes with bells on top, knives and basins, braziers, a dozen odd structures of iron whose purpose Ramos couldn't guess, and more gold than he had ever seen in his life. Gold nuggets, gold bars, gold coins, gold crosses, gold rings, and odder still, gold flowers, leaves, fruits, bones, and one tiny, intricately-fashioned golden mouse, every hair individually carved. Ramos spun, dumbstruck, and noticed diamonds, some as big as his fist, scattered on the table or even the floor, as if someone had dropped them in the dirt but hadn't bothered to pick them up. Did England have such hidden wealth that jewels like this could be discarded and forgotten?

  "A year and a half ago," Barrosa said, "a Spanish ship called the San Salvador was sent west by King Philip in pursuit of ship full of Protestant heretics and traitors."

  Ramos peered into the ewer, and saw that the light was produced by an ordinary worm crawling around the inside surface of the glass. Ordinary, that is, except that its body shone with a pure and beautiful light.

  "A month ago, the San Salvador returned, with less than half its crew and none of the ship's officers, nor the inquisitor who had been sent with them.

  "My brother Diego was the inquisitor, wasn't he?" Ramos said.

  "Yes, that's right. I'm sorry. They claimed to have found the heretics at an island called Horizon, at the edge of the world, where the ocean flowed into the abyss. What you see in this room is what they brought home on their ship."

  So this was why the king had sent Diego so far away. For gold and miracles. Ramos drifted between the tables, trying to understand what he was seeing. A movement caught his eye, and he squatted to peer in a wooden cage that had been blocked from view before. Inside, a white-furred animal fixed him with startled eyes. It was the size of a rabbit, but there the resemblance stopped. Circling its narrow, naked head was a stiff frill of skin with brilliant red and blue stripes. Its back feet were broad and flat and supported the whole animal, unlike the front feet, which were smaller and sharply clawed. It looked so ridiculous, it was hard to believe it was real, not a stuffed circus sideshow with the sewing thread showing through the seams.

  "What is it?"

  The creature, startled by the sound of his voice, rose like a balloon to the top of its cage, where it bobbed, defying gravity. Ramos gaped.

  "We think it's a defense mechanism," Barrosa said, clearly enjoying the effect this was having on Ramos. "It can't hide from predators, not with that frill, so if it's threatened, it just floats up into the sky, out of reach."

  "But how?"

  "That's what you're here to find out. How all of this works. It's the real reason the king summoned you from Spain."

  Ramos stood, his knees cracking. "And what does the king hope that I will find?" He was already yearning to put his hands on these things, to examine them and test them and tease out their secrets. There was so much to understand.

  "That's no mystery. He wants weapons. Power that he can use in the fight against the infidels and heretics. That and a source of gold to finance his armies."

  Ramos looked around him, dizzy. It seemed Philip had already found a source of wealth. Though it was true, he would need a lot more than this to conquer France, the German heretics, and the Musselman infidels.

  "The pouch Philip gave to Mary. It came from the ship, too?"

  It wasn't really a question, but Barrosa confirmed with a nod.

  "What was inside it?"

  In answer, Barrosa reached to his own throat and pulled the leather pouch out from under his rough habit. He worked the mouth of the pouch open and tipped it so Ramos could see a point of light, glowing from the black interior. He leaned closer. It was a tiny sphere, like a pearl, that glowed with a pure, white light like the one illuminating the room, only much fainter. Barrosa took a dropper from a nearby table, sucked some clear liquid into it, and deposited one drop onto the pearl in the pouch. Instantly, the pearl's light increased.

  "What did you put on it?"

  "Salt water."

  Ramos stared at the pearl, so ordinary a shape, but so beyond anything he'd ever experienced. He felt shaky, not just physically, but in a more central way. He knew how things worked. He had studied the physical world, and anything not explained there was in some way answered by the Bible or the Church. But this . . .

  The existence of strange creatures from distant lands was no surprise; Aristotle had described such beasts, as had Pliny. He had read of the camelopard, the rhinoceros, the salamander that thrives in the midst of flames, the catoblepas that kills with its eyes. No, what disturbed him was what seemed like magic: light without fire, levitation, the horoscope altering itself before his eyes. Barrosa had said the island sat at the edge of the abyss. Was this black sorcery from the pit of Hell? Or was it a miracle from God?

  Ramos was reeling, but at the same time, the gears of his mathematical mind were turning. It was a relatively new idea, philosophically speaking, to consider secondary causes. God was the primary cause for everything in creation, but Ramos, as a scholar, wanted more. Yes, God made the dew form on the ground, but it also formed because the water in the air condensed when the surface cooled. Yes, flies were created by God, but they were also created by rotting meat, as one could tell by leaving meat to rot until the flies generated from its flesh. Many in the Church thought it was blasphemy to think this way, but that's why the Church needed reform, starting with the education of the clergy. It was one of the principles that had drawn him to the Jesuit order in the first place.

  "So, that pearl," Ramos said. "What happened when the king put it around the queen's neck?"

  Barrosa, grinning, hopped up and down on the foot that for so long had given him his limp. "The pearl cures anyone it touches," he said. "Just wearing it around my neck makes injuries heal instantly and keeps me in perfect health."

  That could explain why the king, of all Geminis, was unaffected by the madness. Ramos thought of Antonia. Could this pearl heal madness after it had already begun? "How many pearls are there?"

  "Only four. Originally, Philip kept one for himself and gave the other three to trusted men, educated philosophers who would study them and report what they found."

  "You are one of those, then. Who are the other two?"

  "Perez and Peinado."

  "I remember them. The king chose well. They are both wise and clever. Where are they now?"

  Barrosa grimaced. "They're dead."

  Dead. The word hung in the air. Men who were impervious to injury and illness did not die of natural causes.

  "I never said this job was safe," Barrosa said. "Perez was killed by a creature that burst into flame, immolating him before we could pull him free. The pearl didn't save him. Peinado broke open a wooden box to see what was inside, and fell into a hole in the air."

  Ramos raised his eyebrows, though he could tell his friend was in earnest.

  "You'll believe me soon enough," Barrosa said. "I was there. It was just a hole, black and empty and devouring everything it touched. Look—" he pointed to a corner of the room. "You can see what it did."

  There was a circular indentation in
the wall and the floor, as if cut to make room for a large sphere. The end of the table was similarly sheared away.

  "So the king gave one of their two pearls to the queen, to heal her and her unborn son?"

  "That was Peinado's." Barrosa reached into his pocket and pulled out another black pouch, this one seared and twisted by fire. "I am to give Perez's to you."

  Ramos accepted the pouch. The moment he did so, he felt the weariness lift from his body. He felt stronger, younger. A small cut on his hand closed up, and the pain he always felt from a bad tooth at the back of his mouth vanished. He uncinched the pouch and peered inside. The bright pearl lay nestled in its black cavity. Ramos closed the pouch again and tucked it under his shirt with the reverence he might have shown a piece of the True Cross.

  "Does this magic have a name?" he said.

  Barrosa nodded. "It's called quintessence."

  The moment he left the cellar, Ramos went straight to his apartments. He could feel his heart beating against the pouch resting on his chest. He felt conspicuous, as if he had stolen something precious and any moment he would be caught.

  He found Antonia as he had left her, sitting by the fire. He sent the nurse to wait outside; he had been charged with secrecy, and couldn't risk her learning of the miraculous things Barrosa had shown him. He and Antonia were alone.

  Ramos held his breath and tied the pouch around her neck. He felt the weariness of the years settle back on his own shoulders. Surely this would work. Of all the Geminis he knew, only King Philip had escaped the madness brought by the nova, and only Philip had been wearing a quintessence pearl around his neck. It must be the reason he was preserved.

  "Can you hear me, Antonia?"

  The apartments were dimly lit. A fire burned low in the hearth, and shadows flickered over her beautiful face.

  "Antonia? How do you feel?"

  She opened her mouth. His heart surged; he was certain she was about to say his name, to speak sense again.

  "I was always afraid of my father," she said. "He was rarely home, but when he was, I hid in my room."

  Ramos waved his hand in front of her eyes. No response. "Can you hear me?" he said.

  "That's sad. I was lucky enough to be taken in by someone who loved me. My uncle." Antonia started to cry. "I miss him so much."

  Ramos held on to her and cried himself, tears of frustration and guilt. If only he had been there that night, instead of participating in an inquisition. It was foolish to think he could have done anything to stop it, but a part of Ramos blamed himself. If he had stayed by her side, then maybe God would not have brought this misery on her.

  She spoke as if she were living in a dream. As if there were other people in her head with whom she held conversations. But there was no intelligence in her gaze, no body language that tried to be understood. It was like her mind was walled off in another place, trapped in her imagination.

  He took the pouch back again. Her only reaction was a slight drooping of her shoulders and a slackening of her features. She continued to talk to herself, half conversations that no one ever answered. He returned the pouch to his own neck, feeling the corresponding sense of health and well-being, which only heightened his shame. But he couldn't leave the pearl here with her, in the hopes that it would in some way ease her plight. It was not his to bestow. He was tasked with learning its mysteries, and he would not cross the king's will.

  CHAPTER 6

  "SO it's the nova that's depleting all the salt," Parris said.

  "It's worse than that." Matthew sat on a chair with his leg propped up in front of him, his hose rolled down to reveal the skin. There was nothing to see. The skin was unbroken, and looked as healthy as ever. The pain had lessened since they had seen the nova, but it was still intense enough to keep Matthew's attention.

  "If we run out of salt, we'll die slow and painful deaths," Parris said. "Along with every other creature on the island. How can it be worse than that?"

  "Because the scales only registered the effect of the nova when the clouds parted." Matthew looked at him expectantly.

  "Which means?"

  "Which means the clouds can block the effect of the nova. Which means all the salt depletion we've measured so far has been despite the protection of the clouds. Which means—"

  "—once the storms blow over, we're doomed."

  "That's what it looks like," Matthew said.

  They were in the Quintessence Society's experimentation building. The first building they used for that purpose had been small, only a single room topped with a garret that Matthew had made his home. That building had burned down along with the rest of the settlement in the battle with the manticores. When they rebuilt, they had made it larger, divided into four rooms on the ground floor, with two rooms on the second floor where Matthew had taken up residence.

  Though not for much longer. Soon he and Catherine would be married. A new home had already been built for the purpose, glittering with freshly poured diamond walls, not yet dimmed by the everyday assault of smoke and dirt and rain.

  Parris examined Matthew's wound. He had been a physic back in England, but there hadn't been much call for medical skill on Horizon. "I want to try substitution," he said.

  Matthew frowned. "Why?"

  "There's something strange about that wound. I don't understand it."

  "Go ahead, then," Matthew said. "I don't mind."

  Substitution was a central law of quintessence that they had only begun to understand. It was the principle by which bell-boxes worked, as well as the manticores' ability to share consciousness and memories. The idea was that two pieces of a thing would retain a quintessence bond, regardless of how far apart they were separated. Changes to one would affect the other. It was also the principle behind the heat exchanger that heated and cooled their homes.

  When the principle was applied to two human beings, however, it caused an interesting effect. Parris spat into a glass of water and handed it to Matthew, who drank it down. The saliva, until recently part of Parris's body, retained a bond, though not as permanent a one as if Matthew had swallowed a hair or a drop of blood. This bond would only last about ten minutes until it broke down.

  As he finished the drink, the pain from his leg faded. Parris, on the other hand, grimaced and clutched at his own thigh. The wound itself hadn't moved, but Parris now felt Matthew's pain, and vice versa.

  Parris grunted. "That's bad," he said.

  Matthew allowed himself a small smile. Back home, there was no way to tell if you were brave or cowardly in the face of pain, because no one else could ever feel what you were feeling. It was gratifying to have someone else feel the same thing and acknowledge that it was bad. Though it was odd to feel someone else's body, to feel Parris's clothes around him, and to feel a coolness on his head where Parris's hair was thinning. Parris cracked his knuckles, and Matthew felt the sensation in his own hands.

  "It feels more like a laceration than a bruise," Parris said. "Never mind the fact that quintessence should be healing it, a wound that feels like that should be visible on the skin."

  "Maybe something's hurting me just beneath my skin?" Matthew suggested.

  Parris pulled his mouth to one side, looking doubtful. "I'm concerned about something else. You remember back on the ship, when that mutineer sailor stabbed you in the leg?"

  Matthew nodded, a chill passing through him. "You don't mean . . ."

  "Was it this same leg? The same spot?"

  "The exact same. It didn't occur to me, but I think you're right." That wound had been deep and bloody, but a drink of quintessence water had healed it.

  "We know the changes quintessence brings aren't permanent in some ways," Parris said. "Quintessence turns sea water fresh, but if we go home, it transforms back into salt in our bodies. We turn sand into grain, but outside a quintessence field, it turns back again."

  "So away from the island, my leg would still be wounded?" Matthew said.

  "That's what I'm suggesting. The
wound never healed in the normal sense; it was just transformed into healthy flesh by quintessence. I think the pain you feel is further indication that the quintessence field around the island is weakening."

  "But why?" Matthew felt an itch at his neck and scratched at it, realizing belatedly that it was Parris's neck that itched, not his, so scratching it accomplished nothing. A thought struck him then, and he gasped. "Catherine's been complaining of headaches."

  Parris's eyes widened. "She was shot in the head by Tavera," he said, giving voice to what was in both of their minds. "If she goes out of a quintessence field . . ."

  "The wound would still be there. She would die."

  Parris stood and began pacing. "What would cause something like this to happen? What could affect the sky?"

  "We've always suspected that it's the proximity of the stars that gives Horizon its wealth of quintessence," Matthew said. "If something happened that removed quintessence from part of the sky . . ."

  Parris raised both hands, frustrated. "What on earth could cause something like that?"

  The effects of the substitution were wearing off, and the pain was settling back into Matthew's leg again. He rolled his hose back into place and put his foot on the floor. "I don't know," he said.

  "What if we can't stop it?" Parris said.

  Matthew shrugged. "We have three choices. We figure out how to stop it, we figure out how to go home, or we die."

  Going home was problematic. They still had a ship, the Western Star, the one that had brought them to Horizon, but the way home was hazardous, and once they arrived, they would be utterly dependent on the shekinah flatworms they brought with them for survival. Eventually, the salt and sand in their bodies might work its way out as they ate normal food and drank normal water, but would that happen before the worms died?