“Yes, it has.” Oscar replied. “We play for another cycle of fifty moons.”
“I still think we should push the True Game—force the Paradigm Shift.”
“Of course you do. You and your Cabal have always pushed to upset the apple cart. The world’s not ready yet, Cyrus, and you know it.”
“Exactly. Pushing our agenda foments more chaos, which leads to more magic, and thus we help heal Gaia all the sooner. Why can’t you accept that?”
“Because it’s brutal and it’s wrong,” Oscar sighed. “We await yet more signs before it is Magic’s time in the sun . . . and you know it. Don’t force me to rally the other guilds just to keep you in check, Cyrus.”
“You and the Vanguard don’t wield that kind of influence anymore. Stop trading on past glories and make your first move.”
“Pushing our position ahead too soon only weakens Magic by tipping our hand and exposing us to the other Paradigms and their agents.”
“Science and Religion are too wrapped up in their own squabbles to notice what we work. They’ve not noticed the Game’s influence in all these centuries . . .”
“. . . and we have to keep it that way until they cannot affect our work.” Oscar rubbed his face in frustration, put his hands on the table and stared across it. The surface glowed faintly in crimson and silver. “All the guilds—we’ve all worked together over the centuries to keep magic alive. Why cling to our differences now, when we’re all so close to the Shift?”
“Because while Magic is Change, Man is Stubborn.” Cyrus cackled at his own joke. “We’ll never all unite, Oscar. The guilds will never become one. Settle for what we’ve always had—common foes and the Game. We are fellows in Magic. Let us work at dividing our enemies . . . together.”
“I had to try, cousin,” Oscar said. “After all, we used to be friends . . . family.”
“Long dead and done, cousin,” Cyrus replied. “All we share now are common enemies and Magic. Now start the blasted Game, before we lose the alignment.”
Oscar opened his valise and gestured. Silver and white chess pieces floated up onto the tabletop and arrayed themselves into place. Cyrus performed a similar feat with his red and black pieces. The two men placed their palms on the tabletop and muttered a low, shared incantation. The board, pieces, and the red-and-silver knotwork all around the room pulsed in response.
After a breath, Oscar moved a pawn . . .
“These things’d go smoother if the Players liked each other,” Colin muttered.
Andor said, “Emotions can fuel magics, and hate is strongest.”
Colin shook his head. “Boy, you’d not say that if you’d ever been in love.”
“He also said none of you respect the Art as we do. If you would recognize his—”
Sam sighed and interrupted Andor. “Carl told me they used to be like brothers, until Gretel.”
“How dare you reveal your master’s private business so openly?” Andor whispered, his eyes darting toward the back of the pub.
Sam rolled his eyes and asked, “You ever meet her, Colin?”
“Yeah, once, when I was just a kid. She was like a movie star who loved you like a grandmum all in one. She was beauty, through and through. Never knew what she saw in Cyrus, though . . .”
“Perhaps she respected his power and sought to honor him by sharing their lives together? Breed more powerful mages for the coming Shift?” Andor chimed in, his tone louder than necessary, as was his slamming his pint glass on the bar.
“Okay, chief, we’re cutting you off,” Sam said, jokingly pulling Andor’s pint away from him on the bar. “That might’ve been Cyrus’ reason, but the way I heard it she fell in love with him when he got injured for all their sakes.”
Andor asked, “You should not open secrets like this! The master will be . . .”
Colin interrupted, “Secrets aired here are secrets kept, boy. Remember that. There’s no danger in speaking of things past or learning more about your master.”
Andor said, “Truly?” He seemed shocked, and then smiled, a student eager to show off. “This place is very fascinating. Very old, well-kept. No dust or cobwebs anywhere. Did you know you have an infestation of . . .”
Colin yelled, “Shut it, you!” He glared at Andor before turning his back and retrieving the steaks off the grill behind him. He put together two full plates, set them onto a platter, and took that back to the Gambit room without a word.
Sam held his finger to his lips until Colin was gone before saying, “Never point out when you notice Helpers. They might feel the need to leave then, and these have been here for at least nine generations of Colin’s family.”
“Ah.” Andor said, “I am sorry. This is my gift—to notice the presence of hidden things and creatures. It is why the Magus brought me along. I have never heard them called Helpers before.”
“Well, the Brits have a unique relationship with fey creatures. They’re not as dark as the lot you’ve got among the Carpathians, though they can be nasty as all hell if you piss them off. Leave some food and they’re friends for lifetimes; insult them, and you’ve a vendetta for three. Which is why . . .” Sam strained to refill their pints by stretching over the bar, making him pause mid-sentence. “. . . we’re going to talk about you now. Where’re you from? What’s your family do?”
“I am from Eger. My family grows Kadarka grapes and makes wine.” Andor almost sound apologetic about this, his voice softening.
Colin reappeared as he said this, “Really? You and me’ll have to talk about getting some of that egri bikaver for me pub, but only if it’s the good stuff.”
Andor snapped, “It is the best! Why, people seek—” His face reddened and his voice dropped again to a whisper. “This is so strange. I expected to meet other mages. I was told to be on my guard at all times. I did not expect to discuss commerce.”
“Oh, who said we weren’t mages?” Colin asked, wiping a beer glass while letting Andor see that no other hand supported the bottom of the glass. With a nod from Colin, the beer glass floated up and in its place on the bar shelves. Only then did Andor notice that Colin’s right sleeve was pinned up at his shoulder.
“My apologies, mas—er, Colin. I meant no slight, sir,” Andor blushed. “I am confused. I do not know what purpose I serve here for the Magus.”
Sam said, “Our purpose out here is to keep them from being disturbed. Centuries past, this took more bodyguarding than now. For as long as I’ve been doing it, the toughest job is keeping those two on task and not attacking each other.”
“Remember ’91?” Colin snickered, and Sam slammed his fist on the bar. Both men shouted, “Game be damned—I’m going to eat your eyes!”
Andor gawped at these giggling men. Others had warned him the tavern was no place for the unwary and to expect all sorts of mischief. He didn’t think this was what they meant. “Um, sirs, I want to take my duties seriously. Why do you not?”
Sam wiped a tear out of his eye and smiled at Andor. “Kid, you’re young. How many other guild members and masters have you met yet?”
Andor said, “You men are the only ones I have met outside the Cabal.”
“OK, here’s the deal, kid,” Sam said. “There’s between nine and seventeen guilds of wizardry and magic still around from the old days. You and I belong to only two of them. Colin here’s a member of a third, and they’re the sanest ones—they provide safehouses and neutral meeting places for the rest of us. Magic’s been beaten down for so long, we’ve all of us got to band together to fight against the oppressive paradigms of Science and Religion. They’ve both abused their time on the Wheel, and when our time comes, I’m sure someone from one or more of the guilds will make some trouble. But until then, we work together on the big stuff. And the Game’s a big part of that.”
“How?” Andor asked, taking a big gulp of ale. “What exactly is this Game?”
“Lad,” Colin asked, “didn’t anybody tell you what was going on here?” Andor shook his head a
nd all three sighed simultaneously.
Sam said, “Leave it to Cyrus to keep him as much in the dark as possible. Andor, watch that screen there. The Seers Society handles interguild communications and this channel only airs the Game and its fallout.” The TV at one corner of the bar lit up and Andor could see a computer graphic representation of a chess board. Red had claimed one silver pawn. In a split screen newscast, a report talked about EU representatives embroiled in morality scandals.
Colin said, “Our boys in the back room are channeling a lot of power from their respective groups and allies to power that Game. We play the Game every fifty moons, or roughly every four years or so—like the Magic Olympics. Silver represents Science in this game, and Red represents Religion. Oscar and Cyrus subtly manipulate the existing powers to keep them at each other’s throats and off balance. Then, when we’re ready to bring Magic back into the mainstream reality, they won’t really be able to stand against us.” Colin gestured with his rag, “Now watch Oscar’s move here and how the ticker responds in either immediate news or future portents.”
Oscar moved his knight into position to challenge the red bishop.
Foresight Report: Another sex scandal crops up among the Catholic dioceses in the northeastern United States.
Cyrus moved his bishop back to its original position.
Seers’ TV: Church attendance rises in Europe over the next four months.
Oscar moves the knight again into Red territory but not immediately threatening any other pieces.
Oraclevision: Oil and gasoline prices rise, but economic indicators suggest it will be a banner year for auto manufacturers.
Cyrus grumbled, “You’re playing too defensively, Oscar. Be aggressive, or else people might start to notice the Science end of things going soft. You don’t want a repeat of those silly arguments undermining evolution again, do you?”
Oscar smiled, “That weak-headed argument weakens the credibility of both paradigms equally. It’s quiet, yet effective. Remember what happens when the Game gets too aggressive? Do you really want more Taliban, another Cold War, or the return of the Inquisition?”
“Oh shut up, fool,” Cyrus snapped. “They did most of those things on their own with no help from the Game.”
“Iran-contra.” Oscar said, with a smirk.
Cyrus shrugged and grinned. “All I did was manipulate the guilt to make them make some mistakes and they undid themselves. Bet neither one of us could divine where the Game influenced the current mess anymore. I’m still not sure if that numbskull in the White House responds to Faith or Control.”
“Depends on the day and the stars,” said Oscar, motioning with his hand.
“Don’t rush me . . . I’ll move when I’m ready,” Cyrus snipped.
“Andor, the sheer volume of what the Cabal doesn’t teach you staggers my imagination!” Sam howled. “You have got to get a pirated signal for Games Past, if only to see where the guilds have secretly influenced things in the past.”
“How long have the Magus and your master been Players?” Andor asked.
“Okay, Oscar’s the leader of our group, but we don’t call him Master. That’s a little too twelfth century for us.” Sam laughed, then continued. “All the guilds play Games on local levels, winners playing other guild winners up to the Great Game by the fiftieth moon. Oscar’s been the Vanguard’s Player for five Great Games now. His dad, Simon Kharm, holds the record with nine Great Games in the twentieth century—he was the Vanguard’s Player from 1936 through 1979.”
Colin elbowed Andor and said, “Guess which major events came from the Games, Andor—the Titanic sinking, Jesse Owens winning Olympic gold in Berlin 1936, King Edward’s abdication, or the Enron collapse?”
Andor shrugged. “I am Hungarian, and most of that makes no sense to me. All of them?”
“Nope,” Sam said. “Just the first two. The Titanic sinking undermined some faith in Science, while the other shattered some people’s faith in Aryan superiority. Most times, they manage to screw things up without any help from either side.”
“Why do we play the Games again?” Andor asked as he held up his empty pint glass for a refill.
“The world runs on three reality paradigms to keep the planet—Gaia—healthy and her people moving forward. Since the rise of sentient life, reality conforms to Religion, Science, or Magic as the drive for an age. It’s been locked out of Magic a long time now. Religion ran reality through the Dark Ages. The Enlightenment brought Science to the forefront. Now, most people believe reality is set by proof and reason.” Sam had affected a stuffy British accent for his lecture, and both Andor and Colin snickered. “Magic should have taken over in the late nineteenth century with the rise of spiritualism. The forces of Science wouldn’t relinquish reality, just as the Inquisition refused to give up ground to Reason. The Game as it is played now was invented back in Elizabethan times, though variants and types of Great Games existed all throughout human history.”
“All right, all right,” Andor babbled, the ale gone to his head. “But why just manipulate the other sides?”
Colin smiled. “Because if people notice there are other ways of thinking and seeing reality after they’ve been let down by Science or Religion, the Shift comes naturally and more smoothly.”
“You really want to force a gambit of my queen’s rook? Honestly, Oscar?”
Next on FNC: Parochial schools come under fire for alleged civil rights violations and biased practices in hiring of teachers and student admissions. Why is the ACLU starting a war against moral education?
“All right, then. Here,” Cyrus said as he moved his knight.
Oraclevision: Reported incidents of police corruption to be up worldwide; people will look for moral leadership to lead them out of perceived secular and political morass.
“If we can manipulate Reason and Faith this easily, why do we not use the Games to force Magic to govern reality?” Andor asked. “Should it not already?”
“No, lad, sorry to say.” Colin said. “Reality Paradigms only take hold when the majority of sentient beings accept it as the ruling paradigm. And way too many people still don’t believe in magic as reality.”
“So what are we doing to change that?” Andor asked earnestly.
“Teach magic to whales and dolphins. That oughter do it,” Colin said, who managed a straight face for ten seconds before he, Sam, and finally Andor burst out laughing.
“Okay, Andor, here’s the skinny,” Sam said, “Have you noticed how many more stories and books there are published out there about magic and wizards and fantasy?” Sam asked with a grin. “That’s one of Oscar’s best gardez positions in the Game—subtly get more and more people thinking about magic in more and more ways through decent fictions. See! He’s done it again . . .”
“And that’s another stalemate, cousin.” Oscar said.
“Dammit! I hate when you do that,” Cyrus said. “You’ve got to let one side win!”
“I do—the third side of those not on the board. The people unconcerned with Control or Power win every time we stalemate the leading paradigms. We’re opening everyone else to wider beliefs by undermining their beliefs and showing the limits of their realities.”
Cyrus snorted. “And when they finally realize the world has far more Truths than Science reveals or Mystery beyond what Religion allows them to believe, what then?”
“Indeed. What, then? The Game will get very interesting, should it continue . . .” Oscar opened his valise and the chess pieces floated one by one off the board. “And speaking of interesting, Andor’s a curious choice for your second here.”
Cyrus coughed loudly and then stretched as he rose from his chair. “The boy was needed. He has eyes to see things unseen.”
“Of course,” Oscar replied. “No other reason, then? I know you, Cyrus, and you’ve always got three reasons for everything.”
“You mean like why you bring that tattooed monkey with you? To remind me of the many times he’s thwart
ed or disrupted the work of the Cabal? Bah, he’s never disrupted direct plans of mine—just those of the other six Cabal Magi.” Cyrus raised his voice as he asked, but then calmed himself, both his hands resting on his cudgel as his chess pieces marched off the board and into the briefcase. “I’m not so easily rattled, Oscar. And while I find his manner offensive, he’s always been a sharp mind and a powerful agent for Magic . . .”
Oscar smiled. “Now we get to it. You wanted the boy to meet Sam. To show him not everything in Magic is ritual and sacrifice?”
“Hardly,” Cyrus said. “Andor does not question. He is the most fervent of acolytes, and we know how dangerous that can be. I thought this meeting would open his eyes to other possibilities . . . see what those eyes of his see in new light. Sam seemed one of the better people for him to meet, irreverent scion of a stag that he is.”
“Well, by now, Colin and Sam will have at least shown him the Game, explained the ground rules,” Oscar said, as he snapped the valise shut.
Cyrus interjected, “And gotten the boy drunk, most likely. He’ll be useless for the morning’s work, which needs to start within the hour, if I read my watch right.” Cyrus sighed, “I’ll never agree with you about the ways we do things, but I do respect the power you bring to the Game.”
“I enjoy working with you again too, cousin.”
Cyrus smirked, then cleared his throat, restored his grim and dour look as he stamped the cudgel on the ground twice. All the red energy seeped slowly from walls and floor into the wood, causing it to glow with increasing intensity. The silver, unbidden, flowed into Oscar’s cane. The two old men stood silently for a moment before Cyrus asked, “So which one of us gets to lose his temper and threaten and bluster for the audience out there?”
“I believe it’s my turn, but you may, if you wish. It is your birthday, after all. Consider it a gift.” Oscar said.
Fellowship Fantastic Page 16