“I see,” Tahn said, grinning.
She wasn’t looking at Tahn; her eyes were trained at his chest, while her sight had turned inward where she saw and worked the numbers.
“I know the relative college enrollment sizes, so I factored those in—the more minds working on a problem or argument…” She nodded to herself. “Then, there’s the ambiguity of philosophical debate, and an estimation of your persuasiveness when it comes to the softer sciences.” It was then her turn to grin. “Have you any idea what Succession is going to be like with the cosmologists, provided you get that far?” She blurted laughter.
“Factor of six hundred is all, then?” Tahn asked with his most cavalier voice.
Even in the dim light of twilight, Tahn saw Rithy’s expression sober. “If you start this, you win this. Understand?”
“I don’t fight to lose.”
She looked away to the second moon, just rising on the eastern rim. “You realize tonight’s the lunar eclipse of Ardua.”
He sighed. “I know. It would be easier on my nerves to think my hypothesis was wrong.”
“Because if you’re right, the Quiet come through tonight? Is that it?” she asked, still serious.
“Something like that.” He followed her gaze to the sliver of moon they could see over the top of the discourse theater rooftop. “Somewhere, someone might be doing battle tonight. I don’t like their chances, if we’re still doing odds.”
Rithy looked back at him with an even stare. “If you succeed, what then?”
“Well, I guess we put our Theory of Resonance to work. Figure out how to strengthen the Veil before—”
“You’d be leaving again,” she finished.
Polaema saved him from having to answer, bustling up in her most magisterial astronomy robes. “I’ll make an introduction, as is custom,” she said, brushing by them, and pulling them in tow down an exterior hallway. “You’re lucky, Tahn. Up until even an hour ago, there was debate about allowing Succession to occur. You must have made an impression at one time on Savant Scalinou. A cosmologist vouched for you, hard to believe—”
Tahn smiled.
“—which necessarily means that if we make it that far, he may have to recuse himself from any judgment on the soundness of your arguments.”
The humming sound grew suddenly loud, and became a wave of noise as Polaema opened the door to the Physics discourse theater and led them inside. The chatter seemed to both intensify and grow softer, but he soon wasn’t hearing anyone. Instead, he stood on the floor of the theater just past the door, staring slack-jawed up at an immense gearworks model of the night sky.
The apparatus hung from the high ceiling. Fifteen strides up from the floor in the center of the hall, a replica of the sun hung at the epicenter of a great planetary system. At various orbits around it were the wandering stars of Solena, Contuum, Reliquas, Boul, Ansic, and more. Each of these had orbiting moons, too. At the outer edges of the hall, the Perades aéirein had also been manufactured into the model, along with several other deep-orbit bolides. All these were held in place by thin rods that emerged from the center of the apparatus like spokes. And at the end of each spoke, a short rod turned down and fastened to the top of the various orbs. It was a masterwork of manufacture.
He marveled at the engineering that had crafted this articulated model of the heavens. Something he hadn’t seen in years. As voices began to quiet, Tahn could hear the soft gurgle of water flowing down a chute up above. It’s like a water clock. The water applied a slow amount of pressure to one of the gears, as it would a water wheel, and the whole system of stars would turn a click. Several wooden flywheels interlocked at various points to turn the wandering stars the correct amount for their orbital speeds. It was old, but it was genius! They probably kept it running for tradition’s sake.
With his eyes, Tahn followed what he assumed was the water chute. One end disappeared out the side wall—water must pass that way once it had done its job—and one entered near the ceiling. It was there, high up above the gears, that Tahn saw a small box, where a young man sat reading a book next to several levers.
Nudging Rithy, he pointed up. She glanced toward the gearbox then back at him, understanding immediately. Depositing her books and satchel on the nearest table, she scratched out some numbers and disappeared back through the door, just as Polaema began to speak.
The crowd silenced.
“Succession will begin with the College of Physics, since the College of Astronomy is the one to pose the question. And the question: Is there now ample evidence to prove the Continuity of All Things?”
Whispers rose and fell.
“Each college savant has given assent to the inquiry. I am its sponsor. Our inquirer is Tahn SeFeery, assisted by Gwen Alanes and other members of the various colleges.”
The murmuring that came again led Tahn to believe his return to Aubade Grove hadn’t yet become common knowledge. But more than the speculation from the Grove scholars, Tahn was struck by hearing himself called by that name: SeFeery. It brought to mind memories of a hot and barren place … Grant. All his old friends. And the thirty-seven.
Polaema continued, and he forced himself to focus.
“We’ve not had Succession for several cycles. So let me remind you. We reserve it for the most difficult and important questions. For the discovery of foundational principles that we believe will illuminate and enlarge our body of scientific knowledge. You will all treat these sessions with the proper reverence and attention. All are expected to participate. For the duration of Succession, each of you will put aside your studies to focus on this one investigation.”
Polaema turned a slow circle, as though she would exchange stares with every student in the theater. “Lastly,” she said, “after all that is shown and argued, we share a common interest here. Let us not forget in the heat of debate that we question one another to find answers, and not from animosity or the desire to see others fail. Succession is all of us. A failed argument well stated and defended is better than prevailing with arrogance and vindictiveness.”
Polaema turned her eyes on Tahn. That last bit had been about him. The stories about Tahn had overgrown since he’d left. He could see it in their eyes: His opposing panelists would be studying extra hard to show any flaw in his argument. He thought of Aleck from the old story of Seletz Run—the last soldier left to defend the city gate at Mal point South against the press of the Mal nations.
Except Tahn wasn’t alone.
Rithy returned, and Polaema took one of the somewhat larger seats, reserved for college savants in the first row of the theater. The mother of astronomy gave him a reassuring look and nodded.
It was time.
Tahn stepped forward. He caught sight of each savant; they were seated at even intervals around the theater, each in their finest robes, the emblems of their college in rich charcoal embroidery over their upper chests. Most of the college scholars likewise sat together in sections. It bothered him that they did so.
Then he focused again on his argument, and why he’d come to make it. He’d expected a rush of insecurity, doubt. Instead, exhilaration filled him. Damn, he’d missed making a formal argument.
“Continuity is simple,” he began. “In the past, it’s been the idea that there’s a binding substance that runs through all things. Erymol. Some call it an element. I think that’s a mistake, since if the hypothesis proves true, it’s in and a part of all the rest. But whatever name we use, such a thing would provide a construct and medium for the passing of light through the air, as well as sound and heat and…” Tahn stopped, thought. “Vibration of any kind would have a conduit for movement. But in some ways,” he said, “I wonder at the jumble of logic we use to account for such things. Because while erymol may help us establish some physical models, at the end, it’s not necessary. What I hope to show is that Continuity is about Resonance, and isn’t dependent on a medium. And that once we understand Resonance, we’ll be able to strengthen the barri
er commonly known as the Veil.”
More whispering followed Tahn’s use of the term. The Veil hadn’t been accepted into the science canon as yet. But rather than upsetting him, it made him smile. He was just getting started.
And I haven’t yet told them why the Veil needs to be strengthened. He was holding on to that for now. Sharing his intent too soon might cost him some credibility. He wanted his demonstrations fixed in their minds before he made the end goal explicit.
He gestured toward the door, and Seelia and Myles, physicist and philosopher, wheeled in two pendulum clocks on a flatbed cart. Per Tahn’s prior direction, they circled the theater, clocks facing out, so that all could see. Then they came to the center of the hall, beneath the model sun, and faced both clocks toward the savant of physics. Tahn helped lower the two clocks to the floor.
One of the pendulum clocks stood seven feet tall and had a broad case. The other rose to Tahn’s shoulder and had a much narrower width and depth. While his new friends withdrew the cart, Tahn wound both clocks, drawing up the weights. He set the pendulums in motion, and waited for them to settle into their own rhythms. He said only, “Please note the beat of each clock.”
The discourse theater grew silent, all listening. After a moment, Tahn moved on.
“At this time, there are but a few known forces of nature in our shared lexicon, right? Among these is gravity, which is easy enough for us to all agree upon, since none of us floats away into the sky.” He looked at Rithy, cueing her. “But what about magnetism?”
She pulled a couple of lodestones from a satchel, two lengths of wood from another, and brought them to him.
“We all see the effects of magnetism when we place a couple of lodestones near one another, right? They’re drawn to each other. Or, we could roll such a stone through the dirt and it would attract bits of iron to itself.” He allowed the two stones, which had been shaped into cylinders, to snap together. “But what about their effects through matter?”
He held up the two pieces of wood, each of which measured about a hand’s width. “This is maple wood, crafted tongue and groove for the making of a simple frame you might use to wrap a piece of art.” He inserted the tongue end of the first piece of wood into the groove of the other to demonstrate how they fitted together.
After pulling the lengths of wood apart again, Tahn placed one of the stones on top of the piece of wood carved with the groove. Next, he brought up the other stone until the magnetic force held it in place on the lower side of the same piece of wood, defying gravity.
“The power of the lodestones holds them in place on each side of this wood; their attraction spans the gap chiseled by our carpenter. But what happens if we now insert the other piece of maple, adding density between the two lodestones?”
Tahn fitted the two pieces of maple together, and raised the wood over his head to emphasize his point. “The attraction isn’t changed by adding matter between the stones. But how can this be? If the separation by space or density of wood doesn’t affect the magnetic pull, then what’s facilitating these stones trying to draw together?”
Tahn slipped the pieces of maple into his pocket, and allowed the theater a few moments to anticipate the obvious solution. “Erymol might be one answer.” He spoke with skepticism, to keep them attentive. “Consider that for a bird to fly, or a song to be heard, or for any of you to see me from where you sit, there must be a vibration of wind or sound or color in one place that has an effect on another place. These all work through physical or known mediums. But magnetism maintains most of its effect regardless of what comes between the two endpoints.
“In the past, our best assertion was that there must be an unseen, subtle element—erymol—that conveys forces like magnetism. And why? Because we won’t believe—or at least haven’t been able to prove—that these forces have effect through a void. Or without a medium. And erymol was our attempt to explain what we’ve shown with these lodestones, that properties of forces like magnetism can pass through an obstruction.” He paused again, feeling more confident.
“This isn’t new territory.” The lead physics speaker rose to her feet. She stood a hand taller than Tahn, her lapels showing several silver pins shaped in the form of gearwheels—decorations for new thought or discovery in the discipline of physics. “I hope you intend to do more than present again the arguments that failed in defense of Continuity the last time it was brought to Succession.”
Now the fun starts. “Of course,” he said. “And in the spirit of Succession, may I ask you to lend me a hand?”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
The Patience of Friends
I’m a simple man. A wink’ll do me in. But I deliver the kitchen goods to a place that fits your bill, all right. I’ll swear it’s the Academie of Persusasion, so called. Overheard a lass talking about something named the “five circles of manipulation.” Just her voice saying it made me feel slavish.
—Information gathered by a traveling merchant at a drinking house in the north of Kali-Firth
As dark hour came, Grant stepped into the Hall of Convocation. Utter silence. But he could see by the light of a high moon through the great windows that several figures occupied seats at the convocation table. Moon’s red tonight …
Not all the seats were filled. Just those who’d supported Helaina from the beginning had come. Those who could be trusted. If Grant knew Roth at all, he’d move fast not just to secure the regent seat of Recityv, but to begin directing Convocation under new auspices. Before that happened, Grant meant to secure some support for what would come much later.
Moving quietly across the marble floor, he came to the table’s edge, where he could make out faces in the dimness: the Far king, Elan; Danis Malethem, king of Masson Dimn; Maester Westen Alkai from Elyk Divad; Queen Ela Valstone of Reyal’Te; from Maerd, Governor Labrae; and from the Kamas Throne, King Volen Chraestus. There was also Vendanj, Braethen, and the new First Sodalist of Vohnce, Urieh Palon.
It was odd not to see Artixan or Belamae. But he imagined the elder Sheason was weary, and likely attending Helaina. And Belamae had worries of his own.
In the shadows, all were watching him. Waiting. The inclinations of their heads suggested that they wanted answers, and direction. He had half their need.
“A bloody day,” he said. “Not one to forget. The Ascendant will try to seize control of the High Council. I suspect that’ll be easy enough to do, given that he had votes enough to expand the Civilization Order.”
Danis spoke up. “Has anyone seen the order? Did Roth publish it?”
“It’ll have the required number of signatures,” Vendanj said grimly. “Roth is manipulative, but he likes to stand on firm legal ground.”
“We should visit the High Council members tonight,” Danis suggested. “Perhaps we can turn enough votes to keep him from the regent seat.”
Grant shook his head. “He’ll have a grip on them that simple persuasion won’t loose.”
Even in the dimness, Sodalist Palon looked uncomfortable.
“What do you want from us?” Danis’s question was forceful and genuine. The man had deeply respected Helaina. He also led a kingdom that rivaled Estem Salo for sheer knowledge, not to mention boasting the strongest fleet in the Eastlands. In war or peace, Masson Dimn was seen as a necessary ally.
“We’d ask patience,” Grant said. “Helaina was preparing to visit Y’Tilat Mor. Solicit their help.”
“The Mor Nation Refrains?” Maester Westen asked with obvious awe. “Dear deafened gods, even my own conservators would never ask their use.”
Westen’s homeland—Elyk Divad—hadn’t the Descant Cathedral, but there were conservatories in Divad that taught music at a master level.
Governor Labrae spoke next. “They wouldn’t have received her, anyway. We’ve tried to establish trade with the Mor nations. Even offered music relics out of our oldest archives and museums—items we believe belonged to the first Mors. Our ambassadors were killed.”
; A somber silence stretched in the darkened hall.
“Nevertheless, we’re going,” Grant told them. “We’re not asking your help with that. But it will take time. And while we’re gone, if I know Roth, he’ll also move fast with his expansion plans.” He looked around the table, taking a mental inventory. “The League has garrisons in most of your major cities already. He’ll press you for tighter integration with your standing militaries and law guards. Don’t say no. We don’t want conflict to escalate for any of you. But stall him. Hold open hearings and discussions. Delay. Make it all slow and procedural.”
“Roth has no men in my lands,” King Chraestus said evenly. “Nor will he.”
Grant didn’t debate it. The king of the Kamas throne was practically the military arm of Estem Salo. If Volen and the Sheason Randeur marched together, few armies would rise against them. Chraestus had won wars with both Nallan and the Mal. The latter was seen as an act of the dead gods. When the Mal went to war, there were usually two outcomes: destruction or surrender. Neighboring nations were happy that the Mal weren’t expansionists.
“My point is, don’t draw attention to yourselves by openly fighting with Roth. We don’t want him to sense resistance.” Grant made sure to look them each in the eye. “Because whether we succeed with the Mors or not, there’ll come a day we will stand up in force to put down the League. We want that to come as a surprise to Roth.”
Danis was nodding to the wisdom of it.
“I’ll be leaving to enlist the support of the Sheason,” Vendanj added. “It’s no secret that there’s some tension in my order. With some luck, I can resolve that.” He paused a moment, his face filled with sad remembrance. “Today’s events may actually make that easier.”
Grant nodded with reverence, then moved on. What came next might be the delicate part of his request. “There are other nations who will look to you for direction, if only by example—So’dell, Ebon, Kuren. Their posture will likely mimic your own. We didn’t invite them here, because we’re less certain of them. But keep your spies active in their cities. Any information may help us when we return to take Recityv back and call another vote for alliance.”
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