Trial of Intentions

by Peter Orullian

  He shared a satisfied grin with Rithy, who beamed over the simplicity of an integer divided in half: nine, four and a half.

  A few moments more for good measure, then Tahn spoke softly, as if shouting out might be uncouth just now. He sensed that they felt a bit fragile—on the cusp of having foundational principles of physics challenged, rewritten.

  “I’ll leave you to replicate what we’ve shown you here today. A simple test. You’ll want to ask questions about variables like the table surface, the air current. I invite you to do so. But as Janel will attest, there were no indoor winds buffeting her hand or the parchment she held. And the bench top is old, but well lacquered.” He stopped for a moment, allowing it all to sink deeper into their minds.

  “You’re going to find that no variable will compensate for the lodestone coming to its top speed in half the time. And this, my friends, is the effect of Resonance.”

  Tahn stole a look at the savant of physics. The gentleman’s expression pleased him. He appeared delighted by the discovery, his eyes darting about as he seemed to be piecing other bits of information into this new story of physical law.

  “I felt nothing,” Janel said. “How…”

  Tahn could see that she needed to believe that some medium had pushed the lodestone to accelerate faster the second time. “Wind isn’t a true force of nature,” Tahn began, ruling out the most obvious. “And would have done more to disrupt the spin of the stone than help it. But magnetism. Magnetism, like gravity, has its origins at a foundational level. It’s part of celestial mechanics.”

  And he then drove the point home. “I’m arguing that magnetism is a function of Resonance.”

  She held up a hand as one does to slow an over-anxious child. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves with impractical hypotheses. What you’ve shown here might, might, help support an argument for erymol. But that’s not your Succession premise.” She strolled past him, brushing dismissively near. “You need to demonstrate induction of the lodestone’s movement without a medium in order to prove your Resonance argument.”

  “But I have.” Tahn walked in the other direction, closer to the other physicists, who stared up at him with looks of anticipation and resentment. He pulled the two pieces of maple from his pocket and held them up. “I showed you that magnetism works across distance regardless of what may lie between the two objects.” He stuffed the maple back in his pocket. “Then I showed you—”

  The physicist speaker held up her hand again. “Tahn, please. Everyone in this theater knows that if you place a good sheet of steel or iron between two lodestones, the effects of magnetism change.”

  He turned to face the speaker. “And a bird has wings.”

  “What?” Janel gave an incredulous laugh. “I think you’ve been away from the Grove too long.”

  Subdued laughter rumbled around the theater.

  “A bird is subject to gravity, and yet it doesn’t fall to the earth and die.” He pointed skyward for effect. “Why? Because it has wings. Because the bird is using air resistance to affect its free fall and the acceleration of gravity. We’d see the same if we dropped an iron ball and a feather from a Grove tower; they won’t land on the ground at the same time. My point is that every law has an impingement. A qualification or two. It doesn’t negate the law. In fact, in some ways, it better defines the law.”

  Janel stared, at a momentary loss for words. He made use of her silence. “And as I was about to say, I also showed you Resonance causing a lodestone hemisphere to spin once. And then more quickly a second time. I—”

  Janel had paced back to the table and found her voice. “Yes, and as I said, if anything, this argues for the existence of an element like erymol, which would then be spinning the stone. But erymol is not your premise.”

  Tahn was getting tired of the interruptions, but he forced himself to be patient. “You’re not understanding the demonstration.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Resonance is independently affecting both.”

  Her brow drew into lines. She opened her mouth to argue, but this time Tahn beat her to it. “While I’m not trying to prove the existence of erymol, what you’re seeing is that Resonance is spinning both the lodestone and swirling some unseen element that continues to whirl after the stone stops.”

  Janel’s brow unknitted itself, and her eyes widened with some internal understanding.

  “What’s happening,” Tahn further explained, “is entrainment, or erymol drag, if you’d prefer. The vibratory motion of magnetism that spins the stone also spins some substance we’ve yet to prove. Like erymol. So, while Resonance may affect erymol, and thus have a secondary effect on the lodestone, Resonance is also having its effect on the stone itself. It spins more quickly the second time because of the cumulative effect. The ring simply doesn’t have to work as hard the second time.”

  “Are the effects indefinite?” she asked with hesitation.

  “No,” Tahn confirmed. “If we’d waited more than a minute, we’d have counted to nine again. But as I said, I’m not trying to prove the existence of erymol. It may well exist. And I find it a useful reference. But Resonance takes place in the stone, regardless; it’s not dependent on a medium.”

  Janel shook her head—a motion that seemed to help her gain her composure. “Even if we accepted your logic, the force you’re describing is magnetism. Not some new celestial mechanic we might call Resonance.”

  “Again,” Tahn said with mocking slowness, “my argument is that magnetism is one facet of a higher law. What I’m showing you is that Continuity is based on Resonance. And Resonance is the higher, governing principle. It’s the vibratory nature of all things.”

  He looked around the discourse theater. He had their attention, and took the opportunity to again connect Succession to his goal. “And if Resonance controls the vibratory nature of the Veil, whether by magnetism or some other force, we could devise a way to amplify it. Make it stronger.”

  Tahn saw understanding—if not full acceptance—begin to dawn in many of those who looked on. He smiled with satisfaction. Smiling might seem a bit smug. But he couldn’t help it. As much as showing the inspiration and results of their research, he was simply enjoying the process of Succession.

  From across the theater, Savant Jermane, head of the College of Physics, spoke up. “It would seem, though, Tahn, that with these demonstrations you are, in fact, trying to establish a basis for erymol.” His eyebrows rose in a questioning expression.

  Leaving the immediate company of his fellow Successionists, Tahn crossed to stand in front of Savant Jermane. He shared a long, thoughtful look with the older man, wondering if the correlations he was about to draw would weaken his argument on Resonance, but knowing he must do so regardless.

  Tahn shook his head. “My point is that if erymol is an actual medium, it too needs to be stirred to movement. What stirs it? Magnetism. And what’s the overarching principle of magnetism?”

  “You believe it’s Resonance.” Jermane’s wrinkled face was a portrait of patience as he waited for Tahn to share more proof.

  “We already have working models for the vibratory nature of things, and our ability to cause resonance through mechanical systems, like sound.” He paused, lending just a little drama to what he was about to say. “I’m suggesting Resonance proves Continuity whether a medium exists to conduct a vibration from one thing to another … or not. I’m arguing that Resonance is the governing principle for all mechanical law.”

  Another wave of murmurs rose in the discourse theater. He’d just proposed a governing principle that sat above the laws of celestial mechanics. Above magnetism, gravity, and the rest. Some would embrace the intellectual challenge of his hypothesis. Some would reject it out of hand.

  But he wasn’t done. He’d debated with himself if it was appropriate or helpful in this Succession to tie Resonance to their other historical findings. But as he looked around now, he decided it was foolish not to.

  Tahn pushed on. “Savant Jermane, if
, after all our arguments, this Succession holds that Continuity is true because of Resonance, we will have to admit other truths. These truths will challenge our most basic understandings. But they may save us, too.”

  The gentleman sat forward. “What are you talking about, Gnomon?”

  “A few days ago,” Tahn explained, “I saw a field of birds that had fallen from the sky. Thousands of them. They were migrating in a time they shouldn’t have been, and lay dead of no visible cause.”

  “How does this relate to Continuity?” Jermane glanced at the mother of astronomy.

  Tahn smiled, enjoying this whole thing. “It’s thought that migratory birds have a sense of where they fly because they’re able to perceive the world’s magnetic poles, similar to the way a compass does. I believe the birds I saw got … tangled up. That the magnetic signature of Aeshau Vaal is changing, shifting. Or at least being pounded by the sun. The birds’ internal compasses failed because the force drawing them is in a state of chaos.

  “It relates to Continuity because something connects these birds to the same magnetic reality of our world that we observe in a compass or lodestone. I’m saying Resonance is that connection.”

  “Birds die all the time,” Savant Jermane said, more a statement than challenge.

  “Not by the thousands,” Tahn reminded him. Then Rithy was at his side, as if she could read his mind. She carried several books in her arms. Without being prompted, she laid open the book with the time-map, setting it on the banister before the savant. Beside it she set two almanacs showing the vault of heaven during the periods of both wars of Promise.

  Jermane placed spectacles on his nose and inspected the pages.

  Tahn gave him several minutes, while the discourse theater sat in expectant silence. He shared a look with Polaema, who nodded for him to continue.

  “We know the sun has several predictable cycles. Among them sunspots. Sunspots and nearby solar flares, which exert an intensity of light and heat and magnetic influence. These cycles”—Tahn pointed to the time-map—“correlate with periods of human suffering and conflict. Is it coincidence that there are epidemics of supul disease when these times of magnetic change are most intense? The annals record masses of supul victims migrating to cities—even Aubade Grove—for care and relief during these sunspot cycles, as though their bodies are more sensitive to this change.”

  Savant Jermane nodded, his eyes far away as though remembering these migrations.

  “And while I can’t document it yet, what we could be seeing is an inversion of our magnetic poles.” Tahn dropped that nugget just to stir the pot. “But what we can document is that during these cycles, the attacks from those who live beyond the Veil increase in frequency and strength.”

  Jermane sat back, a suspicious look in his eyes. “The Veil?”

  Tahn ignored the question, driving his argument’s momentum. “What we can document is that when these cycles of the sun correlate with conjunctions of our wandering stars”—he ran his finger along the lined-up planets in the almanac—“we move from illness and skirmishes … to war.”

  There were no mutterings around the discourse theater. In the silence, Savant Jermane’s seat creaked as he sat forward again. “Are you saying war follows a weakening of the Veil, which is in turn caused by a planetary conjunction?”

  Trepidation slipped inside him for the first time—like once he’d said this next part, it would be true in a way it hadn’t yet been. He thought of Vendanj, the iron-visaged Sheason who did what he thought right without concern for who it hurt or upset.

  Tahn drew a deep breath. Here we go. “These alignments”—Tahn again pointed to astronomical events where wandering stars aligned—“are thought to produce changes in gravitation, an amplification that is causing activity in the sun. Our own almanacs record that during these periods of activity, we see a dramatic increase in the phenomena of the aurora lights. Auroras, Savant Jermane, that have been recorded as great spectacles in the sky above the Pall Mountains … during periods of strife.” This time Tahn tapped the time-map where war, disease, political upheaval, and social injustice all spiked at once.

  “So let me understand.” Jermane adjusted his spectacles. “You’re suggesting that astronomical alignments affect gravitation, which causes rhythmic phenomena in the sun, which in turn affects the magnetic signatures of Aeshau Vaal. And that if such a thing as a Veil exists, it’s weakened by these changes in magnetic signatures.…” Jermane’s words slowed, as if he was beginning to believe the things Tahn had said and shown.

  Tahn finished the logic for him. “And that magnetism and all other celestial mechanics are grounded in a higher principle we’ll call Resonance. A principle that works across known mechanical laws, like acoustics, but is equally true in explaining the transfer of force we observe when there’s no apparent medium.” He’d been waiting a long time to say his next words. “Thus Continuity is Resonance. And it connects … everything.”

  The elder savant locked eyes with Tahn, a new line of reasoning seeming to dawn in his face. He sounded apologetic when he said, “It’s an intriguing argument, Gnomon. But in the absence of the forces of nature, like gravity, like magnetism … how do we argue for Resonance?”

  In answer, Tahn walked to the center of the discourse theater and the two pendulum clocks. He stood there, silent, simply holding an open palm toward them, inviting all to listen.

  The clock pendulums did not swing left and right at the same time, but the clocks had begun to tick at the same rate.

  Tahn watched as, one by one, those seated in the theater came to understand.

  “My friends,” he said, “the transfer of energy is known to happen in just a few ways. Matter striking matter is one. Through magnetic force is another, as we’ve shown. But here”—he gestured to the pendulums—“no gravity, no impact, no lodestones. Just two different oscillating systems in proximity to one another, which after a time come into a sympathetic phase. How else does this occur, if not through Resonance?”

  Stunned silence continued for several moments. And in that silence he recalled that he’d arrived at this demonstration because of the resonance he’d felt—and caused—between him and the Quiet man in the astronomy dome—two apparently different things, brought into phase. The Quiet.

  Tahn let the hush draw out a good long time before finishing in a soft, clear voice. “I didn’t want to leave Aubade Grove. This is as close to a home as I’ve ever known. And I have friends here.” He looked over at Rithy. “But others said I needed to leave. They said I was in danger. That the Grove might be in danger, too, if I stayed … so, I left.”

  Tahn focused on Savant Jermane, knowing that tonight this man’s opinion mattered most.

  “Since I’ve been gone, I’ve seen the Quiet. Not pageant wagon rhea-fols. Not authors or poets reciting their tales. I’ve seen living Quiet. Up close. Just as those before us saw them in the wars of the First and Second Promise.” A chill ran up his arms, and he knew what he should say next. “They’re not beasts, my friends. They’re not mindless. There’s reason in their eyes. Intelligence. But they come in strength now…”

  He didn’t finish that part. It wasn’t his intention to use fear here. “They’re starting to push through the Veil.”

  Tahn took a few long strides and pointed up at the gearworks orrery above them. “We’re in the middle of a rare dual lunar eclipse. A syzygy of the sun, moon, and Aeshau Vaal. At the same time, another cycle of the sun is upon us. I believe this is why not long ago thousands of Quiet were able to march on the city of Naltus Far.”

  In his mind Tahn was seeing the Soliel plain. He was seeing small ones in the hands of Velle. He was seeing graves being dug by the thousands.

  “As I stand here, nations meet at Recityv in Convocation to try and build an alliance to meet this new threat. Prepare for war.” He began shaking his head. “But even if we could win such a war, how many would die? And if we lost…” Tahn left off again, thinking about the fri
ends he had in the Scar. Thinking about the choices left to one who has run out of any real hope.

  He turned a slow circle, looking at each savant. It wasn’t good form in the discourse theaters to make nonscientific arguments—with the physicists anyway—but Tahn felt the need to do so. “There’s a feeling about them sometimes … the Quiet,” he began, softly. The theater held a thick silence, listening. “It’s the feeling you have when you find someone you love … who’s taken their own life.”

  Tahn turned and showed Rithy a look of apology. But he pushed on. “It’s a heavy feeling. The helpless kind. You grieve for yourself, but you also grieve for the one who’s gone, who couldn’t find a reason to stay with us.” He looked up into the theater seats, still believing he might have saved Devin if he’d been attentive. “Many of you have known someone who did this. And you’ve felt that ache inside. That deep ache. The Quiet bring that feeling with them. And what they’re doing will cause that feeling to widen across our cities and fields.”

  Tahn nodded to himself, remembering Nanjesho. Remembering Alemdra and Devin. My last god, thirty-seven wards of the Scar … “The Quiet come with war in mind. And for those who don’t fall in battle … the resonances of war that follow will often be quiet ones. But stronger than most of us have strength to suffer. It will be that deep ache. It will get inside people you know and love. It will get inside you. And you’ll believe there’s only one thing you can do.”

  When he stopped speaking, the theater was not simply void of mutters and mumbles, attendees were sitting perfectly still. He thought he might have succeeded in helping them feel a small measure of what was coming. Of the urgency to find a way to prevent it. He chanced a look at Rithy, worried he might see tears and lose some resolve. She did have moist eyes, but the smile she flashed him gave Tahn a charge of determination. Good gods, he admired her.