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* * *
Emerald River, Pearl Sky
by Rajnar Vajra
The difference between science and magic is simple, but profound and crucial.
—LET US GO THEN, YOU AND I, ON A MODEST JOURNEY OF A FEW PALTRY MILES AND A MERE THOUSAND YEARS. RELAX AND ALLOW THOSE WHO WATCH OVER US TO INSTIGATE AND REGULATE YOUR EXPERIENCE. WE BEGIN ... now.
ARE YOU STILL WITH ME? GOOD! THIS WINDING FOOTPATH BEFORE US IS NAMED OLD GOD TRAIL. IMMERSE YOURSELF IN EVERY OFFERED SENSATION TO MAKE THIS REALITY YOUR OWN. OBSERVE IF YOU WILL, HOW THOSE RICHLY BLOSSOMED APPLE TREES TO THE WEST STIPPLE THE PATH WITH SHADOWS STEADY AS GRANITE. CONCENTRATE! DO YOU NOTICE HOW WELL THE MURMURING OF RAINBOW PARROTS HARMONIZES WITH THE DRONING BEES AND ALSO THAT FAINT MELODY?
LISTEN AS THE MELODY SWELLS. CAN YOU HEAR FOOTSTEPS CRUNCHING ON THE OYSTER-SHELL PAVING? AH! HERE HE IS: VINCAS MAGUS, A MAN WRINKLED ENOUGH TO BE AN OLD GOD'S GRANDFATHER, TOTTERING ALONG, AIDED BY THAT STAFF OF WALNUT. DESPITE HIS TWISTED LEFT LEG AND THE BULGING TRAVELING BAG HANGING FROM HIS SHOULDER, YOU MUST ADMIT HE MAKES STEADY PROGRESS, CONSTANTLY HUMMING WITHIN HIS SILVER BEARD. WE HAVE ONLY TO JOIN HIM AND THE LESSON WILL SOON UNFOLD....
* * * *
When Vincas reached Emerald River, he stopped and his humming died. The low-lying fog wasn't thick enough to hide a surprise. The dilapidated old bridge was gone, replaced by a Kyoto-style teak span with a far higher arch. Extending his staff, he poked the first lacquered plank, carved like the others for traction on the sharp incline. Between planks, thin slats protruded to act as a ladder higher up.
“Even last year,” he muttered, “I could've danced across. Now I wouldn't dare crawl.” He shrugged, backed up several yards to where the ground was less rocky, dropped to a modified lotus posture, and closed his eyes. For a long moment he sat still, breathing slowly and evenly, perceptions turned inward.
Yes? whispered a thin, dry-ice-cold voice seemingly from inside his chest. Why do you disturb me?
“I've come to a river and cannot cross."
Then find you a bridge.
“A bridge lies before us, Panx, but the way is too steep."
You are aged and weak, magician.What do you offer?
It's come to this? Vincas thought, struggling to remain calm; these days he needed a firm grip on tranquility simply to maintain contact with the micro-imp. “I'll grant you freedom from any requests of mine for two days if you do my bidding without complaint."
You consider that freedom?What else do you offer?
“A chance for reconciliation. Have you forgotten those decades when we worked together? As a team? Wasn't that better than this ... estrangement?"
Ah.You desire to reduce me to my former servitude.Your heart shouts between your words; even an earless imp can hear it.You have no superior inducements?
“This is no good,” the magician sighed. “We are reduced to hagglers. I regret your misery, Panx, and would free you if I could. But are we not part of each other?"
You surprise me!Your intent tastes sincere.Very well, your request is granted.Trouble me not for a brace of days.
Disturbing as the conversation had been, now that the worst was over, Vincas's curiosity stirred. How would the imp handle the problem? Would Vincas find himself suddenly leaping to the far bank? Or swimming easily against the current? Or would his bad leg simply regain enough vitality to master the bridge? That last, he doubted. Expediency for micro-imps, given their inhuman perspective and miserly attitude toward expending muscular energy, usually assumed some baroque form. He opened his eyes and waited.
Nothing happened save two rainbow parrots flew by and a large tortoise with remarkably long legs for a chelonian came plodding up the riverbank to settle down in a shallow depression near the Trail. A minute later, a matching tortoise joined the first. When Vincas saw the way they lined up, he smiled and pushed himself upright with his cane. With some effort he was soon standing on the reptiles, a foot on each shell, holding his stick horizontally as a balancing aid.
Bears and coyotes and raccoons, he thought, are best kept under control. Cats, dogs, and birds make better pets under similar control. And, of course, lizards and flies have any number of uses. But why would the Ancients have grown command circuits in turtles?
Slowly, the animals extended their legs and Vincas began wishing he'd figured a way to ride while seated; the ground seemed improbably distant. But his porters climbed from the depression in perfect unison and with reassuring smoothness. Bearing the wizard with ease and adjusting leg-length to keep their shells reasonably level, they crossed the bridge with the unhurried determination of their kind.
On the far side, a relieved magician dismounted carefully, patted the animals on their heads and proceeded onward briskly compared with the pace of his former steeds. Emerald River paralleled his path at the moment, but he knew it would soon loop west for many miles only to rejoin him as he neared his destination.
The trail, here, was a long straight stretch. After ten minutes of his best hobbling, he noticed a figure far ahead bounding toward him at great speed, clearly a magician whose micro-imp was particularly cooperative. Even from this distance, he or she seemed to radiate vitality and humor. From this and occasional scarlet flashes from the wizard's garb, Vincas guessed it was the baja-mage Kirstunu long before they were close enough to shout a greeting.
“Why do you travel south?” Vincas asked when the two were finally face to face. “The Zun-Loo festival beckons to our north and the Contest this year should be a treat. After my hiatus last fall, I intend to reenter the fray."
The tall red-haired fellow, whose narrow face had something of the curve and sharpness of an axe blade, released his leaping lizards and put out his arms to embrace the old man. Kirstunu's traveling cape fell back to reveal the brilliant red tunic of a lesser mage. Meanwhile, the lizards kept themselves upright with small oscillations, yellow eyes fixed on their master.
“Then sorry I shall be to miss the Contest,” said the younger man. “You and Glin Tan, at least, never disappoint. As it happens, I come from Zun-Loo. Lama Go,” he admitted with a wink, “took exception to a small prank of mine and has banned me from this year's event."
“Oh so. Your little jokes are so seldom appreciated, I wonder that you continue them. Was your amusement worth the penalty?"
Kirstunu's lips tightened as if trying to repress a grin. “Perhaps not. Three days hence, I will lack the pleasure of watching you win both Glin Tan's glower and the Torus. But if only you had seen our noble lama shooing away all those parrots so eager to feed him worms! In the end, he was forced to annul every personal spell to rid himself of mine. What adds that touch of rue to your smile?"
Vincas chuckled. “The mention of worms, my friend. At my age, I may presently suffer excess acquaintance with them."
“You raise a matter of some interest. Forgive me, I could not help but notice the deepening of your wrinkles and how you limp as if crippled. May I ask why without causing offense?"
“Of course. But you, if I may say so, appear as vibrant and young as ever! In truth, my imp has become obstinate over the last few seasons and will no longer assist me to overcome the defects of my body. Thus I amble when once I ran, and my magic is feeble here in the wilds."
Kirstunu scratched his goatee and lines appeared between his fox-red brows. “But your jin remains intact?"
Vincas pulled back one sleeve to display the webbing faintly visible beneath the wrink
led skin of his forearm. “It appears healthy from what can be seen. I will judge its condition by how much strength returns when I approach Zun-Loo's empower station."
The baja-mage spread his hands. “If then your capacities soar, why not reside permanently within range of some empower plant, say that of Westmorland or Plest or Zun-Loo itself? With mighty Pagman enriching the Zun-Loo ether, you would only need your imp's goodwill for high-level competitions."
Mixed joy and wistfulness complicated Vincas's expression. “I can explain in three compound words, Kirstunu: grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great-grandchildren, none of whom follow in my footsteps. I love them all beyond measure yet my offspring do not domicile themselves for the convenience of senile magicians."
“So you are stuck with an unwilling ally unless you attain a new commitment—or discover some novel lore."
“You have always seemed,” the old man said carefully, “on the warmest of terms with your imp."
“Perhaps because I ask little of it."
“Even so, it surprises me you've not been granted your Magnus Cum Laude and full status by now. You certainly have the talent."
“Talent, perhaps, but I lack raw power and, worse, an artist's imagination.” He raised a hand as if to block argument, but Vincas was savoring the implied compliment too much to remonstrate.
“I have, however,” Kirstunu continued in a slightly chagrined tone, “certain compensatory skills. Speaking of which, our chance meeting is lucky for my conscience and your purse!"
The mage's white eyebrows lifted. “How so?"
“I owe you money."
“I don't—"
“Three years ago, we shared a savory meal in Plest and you were kind enough to loan me a modest sum."
“If you say so. I've quite forgotten."
“Recent fortune has beamed upon me at the gaming tables of Zun-Loo and here is your investment plus a trivial return for your patience.” He withdrew an impressive handful of coins from a pocket, at least fifteen coppers and three silvers, and quickly slipped them all into Vincas's traveling bag. Then, while the magician's mouth gaped, he threw in even more coins.
“Surely,” Vincas complained, staring down into his bag, “you've given me far too much!"
“Not at all. Consider it what the bankers of Haven call ‘interest,’ an amusing but accurate term. Besides, I've only bestowed the surface skim of my last day's income. And it will make my traveling lighter. Please do me the honor of accepting."
Vincas shook his head. “If you insist. And thank you."
The two men bowed to each other and each continued on his journey without another word. Behind him, Vincas could hear the baja-wizard rushing south in a series of rapidly fading boings.
* * * *
When the first stars appeared, the magician entered a pasture abutting the road and removed what appeared to be a snail shell from his bag. He threw the shell down, not too close to where he was standing, and watched it gather molecules, rolling on its back as if tormented by fleas.
Vincas knew no magic was involved in this; his jin was too sensitive to enchantment for him to believe otherwise. The Ancients, he thought for the thousandth time, must have been scientific wizards beyond compare.
Zun-Loo's empower station still wasn't near enough for the smart yurt to attain its full size, but it gradually expanded until it could fit a wizened wizard. At Vincas's command, a door irised open then sealed behind him after he entered. As always, the interior smelled pleasantly of ocean breezes and, after the magician had finished his dinner, the fleshy bed was a comfort to elderly hips. He fell asleep to the soft murmuring of rainbow parrots, birds supposedly reshaped by the Ancients for both beauty and pest control.
* * * *
His next day's journey eased as the trail, now widened to a proper road, gracefully descended into Zun Valley. By midday, the bioelectric netting beneath the old man's skin began tingling and vigor trickled into his limbs, a sort of heatless warmth generating an illusion of restored youth. Soon, the inverse-square rule proved its relevance and he found himself carrying the cane rather than the reverse. His pace increased every minute and his wrinkles and bad leg began to smooth out. He felt Panx stir, but the imp remained silent.
Before the sun even considered settling down for the night, Zun-Loo's minarets, spires, and trellised pergolas were close enough to please Vincas's eyes and tease his nostrils with the perfume of lotus-roses. Minutes later, he was beyond the city gates admiring Takata Hai's party decorations, which for reasons of efficiency only manifested for those within Zun-Loo's tiled walls.
Takata's specialty was long-lasting mirage; for the last decade, he'd accepted the challenge of trimming the city at festival time. He never worked the same motif twice and every year attempted a more exquisite effect.
This season, he'd chosen an interplay of contrasts rather than patent flamboyance. Every home, shop, temple, mosque, church, maxi-manor, and mini-palace seemed coated in a thin layer of ice. The ices were of varied hues—gray, blue, bronze, gold, aqua—one hue per building, but all were muted enough to seem almost brown in dim light. The contrasting elements were set into the ice at artistic intervals. These appeared as immense diamonds, marvelously faceted to catch every stray ray, whose colors were a vastly brighter version of the encapsulating material. Vincas stared at one golden gem until his eyes watered. When he turned away, the violet afterimage was slow to fade.
Even the familiar lotus-rose city aroma had been enhanced for the occasion, wafting overtones of vanilla, nutmeg, and musk.
Vincas approved of Takata's deft restraint and vowed to praise the sorcerer appropriately. First on the agenda, however, was securing a hotel room and a hot bath. Thanks to Kirstunu's munificence, he could treat himself to both of the first water.
As usual he selected Rishi's Haven, which was coated with maroon rime lacking any corresponding jewels. Instead, the mirage-master had emplaced fire-agate-like rainbow flashes within the ice. Vincas wondered about this distinctive decoration and speculated that Takata himself might be staying here and was silently advertising the fact for anyone wishing to hire him for lesser occasions.
Murigum, the umber-skinned and suitably rotund innkeeper behind the reservation counter, grew a smile brighter than a Burb-ankh ten-platinum piece when Vincas entered the lobby.
The magician knew why: each top contender entering the Contest increased the betting's prodigality. And, almost magically, the freer the betting, the looser everyone's purse strings. Murigum's wine cellar would be thoroughly tested in the next few days! Besides, Vincas had always been a courteous and undemanding guest, far less eccentric than most of his peers.
“Your usual, Master?” Murigum inquired as a formality, reaching for his assignment book.
“Not this year, Sri Murigum! I have newly suffered a touch of affluence and find the condition uncomfortable. Therefore, I humbly request your premier accommodations, which should ease my burden somewhat."
The innkeeper looked up in surprise. “A suite remains available for a mere five coppers extra per night. Will that be satisfactory?"
“Oh, yes."
“I assume you wish me to effectuate your Contest registration as always?"
“If you would be so kind."
“And your meals?"
“Spare not your finest herbs! That is, so long as the extra savor doesn't exceed four additional coppers a day."
“You consummate a shrewd bargain, Master. For you, nothing but the most excellent! Would you, er, care to make a deposit in advance?"
Vincas pulled three silvers and ten coppers from his bag and handed the coins over. Murigum made a note on a sheet of lizardskin, opened his cashbox, deftly poured the coins into their proper slots, but let one silver fall as if by chance into an oxidizer jar kept discreetly below the counter. Seeing the coin had attained the proper degree of bruise, he fished it out, swabbed it with tarnish-removing fluid, and added it to his collection. Vincas only smiled at a
ll this. He was not one to misapply his trade.
While the cashbox still gaped open, two tourists approached the innkeeper and asked if Murigum would make change for several gold pieces. A friendly game of Tohoku Hold'em had begun in the common room and these two were already devoid of coppers.
The innkeeper glanced down at his supply and agreed, but not happily. After more writing and semi-surreptitious quality testing, he handed over a pile of coins including many of those he'd just received from Vincas. As the tourists hastened back to lose more coppers, he chewed his lower lip. “Will you await your change, Master, until the final accounting? This is the third request for coppers I've had within an hour and my stock is dwindling."
“Certainly. How well you understand me, my dear host! By considering the money already spent, I needn't suffer any pangs of economic restraint. Perhaps an extra dessert or two will keep your superb meals company this year. I expect to waddle away from your establishment with a silhouette akin to Putai's!"
“I am not acquainted with any Putai, Master."
“Oh so. I was speaking of a legend or perhaps a memory from Old China. In Ancient Nippon they named him ‘Hotei.’ The Laughing Buddha: a man of great humor and corpulence. Those innumerable statuettes of him still produced in Nyu-Japan and Baja Aumauraka have caused occidentals worldwide to believe the Buddha was Chinese and obese!"
Murigum laughed. “I've seen such statuettes myself, and also assumed they were depicting the Compassionate One despite my Hindu heritage. But I doubt we have enough calories in all Zun-Loo to make you fat, Master. Still, I shall do my utmost."
“In that case, perhaps I can ease your copper shortage by offering more of mine and some silvers in exchange for a gold. That will still leave me sufficient coppers for any small purchases I'd be likely to make in the next few days."
“Most exceedingly excellent!"
After completing the transaction, Murigum asked, “Would you care to view your room now? Your Magus Suite has its own private bath."
Analog SFF, January-February 2007 Page 2