She tugged it out, handed it to him. The book was Mirm, the Extremely Mottled Swug, her favorite. He knew it by heart. He opened the worn, hand-tooled cover and propped the book on the windowsill between them. He flipped past the title page, with its hand-tinted engraving of Mirm, to the beginning of the story. “Mirm was the largest and most mottled swug in all the land. His skin was as colorful as—”
“Gale!” Fa tugged at his sleeve. She was pointing into the mist.
Gliding toward them on a flying platform came Isabelle. She sat cross-legged holding a basket. The platform was larger than usual—about four feet by five feet—and had the appearance of a flying tapestry, black with gold designs woven into it. The edges rippled in the wind. Galen couldn’t tell if it was real or illusion. He laid the book on the windowsill. The fact that she had already accessed her tech amazed him.
She stopped outside his window, floating there. “Good day,” she said to Fa. “My name is Isabelle.”
Galen translated Isabelle’s words for Fa. Fa seemed mesmerized by the tapestry, so Galen replied for her. “This is Fa.”
Isabelle nodded. She looked beautiful without hair. Her scoured head emphasized her striking grey eyes, her protruding ears, which he found charming. She seemed completely recovered from the initiation. “I happen to know that you haven’t yet left the house. It’s been far too long for that, so I’m here to invite you—and Fa—on a picnic.”
Galen was relieved that his attack against Elizar hadn’t kept her away. She seemed comfortable with him. He wished he could put aside his awkwardness and feel as comfortable with her. And more than anything, he wished he could go with her. “Thank you for the kind invitation. But I must visit Elizar first. I must offer him my help.”
“Elizar has left,” Isabelle said. “This morning. He told Kell he could better recover from his injuries at home, and asked leave to depart early.”
Galen couldn’t believe it. Elizar hadn’t yet faced the mages and been formally accepted as one of their number. “But the welcoming ceremony.”
“I know. Kell gave Elizar the staff he had made as a welcoming gift. And he sent Razeel with Elizar, in case Elizar grew too fatigued to pilot the ship.”
Galen had hidden in his house, and now his opportunity was lost. Had Elizar left in anger? Or had he left because of the danger of which he spoke? Did he intend to face it alone?
“I borrowed some very greasy chitwings for this picnic,” she continued. “The last ten they had. I suggest you don’t refuse.”
Although Fa couldn’t understand Isabelle’s words, she clearly had picked up the general topic. She looked hopefully from Isabelle to Galen.
“You have to leave the house sometime,” Isabelle said.
Galen motioned Fa aside and began to climb out. The tech made each movement feel ponderous, awkward. “I don’t know. Everyone I want to see comes to my window.”
Galen hoisted Fa up onto the tapestry, then climbed on himself. He ran his hand over the black-and-gold design of flaming suns. He could feel the texture of the weave; this was no illusion. Gali-Gali had been the first to combine a conjured platform with an ordinary carpet. It elicited a greater feeling of magic.
Isabelle conveyed them at a gentle pace, remaining only a few feet off the ground, so Fa would not be afraid. Fa stood in a half crouch and held her face up, her curly wisps of hair blowing in the breeze. Through Galen, Isabelle asked Fa for a good place to picnic, and Fa led them off the mak to a field of flowers and high grasses. The tapestry settled onto the ground, the invisible platform below it dissolving, and shortly Isabelle began to distribute the food.
The mist was thick, the sun reflecting within it to create a brilliant white glow. The sea breeze ruffled through the grasses.
Fa ate only a few bites, repeatedly running her hand over the tapestry, then looking up at Isabelle. After a few minutes she ran off to pick flowers, her orange jumper dissolving into the mist.
“She’s a lovely girl,” Isabelle said.
“Quite an effective irritant as well,” Galen said.
“She has several older siblings, doesn’t she?”
Galen frowned. “Yes. But how did you know?”
She gave him that mysterious smile, her lips pressed together. “I’m always right. Except for the times I’m not, of course.” Isabelle raised her eyebrows. “Why haven’t you used the tech yet?”
Galen smiled trying to cover his unease. “Have you been talking to Elric?”
“We only exchanged greetings as he came to take Burell to a meeting of the Circle.”
“She has business with the Circle?”
Isabelle nodded. “Misdirection—very nice. But you won’t get me off the subject so easily.”
“What?”
“Why you’re not using the tech.”
While Galen would have preferred a different topic, he loved talking with her, could talk with her forever. He still felt self-conscious and awkward, but it was an awkwardness he would gladly suffer. “I’ve been studying.”
“Ah.”
“What?”
“So that’s what a lie looks like. The tech’s sensors are much more powerful and varied than those in the chrysalis. Your heart rate jumped, blood flow to your skin increased, and your voice stress was a dead giveaway. You should try it.”
“Lying?”
“The tech.” She smiled, the conversation firmly back on her point.
He found a smile of his own forming. “Tell me more about that image you showed me of the chrysalis. The neurons. Is that what the tech is made of?”
She gave him a pointed look, then nodded. “I’m not sure about the implants, because what I used for study was my own chrysalis. Its structure changed as I used it more and more. The image I showed you was recent, after it had become fully developed. When I first received the chrysalis, it had fewer neurons and more of a different kind of cell, a generalized type. I believe they’re something like stem cells. As the chrysalis is used, these generalized cells differentiate into different types of cells, but particularly into neurons.”
Galen knew a fair amount about stem cells from his time studying medicine. Stem cells were the most generic cells, the precursors from which all others came to be. Embryos began as stem cells, and as they divided to produce more cells, some remained stem cells, while the majority took on different roles in the body, becoming, in Humans, more than two hundred different types of cells: nerve cells, muscle cells, blood cells, and more. “What controls their development?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. The cells in my chrysalis contain my DNA, but additional DNA as well. The DNA must guide the development of the chrysalis, just as our DNA guides our development. Yet the training clearly also plays a part, otherwise the chrysalis would develop fully before we begin to train with it. As we visualize different spells, I believe the neurons in the chrysalis make connections between each other, creating and strengthening pathways that reflect our ways of thinking.
“In addition to the neurons, there are muscles that allow the chrysalis to hold on to the apprentice. And a blood circulation system. The chrysalis seems in ways to be similar to a brain. Something that receives and echoes our thoughts, and then ...” She shrugged. “I’m vastly oversimplifying. There are many layers of technology intertwined with this structure. I haven’t had a chance to make heads or tails of them. And I still don’t have a clue about how the whole thing works.”
“What you’ve found is fascinating. I would think the tech must be designed in a similar way.” Thinking of the tech as stem cells containing—at least in part—his own DNA made it feel less threatening, less like an invading life form. But it had seemed to have a will, a will to penetrate his body. The Circle must somehow program certain desires and directives into it. He wondered how much they understood of what they made.
“So why haven’t you tried it?” Isabelle asked.
Fa ran up with flowers stuck into the hair of her head, arms, and legs.
Isabelle laughed, a light, musical sound. “She looks like a bouquet.”
Galen translated for Fa.
“She laughs,” Fa said.
“Yes?” Galen said.
“I thought you weren’t allowed.”
Isabelle was looking between Galen and Fa. “What did she say?”
Galen was uncomfortable relaying the comment. “Fa is surprised that you laughed. She thought mages were not allowed.”
At that, Isabelle laughed even harder. “With you and Elric her only examples”—her laughter trailed off—“well, I can imagine how she might have gotten that impression.”
The restless energy of the tech amplified Galen’s unease. He began to think that coming out for the picnic had been a mistake. Fa moved shyly toward him, and she put her hand into her pocket in a move Galen recognized as preparation for sleight of hand. He had to teach her to do that sooner; she was giving away her intentions.
“What’s that behind your ear?” she asked him.
“What?” He turned his head from side to side, feigning irritation. He was glad for the distraction.
She reached to his ear and revealed a yellow blossom in her hand.
“How did that get there?” he said.
She handed it to him. “Odd place to keep a flower.” Her hand darting quickly into her pocket, she moved hesitantly to Isabelle. She raised both her hands. “Nothing here.” Galen translated for her. “But what’s that behind your ear?”
She reached behind Isabelle’s ear, produced a blue flower.
“Oh!” Isabelle clapped. “That’s lovely. Thank you. How smart you are!” Isabelle accepted the blue flower and gave Fa a hug. Fa, startled, licked Isabelle’s cheek.
Galen realized he had never hugged Fa, in all the years he had known her. He had never been good with people. He had always told himself it was a skill he lacked, but perhaps the truth was that he always held back, hiding not only from them, but from himself. He did not want them to see what he did not want to see. He did not know why he was like this, but it was ingrained in him. Long ago he had formed a hiding place deep inside and had secreted himself within it.
Even now that the spell of destruction had revealed who he was, and Kell had forced him to face it, still he hid. He hid in his room. He hid from the tech. It was an instinct, just like the instinct to kill.
But he had to face the tech, and more than that, he had to face the reason he hadn’t yet tried it. For in truth, he was reluctant to awaken the tech not because he didn’t trust it, but because he didn’t trust himself. Yet the Circle had given him another chance. Elric had given him another chance. They must believe in his ability to control himself.
And he must believe in himself. While he didn’t believe instincts could be changed, they could, perhaps, be controlled. He had been unprepared before. Now that he fully understood the danger, he would be on guard, and he would cast no spell without careful thought. That he swore to himself, and that he must believe. For if he could not trust himself, he had no right to be a techno-mage.
He closed his eyes, visualized a blank screen. Upon it, he imposed the equation to create a message. The echo from the tech was strong, instantaneous. No sphere of destruction formed. No flames spouted over the field. There was no sense of independent will from the tech, no sense of anything alien stirring within him.
Thank you for the picnic, he wrote in the message. He debated saying more, decided against it. He visualized the equation to send the message. The tech obeyed much like the chrysalis, but more quickly and efficiently. Casting the spell barely required any effort. Suddenly he was eager to work with the tech, to begin exploring its abilities and bounds.
Isabelle had begun packing up the food and she hesitated as she received the message. Galen saw her face contract with concentration.
She resumed her packing, and Galen was startled to find that he had received a response. He opened it.
You‘re welcome.
Elric stood beside Burell in the center of the Circle’s amphitheater. It had fallen to him to prove to the Circle what their leader already knew, but refused to say: that the Shadows had returned.
It was the irony of being a techno-mage. Elric did not want to disrupt Kell’s plan, but at the same time Kell needed to be informed that he had kept his secret long enough, that now was the time for him to share his knowledge.
“Previously,” Elric said, “our evidence has been uncertain, unconfirmed. But as you have seen, this latest evidence is confirmed and compelling. It strongly suggests the Shadows are returning to Z’ha’dum and gathering resources for war.”
Burell’s data was strong. One with an open mind could not dispute it. Yet the Circle’s minds were not always open, and this, more than anything, they would resist. They did not want to believe their peaceful times would be brought to an end, that a war would come to overshadow all plans, all accomplishments, all desires in their lives. Everything would change, and much that they had built would likely be destroyed. They would no longer be making history, but would be made by it, overwhelmed by it.
Elric hadn’t wanted to accept it either. But if the Shadows had come, that far-advanced race would pose the greatest challenge the mages had ever faced. Although the mages preferred to channel their abilities into scientific pursuits and magical displays, they were among the most powerful beings currently alive. With the exception of the Vorlons, who were arrogant and undependable, the mages stood the best chance of fighting the Shadows.
And the Shadows, of course, knew this.
Burell nodded to him, encouraging him to continue. They had both agreed she would speak as little as possible, to avoid introducing her reputation into the discussion. She had even brought herself unadorned to the Circle. She stood with her staff planted to her left, her legs braced to form an uneven tripod for support. The sense of asymmetry about her body had increased, as if pieces of it were drifting out of alignment. Her lips drooped on the right side of her face. She looked even worse than the last time she had dropped her veil of illusion, at the Being.
Traveling away from one’s place of power was taxing for any mage; for her, coming to this convocation might be a strain from which she would not recover. Elric was determined to help her accomplish everything she could.
“The techno-mages were but in their infancy during the last Shadow war,” he continued, “so we have few of our own records for study. But the return of the Shadows has been prophesied by the Minbari, the Narns, the Pak’ma’ra, and many others. The most ancient sources reveal that the Shadows come in cycles. They have manifested themselves in chaos many times over the history of this galaxy.
“We know all that can be known, and so we knew this: the Shadows would someday return. That day has come. We must inform the mages. We must create a great intelligence-gathering network. We must make plans and build alliances. We must act. Or else death and chaos may engulf all.” Elric scanned the Circle. He had their rapt attention, except for Kell, who was deep in thought.
Herazade leaned forward. Elric could think of no reason why she would oppose, but he assumed she would find one and would enlighten him. “Surely this cannot be true,” she said. “The Shadows were defeated in a war one thousand years ago. I see no reason why they should ever return, and no evidence that they have done so. It appears that some new settlements are growing on the rim. I find no justification for concluding anything further. I see no need for action.”
Burell shifted, and Elric sensed she was about to erupt. He sent a quick message. Say nothing. Anger will lose our cause.
Burell’s response was swift. She cultivates ignorance like the rest of us cultivate knowledge. How is it, in all these meetings, you haven’t killed her?
She’s been in the Circle only two years, Elric responded.
Blaylock stood, his face tight. “You bring dire news, Elric. The Shadows are returning. Yet your recommendations are misdirected. We cannot put ourselves on the front lines of this war, if war there must be. We are
but a few, devoted to learning and study. We have worked hard among us to create peace. We carry a sacred blessing and are charged with the task of becoming one with it. We are not meant to be soldiers. Violence and bloodshed, politics and warfare, will serve as distractions, drawing us away from the path. We cannot let our blessing become corrupted.” He sat.
Ing-Radi laid her four orange hands, palms up, on top of each other and bowed her head. “I am not yet certain that the Shadows are returning. I would support a very small, very subtle investigation. To gain more information from Burell’s home, Zafran 8. Nothing more. We must proceed with caution.”
She was afraid. They were all afraid. They did not want to come out as enemies of the Shadows. But how long could neutrality be maintained? And how could ignorance and inaction serve them?
Kell rose. Elric hoped that he would reveal now what he knew. With his leadership, they would put aside their reluctance and accept the obvious. They could begin to form a plan of action.
He straightened his massive frame. His eyes squinted with age, yet his voice was resonant, strong. “Burell, you have done us a great service in gathering this information. Thank you for your efforts, and my appreciation to Elric for bringing your information before us.
“I am deeply troubled by this news. If it is true that the Shadows have returned and are preparing for war, we will be sought after by both sides. Our ships are among the fastest, our powers offer possibilities no others have. He who we will not make our ally, will make himself our enemy. And while we are powerful, such enemies as the Shadows would destroy us. I agree with Ing-Radi that caution, above all, should be our watchword. Before we can take any action, we must know, for certain, that the Shadows have returned. I support a small covert mission, as Ing-Radi has suggested, to further explore the situation on Zafran 8 and obtain evidence that leaves no doubt.”
Kell would not share what he knew. He had a plan in motion. And he wanted more time before the rest of the mages became involved.
“I would support you in this,” Herazade said, making a majority.
Casting Shadows (The Passing of the Techno-Mages #1) Page 15