by Garon Whited
Of course, most people won’t have enough power on hand to activate it; that’s beyond even a magician. But Mary and I, together, over several hours this morning, managed to gather and channel enough magic to make it functional. With enough power stored in it, anyone with basic magical training should be able to operate it.
At least, I think we did. Once we had it charged, I decided to cheat. I set up a small power-jet; a miniature version of the high-intensity thing I had down in the basement of my house. A little magic ran the thing; the rest streamed into the gate spell. The gate doesn’t have a way to charge itself, after all, so anything the jet pumped into it was all to the good.
Should I leave the power jet running when we leave? If I do, it will charge the spell over time. If I come back next week and have to run through it, this gate spell might be charged enough to simply activate. But the power-jet seems to distort the flow of magic in the local area. This could draw attention to this ruined granary. I think I’ll let it charge until we leave, then set the jet to eat itself after charging the gate spell for a while—say, a day or two.
As for our recording of the sunset, we decided not to watch it at night. It’s a safety thing. When we finished work on the gate, we went back to our rooms, had a big meal, and settled down on something like a double-wide lounging chair to watch some television. I played back the diamond on the big mirror to watch the sun go down.
Somewhere a little below the edge—I’d say about the time the uppermost arc of the solar disk dipped below the level of the surface of the world—the sun winked out.
No thunderclap. Not even a poof. No puff of smoke. It was gone.
Sometimes, I really hate this place.
“I don’t suppose you saw where it went?” Mary asked.
“Nope.”
“Any ideas?”
“Nope.”
“Do you suppose your sun-goddess friend would tell you?”
“First, she’s not my friend. Second, nope.”
“Well, that pretty much closes the issue, doesn’t it?” Mary asked.
“Give me a minute. I want to play this back again in slow motion.”
“You can do that?”
“Sort of. It doesn’t work frame by frame; the recording is more of an analog medium than a discrete digital one. But I can play around with the information it stores.”
“Show me.”
We re-ran the diamond’s images and I demonstrated how to alter the playback. It’s not part of the original spell. It’s more like wiring a rheostat into the drive motor of a tape player. You can dial down the power to the speed control while leaving everything else the same.
At low speeds, magical video gets fuzzy. I’m not sure why. Slowing it down costs you focus, and slowing it down a lot turns it into smears of color. This strikes me as odd, since I’ve see magical snapshots in perfect focus. Different spells, obviously. Maybe I should work on a spell to take hundreds or thousands of snapshots per second if I want to play it back in slow motion. Or, better yet, I should find an expert in video recording and ask how it works before kludging together something.
Still, slowing down the playback let us watch the bright, fuzzy ball descend. It approached the vanishing point and promptly disappeared.
“Did you see it?” Mary asked.
“I did. I think I did. A fuzzy brightness between the sun and the Edge?”
“Yes. At least, I think that’s what I saw.”
I fiddled with the image for a bit until Mary brushed me aside. She may not be the best spellcaster in the world, but she’s got a deft touch with delicate things. Did that develop from being a professional thief, or did the talent encourage her to be a thief? Chicken or egg?
Mary tickled the playback for a while and froze the image at the instant the sun vanished.
With only one angle on it, depth was hard to judge. What appeared to happen was the sun reached a certain point in its descent, compressed from a sphere into a plane, narrowed to a line, and shot into the westernmost point of the Dragonspine Range, or Mountains of the Sun.
Maybe there really is a West Pole and the sun disappeared into it. Does it recharge on its way through the Mountains of the Sun and get spat out in about twelve hours at the East Pole? A naturally-occurring mineral, perhaps, that acts some sort of conductor? No, that’s silly. A fusion reaction would…
…would fry the whole world, if it was a sun as I understand a sun. Maybe the rules here permit tiny suns, only a few miles across?
According to the elves, the world was designed and built by some ancient Thing called a Heru—specifically, one named Rendu. These Heru then retired from the world to watch it as part of some sort of complicated game. Okay. To my mind, this implies the world has internally self-consistent rules. It’s operated this long without supervision and despite the best efforts of the residents to screw it up.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Mary offered.
“It’s discount day. Get two for the price of one.”
“Even better. I’ll take them.”
“I’m frustrated with the silliness of a magical universe. A have to question my assumptions about the nature of the sun—solar fusion, hydrogen turning to helium, gravity, all that. I also have to deal with the knowledge that, no matter how stupid is looks, it works, which means I’m the one who’s stupid. If I want to actually figure this out, I need to go to the Mountains of the Sun, park a research station on the East and West Poles, and gather data. None of which I have time for, which frustrates and annoys me to a probably-unhealthy degree.”
I rolled my head to pop my neck and slouched to rub my temples. A headache was coming on.
“It’s been a bad day,” I sighed. “If someone wants to investigate astronomical phenomena in a magical world, by all means, let them. I can’t stand to think about it anymore. I’m mystically and spiritually worn out and I want to go home.”
“How about a nap?”
“I would, but I hate sleeping.”
“Seriously?” Mary asked, sitting next to me on the couch. She propped her head on her hand and put the other on my thigh. “I thought you stayed awake so much because we were being chased.”
“No.”
“So, what’s wrong with sleeping?”
“The last time I slept, I didn’t wake up for eighty-seven years. Besides… I dream,” I told her, darkly.
“Is that so bad? I get flashes of the future and stuff like that in my dreams. Don’t you?”
“With disturbing regularity. The real problem is I have terrible things in my subconscious and the leftovers from over half a million souls. Sleeping won’t go well. I know it. It scares me.” I smiled, slightly. “It keeps me up at night.”
“Ha. But seriously, you don’t sleep? Ever?”
“Not for a long time.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re not thinking outside the box, like me.”
“Hmm.”
“Everything needs sleep,” she persisted. “You may not actually need it, but I bet you function better afterward.”
“I don’t think I want to risk it.”
“Come on. Bronze is downstairs, Firebrand is right here, and I’ll stay awake to watch over you.”
“I’m not sleepy.”
“Do you want a lullaby?”
“I want to drop it.”
“Okay,” she replied, and got up. “You’re a grown-up. You don’t have to take a nap if you don’t want to. I will, though. You can stand guard or join me; it’s up to you.” She laid aside some weapons and rolled onto the bed, apparently ignoring me.
I stayed on the couch. I really don’t like to sleep. Besides, someone ought to stay awake and keep an eye on the world. It is a silly place. It can also be treacherous at the worst times.
Sunset woke Mary up. She yawned, stretched, and started peeling out of her outfit. I joined her in the bath room and set the tub to circulate fresh water in while we died.
“Any interesting dreams?” I asked, once we settle
d into the water.
“Interesting, yes,” she agreed. “Obviously oracular, no. The usual run of wizards and witches chasing after us as we ran down a lane between dark and sinister forces on the left, bright and angry forces on the right.”
“Sounds like a nightmare.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“You would.”
“That’s what you get for being old and tired.”
“Technically, I’m younger than you are.”
“But a gentleman would not mention a lady’s age,” she pointed out, sweetly.
“You have something, there,” I admitted, “kiddo.”
“That’s better—Daddy.”
“You had to make it weird, didn’t you?”
“Only because you’re such fun when I do. So, when do we leave?”
“I want to call Amber one more time and see what she says. If T’yl can’t get himself in gear, we’ll try being incognito.”
“In Mochara?”
“For a while. I’m seriously thinking of moving back into my old home in the mountain and seeing who shows up to annoy me.”
“Seems fair.”
After our sunset routine, Bronze and I dashed out to the woodpile on the road. Mary went to check on our gate and prepare disguises.
Fires flickered; sparks danced. Amber manifested in the flames.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, Daughter. How are things?”
“Fair. But what is that on your face?”
“The beard?”
“I thought you were eating a hedgehog.”
“It could use a trim,” I admitted.
“It could use a brushfire.”
“Mary likes it.”
“She does?” Amber’s fire-voice sounded surprised.
“She does. She says she does.”
“She’s your consort?”
“Only if I’m still a king. Maybe concubine. Girlfriend, certainly.”
“And you’re humoring her with the thing on your face? You must really like her.”
“I’m nicer than my reputation suggests.”
“That’s true.”
“Ouch. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
“Then I will rescue you, dear Father, by changing the subject. I have spoken with the Mother about Zirafel.”
“As much as I want to hear about it, I’m a little more concerned with T’yl, at the moment. He’s promised to find a way to smuggle me into the mountain without alerting everyone and their vampire death squads. What’s the problem?”
“I do not know. I have sent word to him every day, but he does not reply.”
“I’m getting frustrated with waiting. He needs to get his lazy butt in gear or I’m going to show up unexpectedly whether he’s ready or not.”
“I will dispatch Tianna to find him.”
“Thank you. I’ll call again tomorrow night.”
“Certainly. Do you wish to discuss the curse of Zirafel?” she asked. I hesitated.
“To tell the truth, no. I’m still coping with the emotional aftermath of trying to forgive Sparky for the—what? You winced.”
“Sparky?”
“Oh! Right. Sorry about that. What I mean to say is I’m still not done processing the idea of forgiving the Mother of Flame for what happened with Beryl. I’ve been carrying that around, wrapped up and boxed in, ever since I woke up in the mountain. It’s going to be a while before it… I don’t know. Scabs over and becomes a scar, maybe.”
“I understand, Dad,” she replied, sympathetically. It’s odd to hear a voice made of rushing flames sound sympathetic. Try it and see.
“If there is anything I can do,” she went on, “you have only to say so.”
“You’ve been immensely helpful already,” I assured her. “If we don’t hear from T’yl by tomorrow night, though, Mary and I are liable to drop by Mochara a little after sunset. Will that be a problem?”
“Drop by? Like a falling tower? Or quietly visit?”
“I was thinking of a quiet visit with my eldest daughter, then moving on to the mountain.”
“It should not be a problem. Your reputation precedes you, of course, but there are no temples to the Lord of Light here. I doubt anyone will be moved to violence.”
“That’s reassuring. Any guesses about the mountain?”
“There are no temples to the Lord of Light there, either, unless they’ve repurposed a building in the last seven months. You—that is, your dark side—forbade any additional structures dedicated to their religion throughout the kingdom. The other religions have their temples in the city of Karvalen, though.”
“Not surprising. Okay. I’ll call before we drop in.”
“I’ll contact Tianna immediately—she is in Karvalen, by the way.”
“The mountain?”
“Yes. She has the temple to the Mother there.”
“Ah, right. Thank you.”
“Anytime, Dad.”
The flames fell to embers. Bronze and I carried wood into the city.
Mary and Clomper already had most of our traveling stuff moved to the grain silo, using the cart. We would leave the cart here, though; getting Clomper out of the canal would be tricky enough. The cart wasn’t going to make it, but both Bronze and Clomper could make it out—the canal water isn’t more than four feet deep, and there are access stairs recessed into the walls of the canals.
“What word?” Mary asked.
“T’yl’s being a bum. We call once more, tomorrow night, then go visit my eldest daughter.”
“Excellent. What do you think of these clothes?”
I conjured a light so I could see the colors.
“Very nice. Too nice, possibly, to be inconspicuous.”
“They’re the worst I could find.”
“Darn those wealthy people, buying high-quality, fancy-looking outfits. They never think of the people who are going to steal their stuff. It’s not fair. I guess we’ll have to cope. Hopefully, under cover of night, no one will pay much attention.”
“They’ll pay more attention to Madam Alarm Bell,” Mary pointed out, nodding at Bronze. Bronze snorted and looked surprised. “Don’t deny you make a clanging noise with every footfall,” Mary added. Bronze was indignant for a moment, her ears laying back, before she relaxed and nodded. She’s a big horse. She can admit to her limitations.
“It’s true,” I admitted for her. “Bronze can’t help it. But I’ll help her with that.”
“Rags tied around her hooves?”
“She’ll shred them in the first hundred yards; the edges are sharp. No, I was thinking of a sound-damping spell, much like our stealth spells.” Bronze nodded.
“Oh.”
“I’ll also do something about her gleaming hide. We’ve done the sneaking thing before. About the only thing we can’t change is her size.”
“What about the fire breath?”
“Light-shifting spell. Moves all the visible light into another range. Doesn’t do anything about the smoke, though.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?”
“Everything but the creative bits, apparently. I’ve got you for that.”
“So, what do we do until tomorrow night?”
“Language? Or magic?”
“Language,” Mary decided. “I hate not knowing what people are saying.”
So we climbed into her headspace and practiced the art of conversation.
Wednesday, January 28th
Amber reported a lack of T’yl. Tianna did her best, but he wasn’t taking any sort of calls. She called the mountain directly on a mirror—easy enough from inside the city shield. When this failed to get a response, she physically trudged up to the palace area at the top of the mountain and searched for him. No soap. No magician, either.
I started to worry. T’yl wouldn’t simply disappear on me. At least, not if he had any choice in the matter.
After sunset, Mary insisted it was time for a haircut. The toilet kit we brought inclu
ded small scissors, so I held still and let her snip. The haircut went fine, but seemed strange to have someone snipping away at my face. I’ve never been fond of a beard. It’s fuzzy and itchy. Mary opted for a round, full style, rather than the narrow, pointed type. It felt as though I wore a wide neck-blanket.
“There,” she said, finally. “You’re magnificent.”
I picked up a hand mirror and regarded my lack of reflection.
“I’m not seeing it,” I admitted. She made a noise and took the mirror away. I chuckled and added, “I’ll take your word for it.”
“You know, there ought to be a way to see yourself.”
“I can use a scrying spell for that. It’s like using a video camera and monitor. I’ll get around to it.”
We regrouped in front of my new gate. The power level was high enough to keep it running for at least a minute in a mere point-to-point hop. We shouldn’t need more than ten seconds. Ideally, we would never need to use it again, but my ideals keep getting compromised.
Someday, adventurers are going to come to Zirafel again. They’re going to stumble on a magical gateway spell emplaced inside a broken grain silo. They’re going to wonder how it got there and why. They may even scratch their heads and ponder while considering whether or not it’s some sort of trap. After all, who would put a gate spell inside a grain silo? It makes no sense.
Actually, it makes perfect sense. It’s all in the reasons why. But they won’t know that.
We put on our sneaking spells. In addition to a mild Nothing To See Here effect, we went with a collection of spells to lower our noticeability footprint. There were the usual disguise spells for my color and Bronze’s, a secondary reflection damper to eliminate gleams and glints, and a sound damper to keep us quiet. Bronze had a special variant placed on each hoof, specifically tuned to the tone of each one.