Riddle of the Seven Realms

by Lyndon Hardy

  A sudden wash of reluctance cascaded over his desire. Kestrel and Nimbia—it would not be right. She did not deserve to be deceived in the way that the woodcutter exploited his own kind. And if she did consent, it would be because she thought it was Astron the demon, not a weak-bodied human slave given to hunger, thirst, sleep, and who knew what other tugs and emotions.

  “What is the matter?” Phoebe said. “You feel so stiff, so uncertain.”

  Astron pulled Phoebe tight one final time and sighed. “It is not right,” he said. “Now is not the time.” With an ache in his loins, he then awkwardly disengaged and gently pushed her away.

  “Then when?”

  “After we have reached the origin. After everything has been restored to the way it should be.”

  Phoebe cocked her head to the side but gradually her smile returned. “All right,” she said. “Perhaps the burden of our escape rests a little more firmly on your shoulders than I realized. I should be carrying more of the load, rather than be the weepy prize of the sagas. There will be time enough when we are safe.”

  She turned and groped for her cape. “After our rest, let me take the front position in the engine. You will need your wits, if we encounter a node that is not vacant.”

  Astron heard the sound of a blown kiss and then silence. He looked out into the desert and let his feelings slowly dissolve away. Getting to the origin was of the utmost urgency, he thought, but no more important than reversing the transformation between Kestrel and himself.

  The next moves passed quickly. Phoebe made no further reference to the events of their first rest. As they made steady progress toward their goal, her spirits soared in proportion. Getting more accustomed to the sand engine, they were able to increase the number of nodes traversed in a single move from two to three. As with the first, each one they visited had been unoccupied; evidently the reflectives had all moved elsewhere in their struggle with the rotators. But as they drew closer to the origin, Astron knew, they must finally encounter a challenge and have an explanation that would be believed.

  Toward the end of the sixth move, as they tugged to reach a node only three away from the origin, Astron saw what he had been dreading throughout the trek. The silhouettes of warriors reaching for fresh fruit stood out from the outline of the treetops. Voices mingled with the methodical ticking of rectangular shapes scattered around the oasis. A lookout sounded an alarm and a half-dozen swords were drawn in expectation of their arrival.

  Astron felt his discomfort grow. Despite Kestrel’s explanations, the concept of deception was still unsettling. He would have to sound convincing, using facial muscles he could barely control. And with no experience, he could not judge the inherent credibility of the tale. He knew it was totally false; why would not the others deduce the same? He felt the sweetness of the air course in and out of his lungs, and a slight taste of apprehension not unlike the stirring of the stembrain began to awaken within him.

  “We bring greetings from the chronoids,” Astron shouted as the engine grew close. “An example of our most powerful of devices for you to observe. If the offered price is high enough, you will be able to remove the rotators from scores of nodes.”

  Astron felt his chest tighten while he waited for a response. Involuntarily, his eyes darted from side to side, searching for which way to veer, if they charged, even though Kestrel had told him that one looked straightforward and smiled.

  “I am Jankol, squad leader for the reflectives.” One of the warriors stepped forward from the rest. He was rail-thin, with narrow eyes that pinched together in the middle of his face. “Despite the words of the doomsayers, more devices of our allies we can certainly put to good use—especially since the increase in vigor of the rotator attacks.”

  Jankol paused and puckered his lips. “The signal bolts cannot be wrong, yet it is still hard to believe. First, they captured a node, although substantially outnumbered. Then, with an almost obsessive passion they have massed, not scores, but hundreds to take more nodes from us still. The rumor is that they follow a new leader, but it is hard to see how that could make much of a difference.”

  Jankol paused a second time, looking up and down the engine that Astron and Phoebe had constructed. “A device that looks more primitive than any we previously have seen, to be sure,” he said after a moment. “How can it have such power, if it is from an earlier time?”

  Astron let out his breath. It was just as the human had said! The basic premise was accepted unchallenged. Now if he could only invent quickly enough to fill in the details. With a final surge, he pushed the engine into their midst and called for Phoebe to halt. While his mind raced for an answer, he slowly unbuckled the leather straps of his harness.

  “This engine has the power of immunity to the forces of symmetry,” he said after a moment. “How else could we travel from node to node, totally unaffected by the moves of your struggle with the rotators?”

  “Immunity?” Jankol said. “How can that help? The other devices you have given intensify the force, rather than decrease it. Why, with some we can even force exchanges of body or mind.” He waved his hand at the pond. “That is what we amass here—in preparation for the great battle to blunt the drive of the rotators.”

  Astron looked quickly around the node. The equipment of the reflectives was configured in much the same way as the first that Phoebe and he had encountered alone. This one was fully occupied with over a score of warriors, however, and not one, but three timepieces were sitting at the edge of the pond.

  “Over forty nodes can you clear with what we have brought,” Astron said. “Does it really matter how? The important point is the price. What have you given in exchange for the devices you have collected here?”

  Jankol’s lips puckered for a moment and he rubbed his chin. “Why, the price is the same for each one. It was fixed by the first. You would know that from your past, if you come afterward.” He stopped and looked for a long time at the lashed-together engine. “You must be from a more primitive time indeed, but then how could the first have been the beginning of all the rest.”

  Astron felt the tug of muscles that were not there, but his nose wrinkled slightly, even with the human equipment. He did not understand what Jankol was saying and no one had as yet sheathed his sword. A false step would be disastrous. “Yes, a more primitive time,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you had better tell us what has happened since.”

  Jankol shrugged. “As you know, your realm is a series of nodes, just as ours. But rather than being laid out in space, somehow they are points in time. The forces of symmetry compel each one to repeat the events that have occurred on the one downstream. The first node to establish contact explained that periodically others would follow; the transaction would be the same.

  “But if you are from an earlier time and this is the first contact, what we call the first would have known of it. It would be in their history, unless—”

  Jankol trailed off and his eyes took on a faraway look. “Unless the inhabitants of your node are far more successful than any that have preceded you. It would portend that your power is great indeed. Yes, yes, we will trade for your engine, the same as we have given for the rest. If it can do as you say, we will not have to consult with the other nodes. Six volunteers who will transfer to your realm and join in your own struggles.”

  “Six?” Astron asked cautiously. Kestrel had taught to say little while uncertain and ask questions whenever possible. There was less risk of exposure that way.

  “Why yes, six,” Jankol said. “As I have stated. It was the agreement of the first node with which we made contact.”

  “This device is more powerful,” Astron said.

  “Perhaps in your own realm,” the leader replied. “But with the others, I expect it will work imperfectly here. After all, you build them to force the swapping of future and past in your own domain, and, when transported here the effects are somehow warped. It is as if there were some additional outside interference that makes t
hem behave in ways totally unexpected. There is no guarantee that it will provide any greater advantage over what we already have.”

  The logic in Astron’s mind whirled. Kestrel probably would conclude that Jankol was pressing to close a deal. That would indicate that the transfer of six between the realms was too cheap a price. For something that could indeed influence scores of nodes, he could get more. But then this was exactly the situation that the woodcutter tried to maneuver into. Perhaps the inhabitants of the realm of reticulates were not so very different from men, after all.

  “What I really desire is transport to the origin,” Astron said, “but I suppose that the price for that is too dear. I understand that the rotators are the ones who occupy it and it would cost you much to seize it.”

  “The rotators in possession of the origin? That was some time ago and—” Jankol stopped and rubbed his chin. “Such a trip would be costly indeed,” he said after a moment, “much more than the device you bring, despite its claim. There is no way we could exchange six and transport you there as well.”

  “The device is all that I have,” Astron said. “Take us to the origin and for that I will explain its many virtues so that you can use it as well. Then I am sure you will agree to exchanging a dozen rather than six.”

  Jankol puckered his lips. “An explanation after the journey but before the exchange,” he repeated. His eyes darted quickly to the other reflectives, as if in warning, and no one spoke. “Once we are in possession of the power, then, in good faith, we will decide what the additional payment will be. Yes, yes, I think the reflectives can agree to that. Of our good faith you can be assured.”

  Astron felt some of the tension dissolve, but not all. He wished he could be more sure, but it seemed to follow the pattern that Kestrel had explained. Now if he could only get Phoebe’s flame started before the reflectives discovered that their duplicity was the lesser of the two.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Coalescence of Space and Time

  ASTRON had waited anxiously while the reflectives signalled from one node to the next that they were coming. Jankol could not quite believe that he could travel with Astron and Phoebe in their engine without worrying about the forces of symmetry. The time to the next move had been half spent before they finally were on their way, pushing the engine in the sand with Jankol and two of his lieutenants harnessed in the very rear.

  Astron had hoped that, with the additional muscle, their rate of speed would improve, but the warriors were unused to much walking and the pace was hardly more than he and Phoebe had managed alone.

  “Kestrel, I still do not understand the point of the rush,” Astron heard Phoebe gasp beside him as they approached the node one away from the origin. “As I have said, without Nimbia or the services of some other wizard, it is futile to press as hard as we have done. And even if we get to where you seek, Jankol and the others will—will expect what you have promised.”

  “We will face the events one at a time.” Astron glanced to the side between breaths. “Do not waste your energy with idle words. Concentrate only on our objective.”

  Astron heard the confidence in his voice as if someone else were speaking. His demon’s mind knew the truth of what Phoebe said, but somehow his body would not admit it. Instead it seemed totally caught up in pushing onward toward his goal. His mouth was dry. His muscles ached from the strain. Irritating pains occasionally shot from his shoulder where the leather had begun to dig into the soft, unscaled skin. Even the weight of the rucksack containing the harebell pollen had become a heavy burden. Yet there was no other choice but to continue. To stop would be to surrender to the despair of the stembrain or whatever humans had in its place. To be marooned forever was a very long time for a demon.

  “The chronoid with the long hair is correct.” Jankol suddenly stopped pushing against his harness. “The next move is about to take place. We can rest here comfortably until it is over and then resume travel when we are refreshed.”

  “What about the rotators?” Astron said. “Had we not better circle around this oasis and continue?”

  “But we are indeed fortunate,” Jankol said. “Our own brethren now occupy this one and—perhaps several more as well. There is no reason why we will not be welcome.”

  Astron started to reply when he heard a deep vibrant gong from the direction of the oasis. He felt a tingling in his feet. The ground started to vibrate at a frequency just below his hearing. His nose wrinkled. A flick of motion from the oasis caught his eye. The trees had begun to oscillate. In slow unison, they swayed from side to side. Then the water from the pond sloshed outward to bathe the roots on one side. A great wave of sand, like a ripple in a blanket, seemed to race toward him with breath-catching speed.

  The tremor passed under Astron with a mild shifting of his support. He felt his thoughts turn sluggish and difficult to understand. He heard the reflectives call out to the oasis, but their voices had become twisted, sputtering sounds that he barely recognized.

  Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the tremor in the ground stopped. The distant rumbling died away. Astron’s head cleared and he was able to think.

  “We should not wait until the origin,” Jankol said. “My comrades at the oasis say that they prepare for a massive attack. If we are to use your device, it will be here and now. Evidently the rotators press too forcefully; we must employ everything that we can.”

  Astron’s nose wrinkled. He tried to capture the subtle flavor of his disorientation, but with each passing heart beat it faded farther and farther away. He looked back at the oasis and the large clock that was ticking at the water’s edge. He saw the warriors there testing the sharpness of their swords, some of them still stretching and arching their backs. Despite the striking clock and trembling ground, they had just barely aroused from their sleep.

  Rotarians and reflectives—the two sides were not so very different, he thought. Without prior knowledge, he would be hard put to tell them apart. Images of the ritualistic regimen swept into his mind—plan, eat, sleep, and move; scanning parchment maps of the polytopes, mixing water and pulpy juice, carefully planning non-symmetric sleeping positions around the oasis—

  Astron stopped short and looked at the clock striker as it cocked for another stroke. The vision of the swirling juice and water stuck in his thoughts. “Perhaps it is not so wise,” he said quickly to Jankol. “All of the interchange with the realm of the chronoids—what happens when you have shifted so much that there is little to tell their universe from yours?”

  “We have a bargain.” Jankol ignored the question. “Your device is to aid along with all the rest.”

  Astron started to say more when the gong sounded a second time. Again he saw the treetops start to sway back and forth. The water in the pond spewed from its banks in a foamy spray. A wave of sand much higher than before pulsed away from its creation.

  “Brace yourself!” Astron yelled as he was suddenly thrown from his feet. With a wrenching groan, the long beams of the engine snapped their leather bindings and he tumbled to the ground. Gears ripped from their lashings; tins of flour dropped to the sands, exploding their contents in sprays of deep orange. As if he had been struck by lightning from the realm of men, Astron heard a painful clap of thunder that filled the air and reverberated into a distant rumble that left him dazed. The sky seemed to shimmer for a moment with thin lines of iridescence arching from horizon to horizon.

  Astron breathed the sweet taste of air deeply and shook his head from side to side. As the sky began to return to its former steady brightness, he saw Jankol and his lieutenants, completely unfettered, trying to lash the engine back to the way it had been.

  “No, no more use of devices of the chronoids.” Astron’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth. “Stop them all. Wait until we understand better what the consequences truly are.”

  Jankol stopped his mending. He puckered his lips and looked at Astron through squinted eyes. “What you say is most strange. On one hand, you spe
ak of the virtues of a device from another realm; on the other you entreat instead that such engines not be used. It is a behavior somewhat inconsistent for one truly from beyond the flame.”

  Astron felt a sudden stab of panic. “No, there is no inconsistency,” he answered quickly. “You see it is merely a matter of, a matter of—” He tried to look Jankol squarely in the eye but when the words would not come, he turned his face aside. Scowling, he wished for Kestrel’s quickness of thought.

  Jankol waited a moment more, then drew his sword. He motioned for his lieutenants to fall in line beside him. “I should have trusted my first instincts,” he said. “What is the truth, strange one? Tell me why you and the long hair look so different from the rest we have seen.”

  Astron looked quickly to his side at Phoebe slowly regaining her footing. Awkwardly he drew Kestrel’s heavy sword and pointed it at the three who advanced at him with synchronized steps. He felt his chest tighten and the air come in short gulps.

  But before Jankol and the others could engage, Astron saw one of the lieutenants falter and then fall out of step. The eyes of the reflective widened and he waved his sword arm in an exaggerated flourish off to the side. Jankol stopped uncertainly and then squinted all the more in Astron’s direction. “Your device still seems to disrupt the symmetries,” he said. “We cannot engage you as one. It feels so very uncertain which are the correct steps to take.” He darted his eyes back to the oasis and then at a large blur moving in quickly over the horizon.

  “First the battle.” He waved his own sword in Astron’s direction. “After the victory, I will return with others, dozens if need be, so that we will overwhelm you despite the tricks that you play.”