by Jean Johnson
Marton narrowed his hazel eyes. “How much of an impact? Fortune’s Empire relies heavily on our intact Portals for cross-kingdom commerce and travel.”
Serina winced, clearly not happy with having to answer that question. “It’ll cut their reach in half at best . . . on a really good aether day.”
Both Fortunai Guardians, Marton and Suela, spat out near-identical, manure-based epithets, then started arguing about how this was not going to be well received by their governments, and how . . .
“Enough!” Alonnen’s demand cut through their mounting tirades. “You are Guardians, and you are comparing the piddling problem of putting up with the inconvenience of having to take twice as many luxurious Portals—which the rest of us would have killed to have access to, particularly my people in order to escape being drained to death—you are comparing all of that, to the destruction of this world. Either step up to the prices and the pains of your responsibilities, or step down from your Guardianships!”
“. . . Thank you for that rather blunt and tactless piece of truth,” Kerric said dryly in the silence that followed Alonnen’s shout. “But as it is the truth, we shall take it as a given that this is our responsibility, however much our various governments and our neighbors will complain about it. You may find your single, if vast, empire inconvenienced, Guardian Suela, Guardian Marton . . . but the reach of my Fountain covers fourteen kingdoms, five of which rely heavily upon mirror-Gate travel, and nine more of which rely modestly upon it. Gate travel which may also be affected, though at a lesser rate than the great Portals will be.”
“Most of us are not accustomed to having those Portals, and so it will be a miniscule inconvenience for us to have that inability continue for a little while longer,” Guardian Tuassan stated, his dark brow furrowed into a pointed look. “If you need something to say to your nation’s people, Guardian Suela, then remind them it will be good for your nation’s character to suffer a little in the name of helping save the entire world.”
“Actually, I was going to suggest blaming me,” Queen Kelly offered, raising her hand. “After all I, above and beyond all the rest of you, will suffer far more, because having these inter-dimensional Portals sealed by these spells means I will not be able to reach, contact, or even see the world where I was born. Yet I do grasp the absolute necessity of this. If we can use these vibration resonances to disrupt all cross-dimensional Portals, including to the Netherhells, then there is no way for these demons to invade. Problem solved.”
“Not exactly, Kelly,” Dominor told his queen. “As Guardian Tipa’thia pointed out, it’s only a temporary solution. The aether will only be disrupted for about two years. But it will give us time to hunt down the would-be summoners and prevent them from ever trying again . . . one way or another.”
Alonnen saw Ilaiea inhale and had the feeling from the arrogant look on her face that she was going to try to dump that responsibility strictly upon his lap. He spoke quickly, beating her to it. “As we know from the various prophecies involved, the ex-priests here in ex-Mekhana—which we’re going to start calling Guildara—the ex-priests will probably flee this region once the aether-disrupting spells have been applied, and they have come to realize they cannot summon demons here. From my point of view, that is a very good thing.”
“A good thing?” Ilaiea argued.
“Yes, a good thing,” Guardian Saleria stated, quelling the older woman’s outburst. Once she had Ilaiea’s attention, the blonde Katani priestess looked like she was trying to meet the gaze of every other Guardian as well in the scrycasting link. “The Gods are constrained from intervening directly and have been ever since we evolved from animals into thinking beings. We have free will; therefore, we are responsible for doing whatever we can to alleviate the trials and troubles we must face. The Gods cannot wave a hand over every last one of our problems.
“Some of them, yes—and I am deeply grateful Holy Kata and Holy Jinga saw fit to smooth over most of the problems plaguing Their Sacred Marital Grove here in Katan, which I guard . . . but They did not fix everything, and the other Gods and Goddesses will not fix everything for us. They may not even have that much power to spare. In the last two weeks,” Saleria continued, pointing off to her side, “I have met priests and Gods from kingdoms that have held less than a hundred thousand people for their worship base, and thus their prayer-power base.
“There are very, very few kingdoms and empires that have millions of worshippers to support the miracles of their Patrons. But our many Patrons can give us clues as to how to fix these problems ourselves via the words They give Their Seers to pass along to us . . . and I, for one, am grateful for even the littlest piece of help They can give in the face of power constraints, free will, and what other problems there may be out there.”
Alonnen liked her, too. And I think I know why, he realized, as Suela grudgingly asked Serina another question on the effects of the proposed Portal-disrupting spell. Since his people didn’t use such things, and weren’t going to complain about their lack, the answers were of no use to him. There’s something of that same . . . how to define it . . .
Certainty of purpose, that’s it. The same certainty of purpose with which Rexei speaks of her concept of Guildra. Only in Guardian Saleria, it’s much more mature and refined. There were some priests after all, he realized, that he did like and trust. Not just Rexei, but this woman as well. Not because she was a Guardian, though that had gained his trust initially, but rather, because she was a priestess. A true holy servant. Now if only our kingdom had known such goodness in its priests . . .
A silly thought, he dismissed. We wouldn’t be suffering what we’re suffering now, if it weren’t for the selfish bastards we did end up having to deal with . . . and not even the Threefold God can turn back the clockworks of the universe itself just to rewrite the mistakes of the past.
“. . . Right, then. Back onto the topic of carrying this project through,” Kerric directed the others. “We acknowledge that the people of . . . the region overseen by Guardian Alonnen are not equipped or trained to completely eradicate on their own the problem of demonic summoning as foreseen by forescrying mirror and Seer-based prophecies. We acknowledge that prophecy does indicate there is a way to eventually stop these people, and that we should seek to send them out of Mekhana’s former borders, into territories that do have the necessary resources to whittle down their numbers. And we acknowledge—however much it may inconvenience everybody—that we do have a means of forcing that escape into more favorable lands and of buying all of us more time to find a better solution to this worldwide problem. Is everyone in agreement on these points, even with all the problems that still remain?”
Most of the Guardians nodded firmly. A couple—Ilaiea and Keleseth—rolled their eyes, plus an impatient look of “get on with it” came from Guardian Daemon, who looked sleepy, but it was enough for Kerric to continue.
“Very well, then. The spells have been carefully learned by Priestess Orana Niel, Pelai of Mendhi, and Morganen of Nightfall. Orana has business in former Mekhana, and Pelai is the foremost authority on the new spell, aside from Guardian Serina,” Kerric said, “but as Serina is a new mother, we are not going to ask her to travel everywhere. Morganen may be newly wed, but with his wife’s permission, he has agreed to journey in Serina’s place. He will do so via the Fountainways to Guardian Shon Tastra in Darkhana, where he will begin instructing various Witches in how to cast aether-disruption spells.”
The blue-and-black-robed Guardian bowed his head, acknowledging the plan being outlined. “We look forward to hosting him and will be happy to allow him to travel back and forth in this manner. It will be much more pleasant by comparison than the other method we Witches have at our disposal.”
Kerric nodded, continuing. “Many of the Darkhanan Witches are still scattered around the globe in their efforts to assist in ensuring enough priests from all the Gods and Goddesses showed up at
the Convocation, but they have some means of reaching each other and teaching each other despite the vast distances involved and the lack of easy mirror-based communications. Priestess Orana would normally be involved in this matter, but she tells me she has been pledged for centuries to return to ex-Mekhana to speak with its citizens on the matter of the dissolution of their ex–Patron God. She will travel to your location, Guardian Alonnen, as will Guardian Apprentice Pelai.”
Alonnen wrinkled his long nose but dipped his head. “It normally would be against my Guardianship policy to allow anyone to use the Vortex Fountainway in such a manner, but . . . I will trust Guardian Tipa’thia’s judgment of her apprentice.”
The younger tattoo-covered woman lifted her brow. “You have no objection over this Darkhanan Witch traveling to the seat of your Guardianship, but you have one for me? Neither of us is a Guardian. Yet.”
“Nothing personal, Apprentice Pelai,” Alonnen said wryly, “but we of ex-Mekhana have known for generations of Knight-Priestess Orana Niel’s many efforts to free us from Mekha’s enslavement. We will need to spend at least a little time getting to know you to develop a solid level of trust . . . but it will happen in due time.”
She tilted her head, acknowledging his point.
“Once they have instructed enough of the mages in Guardian Alonnen’s region to set up the anti-Portal resonances, and he has tied them into the singularity he guards, Apprentice Pelai and Witch Ora will disperse to other locations to instruct others. Pelai will do so via the Fountainways, while Orana will use . . . whatever methods Darkhanans use,” Kerric hedged. It was clear he didn’t understand what those methods were but equally clear he was willing to trust her competency in using them. “This will add to the instructions being offered by Morganen of Nightfall and increase the spread of the effects.”
“Keep in mind that this set of spells can only be applied once every decade,” Tipa’thia asserted, her voice a little unsteady from age, but her gaze as sharp and level as her apprentice’s. “To apply it a second time before the aether has healed and recovered would be to risk tearing open the Veil in uncontrolled rifts.”
“I can vouch for that not being a good idea,” Guardian Saleria interjected. “You don’t want to know the damage that can be wrought by having three rifts in one location spewing unchecked, uncontrolled magic into the world. I’m dealing with constrained rifts, and they’re bad enough.”
“Quite,” Kerric agreed. “We will begin by setting the first spell with the power of Guardian Alonnen’s singularity. By Serina’s calculations, that should blanket all of Mekhana, a fifth of Arbra along its eastern border, the western half of Aurul, a tenth of northern Sundara—it’s a long country—the northeastern third of Haida, and some of the kingdoms to the northeast whose names I forget. From that point, every Guardian and mage involved will then examine their local aether and apply their own version so that it matches up to the edges of the previous applications but does not overlap.”
“What of the oceans?” Guardian Sheren asked, speaking up for the first time this session. Alonnen recalled she was the Guardian of Menomon, which apparently was an underwater kingdom. “We can only cover so much, Migel and me.”
Serina addressed her question. “There is no Portal which can be erected on a ship at sea; mirror-based Gates, yes, but not any grand Portals. The deck of a ship moves far too much and is far too distant from a solid chunk of ground—as in, a chunk of the planet we all live upon—for a Portal to be successfully opened. We need only cover the islands with civilized presences upon them.”
“But what if they pick some uninhabited island somewhere in the middle of an ocean?” Ilaiea asked.
The question visibly worried the rest, furrowing brows and turning down mouths. Alonnen, however, thought he had a pretty sound counterpoint. “Guardian Ilaiea has a good question, but I know these priests. They are a very spoiled lot. As much as the Aian mage Torven might try to convince them otherwise, and as much as we will strive to end their ambitions one way or another, they will not be easily swayed into going to an isolated, uninhabited island with zero buildings, services, shops, supplies, and other trappings of civilized life. They will instead try to seek out a city or a well-managed kingdom, or even a remote but wealthy nobleman’s estate—these are men used to taking whatever they want of the finest things in Mekhanan life, not laboriously creating it from scratch.”
“We’ll try our best to keep an eye on where they go and what they try to do,” Kerric promised him. Or rather the others, for he added, “Just in case. Now, since this does have a bit of a priority on it, when will you ladies, and you sir, be ready to travel?”
The ash-blond man in the crowded mirror-window shrugged. “I can be packed within just a few hours.”
Pelai smirked. “I already packed a couple bags in anticipation.”
Orana Niel arched one brow, then stated serenely, topping both of them, “I am a Witch of Darkhana. My bags are always packed . . . and kept in the Dark.”
Did she mean . . . ? Isn’t the Dark the place where ghosts roam on their way to the Afterlife? Alonnen shivered at that thought. He’d heard rumors of her being able to magically summon or dismiss items from plain sight via that black-lined sleeved cloak of hers, and the thought of those things going into and coming out of the place where only the dead dared tread unnerved him. He trusted her—nothing about that had changed—but he wasn’t about to be her, if he could help it.
Clearing his throat, he spoke up. “Well. If you ladies are ready to travel, then I shall need just a few minutes to set my Fountainways to accept and catch you gently upon your arrival.”
“I’ll need two minutes to pick up my bags,” Pelai agreed. “But then I’ll be ready to go.”
“I’ll let Guardians Dominor and Tipa’thia know when I’m ready to receive you,” Alonnen agreed.
“Orana will have with her a set of Artifacts to gauge the effectiveness of the disruption spells,” Serina told him. “If you could set up a feedback sub-channel through your Fountainways to Koral-tai so that I can monitor everything, I’ll be able to run calculations on exactly how much the disruptions will affect local Gates and regional Portals, and whether or not there’s a risk of overlap tearing the Veil. Hopefully there shouldn’t be, but monitoring will be a good safety net.”
“I’ll do my best,” Alonnen said. Silently, he promised himself to contact Guardian Kerric privately for a lesson as soon as discreetly possible, since he was fairly sure the Master of Scrycasting would know how to do just that.
As irritating as Ilaiea’s contempt was, Alonnen knew very well how little he and his fellow ex-Mekhanan mages knew, and he could admit it to himself, even if he didn’t like his long nose rubbed in it. Admitting his ignorance was an irritation, but it was at least one he could do something about. Eventually. In his copious spare time, of course.
• • •
Her bottom ached. Not much, but there was definitely a sense of tenderness in that area. A certain lingering awareness of what she and Alonnen had done.
There had been ribald jokes about that, too, throughout her youth—jokes of cog-stars being widened, of “boring the hole wider,” and more. Sore-bottom jokes, tender-bottom jokes . . .
Rexei hadn’t realized just how many butt jokes she had absorbed in her guise as a young man over the years, but seated on one of the unpadded chairs in the Heiastowne Consulate Hall, she was recalling them now. Feeling them, too, every time she shifted the wrong way.
It was a good ache, though. It made her smile at random moments, even when it made her feel like wincing a little. She kept both the smiles and the flinches to a minimum. Instead of chatting with her brother, or even instructing her apprentices, Rexei had found herself corralled within minutes of entering the Consulate for a long discussion with a wide selection of townsfolk on the nature of Guildra, Patron Goddess of Guilds.
The astonishing
thing was how they came to her to actually learn, not to rail against or deny or demand a completely different Patron concept. The more she talked with the men and the women, the elderly and the teenagers who wanted to understand, the more Rexei realized she had picked the right Goddess for her people. The guilds were something they intimately understood.
The Guild System was a concept every ex-Mekhanan could grasp. A Goddess of Guilds, patient, educated, disciplined, encouraging . . . these were characteristics utterly unlike the last God. That was the reason why her fellow citizens came to her in the dead of winter; they wanted reassurance that Guildra was indeed real and that She was going to be their new Patron . . . exactly as they wanted Her to be.
This was a gratifying and very humbling realization, on Rexei’s part.
Her apprentices listened in, too, and spoke when she gestured for them to add to the conversation. Master Jorro, a fellow Gearman, was even able to speak for her when her voice started to grow rough around the edges from so much talking. When she realized he was indeed thinking along very similar lines, Rexei paused the conversation long enough to promote him to the rank of journeyman of the Holy Guild. She still didn’t have any guild medallions just yet, but she knew the Mintners Guild was working on it for her, since she didn’t have time to gather tools and start the work herself—there was so much to do, she just didn’t know when she would fit it all in.
One bite at a time, she thought as lunch drew near and her stomach nudged her sense of time in pre-hunger warning. Speaking of which . . .
“Okay, people,” she told the crowd of roughly two hundred gathered into the meeting hall, with herself and her apprentices occupying the center of the curved head table—which felt a bit weird with just the four of them up there. “As much as we could continue to expound and expand upon the nature of Guildra, it is almost time for luncheon . . . and every Guild charter I know of demands the right to a luncheon hour for its members. Mine shall be no exception.”