Majestrum

by Matthew Hughes

  "Exactly. And brightly done, by the way. Once I am settled again, if you would be interested in apprenticing. . ."

  "I would be very interested."

  "Wait," I said. "How did you know that he would come?"

  "I couldn't explain it to you in any way you would understand," said the blue wizard. "But trust me, I knew."

  "But did you know that your plan would work?"

  He gave the equivalent of a shrug. "No. But I hoped." I felt the presence stir, as if he was rising from a chair in the parlor and preparing to depart. "Well, then," he said.

  "Would you mind," my other self said, "if I used the name, Osk Rievor? I liked how it felt."

  "You are welcome to it, and to much more." And with that, he bid us a brief farewell and departed.

  At his going, the pressure departed and I felt as if I had room to move again -- though not as much room as before. My other self -- or Osk Rievor, as I must now get used to calling him -- was definitely occupying a greater share of our mutual space.

  The place where we stood had drawn in. The last of the stars was going out and I could no longer see the ridge that we had descended to the tower. "Time to go," said Osk Rievor. He worked his fingers as the blue wizard had showed him and said the words that I still could not retain.

  There was no sense of motion. It was as if within the span of one blink I had closed my eyes on the dwindling realm and opened them again on the plain of Barran. My other self, still in possession of our body, slid immediately to the interplanar device that was now humming louder, the vibration palpable through the souls of our feet.

  "What are you doing?" I said, for I found that we still had the key in one hand and he was thrusting it into the receptor slot.

  He did not answer. Meanwhile, our fingers were rapidly pressing certain parts of the gray metal that protruded from the slot. Then we gripped the key's edge and rotated it sharply. From within the mechanism came a loud clack! The humming wound down, faded to a susurration, then whispered itself out of hearing.

  "We should leave here now," Osk Rievor said. "Where is the grinnet?" Aloud, he said, "Integrator, where are you?"

  A ripple appeared in the dust and resolved itself into the top of a small triangular head. A pair of lambent eyes regarded us. "Here," it said. "I saw sting-whiffles, the kind that drink blood, circling overhead."

  "Take us away from here," Osk Rievor said to me. "I must rest and mull what I have learned."

  I retook control of our body and bent to extend a hand to my assistant. It shook itself free of the dust in which it had buried itself then climbed to my shoulder and into the hood. I turned and slid away from the interplanar device, dust pluming behind me as I built up speed. The sting-whiffles reappeared in the afternoon sky but I felt in my pocket and found the weapon.

  "Hurry," said my assistant. "The mechanism is undergoing some drastic change."

  I did not look behind me but redoubled my efforts, my arms swinging and my bent body swaying from side to side as I skated across the near frictionless surface of the crater's floor. I had not gone many more steps before a deep rumble pursued me across the plain. A tremor passed through the dust beneath my feet racing off into the distance. Then the rumbling became a roaring, tearing sound and I did not need my integrator's "Faster!" to make me reach for my best speed.

  Another tremblor rumbled by and beneath me, then an even larger one close behind. The roaring became a thundering, as if a great cataract were at my back. "What is happening?" I asked Osk Rievor, but received in reply only the equivalent of an uninterested shrug.

  The ground shook, dust rising in puffs and transient whirlwinds. I saw the sting-whiffles flying ahead of us, not lazily circling now, but fleeing in a straight line high up in the air. Now the whole plain shuddered and the thunder rolled continuously behind me while I fled like a small creature pursued by glistening fangs.

  And then the sound abruptly faded, as if some impermeable barrier had intervened. I chanced a look behind and saw that the interplanar device was silently shaking and shivering -- and sinking slowly into the surface into which it had been wedged for aeons. The ground convulsed even more violently -- for several moments, my motion forward was like skating over waves -- then the top of the mechanism slid out of sight.

  A last ripple radiated out from the place where Majestrum's engine had been, and as it reached me the ground beneath my feet ceased to be the smooth glass-like substance on which I skated. It became, instead, ordinary hardpan covered in dust, and the rules of our linear, rational realm suddenly reasserted themselves. My sliding foot was immediately reacquainted with friction so that I tumbled and sprawled, my assistant flying with a squawk from my hood to perform a similar maneuver in miniature.

  Bruised, I sat up and looked back at the way we had come. The device was gone, along with all sign of its ever having existed. I swept aside dust and found no interplanar barrier. My assistant limped over to me and said, "I think I am experiencing my first pain."

  "How do you like it?"

  "Not greatly."

  "Then see if you can contact the Archon's volante. There is a restorative in the aid kit."

  The grinnet blinked once then said, "It is on its way."

  "Did you hear that?" I asked Osk Rievor, but heard back only a distracted grunt.

  #

  A few days later, the Archon sent a two-seater cabriol to collect me. In the other seat was Brustram Warhanny. He made no greeting and remained silent as we flew up to land outside Filidor's private study. The scroot remained with the vehicle and I went inside.

  This time two chairs faced each other across the blue-green Agrajani rug. Filidor sat in one and waved me to take the other, dismissing the need for any formalities.

  "So," he said, when I was settled, "that appears to have gone well."

  I sensed Osk Rievor's amusement at the edge of my awareness and sent him a warning to let me conduct this interview. "It ended well," I said aloud.

  "And that is what matters," Filidor said.

  I took assurance from his affable mood and said I would like to ask a question or two. He inclined his head and I said, "You were not completely candid when you came to me with suspicions of a plot within the Archonate apparatus, were you?"

  "I was not."

  "You tore the page from the catalog?"

  "Yes."

  "And the key was not disturbed?"

  "I took it with me for safe keeping. It had no part to play other than to make you think about a key and a lock."

  Now I put a question to which I did not know the answer. "Would you care to reveal how you came to learn about Majestrum's scheme to return to our realm?"

  He put the fingertips of both hands together and flexed the fingers like a spider doing exercises against a mirrored wall, then said, "I would not. Being Archon requires maintaining a certain aura of mystery."

  "All of this is leading up to my main question," I said.

  "Yes," he said. "But before I forget, I would like you to attend a small ceremony in a couple of days."

  "Of course."

  "I'm giving Chalivire Afre a special award for exemplary assistance. I would appreciate it if you would let it be known that she bravely accepted a season of ignominy in order to foil a plot to undermine the Archonate."

  "She will be surprised to learn that about herself," I said.

  "Yet it will be a welcome surprise."

  I made a formal gesture of acceptance of his command, then said, "May I suggest that for refreshments you serve gripple eggs? There's a man on Mandoval -- Ang Porhock -- who makes an exceptional omelet."

  "If you say so." He spoke to Old Confustible and arrangements were made.

  "Now as to my main question --" I began.

  "You wish to know why I enlisted your aid in a matter involving magic, when you are noted for your disdain for the entire concept."

  "Well, yes."

  He steepled his fingers again and assumed a pensive look for a moment. Then
he said, "Archons have to take a longer view, especially when an entire age is about to end and another is in the offing."

  He had not actually answered the question, and I knew enough about Archons to realize that rephrasing the query would not elicit anything from this one. Meanwhile, Osk Rievor was anxious to ask a question of his own. As it turned out, it was exactly the same question that I now wished to put to Filidor.

  There was one crucial difference, however: If Rievor had had control of our voice, Filidor would have heard joy, whereas I could not avoid a note of dread.

  "A longer view?" I said. "Do you mean that you have me in mind for further assignments? Of a similar nature?"

  He gave me one of those bland looks that Archons must surely practice during their apprenticeships and said, "It would be premature to say."

  END