Blue Magic

SEY NO KRISE SEY NO KORON

Lines of light webbed around the sled, closing on it. They were caught like fish in a tightening purse seine…

SEY NO KATALAM SEY NO PALAPSAM EKHO EKHO PALAPSAM

Dan shuddered under the power of that chant. Amortis and BinYAHtii and Settsimaksimin plaited like a gilded braid, their unstable meld building to a climax that was terrifyingly close. For a moment he sat passive, helpless, Ahzurdan exhausted riding up hill to the Chained God and the trap inside the ship…

SEY NO EKHO SEY SEEY UUHHH EY NO NO NO…

The water elementals flowed up the dais, pressed around Maksim and the Fire, not quite touching either, disturbing him so much it broke into the drive of the chant. Didn’t stop it, but the chant faltered and some of the power went out of it. BinYAHtii’s dull red glow flickered.

A smallish dark figure strolled up the burning air, moved easily and untouched through the ring of water, the shell of fire and stepped onto the half-melted chair arm. Thngjii balanced there a moment, then rested hisser hand on Maksim’s arm near the wrist, that was all, then heesh was somewhere else.

Settsimaksimin’s body jolted, his voice broke; he gave a small aborted cry, crumpled, tumbling off the chair and down the stairs to land sprawled on his face on the floor.

Ball lightning and jagged firelines snapped across and across the Dome Chamber, rebounding from the walls, bouncing from the floor and ceiling as Maksim’s stored magic disrharged from stone and air and his tormented flesh, squeezed its tangible elements into hot threads that braided themselves in a rising rope of fire that went rushing up and up, bursting through the dome, shattering it into shards which fell like glass knives onto the stone, glancing off the shield Dan kept in place about the sled until the worst of the storm was past. Amortis solidified into her thirty meter female form, looking wildly about and fled after the fleeing remnants of Maksim’s magic.

17. The End Of The End.

SCENE: Maksim sprawled on the floor, dead or dying. The changers stood beside him, once more in their bipedal forms. The table settled to the floor. Brann and Danny Blue, bruised, battered, weary, climbed off it and started around the ruined dais.

Danny Blue stood beside the crumpled body. “Looks like his heart quit on him. Old Tungjii found his crack.”

Brann frowned, disturbed as much by the dispassionate dismissing tone of those words as by the words themselves. She touched Maksim’s hand with her toe, feeling manipulated and not liking it very much. She’d helped destroy a man she might have liked a lot if things were other than they were. Before the eidolon appeared (a hollow image, yet with enough of his personality in it to intrigue her) she’d known him mostly through Ahzurdan’s comments, yes, and his attacks on her, which seemed to give her no choice; if she wanted to live she had to stop him, but the rise of the landfolk had shaken her badly. Abandoning a harvest only half-gathered with the winter hunger that might mean? leaving their houses open to plunder, their stock handy for the nearest light-finger? doing it to protect one man, the man that ruled them? In all of her travels, in all of her reading, she’d never heard of a king (not even the generally mild and intelligent kings of her home island Croaldhu), emperor, protector of the realm, whatever the ruler called himself, whose peasantry volunteered (volunteered!)

their bodies and their blood to keep him from harm. Nobles certainly, they had a powerful interest in who sat the local throne. Knights and their like, for gold, for the blood in it, for what they called their honor (being a true son of Phras, Chandro boasted hundreds of those stories about this one and that one among his ancestors and she’d heard them all). Armies had fought legendary battles but not for love of their leaders; they had their pay, their rights to plunder, their friends fighting beside them and the headsman’s axe waiting for the losers. Peasants though! What peasants got from a war was hunger and harder work, ruined crops, dead stock, burnt houses while their landlords refilled war-starved coffers out of peasant sweat and peasant hide. She frowned down at Maksim, caught her breath as the fingers by her foot moved a little. She dropped to her knees beside him. “Dan, help me turn him over.”

_“w_hy?,

“Because I damn well refuse to be some miserable meeching god’s pet executioner. If you don’t want to help, get out of the way.”

He shrugged. “It’s your game, Bramble. You take his feet, I’ll get his shoulders.”

When Maksim was on his back, the velvet and linen robes smoothed about him, Brann eased BinYAHtii’s gold chain over his head and tried to lift the talisman away without touching the stone; this close, it seemed to radiate danger. It rocked a little but wouldn’t come free. She laid the chain on his chest, the heavy links clunking with oily opulence; she looked at them with distaste, then used both hands on the broad gold frame fitted around the stone, pulling as hard as she could. The pendant lifted away from his chest with a sucking sound, a smell of burned meat. She swallowed, swallowed again as her stomach threatened to rebel, thew the thing away, not caring where or how it landed. “Yaril,” she said, “take a look inside, will you? I think I’d better not try this blind.”

“Gotcha, Bramble, just a sec.”

Yaril shifted form and flowed into the body, flowed out a moment later. She didn’t bother talking, she leaned against Brann’s side, transferred images to her that

Brann used as she bent over Maksim, planted her hands on his chest and worked to repair the extensive damage inside and out, heart, arteries, brain, every weakness, every lesion, tumor, sign of disease, everything Yaril had seen and passed on to her.

Dan watched her for a while until he grew bored with the tableau whose only change was the slow shifting of Brann’s eyes. He strolled around behind the wreck of the dais, brought the table back, parked it close to Brann’s feet, looked around for something else to kill some time. Jaril was pacing lazily about, sniffing at things, a huge brindle mastiff. Yaril was glued to Brann and didn’t seem likely to move from her. The clouds must have begun breaking up outside because a ray of light came through the jagged hole in the dome and stabbed down at the floor, the edge of it catching the pendant, waking a few glitters in it. He walked across to it and stood looking down at it. The thing made him nervous. That was what the Chained God sent him to fetch, good dog that he was. He didn’t want to touch it, but the compulsion rose in him until he was choking. Furious and helpless, he bent down, took hold of the chain and stood with the pendant dangling at arm’s length. He looked at it, ran the tip of his tongue over dry lips, remembering all too clearly the hole burned in Malcsim’s chest.

There was a subdued humming, the air seemed to harden about him, the chamber got suddenly dark. “OHHHH…

… SHIIIT!” He stumbled, went to his knees before the control panel in the starship, caught his balance and bounded to his feet. His arm jerked out and up, the talisman was snatched away, the chain nearly breaking two of his fingers. BinYAHtii hung a moment in midair, then it vanished, taken somewhere inside the god. And I hope it gives you what it gave Maksim, he muttered under his breath. “Send me back,” he said aloud. “You don’t need me any more.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” The multiple echoing voice was bland and guileless as a cat with cream on its whiskers. “No, indeed.”

Dan opened his mouth to yell a protest, a demand, something, was snapped to the room where he had lived with Brans and the others. He was conscious just long enough to realize where he was, then the god dumped him on the bed and put him to sleep.

Bran sat on her heels, sighed with weariness. “Done,” she said, “He’ll be under for a while longer.” She rubbed at her back, looked around. “Where’s Dan?”

hut came trotting over, shifted. “He picked up BinYAHtii and something snatched him. If I guessed, I’d say the Chained God got him. The god really wanted that thing.”

“Looks like it didn’t want us.”

“Luck maybe. Old Tungjii wiggling his thumbs in our favor for once. Say the god couldn’t grab us all, we were too scattered.”

“Hmm. If it’s luck, let’s not push it.” She got to her feet. “What about the table? Will it fly again?”

“Sure. Where do you want it to go?”

“Give me your hand.” She closed her fingers around his, said silently, *Myk’tat Tukery. Jal Virri. Not much can get at us there.* Aloud, she said, “Help me load Maksim on the sled.”

“That’s like bedding down with an angry viper, Bramble. Leave him here, let him deal with the mess he made for himself. It’s not your mess. When he wakes, he’s going to be mad enough to eat nails. Eat you.”

“So we keep him sleeping until we go to ground and have some maneuvering room. I mean to do this, Jay.”

“Ayy, you’re stubborn, Bramble. All right all right, Yaro, give us a hand here.” He scowled at the table. “Hadn’t we better pick up_, those quilts and pillows we dumped outside? The sky’s clearing, but it’ll be chilly when you hit the higher air.”

Brann smiled at him. “Good thought, Jay. There are people living here, a few anyway, that gardener for one. See if you can find some food, I’m starved and I’ll need supplies for the trip; going by how long it took us to reach here from the farm, it’ll be eight to ten days before we get umm home.”

The changers darted about the island collecting food, wine and water skins, whatever else they thought Brann might need, then they helped her muscle the deeply sleeping sorceror onto the table. They settled him with his head on a pillow, a comforter wrapped about him, tucked the provisions around him and stood back looking at their work.

Brann shivered. “I’ve got an iceknot in my stomach that says it’s time to be somewhere else.” She swung round a table leg, settled herself in a nest of comforters and pillows; tongue caught between her teeth, she ran the sequence that activated the lift field, gave a little grunt of relief and satisfaction when the sled rose off the floor, moving easily, showing no sign of strain (she’d been a bit worried about the weight of the load). When it was about a yard off the floor, she stopped the rise and started the sled moving forward. She eased it through the arch, wound with some care through the great pillars beyond, starting nervously whenever she heard the stone complain.

Outside, the gray was gone from the sky, the bay water was choppy and showing whitecaps, glittering like broken sapphire in the brilliant sunlight. She took the sled high and sent it racing toward the southeast where the thousand islands of the Myk’tat Tukery lay. Behind her, the massive temple groaned, shuddered, collapsed into rubble with a thunderous reverberant rattle; part of it fell off the island into the sea. Brann shivered, sighed. She stretched over, touched the face of the man beside her, wishing she could wake him and talk to him. She didn’t dare. She sighed again. It was going to be a long dull trip.

18. Knotting Off

Kori.

The School at Sinn.

Kori glared at the flame on the floating wick, trying to narrow her focus until she saw it and only it, until she heard nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing but that erratically flickering flame. The small room was dark and quiet, no sounds from outside to distract her, but she felt the stone through the flimsy robe Shahntien Shere had given her, she heard every scrape her feet made when she had to move or suffer torments of itching, she felt the chill draft that curled round her body and shivered the flame. It seemed to her she was getting worse not better as she struggled to learn the focus her teachers demanded. Talent! He was dreaming, that man. She had no talent, nothing. She scratched an itch on a buttock and began running through the disciplines for the millionth time…

Something watching her. The small hairs stirred along her spine, her mouth went dry. She fought to keep her eyes on the flame but couldn’t, she jumped to her feet, turning with the movement so she faced the open arch.

Shahntien Shere stood there, eyes narrowed, fury rolling off her like steam. “Maksim’s dead or destroyed,” she said softly. “Your doing.” She smiled. “He set a geas on me to teach you, it doesn’t stop me making you one sorry little bitch. Contemplate that a while, then do me a favor and try leaving.” A last glare, then she whipped around and stalked off.

Drinker of Souls, Kori thought, she did it. She sighed.

Nothing had turned out the way she planned. Ten years, she thought, I’m safe for ten years, but after that I’d better be a long, long, way from here. She dropped to her knees and began going through the disciplines again, contemplating the flame with grim determination; she had to learn everything and be better at it than anyone else before her. Maksim said she had talent, talent didn’t count if you couldn’t use it. Ten years…

Trego.

The Cave of the Chained God

Sealed into the block of crystal, the boy slept. Now and then he dreamed. Mostly he waited unknowing in the midst of nothingness.

Danny Blue.

The Pocket Universe.

The stranded starship.

After an interval whose length_. Dan never knew, he was allowed to wake because the god wanted someone to talk to. The god couldn’t leave the pocket universe, he/it knew that now and it was Dan who told him/it. He/it couldn’t change that verdict without dying, but he/ it could punish the messenger who brought the bad news. And Dan could be converted easily enough into a blood and bone remote who could do things the god wanted done in that other universe. He/it wasn’t about to lose his services. The mortal could sulk and rage and plot all he wanted, he lived and breathed because the god willed it, he was going to do whatever the god wanted done.

Todi chi Yahzi.

Settsimaksimin’s Citadel.

Silagamatys.

When Maksim vanished from the scene, Todich took the drop from around his neck and looked at it for a long while, then he shook his head, packed his things and started off to look for the man he knew was still alive somewhere.

Brann.

Myk’tat Tukery. Jal Virri.

Maksim coughed, opened his eyes.

“Jal Virri.”

The voice came from behind him, amused and wary. Brann. S000. He sat up. The sky was blue, the air warm, a silky breeze wandered past him, stirring the pendant limbs of a weeping willow. The tree grew by an artesian fountain, where water bubbled from a vertical copper pipe, sang down over mossy boulders into a pond filled with crimson lilies and gilded carp and out of that into a stream that rambled about the garden. He was sitting on a gentle slope covered with grass like green fur. This has to be south of Cheonea, I can’t have slept completely through winter. He looked at his arms. He’d lost flesh and muscle tone. Maybe not all winter but more than a day or two. “Jal what?” He got to his feet, moving slowly to camouflage his weakness.

Brann was sitting on a stone bench beside a burst of ground orchids. “Jal Virri. Isn’t that what everyone asks? Where am I?”

Maksim moved uphill and eased himself onto the far end of the bench. “Where’s Jal Virri?”

“Myk’tat Tukery. One of the inner islands.”

“How long was I out?”

“Ten days. “

“Why bother?”

“I loathe being jerked around.”

“I was a fool.”

“You were.”

He folded his arms across his chest, narrowed his eyes, grinned at her. “You were supposed to appreciate my humility and disagree with courteous insincerity.”

She gave him a long look; eyes green as the willow leaves smiled at him. “I’d rather beat up on you a bit. Why didn’t you talk to me? You swatted me like I was a pesty fly. That sort of thing is bound to upset a person.”

“It seemed easier, a surgeon’s cut, quick and neat, and a complication was gone out of my life.” ‘‘Wasn’t, was it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. Sitting here on this dusty bench, I can see half a dozen ways we might have managed some sort of compromise. Hindsight, hunh! bad as rue and twice as useless. Seriously, Brann, all I needed was maybe ten years more. I was buying time.”

“For what?”

“For Cheonea.”

“You say that so splendidly, so passionately, Maks. Such sincerity.”

“Sarcasm is the cheapest of the arts, Bramble all thorns, even so, it needs a scalpel not an axe.”

“Depends on how thick the skull is. Seriously, Maks, you’ve made a good start, but my father would say it’s time to let the baby walk on its own. Otherwise you’ll cripple it. Hmm. Are you thinking of heading back there?”

“That rather depends on you, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I pulled you out there because I wouldn’t trust the Chained God as far as I could throw it. Amortis either. And you weren’t in any shape to defend yourself. I take no more responsibility for you than that. If you want to go, good-bye.”

“And if I wish to stay for a while?”

“Then stay.”

“Hmm.” He fiddled with the charred hole in the linen robe he still wore, looked down at the smooth flesh under it. “What happened to BinYAHtii?”

“I took it off you, threw it away, foul thing, it’d eaten a hole almost to your heart. Jay told me this: when Yaro and I were working on you, Dan went over to it, picked it up and vanished. Chained God probably.”

“Good-bye Finger Vales, eh?”

“Seems likely. ‘

“So Kori got what she wanted. Her brother safe and the Servants tossed out.”

“You know about that?”

“Had a talk with her.”

“Where is she now?”

“The Yosulal Mossaiea in Silili. Do you know it?”

“She’s talented? Slya’s teeth, why am I surprised, she’s Harra’s Child. You sent her?”

“Why are you surprised? You expected me to eat her?”

“Well, feed her to BinYAHtii.”

“That ardent soul? BinYAHtii was hard enough to control with ordinary lives in it. Besides, I liked her.”

“So. What will you be doing next?”

“So. Resting. Here’s as good a place as any. Will you be staying?”

“For a while.”

“The changers?”

“Yaro says this place is pretty but boring.” She looked wary again, smiled again. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but they’ve gone of exploring, they’ve got a lot of things to get used to, the changers have changed. I suppose the next thing for me will be finding a way to get them home. I don’t want to think about that for a while yet. I’m tired.” She got to her feet, held out her hand. “I’m glad you’re staying. It’ll be pleasant having someone to talk to. Come. Let me show you the house. I haven’t the faintest notion who built it, I stumbled across it the last time I was here. It’s a lovely place. Friendly. When you step through the door, you get the feeling it’s happy to have you visit.” Her hand was warm, strong. She seemed genuinely pleased with him, in truth she seemed in a mood to be pleased by almost anything. As she strolled beside him, she slid her heels across the grass, visibly enjoying the cool springy feel of it against the soles of her bare feet. She’d had a bath before she woke him, she smelled very faintly of lavender and rose petals, the silk tunic which was all she wore was sleeveless and reached a little past her knees, the breeze tugged erratically at it, woke sighs in it. I’ll need clothing, he thought, he touched the soiled charred robe, grimaced. She didn’t notice because she was looking ahead at the odd structure sitting half shrouded by blooming lacetrees. “There’s something I’ve never been able to catch sight of that bustles around, cleans the house, weeds the garden, prunes things, generally keeps the place in shape, I don’t know how many times I’ve hid myself and tried to catch it working. Nothing. Maybe you can figure it out, be something to play with when you feel like exercising your head. To say truth I hope it eludes you too, that gives me a chance to stand back and giggle.”

“Myk’tat Tukery,” he murmured, “I’ve heard a thousand tales about it, each stranger than the last.”

“Maksim mighty sorceror, I’ll show you a thing or two to curl your hair, a thing or two to draw it straight again.” She dropped his hand, ran ahead of him along the bluestone path, up the curving wooden stairs; she pushed the door open, turned to stand in the doorway, her arms outspread. “Be pleased to enter our house, Settsimaksimin, may your days here be as happy as mine have been.”

Laughter rumbling up from his heels, he followed her inside.