Empires of Flux & Anchor

6 MUTE WITNESS

She had awakened slowly and dizzily on damp grass. It took a while before her head allowed her to sit up and for her eyes to focus properly, but the more she moved, the more it all subsided. She did not know the place, but when she finally managed to get to her feet and walk a little ways, she reached a road and saw at the end of it the huge wall and the old, thick gate. It was certainly the west gate of Anchor Logh, and she was inside.

The scene confused her for a moment, but the memories crept in. She remembered the church, the shooting, the abduction and long ride, the time in the Pocket and the terrible demonstration of Coydt’s power. She also remembered the bargain, but couldn’t quite sort it out. Certainly she felt quite normal—in fact, quite good. Although she would have liked a reflection, what she could see of her body looked totally unchanged. Whatever the evil man had done, it didn’t seem so bad. But, then, would it? She wondered about that, remembering how easily he had manipulated her mind.

There were some people working near the gate and she walked over to them calmly and boldly. Her folks must know that she was back and all right. She was halfway to them when one looked up and noticed her, then started yelling and pointing, and others also turned and looked and there was more incomprehensible jabber. They ran to her, and a man said to a woman some ridiculous string of barking noises, and she answered in kind. She tried to speak to them, to find out what all the excitement was about, since she still feared a Coydt trick, but her mouth just couldn’t form the words. All talking got her was a quick sore throat.

The woman barked something, and then the man nodded and threw a jacket over her for some incomprehensible reason. She screamed and tore it off. It burned like fire, and the onlookers gaped, amazed, at real burn-like marks where the coat had been. The pain had been intense, although it faded quickly. The whole thing scared and confused her and the people, but finally one of them took charge and led her down and into the government station that was part of the entry gate itself. She looked around, confused at the inner office, and so just stood there as bedlam continued to erupt around her. In the midst of all these people she felt very confused and very much alone. The walls seemed to close in on her, and she felt rising panic and a shortness of breath.

“She won’t stay inside, and when we tried to put clothes on her, it burned her like a hot stove, although the marks faded fast,” said the customs officer. “She either won’t or can’t talk or understand us, although we’ve gotten a few very basic things over in sign language. She was pretty hungry, but totally ignored the knife and fork and seemed unable to pour her own water out of a pitcher into a glass. She kept trying to stick her hand in. In all my years this close to Flux I never saw anything like it.”

Kasdi and Mervyn both nodded gravely at this, but were most anxious to see Spirit. She had been recognized immediately, of course, but it was clear from the first that she was under a ton of binding spells. They had dispatched word immediately, and both wizards had ridden hard all afternoon to reach the gate. Kasdi’s father and Cloise had wanted to come, but these were matters best dealt with by magic, and in Flux.

“And when she had to pee—pardon, Sister—she totally ignored our bathrooms and just squatted outside and went. Messy. And we have modern toilets, too!”

They mostly ignored the little bureaucrat and made straight for the girl, who was now sitting under a tree near the gate, just out of sight of the main road.

When Spirit saw Sister Kasdi coming towards her, she felt mixed emotions. On the one hand, here at last was her true mother, looking very grave and very concerned, and even after all this it felt nice. But here, too, was a living legend and by no choice of hers the cause of her problems. The old guy she didn’t recognize at all.

She stood and faced her real mother, surprised and shocked that she nearly towered over the older woman. Legends aren’t supposed to be small and frail-looking. They stood there a moment, looking at each other, both unsure of what to do next. Finally, Kasdi approached, put her arms around Spirit, and hugged, and Spirit found herself crying and hugging back.

Mervyn let them have their reunion as he watched. “Interesting,” he said to himself, although the little customs man was still there and thought himself addressed.

“What’s interesting?”

“Huh? Oh, the clothes.”

“But she isn’t wearing any!”

“Well, yes, but Sister Kasdi is. You said there was a burning when the jacket was put on the girl; yet there’s no effect when her mother’s clothing touches her. The spell is quite specific, it seems. This is going to be a tough one, I think. Coydt’s mind is, ah, shall we say, one of a kind.”

Sign language was the only true medium of communication possible, but Spirit managed, after a dozen tries, to ask why none of the other family was there. Patiently, Kasdi tried by pointing and gestures to tell her that they were deep in Anchor and that she had to go back into Flux with them. Spirit was disappointed, but she knew that they would get word to her parents and her grandfather quickly. She realized that all the things Coydt had done to her could only be examined and possibly fixed in Flux, though, and it would be better to do it this time among people trying to help her.

Kasdi’s sincere emotion at seeing her had triggered an odd response after all the resentment. The relief and love there seemed genuine, all the more so because it was spontaneous and in Anchor. She still did not feel close or kin to this strange woman, but a great deal of the anger and resentment was very suddenly gone.

It would be for the local authorities to determine how and when she had been brought here. The first business was to get into Flux and see just what in fact had been done. This would be Mervyn’s job—he was the analyzer, the diagnostician, and he knew all the funny little tricks of the trade.

They brought horses, but Spirit refused to mount hers. She knew she had ridden them quite often and in fact had loved to ride, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it now. They tried putting her on using a couple of big, burly guards, but she kept losing her balance and falling off, and they eventually gave up. The failure disturbed her and began to bring home just what changes Coydt had forced upon her.

So they walked, the other two leading the horses, out across the apron and into Flux, drawing many stares as they went. Spirit realized that they would take forever this way and motioned for them to mount and ride. She was was always in good condition—perhaps she could at least give them some lead.

She could hardly outdistance a horse, but she found a steady jogging run to be no trouble at all, and they were amazed at not only the speed she could maintain but also the fact that, fairly far out, she was barely breathing hard. Spirit, too, was surprised at the effortlessness of it all and realized that this must be part of the spell as well. It felt good to run.

Mervyn more than once had to stop Kasdi from halting through concern for Spirit. “Let’s see just what her limits are.”

“She’s inhuman now,” Kasdi noted.

“I know.”

Finally, when they reached the first stringer water pocket and had to turn in, they found the girl barely perspiring and not the least bit winded, although she stopped when they did and went over and drank deeply of the clear water.

“That spell is a nightmare. I try and follow it and suddenly I get lost,” Kasdi said. “How about you?”

“I’m beginning to see a pattern in it, but I’ll need more time with her, and not on the run, to do more.”

They made Hope in under three days, with short sleeps, and it was hardly a challenge for Spirit. Since she seemed unwilling to come inside buildings, no matter how open, they set her up in the park near the temple and made it off limits to unauthorized personnel. From that point on, and for the next week, Mervyn and several associates made their intensive studies, studies reinforced by being able to observe her behavior close at hand. She cooperated as fully as possible with them, knowing what they were doing and wishing devoutly that she could know and understand their conclusions. Mervyn worked tirelessly, scanning all sorts of books from the Codex project and later writings to solve the puzzle. Finally, he thought he had it all.

“You know, we often use the word ‘diabolical’ to talk of the works and mind of Hell, but you seldom really see the meaning of that word. This is diabolical.”

Kasdi frowned. “O.K., give it to me. Spare nothing.”

“I intend to. In one way, it’s Coydt’s sense of humor showing. He has taken the daughter of the First Lady of the Church and remade that daughter into the First Woman. He has, in a sense, removed her knowledge of good and evil. Not that she’ll kill someone or anything like that, but all the social inhibitions are suppressed, some entirely, and the new behavior is reinforced by conditioning spells. She is naked, but she walked up to the movement workers without any attempt at concealment because she simply doesn’t consider nudity odd or unusual. You might say she has no sense of shame. This is reinforced by a concrete spell that prevents others from clothing or concealing her.

“Similarly, she has full bowel control and will hardly eliminate in polite company. Nonetheless, she feels no shame at eliminating, and if it is necessary and convenient, she will do so without ever thinking of who might be watching. I believe, too, that if she were with a young man in public, and he made romantic overtures to her and she were so inclined, she would think nothing of performing sex right then and there and in public.”

“But she has control? I mean, if she didn’t want to, that would be that. I think the man’s inhibitions will probably take care of that problem, then. Go on.”

“Her body, which was always in fine shape, has been tuned to its absolute ultimate. She is, quite literally, physically perfect, at the upper limit of what her body is physically capable of. This might deteriorate slightly in Anchor, but would be restored and maintained in Flux in any case. She can run, jump, lift, and climb better than any woman alive. I watched her jump almost effortlessly to a tree limb almost four meters up, swing herself effortlessly onto it, and walk in that tree as if she were on flat ground. Perfect balance and coordination, absolutely flawless in every detail. She can sprint faster than any normal human, and you saw her capacity for long-distance running. She draws the energy she needs from Flux, and she could maintain it, I suspect, for weeks in Anchor. She bruises only with difficulty, and they are gone overnight. There is definite regeneration in the spells, and it’s a tight spell. She will be impossible to disfigure, mar, or maim, and damned hard to kill, in Anchor or Flux. The regeneration, in fact, is so absolute that her body is nearly immortal. She will be seventeen forever.”

“And the communications?”

“This is part of the diabolical portion. Somehow he’s come up with a new language, a shifting mathematical abstract that serves to carry thoughts and process memories, but its basic code randomly shifts several times a minute. I would say that all of her memories and basic personality are intact, but the language is so abstract and complex that it bears no relation to ours, and since it constantly shifts, it’s impossible by the present arts to decode. I would almost say it is a language better suited to machines than humans, although what machines would need languages I don’t know, nor can I guess where he got it. Even duplicating the language spell won’t help unless you know and start with the exact same coding as she’s using at the moment—and even if you matched it up, it would require reorganizing your mind. You would be thinking in her language and not your own. The two are simply incompatible. Nor could you talk to her, since the language is so abstract no human throat could utter it. She can neither read, write, speak, or understand, and since her linguistic frame of reference is so different, she could not relearn ours.”

“Diabolical indeed,” Kasdi agreed gravely. “It would be interesting to know the source of that language. It’s not the kind of thing anyone might make up.”

“I agree. Much time will be spent on that question, I assure you. But his evil mind runs deeper than I’ve yet explained. Again, it is in the nature of the language. She simply cannot use or develop or understand the use for human artifacts. Anything made by humans. Nor use domestic beasts. Oh, I have no doubt she recognizes and knows these things intellectually, but she is prevented from comprehending them. It is a trigger spell that only comes into force when she is faced with the situation. In this she is less than the animals, most of whom can instinctively use certain tools or make certain constructs or at least learn some simple mechanisms. Her life is the basic human needs and no more. She is not permitted to do anything else.”

“It must drive her nuts. Poor Spirit! What have they done to you?”

“Coydt’s even ahead there. She sleeps a lot, and I doubt if she dwells or broods or thinks very long on any one subject. She’ll sit and watch a bee or a butterfly for hours. This isn’t to say that she’s dumb, only that she’s been totally adapted to her condition by the spells. We’ve already pushed the sign language as far as we can without using spelling, I suspect. She’s a good pupil and catches on fast. It’s basic, and that’s all it’ll ever be. It helps that she has such an expressive face and that she seems now, at least, to wear her emotions like a signpost.”

“So how long will it take you now to break the spell?”

“Never. And I mean that.”

“What! But that’s impossible! Even Coydt can’t be that good!”

“He isn’t. No, if he had imposed this spell, rather than just written it, it could be peeled off, layer by layer, although there would be some problems, because of the language system, and some danger. But he didn’t put it on her. She put it on herself, with the binding spell.”

Kasdi was suddenly on her feet. “What? But how is that possible? She doesn’t know enough to use that spell!”

“You know she has your old Soul Rider.”

“Yes, but—you don’t mean it did it?”

“No, as far as I can tell, it was its usual passive self. And since it didn’t take on Coydt when it had its chance, that means this is only the first part of a much larger plot. In fact, it’s the most downright diabolical thing of all. You see, there is a way to break the spell.”

That statement was almost as great a shock to her as Spirit’s condition. “But you taught me it was impossible!”

“There is one way, but it’s a hard one, and I think Coydt knows it. If someone of equal or superior power voluntarily takes on the spell, and if the spell will fit the volunteer, it can be moved. That was almost certainly the bargain. He ran her through three days of terror using Flux power, then offered her this way out with the chance it could be broken. She took it. I would have, too, under the same circumstances and with her ignorance of the limits of Flux power.”

Kasdi sat back down again, looking weak and drained. “I see. And that’s really what this is all about. Coydt sends her back like this, knowing it will tear me apart.”

“Not to mention embarrass you through the empire,” the wizard pointed out. “You can take on Fluxlords but couldn’t save your own daughter. It sows nervousness and insecurity.”

She nodded. “I don’t really mind that, though. It’ll pass. But the real kicker is that the spell will only really fit Spirit or me—right?”

“He seems to have arranged it so. Are you considering it?”

“I’m tired, Mervyn. Sick and tired. If this thing can’t go on without me, it isn’t worth doing at all. Don’t I owe her that?”

“Perhaps. I will not argue politics with you. It is still not a solution, as Coydt well knows. It’s his final joke on us, so to speak. You see, the self-binding spell is a rather simple one, as you know, and it is always the same. It is the spell or spells that attach to it that are the important ones. Should you take Spirit’s binding spell, the mathematics would balance and the flow would go in both directions. You would get Spirit’s binding spells—and she would get yours.”

Kasdi sighed. “I see,” was all she managed. It was all too clear a vision. Spirit would be bound to all the vows of the Church and to the ascetic lifestyle that Kasdi had imposed on herself. It was the sort of existence she could never imagine for Spirit, particularly without the job or any sense of commitment. She would be able to talk, and to learn to use and develop her Flux powers, but she would also not be allowed any possessions of her own, would be denied sex, would be bound to the kind of simple drudgery Kasdi now was, bound to obey all the vows, rules, and laws of the Church absolutely and to the letter; yet she would not be a priestess. She would want and feel all the things a seventeen-year-old wanted and felt, but she would be unable to attain any of them. Instead of merely condemning Spirit, he would condemn them both.

“So what can we do?” she asked him pleadingly. “What will become of her? I mean, the way you talk, she is going to be like that ten years from now, a hundred, perhaps forever.”

He nodded. “I can see no other way, although we shouldn’t underestimate the Soul Rider. Remember, it got you out of some impossible situations doing these things that we all were certain was against the rules. Coydt’s way of dealing with that is quite interesting, but untried. Since the Soul Rider can act only through its host, he has limited her access to Flux power. She is passive, prevented from using any power or even committing any act to force her will on anyone. That’s why she came along with us so readily. Her power is only available for self-defense or self-preservation on a conscious level, and while it is considerable, she has the preset spells to call upon only under those circumstances. Since the whole set of spells is integral, all must be broken to break one. He’s counting on that spell holding, so that the Soul Rider, trapped in an immortal body, can not use its powers and knowledge against anyone, including them.”

“Will it work?”

“We won’t know until and unless the Soul Rider tries and succeeds. But the other key is in that bizarre language. If we can discover its origin and original users or intent, we might be able to mitigate the spells somehow. In the meantime, though, I would let her go.”

“What?”

“I mean it. The word is already spreading. In a few days all of World will know of the spell and its nature. She’s in no danger. There is a shell over the spell that maintains it absolutely. She is as immune from Flux power as anyone could be. Let her do what you always wanted to do and what I’m told she did, too. Let her walk the length and breadth of World and see what there is to see.”

“But—like that?”

“She must learn to live with it. People will recognize her and let her go. They will tolerate in her things they would not tolerate in themselves, for she’ll be a curiosity and something of a celebrity.”

“A freak, you mean.”

“So? She’s already restless down there. Sooner or later she’s going to go away. Let her adjust and let World adjust to her. She is going to live like that for a very long time.”

It was a sobering thought.

It was a bar in a Fluxland up in the north wilds called Hjinna. Like many of the Fluxlands in the wilds, away from any Anchors, it tended to be populated with people in the business of Flux—minor wizards false and true, retired stringers, and a fair number of fugitives. Powerful ex-stringers usually established the places in reality and relaxed to enjoy them rather than rule them.

The bar was Flandy’s Bar, and inside tough-looking men and women were drinking and talking and showing off and even gambling, something not usually possible in Flux, but possible here under the rules of the Fluxland’s proprietor, as he liked to call himself.

Through the swinging front doors stepped an enormous man, well over two meters tall and weighing, it seemed, better than two hundred kilos. He was clearly a dugger, with a purplish complexion, a misshapen, hairless face, and a permanent, insane grin, while his skin seemed all mottled and full of discolorations. In many places he would have been the object of horrible fascination and some fear, but not in Hjinna. Lots of retired duggers and those taking a break between six-month-long stringer routes were always about. In fact, although this one was a stranger to almost all of them, only one, an elderly man who’d been drinking pretty heavily, eyed the newcomer with recognition and then growing fear. He got up and made his way quickly to the back of the bar and then stepped out into the alley behind, still clutching his bottle.

The alley seemed clear, and so he turned left—and suddenly came up against a solid wall that hadn’t been there a moment before. He cried out, turned, and started the other way—and ran into another wall. In fact, he was now in a high box, the only outlet being the door back into the bar.

The door opened and a figure dressed all in black stepped out. He was a big man with a long, drooping handlebar moustache. He was dressed in stringer fashion, complete with whip and sawed-off shotgun. He was not a young man—his hair was gray and his face worn and aged, with wrinkles around the eyes—but he was in pretty good shape.

“You!” the old man croaked. “But—you’re dead! A hundred saw you fall nigh on to twenty years ago!”

“Eighteen,” the man responded. “Eighteen years, three months to be exact. So if I’m a ghost, Gilly, then what’s that make you?”

“Hey! Wait! I always liked you!” The old man paused for a moment. “This is a trick, isn’t it? Who are you—really?”

“Does it matter? I want Coydt, Gilly. I want him bad, and I want him in Anchor.”

Gilly took a swig from the bottle to steady his nerves. “Coydt? You nuts? Nobody can take Coydt; you know that!”

“I’ll take him, Gilly, because he won’t know who’s after him even when you tell him.”

“I don’t talk to Coydt. Oh, sure, we was cozy once, but nobody’s really cozy with him for long. You wind up dead—or worse.”

“You know, Gilly. You keep track. I haven’t got all night either. You know where they are. You know where they all are. You’re too scared of them not to know.”

Gilly drained the bottle, but it didn’t help. “He’s down near Anchor Logh. Half a world from here.”

“Yeah. He pulled a job down there, Gilly, and he doesn’t know it yet, but he pulled the wrong one. He woke up the dead with that one, Gilly, and now I’m going to get him.”

“What was that business to you?”

“She’s my kin, Gilly, though I didn’t even know about her until this. I can’t let people do that to kin. You know the code. You put the word out. You tell any dugger along the route that’s going out. It’ll get to me. If it’s good information, I’ll make it good with you, Gilly, I really will. Cross me, and you’re dead, too.”

Gilly laughed. “How can I cross you? Who’s gonna believe after all these years that a dead man’s out stalkin’ Coydt?”

“You give him the word if you want. He’s so puffed up and egomaniacal that he’s liable to set up a meet just to see for sure. You go ahead, Gilly. You tell him Matson’s back from the grave.”