Fractal Mode

CHAPTER 3—DARIUS

DARIUS felt better after cleaning up. Now he was hungry. He had been checking in with Colene every so often, via the telepathic horse. That remained a novelty; he had learned only just before their arrival at this world that Seqiro was a very special animal. It seemed that in Seqiro’s reality, the horses all were telepathic, and governed the human beings. In other realities, other animals had that power. It had been Colene’s fortune to encounter an animal who liked human girls, and who wanted to travel the Modes, and who had the power to do so. Now it was the fortune of their group.

For Darius knew enough of the transfer of human emotion to grasp what the transfer of human information could do. This was a powerful tool, and would help them greatly. It was already helping them, because the horse could fathom the minds of these people, regardless of their language, and know their motives. It took a bit of time, of course, because strange minds could not be plumbed any more than a strange terrain could be understood at a glance. But Seqiro had related quickly to Nona and Stave, and was now tuning to Hobard, the translator. It was a great advantage to fathom the motives of their hosts, without the despots knowing.

We have a problem, Colene’s thought came.

Quickly she filled him in: Nona had supposed their party to be the Megaplayers she sought. She now knew better, but that left her in difficulty, because she alone could help her people, the theows, and her only avenue for help had been taken by their party’s coincidental arrival. Not chance, really; Nona merely had not realized that it was the Virtual Mode to which she was relating, or that she would become an anchor person. In fact she had no notion what either was.

So we have to help her, Colene concluded. Because we messed up her effort.

Darius did not necessarily see it that way. But since this animus was blocking their use of the anchor, they had to deal with that, and Nona was the one who could change it. So they had to help her, not because of any moral obligation, but from self-interest.

That, too, Colene thought with mental humor, and he realized that she had been teasing him slightly; of course she had understood their need. But she doesn’t know how.

We have a problem, he agreed.

THEY joined the despots for the evening meal. They understood, now, that the despots had not decided whether they were despots or theows. If they were the latter, they would be immediately killed, because it would be an embarrassment to treat theows as if they were human beings. But if they were despots, the case would be more chancy. Despots should be allies—but might be seeking conquest. Especially if they were of the anima, and enemies not only of the governing class but of the entire animus.

How did King Lombard propose to ascertain the status of his guests? There were several ways, Hobard’s mind suggested as Seqiro quietly explored it. First, despots of the animus were male-dominated. For a moment it had seemed that Colene was the leader of the group, but then it turned out that Darius was. But that wasn’t certain, because a group from a world with anima might try to pretend to be animus. Second, the males of animus had the magic, and the females of anima had magic. Illusion was common to all, and was discounted. Who had the magic here? None of the visitors had shown their magic yet, which might be a matter of courtesy or might be suspicious. If none of them had magic, they were theows, and could be dispatched after suitably entertaining their hosts. Entertainment, by despot definition, ranged from sexual exploitation to outright torture.

So the issue would be forced, tonight. Queen Glomerula would try to fathom Darius’ nature, evoking what magic he had. If she did not come to a conclusion, King Lombard would arrange to discover the tryst, and would challenge the interloper to a duel. That would bring it out, certainly. But it had its risk, because if Darius were a ranking despot he might have stronger magic than the king, and would kill him and take over his throne. So it might be better to avoid that chance. Unfortunately, Darius thought, he did not have magic in this reality, and in any event it was not the same type.

How do you know?

Darius paused, surprised. The horse was merely curious, but it was a seminal question. Darius had become so used to lacking his magic in other realities, except sometimes his ability to project emotionally, that he had just assumed this was the case here. Yet this was definitely a magic reality, and perhaps more than one kind of magic worked.

He had two types of magic, in his home reality. One was common to all people there, known as sympathetic. The other was unique to him, at least in degree. As the Cyng of Hlahtar—or, as Colene termed it, the King of Laughter—he could draw emotion from a subject person and rebroadcast it, multiplied a thousandfold. That way every person within range achieved the joy of the one. That made everyone happy for several weeks, until the emotion gradually leaked away. The chief liability of this ability was that he needed a subject from which to draw, and this was by custom the wife of the Cyng, who was gradually depleted until she was an emotional husk and had to be discarded. Distressed by the prospect of doing this to a woman he loved, he had sought through the Modes for a woman who could handle it. That was how he had found Colene—only to learn that she, instead of being full of joy, was secretly suicidal. That would be disaster! But he loved her, having foolishly committed his emotion before properly understanding.

Meanwhile he had found another woman, Prima, whose power was similar to his own, who would marry him and enable him to perform his necessary role without being herself depleted. It would not be a love match, but she desired the position rather than love, and would allow him to love Colene as a mistress without hindrance. It was an ideal solution to his problem, except for certain technical factors. Such as the fact that he and Colene had not yet been able to get to his reality, and were currently somewhat estranged. Oh, they were working together, because they had to, but they had to have a settlement when they could, and it was not possible to know what the result of that would be.

But that was all conjectural. Right now he needed magic. Was it possible that he had it? If so, he could readily deal with the queen. He could drain her of her joy, stopping her in the middle of whatever she had in mind.

That left Knave Naylor’s effort. The man would simply go in and seduce the girl, and rape her if she proved to be diffident. If she were anima, she would not submit to that; instead she would flatten him with her magic. But if she were animus, she would make only token protest before yielding. Of course then there would be Darius to deal with; as animus he would not take kindly to having his woman used by force. But Queen Glomerula would simply accuse Darius of raping her, and the matter would be open to negotiation. It was, it seemed, axiomatic in this culture: one rape canceled another, as far as any onus went. It wasn’t as if women had rights or feelings that mattered.

Darius had to admire the directness of it. These folk mixed their pleasure with business, with the business paramount. They expected to take the measure of their guests without delay. If they lacked a certain finesse and took certain risks, well, that was evidently the way of their kind. It was not an attitude he liked, but at least now he understood what was in store.

However, he suspected that innocent little Colene was going to surprise them. She could, he had discovered to his chagrin, be as devious as anyone. Provos had assured them that the planned malice would not be successful, but they still had to find out exactly how they would foil it.

A theow girl led him down to the banquet hall. As he saw the king, queen, and knave again he was struck by the fit of their clothing. The theows had somewhat shapeless general-purpose tunics, salvaged from disaster mainly by their sashes, so that even a man as handsome as Stave and a woman as lovely as Nona looked somewhat awkward. But the despots had perfectly tailored tunics, enhancing their bodies. The king looked regal despite his masked paunch, and the queen looked sexy. The knave looked both, and suitably sinister as well.

The meal itself was good. The despots lived well. Darius and Colene watched the manners of their hosts, and emulated them, while Provos proceeded confidently from future memory. They ate slices of roast animal, and squares of assorted fruits, and drank excellent wine. One glass only, he warned Colene. It turned out to be unnecessary; the mere thought of an alcoholic beverage made her stomach tighten, and her revulsion came through to his stomach. She had had a bad experience whose nature he did not know, but it had turned her off this particular business.

So he made it easy for her. “No wine for my woman,” he said in peremptory fashion. “Water is all she deserves.” After an exchange of signals, Hobard understood, and Colene’s privilege of wine was removed. But King Lombard, though appreciative, was not convinced: this was Hobard’s opinion.

Darius, concerned about the coming night, tried to focus on the minds of the king and queen. And especially the mind of the knave, who was watching Colene with disturbing directness. But Colene’s horse was unable to penetrate any of these; only Hobard was at all open.

He reflected again how this business of informative mind contact was almost as new to him as it was to the folk they had met, Nona and Stave. He had little idea how to take advantage of it. Fortunately Colene was used to it, and she was happy to handle this aspect of their situation. So he merely let her know his concern, and let her work on it.

Indeed, she was up to something. There was a power and deviousness to her mind-set that he had not before been aware of. This precious little girl he loved became more complicated as he came to know her better. So he focused on the amenities of the meal and let her work it out.

The queen was watching him with much the same interest as the knave watched Colene. He felt like a bug under her glass. She was using the standard mechanisms of women with men: a low, loose décolletage that proffered frequent and profound glimpses of her breasts, and glances which lingered just a bit too long. She was not a young woman, but neither was she old; she was at that age at which a woman was capable of the maximum exploitation of her body. It was interesting.

Oh, it is, is it? There was Colene’s angry thought.

To be used and thrown away, he thought back, trying to mollify her. But for some reason she seemed unmollified.

Then he had a notion. I have not tried my magic here, he thought to Colene. Give me tokens of your essence.

What? It was incredulity.

I can be close to you, when apart, if you give me of your solid, liquid, and gaseous essence, he clarified.

The hell I will!

She was misunderstanding. A hair of your head. A drop of your saliva. The touch of your breath.

She considered. Then, her curiosity overriding her anger, she quietly plucked a hair from her head, lifted a cloth napkin to her lips, spat into it, and then breathed on it. She wadded it up and passed it to him under the table.

Thank you, Colene. If my magic works here, this will give me great power over you.

She sent him a dark glance. Yet again he seemed to have angered her. But he had the things he needed. This could be very important. He stuffed the napkin into the band of his underwear, and proceeded as if nothing had happened.

Finally the meal ended, and servants guided them back to their chambers. Now the real adventure was about to begin. He wondered what Colene had in mind, since he understood that the male despots could use their magic to incapacitate a woman and make her helpless.

His chamber had a large bed with several covers ranging from a voluminous quilt to a square hardly larger than a towel, and a similar assortment of pillows ranging from huge to tiny. These folk liked freedom of choice! He used the sanitary facilities, stripped, and was in the act of considering pillows when he heard a quiet knock. He got up and went to answer it, holding a medium-sized pillow in front of him.

Sure enough, Queen Glomerula was making her appearance at his door. She was in a sheer white tunic, whose purpose was obviously enhancement rather than concealment, and white veil, evidently intended to indicate anonymity. An officially surreptitious visit.

He stepped back, and she stepped in. She closed the door. Then her cloak and veil faded away, leaving her naked. They had been illusion, and she wore nothing beneath. This woman was all business.

Actually, more of her body could be illusion. He judged her to be about forty years old, and it was an unfortunate fact that few women were outstanding in body at that age, mainly because they didn’t seem to care to work at it. Did her illusion extend to touch as well as sight? If so, did it matter? What a man perceived was what he got, generally.

In this case it was quite a perception. In Darius’ world, women wore thick diapers around their posteriors, under their skirts, whose purpose was to mask the feminine contours. Breasts were normally concealed by loose blouses over sturdy halters. Only married women or mistresses, in the privacy of their homes, allowed themselves to be seen in less. The sight of such body parts was highly suggestive to men, and care was normally taken to prevent accidental exposure. He had had a problem with Colene, who tended to wear clothing that made her feminine contours too evident. She was young, but that did not detract from her physical appeal. Now they were promised to each other, so her apparel could be tolerated; still, he didn’t like it when other men saw her dressed that way. Perhaps that aspect of their relationship was even; she didn’t like the way he reacted to other women.

So the queen’s exposure had an immediate effect on him, and he desired her body despite his resolve. Fortunately he had the discipline of his profession. He would let her believe that he was captivated by her aspect, but in the end it would come to nothing.

He tossed aside the pillow and stepped toward her—and suddenly she was across the room. Magic, of course—except that he understood that the women here did not have true magic, only illusion. So what was going on?

Maybe the horse knew. Seqiro might not be able to get into her mind, but he surely knew where it was.

It is illusion, Seqiro confirmed. She has made an image in one place, and covered her actual body with the image of an empty spot in the room.

An illusion of nothing! That was an aspect he had not anticipated. So she was challenging him to find her. Surely a despot male’s magic could readily cut through such pictures and locate a woman immediately, so she was exploring his magical ability. It was necessary that he demonstrate it, to confirm that he was of the animus and therefore to be respected, along with his women and animal.

Queen Glomerula appeared before him, within reach. “Yes?” she inquired, using one of the few words they had been able to identify.

He did not want to admit that he had no intention of indulging her whim, so he acted. He grabbed for her. And missed; the illusion faded, leaving him embracing air. Her laughter sounded behind him.

But this was not a matter for laughter, for she was testing him. If he could not use his magic to capture her, he would be deemed a theow, and would be killed. In this realm only the men had true magic, and only the despots had strong magic.

Where is she? he asked the horse.

I will mark her place. A glint of light appeared, and then another beside it, at about head height. In fact they were her two eyes, perhaps easiest to fix on because a person’s consciousness tied closely in to sight.

Darius strode toward the glints. They floated quickly to one side. He veered and intercepted them. He reached out and caught her body, drawing it into himself. It was after all only sight the magic affected, at least in this case. Perhaps touch as well, not to make an image tangible, but to make her genuine body seem more appealing. It certainly was that; one of his hands had landed, perhaps by her design, on what seemed to be her invisible right breast, and the other on her left buttock. Both were extremely female.

He oriented and put his lips to the place her mouth should be. He found her lips and kissed her—and she kissed him back. Seqiro had enabled him to prevail. He had proved his magic.

But now what should he do with her? He did not intend to indulge in sex with her; Colene was the one he wanted for that, and only when the time was right. Yet it might not be good form to reject the queen. He needed a legitimate distraction.

Colene, he thought. They might be privately estranged, but they had a common purpose here.

I thought you’d never ask, she replied. The knave is about to arrive, and I want you to see what I do to him.

But I need a pretext to ignore the queen.

What, with one hand on her boob and the other on her ass and your tongue in her mouth?

She is not easy to ignore. Please, a pretext!

You’ve got one: your magic shows you that I am being threatened. Tell the queen you have put a chastity spell on me. Tell her to show you what’s going on here.

How can she do that?

Illusion. These folk are good at it—awful good, Seqiro says. You’ll see. Make her show you. It’ll be a good show.

He cooperated. He paused as if suddenly realizing something, listening. He disengaged his mouth, but not his hands. “Glomerula!” he snapped. “My woman is being approached. Show her chamber.”

But the queen did not understand; there were too few common words. He needed a way to get through to her.

He cast about, and saw the pillows on the bed. He bore the queen back authoritatively and plumped her down on the bed. Her body came into view as he did so, marvelously formed and almost glowing; she was ready for the next event. This was obviously both business and pleasure for her.

But instead of proceeding, he took the smallest pillow and squeezed it into a crude approximation of a human torso. He took the smallest cover and ripped it in half. One half he formed into a wraparound skirt for the pillow; the other half he tore into several shreds, which he tied around the waist and neck and attached in lieu of arms and legs. It was not by any means a great figurine, but he thought it would do for his purpose.

He held it up. “Colene,” he told the queen. “Show.”

The queen’s face brightened with understanding. She knew what was to happen in Colene’s chamber. She gestured to the far wall, not only to do magic but to indicate where to look.

Darius looked. The wall became seemingly transparent, and beyond it was Colene’s chamber, showing her bed. Colene sat on it in her underclothing, brushing out her hair. He realized that this was illusion, for the girl’s chamber was nowhere near his own, but that it reflected reality. Colene was right: these folk had impressive powers of imagery. The picture was so realistic that he reacted to the undiapered body. He hoped Glomerula would believe that it was the queen’s body that continued to excite him.

Glomerula seemed surprised about something, but neither he nor the horse could fathom what at the moment. Could it be that some detail of the illusion she was Grafting did not match her expectation? That suggested that it was a true picture, not a pure invention.

It’s me, Colene’s thought confirmed. There’s precious little real privacy in this castle. The king’s making an illusion picture of his own, Seqiro says, and he’s watching what you’re doing with the queen. I think he gets his jollies more from watching her with other men than with doing it with her himself.

Then I’ll give him something to see, Darius thought. He sat beside the queen, extended his left arm to draw her in beside him, and fondled her right breast with his right hand. It felt like as good a breast as the left; it had appropriate heft and contour. He tried to imagine that it was Colene’s breast, but it didn’t work, because Colene had less mass in that region. Too bad he was not in a position to explore the matter more thoroughly.

And I’ll give you something to see, Colene thought viciously. He kept running afoul of her sensitivities, thoughtlessly.

But he had more to do. “Colene is mine,” he told the queen. “My magic secures her chastity.” He used the doll to indicate the forbidden area. “No other man—” He thrust with a finger to illustrate the forbidden action.

That turned out to be clear enough. Glomerula smiled. She gestured again toward the wall: wait and see. The challenge was on, and the queen seemed as satisfied with that as with her own involvement.

Then he remembered the other thing he wanted to check: his emotional magic. This was the ideal situation to test it, because he had to be quite close to a woman to draw out her joy. As it happened, he was close to the queen.

The door to Colene’s room opened and Knave Naylor stepped in. Colene looked up, saw him, and her mouth opened in a soundless scream. This illusion couldn’t handle sound.

The knave threw off his cloak and approached her, naked. There was no subtlety: if she didn’t find a way to stop him, he would ravish her immediately. That was the point: only a woman of the ruling class of the anima could have any power against a man of the animus, and if she turned out to be such a woman, she would be deemed an enemy, and the despots would do their best to kill her immediately. So her choice was between rape and death, as the knave saw it. Rather, Darius’ choice was to watch or act; he wasn’t sure the anima could work here, on an animus world. Still, he wasn’t sure what to do, because he had no certainty that his magic worked here.

But these folk had not encountered the like of Colene. Darius smiled, giving the queen’s breast a squeeze to make her think that was the cause of his emotion. The queen seemed to be enjoying both the show and the handling.

Darius drew her as close as possible, squeezing her breast as if turned on by it and/or the scene they watched. But his intent would have horrified her had she fathomed it. He exerted his magic and drew on her emotional vitality.

Nothing happened. His magic did not operate in this reality, there was no doubt now. That was disappointing, but perhaps not surprising. At least he had not had to alert the queen to what he had attempted. She had been saved by the underlying laws of her universe.

He relaxed, but did not let go of her breast, lest she become suspicious. Oh, sure, Colene thought witheringly. However, Colene now had a situation of her own to attend to, and couldn’t continue to focus on him.

Naylor came to the bed. Colene screamed again and started to get off it. But Naylor made a negligent gesture, and abruptly the girl’s feet left the floor. She was floating, her moving legs having no purchase. Then she was borne to the bed, to land on her back, her feet still kicking.

The knave stared at her in much the way Hobard had. Darius followed the specific direction of his gaze, and finally understood: it was her underclothing. It was as if the man had not seen this before. Could it be that these folk did not wear underclothing? That would explain Hobard’s interest, and the queen’s too. The queen had not come to him naked under her cloak of illusion merely to seduce him; she never wore such things anyway. That made sense at last.

Naylor shook off his surprise and concentrated. Colene’s undergarments seemed to catch fire. Flame and smoke puffed around her body, and dissipated, leaving no burns. Now she was naked. There was no doubt about the power of the man’s magic; he was controlling her body against her will without touching her.

The knave gestured again. Colene’s legs still moved, but now they seemed to be constrained. They spread, her knees lifting, the feet kicking in a futile pattern, well apart. This man seemed to be experienced in this act, for even magic required expertise, and it was just as if invisible hands were placing her legs safely out of the way.

Glomerula’s face turned to him. She was smiling. She was waiting to see how he was going to handle this assault on his woman. To see whether he could handle it.

Darius smiled back at her. “You will see, skeptic,” he said. “I do not allow trespassing.” But he wished Colene would get on with her plan, because he had no idea what it might be, and it was certainly time for it.

Naylor put a knee on the bed, orienting for his business. Now, Seqiro! Colene’s thought came, so strong that it was as if she had shouted in Darius’ face.

The man’s face froze. His mouth dropped open. It was as if he saw something horrible, yet there was nothing.

Queen Glomerula’s body tensed. She did not understand what was happening. Neither did Darius. What? he thought to Colene.

Show him, Seqiro.

Then it was as if Darius were looking through Naylor’s eyes. Suddenly he understood.

From the region between Colene’s legs a viscous mass was rising. It flexed, and part of it separated from the main mass. It was the head of a large snake! A cobra, with spreading hood and elongating fangs from which glistening poison dripped.

The serpent’s eyes fastened on Naylor’s genitals. The head moved back, then struck forward.

Naylor screamed and threw himself off the bed, grabbing at his crotch.

Queen Glomerula stared. She did not see the snake, which was an illusion projected only to Naylor’s mind. She saw the man reacting to nothing more than the sight of a helpless girl’s spread thighs. What was the matter with the man?

Darius took advantage of her distraction to do some more work on his pillow figurine. He rolled up more cloth to form fuller arms and legs, and used a brown fragment to represent hair on the head. It was coming to look more like Colene.

He reached across to where he had set the bundled towel with Colene’s essences. He wrapped the single hair in place around the figurine’s head, and pressed the damp region where her saliva was to the figure’s body until some dampness soaked across. Then he pressed the napkin to the face of the figure and breathed into it, pushing her breath through with the force of his breath. The queen, fascinated by the scene in Colene’s room, had not even noticed that he was no longer fondling her breast.

Colene, freed of the spell of immobility, got up and pursued the man. Now she looked like an even larger serpent, one whose gaping jaws could bite great chunks out of the flesh of a man. But to the queen, she looked like an ordinary bare girl—

Why did such illusion work against a man who was surely well experienced with all kinds of magic? Darius realized that it was because it was illusion infused with belief; the horse was projecting the certainty that this was real, and Naylor had no way to resist. Seqiro must have been concentrating on penetrating the man’s mind, so as to be able to do this.

Naylor fled. He charged down the hall, heedless of his nakedness. “Anima! Anima!” he cried.

The picture faded as the queen lost her concentration: “There was no anima!” she said, her thought plain despite her unfamiliar words.

It was time to try his magic. If it worked, Darius would have proved that he was of the animus. If it didn’t, he would let his supposed chastity spell make the point.

He concentrated on the figurine. “You are Colene,” he whispered to it.

He felt a tingle. The magic was working!

Now at last the queen was paying attention to him. She looked with surprise at the figurine.

“Watch,” Darius said. He leaned down to draw a square in the slight dust on the floor before the bed. “You are there, Colene,” he said to the figurine, setting it down inside the square. “In your chamber, having routed the rapist.” Then, through Seqiro, he thought: Be prepared, Colene; I am about to conjure you with my magic.

Fat chance! she thought back.

He lifted the figurine and set it carefully in his lap. “Now you are here.”

Suddenly Colene was sitting in his lap. She was naked and he was naked, but for once neither paid much attention. “You did it!” she exclaimed, amazed. Then she leaned over and vomited on the floor.

“Uh, conjurations can disturb a person’s equilibrium, resulting in a nervous stomach,” he said as he deactivated the icon with a negative thought. It was not safe to leave them activated, because then any careless treatment of the figurine affected the subject.

“Now he tells me!” she gasped. Then she sat up straight, twisted, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

Queen Glomerula, still beside him, laughed.

Colene became aware of her. “Shut up, bitch-cow, or I’ll kiss you too,” she snapped. “Even if it makes me upchuck again.”

Darius, wiping the spread vomit from his lips, had to smile. This was Colene, all right!

“And what are you doing with this slut naked on your bed?” Colene demanded of him.

“Demonstrating my magic,” he said. “I am of the animus: a magic-wielding man. You wish to make something of it?” That was a colloquialism he had learned from her; it was a kind of challenge to evince disapproval.

“Yeah,” she said. “But not in the same bed with Queen Nympho here!”

Darius turned to the queen. “I have decided to play with my own woman. You may go.”

The queen assessed the situation, picking up enough of his import to know that she was finished here. She shrugged; there would be another day. She stood, clothed herself again with illusion, and departed the chamber in good order. She had ascertained what she sought: Darius really did have strong magic, and was well able to protect his woman. He was animus.

“Okay, I’m here,” Colene said. “Play with me, you macho animus man.”

“You need to rest, and to eat something,” Darius said, sliding her off his lap.

“I’m not hungry, and I’m not ready to rest.”

He glanced at the vomit splattered on the floor, then took one of the larger quilts and used it to mop up the mess. “And put on some clothing,” he added.

“Oh, come on, I’ll do that,” she said. “It’s my mess.” She got down and nudged him aside.

He glanced at her naked body. “At least don a diaper.”

“A diaper!” she exclaimed. “I got sick, not incontinent.” Then she remembered. “Oh, that’s right—the women of your reality wear big diapers, so no one can see their stuff. But that’s when they’re in public. They take them off for sex, don’t they?”

“Yes. But that is not the case here.”

“Stop treating me like a child, Darius! I know what sex is. And by the look of you with that slut queen, you had it in mind! She bundled the quilt and carried it to the bathroom. Show him, Seqiro, her thought came back.

Immediately, Darius felt the heat of her love. Colene was raging with emotion, and desired him in a way which belied her youth.

He fought back his response, lest he be overwhelmed by his answering desire for her. “But you are a child,” he said. “You are fourteen, which by the standard of your culture is below the age of consent. It is not proper to indulge with you.”

She emerged from the bathroom, still defiantly naked. “Aren’t we in love, Darius?”

“Yes. That does not change your age.”

“But according to you, it’s all right for you to have sex with nympho queens, meanwhile?”

“Yes, if I choose. But I do not respect Glomerula, so sex with her is not an option.”

“If you did respect her, then you would have sex with her?”

“Yes, ordinarily. However—”

“And do you respect me?”

He hesitated, then answered. “Yes.”

“And you want me?”

“Yes.” He knew this was mischief. The queen’s challenge had been replaced by the girl’s challenge.

“So by your code, it is all right to have sex with women you don’t love, but not with the one you do.”

“It is an irony,” he agreed. “Now put on a diaper, or I will put one on you.”

“Oh, cut the hypocrisy,” she snapped. “You won’t have sex with me because you say it’s against my culture, but you want me to wear a diaper when you know that’s no part of my culture.”

He was taken aback. “That is true. I can not dictate your mode of dress.”

“You can’t dictate my mode of sex either!” she flared. “I had it with four men before I ever met you!”

Darius felt his jaw drop. Can this be true? he asked Seqiro.

It is true. And the horse opened up the memory to him: Colene at thirteen, on a date with a high school boy she hardly knew, who took her to a private party where they plied her with alcohol and then raped her. Unable to resist, she had gone along with it, and been too chagrined to tell. But she had felt unclean ever since, and carried a brooding, helpless anger. That episode had been a significant step toward her obsession with self-destruction. But along with the shame, she had developed a secondary fascination with sex: to flirt with it, to see how close she could come to it without getting caught again by it. As if a close escape somehow alleviated the disgust of the sex she had not escaped.

“So now you know,” she said, watching him as he assimilated the memory. “Why I cut myself, and why I risked having you rape me. Sex and death: they are allied. So you see, anything you are saving me for was lost before you ever met me. Do you hate me now?”

“No,” he said, appalled.

She stepped toward him. “So will you—?”

“No.”

“What is it with you? You know it’s pointless, when I’d much rather you did it with me than with some slut like the queen, and there’s no reason not to.”

“There is reason not to. I am not those men, and you are underage.”

“This damned idiotic moral code of yours! It doesn’t make sense!”

“It makes a sense you do not appreciate.”

“Is that a cut?” she demanded. “When I asked if you respected me, you hesitated. Why? Out with it.”

He did not like this, but it was a valid issue. “You deceived the Emperor of the DoOon, in the other reality, and tricked him into terminating his anchor.”

“It was the only way to save us and all the rest of the realities! He was going to conquer everything!”

“True. But you prevailed by trickery, violating your honor, and causing me to violate mine.”

“I may have saved us and every other universe—and you condemn me?”

“No. You have a standard other than mine. But it is a taint on my love for you.”

“I don’t understand you!” she exclaimed. “I did what had to be done. You know that. It was the only way. Tell me: how can you blame me?”

He suspected that it would not persuade her, but he tried to clarify it. “The Emperor had made captives of us all, though he did not treat us badly in the direct sense. He proposed to confine us to his reality until he had what he wanted from us, which was a Chip to enable him to cross realities. He threatened to kill Seqiro if you did not cooperate, so you cooperated. He threatened to destroy you if I did not cooperate, so I cooperated. What he did was wrong. But that did not justify wrongness on our part. When I agreed to help him—”

“Under duress!”

“I became bound by my word. Whether given freely or under duress, it was my commitment. He trusted me because he knew I would not break my word. Then we came to the anchor, and you had Seqiro, whose power I did not then know, get into the Emperor’s mind and make him free the anchor. That cut us loose from his reality, and we spun through the realities until we connected with another person who formed a new anchor. Now we are in Nona’s reality. That may be better for us and for the realities the Emperor would otherwise have invaded. But it was accomplished by a betrayal of trust. I promised to help the Emperor and not to seek harm to him. Instead I led him into betrayal. Because I depended on your word to buttress mine, and your word was not good. For that I must condemn you. How can I love a woman who can not be trusted?”

She was hurt. He saw it in the way her body shrank into itself, and felt it in the roiling darkness of her mind, which remained connected to his. For the first time he felt like killing himself, and knew it was her feeling. His own power of emotional projection might be void in this reality, but that of the horse remained. If only he had understood this aspect of her nature before he loved her! But she had betrayed him in that too, though unwittingly. She had not understood that he needed a woman full of joy, not pain. Had he known, he would have avoided any relationship with her, especially love.

Then her pain turned abruptly to fury. Now her rage beat at him. “Oh, you would have, would you? You didn’t care about me or anything, just about a vessel full of joy you could empty, so you could do your job at home. It was all strictly business. But you made a mistake. You got emotionally involved before you were sure. Too bad. Well, let me tell you some things you maybe didn’t think of. Here you’re so damned concerned with your private personal code, you’re not looking at what’s best for everyone else. You think your given word is more important than the rest of the universe, literally? You’re crazy! The universe doesn’t give a wormy horse dropping about what goes on in your head. You think it’s better to let billions of people be enslaved and maybe die than to break your word, when you only gave it to save me? I’m not worth it! Your word isn’t worth it. You have no right to impose your foible on the rest of everything.”

He tried to answer, and could not. Never before had she assaulted him like this, with her grief and her fury, and it was devastating. She refused to heed his logic. She continued, her emotion so strong that he was helpless.

“And even if you did, you still have no call to condemn me for doing what I had to do. Maybe you had to keep your word. I had to save our realities. I don’t have the luxury of your kind of integrity. I never was able to impose my standard on anyone else. Not when my family started breaking up, and it tore me up more than it tore up my folks, but they were the ones doing it and I was the one who suffered from it. Not when I got raped by those four horny freaks who didn’t care who else they hurt, so long as they dipped their sticks. The only real choice I ever had was surviving, any way I could—and I’m not sure I want to do that. So don’t tell me you can’t love me because I’m not what you thought I was. If you want to love me, it better be for what I really am. You can trust me to be what I am, and that’s all. And what I am is in love with you, and you’re the greatest thing that ever happened to me, and without you I’d be dead by now, and if you’re in trouble I’m going to save you some way, and if I have to kill someone to do it, then I will, and if I have to break my word, then I will, and if I have to hate you for not loving me back the same way, then I will.”

She stopped speaking, overcome by emotion. Her face was slick with tears and her hair disheveled. Darius stared at her. As she spoke, something had been occurring in his mind, a subtle but painful change, and now he realized what it was.

It was the realization that he was wrong. That he had judged her by the wrong standard. She was beautiful in her own way, mentally as well as physically, and he did love her for what she was, and he desperately craved her wild and total passion.

He owed her a phenomenal apology.

He started to speak, but she had his thought before he could formulate the words. “Oh, Darius!” she cried, and flung herself into his embrace, her forgiving as abrupt and total as her fury.

He kissed her and held her, feeling her love coming back at him with the cutting edge of her suicidal nature. She did not do things halfway; when she gambled, she gambled everything. When she loved, she loved without restraint. Perhaps he had somehow known her nature all along, and been attracted to it. She was almost completely different from him, but he needed her and could not give her up.

They lay together on the bed, their bodies pressed together. Her damp hair fell partly across his face. “Was that our first?” she asked.

“We didn’t do it,” he said.

She hit him gently on the shoulder with her fist. “I know we didn’t do that! I mean, our first knock-down, drag-out fight?”

“May it be our last!” he said fervently.

“No, folk can fight if they want to. It’s fun making up, after. Now we can do it.” The reference needed no clarification; her mind made it compellingly plain.

“No. Just let me love you, with understanding.” It was his mind’s turn to make it clear: he did not want to follow after callous young men who had sought no more than her body. Her body was unimportant compared to her feeling.

“That’s the nicest thing anybody ever thought about me,” she murmured, satisfied.

So they slept, their passion spent in a way the despots would not have understood. Indeed, the despots were probably watching, not understanding their words, mystified by the whole business.

IN the morning they had breakfast with their hosts. King Lombard looked amused, and Queen Glomerula looked grim. Knave Naylor was absent. Provos kept to herself, unworried, as became one who had no need to be concerned about the future. Obviously the despots were satisfied that the visitors were of the animus, but not satisfied about their purpose here. It might be dangerous as well as unethical to murder visiting animus, but might also be dangerous to let them stay. Or go.

Hobard continued working on common words. Communication, aided by Seqiro’s hidden assistance, became better. But they were at cross-purposes. Darius and his retinue, as the despots thought of it, wanted only to return through the anchor and travel the Virtual Mode, going home. The despots wanted only to find out enough to exploit the visitors, or to kill them. It was pointless to remain here much longer.

But there were guards throughout the castle, and it was obvious that it would not be possible simply to walk away. Darius disliked the notion of sneaking out at night, and wasn’t sure that would work either. So he would have to use magic. That would mean making figurines of all of them, so that he could conjure them to another place. Assuming that the despots had no way to stop his particular type of magic.

He sent a mental message to Provos: I need solid, liquid, and gas of yours.

Yes, I gave you those this evening, the woman returned.

That left the horse. How could he get the necessary essences there? If he sought to visit Seqiro, the despots might be suspicious. He wasn’t sure how much of his magic Queen Glomerula understood. He had shown her the figurine of Colene, and used it to conjure Colene to him. Conjuration did not seem to be a type of magic these folk used, but he couldn’t be sure.

Well, he might conjure himself or Colene to the horse tonight, to get the essences. Then he would be able to complete the icon.

The day passed pleasantly enough. The despots were reasonably gracious hosts, until such time as they came to their decision. Communication was getting easier as a basic vocabulary grew. Queen Glomerula, evidently hoping that Darius might like to conclude the business they had only started the prior night, was attentive. Colene was studiously neutral, as befitted the place of a woman of the animus.

They went to Darius’ chamber together in the evening, to the queen’s disappointment. Colene chatted about this and that and did an impromptu striptease dance, not for Darius’ sole benefit; she was doing it to distract those who were surely watching via their magic. That gave Darius the chance to make three more icons without, they hoped, being observed.

After a reasonable time, they settled down to sleep, Darius showing his seeming contempt for his woman by not bothering to use her for sex.

In due course Seqiro notified them that no one was watching them any more; they promised no further entertainment, either in what they might do with each other or in what the queen might do with Darius if he conjured his woman to her own chamber. The castle slept.

Now we can go to Seqiro, Colene thought.

I will conjure myself there. You may remain here and pretend to be both of us.

Like hell I will! How will I know you’re not conjuring yourself to the queen?

For a moment he was irritated. Then she laughed, mentally, and he realized that she had been joking. But she also wanted to come with him, even if the conjuration made her sick again.

Darius didn’t argue. He set up for his conjuration. First he used his finger to sketch a square between the two of them, on the bed. We are here. This is my chamber, our starting point. Then he sketched another square below it. Seqiro is here. It is his stall.

Urn, should we go direct? Colene’s thought came. They might be alert to contact between any of us and Seqiro.

That was a good point. Not everybody in the castle was asleep; some night-shift guards remained alert. He erased the stall square, physically and mentally, deactivating it. Then he made another: This is the chamber where we donned Oria clothing. That was reasonably close to the stalls; they could walk across the court to reach Seqiro.

He took the figurine of Colene. Colene, he thought firmly, activating it. Then without moving it, he addressed his own: Darius.

Now they were ready. We are here, he thought. Colene is stepping there. He moved her icon from the first square to the second—and she disappeared. I am stepping there. He moved his own, and the wrenching took him, and he was there beside her. Both of them lying on the floor in their nightclothes.

He deactivated the icons and they got to their feet. Colene did not vomit this time; she had been prepared and exerted her will to keep her stomach in line. He gave her a silent squeeze of approval around the shoulders.

He could make a light magically, but decided not to; it was better to use the starlight, which was so bright that it shone in through the doorway. Their eyes were already adjusted to the night.

They stepped out—and stopped, amazed.

There was light in the sky, all right, but it wasn’t exactly starlight. It was a series of connected patterns, as if each star had several glowing moons, which in turn had a number of moonlets, which in turn—there seemed to be no end to it. Furthermore, these stars seemed close, because beyond them they saw the larger glow of Luna. Yet this great moon was not exactly the same. For one thing, it wasn’t round. It was crudely shell-shaped. For another, it was surrounded by curlicue patterns of stars, some of which passed behind it and some in front of it. One pattern seemed to dance its way directly toward this planet, before getting lost in the patterns of closer shell patterns.

The Mandelbrot set! she thought, remembering her revelation of the prior day. It really is true! We’re in a fractal universe!

Like the one they showed in their image? he inquired. With all the planets and stars connected together? He was as amazed as she.

Yes! I recognize it now. The shells and seahorse tails, all linked in intricate patterns. This is it!

They looked down at the dark surface of the planet Oria—and the patterns extended all the way to the ground. In fact, there were tiny whorls of light right at their feet, rising from tiny irregularities on the ground. The stars weren’t just in the sky, they were everywhere, and they weren’t distant and large, they were close and tiny. They were like cobwebs, except that their feet passed through them without effect.

Illusion, Darius decided.

I don’t think so, Colene responded. I think they’re real, but phased out, so we can’t interfere with them.

But they couldn’t remain indefinitely to stare at the effects. They had a horse to rescue. They resumed their walk, guided by Seqiro’s thoughts.

They reached the stalls without interference, and Darius obtained a hair from the horse’s mane, a drop of saliva, and the breath on the icon. It was complete.

One thing, the horse thought. I have discovered that my power is limited in this reality. I did not realize this at first because I had no reason to reach minds beyond this region. But I can communicate completely only at close range. Because I came to know Nona, and her mind is open to me, I can reach her at the village, but it is a strain. I can reach no other person there, and fear I would not be able to reach even you, Colene, at farther range.

Colene looked at Darius. They both knew that this was a serious limit. But it aligned with Darius’ own ability to do sympathetic magic and not emotional magic. The reality was hostile to mind-magic, and perhaps only the horse’s great power enabled him to retain even a limited proficiency.

Then Colene patted Seqiro’s shoulder. We won’t let you get out of range, she thought reassuringly. We haven’t been paying you much attention recently, but that’s because we don’t want to give away your importance to us. I love you, horseface.

Don’t fight with me! Seqiro thought, alarmed.

Darius had to chomp on his tongue to stop from laughing out loud. But Colene took it with good grace. I can love without fighting, she thought, burying her face in the horse’s mane. You never oppose your will to mine.

Darius saw that the bond between girl and horse was as deep as that between girl and man. He felt Colene’s love of Seqiro, unconsciously relayed to him by the horse, and understood it. He felt himself loving Seqiro similarly, and didn’t fight it. The horse was worthy, and a phenomenal asset to their group. And it had been Seqiro’s power that enabled Colene to rescue them from captivity by the Emperor. He now accepted the necessity of that action, and was relieved that it had happened.

Colene turned to him. She hugged him, wordlessly but not thoughtlessly.

“But where are his supplies?” he asked after a moment. For the horse had been burdened with all of their spare food, clothing, and tools.

The despots took everything away.

“My bike!” Colene exclaimed aloud, then covered her mouth as if to silence herself. She was referring to her bicycle, an instrument with which she could travel with greater speed and ease than on foot. It also had been part of Seqiro’s load.

That, too. I think they locked up what they did not understand, and they thought that to be part of a wagon.

Colene made a wry face. She did not like losing her things. But they had no effective way to recover them; any attempt would alert the despots to their effort to escape.

Then Darius conjured himself and Colene by turns back to his chamber. They had the wit to lie down first, so that they would not arrive standing on the bed.

Now that I’m getting to know your magic, I like it, Colene thought. Though it does make me want to retch.

This is only the lesser part of it, he replied. Everyone in my reality has this much.

So I understand. Say—do you ever need to make folk unhappy? Then you could draw from me, and I’d get happier while they all got suicidal!

The notion seemed preposterous. Then he realized that if they ever got stranded in a reality in which evil folk held them captive, and his cyng power worked, her offer would make sense. She could be dangerous indeed, in certain circumstances.

Thanks, she thought. Then she climbed half on him, kissed him, and went to sleep.