The New World

Chapter Fifty

36th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Shirikun, North Moriande

Free Nalenyr

Keles did not come fully awake until someone dragged him upright in the bed. The xunling roots had done nothing to keep the shadowed stranger away from him, which was odd. They never let anyone near him until ordered back, not even Geselkir or Jasai.

Who?

The man wrapped a sheet around him and lifted Keles into his arms. Being carried like that felt at once alien and yet normal. He worked a hand free and rubbed his eyes. Keles stared at the man, then knew he must be in a fever dream. The square jaw, the beard, the half smile-all very familiar.

“You look like my father.”

“I am your father.” As untrue as the words had to be, the voice triggered all sorts of memories. “Easy, Keles, don’t struggle. I don’t want to drop you.”

“You can’t be. My father’s dead.”

“Not dead. Just lost, for a time. In time.”

The man carried Keles to his suite’s antechamber. A wooden platform with a gold railing and eight gold disks filled the room. Pieces of furniture had collapsed beneath it. A huge globe, six feet in diameter, on a gimbaled stand dominated the platform.

“What is this?”

“Your grandfather has his map. You have your book. I have this.” He lowered Keles to the platform, then sprang over the railing and got a chair. He placed Keles in it, then ran back to the bedroom and dragged the heavy blanket to drape over him. “It can get cold.”

Keles weakly shoved the blanket off. “I can’t…I have to wake up.”

“Keles, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you? I don’t know you. I don’t know this thing. I am delirious. This is a dream.”

“No, it’s not, son.” The man started the globe spinning. A sphere of brilliant light surrounded the platform. It became opaque, hiding the world. Keles’ stomach lurched. They were moving, and the tingle of magic pricked his flesh with needles.

The word “son” resonated through him, distracting him. He’d heard it said in that tone, in that voice, over eighteen years before. Ryn Anturasi had bent down, smiled reassuringly, and used that very sentence to quell Keles’ fears about his father’s last voyage.

“You never came back.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Mother is dead.”

“I know.”

Keles looked over at him. “How?”

“I did something I was not supposed to do. I saw things I was not supposed to see.” Ryn Anturasi slowly shook his head. “One of them was your mother’s death.”

“But…”

“It happened in the future, yes.” Ryn rested his hands on Keles’ shoulders. “My father sent me to the Dark Sea not to kill me, as many have supposed. He sent me to look for something very specific. He knew it was out there, on one of the islands, buried deep in the ruins of a Viruk fortress. I went, I dug, and I found it. It was an opaque sphere as big around as my head. I was told to find it, put it in two sacks, lock it in a chest, and bring it to him. You know how Qiro gives orders.”

Keles nodded. “You disobeyed.”

“I did.”

“Jorim takes after you.”

“And you after your mother.” The man’s voice caught. He squeezed Keles’ shoulders. “I studied the stone. I caught visions. I saw many things from the past, all fascinating, and then I dared look into the future.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing.”

“How can you see nothing? Doesn’t it work?”

“It works too well.” Ryn came around and sat back on the railing. “I was looking too far, so I refined my vision. I saw the future we are in now. I saw your mother die. So I looked for other futures, but she always died. So I began to look into the past.

“There was a god, Nessagafel, the first god among the Viruk. The creator. His children cast him from the Heavens and trapped him. On the earth, Virukadeen was destroyed. Nessagafel was no more, or so everyone believed. But it wasn’t true. Down through the years he has attempted to engineer plot after plot to free himself so he could start over. There are dozens of people-human, Viruk, Soth-whom he has used as his agents. Prince Nelesquin was one and your grandfather is another.”

“Have you seen us here, now, together?”

“No, which is why we can be here, now, together.” Ryn smiled. “I took the stone and used it as the heart of my timeship. I can use it to slip into places where there are no observers because once something has been seen, it exists. Your grandfather makes things exist by putting them on maps or imagining them in his head. I look for open places where I can venture. Since I last saw you, I have slipped in and out of time, working to balance Nessagafel’s influence.”

“Couldn’t you have just gone back and prevented your father from becoming an agent? It happened when he traveled to the Wastes, yes?”

“Yes, but that was before I was born. As tempting as it might have been to kill him then, I wouldn’t have existed.” Ryn frowned. “I was able to spend time with him on that trip. One night, in a teahouse in Sylumak. We were just travelers talking. He was so enthusiastic about his journey. He was a different man.”

“Now he has become very dangerous.”

“Nessagafel has regained a degree of freedom. He augments your grandfather’s power.”

“Nessagafel created the stone?”

“He or one of his minions. Had my father gotten his hands on it, disasters would have unfolded much faster.”

Keles nodded, then glanced right. “The globe, it’s slowing. The lights, too.”

Ryn pulled the blanket up around him. “It will be cold. We will be quite high.” His father tucked it in around Keles’ shoulders, then moved to the globe’s controls.

The sphere faded completely and Keles grasped the arms of the chair. The platform hung many feet in the air. They faced the east, with the sun coming up. Its light had just touched the eastern shore, but already mountains north and south blazed with light reflected from snowcaps. Long rivers ran through lush valleys and emptied through sparkling deltas.

“Do you recognize this place?”

Keles leaned forward. “Nalenyr? But I don’t see Moriande. And there are forests everywhere.”

“This is Nalenyr before there was a Nalenyr.”

“I never could have imagined…”

“But that’s what’s important, Keles. You have to study this. Your grandfather does imagine, and everything he imagines shifts what you see below.”

Keles shook his head slowly. “This is incredible.”

“Just wait.” Ryn worked two levers. “Look at this.”

The timeship came around, putting Keles’ back to the sun. Before him, where the Dark Sea should have been, a massive mountain thrust its peak into the clouds. Snow girdled the base but, above, the mountain became alive with green plants and flowers and flocks of colorful birds. Islands with beautiful palaces orbited and small airships passed from one to another.

Keles stood and staggered to the railing. “Rekarafi said Virukadeen was a paradise. He didn’t lie. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

“And Nessagafel would have eliminated all of it. The Viruk fought him and ended up destroying it. That won’t be for eons yet. Here, they have just mastered magic. This is what the Viruk lost, and why they feel they deserve no more future.”

Keles looked back over his shoulder. “They don’t deserve a future?”

“They destroyed paradise, Keles. They have no more children, and build no more empires, because they can never again have what they lost.”

“And that is what will happen to Men? That’s why you could not see a future?”

“That’s why I’ve brought you here. To guarantee we have one.”

Keles nodded. “Bring me lower. Let me study the world. Let me know how the land once was-how it is meant to be. I want to know everything. I can’t let Qiro change anything.”

Ciras spun, ducking beneath the whistling blade of a gyanrigot warrior. He twisted his wrist and it clicked into place. He slashed up, severing a control wire. The gyanrigot ’s sword arm went limp, but the weight of the arm spun the machine around in a circle.

Two more cuts, parting similar wires where a man’s hamstrings would have been, and the soldier went down.

Ciras leaped past him, blocked another sword blow, and stroked his sword over a gyanrigot ’s stomach. It folded around the cut. Its sword clattered to the ground.

A metallic scrape against the floor betrayed another attacker. Ciras whirled, bringing his sword up in a backhanded slash. The gyanrigot — an unconverted smith-caught the blade with tongs, then smashed a hammer on the swordsman’s blade. The sword spun from his grip.

Both Ciras and the gyanrigot stared at his empty hand for a moment, then Ciras lunged. He stabbed his stiff-fingered hand into the warrior’s chest and came away with a handful of wires and tubes. Hot oil sprayed. The gyanrigot crashed to the floor in a horrible din.

Ciras shook his hand, then let the oil drip from it. The black fluid drained away, revealing silver skin covered with lines of tiny script. He flexed his fingers. They did what he ordered them to do, and he could almost feel with them. Borosan had yet to work out heat and cold, but pressure functioned very well.

And, at least, I do not feel pain. Ciras smiled. Neither in my flesh nor in my heart.

Borosan lifted Ciras’ sword and wiped the oil from it. “I can make the grip tighter, if you want?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Ciras rested the metal hand on Borosan’s shoulder. “It works very well.”

“There are some other improvements I’d like to make. I can put a compartment in the forearm that will open and shoot darts, just like the mousers.”

“No, my friend, I am a swordsman. I am jaecaiserr. All I need is a blade. You’ve done enough already to make sure I’ll never be without one. I am happy.” He took the vanyesh blade from the inventor. “A strong arm and a good blade to wield. That is all I have ever really needed in life. I have them now, and my enemies, once again, have ample cause for fear.”