A Crown Imperiled (34 page)

‘Tell him what?’ asked Sandreena.

Magnus smiled and it was one of the few times either of them had seen him do that. ‘Why, tell him everything,’ he said with a chuckle. Then he said to Tak’ka, ‘Might I ask for a few things?’

‘What do you require?’ asked the elder of the two Pantathians. The subtleties of his race’s expressions were becoming known to Magnus and he smiled. ‘Tea if you have it please, water if not. And perhaps a cushion upon which I might sit. I suspect I will be here a while studying this construction.’

Amirantha, Warlock of the Saltumbria, took the Tsurani transport orb. ‘Will you share your suspicions? In case your father asks.’

Magnus shrugged. ‘These beings are as alien to us as any we have ever encountered. As far as I can see they are composed entirely of energy, albeit in a coherent form. For various reasons, we assume them to be sentient, an assumption we made in haste when we first encountered them in the Peaks of the Quor, but that may prove not to be the case.

‘Moreover, they seem to communicate on a profound level of emotions, which may be subtle enough to convey the most nuanced concepts, but for us are incomprehensible. Imagine, if you will, hearing a group of singers, a choir. Most of us might be able to hear the entirety as a lovely blend, perhaps much as we experience our proximity to the Sven-ga’ri as a feeling of calm and wellness. Some of us might be able to listen to one voice or another within the choir, somehow isolating it from the others. But I suspect, to hold to this analogy, the Sven-ga’ri are ten thousand voices and each of them holds the ability to listen to each voice as a choir, yet each alone, simultaneously. Whichever it may be, I think they are intelligent in a manner we have yet to understand, and that they are trying to communicate with us.’

Amirantha said, ‘Interesting. But what about that oval of light?’

‘I think they are tired of our clumsy attempts to communicate, and are now trying something that may be as alien to them as it is to us. Energy to us is most clearly perceived as light, hence I think they are trying to provide us with a means to communicate.’

‘So, this is . . . ?’

I think they are trying to teach me to read, given that I appear deaf to them.’

Amirantha smiled. ‘Well, then, we’ll leave you to your studies and convey all we’ve seen to your father.’

Sandreena moved next to her former lover, putting a hand upon his arm. With a final nod to the Pantathians and Magnus, Amirantha activated the orb and they were gone.

Magnus turned his attention to the bright oval, studying the ripples of light, their intensities and colours. He was so focused that when he was brought a cushion he barely registered it. When his tea arrived he did not acknowledge it, and hours later it remained untouched.

Magnus found his senses challenged by a cascade of images. He discovered subtle patterns beginning to emerge as he felt the presence of the Sven-ga’ri, almost as a tactile music in his mind. He let his senses relax and having becoming attuned to the interplay of emotion – mental music as he thought of it – and the faint patterns within the white light, he began to bring his magic to bear.

More than any magician in the history of this world, including even his father Pug, Magnus could unleash torrents of destructive energies that could shatter mountain tops, turn back the tides, or call up winds to topple city towers, but he also could manipulate the finest threads of a tapestry, capture one raindrop in a storm, or move a sleeping kitten across the room without waking it, using his mind alone.

As deftly as a seamstress threading the smallest needle with the tiniest thread, he reached out and caressed the energies. Gently, he pushed into the matrix and his mind expanded his exploration carefully.

Magnus was overcome by wonder as a crystal-like, three-dimensional network of forces revealed itself. He knew he was barely below the surface of the shimmering white oval, yet at this scale the energies appeared monstrously large and complex. It was like floating through a city of ice, but without streets, buildings arrayed like massive boxes, and in each of those boxes a million pulses of light per second flickered.

Somewhere in all of this was a pattern that would reveal its purpose, and Magnus was prepared to search for as long as it took.

He pressed on.

Perceptions shifted and scales expanded and contracted and Magnus felt as if he was floating through a vast universe composed of energy. His body sat motionless in the garden created by the Pantathians for the Sven-ga’ri, but he now saw himself as physically in this universe. It was as if he flew by will alone through vast spaces, yet he knew those spaces were in reality as small as the space between the tiniest grains of sand on the beach, as small as the space between drops of rain. He reached out with his mind and felt the coursing of energies as they made their way, in this direction or that, up or down, right or left, in a pattern that was always just beyond the edge of his apprehension.

By Magnus’s estimation he had explored only the tiniest portion of the energy field, yet a pattern was slowly beginning to present itself. At first he rejected the idea, believing he was misinterpreting what he was seeing but as time wore on he began to see his theory ratified and before long he became certain that it was borne out. Patterns repeated and relationships emerged and revealed themselves. It was a terribly clever and complex creation.

A deep fatigue overtook him suddenly and he realized he had no sense of how long he had been exploring inside the energy matrix. Knowing he would have to stop and find his way back later, he created the illusion of a market, a place to which he could return and renew his exploration, and then deftly withdrew his consciousness.

Suddenly he was chilled and wet and shivering. He blinked. It was dark. A Pantathian stood above him holding a large canvas cover, protecting him as much as possible from the punishingly cold rain.

Magnus raised his hand to his face wiped away wetness and felt stubble on his cheek. He looked at the Pantathian and said, ‘How long have I been here?’

The creature apparently didn’t speak the Keshian tongue, but from behind him another voice said, ‘All day, the night, the next day, and this night, without moving.’

Magnus turned and found his body stiff and unresponsive. He saw Tak’ka standing in the rain. The Senior President of the Pantathian nation said, ‘We feared you might have been trapped within by some magic, but were uncertain of how to reach you.’

Groaning a little as he unfolded his legs, Magnus said, ‘You did the right thing, in waiting. My sense of time becomes lost in there, apparently. If felt as if I were there for minutes, perhaps an hour.’ As he stood up his head began to throb. ‘I must be careful when next I venture in.’

‘You discovered something?’

‘I’m not certain. I see a pattern and I have deduced one possible explanation for its existence, but I cannot yet declare that judgment sound. More exploration is necessary.’

‘Come, rest. You’re obviously chilled and in need of warmth and food.’

‘You are very kind,’ said Magnus. ‘Given the history between us, your generosity is unexpected.’ Like his father, he had been astonished at his reception by these Pantathians. As bellicose as their kin were, the residents of this small city were gentle, kind, and apparently, extremely forgiving.

‘We are the caretakers of the Sven-ga’ri, and I fear that whatever is moving out there in the darkness, our charges are at risk. I welcome your strength and knowledge in preserving them.’

Magnus nodded, but already he was beginning to suspect that before this exploration was over, preserving the Sven-ga’ri might be the last thing he and his father would wish. His initial impressions were now overlain by a deep sense of growing certainty that these . . . he wasn’t sure how to regard the Sven-ga’ri so he continued to think of them as sentient beings, were far different in nature than he had first presumed.

He followed his host inside to warmth and food.

Magnus enjoyed a hot meal and his clothing dried over a small brazier while he bathed. By the time he had donned his now-warm robe, he was already half-asleep. He lay on the pallet provided and within moments fell into an exhausted sleep.

After resting through most of the night, in the hours before dawn he began to dream.

He floated through the matrix, again, only this time rather than energy he saw solid objects in bright and muted colours, some flickering between the two states, alight from within one moment, dimmed the next. Lines of silver-white like endless cords, stretched down the broad expanses that intersected the structures. ‘A city,’ he whispered.

‘An illusion,’ said a voice from behind him.

He turned to see a figure both strange and familiar, a black-bearded man in a black robe, holding a wooden staff. His feet were clad in sandals and around his waist was a simple whipcord rope.

‘Macros,’ he whispered.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said the phantasm.

Magnus had never met his grandfather, for he had died before Magnus was born, but he had encountered a Dasati upon whom the memories of the dead sorcerer had been bestowed. There was as much resemblance between the two as there could be between dissimilar species, but there was more than that. The Dasati-Macros had been ill, in advanced years, and dying.

Before Magnus now stood Macros in his prime, looking no more than perhaps forty years of age, his manner calm and relaxed, yet Magnus could sense hidden power just below the surface.

‘I’m dreaming,’ said Magnus.

‘Yes,’ answered Macros, ‘but like all dreams, there are open to you avenues into thoughts as yet unexplored. It’s the perfect state in which you are receptive to contact you might otherwise not recognize. Besides, you are impervious to spying now.’

‘Spying?’

The shade of Macros smiled. ‘You have some inkling of those who oppose you, at least in one sense, while in another you have no idea whatsoever what forces are arrayed to destroy you and your father. Time is essential, yet here time is as much an illusion as sight and sound, for we are in the dream.’

He stepped forward then reached out, gripped Magnus by the elbow and gently but firmly turned him around. ‘Walk with me and we shall discover much, but you will only know what you already know.’

Magnus allowed himself to be compelled in this fashion, but said, ‘I do not understand.’

‘I am not Macros, as I’m sure you’ve already assumed. I am his image, a memory of him made solid and able to converse.’

‘Whose memory?’

‘Kalkin’s, whom you also call Ban-ath.’

‘A memory?’

‘A god’s memory is a powerful things, as is a god’s dream. You are sharing a god’s dream and are speaking with a god’s memory. Let’s move on.’ Macros pointed and suddenly they were rising to one of the lines of energy. Letting go of Magnus’s arm, he said, ‘Grip the line and do not fall too far behind. Even a god has limited control on how lucid a dream may become.’

Magnus reached up when Macros, or his illusion, reached up and suddenly he was being propelled along at incalculable speed, yet felt no sensation of movement, just a blurring of all they passed.

Then Macros said, ‘In a moment, I will tell you to let go. Do not hesitate.’

A moment passed; then Macros said, ‘Let go,’ and Magnus complied at once.

They floated before what appeared to be a monstrous fortress, but one created by a demented mind. It sat upon no ground, so a vast wall stretched out before them in all directions. ‘Let us gain some perspective,’ said Macros, and suddenly the wall shrank to the size of a mere room. ‘In dream, all things are possible; within the matrix, what you saw before approaches the truth.’

Magnus examined the wall. It was apparently made of some sort of red stone, with four doors set in the middle, a single square of stone separating them. Two large windows with red iron bars were placed at forty-five degree angles to the upper corner on either side, so that each section gave the vague impression of a face, two eyes and a mouth. Continuing along the line from the door through each window, the top of the wall featured a turret, with crenels and merlons.

‘It looks like four castles smashed together,’ said Magnus.

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Macros chuckled. ‘It is an image created for your mind to understand. There is no real-world analogue that would do justice to what this really is.’

‘What is it called?’

‘Many things. The blazing barrier. The fire wall. The terminus. The final barrier.’

‘What function does it serve?’

‘I cannot tell you, for you do not know, and I know only what you know.’

‘So I was aware of this barrier, yet . . .’

‘Your mind in dream is apprehending what it is you’ve come to understand by inference and deduction. You have not seen the barrier so you have created an image of it, but it may bear no true resemblance to the reality of the barrier. In the end, you will only know when you have reached the barrier.’

‘There are so many questions,’ said Magnus. ‘And yet . . .’

‘You cannot frame them, because they are the questions your mind has no answers for. You understood when we first met that I was not your grandfather, and that Kalkin dreamed, and the rest. For more answers within your own mind, you will have to seek out answers in the real world. For more answers from Kalkin, well, you will have to seek him out, and as you know from your father’s tales of the Trickster God, even then you may never get answers you can trust.’

Suddenly the image of Macros was gone.

Magnus’s eyes opened and it was dawn.

He sat up and stretched, yawning, knowing that after he had braced himself with food and drink he would again confront the mystery of the energy matrix. Perhaps this time he could go deep enough to reach this final barrier and then, perhaps, beyond it.

Sandreena and Amirantha were breaking fast when a student approached. ‘Pug has returned and asked that you join him when you’re finished.’

Amirantha looked at Sandreena. ‘You finished?’

She was on her feet before he could finish the question and he rose to follow her. ‘I guess you’ve finished!’