Enchanter (Book 7) (76 page)

“He was a necromancer,” I pointed out.  “This is enchantment.  Whole different thing.”

“You kow, I reserve the right to say I told you so when we’re all dead on the ground,” he said in a friendly voice.

“Understood.  Go fetch the crystal.  It’s time we got started.”

I understood both of my advisors’ concerns.  A work of this magnitude was a great undertaking, and one that should be approached with cautious wisdom, not impatience.  But once I had witnessed the six-branched enneagram in the Grain, I really couldn’t see any compelling reason not to make the attempt.  I had everything that I needed, and delaying because it might go horribly wrong in some catastrophic way just didn’t seem like a compelling reason anymore.

I don’t know exactly what came over me, after my conversation with Pentandra, but it lit a fire under me.  I wanted the Snowflake to work – whatever it did – and I wanted it now.   I lit a candle with a cantrip, earning a quizzical look from Dranus.

“Is there not plenty of magelight, Excellency?” he asked, nodding toward the unnecessary illumination.

“Something this important, I want Briga to witness what I’m doing,” I explained.  “Humor me.”

He shrugged.  Dranus was not a particularly religious man.  But I was being serious.  I had been assaulted here without my goddess’ knowledge, because there was no flame present.  If she was not there to witness my shame, I at least wanted her to witness my triumph.  And potential death.  I figured I deserved a divine audience for that.

The actual working went essentially according to plan.  Ruderal assisted in transferring the enneagram, though it took a significant amount of power to do so. 

I had Dranus, Taren (who had returned from Rolone specifically for this purpose), Dara, Master Ulin and Gareth all providing power through the Covenstone, because I’m lazy, and it was sufficient to effect the transfer, with Onranion watching the flower of arcane energy.  Meanwhile Master Azguri was singing the Snowflake, trying to control its matrix from within.  It was a losing battle, but it only had to work long enough to make the transfer from the Grain to the crystal, and from the crystal to the Snowflake.

It was hard, excruciating work, dealing with an enneagram that size.  I don’t think I could have done it without the Alkan and Karshak masters at hand. Master Ulin, too, was instrumental in the calculations needed to know just how to place the enneagram. 

I had the hard part: making the transfer.  The enneagram had to go through my mind, with a bit of a magical assist.  The transfer was arduous, the hardest magic I’ve ever done.  It was a little like reciting multiplication tables while translating a book of poetry from Alkan while standing on a precariously balanced stool in the middle of a riot. 

For an earth elemental or something simple, that’s as easy as reciting verse.  For the Celestial Mother, as I called her in my mind, it was like reciting an endless encyclopedia.  It’s too baffling an experience to relate in words, for my mind saw things and experienced sensations that were not natural to it. 

As I was imbuing the enneagram into the Snowflake, it was as if I lived lifetimes of other creatures’ lives.  Merely carrying the crystal the few steps across the chamber to the Snowflake saw me live many lives as undersea animals of strange and fascinating natures, each a smaller subset of the Mother.  That was why she was so complex, she was the root of a vast hive of entities with incredibly diverse perspectives.  The Celestial Mother kept them all in harmony, managing them as adeptly as Alya manages Min and Amina.

There was, as Ruderal had told me, an unquenchable sense of matronly love for all of them, too.  The Celestial Mother had lived to care and nurture her vast brood.  All were connected to her by magical tendrils in one vast fisherman’s net of experience.  She had lived for eons, before some chance had brought her into contact with the slip of Ghost Rock that became the Grain of Pors. 

But the experience of the Celestial Mother was not limited to the sea, I knew in those eternal few instants.  She was celestial in her perspective, thanks to the insights of the magic of Callidore.  She had knowledge of the realms beyond the shore, the land, and far beyond the sky.  As I poured forth the enneagram through my soul, I witnessed things I barely had concepts for, and some that were suggestive of madness. 

Through the Celestial Mother’s many children I saw the stars as bobbing leaves on a vast sea of darkness.  Worlds so large that they staggered the imagination.  Beauty so sublime that it endangered your peace to regard them for long, endless gardens of flaring starfire, and malevolent powers crouched within clouds of the ashes of worlds seeking to consume all.  I saw the breathtaking wonder of life from its most minute to its most profound, and saw cycles of nature so subtle they took millennia to discern.

And all of that in a few moments.  It was emotionally draining and physically exhausting, and when the factitive procedure was done I was myself imbued with a profound sense of my own insignificance.

“She’s in there,” Taren affirmed with a grin, after Dara caught me as I collapsed.  “I don’t know how you managed it, Min, but you’ve firmly attached the enneagram.”

“Affix it,” I whispered, as Dara brought me water.  Taren nodded, selected the Alaran Stone from the table, and began the spell to bind the enneagram permanently.  There was no chance of it degrading, now, I thought, when he was finished.  Even if I died, this part was done.  Someone else, someone with more power and more sense than I, could pick it up from here.  That gave me a sense of ease I had not felt in a long time.

“It’s done,” Taren pronounced, setting the stone down.  “All that’s left to do now is make the several thousand thaumaturgical connections, and we can all take turns with that.  I actually thought it would be harder.”

I tried to glare at him, but I didn’t have the strength.  Instead I looked at the Snowflake for the first time in a long time, really looked at it with magesight.  There was a difference, I could tell.  The pattern was already changing in subtle ways, becoming more intricate as I watched.

“We can take it from here, Master,” Gareth assured me, confidently.  “In a few weeks, we’ll have the pattern bound to the matrix, and we can start feeding it power to test the connections.  I’ll do a few tonight, just to ensure the binding has taken. But you can rest, Master,” he pleaded.

“That was a wondrous achievement, Excellency,” Dranus said with undisguised admiration.  “I know of no one else who could have done it.  Let us now pray that it works.”

Not the vote of confidence I needed.  But I knew it would work.  I had experienced only a tithe of the awareness of the Celestial Mother, and only for an instant, but such a complex being made even the gods, themselves, seem small in comparison. 

I felt blessed and humbled to have done it.  Honored, even, for my role in bringing such a magnificent thing back into being.  It was like a suit of clothes hanging on a rack still waiting to be filled, but it was hanging.  I had done that much.  I wasn’t sure I could do any more.

My apprentices helped me to bed.  Alya checked on me, anxious – enchantment took a physical toll on the enchanter, and this was by far the most difficult work I’d ever done.  It made everything else seem like essays in the craft. 

The residue of my experience with the Celestial Mother haunted my dreams, showing me things about a Callidore that no longer existed, even under the seas.  It was a world of incomparable order and sophistication, where thousands of different types of creatures lived and worked in a kind of harmony, all directed and guided by the benevolence of the Celestial Mother for countless ages. 

I could feel the shadow of her enneagram in my mind like a half-remembered conversation as I slept.  In the days that followed I spontaneously had flashes of that perspective, but having the perspective to understand it was beyond me.

I awoke late in the day to find Alya by my bed, looking terribly worried.  She mopped my brow and brought me water and then ale, as I came out of the post-enchantment stupor.  I felt the usual temulence I suffered when doing intense work, but far more pronounced.  My limbs tingled and there were flashes of pain.  The whole world looked tiny, temporary, ephemeral.  It took me a while to shake off the feeling.

The work apparently changed me, as well.  Or at least made me more introspective for a few days, enough to concern both my wife and my mother . . . and if Alya was willing to ask Mama to come check on me, I know she was worried.

Physically, I was fine.  Master Ulin kept me informed of the process of attaching the thousands of connections, but it would be awhile before we could even consider powering it.

In the meantime, I had duties to perform.  Duties that seemed to be utterly pointless as I prepared for the Conclave that it took some prompting for me to get my case of parchment together for the business that had to be done there. 

Alya was worried enough about me to insist on Dara and Gareth accompanying me to Castabriel to watch over me, and I permitted it.  By the time I transported us to the Arcane Order’s headquarters in the capital, I was beginning to sense the influence of the Celestial Mother fading.  But it never completely left me.

*

*

Pentandra’s former assistant, Genthil, had taken great pains to spruce up the former temple that now served as the Arcane Orders’ headquarters and mother house.  Unlike Pentandra, who had purchased a pretty little estate outside of town and managed the Orders’ affairs from there, Genthil had taken residence in the Order and began running it like his personal domain.

The sigil of the order was embroidered on banners or painted, and not only the temple but the streets nearby had been hung with them. He’d cleaned the exterior of the building with magic, removing layers of soot and dirt that had accumulated (and sparked a sudden interest in the surrounding temples to do likewise, once the Order’s spire gleamed so magnificently). 

There were now liveried warmagi guarding the main door and other entrances, mageblades behind their shoulder and wicked-looking warstaves in their hands like spears.  Security was an issue, I learned, after thieves started taking an interest in the place. 

The changes weren’t merely external, either, I saw as he took me on a brief tour.  VVV had reformed the internal bureaucracy and streamlined it to make it more efficient and more responsive to the needs of the members.  There were actual offices for each of the sub-orders, now, with permanent attendants to see to their individual business. 

Each of the kingdom’s two magical academies had offices, and there was even an office set aside (though currently vacant, pending my oversight) for an official representative of the Spellmonger.  The records archive had been completely re-organized and attended by two young magi who acted as clerks.

There was a permanent liaison with the Royal Court Wizard’s office, and two clerks who did nothing but oversee examinations and certifications.  The Mirror’s office was a well-run enterprise that had grown in popularity, and now employed fifteen magi full-time, with another six trained and ready to fill in on the busy array at any time.

“The Mirror is actually quite profitable,” Genthil admitted to me.  “Most of the other departments are running at a slight deficit or breaking even, mostly on the basis of fees and such, but we profit enough on the Mirror to more than make up for it.  The nobility and the merchant houses have finally caught on to the advantages of such communications.  Indeed, I have just this week entertained a proposal from the new Warlord about developing a similar system to allow elements of the fleet to remain in contact with each other without being in sight.  I wanted to discuss it with you before I responded on behalf of the Order.”

“That’s actually an intriguing idea,” I admitted.  My experience with ships was limited, but even I could see the strategic and tactical advantages.  While it might do nothing to help the war with Sheruel, my interest in enchantment immediately suggested that there was an opportunity here. 

“Send back a counter-proposal.  Suggest that such an array is not only possible, but that there may be even better means of achieving his ends, magically, that would convey further advantages over the maritime enemies of the kingdom.  Of course such an enterprise would be costly to develop, but that after consulting with the Kingdom’s leading enchanters, the possibilities for such a working are impressive.  Invite him to extend an offer of how much he’s willing to spend, and we’ll give him a working proposal of what we can do.”

“Thank you, Minalan,” Genthil said, gratefully.  “I have done my best to stay aloof from court politics, and I know that Count Salgo is a friend of yours, so I was uncertain of how to proceed.”

“The Order’s business is not dependent upon our personal connections,” I said, realizing I was guiding policy here.  “It can’t be.  My goal has always been to create an independent, impartial and apolitical institution with the primary purpose of supporting magi and representing their interests.  This could mean a lot of coin for a lot of us.  Not to mention pushing the development of enchantment, which I’m currently in favor of.”

“Apropos to that,” he said, as we came back out into the central rotunda, where the skull of the Dragon of Cambrian was on display, “your interest, and the recent symposium in Sevendor, has led to a resurgence of fascination with that ancient art.”

“By design.  I’ve prepared copies of a folio I’ve completed, a small thaumaturgic orismology standardizing the lessons in enchantment and methods of procedure for our colleagues,” I nodded.  I had worked hard on that, drafting Lanse of Bune’s apprentices to make twenty copies, bound in green leather.  My small academic contribution that, I hoped, would inspire enchantment across the kingdom.