“No,” said Gary. “They aren’t. But the way they are different is so specific it arouses my suspicion.”
I waited, knowing he would go on.
“Based on the curvature, your world has precisely half the surface area that mine does,” he declared.
That surprised me, but what interested me was why it surprised Gary. As far as I knew, he didn’t know that our worlds should be nearly identical. “So it’s smaller. What’s unusual about that?”
Gary frowned. “Don’t play innocent. Even you should find that unusual. Based on simple math, that means your world should have roughly two-thirds the volume of mine. Unless the density deviates greatly, the gravity should follow suit.”
I had worked that out already, but I knew relatively little of what constituted ‘normal’ when it came to the density of a world. “I’ll admit it seems strange, but isn’t it possible that our world is just that much denser, enough to make its gravity stronger?”
“No,” said Gary. “It isn’t. Assuming that the physics of your universe are similar to the physics of mine, then no. The density of rocky worlds in a solar system should fall somewhere within a small range. This would put your world far outside that range. It is also strange that the total surface area would factor out to be exactly half of what my world is. There are too many coincidences here. I don’t know how, but somehow these figures are deliberate.”
I thought hard for a minute. Doing a bit more math in my head. “If your world were divided in two, the surface areas wouldn’t be halved. They would be smaller. And the gravity would be halved, not the same. Perhaps you’re looking too hard for meaning where there is none.”
“That’s why none of this makes sense!” said Gary emphatically. “If this was something as simple as that—say someone could divide a world in two, but keep the surface area of each half the same—then the interior would have to be partly hollow. And again, as you said, the gravity would have to be half of what it is.”
Turning back to my design, I let my eyes scroll across the page. I didn’t have time to ponder the mysteries of existence. “If the numbers don’t match expectations, then the conclusion is simple. Your assumptions were wrong. Maybe this is just simply a smaller world, with a much higher density than is found in your universe.”
He left after that, but I could tell he wasn’t ready to accept such a simple explanation as a brute fact. For that matter, neither was I. His words rolled around in the back of my mind, and though they eventually dropped below the level of conscious thought, they still bothered me, like an itch I couldn’t scratch.
Chapter 30
The next morning, I had Penny come to the workshop, so I could take detailed measurements of her surviving arm. Then I spent the rest of my morning shaping the metal structure that would be her new arm.
This was one aspect of crafting in which I had an enormous advantage. As a wizard I could shape metal with heat and force, forgoing even the use of a forge if I wanted to do everything with magic, but it was exhausting and time consuming. As an archmage, though, it was simpler still. I didn’t have to force the metal into shape; I could coax it into taking the form I desired.
All that was required was temporarily sacrificing a bit of my humanity. Working with something as small as that wasn’t hard, and compared to other things I did regularly, was nearly as safe as riding a horse.
The silvery metal that lay on the bench before me wasn’t iron. Gary probably had a name for it. Maybe I would ask him later. I had made my desire plain to the earth and it had provided. The substrate for Penny’s new arm was just as strong as the best steel, but it only weighed half as much. Once it was enchanted, it would be far stronger.
Knowing Penny, it would need to be. I made a mental note to remind her to be even more careful about hitting people with her new arm once it was finished. She was already used to the fact that her dragon-enhanced strength sometimes made casual blows dangerous when she struck normal people, but having an arm made almost entirely of metal would make an impulsive strike even more dangerous.
I shaped the upper portion of metal into a rounded cone that would fit over both what was left of her arm as well as some of her shoulder. I wanted it to be comfortable, and once strapped into place it would need to be able to transfer a lot of force to her shoulders and skeleton, otherwise it wouldn’t be very effective while fighting. I wanted her to be able to use just as much strength with this arm as she could with her other one.
From there it tapered, slightly smaller than her other arm, to allow room for the leather covering, until it reached the elbow. The joint there was particularly clever—in my humble opinion, at least. The lower portion was all one piece, instead of being two separate bones like a normal arm, so in order to facilitate rotation as well as bending, I used a ball and socket joint.
I did the same at the wrist, but for the hand itself I copied the structure of a normal hand more closely. The finger bones had hinge-like connections, though. I didn’t have the option of relying on tendons or ligaments to hold them together.
Once I was satisfied with the basic structure, I began engraving the motive enchantments, leaving room for the final portions that would incorporate Moira and Matthew’s specific contributions later. I didn’t have the time necessary to do anything as fancy as the armor that Thorn could summon, but it would be an easy matter to have Matthew add a function to summon a shield.
When all of that was done, I realized I had made better time than I expected. I wasn’t ready to work on the leather covering yet. I still needed to go into Washbrook and see about acquiring the materials first. So instead I started working on Penny’s armor.
If I could keep at it for another week without significant interruptions, I could probably finish the armor and her arm. Better late than never. My wife would be as well-equipped as any Knight of Stone had ever been, perhaps better.
I would have liked to incorporate an offensive enchantment into her arm or weapon, something similar to the fire that the sun-swords could produce, but I didn’t. Though the necessary power could be drawn from her dragon-bond, it would still require her to exert her will in a manner that might strain her aystrylin. That was something I couldn’t allow. I hoped she didn’t ask me for such a thing later. Mentally I ran through the excuses I could make. I didn’t want to tell her my secret fear, that her time was limited.
Gritting my teeth, I growled softly. I hadn’t been able to save Marc, but I would be damned if I didn’t find a way to save her.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door; Lynaralla stood outside. She remained still when I opened it, but I could see something different in her usually unperturbed demeanor. “Come in,” I told her.
She did, her deep blue dress whisking softly as she moved past me. My newly adopted daughter was a beautiful study in contrasts, with shining silver hair falling past her shoulders and framing startlingly sapphire eyes. Like all the She’Har, she was almost ethereal, as if she were a spirit made manifest in the flesh.
My own eyes were blue, and people sometimes commented on them, perhaps because they were highlighted by my dark, nearly raven-black hair, but Lynaralla’s were so vivid they stood out even against her pale skin and shining tresses. “What’s on your mind?” I asked her.
Without changing expression, her lips moved and she said, “I want to thank you. I also want to thank Penelope, and if you will allow it, I think I can help.”
I frowned at her words. It wasn’t that she never thanked anyone, but it was rare. The She’Har girl was never deliberately rude, but she was always honest, sometimes brutally so. Because of that she was frequently misunderstood. While she did possess emotions, they were so muted as to seem nearly absent. In many ways Gary the android was more human than she was. “What are you thanking me for, precisely?” I asked.
Her gaze was fixed on mine with an unsettling intensity. It was like looking at a painting. “I am thanking you for not teaching me what my fa—no, my progenitor
, wanted me to learn.”
“He’s still your father,” I hurried to correct her, “even if he says—”
“No,” she interrupted. “He is not. Since coming here, I have struggled to understand you. I have struggled to understand everyone. Your emotions, everyone’s emotions, are so intense, and frequently irrational, that I initially dismissed their value. Tyrion was responsible for my conception, but he has never been a father to me. For that, I am grateful. When he renounced his claim to me, when he named you my father—I felt relieved.”
Her words were so straightforward I found myself embarrassed, while at the same time fighting my instinctive urge to hug the girl. From past experience, I knew that such gestures were often awkward for her. “You don’t need to thank me,” I said. “It has been an honor to have you in the family.”
Lynaralla’s aythar shifted in a manner that in another person would have made me think they were upset, or perhaps agitated, but I knew such was unlikely in her. Then I noticed a tremor in her hands. Her arms moved with a slight jerk, spreading slightly, then stopping, as though unsure what they were supposed to be doing. “Please, do not imitate me,” said the young woman. “I would rather become more like you and Penelope, not that you become like me.”
“Imitate you?” What was she talking about? Then she took a short step toward me. I watched her carefully, trying to analyze her body language and failing. My brain wasn’t up to the task, but then my heart gave me the answer. She wants a hug, stupid.
Silently cursing myself for my slowness, I stepped forward and swept her into my arms, squeezing her tightly against my chest. I had absolutely no idea what to say. None of the phrases I might use with my own children seemed suitable, so I kept silent.
Lynaralla didn’t let go, even after I relaxed my grip to allow her a chance to step back. She held on and kept her cheek pressed firmly against my chest. “It wasn’t until you and Penelope came to get me that I realized I had learned to love.”
My vision blurred, and I kissed the top of her head. “I’m proud to call you my daughter,” I whispered.
She finally released me and stepped back, smoothing the front of her dress before taking a seat on the only stool in my shop. “It is thanks to you and your family that I have learned these things. It has also helped me to recognize the love I received from my mother.”
“By mother, you mean…”
“Lyralliantha,” she finished for me. “She is still my mother, though I consider myself lucky to have two now. Penelope’s example, and yours, helped me to understand the warmth I felt from her. Given the nature of She’Har elders, I have only been able to communicate with her directly on a few limited occasions, but there was always something in those conversations, something I felt but could not name. Now I understand what it was.
“I have never felt the same from Tyrion,” she added a second later. “I have thought a lot on it since I returned. I have replayed what I know of his past, over and over in my head. Despite knowing the story, and even with your recital of it from his perspective, I find myself confused. I am still not very good at understanding these matters, but his actions then, and even more so now, do not make sense to me. They run counter to everything I have seen here with you. If you are both human, if you both feel the same things, how can he be so different from you? Would you have done the same if you were in his place?”
Lynaralla’s voice was calm, but I could detect a faint undercurrent of pain in it, and it tore at my heart. I hadn’t paid much attention to her recently; she was always so quiet. It was easy to dismiss her as an observer, as emotionless, or perhaps unaffected by those around her. But the truth was far different, silently and without troubling those around her, she had been struggling to understand the paradoxes of the heart all on her own, using the only tool she had, her intellect.
She needed an answer that I didn’t have, but there was a burning resolve within me to help her. There was a hidden plea in her eyes, a secret desperation to understand. Tyrion, you bastard! I swore internally. You wanted me to teach her the harsh reality of betrayal, but she needs something else. She needs a father. I hadn’t considered her my daughter before, not truly. She was too different, too alien. But I would do my best.
“Do you know what wisdom is?” I said, answering her question with one of my own.
Lynaralla tilted her head slightly, reminding me of Humphrey a little. “Wisdom is the use of reason to discern the most efficient course of action to effect the desired outcome. In general, it is referred to when looking at long-term consequences as opposed to short-term gain.”
I shook my head. “No.” Actually, I thought her answer was close, but it had missed the key ingredient. “What you just described is a function of intelligence, and it is similar, but wisdom is the attribute that allows us to discover what is right. Wisdom is the application of intelligence and emotion, together, to solve moral decisions. Right and wrong do not exist in the realm of pure intellectual reason—they can only be illuminated by applying the heart as well as the mind.
“Tyrion is an intelligent man, but he failed when it comes to wisdom. I do not know what I would have done in his place, but I cannot believe I would have arrived at the same place he is now. Most humans have similar emotional responses to violence, betrayal, torture, and all the other things he suffered, but through the lens of wisdom, we do not all react the same,” I explained.
“What would a wise man have done in his place?” she asked me.
“All people suffer, men and women alike,” I began. “It’s a part of living, as much as breathing is. Some internalize it, make it their reason for being—they shape their suffering into a dark reason to continue, vengeance. The wise accept their suffering and seek something else entirely. They search for ways to solve it, to minimize the suffering of others, even if it requires them to suffer more themselves.
“I have suffered more than most, perhaps not as much as Tyrion, but I have chosen not to let my suffering define me. Instead, it helps me empathize with others. It drives me to try and help them endure their hardships and trials. It’s what is at the heart of a true family, the desire to help one another in the face of adversity, rather than just blindly trying to hurt those who have wronged them.” I stopped, letting my words sink in.
After a while, Lynaralla spoke up, “I still do not understand him. What was the point of his brutal training? If he did not care for me, why did he put me through so much pain to teach me to fight?”
“He didn’t care for you because he does not care for himself. You were an extension of his pride, a tool to increase his power. He probably doesn’t understand himself, either,” I said sadly.
Lynaralla’s eyes caught mine once more, boring into me. “I want to help Penelope. While I was on the island, I believe I learned something that can help her.”
I couldn’t help but be interested. “What is that?”
“My ancestors created very advanced methods of using spellweaving to heal injuries. One such method could allow the transplantation of living tissue from one person to another. If I can learn the technique, I could give Penny my arm to replace the one she lost,” said Lynaralla.
The mere suggestion stunned me. Ever articulate, I responded, “Huh?”
“I want to give her my arm,” reiterated the young woman.
“Don’t you need it?” I asked inanely. My higher functions were still locked up.
Lynaralla shook her head. “Not as much as she does. I have magic. She does not. With spellweaving, I can create any number of limbs to do whatever I need.” To illustrate the point, she promptly sprouted an arm-like appendage composed entirely of spellwoven aythar, emerging just below her left arm. It reached up and patted her on the cheek with a three-fingered hand. “Besides, eventually I will surrender this form and become an Elder. How many arms and legs I have at that point will be moot.”
“No,” I said firmly, holding up my palms to emphasize my response.
Her eyes were cu
rious. “Is this not wisdom? This arm is not necessary or important to me, but it could provide great benefit to her.”
“It’s a kind thought, but irrational,” I argued. “You would lose an arm and gain nothing for it.”
“You just told me that wisdom is about more than reason. I love Penelope. She has given me far more than I can repay. I would suffer little, lose something of only small importance to me, in order to restore her, a small suffering to end a great one. You must agree, this is wisdom!” Lynaralla’s voice rose as she spoke, to finish with more emphasis than I had ever heard coming from her.
I wanted to agree. It seemed logical, but I couldn’t. “No. There is some wisdom in your idea, but you are ignoring Penny’s heart and will. Wisdom must consider more than just the objective good, but also the subjective good. She will not be happy to see you lose your arm. She won’t accept this solution, and if it is forced on her she will feel only guilt and remorse afterward.”
She bowed her head, letting her hair fall forward to obscure her face. “This isn’t fair. I want to help. Won’t she understand that?”
“She’ll be overjoyed to learn how much you care,” I said softly. “That’s enough. I have another question, though. Your mother never received the loshti, and from what I understand of her, she was never taught advanced She’Har healing magics. Even if you were given your father’s losthi, it holds the same knowledge I have inherited, and I didn’t know about this possibility. How did you learn of this?”
“I read it.”
Again, I was surprised. “Read it? Where?”
Lynaralla glanced up and smiled, a faintly mischievous light in her expression. “Mother took root in a place where one of the ancient Illeniel Elders once grew. The writings were preserved in a chamber beneath the earth. She allowed me to enter and read, though there were too many for me to do more than scratch the surface of what is there.
“Tyrion does not know of this,” she finished, the lines around her mouth firming up.