“And I am sure they will. We is in from the west, so we don’t got much to share, but we’ll share it all.”
The rest of the expedition offered their supplies, too, which amounted to a pound and a half of flour and two of beans. It wasn’t much, but the old woman found scales and weighed it all. She made Owen write down an account of what they’d been given. She solemnly promised that it would be repaid a hundred fold when Plentiful got back up and going.
Owen made her a copy of the bill of lading, then signed it. “You’re going to stay here and rebuild?”
“Don’t really have a choice.” She folded the paper with skeletal hands. “When God scoured the earth with a flood, He did it so mankind could rebuild. His message for us can be no clearer. Look.”
Owen followed her quivering finger as she pointed to the survivors. It took him a moment to recognize it, then he understood. “Two by two.”
“That’s right, seven men, seven women. Most are too young yet, but they will grow into God’s plan.” She slipped the bill inside her apron. “Suffering is a terrible thing, but knowing we are doing God’s work is a comfort.”
She walked away and Owen closed his journal. He went to return it to his pack and found Ezekiel Fire standing off and alone. “Something the matter, Steward?”
“Every so often, when new people found us, they would have a letter or two for me from Arise Faith. I never met the man, but he offered me the blessings of holy fellowship—then proceeded to tell me why my followers and I were damned.” The small man stared down into the ruined valley. “My people succumbed to the whispers of an idol and were rightly consigned to Perdition. But these people, they did nothing, and the flood wiped them out—the flood that revealed the ruin that poisoned my people. The citizens of Plentiful believe they are part of God’s plan. I believe I am as well. I daresay we would be judged to hold our beliefs with equal strength, yet one of us is wrong.”
“Didn’t you suggest the mind of God is unknowable?”
He turned back toward Owen. “True. Mr. Woods objected. I find it easy to see why now.” He looked at his empty hands, then shook his head. “Do you wish to know the worst of it, Captain Strake?”
“Sure.”
Fire’s eyes blazed with an intensity Owen hadn’t seen before. “With what God has showed me, I know I could clear this valley with the wave of a hand. I could raise crops—not the false manna you saw conjured through demonic instruments, but food that would sustain both mind and soul. I could ease their pain and make life easier for them. I could grant them the prosperity that their agony has certainly entitled them to.”
Owen folded his arms across his chest. “Why don’t you?”
“Because He has not given me leave to do so.” Fire glanced at the ground again. “I do not know if it is to punish me by having me know that were I a better person He would allow me to relieve their suffering, or if it is because He has need for my gifts to be used elsewhere, to greater effect. In Scripture, the Good Lord blessed those who believed without ever seeing a miracle. Is it thus that these people who so need a miracle will be blessed? My failure to please Him pains my soul. If you will excuse me, I must pray.”
Owen nodded and left Fire in peace. He worked his way higher up the hill and found Nathaniel standing with Kamiskwa, overlooking the valley. “I can’t begin to imagine how much help these people need.”
“A fair bit of it. Our supplies won’t go far, I’m afraid, but they will do until help gets here.”
“How long do you think that will be?”
Nathaniel shrugged. “I reckon Hodge and the Count done made it back to Temperance a week ago. If Hodge got together some help and started back fast, they could be here in another week or so, ten days at the outside.”
Makepeace came trudging up the hill and slung his pack at their feet. “I reckon I’m going to stay here, help out a bit. I feel the calling to do it. Onliest things left in there is the tablets, demon broth, and the wolf pelts. Sell mine, send supplies: seed, nails.”
“You summering out here, then?”
“Most like.” He smiled easily. “When you see help coming up, tell them to go faster.”
“Will if we do, but ain’t likely.” Nathaniel stared off east. “Ain’t going back the way we came up.”
Owen frowned. “But I thought the Prince said…”
“He did, but Kamiskwa here, he’s itching to get to Saint Luke, and I can’t blame him.” Nathaniel sighed. “And given what the Shedashee might know about what’s on the other side of them mountains, I ain’t thinking the Prince is going to mind if we make a stop, and you fill a journal with notes.”
Chapter Thirty-one
28 May 1767
Prince Haven
Temperance Bay, Mystria
Prince Vlad caught the rope Count von Metternin tossed him as the Kessian guided his canoe to the Prince’s dock. Vlad dropped to a knee and steadied the canoe as the smaller man got out. The Auropean had become quite skilled at maneuvering the craft and made no pretense of hiding his smile at that fact.
Vlad stood and nodded. “Neatly done.”
The Count tied the aft off, then stood and straightened his robin’s-egg-blue jacket. “Thank you. Two months in the wilderness and I have learned a great deal.”
“You’re looking much more yourself as well.”
Von Metternin laughed, running a hand across his clean-shaven jaw. The lower half of his face remained pale, where his beard had covered it. He’d also had his hair cut back from when the Prince had first seen him, four days previously. While he now looked quite presentable in conventional clothes, Vlad thought he caught a hint of wistful nostalgia for his wilderness outfit.
“The truth is, I should still be outfitted for travel, and heading back up to Plentiful with Hodge, save that my first duty is to you and the Princess.” He bowed briefly. “I apologize for dropping the satchel with you and then vanishing, but there were the supplies to be organized.”
“No apologies necessary. Between what you had there and what I brought back from Happy Valley, I have been quite consumed.” He waved the man forward. “Come, I can show you.”
They’d made it halfway up the lawn, when Vlad turned and stopped his friend with a hand to the chest. “Before I show you what I have learned, I need you to understand something. I trust you implicitly. What I will share with you not only has implications for our nations, but carries well beyond that. What you will learn today will forever change your vision of the world. Wait—don’t say anything yet. It may also put you in grave danger. Men who have a stranglehold on power seldom like to feel their grip loosening, and panic when their prey has escaped.”
Count von Metternin smiled carefully. “Highness, I cannot express my gratitude and pleasure in what you have said. And I would answer you the same way no matter what. But you must remember that I was in the mountains. I have seen the Antediluvian ruins. I cannot forget it, and I shall not rest until I understand what it means to the world. In your company I have seen many wondrous things, and I hope to learn many more. It pleases me that you would save me from any danger, but pleases me more to be able to shoulder the burden which this knowledge has placed on you.”
Vlad shifted his hand, throwing his arm around von Metternin’s shoulders, and steered him to the laboratory. Over the next two hours he explained what he had uncovered in Ezekiel Fire’s notes and the Good Book. He delighted in the Kessian’s reaction to having wooden disks vibrate in his palm as the Prince fiddled with wheels on gloves. Count von Metternin immediately asked for paper and a pencil, and sketched out a different control set that allowed the dragon to be controlled with only one hand, which left the other free for actually firing a pistol or swivel gun.
Lastly Prince Vlad spread out the paper taken from the doors and walls in Happy Valley. “The writing apparently was taken from a pair of golden tablets which Rufus Branch had retrieved from the ruins. To me it seems a mixture of pictograms and sigils which, I would imagine,
represent phonemes. I do not know what is written here. Quite frankly, I don’t know if I want to try to translate any of it. If these formulae represent spells, I could trigger something I cannot control.”
Von Metternin frowned. “Given what Owen wrote of the people of Happy Valley on his initial visit, I would not think these are spells. If they believed that what Branch shared with them was a secret directly from God, a secret revealed in God’s own language, then to display actual spells would make that information widely available. Instead I would imagine that what these are, are key Scriptures copied out by members of the community to prove and promote literacy in the new language. By reading them and understanding them, and knowing that they were right, just, and holy, the people would confirm for themselves that righteousness of the language. They would have ensnared themselves in the trap, then be quite content because they would believe the trap was where God intended them to be.”
Vlad nodded. The Count’s point did have a logic to it. If any of the writings were traps, the people of Happy Valley could have triggered them and that would have warned the others. “I do understand what you are saying, but I maintain my reticence to pursue translation.”
“I would agree except for one key thing.” The Count picked up one of the control gloves. “You reported that using the magick became easier and less tiring over time. You attribute that, in part, to the fact that you created the spell yourself, so it is idiosyncratic. It is logical to suppose, then, that the undoing of a spell would be made easier if one understood both the nature of the magick cast and the mind of the person casting it. At least understanding what the symbols mean might provide a benefit in that regard.”
“I see your point.”
The Count tossed the glove back onto the table. “One other thing we need to do is to prepare a rudimentary version of your thaumagraph—two, really. I shall take one to my house across the river and we shall see how well we can communicate. Key to this will not, however, be my learning your spell for making the device work. Instead, I shall have to come up with my own spell. In this way each operator can be as efficient as possible.”
Vlad sat down. “Well, there is the difficulty, of course.”
“Yes?”
“Can we let people know they can create their own magick?” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. “I have wrestled with this question for a number of sleepless nights. Even if we assume that only the most powerful and adroit could actually learn to create spells, and even if we assume they must be literate first to do so, this leaves us with a population of people who could create spells that could do incredible damage. Rufus Branch was a scoundrel and attempted murderer. Were it not for Mugwump’s intervention, he would have finally killed Nathaniel, and it was a spell that nearly killed Colonel Rathfield.”
The Count pursed his lips. “The question is, my friend, can you possibly prevent that outcome? You are brilliant, but you never saw the connection until Ezekiel Fire’s work led you to it. Even if we assume that the Church controls most of those who can make this connection by one means or another, all it takes is one madman to repeat Fire’s discovery, or a Tharyngian Laureate to reveal the secret to the world, and whatever you seek to preserve will be lost. Can you imagine a Ryngian Regiment of Riflemen where each of them has created his own magick to make his weapon fire? They might be faster, more accurate, their bullets hit with more power. The cost in blood would be incalculable—and this is just the devil we know. Whatever Branch discovered may not only release such magick to others, but that magick could be so powerful that there is no defeating it.”
“But just because we can do a thing, and just because that thing’s being done might be inevitable, we are not absolved from responsibility if we do it.” Vlad looked up. “I had only the briefest description of the magick used to fell Colonel Rathfield. It was a spell that passed ten yards through air and was able to crack his skull. I have no idea the furthest range at which it could have been used, nor the optimal range. What if that spell, used in connection with something that is linked to the target, could make the range immaterial? Warfare would be transformed in ways that I doubt any at Horse Guards are prepared to contemplate.”
Von Metternin’s brown eyes became slits. “You mean, I believe, that Horse Guards would not fail to find a variety of uses for.”
“Yes. John Rivendell would use it capriciously and irresponsibly; Richard Ventnor most viciously.”
The smaller man sat back. “Then the question is, how much do you tell your aunt?”
“I cannot answer that until I know how much she knows.” Vlad rose and began gathering the Happy Valley sheets. “The destruction of Happy Valley and Piety represent a threat to the Colonies, but the Crown may dismiss their elimination as insignificant since they were not chartered and were beyond lands where the Crown is granting charters. If I say that there is a serious magickal threat beyond the mountains, the best I can hope for is that they will send more people to investigate. That will take a year, and then another year before they send troops.”
“And another year before they send enough troops.”
Vlad laughed. “You know the Crown so well.”
“Too well. I suspect your news of slaughter will be transformed into attacks by Twilight People. I also expect that the floods and damage from the earthquake will warrant more attention, since the need for supplies is raising prices on food and lumber, and killing the sales of goods from Norisle.” The Count shrugged. “To a certain extent, what you send to Launston is going to be determined by whatever report Colonel Rathfield sends.”
“He’s promised to show it to me before he sends it. I’ve offered to correct geographical details.”
“How is he?”
“Doing well. We kept him here for the first three days, while he remained unconscious. Catherine Strake has thrown herself into caring for him. When he awakened, she insisted on his being moved to her home. Miranda has remained here with us so she won’t disturb him. I went over and saw him this morning.” Vlad folded the sheets and tucked them into a folio. “He’s lucid and has been dictating notes to Catherine.”
“His leg?”
“Healing nicely. He won’t have much of a limp.”
“What did he say of his report?”
Vlad frowned. “Not very much. I got the sense he was hiding something, but I did not have a chance to get it out of him. Catherine hovers, and played the hostess far too well. She sent me away, quite politely, suggesting Rathfield was fatigued.”
Von Metternin stood and stretched. “It will be a tricky business to learn if he was sent by the Crown to bring settlers back, or by the Church to bring a dangerous renegade to heel.”
“If the Fire documents had not been sent to me anonymously, I would not even suspect enough to ask that latter question. Moreover, there is no reason to believe he might not have had both missions. But if I press him to learn what he knows of Fire’s ability to work magick, he could come to suspect what I know. If he knew enough to suspect me, he would certainly communicate that knowledge to the Church.”
“And that would make you as dangerous as Ezekiel Fire in their eyes.”
Vlad raked fingers back through his hair. “That possibility has not escaped me, which puts me in another delicate situation. What I have learned is information that cannot be lost. I need to show others, like you, how to do what I can do. I would add Nathaniel if he becomes a better reader, Kamiskwa because I am certain the Shedashee have found another path to the same destination, Caleb Frost, and his father.”
“Not Owen?”
“No, I would add Owen.” Vlad sighed. “My only concern is his ability to keep a confidence from his wife. I fear I have never warmed to the woman. While I appreciate her devoting herself to Rathfield’s recovery, it is difficult to trust a woman who so thoroughly wishes to be in Norisle.”
The Count smiled. “I agree with you. Every time I see her I wonder if Johnny Rivendell was not accurate
when he said she was Richard Ventnor’s mistress on the voyage from Norisle. Were that true, then Miranda…”
“I know. I look at the child and she is so good-natured and has been such a help with Becca Green, that I easily see Owen in her. I think I want to believe she is Owen’s because he clearly believes it and would be crushed were it otherwise.”
“You fear Catherine would use knowledge of your Mystrian thaumaturgy to buy her way back to Norisle?”
“It’s a horrible thing to say, but, yes.” Vlad nodded. “I am not left with many choices here. If I tell the Crown nothing, and ask for no help, then I risk the colonies being overrun by enemies wielding magick and controlling demons. If I tell the Crown nothing, but gather together an elite cadre of men and train them in new ways of magick, they might be enough to repel the rebels, but in doing so their victory would reveal to the Crown what I have kept secret. I would be seen as being treasonous, the colonies as in rebellion, and Norisle would act to put it down. If I request help to deal with enemies, they will come in to do that and might never leave.”
“You have a decision to make, my friend, but one that can be delayed until Colonel Rathfield finishes his report. After that…” Von Metternin’s face became impassive. “… you need to ask yourself one very serious question. Do you believe there is anything you could do or say to prevent the Crown from sending troops to Mystria to exert full and direct control of the colonies? If the answer is yes, then you must do those things. If the answer is no, you must still try, because your effort will buy time for people here to prepare for an invasion.”
Vlad’s eyes tightened. “Doesn’t your question require me to decide if my allegiance is with the Crown or Mystria?”
“My friend, were it with the Crown, we would never have had this discussion.” The Count slowly shook his head. “The Crown does not realize that you take most seriously your role as Governor-General. That is their mistake. Just how bad a mistake that is remains to be seen, and the answer to that question will forever shift the course of history.”