Page 13 of Beyond

“Is that all?” Hakkon asked after a period of silence.

“Well, of course that’s not all,” Wis snapped. “Don’t you even think? There’s a thousand more years of history between then and now!”

Ponu piped up, “It’s always ‘a thousand years’ in stories, even if it was eight hundred ten or fourteen hundred eighty. ‘A thousand years’ is dramatic, and drama means more to people than accuracy, I’ll tell you that for free. That’s how you get throngs of obedient morons, while the educated have to work doubly hard to keep records accurate. Historians and librarians have saved more lives than Healers.”

Wis and the rest nodded, and Wis continued. “That’s the reason the High King became the Emperor and the Empire grew! The High King had the only powerful magical artifacts and constructions that still worked! And he had most of the only mages that were left, even though about half of them died keeping that shield up.”

Dole added, “Not that the ones who died then wanted to. They had no idea what they were up against, though the High King knew. Their lives were taken from them.”

“What was under that dome put the High King at an advantage that no one else had for centuries. Really, except for the Change-Circles, the lucky ones were the people living without much magic in their lives,” said Ponu.

“Because nothing they had was blowing up in their faces?” Hakkon hazarded, in tones that were surprisingly timid for the big man, as if he was afraid of being yelled at again. Kordas was irresistibly reminded of one of the big guard mastiffs he had once seen encountering a tiny kitten, which had put up all its fur, spat, and sunk needle-claws into his nose. The poor dog hadn’t known what to do, and neither did Hakkon.

“Gods be praised! It has a brain!” Wis exclaimed, throwing his arms upward. “Yes. Healing still worked just fine as long as it was the inherent Gift and not operating by magic. The same for all of the other Mind-magic Gifts. But real magic of the sort that the High King had come to depend on—” He snorted. “Eh, well, it was scattered and unreliable and very hard to control. It was slow, if it was going to be stable. Unless …”

He paused significantly and looked at Ceri, who obligingly took up the thread.

“Unless you are employing the dark magics linked to the Abyssal Plane,” Ceri said ominously. “The Abyssal Plane wasn’t much affected. So, blood, pain, and demonic magics worked just fine. As did Elemental magic, but Elemental magic tends to be the provenance of shamans, and the High King didn’t have any, so he didn’t know that. So the reliable magic was all Abyssal stuff.”

“As the High King soon found out.” That was Dole. “At first, it was deal-making. Then binding. To their credit, the High Kings, and later the Emperors, really did their best at first not to give in to the temptation to use the Black Arts, but—well, they are all powerful people who spend their lives trying to amass more power, and when you do that, you start to look at anything as a tool, no matter how filthy.”

Wis sneered, “And oh, were some of the Emperors filthy tools.”

“And that,” Ponu concluded, “is why the Court of the Emperor is a nest of scorpions, rats, and snakes—with apologies to the wiser ways of scorpions, rats, and snakes. The Black Arts corrupt everything and everyone they touch, and the Emperor and his mages have been wallowing in them for a very long time.”

“Why wasn’t the Abyssal Plane much affected?” Kordas asked.

“That would require a level of understanding of magic you don’t have,” said Ponu, witheringly. “But I’ll try a very simple explanation that is not the true one, but is as close to the truth as you can understand. The Aetherial Plane is ‘lighter’ than we are, and the Abyssal Plane is ‘heavier’ than we are. So just as waves in the sea move seaweed and don’t move rocks, the magic waves moved us and didn’t move them.”

Kordas nodded, knowing that was about the best explanation he was going to get out of them. He might be a mage—but it was pretty clear to him in this moment that he didn’t know a fraction of what they did about magic.

“And just as cheesecloth lets wind go right through it, the Aetherials were not as much troubled by the waves as we were. But it did confuse them, and blew some of them away from us. Meanwhile, those who learned stable magic had to fight as much for stability as anything else.” That was Dole, pouring himself another cup of wine. “Which, really, is only fair. We here on Velgarth were the ones that made the mess, it’s only fair that we are the most affected by it.”

“I should make some stuffed bread,” said Sai, out of nowhere. Sai’s magic, as Kordas was actually aware, extended to baked goods, and his specialty was stuffed bread, sweet dough filled with sweet pastes like fruit or nuts, savory filled with cheese and meat. “Should I make some stuffed bread?”

“Stuffed bread is always a good idea,” said his brother solemnly. “All for stuffed bread?” Even Hakkon raised his hand. “Ponu, give the lads some wisdom.”

Kordas glanced over at his cousin, whose expression revealed that he was still trying to process everything he’d just been told.

“Some people are makers, some are bakers. Some are cooks, and some are chefs. Everyone has their own recipes, and everyone wastes good ingredients into a charred mess when they overdo it. That’s spellwork. Good spellwork needs a sharp, resourceful mind, a prepared work space, the right tools, good ingredients, and a schedule. Anything else that you want to know?” asked Ponu.

“Jonaton—” Kordas began.

“Found a way to find a way to anchor a distant Gate last night, yes, he was loud enough about it,” said Wis. “Yes, we’ll help with the actual Gate construction, but don’t bother us with the petty details before you get to building it. Yes, between us and about half a dozen more of your tower-dwellers, we can make it reach quite a long way.”

“Yes, he seems to be on the right track,” said Dole. “Yes, he’s probably right it will work. Yes, he’s also right that there’s a level of uncertainty, and you can thank those idiots a millennium ago for that instability.”

“Yes, we know how to keep the Emperor from noticing it,” Ponu said. “It’s simple. Tell him ‘don’t build a Gate that pushes, build a Gate that pulls.’ He’ll know what we mean. If he does that, you can put the thing far enough away the Emperor won’t connect it with Valdemar, even when it’s active, and that will solve your problem. It’ll also get things through to the other side faster if he builds it that way.”

“I can’t think of anything else at the moment, and thank you very much, honored elders,” Kordas said, after a long moment.

Ponu cackled at that. “Honored elders! Did you hear that?” He laughed again.

“Toddle along, you two,” said Dole, dismissively. Then—“Oh, wait!” He pointed a finger at Hakkon. “Tell your pretty boy that the next time he punches a Portal into my space and sticks his hand in it to help himself to my things, he’ll be drawing back a stump. I’ll even cauterize it for him!”

“Really? Isn’t that overreacting? You had over a hundred firebird feathers,” said Ceri.

“And if I want a hundred and one, what business is it of yours?” Dole snapped, and threw something—it looked like a small cheese-crumb from his breakfast—at his fellow mage. It fell short, but the point was made.