Wizard's Holiday, New Millennium Edition (33 page)

As darkness fell, Roshaun laid out the outlines of the full spell diagram—a glowing circle with four big lobes inscribed inside, like a four-leaf clover. 
Be nice if it was lucky for us,
 Dairine thought as she bent over the lobe that was her responsibility. For nearly half an hour now she had been referring back to Spot again and again as she laid in detailed information about the Sun’s interior characteristics, tracing out the numbers and constants and technical terms in pale long curves of the cursive form of the Speech, lacing them into the spell structure. Spot had been quiet and had let her get on with it, hearing Dairine’s tone of mind as she worked. It was not a time for cheery conversation.

Her back hurt; her eyes hurt from squinting at the more delicate parts of the spell. She wondered if she was possibly getting astigmatism, as Nita had had years back. 
She talked her eyes out of that, though, and she doesn’t need the glasses any more. But if we live past tonight, I won’t care if I need glasses…

She swallowed, or tried to: her throat was dry. 
If we live past tonight.
 Dairine didn’t seem able to get past the thought, to her shame, while the others seemed a long way from worrying about it at all. The three of them were crouched over the spell diagram, all their concentration bent on it—Roshaun tracing glowing-spiderweb curve after curve of the wizardry’s interface between the portable worldgate and the conduit that would suck the plasma into it, out of the Sun; Filif’s branches all hung with faint delicate statements and syllogisms in the Speech, like luminous angel hair, as he shed them with precise control onto the “probe” part of the wizardry, which would slide into the Sun and find the right place to bleed it; Sker’ret knitting glittering cat’s cradles of fire between his claws and weaving them into the spell’s basic control structures, the shields that would keep them alive in that terribly hostile environment. 
He’s the real star here,
 Dairine thought. 
He’s so good at everything. Look at how good he is at troubleshooting
—
he can find a weak link in a spell just by the smell of it. If we live through this, it’s going to be because of him
—

Dairine breathed out in annoyance at herself and shook the thought aside for the twentieth time. 
What’s the matter with me that I can’t stop thinking about it? It wasn’t like this on my Ordeal. Much…

But that seemed like such a long time ago now. And during a lot of her Ordeal she’d been running for her life. She hadn’t had a lot of time for heavy thinking when she was on the run. It was when she stopped and tried to do something else, like a wizardry, that the thoughts caught up with her and came tumbling all over whatever she was trying to do. 
Like now…

Dairine caught herself grinding her teeth, a bad habit the dentist had warned her about. She stopped, and then just got on with it. For quite some time Dairine didn’t look up; just kept her mind on the structure of the Sun, the pressures and stresses and temperatures. The numbers were so insane that here, kneeling on the damp ground on a cool spring night, it was almost impossible to believe in them. Temperatures in the millions or even billions of degrees, fluid gases denser than molten metal— 
I should borrow Nita’s sunblock. No, she took it to Alaalu, didn’t she? Never mind…

Dairine straightened up, her back immediately rewarding her with a spasm of pain. She rubbed it, looking around. Roshaun and Sker’ret were kneeling or crouching on opposite sides of the spell diagram, fine-tuning the wizardry’s power equations. Filif was nowhere to be seen.

Took a rest break, probably,
 Dairine thought. 
I could use one of those myself.
 She stood up and stretched, turned her back on the spell diagram for the moment, and walked a little way toward the house.

— 
ashamed of myself
—

“I don’t see why,” she heard her father say.

Hearing his voice, Dairine paused where she was in the shadow of the sassafras saplings just before the main part of the lawn. Maybe twenty feet away, over by the lilac hedge on the left side of the property, she could just see a shadow standing in the darkness, and another shadow, no longer hung with wizardly angel hair but faintly starred with lights. Dairine hadn’t noticed before that Filif’s berries actually glowed a little in the dark. “After all,” Dairine’s dad was saying, “the fire you jump into isn’t anything like the one you run away from.”

It may burn you as badly…

“Maybe,” her dad said. “But… I don’t know. The quality of the pain’s different when you’re not running.”

You
 do 
know,
 Filif said.

Her dad was silent. “Maybe I do,” he said at last.

Yet that’s how my people became sentient, they think,
 Filif said, and there was a desperate laughter about his thought. 
They learned to run from the fire. They evolved mobility and, later, the beginnings of intelligence. And then the darkness at the Fire’s heart spoke to us and said, “You can be safe from Me, if you pay the price. Instead of burning terribly, and dying in it, without warning and in awful pain….you’ll burn just a little. But all the time, all your lives. At least you’ll know what’s coming, instead of having to always live with the unexpected… ”

“And you decided,” Dairine’s dad said, “that it was better to take your chances with the wildfires.”

There was a rustle of branches, the sound Filif made when producing his people’s equivalent of a nod. 
Even though some of us said that we wouldn’t be what we are without the Fire,
 he said. 
That without it, all growth chokes together, and chokes out the Light.
 Dairine could just make out an uplift of branches toward the sky, all the berries going dim, from her angle, as they looked upward.

“Well, I think your people were smart,” Dairine’s dad said. “Light’s better, in the long run… even though you may not always like what it shows you.”

A few moments passed in silence. 
You were kind to me when I was frightened,
 Filif said.

“At a time like that, what else could I do?” Dairine’s dad said. “You’re my daughter’s colleagues. And her friends. I may not be a wizard, but I’ve been scared in my time: I know how it feels. Any time you’re feeling scared, you’re welcome here.”

Then I’m welcome now,
 Filif said, 
because although where we’re going is the source of the Light as well as the heart of the Fire, and it’d be all kinds of glory to die there, I’d really rather not.

“I’d rather none of you did,” Dairine’s dad said. “And you’re not going to. My daughter’s a pretty hot property as a wizard, and she’s not going to lose anybody on her watch.”

The absolute certainty in his voice was somehow worse than anything Dairine could have imagined, and it made her eyes sting. Hastily, she stepped back into the shadows and turned to make her way back where her attention belonged: to the spell.

I will make Dad right,
 she thought, 
if it kills me…

Nita stood on the beach, a few miles down from the house by the sea, and watched Alaalu’s sun come up. It always seemed to take a long time, and today it seemed to be taking even longer than usual.

Something’s missing,
she thought.

When she’d first started to get this feeling, she’d discounted it.
That’s how stressed out I’ve been,
she’d thought at the time.
They take me to an island paradise for a week, and already I’m dissatisfied with it, looking for some way to find fault. The problem’s probably in my own head. I should kick back and relax, let everything be all
right
for a change. I’ve just gotten out of the habit of trusting the world.

For a day or so, Nita had worked to do that, and had succeeded. But this morning she’d realized that she’d talked herself into believing, however temporarily, something that wasn’t true. She had mistakenly, but purposely, deactivated one of a wizard’s most useful tools: the hunch.

What her hunch had clearly told her—contradicting the whispering voices that spoke to her while she slept, the voices of the joyous but complacent—was that not everything was right here. That there was trouble in paradise. Not with the people. Not with the creatures living here. But something else, something much more basic.

Something’s missing.

And in at least one case, she thought she knew what it was—

Worlds had hearts. This was information Nita had started to work with when her mother got sick. People, planets, even universes—all the places inhabited by mind, either on the small scale or the grand—had “kernels”: hidden, bundled constructs of wizardry, compact packages of the normally fluid interface between science and magic, where matter and spirit and natural law got tangled together. The rules for a given universe were written in its kernel, and the matter in a universe or a world ran by those rules, the way a computer runs by its software. The rules could be altered, but usually it wasn’t smart to do so unless you really knew what you were doing.

Nita was still far too new at kernel studies to fall into this category. But she’d acquired a fairly good grasp of the basics after working hard at the subject over recent months, and she’d learned a lot of the places and ways in which a world’s kernel might routinely be hidden. When she’d first started to get the “something is missing” feeling, the state of Alaalu’s kernel was one of the first things to occur to her. A lot of planets’ kernels were hidden for good reasons—mostly so that they wouldn’t be altered by those who had no right to do so. But that didn’t normally keep a properly trained wizard from at least detecting that a kernel was indeed present. And Nita hadn’t been able to confirm that by casual sensing… which was unusual.

Now she pulled out her manual and sat down in the sand with her back against a dune, twitching a little—and not from sand getting into her clothes. She felt guilty about what she was doing. It wasn’t as if Quelt wasn’t taking really good care of her world, as far as Nita could tell. And normally you didn’t start investigating another wizard’s environment or practice of the Art unless you’d been asked to; “no intervention without a contract” was the usual order of business.
But we’re here to see how this world works, among other things,
Nita thought,
and when I notice something as weird as this, what am I supposed to do? Ignore it? A world’s kernel shouldn’t he separated from it without good reason. There are too many things that could go wrong. Maybe even things that have gone wrong already
—

Nita paged through the manual, bringing up the custom kernel-detection routines she’d started designing over the past few months. She’d come to be able to sense a kernel directly, if it was anywhere at all nearby—usually within some thousands of miles; and if she did a wizardry to augment her internal sensing abilities, her range increased greatly. To save time, Nita had started to file away the spells she used for this purpose, hooking them into a matrix that kept them ready to fuel and turn loose. Now all she had to do for routine kernel-finding was plug in the details about a planet’s or space’s physical characteristics, and activate the spell.

Nita came to the pages in her manual where she kept the routines stored, and once again she looked guiltily up and down the beach. But there was no sign of Quelt, nor did Nita really expect there to be—the whole family was extremely thoughtful about one another’s privacy, and their guests’.
But if you’re so concerned that something’s wrong here,
Nita’s uneasy conscience said to her,
why don’t you just take the problem straight to Quelt?

Nita sat thinking about that for some moments, and finally shook her head.
Because I really think something’s
wrong
here. Because I’m not sure she’ll see it the same way I do…or maybe even see it at all. Because
—

Just
because
. I don’t really know why. But I have to look into this.
It was, finally, just a hunch. Tom and Carl had told her often enough to trust them…

She laid the manual open next to her on the golden sand and started to read. The wizardry wasn’t a showy one, and wouldn’t manifest its results outside of her manual. But it was complex, taking several minutes to read straight through. It seemed to take forever for the listening silence to give way to the normal sounds of day with the spell’s completion, and when it finally did, Nita had to slump back against the dune and just gasp for breath for some minutes more. The wizardry was not a cheap one to enact.

It was maybe fifteen or twenty minutes more before she felt up to start using the running spell to look for Alaalu’s kernel. After that she lost track of time… something she found herself doing with great ease here where the day was thirty percent longer than at home. When she finally closed the spell down and shut the manual, it had to be at least a few hours later, to judge by the sun’s position.

Nita sat there a while more just listening to the water slide in and out, to the occasional songbird twitter of the bat-creatures that soared and swooped over the sea.
It looks like the kernel’s just nowhere here,
she thought.
Nowhere in the ground or in the sea, not even anywhere inside the planet’s orbit. Not even for a hundred million miles outside.

Where have they put it? And why isn’t it closer? What’s going
on?

Above her Nita heard the faint scratching sound of someone coming down the dune toward her. She looked up over her shoulder and saw the twin silhouettes of Kit and Ponch sliding down the dune, cutouts against the bright sky.

“I was looking for you back at the house,” Kit said. “Demair was there, but she said no one had seen you all day.”

“I skipped breakfast,” Nita said.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” Kit said to her.

Nita shook her head. “No.”