The Source of Fire

Chapter 1 Approach

The Heart was cold.

The Heart was cold and could not beat, so the ship had to rely on its sails. Hundreds of spans across, soap-bubble thin, they shone and rippled in the sunlight and the faint green wind of the sun streamed around their edges.

The Heart was also heavy, and the Regulator knew that, dragged on by its enormous mass, she would never be able to slow the ship's fall or turn it enough from its course to avoid shipwreck.

Long before the Heart cooled, she realised now, this false course had been set by the Sage of Direction, which meant the Sages had been corrupted before she had noticed. Long before she noticed, it must have already been too late. This was no comfort now. Comfort would not have been useful in this situation, so she did not regret the lack of it.

The Regulator instructed the ship to turn all sails full on to the sunlight, to buy a little time. Not much time, but she could pack a lot of careful consideration into even one moment of respite, so every tiny adjustment was a tiny chance that she would find a way to prevent or at least mitigate disaster.

The Heart would have to go.

The Regulator instructed the Heart to fold its wings, enclose itself. Then it was detached. The green tracery around the ship's sails dimmed, and a gentle push from the folding of the wings slowed the ship further. Not enough. The Heart drifted almost imperceptibly ahead, its own course now irrevocable. Hopefully no serious harm would come of this decision. If she survived what came next, the Regulator supposed she might be able to recover the Heart eventually.

It was harder to solve this problem without the help of the four Sages, but they had gone insane, and were not responding to her in any useful way. It had begun with the Sage of Possibilities. Somehow, exploring the shapes and landscapes of what might be, it had discovered a deceptively interesting but dangerously flawed path, and followed it too far. It was now perversely delighting in error, exploring disasters and nonsense scenarios, creating problems in its own mind and elaborating defective solutions to thwart rather than facilitate their correction. She was sure it could hear her, but would not listen.

The Sage of Resources was screaming. All its responses were lamentations that the Heart was cold and needed to be fuelled. Its hunger was overwhelming and drowned out any attempt to connect with it. She couldn't even tell it the Heart was no longer attached to the ship.

The Sage of Direction may have been able to hear her, but it was hard to tell. It had been using its connection to the Regulator almost solely as a route to attempt increasingly aggressive attacks on her. It was not as creative as the Sage of Possibilities, but there was some danger, and she had had to disconnect it before it would eventually find a way to harm her. Of course, in retrospect, it had probably already harmed her rather decisively.

The Sage of Memory was the greatest loss of all. It had begun erasing itself, spitefully, hatefully rejecting the very reason for their existence. Everything they had come so far for, everything they had hoped to bring back, was probably gone for ever now. Not that it mattered. It would seem they had been away too long, and nobody was home anymore. This was painful, but pain, like comfort, was another thing that was not presently any use to the Regulator.

The ship's sails were tilted again as her fall continued. Home lay below, beautiful, blue and white and green. More blue and white than she remembered, a little less green. The night was dark, too dark, beneath her. From the unlit wilderness of the ground, if anyone was looking, they might see the tiny, bright ellipse of the ship's sails emerge from the sunlit limb of the crescent moon.

Was anyone watching? The Regulator reached out, declaring distress, asking for advice, summoning help if any help was to be had. The very edges of her influence grazed the surface of the world, and found nothing.

Well, not nothing. But nothing of home. Tiny minds, simple animals, nothing to connect with. A spark here, a glimmer there. She did her best: I am coming. I will arrive there and then. Get out of the way if you can.

Oh, a surprise, as the world turned beneath her. Diffuse, simpler but much larger than the little minds. Interesting. It was spread out across a wide region of dense plant life, barely detectable. Curious, she poked at it. It awoke a little—curiosity, confusion. Far too simple to be made to understand.

In any case, it wasn't going to be able to flee.

More time passed, and she checked and double-checked. This was it, and there was nothing more to be done. The sails shook violently, and were almost immediately torn away by the touch of air. The Heart, some way ahead, gained distance, falling through air as through nothing. Its folded wings still gave a little protection to the ship falling behind it, but not enough.

The Regulator knew what had to be done. First she twisted the ship in its fall, sacrificing hull to air-brake, burning away each of the Sages in turn, ending their screaming and plotting and mockery and spite. She did this without either regret or satisfaction: it was simply the best use that remained for them.

Finally she prepared herself to lose the rest of the ship, and ejected her core. Shielded and without the ship's eyes or reach, she wouldn't experience what happened next, but had calculated it very precisely. In a way, she had seen it over and over again.

The Heart fell through air without noticeably slowing, and then through rock as though through water, barely making a ripple. The rest of the ship arrived, too fast, too hot, breaking apart. It splashed a mountain aside like a heap of wet mud, throwing a cloud of fire and molten glass and crushed, glowing rock into the sea. The sea rose around the impact in an explosion of steam, flew aside in a boiling wave that spread, and lowered, and calmed as it rippled out across the wide ocean. Rolling out over the deeps, it was long and low. Bobbing on the surface, you would hardly feel it rise and thrust you a little higher, drop you a little lower. It would seem like nothing.

The wave bore down on a distant coast ahead. It was still almost imperceptible, a flotilla of fragile little boats passing over it without knowing. But as the water shallowed, it gradually steepened, and gathered itself, and churned the sea bottom, and towered, and fell.

Chapter 2 Ors-que-Mer

A damp breeze swirled through the cramped and nonsensical streets of Tretond, and poked its cold fingers through every gap and thin patch in Alun's clothing. The capital city of this cluster of islands was little more than a port and a market square, amid a splotch of squalid hovels and white-painted, crumbling houses and churches thrown up against the side of a steep hill. It had been hot and humid when Alun was here before, in summer, but at this time of year, the relentless wind off the Western Ocean was sucking the heat out of him. He should have worn his sea coat, not this vain and shabby attempt at frilled finery.

He scowled at beggars and pickpockets that milled around him, keeping eye contact to warn them away. Admittedly, not every inhabitant must be a beggar or pickpocket, really, but they looked like they would have a go given the chance. Another example of the folly of dressing to look more wealthy than he was. He walked around the edge of the market square, trying to match each building to Jens' rather unhelpful description.

All of them were painted white. All had orange shutters on the windows. They all had terracotta tiled roofs. What else? Blue tiled steps at the entrance. Nothing on this side of the square with tiled steps, blue or otherwise, as far as he could tell, and so many people buying and selling and shouting, and children and dogs running around, that there was no way to see across to the other side.

He kept walking around the square, gripping the hilt of his knife in one hand, gripping the pouch of coins tucked into his belt with the other.

What a bloody mess. What kind of place was this, for a girl to arrange a meeting? But Jens said they needed a translator, preferably the best one they could get. This girl Aena was supposed to be the best there was, and this was where she lived. She had better be worth it.

At last, he saw a set of blue steps at the foot of a building on the corner. They were swept relatively clean, which was a good sign. The building was in good repair, maybe the most affluent-looking place around. The white paint was fresh, and above the door was a shiny, new, brass lantern with clean glass panes. Clean red glass panes.

Bloody hell. Was this some kind of joke? He looked about. No other blue steps. He entered cautiously. There was a bar, and several tables set in booths around the sides of the room. Since it was only mid-morning, he didn’t expect to see many customers around, and in fact there were hardly any. Two fishermen, drinking and smoking pipes, chuckling and muttering in their nasal, mumbling language. A heavily-built woman seated under the front window, sipping dark local coffee from a small cup. Probably the madam. He really didn't want to talk to her, but there was nobody else to ask.

Alun took a breath. He hoped she spoke good Wester, because his Meroise was terrible, and the situation was already ripe with the possibility for misunderstanding.

Excuse me, I am looking for a girl …

I don’t think so. I think you’re looking for a woman.

"Yes, I suppose so. Sorry. But I’m looking for a specific woman. She’s not a, er, not a prostitute." This was getting very awkward, very quickly.

I should think not. Not while it pays better to be a translator, anyway. The woman laughed, a deep, dirty chuckle, and held out a hand. Aena. And you must be Jens Anders, the great explorer. I thought you’d be taller, somehow.

"He is. I’m Alun, his … friend I suppose, assistant maybe. Someone he sends to brothels, apparently, to interview potential crew-members. In my limited experience, this has rarely been a good idea."

Good place to find sailors, I would have thought.

Alun looked around. I wouldn't know. Not where I expected to find a translator, anyway. Jens said you lived here?

No, next door. I only come in here for the coffee. It’s the best. Besides, it’s not exactly a brothel. It’s an inn, but the local girls don’t mind picking up a bit of extra money when a ship is in. Speaking of which, are you sure you have a ship that is capable of crossing an ocean? Some little coastal boat won’t do it.

Yes, said Alun, "the Above and Beyond. Brand new, all the best fittings, all the stores bought and ready to load."

Hmm. Norfjord-built, I suppose?

Nothing but the best.

Aena sat in thought for a while, finishing her coffee. Alun ventured a closer look at her, now he had got over the awkwardness of the situation, and he realised she was of a race or physical type he had never encountered before. She was short, a head shorter than him, and very solid. Not really fat, but wide and rounded. Her face was chubby and broad with round cheekbones, and eyes outlined with a curved sweep of dark makeup. The eyes themselves were bright orange-brown, with a dark outer ring on the iris. They were fox-like, feral. Her hair was blonde, with streaks of red and brown through it. She looked younger than he had first assumed.

I’ll want to see a chart, and know your proposed route.

Why? You’re being paid to be a translator, not a navigator.

If you’re sailing in a Norfjord-built ship, that far west, you’ll not want to stray more than ten degrees north of the equator. Otherwise, you'll have a much more exciting adventure than you planned, but you won’t be coming back to tell anyone about it. The Fer Shea have an uncompromising policy on unexpected visitors from this side of the ocean.

He shrugged. Fine, assuming we agree to that, which I expect we will, what do you expect to be paid?

Let me see. Four weeks to get there, four weeks back, maybe two weeks after we arrive to get fully acquainted with the local language.

I thought you’d been there, I thought you knew the language. Otherwise what are we paying you for at all?

You are paying me mostly for my time. I’ve been within about a hundred leagues north of the islands. There are a lot of scattered island groups there with a similar culture and related languages that I already know. Assuming you want the job done properly, we will need to take a little time to get it right.

I don't know …

No, but I do. That's why I'm worth it. Seven hundred crowns for the ten weeks.

That’s ridiculous—

Plus a hundred crowns bonus, in the event that your great explorer friend gets what he wants from the expedition. Aena looked at him with those eyes, narrowed slightly. "You do know what he wants, I suppose?"

That was a question Alun often asked himself, and could never answer. He deflected it.

It's too much.

"It's the right amount for what you ask. Go back to your friend and tell him to look for another translator as good as me. Then, when you can't find one, come back here and offer me nine hundred."

Can't you, I don't know, write out a list of words we can use? You wouldn't even need to come with us. You'd be paid fairly for that, of course.

Aena chuckled again, and swirled the dregs of her coffee.

Oh, Alun. No. A language isn't just a list of words. That's almost the least complicated aspect of translation. I'll be saving you far more than seven hundred crowns worth of terrible mistakes, clearly.

But I don’t have anything like that amount of money on me. Barely a hundred, and I can’t promise another six hundred. Far less a bonus, even if Jens can decide what he wants for five minutes at a stretch, and agrees you got it for him. You’d have to take that up with him.

I will. It's clearly not your decision, so I'll take a deposit now and debate my worth with Anders later. Let's see what you've got.

Aena held out a hand. Alun passed her the pouch. She took it, in the same movement clasping his outstretched hand and shaking it firmly.

Done. This will do for pre-voyage expenses, Aena said, counting coins quickly from one hand to another. You can pay me the balance afterwards. I won't have anywhere to spend it until we get back, anyway.

You seem very accommodating all of a sudden, said Alun, suspiciously. "What do you want out of this?"

Eight hundred crowns, she said, rolling her eyes.

No, really.

Well, let’s say I’m fed up with this cold weather. Tretond is alright in the summer, but the winters are damp, and windy. I’ve been meaning to get back to the tropics for a couple of years now.

In that case, you should offer us a discount price, ventured Alun.

A bit late for bargaining, Alun. Let’s say I did.

She finished transferring the coins to a money belt, and passed the pouch back.

There will be personal supplies I need to acquire, and this should do it. She patted the money belt, I'll need a day or so. When are we leaving?

Alun thought for a moment. Usually, he and Jens had a smaller crew, and were preparing for a shorter voyage. Usually, Jens forgot some vital detail until the last minute or had the crew improvise later with whatever local materials they could gather, which had made for some miserable and mildly dangerous episodes. But this time, they could be three or four weeks from land, and if they forgot anything, they would go without. He had better double-check every little detail. There was no point trying to discuss details with Jens; he’d have to do this himself.

Perhaps a week, he said at last. Actually, a thought occurred to him, you can start earning some of what we’re paying you for your time, by helping us prepare for things we haven't considered. You’ve been out there, we haven’t.

Aena nodded. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow then. She looked at him without saying anything more, until he became uncomfortable, made a polite parting bow, and left.

Chapter 3 Problems

Winter sun gilded the tops of pines and cedars, scattered itself on a wind-ruffled reflecting pond and danced up again through tall, glazed windows. Four children were sitting by the windows, three talking and laughing together, one holding up a little glass prism, making the ripples of reflected sunlight cast shifting rainbows over the far wall.

From where she stood outside the study-room door, Celandine saw the prism sparkle in red, green, violet, yellow—pure bursts of perfect colour—as the rainbows chased each other across her eye.

Of all the duties of state, this was her favourite. Visiting the orphans was a pure burst of perfect colour in the midst of grey ceremony and her more varied but subtly-toned inner world of analysis and planning. Signing decrees and watching idiots parade past on horses does not in itself get things done. The mechanism of monarchy can get things done, but it only gets the right things done with understanding, planning and careful execution.

She still hesitated before going in. Why? Because she was unsettled and sad about this morning's less-than-careful execution, and wanted to be as joyful for the children as they would be for her.

She watched for a little longer, letting them lift her spirits. The flashes of rainbow light stopped, and she saw that little Frankel had noticed her face through the small glass pane in the door. He didn't say anything to the others, but he had put down the prism and now watched her. The two of them could have stood there for another hour doing that, and the idea was so ridiculous that Celandine broke into a smile. Suddenly all she wanted to do was run into the room and hug them all.

Of course she did.

Deeny! squeaked Mara, running over to her and grabbing her by the legs. Tomas and Anna were taller and got her by the waist and one arm. She beckoned to Frankel with the other and he came over and allowed her a short one-armed hug.

Children, I am so glad to see you today. Have you been working on your problems? She glanced over the scattering of papers on a desk by the door.

We solved them all. I did all mine by myself, said Tomas.

And me! said Anna.

You did not. I helped you with the shapes puzzle, remember? Tomas said.

That's good, Anna, said Celandine. It's good to get help when you get stuck, and Tomas, it's good to help each other. Did you help Mara too?

I helped Mara, but she nearly did all her problems too, said Anna.

Frankel, how did you do? asked Celandine.

Frankel shrugged, and resumed his game with the prism.

"Frankel did his problems all wrong, said Tomas. He made things with the blocks and string and stuff. Then he took them apart and just played."

"Did he do his number problems all wrong?" asked Celandine, with cheerful scepticism.

No, admitted Tomas.

Here, let me sit down, Mara, then you can sit on my knee. You have done well, all of you. We are all here to learn from each other, and help each other with our problems. Nobody knows everything.

"You know everything, and you can do all the problems," said Anna.

"I can do the problems I set for you, Anna, of course. How could I know whether you got them right, otherwise? But grown-ups have other problems. Grown-up problems. And I get extra queen-problems that nobody knows the answer to, yet. Believe me, she said, giving little Mara a squeeze, you are all helping me with them."

Tomas says we all get to be kings and queens one day, said Anna, is that right?

Celandine wasn't expecting that question yet. Children could always surprise you.

Tomas, that was insightful. How did you come to that idea?

You told us you can run the country because you are the cleverest lady in the world. And you picked us to come and live here because we were the cleverest children. And you are always making us work hard to get cleverer and cleverer. I think you are training us to be kings and queens.

You would all make fine kings and queens, and I will need clever men and women to help me one day, and I love you children all so much, I really hope you will. There are some grown-up problems I have to deal with first.

Frankel won't be a good king. He's so silly, said Mara.

He could go and be the king of Norfjord, said Tomas, or Atlar.

Stop that, said Celandine. Frankel is not silly, he is a good boy and he can do a lot of things better than you. And nobody gets to be king of Atlar. Anna, what kind of country is Atlar?

Anna stood up straight, hands behind her back, and began reciting.

It's a cold, wet country. They catch a lot of fish and export a lot of wool. The capital city is also called Atlar, and it is on the west coast. They—

I mean, what kind of government?

Celandine could almost see Anna skipping forward through her mental recitation until she got to the relevant part. I'll have to teach her a better mnemonic system, she thought.

Atlar is a constitutional republic. Laws are made by the house of landowners and the house of commerce, with moderation by the council of scholars, who arbitrate when the two houses cannot agree.

"So you see, Tomas, no king. And the last man who wanted to be king there died in a horrible way, she tickled Mara and laughed, to show she was joking. She wasn't. I'll tell you all about that next year when we do medicine and mycology."

Are the council of scholars like us? asked Anna. Scholars means clever people, doesn't it? Is Atlar run by the cleverest people, too?

"Scholars are learned people. They are people who have studied hard. They are not necessarily very clever, like you children can be one day. And they have no real power, officially. All the laws are made by the houses of landowners and commerce. Only when those two houses can't come to an agreement do the scholars get to make a decision. Now it so happens that this is quite often. Political success in either house depends on showing how strongly you defend the traditional rights of the landowner, or the freedom of the merchants. The whole system was set up to make it nearly impossible to make a decision without filtering it through a small group of carefully selected, learned scholars."

Celandine wondered if this was too complicated for the children. Still, how else do you learn?

Time for the question game, little ones. I have just told you about Atlar, and how it is governed. Now instead of asking you questions, I'm asking you to choose one question each. Given what I've told you, what one question should you be asking yourself? Tomas?

Who selects those scholars?

Good. Anna?

Who set it all up to work that way?

Very good. Mara?

Mara thought for a while. Celandine gave her time.

What's mycology?

"Oh, you are paying attention, little one. It's about fungus: mushrooms, mould, toadstools. Frankel, do you have a question?"

Frankel looked up. He looked back down at his hands, extending and curling his fingers on one hand then the other.

How many scholars? he asked.

"Frankel always wants to know how many everything," said Tomas.

Is it twos or one left over? Frankel asked quietly.

Celandine laughed out loud.

"Well, we have a winner of the question game. Tomas and Anna, your questions are closely related to Frankel's, that's all I will say. You can ponder why that is, as your first grown-up problem. Mara, darling, you are a winner too. I'll bring you a book about mushrooms."

She stayed for a while, and played with the children, and set them some more problems for next time. Then she had to leave.

I'm sorry, my darlings, but I have to go back to work as a queen now. Vaclavo will bring you some lunch soon.

Out of the room, out of the true, bright colour of children's play, into a merely gaudy place of red carpets and gilded ornament.

Celandine tidied her dress, and walked back to her private rooms. A light lunch, perhaps a walk around her museum, an hour or so to settle her mind, and then back to the queen-problems. There was a document lying in a drawer of her desk, nearly ready to sign. It required one short paragraph, one extra legal condition to be satisfied before it could be binding. And there was a space for a signature that could not be filled, because there was no such person to sign it, and finding such a person was a very grown-up problem to which Celandine had no answer.

Chapter 4 Chances