The Makers of Light (11 page)

He was listening to her, and yet not fully. "Linde, Jenne told you that '
life is what moves.
' "

She blinked at him. "But, Rianor, Jenne is wrong—"

"Of course she is, for she only says this so that she can eat plants without guilt—but, perhaps, in the end, she is right, even though she is a blind fool. She might have given
us
a thread to follow. Linde, don't even plants themselves move with the wind? Even the big trees in the garden will rustle with their leaves. Aren't they all a part of a whole
system
that moves? And doesn't the elevator move, too? Perhaps that is why the Bers are apt to label motion aberrant. They feel its power, and yet their Magic cannot control it all." He waved in the general direction of the servants' wing. "
You
made it move. Perhaps you did give life, after all."

There was a certain thrill inside her now, similar and yet not the same as what she had felt on the elevator with him. It confused her. She believed in his words, even though she did not understand them fully. She believed in his eyes, so sharp and bright right now, like steel knives and the wildfire she only knew from visions. These eyes were looking at something she saw not, but she
felt
it—and she would do anything with Rianor and for Rianor at that moment.

At that moment she knew, too, why Bers would fear wildfire. However, as everything else at that moment, she knew it not with her mind but only with her heart and body.

Linden closed her eyes and dared open them only after she had extracted herself from Rianor's arms.
Now
she could better listen to her mind, for whatever her body knew, the mind had heard Rianor's actual words and found fault with them.

"Rianor, I see that you are inspired by something, but—" She sought the right words. "The elevator, proud as I am of it, still cannot work—cannot move—without humans moving it. I guess animals could do it, too, if humans made them to, but still in the end it is just a tool for humans to use. Not a human, or a plant, or an animal itself. Not alive. And life itself—" She stopped, the way his eyes were focused on her and yet still focused somewhere else disconcerting her. Then she made herself continue.

"A mechanism is not the same as trees. Trees can—have the potential of—making other trees before they die, and these other trees remain after them. That's what all the
Science
books say about plants. Remember? If you think about it, everything considered living by the Bers can, in some way, make more of the same. But mechanisms can't."

"Come with me."

He gripped her hand and almost dragged her to his study. His whole being was as focused and sharp as a quill, and he was squeezing her fingers and yet did not seem fully aware of her being here with him.

"It is a very old project. I had indeed forgotten about it." He let go of her and rummaged through a drawer, then through another one. "I was not even a High Lord yet; it is interesting that I would have made it when I did not yet care much about life. There." He presented her with what resembled a half-ovoid, not much bigger than his fist. "Sometimes thoughts and events connect to each other in unexpected ways. Watch."

He swept a few books and metal pieces to the side of a table and placed the mechanism on the surface. It would not lie stably by itself, for its flat side, where another half-ovoid might attach to form a full ovoid, was not facing the table but was turned to the side. Rianor kept one hand on the mechanism to keep it stable and attached a piece of wire to the flat side. Then he slowly slid the whole contraption on the table and let go. There was a clinking noise, and the mechanism moved by itself—for a few moments, until it stopped and toppled to the side.

Linden watched wide-eyed as Rianor pulled the wire away. The wire was bent and twisted now, looking very much like the tool her dad used to open sealed vials.

And that tool
it was.
Rianor took a vial and showed her. She could make such a vial-opener herself. She indeed had, a long time ago, with wire and her own hands. But a
mechanism
to make a tool such as this? How had he done it?

"May I?"

He nodded, and she reached out and took the half-ovoid in her hands, staring at its flat side, which was indeed not fully flat but was an opening to the inside of the half-ovoid. It was inside that tiny levers, knives and screws formed the actual mechanism.

It was all too tiny. It was too precise, with only a few parts that looked twisted, blunted, scratched, or otherwise marked by the rough, imprecise touch of a dagger—or of a sharp stone, piece of wire, fork, or pin—of anything that anyone, even a High Lord, could have used to make Science.

"What
is
this?" Linden whispered, and he did not answer at first, for he was rummaging through another drawer, finally withdrawing another half-ovoid.

"This would have been the one to attach to the ready, just-made vial opener; this would have been the one to continue the mechanic process and actually open the vials themselves without the use of your hands. I never worked on it, in the end, but the concept is here. So, there you are, Linde. Mechanisms that make other tools, and perhaps even mechanisms that make other mechanisms. Small ones, admittedly, but real. And if a large, non-Magical elevator for people is possible
and
these here are possible—why not even a non-Magical mechanism large enough to make elevators next? To make other mechanisms, too. To make a whole system—a whole moving, living
world.
Think of the possibilities! I must have been blind all these years, seeking the secret of life and yet looking at naught but humans."

"Rianor, I ..."

His words had disturbed her, and so had his eyes, for they were like wildfire again and yet wildfire that was—controlled, in a way. Wildfire and steel. Wildfire that was now his, and a part of him.

But could you control wildfire? What was wildfire, after all? Linden shook her head. It was not wildfire that mattered right now. The wildfire was all images and comparisons, all in her head. There were other things now, more real and no less disturbing.

"How did you make them?" Her eyes would not leave the two mechanisms' minute, precise forms. Had she ever seen such precision—even from a Factory? "I have never thought of making mechanisms that make mechanisms myself, my lord. All I have done is experiment with the natural rules of the world as described in the
Science
books, in order to make mechanisms with my hands. This here is ... using mechanisms to make mechanisms is ... it is perfect Science, Science as I had not known it before this moment."

She swallowed, still uncomfortable. "If we can make mechanisms to make elevators, and mechanisms to make mechanisms to make elevators—if somehow we can make mechanisms that make good
tools
—why, humans might become much less ignorant and the world a much better place to be in! But, Rianor—" She swallowed again. "Mechanisms that make mechanisms are wonderful things, but they are still things. They are not
alive.
"

"Are they not?" He stepped closer to her, the discomfiting quality of his look even stronger now. Somehow she was not surprised by this reaction. "You can't say this, all of a sudden, my witch. It was you who said that '
things are not just things,
' that day in front of the Qynnsent door in the Healers' Passage. It was you, indeed, who made me perceive facts in my own home and life—even in my own mind—that I had not perceived before. It was you who made that elevator. You can't back off now."

"Right, I can't, there is a wall behind me." She had stepped back and he had followed, and her back felt the chill of stone even though her cheeks were hot. "Would you mind if
you
backed off? Intimidating behavior is not truly conductive to—" Then, suddenly,
she
perceived what she had not perceived before and knew what the half-ovoids were and why they had disturbed her so.

"Tell me, Rianor—" She fought calmness into her breaths. He had made a tiny step back perhaps because of her previous words, but right now she did not care about that. "Tell me, did you once have a toy metal dog that had actual metal legs and could move by itself for a minute if you pushed it with your hand? I don't think you could have made something as delicate as what you showed me. I think that only Factories can. Rianor, did you cut that dog in half and use the parts to make the mechanisms you showed me?"

He inclined his head at her, his eyes narrowed, the wildness now completely concealed.

"Indeed I cut more than one, metal dogs and cats and horses and others. But only the first batch of such toys did the job; those produced in later months and years would stop working when I opened them, and the mechanisms inside would look simpler than before, and yet I would not be able to figure them out. At some point I decided that there must be too much Magic in those later mechanisms. You know, I had not thought of that for a long time, either. I must check to see if there are symbols inside those later toys."

"You must? Really?" Her voice was still calm, but she was fighting tears. "And here you are, telling me that mechanisms are alive and that I should not back off? If you really think like that, why did you murder these animals! Why are you planning on murdering more! I had such a dog myself! I wanted to know how it worked very much! But I would have never, ever cut it!"

Now she stepped forward, reaching towards him, controlling herself to not grip his shoulders and shake him only at the last moment.

He did not move. "Perhaps the reason is that it was much easier for a High Lord's heir to get a replacement toy than it must have been for the child of commoners. You had to be more careful with your belongings."

"That is not it! I make! I don't break!"

"Why did you puncture cans to make that shopping-bag pulley you told me about, then? Because cans don't
look
like animals?" He had not touched her, but his eyes were pinning her to the wall almost physically. "Come on, my lady, you are a better thinker than that. Is breaking things murder, or is it not? Are mechanisms alive or not? Choose one answer and stick to it."

"This is not something you choose!" She stared back at him. Again, they stood very close. She was hot with anger and tears and something else as well. How could he be so calm? At first she was lost for words, and then they poured out all at once. "Life is not something you choose, Rianor! It either is or isn't, and that is not necessarily up to you and me. Life hurts! Life dies and cries out as it does! I heard it today, Rianor! Life doesn't really care whether I think that it is life. Life has its own capability to want to
be.
To want at all! But if you think of something as life, then you should—"

"And perhaps you should not be telling me what I should or should not, my witch." His voice was soft, but his eyes were not, and his body was very, very still. "Me telling myself is enough. Tell me something else, Linde. Tell me why you think that life
wants,
when our friends the Bers claim that wanting comes from the mind but that not everything living has a mind."

"And perhaps you should not be telling me what I should be telling you! But I can tell you this: wanting does not always come from the mind." She was looking up into his eyes from mere centimeters away now. She extended a hand and brushed his cheek. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.

"The Bers—The Bers are either wrong or lying in this case, my lord. I can guarantee you that sometimes
mind
and
wanting
contradict each—" She could not finish, for he wrapped one arm around her waist and grabbed her hair with the other hand. Then he silenced her with a long, brutal kiss.

"So, let's separate the two, is that what you are suggesting, my beauty? Perhaps in that way we can, after all, live with both." His voice was raspy, and his breath tingled first her ear and then her throat, where the next kiss was at first gentle and then almost an assault. She cried out, her whole body shaking with a strange, most disturbing mixture of pleasure and pain.

"No, this is not what I suggest!" Somehow she managed to shove herself away from him. "Not what I want! If you can't—" Breathe, breathe, she should
breathe.
"If you can't blend both for me—if you can't have them
at the same time
with me—then I don't want anything at all!"

It was her mind, perhaps, acting very separately from the rest of her, that remembered to grab his notebook before she ran away.

Linden

Night 23 of the First Quarter, Year of the Master 706

Linden's mind must have been taking care of her sanity—for otherwise, without the notebook, she would have gone mad.

For half an hour she could only lie curled on the sofa in her living room, her cheeks hot, her knees hugged tightly to her breasts. Or, alternatively, she could tread the room's floor with no purpose or sense of direction, her steps staggering and her breaths shallow and fast. She could not think at all.

At some point she uncurled herself, her hands cautiously exploring her own body. She had done it before; she had given pleasure to herself. Now she needed it.

She could not do it. The moment she touched herself, she could scrape a thought or two, and they were all of him. It was too much. Linden could not deal with those thoughts. Slowly, she rose and pulled the notebook to herself. Thinking of symbols, even of unknown, dangerous Ber symbols, was right now easier than that.

Not that thinking of symbols did not bring thoughts of him yet again. Why, it was he who had first noticed the symbols, he who had noticed the common "
pipes
" symbol, and they had done the experiments together! He had even forgotten to be distant then, for a while. Most of the time he had still been careful to not touch her—and yet the two of them had been close. They had been enthusiastic together, and people did not need any touching in order to achieve that!