Ritual Magic

THIRTY-THREE

JUDGING by the sudden silence in the room, that had been a Sam-to-everyone communication. Judging by their expressions, they’d been as startled as Lily was. Even Grandmother’s eyebrows shot up.

Lily hadn’t known Sam could do something like this—talk to all of them when he was about thirty miles away keeping a telepathic eye on Nettie. “I want some coffee first.”

Attempt to do two things at once. I have serious matters to impart, but wish to know what you have learned before I do so. Abel Karonski, you may begin.

“Fine,” Karonski said. “First I want to bring everyone up-to-date on the victims, because that’s where we’ve been focused, now that we know how they’re all connected. We’re up to three hundred and twelve. They aren’t all in San Diego. Debrett’s cousins, for example . . .”

Lily listened with half an ear as she headed for the kitchen. He wasn’t saying anything that was new to her, though the others probably hadn’t heard it in detail. Debrett’s cousins, for example, were in bad shape, though not comatose like their parents. The one in Belize was being flown back here. The other was being treated in Denver. But they’d found more, so many more—Debrett’s coach in high school, who’d moved to Albuquerque and had thought he was going crazy; people he’d served with in the Marines; friends from college and from church. Many of them were only slightly affected, like the ones at the pipe company, but some were more seriously messed up.

Two of the victims had died. Barbara Lennox had slid from a coma into death; records showed she’d been Debrett’s first grade teacher. And a man in San Francisco who’d gone to grade school with Debrett had been killed in an auto accident right about the time someone slit Debrett’s throat. He’d suddenly and inexplicably lost control of the car. Not drunk, not on drugs, no obvious medical condition. Lily figured he’d suddenly forgotten how to drive.

In the kitchen, Toby was turning the crank on a gadget that peeled, cored, and sliced apples. Julia stood at the restaurant-style range stirring something under Carl’s supervision. She flashed Lily a quick smile. Lily filled two heavy mugs with coffee, knowing Rule would want one, too. She’d rewrapped her wrist before they left, and it didn’t hurt at all to carry a mug in that hand. Maybe her left hand wouldn’t be out of commission too much longer.

She got back just as the others were seating themselves at the big table. Isen had a pad and pen ready. One of his more unexpected skills was shorthand.

Rule took the mug with a smile. Lily sat and pulled out her own notebook. Isen’s notes would be more complete, but she still wanted her own.

Karonski was finishing his summary about the victims. “Those affected the worst seem to be the ones who either knew Alan Debrett as kids or who had a strong emotional connection, like his aunt and uncle, though there are exceptions, like the former teacher who died early this morning. We don’t yet know if there was another, deeper connection between her and Debrett, or if her physical frailty—”

Physical condition means little, Sam informed them. It was amazing how well a voice that was no more than iced thought could cut off normal conversation. This is one of the two subjects I need to introduce. Your supposition that the chief predictors of major damage are an early connection to Debrett or a deep emotional connection is roughly correct. I will state this with more accuracy, although your terms do not allow real precision. The level of damage depends upon the way the excised memories were woven into subsequent memories and the individual’s sense of self. A visual metaphor may be helpful. Imagine an elaborate house of cards with many levels. Some cards may be removed, particularly in upper levels, with little damage to the overall structure. Remove cards in the middle or lower levels, and some or all of the levels above the point of excision collapse, and the lower structure may be in turn damaged by the falling cards, creating instabilities that do not immediately reveal themselves. Remove foundational cards, and the entire structure collapses.

Lily spoke slowly, keeping her voice down so she wouldn’t be heard in the kitchen. “The part about how removing cards from a lower level makes the top levels crash and damages the lower structure . . . that’s my mother.”

In a lamentably imprecise way, yes. The memories she lost were substantial, emotionally charged, and were formed at a time when she was building her understanding of identity, community, and sovereignty. At the moment of injury, her mind instinctively reverted to its most stable configuration prior to the excision. It was not, however, truly stable; such extensive collapse had damaged the underlying structure. I reinforced certain foundational structures and performed other alterations that do not fit the card house metaphor.

So Julia was a stable twelve-year-old . . . if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms.

I describe the damage in this imprecise manner in order to increase your understanding of the process that is under way in the victims of memory excision. I will also offer generalizations about their prognosis so you may prepare for the most likely results. I am generalizing about a process that is highly individualized, and therefore will not apply in every instance. These generalizations refer to matters as they stand now, and are as follows.

Those who are now in a coma will die. Those with substantial damage to early memory formations will continue to deteriorate, which for most will mean coma followed by death. Many, but not all, of those with light to moderate damage who seem to be stable are not. They, too, will deteriorate. Some of them will reach a point of stability; others will not, and will eventually slide into coma and death.

Everyone waited for a moment to see if Sam was done. Apparently he was.

“Well,” Karonski said, “that’s a grim prognosis. I’ll let Ruben decide who needs to know. Those who are caring for the victims, obviously. Others in emergency management. The president, of course, which brings me to something I suspect some of you aren’t going to like. Ruben called me as I was on my way here. People were already on edge about the amnesia victims, and the sudden appearance of dworg has made it worse. The president plans to give a prime-time speech to tell everyone about the Great War and her.”

“What?” Rule exclaimed. “The market’s volatile, yes, but—”

“Is she nuts?” Cullen exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Arjenie said. “Maybe it’s time to level with people. Have you seen the news lately? They’re talking about the end times and plagues of locusts—as if dworg were some kind of giant locust!—and alien invasion. The reputable channels are trying to pooh-pooh those ideas, but—”

“And this is going to help how?” Cullen said. “I can see it now. ‘Don’t worry, folks—we’re not dealing with an alien invasion. Just a crazy goddess who’s been trying to take over since before the dawn of recorded history.’ Yeah, that’ll do wonders for the Dow.”

“They’re also talking about conspiracies and cover-ups,” Karonski said dryly. “Which may be part of the reason the president decided to reveal more. She did run on a platform of increased transparency.”

Rule muttered something Lily didn’t catch.

“True,” Isen said, “but I don’t believe the president has solicited our opinion. We’d do better to focus on how the clans should handle this. We’ll need to get in touch with the other Rhos.”

“Who are not going to appreciate the fact that the president knows about the Great War.”

“The Lady never forbade our speaking of it. That’s tradition, but Nokolai broke no covenant by revealing historical facts the rest of the world was unaware of.”

“Until now. Or soon, anyway.” Rule looked at Karonski. “When does she intend to speak?”

“Tomorrow night at nine Eastern. She’d like to have you and possibly some of the other Rhos join her electronically afterward, if you could be at a local television studio.”

Rule scowled. “I don’t know if that’s wise.”

Isen spoke. “Will the president insist on a script? If not, this would be a chance to spin the revelation the way we wish.”

Rule cast his father a glance. “It might, if we knew how we wished to spin it.”

Both Benedict and Cullen started to say something at the same time.

Delay this discussion, Sam told them in a voice sharp enough to cut. I need to relate the other matter that brought me to join your council tonight. I have learned much concerning the artifact in Friar’s possession.

“You heard from that agent you sent to the sidhe?” Lily asked.

In a manner of speaking. I suspected that the artifact disrupts time, which—

“It what?”

Everyone else reacted, too. Cynna repeated, “Disrupts time?” Arjenie exclaimed wordlessly. Isen frowned. Rule asked what that meant. Karonski said, “Son of a bitch!”

And Cullen sat bolt upright. “It’s named?”

That was an odd reaction even for the magic-obsessed Cullen. Never mind that the artifact disrupted time—he was worried that it had a name. Lily frowned at him. “Why did you—”

Be quiet. I do not have time for endless questions. Your sorcerer’s astonishment denotes a decent grasp of reality. A number of spells and rituals cause a minor disruption of time, either intentionally or inadvertently. Gates, for example. However, time is resilient and extremely difficult to damage in a meaningful or sustained manner; most such workings have no lasting repercussions, except at times for the practitioner who attempts them. I was not, initially, alarmed by the flux. It was quite minor. Even among those capable of discerning such phenomena, very few who are not dragon would have noticed it.

However, it was still present after I finished working on Julia Yu’s mind. This did alarm me. In addition, I observed a troubling flow in the probabilities. I sent an inquiry outlining my observations via an agent to one of the sidhe—you might call him a historian—whom I know in Iath.

This time it was Arjenie who was startled into speaking. “Iath? The Queens’ home realm? But their time is completely different from ours. It will take months to hear back, surely.”

Arjenie did not get told to be quiet. Iath is highly dissynchronous with our realm, making communication difficult, but there are ways of managing this. My agent planned to travel through multiple dissynchronous realms, managing her route in a manner that allowed her to arrive in Iath at a now that corresponds roughly to three days ago in our time.

Lily looked at Rule. “Did you understand that?”

“If I did, then Sam’s agent arrived before she left.”

Sam ignored them. My agent did reach the historian. I have not, however, spoken with her myself. I received her report from the emissary from the Queen of Winter who arrived outside my lair approximately two hours ago. Winter invites me most courteously to visit her and discuss this matter in person.

Lily’s breath hissed in. That was . . . good? Bad? Major, anyway. “Is that the kind of offer you can’t turn down?”

Naturally I could turn it down, if I wished. I do not. I have been in conversation with Winter’s emissary. Much of what I will tell you comes from that source; I judge it to be incomplete but accurate. The artifact in Robert Friar’s possession is almost certainly a knife called Nam Anthessa. I refer to it by a call-name; its true name has been lost for centuries. Its existence violates Queens’ Law. It is used to tamper with the dead.

“Oh,” Arjenie breathed. “That’s bad.”

Yes, in ways you do not comprehend. It means, first, that Alan Debrett is not simply dead. The knife cut him out of time, making it as if he never existed. You will note that this loss does not affect the material world; his daughter still exists. Records of his life exist. Memories of him do not.

I will not attempt to explain the relationship between reality and sentience. A few of your physicists have begun to approach this subject, though their grasp remains limited. Accept that this relationship exists, that tampering with the dead—removing a sentient being from the time stream—disrupts time, and that the excised memories mean the disruption will not heal on its own. Put simply, the fabric of this realm is in danger. The existing disruption has not worsened, so the realm is not yet unstable, but even a single additional use of the artifact could destabilize it. The artifact must be destroyed so time can heal. It must be destroyed before it is used again.

“Mage fire,” Cullen said promptly. “I’ve used it on—”

You have not used it on a named sidhe artifact possessed of vast amounts of magic and arguai. Mage fire might damage Nam Anthessa, but only to the extent that it burns through the restraints laid on the blade. The likely outcome of such a loss is the utter destruction of this realm.

“Oh. Right. No mage fire, then. So how do we do it?”

To destroy Nam Anthessa, one must wield its true name, which no one now alive knows. The name might be discovered were the knife in the possession of one with sufficient skill and patience who is firmly guarded against it, but that is a slow process. We do not have time for me to undertake it. We need Winter’s assistance.

She also needs us. The Queen of Winter has sought Nam Anthessa for many centuries. She wants badly to destroy it.

“If it can’t be destroyed without its name,” Rule said, “and it would take more time than we have to discover that name, I don’t see how involving her helps.”

I will explain, and you will understand why I accepted Winter’s invitation. This is not one of the Queens’ Realms, and the Queens have good reason not to act here. If Winter believes Nam Anthessa is here she will act, but in a way that minimizes her cost and risk. She will seek to take possession of it so she may spend the necessary time and focus to uncover its name, then destroy it herself. She is capable of doing so more quickly than I, but it is unlikely she would finish before the stability of this realm breaks down. Therefore, I will negotiate so that she will send a Hound.

Lily frowned. “A hellhound, you mean? We want that?” According to Arjenie’s half sister Dya, they were bad news.

There are hellhounds and there is the Queen’s Hound. The second begins as the first. I will not explain the distinction now. Both are dangerous, and either will do for our purposes.

“And what will you negotiate with?” Rule asked.

Good question. What did they have that the Queen of Winter might want? The knife, yes, or at least its approximate location, but she must have guessed that, or she wouldn’t have sent the mysterious emissary.

How I choose to bargain with Winter is not your affair.

Cynna spoke. “If this knife can’t be destroyed without its name, what can a Hound do?”

Hounds are exceptions to many things. They are Wild Sidhe, all of whom are dangerous, but hellhounds are feared more than most due to the nature of their powers, which are limited in number but absolute within those limits. They cannot be corrupted or turned aside from a hunt given them by their Queen. They are not true immortals, but they are extremely difficult to kill. And they can kill anything.

“Anything?” Rule repeated.

“Even immortals,” Cullen said, “according to stories I’ve heard. Even a semi-sentient, semi-immortal artifact, I guess . . . because that’s what it means for that damn knife to possess a true name, isn’t it? It’s alive. Aware. Sort of.”

Yes. Because Nam Anthessa is aware, it can employ its own power. It is highly dangerous. Magically, it can compel. Spiritually, it can persuade and corrupt. If you should encounter it before I return, do not, under any circumstances, touch it. Immediately remove everyone from its vicinity, including yourselves. The emissary suggested the equivalent of sixty-one feet for a safe distance, but his knowledge relates to sidhe. I do not know if humans would be more or less susceptible than sidhe.

“Would wards help?” Cullen asked.

Certain types of wards would diminish the effect of the knife’s compulsion. They would not affect its ability to persuade and corrupt, which is based on arguai, not magic. A holy person should be proof against that. I do not know if holiness on the part of one would protect others.

“If it’s that dangerous,” Cynna said, “how can one of these hellhounds be trusted to destroy it? Unless they’re saints—”

Hounds are immune to persuasion. I do not know the mechanism for their protection, but I trust its efficacy.

Isen was frowning. “There must be some reason Winter hasn’t set one of these Hounds on the trail of that knife already.”

She has. They haven’t found it. Hounds cannot be turned away from the hunt, but they require what you might call a scent or a trail to follow. Nam Anthessa is good at hiding its nature. It is worth noting that its call-name translates roughly as Eater of Truth. This is why Winter will not send a Hound of either sort unless she is convinced the knife is here. She is fond of them. If she sends one to us and it fails to find Nam Anthessa before the damage to our realm becomes irreversible, it might be lost to her.

When Sam paused this time, Lily jumped in. “But why is Friar doing this? Why does he want to tamper with the dead, mess up time, and destabilize the realm? How does that help her? She wants a realm and lots of people to rule over.”

Apparently what I thought obvious is not. There was a distinctly acerbic flavor to that thought. If the agent of hers who wields Nam Anthessa—presumably Robert Friar—chooses the right victims for the blade, it will create a rent in the fabric of our realm such that she is able to enter. This is like causing an earthquake in order to knock down a locked door. The door may come down, but there will be considerable additional damage. It seems she is willing to accept such damage in order to gain entry.

The Great Bitch wanted in. She wanted in badly enough to destroy some part of their world to get here. This was really, deeply, seriously bad. “And if this Hound comes here and finds the knife and destroys it, will that restore—dammit.” Her phone was vibrating.

But Lily didn’t have to finish her question out loud for Sam to hear it. I do not know. Time itself will heal. I suspect that the spiritual damage connected with the lost memories will heal as well. I do not know if this means that the victims will regain their memories.

Not what she wanted to hear, but better than a flat “no.” She took out her phone and looked at the display and huffed out a breath. “I have to take this.”

She listened first, then asked a couple of questions. As soon as she disconnected she turned to Karonski. “That was an SDPD homicide detective I used to work with. He wants me to check out what looks like a ritual murder in case the body’s contaminated the way the other site was. Only it doesn’t make sense. There’s two victims, one dead, one critical. But they were gunned down, not throat-slit.”

“That doesn’t work,” Cullen said.

“I know. But if something other than gunplay went on . . . they got the living victim transported quickly, then pulled back because of the risk of contamination, which is exactly what they needed to do, but that means they haven’t examined the scene or the body. Maybe this Nam Anthessa was used in some way other than cutting the throat, and they didn’t see the wound.”

I sense no additional troubling of time. I do not believe Nam Anthessa has been used tonight.

“That’s good. I still need to go.”

“Go,” Karonski said.

Lily shoved back her chair.

So did Rule. “You mean we need to go.”