Margaret Weis - Fire Sea

“My friends,” I tell them, speaking softly, my eyes moving around the table, gathering them up, and holding them fast, “the ceiling of the cavern, through which the Hemo flows, is rimed with ice. It didn’t used to be that way,” I add, noting that they still do not understand. My fingers curl slightly. “This is a change, a dire change. But, listen, I will explain further.

“Appalled by my discovery, I continued traveling along the banks of the Hemo. The way was dark and treacherous, the cold was bitter. I marveled at this, for I had not yet passed beyond the range of light and warmth shed by the colossus. Why weren’t the colossus working, I wondered?”

“If it was as cold as you claim, how could you go on?” the king demands.

“Fortunately, Your Majesty, my magic is strong and it sustained me,” I reply.

He doesn’t like to hear that, but he was the one who challenged me. I am reputed to be extremely powerful in magic, more powerful than most in the realm of Kairn Telest. He thinks that I am showing off.

“I arrived eventually, after much difficulty, at the opening in the cavern wall through which the Hemo flows,” I continue. “According to the ancient maps, when I looked out of this opening, I should have seen the Celestial Sea, the freshwater ocean created by the ancients for our use. What I looked out on, my friends”—I pause, making certain I have their undivided attention—“was a vast sea of ice!”

I hiss the final word. The council members shiver, as if I’d brought the cold back in a cage and set it loose in the Council Chamber. They stare at me in silence, astounded, appalled, the full understanding of what I am telling them slowly working its way, like an arrow tip lodged in an old wound, into their minds.

“How is such a thing possible?” The king is the first to break the silence. “How can it happen?”

I pass a hand over my brow. I am weary, drained. My magic may have been strong enough to sustain me, but its use has taken its toll. “I have spent long hours studying the matter, Your Majesty. I plan to continue my research to confirm my theory, but I believe I have determined the answer. If I may make use of this parfruit?”

I lean further over the table, grab a piece of parfruit from the bowl. I hold up the round, hardshelled fruit, whose meat is much prized for the making of parfruit wine, and—with a twist of my hands—break the fruit in half.

“This,” I tell them, pointing to the fruit’s large red seed, “represents the center of our world, the magma core. These”—I trace red veins that extend outward from the seed through the yellowish meat to the shell—“are the colossus that, by the wisdom and skill and magic of the ancients, carry the energy obtained from the magma core throughout the world, bringing warmth and life to what would otherwise be cold and barren stone. The surface of Abarrach is solid rock, similar to this hard shell.”

I take a bite of the fruit, tearing through the shell with my teeth, leaving a hollowed out portion that I exhibit.

“This, we will say, represents the Celestial Sea, the ocean of fresh water above us. The space around here”—I wave my hand around the parfruit—“is the Void, dark and cold.

“Now, if the colossus do their duty, the cold of the Void is driven back, the ocean is kept well heated, the water flows freely down through the tunnel and brings life to our land. But if the colossus fail...”

My voice trails off ominously. I shrug and toss the parfruit back onto the table. It rolls and wobbles along, eventually falls over the edge. The council members watch it in a horrible kind of fascination, making no move to touch it. One woman jumps when the fruit hits the floor.

“You’re saying that is what’s happening? The colossus are failing?”

“I believe so, Your Majesty.”

“But, then, shouldn’t we see some sign of it? Our colossus still radiate light, heat—”

“May I remind king and council that I commented on the fact that it was the top of the cavern only that is rimed in ice. Not the cavern wall. I believe our colossus are, if not failing utterly, at least growing weaker. We do not yet notice the change, although I have begun to register a consistent and previously inexplicable drop in the average daily temperature. We may not notice the change for some time. But, if my theory holds true ...” I hesitate, reluctant to speak.

“Well, go ahead,” the king orders me. “Better to see the hole that lies in the path and walk around it than fall into it blindly, as the saying goes.”

“I do not think we will be able to avoid this hole,” I say quietly. “First, as the ice grows thicker on the Celestial Sea, the Hemo will continue to dwindle and eventually dry up completely.”

Exclamations of horrified shock interrupt me. I wait until these die down.

“The temperature in the cavern will drop steadily. The light radiated by the colossus will grow dimmer and soon cease altogether. We will find ourselves in a land of darkness, a land of bitter cold, a land with no water, a land where no food will grow—not even by means of magic. We will find ourselves in the land that is dead, Your Majesty. And if we stay here, we, too, will perish.”

I hear a gasp, catch a glimpse of movement near the door. Edmund—he is only fourteen—stands listening. No one else breathes a word. Several of the council members look stricken. Then someone mutters that none of this is proved, it is merely the gloom—and-doom theory of a necromancer who has spent too much time among his books.

“How long?” the king asks harshly.

“Oh, it will not happen tomorrow, Your Majesty. Nor yet many tomorrows from now. But,” I continue, my fond gaze going sadly to the door, “the prince, your son, will never rule over the land of Kairn Telest.”

The king follows my glance, sees the young man, and frowns. “Edmund, you know better than this! What are you doing here?”

The prince flushes. “Forgive me, Father. I didn’t mean to—to interrupt. I came looking for you. Mother is ill. The physician thinks you should come. But when I arrived, I didn’t want to disturb the council and so I waited, and then I heard ... I heard what Baltazar said! Is it true, Father? Will we have to leave—”

“That will do, Edmund. Wait for me. I will be with you presently.”

The boy gulps, bows, and fades back, silent and unobtrusive, to stand in the shadows near the doorway. My heart aches for him. I long to comfort him, to explain. I meant to frighten them, not him.

“Forgive me, I must go to my wife.”

The king rises to his feet. The council members do likewise; the meeting is obviously at an end.

“I need not tell you to keep this quiet until we have more information,” the king continues. “Your own common sense will point out to you the wisdom of such an action. We will meet together again in five cycles’ time. However,” he adds, his brows knotting together, “I advise that we take the recommendation of the Farmer’s Guild and make an early harvest.”

The members vote. The recommendation passes. They file out, many casting dark and unhappy glances back at me. They would dearly love to blame this on someone. I meet each gaze with unruffled aplomb, secure in my position. When the last one has left, I glide forward and lay a hand on the arm of the king, who is eager to be gone.

“What is it?” the king demands, obviously irritated at my interruption. He is much concerned about his wife.

“Your Majesty, forgive me for delaying you, but I wanted to mention something to you in private.”

The king draws back, away from my touch. “We do nothing in secret on Kairn Telest. Whatever you want to say to me should have been said in the council.”