David Drake - Out of the waters

"Greetings, Sibyl," he said. He cleared his throat and went on, "Why have you called me here, your ladyship?"

"I call you, Lord Magician?" she said. Her smile was almost lost in the wrinkles of her face. She seemed tired, now that he was close to her; but perhaps she was just weary of life. "Not so. It may be that you wanted to view Poseidonis again-"

She gestured with the shears; Varus followed their points to look over the escarpment. The city he had seen in the theater spread below them.

Flying ships flapped toward the harborfront and landed like giant dragonflies, each guided by a figure in fiery armor. The streets were of the same glassy, glittering substance as the towers; catwalks as seemingly fine as spider silk tied the structures to their neighbors at three or four levels above the ground as well.

People hastened about their business. They wore sandals, broad-brimmed hats that seemed to be made of stiffened fabric, and tunics that left their left shoulders bare; Varus did not see any of the loiterers or street vendors that he would have expected in Carce. Among the humans were scores, perhaps hundreds, of the glass figures which walked at a measured pace like so many living statues.

"Why do I need to see this?" Varus said. "Help me to understand, mistress!"

"The Minoi of Atlantis threaten your world, Lord Wizard," said the old woman. "They are one threat of three, and any one will be sufficient to doom you."

The armored men from the airships and similar figures from distant towers were walking toward the tall spire. Ordinary humans thronged the broad plaza that separated it from the sea, but they made way for the converging shapes in armor.

"But why?" Varus said.

But as he spoke, the Sibyl's mouth twisted and she cried, "How many evils does the sea devise against you?"

Varus plunged through darkness. He awakened in moonlight, standing with Alphena and Pandareus. He was shouting.

Alphena jumped back as her brother, who had been slouching as if asleep on his feet, suddenly stiffened. He shouted in a squeaky voice, "How many evils does the sea devise against you? She will suddenly encroach on the grieving land, causing it to flood as the Earth tears asunder!"

"Brother?" Alphena said sharply.

"What?" Varus snapped, looking about wildly as though he expected to see something that wasn't there. "Alphena? Oh. I'm sorry. What happened?"

"You shouted a warning that the sea will flood," Pandareus said, his head cocked to the side in interest. "Using a proleptic gerundive, I might note. Were you quoting?"

"I think I was…," Varus said. He licked his lips. "That is, I heard the Sibyl calling a prophecy. About the sea."

"You said it yourself, brother," Alphena said. She felt sick with uncertainty; she didn't know what was real or if anything was real.

Varus gave her wan smile. "I suppose I did," he said. Then he added, "Master Pandareus means that the land won't really grieve until the sea encroaches, but the poet describes it as grieving already."

"My comment was out of place, Lady Alphena," the teacher said, dipping his head contritely. "When human beings feel threatened, they revert to habitual behavior; and I fear my habit is pedantry."

Alphena was only half listening. She had caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned toward what should have been the gate to the alley. A vortex of pale light spun there. As she watched, the light deepened.

"Look!" she said. She wasn't sure whether her companions could hear her. She couldn't see them, and when she tried to point at the coalescing vision, she couldn't see her own hand and arm. "It's the city from the theater!"

No, it's more than what we saw in the theater. This isn't just the city, it's an island too.

The vision changed with her thoughts: first the city sparkling like a polished diamond, then the backdrop of jungle-covered hills behind and beside the crystal towers. A heartbeat later she saw a panorama of seven ring islands, each inside the next larger.

"A volcano like Aetna," said a voice at the edge of her hearing. Was Pandareus speaking? "Seven eruptions, each slighter than the one before."

The rings almost touched close to the point where the city spread and sparkled. Spotted at intervals among the forested curves of each island were glittering specks, single towers similar to the much larger buildings of the city.

The vision shrank inward, reversing the way it had appeared. For a moment a dull glow remained, like the wick of a lamp that had run out of oil; then that too was gone.

Alphena let out a shuddering breath. "Brother?" she said.

Varus looked as drawn as she felt. With a touch of anger he said, "I didn't do that!"

Pandareus raised an eyebrow. Varus looked at his teacher in sudden dismay, then turned to Alphena. He bowed formally and said, "Your pardon, sister; I misspoke. I am not consciously aware of having caused that vision-"

He made a rhetorical gesture toward what was again only the back gate. Light from the doorman's lamp in the alley glowed through the slight gap between the panel and doorpost.

"-but as Master Pandareus rightly pointed out, I may be having an effect of which I'm not aware. Indeed, given that I was seeing a similar vision when I was dreaming."

He paused. His expression was suddenly that of a frightened little boy.

The young philosopher reasserted himself with a wry smile. "When I was in a reverie, I'll call it," he said. "I think I probably did cause what we all just saw, though I don't know how."

Her brother's smile returned, broader. "Nor do I know how to stop it," he said.

"We have much to consider," said Pandareus with a smile that made him look like another person. "Which is always true of the philosopher, as I'm sure we three strive to be. I believe I will do my further consideration tonight in my bed, and I hope in my sleep."

He bowed. "Repeat my thanks to your father," he added. "The food was wonderful, and the evening has been even more remarkable than the menu would have made it."

Pandareus pulled the gate open. The doorman standing in the alley turned, lifting his lantern on the short hooked pole it hung from.

"Are you sure you won't accept an escort, Master?" Varus asked.

"I prefer to retain my own habits, Lord Varus," the teacher said, "though I thank you. I have gone out virtually every night since I arrived in Carce. If I get used to linkmen and guards, where will I be when they're no longer available? Like a once-wild rabbit who has been fattened in a cage before being returned to the forest, I fear-an easy meal for any predator."

Alphena looked at the teacher in a new way. She had never wondered how ordinary people-that is, people who didn't travel with scores of attendants-went anywhere at night. The answer seemed to be, "Carefully."

She knew that Carce's streets were prowled by not only by robbers, but by violent drunks and by beggars who would willingly turn thief if they met someone sufficiently weaker than themselves in the darkness. Publius Corylus was young and strong and carried a hardwood staff that made him more than a match for a footpad with a knife. Pandareus had none of those advantages, but he seemed to have gotten along quite well.

The gate closed behind him. It reopened a crack, then shut again. The doorman was making sure that the young lord and lady were still in the garden-so that their privacy gave him an excuse for staying in the alley where he was more comfortable.

Varus stared after his teacher for a moment, then looked at Alphena and said, "Master Pandareus shows himself as wise in his present assessment as I have found him in every other matter where I've heard him give an opinion."

His smile was affectionate, but it seemed to Alphena to be sad as well. "I'll take his advice and go bed, sister. Shall we go back into the house together?"