Mercedes Lackey - Changing the World - All-New Tales of Valdemar

“Why? So far you’ve described it as a prop for an oligarchy with some pretty hard- nosed ideas about who gets killed in the line of duty.”

:Baron Valdemar’s Bargain was to create someplace special, a rallying point, a beacon in the night. He was an idealist, of course, but a realist as well. He realized that you can create something special, but sustaining it would need help, so he committed himself, his children, and his children’s children to standing against the forces that threaten all free peoples everywhere always. The agreement was simple: to provide a Haven against the dark, to stand as a beacon, to succor all in need, and to rise in defense when no one else would. The Companions are the visible, tangible sign that the Bargain is being honored. Valdemar delivers up idealists, some noble, some common . . . none of whom ride cheerfully into the cannon’s mouth, but who will ride nonetheless if there is no other choice.:

Dave dropped the book back in the cardboard box. He closed the trunk hard, using the heel of his hand to get it going. The latch stuck, of course, bouncing the lid back an inch or two. He leaned his hand down on the trunk, trying to hold it closed while he fumbled for the piece of wire that was his backup for when the trunk latch failed, which was most of the time. It took two tries to get it threaded through the trunk latch. He released it and watched the trunk open again and stop about an inch free. He pulled his notepad out of his pocket.

“Now we get to it. So, then, what exactly are the Companions then? Angels sent by God?”

:Hrmmm . . . human concepts are so limited. Let’s try this. In my universe there is a Manifestation, a great Creator, a Great Maker, if you will. Humanity can only touch a portion of that concept, and then only imperfectly . . . so that flawed understanding is what gets interpreted locally, in different ways, shaped by different cultures and different experiences. In Karse, Vkandis is a very real god, very male, oft given to showmanship, and with a blisteringly large ego. He is definitely his own man . . . err, god. But he is also, at the same time, a part of the Manifestation.:

:We are also part of that Manifestation, not unlike the fire-cats, who are of Vkandis’ shaping. But as part of the Bargain we represent all the gods and so are truer to being the agents, the avatars of the Manifestation itself.:

“So, kind of like an angel then?” asked Dave.

The Companion tossed his head, impatient now .

:There is no way I’m going to take a stab at that. Your world is caught in enough killing over whose version of “peace and love” is the right one. I’m not going to toss any more theological fuel on the fire.

:What we are works for Valdemar. Translating it into your world isn’t going to help you understand. Let’s just stick with avatars—damned stylish avatars, if you will. Let’s move on, shall we? Got enough background?:

“Okay. I think so. I still don’t see a story.”

:Then ask the right question.:

“All right, then. Why are you here? I get that you like the grass, but I’m not buying the vacation bit.”

If a horse could smile, the Companion conveyed the sense.

:It’s not an accident that many heroes, even in your world, have ridden on white steeds. Your George Washington, of course, a paragon among men, who willingly handed over the reins of power lest he be thought a king. Do you have any idea how rare that is? How astonishingly, vanishingly rare that is? How often does anyone today in your world willingly, voluntarily relinquish power . . . much less when there was no precedent for it?:

“You’re saying he had a Companion?”

:He had a conscience to help him be who he already was. A voice to steady him in the darkest watches of the night, when he was afraid or most in doubt. A friend when he was most alone.:

“There were others?”

:A few. A man in Spain who set the conditions for the world to change, to break through and become when it was, ready to be born in modernity. Much tragedy and millions of lives would be lost in the birthing.:

“Spain . . . ummm, Spain. White horse. El Cid?”

:Very good.

“Thanks. Liberal arts education. Any others?”

:Girl in France. Thought she was talking to God. Rode a white horse.:

“The Maid of Orleans. Joan of Arc.”

:Yes. Her inspiration created the idea of the nation of France, set the stage for the rise of the modern state . . . and began the end of the idea that land and king were one.:

“Others?”

:General in your Civil War. Led the southern armies in the east, and whose graciousness in defeat set the tone for knitting the country back together once it was done. And his nemesis, because the rebel had to lose. Both were needed in their essential roles. That war made the country that followed possible, brutally hard for those at the time.”

“Lee and Grant . . . But neither of their horses were white. Traveler was a chestnut.”

:Was he? Are you sure? Interesting choice of names, isn’t it?:

“No. I’m not sure, now that I think on it. I’ll have to look it up.”

:Wikipedia has a good entry. Try that. And like our Chosen, we can go in mufti, when needful.:

“Good to know. Any others?”

:Hrmm . . . Okay. General in Greece, opened up the east and west. Great tragedy in his wake but made possible the rise of the west and the linking of the world, the Silk Road.:

“Alexander. But he wasn’t Greek, he was Macedonian.”

:Whatever.:

“So, just how many Companions in this world?”

:A few. For critical people at a nexus in time, where one person’s single choice will decide the fate of millions, for those few, we are a quiet voice, a nudge here, a suggestion there. We are Companions to our Chosen. We suggest, we recommend, we aid.:

“But, compared with here, Valdemar is lousy with them.”

The Companion drew himself closer to the fence. The voice in Dave’s mind lost its humorous edge and became all business.

:The Chosen are Chosen by Fate, David. We become their Companions to help them fulfill that fate. We’re an expensive line item, silver hooves and all, so we go where the need is most.:

“So, then you’re here to Choose someone?”

:Yes, David.:

He looked up and down the road. No one was in sight. He began to get an odd, warm feeling in the of his stomach.

:No, David. That role is not yours. There is always a bard, to record the history, to document the story of the Chosen for all ages. It will be your story, if you choose to write it.:

He felt a surge of bitter disappointment. In an instant, he’d seen, he’d read, the flash of sublime joy at being Chosen, and it was gone. “So, then. A job as a sidekick. Great.” He made no effort to hide the hurt. “What about the woman in Oklahoma?”

:This is beneath you, Dave. She can tell our story as fiction, but I will not be in this story, except as steed. My story is told elsewhere. This will be the Chosen’s story. The one who changes the future.:

The Companion glanced towards the golf bag. :Would you get my clubs? The woods are Calloways, but even good clubs can’t fix a tendency to slice. I have an appointment.:

The Companion turned toward the barn.

“The girl?”

:The girl who changes the world. Want to write the story?:

Dave thought about it for almost a minute.

“Sure.”