Empires of Flux & Anchor

3 HELL’S EARS

The stringer was a man named Gorondon—that is, that was the name he used, stringers always keeping their true names hidden so that none could ever have a hold on them. He was one of the hundreds of men and women who moved people, goods, and even ideas between Fluxland and Fluxland, Anchor and Anchor, and to all points in between. The stringer guild was a tight organization; one had to be born into it to get full stringer status, and their monopoly on commerce was jealously, even violently maintained. Still, they performed a service better and more efficiently than any other could, and so everyone tolerated them, even if they didn’t quite like or trust them.

Gorondon was a huge, burly man with a full, bushy black beard, a broad, flat nose and big brown eyes. He looked much like an animated statue, chiseled from granite and given life by some magic spell.

Maintaining the train were his duggers, strange, often misshapen creatures who were once human men and women, as mad in the head as they were in form more often than not. Duggers were drawn mostly from the castoffs of conventional society; people who could not fit or were insane and had made their way into Flux, their madness made them appear like their own nightmares, but they were capable of working efficiently in the real world of the void under the direction of a stringer. They worked hard and were fiercely loyal, afraid only of being cast adrift with their madness once again in Flux. Still, they were well paid and secure as employees of the train, and they herded the animals, drove the wagons, loaded and unloaded the cargoes, and guarded against the infrequent but still present marauding bands of robbers and savages who roamed the Flux.

Only Gorondon had gone very far into Hope, to transact his business and pick up messages. There were only a few wide open Fluxlands where duggers felt comfortable, and most stayed with the train except for loading and unloading. Hope, in particular, was not a favorite stop, merely a necessary one. A matriarchal theocracy offended stringer types and made them more than a little nervous. Most saw little difference between being the slave of a mad Fluxland wizard and being a member of, much less a priestess of, the Church.

Knowing he had no less than fourteen passengers for Anchor Logh, the stringer had arranged for coaches, each of which held eight people in equal discomfort. Although the huge wheels were of wood and the facing bench seats inside barely upholstered, the void was smooth and the pace of a train was slow, so the only bumps and bounces were from the teams of eight horses pulling each, and even those bumps and bounces could be minimized by the skill of the dugger driver.

Kasdi climbed into the first coach and, because of her small size, soon found herself with three other companions across, and three more facing her. Whoever had referred to the coaches as eight-passenger vehicles had obviously been thinking of eight five-year-olds; even though all four on Kasdi’s side were small women, none could lift a hand without hitting the person sitting next to them.

She was in her usual Flux disguise as a plain-looking, studious priestess in the black robes of the judiciary order. She had made herself smaller—barely one hundred fifty centimeters, as opposed to her normal height of one hundred sixty—with shoulder-length gray-brown hair, and a long, thin, unattractive middle-aged face that may not have been hard to look at but you wouldn’t look twice. She had also smoothed out and raised her normally very deep voice. Nobody had ever penetrated the disguise, which was so complete that there were actually records on “Sister Janise” so complete that, if anyone checked, they would be certain that she was indeed a separate, real person.

Janise was a useful disguise, particularly when visiting Anchor Logh, and it was a guise known only to a precious few who would never betray it—Mervyn, Tamara, the Sister General of the Anchor Logh temple and her closest friend, her father, and her cousin Cloise, who was surrogate mother to her daughter.

Because stringers knew how uncomfortable it might be to have to ride with a bevy of priestesses, the dugger loadmaster had put the six sisters who were passengers in the same coach, and the one other had been at the school in Hope. Thus, to her amusement, even though she expected it, she found herself sharing a ride of several days with the new Sister Marigail and the girl she’d denied ordination, whose name was Mahta. Introductions and pleasantries were made, but conversation was minimal inside the coach, most of the comments being about the discomfort of the ride and the state of transportation even in this new age.

Gorondon wanted to make Anchor Logh in a bit over three days, so he worked his crew in shifts and planned stops only for water and meals and horse rotation. He was behind his schedule, planned out months ago for a half-year trip, and trying to make up as much of that time as possible. If he didn’t make his scheduled stops before another stringer, he might have business stolen out from under him.

At the meal breaks, though, there were small clusters of conversation and socializing. Mahta, in particular, seemed fascinated to talk to Sister Marigail, with whom she’d shared a dormitory these past two years. Thanks to Kasdi’s spell, Mahta was actually fairly attractive, although nothing like Marigail’s beauty.

“I still can’t understand why anybody who looks like you would enter the priesthood,” Mahta said to Marigail. “Still, that’s it now, I guess. Uh—how does it feel?”

Marigail shrugged. “Not really any different. At least, I don’t notice anything different. Oh, well, maybe a little. Things I thought were real important just don’t seem that way anymore. Like this trip home. Even a couple of days ago it seemed the most important thing in my whole life. You know, going home a real priestess, seeing everyone, all that. Now—it’s just something that must be done before I can get to work. What about you? You think you’re going to come back, or is this it for you?”

“I don’t know,” Mahta responded. “I enjoyed it all, and I like the Church, but it just doesn’t seem like my whole life. Who knows? After two years in the mines I’m just going to relax and enjoy myself a bit, just like she said. Who knows? At any rate, if you’ll let me, I’ll come to your public ceremony.”

“I’d like that very much. It’ll be in Tonibar Riding, just north of the capital, the first Holy Day after I’m back. You know you’ll be welcome.”

Kasdi overheard, and smiled a bit to herself. Things would work out for both of them, she was sure. Later, she was amused to overhear a whispered conversation between them that was basically a less than totally complimentary impression of her. Marigail had described Kasdi as old and hard-looking, and seemed a bit disappointed at how ordinary the living patron saint of the Reformed Church seemed. It was far better and more charitable than Mahta’s impression of an egomaniacal old crone. She didn’t mind either impression, though. It kept her in her place and helped combat her greatest fight, the fight against her own blasphemous deification among the masses.

They pressed on through the static energy field that was the void towards Anchor Logh, following energy trails, or strings, that only stringers and wizards could see.

She was a lively, outgoing young woman. She was almost exotically pretty, a bit sexy and erotic, and she knew it. She had long, straight auburn hair almost to the waist, unusual large green eyes, a sensual mouth in an expressive face, and a trim, athletic figure that seemed put together just right. She was quite tall—one hundred eighty centimeters barefoot—but hadn’t an ounce of fat nature didn’t need or require. She was well aware of how attractive she was and liked to flaunt it in a teasing way.

She was also bright, if no genius, with good grades through school and a healthy curiosity about the world around her, but she preferred the outdoors to books and athletics to scholarship. She had always been spoiled as a child, and her beauty and athletic prowess had made her a center of attention as a teen as well. She had, ot course, lived a sheltered and pampered life, but was not really aware that it was so. If she lacked anything, it was a sense of ambition and a sense of direction. She had graduated now, and was working on the communal farm where she’d been raised, doing odd jobs here and there, but every time her future had come up, she’d changed the subject. She didn’t really like to think much of the future; she liked it too much the way it was. There were colleges she might enter, but aside from a love of the outdoors she really had no strong drive towards one field or another. Nothing she really liked excited her, and she was aware that in any given field there were far too many with better aptitude and intelligence for her to rise very far.

Still, if she did not choose more education, she would be expected to apprentice to a trade, and none of those appealed much to her either. Marriage and kids also seemed unattractive. She had lost her virginity at sixteen, a fact that would still horrify her mother and the rest of the family, but she wasn’t very experienced in that department. Three times, that was all, and while she’d found the last two at least pleasurable, they certainly weren’t worth the risk of pregnancy and were, in a way, disappointing when looked back upon. Still, she was fairly inhibited regarding herself. She liked playing, teasing, and, yes, using the lust of all the boys best. It was more of a charge knowing that you were lusted after than actually taking them up on it.

What she really wanted, she knew, was an unlimited amount of credit to go off and see all of World, doing what she wanted when she wanted, and generally having a good time. Unfortunately, real life had a way of dashing romantic fantasies. Her mom called it her “stringer blood.”

If there was one thing in her life that was empty, it was her parentage. She’d been told that her father had been a stringer killed in the Flux and that her mother had been a cast-out in the days when they used to draw lots to see which young people got sent into slavery in Flux and which got to stay and lead normal lives in Anchor. It was a sweet, romantic story—cast-out girl and stringer fall in love—but it had ended unhappily, with her father dead and her mother returning with the liberators here to Anchor Logh, only to die in an accident when she was very young. Those were mysteries, and mysteries she had found, after all these years, impossible to solve or even discuss with the few who knew anything. Nobody knew the stringer’s name, since her mother hadn’t said, or so they told her. Nobody was even positive that her father had really been a stringer, only that this was the story her mother had told.

As for the mother, there were no records and lots of names on the lists of cast-outs from those days. No pictures seemed to have been taken of her, and the one name they gave, Helaina, appeared on no official record except a formal death certificate. She had gotten the impression that nobody wanted to talk about her mother because she had not been formally married and had used her body to get out of slavery instead of her brains, but she didn’t care about that. Still, she’d always had the urge to go into Flux and at least search for somebody who might have known, might remember and be willing to talk, as unlikely as that might be. But as much as the Flux fascinated her and called to her, it also frightened her. She’d seen it more than once, from the old walls, a glittering wall of nothingness stretching out forever, and it had seemed cold and empty and lonesome.

She munched on an apple and walked out of the apartment and down the dirt road through the fields leading to the main highway. She barely glanced at the Holy Mother above, a great, amorphous light banded in yellows, blues, and oranges—the sight had always been there and would have been unnatural only if absent. It was a warm day, and she wore a pair of denim jeans low on her hips, a sleeveless white shirt that came down to her navel, and little else more, save a pair of high-heeled riding boots, which put an extra wiggle in her walk and added another five centimeters to her height, and a cream-colored ranch hat, side brims starched up.

She knew that, sooner or later, the coach from the west gate would come by, and that Sister Janise was aboard, and that was whom she was there to meet. She was never comfortable with Sister Janise—the woman was like a doting maiden aunt, only she really never understood the relationship the old girl had to her or her real mother. Janise had always been a little boring and made her feel uncomfortable, although she always thought that, if she could ever find a way, she might learn more from the Sister about her own origins.

The coaches were never on time, so she just thanked the Goddess that it was such a nice, warm day and settled down on the grass near the road to wait.

After a while Sucha Fane rode by, spotted her, and stopped and dismounted. He was a nice-looking boy her age, nothing wonderful but nice enough, and they’d shared some classes together in school. She had never felt really attracted to him, considering her other choices, and they had never dated, but that never stopped him from trying and it was a dull day.

“Hi, Spirit. What’cha doin’ sittin’ here?”

“Waiting for the damned coach. My batty priestess aunt is due in for one of her interminable visits, that’s all. You?”

“Goin’ in to the guild halls to see if my number’s come up, that’s all. You know I got a slot as apprentice electrician.”

“No! Congratulations! That’s a big new field.”

And it was. The reformation of the Church had ushered in a whole new era of scientific inquiry. Study was made of many subjects that had been forbidden or had been restricted to the Church, and hundreds of the brightest minds of World were hard at work. The whole of the capital was electrified now, and there was talk of extending the power grids eventually to every city, town, and farm in Anchor Logh. Her farm would be among the first, as it was one of the two or three closest to the capital. It was said that power would soon no longer be dependent on the supernatural gusher in the temple, but actually might be generated from the energy of Flux, or from units of compressed solid energy created in Flux that could be transported, stored, and used locally in Anchor.

The old books and records had yielded many suppressed miracles, including the transmission of speech by electrical energy, not just through wires but through the air. It seemed impossible, but they had all seen demonstrations of it in school and in the capital. The entire world was poised on the edge of a technological revolution that would match or exceed the impact of the Reformation.

The conversation turned, quite naturally, to the personal, and she had little trouble putting him off yet again. Still, she sometimes felt sorry for the Suchas of the world, and she felt tempted occasionally to give them a break or a thrill. Not now, though. Not today, particularly.

Crestfallen as usual from being shot down again, he sighed, got up, and remounted his horse. “Got to be gettin’ in before they close,” he said lamely.

“Take care and good luck,” she responded. “I mean that.” And she blew him a kiss.

That last really brightened his day, and he rode off at a happy gallop.

Almost on cue, the coach rumbled into sight in the distance, and she watched it approach, then got up as it slowed. The door opened, and out stepped old Sister Janise, looking the same as always.

“Hi, Sister Janise! It’s been a while!” Spirit opened, trying to sound as enthusiastic as she could.

“Too long,” the Sister responded, and hugged her and gave her a peck on the cheek. The coach rumbled off, and they watched it go into the distance towards the capital.

“Everybody’s waiting for you,” Spirit told her. “Mom’s been cooking all day.”

“Well, I hope they didn’t put themselves out too much for me. It will be good to see them all, but this isn’t quite the usual social visit.”

Spirit frowned at that, but let it pass. “Want to go see Mom?”

“In a minute. I think I’d just like to walk along the road and around the farm for a little bit. Not only have I been four days on those blasted coaches, but I like to… remember.”

They began walking back towards the distant buildings, perhaps a kilometer in. “That’s right—you did say you grew up around here, didn’t you?”

The Sister nodded. “Yes. This very farm. It’s nice to see that it’s changed so little over the years, although that’s probably going to end soon. Dramatic change is coming to Anchor Logh. I sometimes wonder, in ten years, if we—either one of us—will recognize this place and whether the magic of science here won’t overpower the magic of Flux.”

Spirit had never seen Janise in such a reflective mood. It gave her an odd sense of foreboding, particularly when coupled with the old woman’s earlier cryptic remark.

Janise slopped for a moment and pointed. “Let’s go over to that grove of trees. I want to talk for a moment.”

They went over and sat on the grass. For a little bit the Sister was silent, but finally she said, “For a long time you’ve wondered about your parents, haven’t you? Your natural ones, I mean.”

The statement jolted her, but she repressed her excitement. “Yes, that’s true.”

“You’re a beautiful, grown woman now. I think it’s time you were told the truth, although you will not be able to tell it to anyone else.”

Spirit felt a chill. “The truth?”

The Sister sighed. “Yes. The truth. But not because you are grown now. It was decided to tell you because others may learn of you, others who might wish to do you harm because of your heritage. You must know in order to guard yourself.”

“Guard myself from whom? What’s this all leading to?”

“You know the story of the Reformation. That Cass, a girl from this farm, this riding, discovered the corruption in the temple and was exiled to Flux. How she discovered in herself great power and how she fell in love with a stringer, and when that stringer died in the war against Hell, she was transformed into the most powerful wizard World had ever known.”

“I hadn’t known about the stringer part, but the rest is taught every Holy Day.”

“Well, Cass became, of course, Sister Kasdi. She beat the evil wizard Haldayne and transformed his evil kingdom into Hope, the seat of the Reformed Church. This you know.”

She nodded. “Yeah, sure. I guess everybody does.”

“And nothing so far suggests a parallel with anything you have been told?”

She shrugged. “Except that that battle killed my natural father, not particularly.”

“Sister Kasdi had a daughter in Anchor by her slain lover. The big secret they’ve always tried to hide from you and everybody else is that you are that daughter.”

Oddly, she felt no shock at the revelation. It was simply too ridiculous to be believed, let alone accepted.

“She had to choose between you and the Reformation, Spirit. She chose the Reformation for the good of everyone rather than herself, and she did everything possible to make sure that nobody would ever trace you to her. You would be the one piece of blackmail her enemies could hold on her.”

“If what you say is true, I doubt if I’d be worth much. I mean, she already took the Church over me, right?” There was a heavy trace of bitterness in her tone, and it hurt.

“There was no choice,” she responded defensively. “You could not be protected in Flux, and the old Church and its forces would have sought out and killed the infant Reformation and both you and her if she didn’t carry it off. I can say you have never been far from her thoughts in all these years.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. So what are you? Her personal watchdog? She sends you to bring me toys and attend my birthday parties and report to her when she’s got the time?”

“That’s a cruel way to put it. She has seen you, many times. But she is a powerful wizard, able to transform herself into just about anybody or anything, and she had to visit in deep disguise so that her enemies wouldn’t know and follow her.”

Spirit felt anger, not relief at all this. “So why the big story now?”

“There are rumors that her old enemies have discovered who you are. Perhaps not, but they are closing in. They suspect. No matter what you think of your mother or what you think she might do, you’d better think another way. It’s not going to be her in the hands of Hell; it’ll be you.”

That was a sobering-up statement if there ever was one. She thought about it a moment, then shook her head sadly. “This is all so… new to me. I mean, all these years I’ve wondered about my real parents, and now you can tell me all this. It’s pretty hard to take.”

“Everyone tried to spare you all this. We worked very hard to do so. Were it not for the possible dangers, it would have continued that way. I’m very… sorry.” It was getting more and more difficult to keep up the act, the other persona, but it had to be done. It was sadly ironic that she could not come right out and tell her daughter the truth face-to-face, but if the girl was having troubles believing the truth as it was, nothing less than that would convince her that her doddering old “aunt” was truly the monumental figure familiar to all.

“I don’t see why my mother couldn’t do this job herself,” Spirit said sourly. “She sure has a funny way of showing she cares.”

“But, dear, don’t you see? The only way for that to work would be for her to come as herself—and that would lead her enemies right to you. She can travel nowhere anonymously except in deep disguise. Surely you can understand that. The only safe place would be in Flux, and there, if they so much as suspected, you could not be defended or defend yourself against a concerted attack.”

That logic was not what Spirit wanted to hear right now, nor was it what she was feeling. She felt a lot of resentment and bitterness churning within her, and a great deal of hurt, and yet, somehow, all of it seemed like some kind of crazy dream. Certainly none of the facts had any solidity to her, any kind of personal reality. To be orphaned and fantasize about your real parents was one thing; to discover that you were not an orphan, but that your mother was an alleged saint and the most powerful person in the world—and that she chose that path over you—was something else again. And now to find that you were in mortal danger from the enemies of the mother who didn’t give a damn about you—that was just a little much to swallow right now.

It had been three days since the revelations, and Spirit was still troubled by them. She had asked her mother—her real mother in all but the biological sense—to confirm the facts, and they had in fact been confirmed, although she still had the feeling that there were things they still wished to conceal from her. She moped around and tried to sort it all out, but it was hard.

It was far easier to look up the Cass of her own riding, though, than the mythical mother they had originally given her. She was struck both by the plainness of her photographs and the tomboy image the records and some of the older farm hands indicated. Eventually she wandered down to the blacksmith’s shop. The foreman there was a familiar figure and, she’d been told, a distant relation, but now she found herself staring at the brawny, silver-haired man at the forge with different eyes.

The first thing Kasdi had done after leaving Spirit that first day was to visit her dad and tell him. He looked up at the girl just inside the wide doorways, put down his tools, wiped off his face with a rag and came over to her. “Hello, Spirit,” he greeted casually.

“Hello… Grandfather,” she responded, not at all sure of what tone to take.

He frowned. “Never say that again around here, much as I’d like you to. Come on—let’s go someplace private and talk for a few moments.”

They sat again under the very trees where she’d been told the truth. “I hear tell you’re not very pleased at the news,” he began.

“Well? Should I be?”

He shrugged. “I’m kind of proud of her myself, as you might understand. I can’t say I ever understood her, but we got pretty close, you know. Even more after she took over the Church. Your momma’s a little weird, but she’s got brains and the guts to use ’em.” He gave her a smirk. “She still hasn’t got me back in the Church, though. Drives her nuts.”

Spirit laughed at that, and some of the ice melted. She hadn’t known him very well before, but she liked him now, as much as she liked the irony that the father of the sainted Sister Kasdi was an unrepentant nonbeliever.

He nodded sagely. “That’s better. You know, I think it drove me more crazy than your mom not to get close to you, because I saw you most every day. Still, the danger’s pretty real, and for your sake and hers I kept apart. I still can’t come out and claim you my granddaughter, but at least we can have a talk now and then. I can tell you’re pretty troubled. Want to talk about it?”

There was something about him that inspired confidence, the same solidity that he gave to the things wrought in iron by his own hands and forge. He had a reputation for being gruff and sometimes mean and nasty, but here he seemed surprisingly gentle and compassionate. She opened up to him, and he listened attentively, never interrupting. When she had finished, he sighed and looked thoughtful.

“Your mom’s a politician and a soldier, the two jobs that make more enemies than any other ten jobs combined. Me they’re only mad at when something I make breaks or isn’t quite right. It’s never personal. Her—it’s all personal. The people you beat hate you and want revenge. The people you never touched are scared of you, and to fear somebody is to be an enemy. Nobody ever agrees with the one who runs things, and everybody thinks they can do a better job. She didn’t want the job, and she hates it now. She’s hated it, I think, since the first. She got herself trapped into it by a bunch of slick politicians themselves who wanted what she could give ’em and suckered her into doing their dirty work. Now she’s really stuck. She can’t quit. Too many folks depend on her. It’s kind of funny, really. Here she is, the most powerful woman on World, and she can’t do anything she wants to do.”

This was a different side of the image, and Spirit was fascinated. “What does she want to do, then?”

“Well, she got stuck before she knew she was pregnant. They could have told her—that slick old fellow Mervyn or whatever he’s calling himself these days—but they needed her. So they got her in the spot where she had to make a real set of decisions before she knew. She hates this fighting, hates the responsibility. I think I would, too. She once told me that what she wanted to do most in the world was just to drop it all, disguise herself, and travel all over World, to every corner of it. See everything that could be seen, learn everything she could learn. No responsibilities, no guilt as she called it, no nothing.”

Spirit had to chuckle at that. “That’s what I want to do, too!”

He nodded. “Figures. That witch-magic gave you your good looks, but the blood’s still the same. She told me not long ago that she’d love to just take you away and have the two of you get to know each other, wandering around World, poking into things, having fun.”

“Well? Why can’t we?”

He sighed. “Because she can’t. Like I said, she’s trapped. Stuck. All those vows are in her by witch-magic. You go into Flux, you get witched, and it sticks. She’s been trying to get me there. Says she can ease my tired bones, make me young again. I’ll join the Church before I go into that mess of stuff. Never know what’ll happen to you. Look at her. She’s got to be Sister Kasdi, live like a saint, look like Hell. You seen the pictures. She sure looks closer to the age my wife would be if she’d lived than my daughter. Flux sure did nothing for her.”

“But she can disguise herself from me.”

He nodded. “And only for that, she says. She’s got all that power, and she’s witched so she can’t use any of it for herself. She’s allowed to change for here only because you need it to protect you.”

“Protect me from whom? What?”

“From her enemies. She’s got a million of ’em, some right here in Anchor Logh. They’d hurt you just because they know it’d hurt her.”

It was Spirit’s turn to sigh. “So I’m as stuck as she is. More, because they can’t really touch her. I’m not powerful. They could do anything they want with me.”

He nodded. “You’re stuck, I agree, but not so bad. You don’t have to sleep in straw and eat slop. You stay here in Anchor Logh and live the rest of your life. Thought about what you’re going to do?”

She shrugged. “Thought about it, yeah—but not much more. I’m sure not ready to settle down, get married, have kids. Not now. I don’t have the smarts or the patience for university, but I don’t have the talent for a trade with any future. I’m just not ready yet.”

“Ready for what? To grow up? You already did, no matter what. Nobody ever wants to grow up, and nobody’s ever ready. In the old days you had no choice at all. You became what they told you or they threw you into slavery. You have more choice now, and slavery’s only for criminals, but it’s still the same. If you don’t pick, they’ll do the picking. What are you good at that you really like?”

She thought a moment. “Sports. Dancing. Not much else.”

“Well, think about teaching gym maybe. Or maybe dancing—no, I guess that’s out. You’d have to travel in Flux to be with dancers that make any money. The only kind of job like that here is on Main Street, and that kind of dancing is no good life.”

She grinned. “It sure would give my mother fits, though, wouldn’t it? Both of ’em.”

“You’d never get anywhere in the joints. Every time somebody made a play for you, your grandfather would be beside ’em with a shotgun.”

As much as it was irritating, the comment nonetheless warmed her. She suddenly had a real family now, and at least one who cared.

“There’s no question,” the woman agent told her boss. “In fact, once you find her, everything just falls logically into place. Even the name—Spirit. And on the same farm, in the same family! She’s not much at concealment, is she?”

The man facing her took a swallow of beer and shrugged. “No need. You’ve been too deep in cover too long. The records were well doctored, so there was no clue there. The people involved all had their minds voluntarily meddled in to back up the phony story. After that, why not put her where you can keep an eye on her and have people around you can trust? I mean, even if we suspected that our enemy’s child lived, which we always did—that kid’s stillbirth was just too convenient to believe—we still had a world to search and thousands of suspects that right age. She’s physically matched to the family she’s with and with a convincing cover. There are hundreds more with stories just like hers.”

“Yes, but—”

“Hey!” he cut her off. “Look, remember—it took us all these years. That’s pretty good. These things always look easier in hindsight. That’s no longer the problem. Tell me—how did you do it?”

“It was the Janise disguise. She was never there. Never. But when Sister Kasdi went on retreat, suddenly Janise was packing her bags to leave—and always here. It was simple to follow her from that point.”

“Well, we might be suspicious of Sister Janise, but she also could be any one of a lot of other unpleasant folks needing a cover. We just timed it perfectly, though, dropping that story that we were on the trail of Kasdi’s daughter through that sidebar stringer stopping at Globbus just before ordination. We set the trap and watched her get the news, then were ready because she had to go through ordination, so the time was known. Then she did the predictable—rushed to check on her daughter as soon as she could. The same as somebody carrying a lot of money will always check their wallets and tell a good thief exactly where the wallet’s hidden. You were one of many we had staked out all around, following every red herring. Now it’s time to plan our next move.”

“I spent two years in that hole eating shit,” the agent reminded him. “Now I expect a big payoff.”

He gave a low chuckle and drained his glass. “You have no Flux power,” he reminded her. “You were homely and pushing fifty when we offered you this job. We made you sixteen again. That’s a pretty good deal for two years you otherwise didn’t have, and they even improved your looks. What other kind of payment do you expect?”

“You can’t know what I went through for you!” she spat. “The humiliation, the hard conditions, the constant acting. No sex, no freedom, lousy food. Nothing you can give me would be enough payment.”

“But you’ll accept it anyway,” he said sarcastically.

“You bet I will! I want all the things I didn’t have, all the things I never had. I want to be gorgeous. I want men lusting after me. I want never to have to worry about anything again!”

He thought a moment. “And in Anchor, I presume?”

“Of course! This is no place for somebody without the power.”

“O.K. I’ve got just the thing.” He made an idle gesture with his left hand and she froze, unable to move. “You know too much and you could blow too much, but we do owe you for services rendered, and what you want is easy.” He wove the mathematical spells idly in his mind and sent them to her as forms of binding energy. “First we’ll erase the last three years from your memory completely—that’ll cover all your contacts with us. We’ll make life before that fairly muddy, not clear or important to you. We’ll give you a face and body that every red-blooded male wants, and we’ll bind your personality to total passivity, so you’ll be happy to give ’em what they want. Then we’ll constrict your usable I.Q. to maybe half its potential, so you’ll have a one-track mind that’s ruled by your body and your needs. You’ll giggle a lot, but you won’t think beyond the moment. And maybe a new name that won’t trigger any of those old memories. ‘Honey,’ because it fits.” He snapped his fingers and the spell was cast.

As was the case with master wizards, the effect was instantaneous. One moment the plain-looking Mahta had stood there; now a voluptuous but stupid young woman shook her head as if waking up from a dream and then looked dully around, puzzled.

“Hi!” he said pleasantly. “What’s your name?”

“Honey,” she answered in a very sexy voice.

“Well, hello, Honey. What do you do for a living?”

“I make men happy,” she told him, cozying up. “Can I make you happy?”

“You sure can,” responded cheerfully. “And when you do, I got a friend who owns a place in Anchor Logh where you can make lots of men happy night after night.”

The first problem was solved. Now go on to the next phase.

It was Holy Day, although that didn’t mean very much to Spirit this time. The portrait of Sister Kasdi in the vestibule, which had always seemed so comforting, now seemed rather silly and out of place. No longer the Reformed Church, or just the Church, but “My Mother’s Church,” she thought a bit sourly. Still, she had gone as always, for social pressure was pretty strong in a small place like Anchor Logh and particularly on the farm and in the riding. She wondered how her grandfather had managed to escape for so many years.

There was a stranger attending services that morning who was the object of some sidelong attention. There were often strangers at services, particularly this close to the capital, but this one would stand out in any crowd. He was tall, handsome, and muscular, with a neatly trimmed, full brown beard and long brown hair touched slightly by gray at the temples and right on the chin. His clothes were casual, jeans and a red plaid shirt and well-worn boots, standing out against the formal wear of most of the locals. It was almost as if he wanted to stand out, or at least be remembered by everyone who was there.

He was so much of a standout, in fact, that the other strangers, several well-dressed but nondescript-looking men and women, went completely unnoticed. They all filed into the church together at the bell signal, paid their respects to the altar, and took seats at various points in the church. The service began right on time, and there were no variations this time. The priestess was not one who liked sermonizing, and generally she was strictly business unless there was something special to say. This, in fact, was one of the reasons why she was so popular with the locals and why out-of-towners were steered there for services.

Anchor Logh was a very peaceful place, and, as the first Anchor taken by the Reformation, it had long been far from any scenes of conflict. True, there were occasional crimes calling for a local police force, but the crimes were few and even a robbery anywhere in the Anchor was big news. As the place that spawned the Reformation and the birthplace of Sister Kasdi, it was not the place troublemakers from outside picked to pull anything illegal. There were far easier pickings both in Flux and Anchor, and even if you got away with whatever you wanted, it was a long, long route to any secure escape with Kasdi and her wizards and generals knowing and controlling all of it. As a result, no one even noticed that the strangers all sat on the aisles.

The service was almost over now, and the congregation was forward of their seats, knees on the prayer rests, while the priestess faced the altar. Suddenly, in the silence between prayer and benediction, a man’s deep voice said loudly, “I think I’ve stood as much of this bullshit as I can.”

There was a collective shock at the violation and an almost unanimous gasp echoed through the throngs of worshippers. They looked up as the priestess turned around and saw the handsome, bearded man standing in the front of the church, a pistol drawn and on the priestess. As they looked around, the congregation saw that on all sides they were covered by the strangers, all of whom had automatic weapons drawn. “O.K., Sister, you get down with your flock there,” the leader ordered the priestess.

She did not move or show fear. “For what reason do you commit this sacrilege?” she demanded.

The leader smiled. “Thank you, Ma’am. Sacrilege is my chosen profession, so it’s always nice to see that I’m good at it. Now, I’m gonna ask you once more to get over there, and that’s that.”

“This is my church, and I take no orders from scum in it,” she responded haughtily.

Without further comment, the man fired his pistol. The force of the bullet struck her in the chest and hurled her back several meters, as if she’d been pushed by a giant hand. She crashed into the altar itself, which tumbled down upon her still body.

Somebody screamed, and there was a sudden panicky flurry from the congregation, but a few bursts of automatic weapons fire from the others into the ceiling of the church quieted them quickly.

“Now, everybody just sit down and shut up and nobody else has to get hurt. Anybody who makes a move, looks funny at any of us, or causes any trouble at all will join the Sister there. I won’t make any more warnings. Clear?”

It was clear. The congregation sat almost like statues, although there was some sobbing. Spirit, sitting near the center, was as shocked and horrified at the violence as any of them, but even now she had no idea what it was all about. All she could think of was how completely mad these people must be to pull this in the early morning in the middle of Anchor Logh. Where could they run?

She was startled out of her thoughts when the man said, “You, there! Spirit! Stand up!”

For a moment she did nothing but look up, but the sight of the blood-soaked altar broke through her shock. “Who? Me?” she managed.

“Yes. Walk carefully out to the aisle and to the back of the church. Don’t do anything funny, just move—now.”

The tone was unmistakable, and she did as instructed. She realized now that these were the very people she’d been warned about, but she hadn’t expected anything this fast, and certainly not in church on Holy Day. The sheer casualness of the violence was also somehow beyond any evil she had previously imagined.

“All right, folks, just relax. That’s all there is to it, except for some business. Now, my name’s Coydt, to answer your late priestess’s question, and I’m one of those terrible Seven she kept warning you about.” There were gasps at this, and he grinned, obviously enjoying his power. “Now, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you that, but there’s a good reason. You see, your Saint Kasdi out there in her temple fortress had a daughter, and while they went to great lengths to fake that baby’s death, it was a lie. Your great Kasdi lies. Me, I tell the truth. That says something about the two of us. That girl we just took out the back is her grown-up daughter.”

There were more gasps and murmurings at this. Many there had known Spirit since she was a baby.

“Check it out with her Mama—the real one or the one she was abandoned to ’cause it’s tough to be a saint when saddled with a brat. Now you understand what’s going on here, but don’t be scared. If your scared tin saint got rid of her daughter once, well, she’s not about to surrender the Church or give us Anchor Logh or anything like that. It is a kidnapping, though, and there’s a price, so you hustle on in to the temple in the capital and tell ’em Coydt will be in touch when he feels like it, and that she won’t be harmed so long as nobody tries to free her or hurts me or my agents in this business. Now, aside from all the folks you’ve seen, outside covering the exits are two others you never saw. If you stay here for one hour, you’ll never see them or us. Anybody who goes out before the hour will be killed. It’s that simple. So sit and relax here, and maybe discuss why the hell if your goddess is really up in the sky like that, she allows me to do shit like this down here. Bye now.”

With that, Coydt walked briskly up the aisle and out the door, followed in professional order, front to back, by the others. The door slammed behind them.

For a moment, nobody moved, then several rushed forward, jumped the altar rail, and pulled the remains of the smashed altar off the bloody body of their priestess. There was little they could do, though; a caliber that big blew a huge hole going in but an even bigger one coming out her back, and she had most certainly died instantly.

Suddenly the place was bedlam, but nobody went immediately for the doors. This was the early service, but the Vice President of the Commune Council was there and, looking pretty shaken himself, he nonetheless tried to get some order and organization. His name was Miklos Ransom, and he was well aware that his career as a professional politician was at stake here.

“All right!” he thundered. “Settle down! First things first! Now, nobody go sticking their head out the door yet!” He looked around. “Anybody here from Spirit’s immediate family?”

They all looked, but there was no one. Spirit had been having some problems sleeping the past few days and she’d been up and about long before the usual family gathering. They would not be in until next scheduled service in two hours—a rather unlikely event at this stage. She had come alone, mostly to think, and that, at least, had probably saved the lives of her foster family, who would not have let her go easily.

“O.K. Now, I’ve been thinking this out. There may be nobody out there, but I wouldn’t bet anyone’s life on it.”

“I’ll chance it,” one burly farmer growled, and several more voiced assent. “If I can get help fast enough, we can watch those people swing by their necks!”

“No! There’s a better way!” Ransom shouted back. “You—Zida! You’re the bell ringer. Get back there and ring it for all it’s worth. Give the emergency alarm! Don’t stop ringing for anything. That’ll bring a lot of folks running. Whoever’s out there won’t chance shooting people coming here, or they’ll never get away. They’ll run when they figure what we’re doing. Give it ten minutes of steady ringing, and then we’ll chance somebody making a run for it.”

The bell ringer scurried through the sacristy and back to the tower loft as quickly as possible.

Ransom looked around. There were three exits, the main one and two forward that were mainly fire exits. “Quickly—before the bells drown me out. I want one of you volunteers at each door!” He looked at his watch. “I’ll signal you when to try it. Move!”

The bells began ringing.

Once Anchor Logh had been not only a country but a fortress. The huge stone wall, itself a fortress with guard stations and battlements and room for four soldiers to march abreast on top, went completely around Anchor Logh, twenty meters high, with gates only at the two outermost ends. The days when Anchor feared Flux were gone now, although few Anchor folk actually went into Flux and many, like Spirit’s grandfather, still distrusted it. The gates at both ends were simple affairs now, and the guard stations were mostly tourist lookouts into the mysterious void beyond. Not only had the wall lost its purpose in the era of the Reformation, but it had shown in the earliest attacks just how ridiculously porous it was.

Coydt had fast horses, and knew his way around Anchor Logh as he knew his way around much of World. He was more than five hundred years old, renewing and keeping himself young through his own massive Flux powers, and that was a lot of time to explore and get to know even a world.

He wanted to get into Flux quickly, where he would be nearly invulnerable, but he knew that his inevitable pursuers would also know this and try to second-guess him. He had been close enough to hear the bell ring steadily as they rode off, and immediately guessed its purpose. He cursed himself for overlooking that detail. He did not, however, underestimate the intelligence or will of the people of Anchor Logh. Many people that he’d known well over his long years had died because they had dismissed simple folk as “just farmers” or “just grocery clerks.” A bullet from a determined grocery clerk was just as deadly as one from a professional soldier.

Most of his band had scattered, changed into different clothes, and made off along predetermined routes to various places in Anchor Logh. Their alibis had been easily prearranged. With him he kept only his two closest aides and adepts, Zekah and Yorek, and they kept close watch on Spirit.

They were riding so fast that Spirit more than once thought of escape, perhaps by veering off and leading them a chase through any farm or nearby spotted town where help would be available, but both the young adepts had submachine guns and she knew she could be cut down the moment she bolted—a fact they took precious time to point out to her as they forced her to mount.

As evil and insane as these men were, she had no wish to die like that priestess, and where there was life, there was always the possibility of escape.

Coydt’s timing and choice of exit points was perfect. He had run a dry run on another church, rigging an accidental-looking fire and a jammed exit, and he had a pretty good idea how long a panicked congregation took to summon help and for that help to arrive, sort things out, and take action. Then someone would have to rush back into the capital, explain the problem, and write out the notes and descriptions. These would then have to be put into capsules, attached to homing pigeons, and sent out to all the outposts around Anchor Logh. He knew the locations of those outposts, and all the back roads, and just how long it would take horsemen from those outposts, once they got the alarm, to adequately patrol their sections of the wall. Although it was an extra hour’s ride, he’d picked the point he had judged most difficult to reach and had confederates waiting there. When the great wall came into view, there was no sign of any opposition force on the Anchor side.

Someone was atop the wall, flashing a short signal with some sort of lantern and mirror device, and they pulled right up to the wall, stopped, and dismounted.

From atop the wall came a large and professionally made rope ladder. Zekah scrambled up first, while Yorek covered Spirit. When the adept was atop the wall, he looked around there and on the other side and then came back to the edge. “O.K.! Let’s move!” he shouted back to them.

“All right, girl—start climbing. Make it fast, or I’ll break that pretty nose of yours and we’ll carry you. Move it! Now!”

She hesitated a moment, could see no way out, and so did as instructed. Once at the top, Zekah took her arm and pointed. “Now down the other side. Better move quickly. He’s in a bad mood.”

She hardly had a chance to look at anything before she was on another rope ladder, this one leading down to the ground outside the wall. Only then did she have a chance to stop and get her wits about her. Two monstrous, horrible shapes waited on the other side, one on either side of her and about three meters away. They were grotesque—caricatures of human beings with faces that looked like the leering living dead. Surely, if Coydt’s soul showed his true self, he would look like their brother. She shuddered, and abandoned any hope of running right now. The idea of one of those things even touching her was horrible.

She stood on the Anchor apron, a bit of solidity that extended past the wall and in the old days had presented a barren buffer through which an attacking force would have to pass to get to the wall. Beyond the apron, perhaps a hundred meters at this point, loomed the Flux.

It looked like a solid wall of some translucent material, somewhat of an amber shade, stretching from the end of the apron as far up as the eye could follow. There were no features of any sort discernible in it, but the Flux seemed alive, somehow, with thousands of tiny firefly-like sparkles going off at any given moment. She had gaped at this sight from the wall as a student and again as a visitor to a border town, but it still gave off a cold and forbidding chill.

Coydt and Yorek came down the other side, while Zekah continued to cover them from the top of the wall. It had been four hours since the abduction.

Yorek ran unhesitatingly into the void and quickly returned, leading three horses. They must have been waiting just inside the Flux, but they had been totally invisible until they emerged into Anchor.

Coydt’s foul, hurried mood seemed to pass quickly now, and he visibly relaxed, looked at her, and grinned. “You like my little creatures, I see.”

“They’re horrible,” she muttered.

“They were normal people once, but they went off in the void by themselves for one reason or another. Both have some Flux power—not much—and it turned on them. Alone, out there, with power, but no skill at using it, and with no wizard’s protection, your own nightmares become real; you go nuts, and your outer form reflects your inner fears. You think about that as we go. Take the spotted horse there. Once inside, you’ll be lost. You’ll never find your way anywhere except by luck, even back here. I’ll have my string on you, so you’ll leave a trail I can follow no matter where you go or how you twist and turn. But if you get away, I’ll leave you out there a while before I come and get you. Let you have a taste of what they went through. You think about that, and them. Once inside, I’m the only protection you’ve got.”

It was not a comforting thought. Zekah had pulled in the rope ladder on the Anchor side and now was down on this one. It was unlikely that their crossover point would be undiscovered for long, but they didn’t need much time now. Once in Flux, Coydt’s powerful wizardry made him essentially an all-powerful god, and he was one of the best trained and most powerful wizards on World.

They mounted, and then she, and rode off towards the void. It loomed ahead of her, until it filled her entire vision, and she could not resist glancing back for one last look at Anchor Logh, its greenery barely discernible over the top of the wall. Then they were through—and into the eerie realm of the Flux and the Void.

There was literally no sound in Flux, not even from the horses’ hooves, and just seconds into the sparkling energy field all sense of direction and reality seemed to vanish. The void was everywhere. Even the horses’ breathing and the occasional shout of one man to another seemed oddly muffled and subdued, as if the vast, shimmering void was trying to smother all that entered it.

Coydt barked an order and they all stopped. He frowned and stared at Spirit for a minute. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed. “This complicates matters a bit, but only a bit. Looky there! See the kind of doubling aura around her? Our Spirit’s got herself a Soul Rider!”