Book of Heroes: George of Sedona I - 17. A Bug In Amber

Chapter 17: A Bug in Amber

Albion lay a month behind them. Peter, Hadr, and their father the king, with a company of dwarves, had traveled with Arthur and his companions to Albion to reopen relationships with that human city. Afterwards, their farewells had been long. Gary and George scarcely spoke for two days after their departure. Arthur had said little, himself, but offered quiet hugs until youthful enthusiasm brought smiles to the boys’ faces once more.

They had spent only a day in the farm village of Descant—less, in fact, having arrived near dusk and departing at dawn. “Arthur,” George asked. “Why are we in such a hurry?” The boy knew that Arthur was often driven by destiny, but usually Arthur brought George—and now Gary—into his confidence. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry!” George added when he saw the look on Arthur’s face. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.” The boy slowed his horse so that Arthur could ride ahead.

Arthur touched Aurorus gently and the horse stopped. George and Gary immediately reined in their own horses.

“No, George, I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “And I’m not angry with you. In fact, I shouldn’t be angry at all, because I know that it doesn’t do any good to be angry at destiny. Let’s stop. There’s a copse—across the field, there—where we can sit.”

When the horses were tethered and their girths loosened, the boys sat under a maple tree from which winged seeds spun in the breeze. George and Gary waited patiently for Arthur to speak.

“You both know that I believe destiny forces me to go to certain places and to do certain things. Destiny is a word I learned when I was growing up on George’s world. I thought that I understood it. I realize now that I don’t understand it at all. I do believe that this force is not Evil—otherwise I would have fought it and would never have involved you two. I have always thought it was Good, and that I served Good and the Light.

“While you two were learning the ways of the dwarves, I talked with their king. He is very old, and a very learned and wise man. He was politely curious about the two of you and me, and about why we travel together. When I explained, he said something odd. He said, Why, you’re on a quest! He said it as if it were a Good thing; he was quite excited about it. Later, I learned that he was both excited and—happy is the best word—happy that he and his people were somehow part of that quest.

“When he said quest, it was as if a key opened memories that had been locked away. Some were memories from past lives; some were those from Prince Aladil. Some were my own—from what Per Bolyn and I talked about at the Golden Onion—that’s in Barbicana, Gary, before we met you. The king and I talked for a long time. The conclusions we reached made me very angry.

“George, I once told you that I felt sometimes like a catspaw—a tool that someone uses to accomplish a dangerous task without exposing himself to danger—” Arthur added for Gary’s benefit.

“I feel like I’ve been manipulated ever since I was born,” Arthur continued. “I’m angry, and I’m especially angry that I’ve been manipulated into bringing you two into this. I know,” he added, reading the expressions on both boys’ faces. “I know that you both wanted this: this companionship we share, this adventure, this love for each other. But, I can’t help thinking that you, too, may have been manipulated. That does not diminish the love I feel for you both,” he hastened to add, “nor does it tarnish your love for each other—”

“And for you,” George interrupted. “And for you,” Gary said, in the same breath.

“Thank you,” Arthur said. “I know that you love me as I love you and you love each other. I just had a hard time saying it.”

“What’s a quest?” George asked.

“Actually,” Arthur said. “Actually, I’ve decided that what I call it isn’t important, because destiny and quest—at least in this world—are pretty much the same thing. I know that Good and Evil are just—notions, I guess—notions or ideas, and that it is only people who can act in Good or Evil ways. What people believe on your world, George, about gods and devils, is a poor substitute for the truth, that it’s only people and what they do that makes Good and Evil.

“I used to think that—well—the things that happened to us…the troll, the landslide, the crow, all those things—were caused by people who were acting on behalf of Evil.

“What I’m thinking now, is that someone, rather two someones, probably very powerful mages, are behind both the Good and Evil things that have happened to us.”

Arthur paused. The boys said nothing, but waited for him to collect his thoughts.

“According to Peter’s father, there are two forces, one that acts for good, and one that acts for evil. That force is not something supernatural or mysterious. It isn’t a god or a devil. Rather, it comprises the people who serve Good, and the people who serve Evil. A powerful mage, or several powerful mages acting together, can use that force much as we use magic. And that force is capable of manipulating us. It is manipulating us, now.

“Peter’s father also believes that all the time and everywhere, there’s something that tries to balance Light and Dark. Sometimes that something acts through people. The Thieves Guild, for example, claims that they serve Balance, rather than Light or Dark. It seems that the World, itself…or all the Worlds themselves…try to keep things in Balance. When there is too much Light, something Dark will happen—a war, a plague, drought, hurricane, famine. When there is too much Darkness, a Warrior of the Light may arrive and combat Evil.

“Again, I don’t think this is a supernatural or mysterious force. I think that something is simply more people…more powerful people. Those mega-mages, perhaps.

“It seems, that someone, somehow, chose us to serve the Light,” Arthur said. “Or…and I hope I’m right in this…that someone recognized that we would serve the Light, or were serving the Light. I don’t know how we were selected. But, I do know that someone did the selection. Someone—whether we call it a quest or destiny, or a powerful mage sitting on a mountaintop somewhere—is leading us toward some places and away from others. It’s putting people in our paths that help us or test us. Someone else is sending people to try to harm us, and may even be responsible for what appear to be natural events that make things difficult for us sometimes.

“George, you remember when the Black Elf died? I thought then that I saw someone behind him. The storyteller in Barbicana? I think he killed himself from fear of that same someone. The death in the landslide? It wasn’t just someone who decided to kill us; he, too, was under orders.”

Arthur paused. He was too uncertain of his own thoughts to continue.

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s destiny or magic or ‘super-mage,’ ” George said. “At least I don’t think it does.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Gary looked puzzled. George looked from one to the other. “Well,” he said looking at Arthur. “You always say it’s a forever fight between Light and Dark, right? And we’re forever on the side of Light, right?”

Gary’s face lit up. “Yeah, that’s what we swore.”

Arthur nodded. “I hope you are right.” Whether right or wrong, you’ve both removed any doubts I had that bringing you two into this was the right thing to do. I was always unsure; now, I know it was right.

*****

The morning was bright, the sky was clear, and the stream by which they’d camped flowed so smoothly that they could see pebbles on the bottom even in three feet of water.

“I understand why there’s no air pollution,” George said. “People here don’t burn coal, or oil. But there’s no water pollution, either. There’s no erosion…I remember that the great dust bowl was caused by poor farming practices. Are these people that much more primitive?”

“Not primitive,” Arthur said. “They just don’t fight World. They don’t have to. The people on your world were so busy overpopulating the planet, and then trying to create enough food for everyone, they had to fight the planet.”

“I don’t understand,” Gary said.

“Do you remember the story that Gary told about the beggar’s penny?” Arthur asked. Both boys nodded.

“I said the story teaches and reinforces customs?” Again, the boys nodded.

“On George’s world, a fellow named Daniel Quinn wrote a series of books…about an ape named Ishmael who taught lessons about overpopulation. It sounds silly, but they were very serious books with a very serious lesson…a lesson that was being ignored on George’s world. Quinn points out that the ‘story’ of western civilization…and eventually almost all civilizations on his world…was that it was humankind’s job to tame the earth. That story came from a commandment in Genesis 1:26 that man was to have dominion over the earth and all the creatures in it. That commandment became the basis for the world’s three most destructive religions.

“Not long after that, in Genesis 4:8, a boy named Cain killed his brother, Able. Cain was a farmer; his brother Able, a herdsman. Their god had preferred Able’s burnt offering of a lamb to Cain’s offering of wheat. Cain was jealous. Quinn says this story records the opening blow in the war between farmers and herdsmen. Whether that’s true or not, the Hebrews used it as an excuse to take over the lands of indigenous peoples. Not consciously, perhaps, but because it was part of the story of their civilization, a story that taught and reinforced customs.

“A lot of the Old Testament is a record of the slaughter of indigenous peoples so that the Hebrews could take over the conquered peoples’ lands.”

“You know a lot of Bible verses,” George said.

“I remember a lot, especially the most hurtful ones…” Arthur said.

“Yeah,” George said, “like Leviticus 20:13.”

“If anyone lies with a man as with a woman, both have committed an abomination: let them be put to death,” Arthur quoted. “Yeah, a lot of fundamentalists like to quote that one. Of course, ask them about Leviticus 5:14, and when’s the last time one of them offered an unblemished ram as a burnt offering for unknowingly sinning. Or 20:10, and when’s the last time they executed an adulterer?

“During the 1960s and 1970s, there were a lot of elections to decide whether or not to allow the sale of alcohol in a city or a county. Both sides would quote whatever verse they thought supported their position. The anti-alcohol people would quote Leviticus 10:9, ‘You shall not drink wine or anything that will make you drunk.’ Of course, they never mentioned that this instruction applied only to the Hebrew’s priests and only when they were on duty. The pro-alcohol people would quote Deuteronomy 14:25, in which after a harvest, the people were commanded to buy food, wine, and strong drink and to feast to honor their god. Others would quote First Timothy 5:23 about a little wine being good for the stomach, but overlook that it was given as specific medical advice to a specific person—and by a guy who was a lawyer, and not a doctor, and who did more to corrupt and pervert the ‘good news’ of the prophet, Jesus, than any other person…even Jim Jones.

“Most of them ignored the most flagrant contradictions and the purely evil passages. I never understood how they could ignore the story in Second Kings, Chapter 2, when God sent bears to tear apart 42 boys because they teased a prophet because he was bald. The fundamentalists who acknowledged the story said it was because the boys had mocked God in the person of the prophet—even though there’s no reason to believe the boys knew he was a prophet. Others said it was done as a lesson to the boy’s parents, who worshiped other gods. Either way, it’s pretty disgusting.”

“How come you know so much about the Bible?” George asked.

Arthur’s voice was low. George heard the strain in his friend’s voice as he spoke. “When I appeared on your world as an infant, I was put into an orphanage run by a fundamental and evangelical Christian religious group...fundamental and practicing what they called discipling, meaning active recruiting, and disciplining, meaning corporal punishing.

“They tried to foist their religion on the children. When that failed, they tried to force it.

“They were so concerned with their next life—with God in a heaven of perpetual prayer and praise—that real life took a back seat to life-after-death, as they saw it. The orphanage—the entire ministry—went bankrupt when a couple of their leaders embezzled most of the money. The children were removed by the state. I was put in a Catholic orphanage. I was lucky. I had to study Latin and the Bible, but they didn’t recruit. In fact, they did something the fundamentalist Christians would never do: they taught us to think, and to think critically. Courses in logic, language, propaganda, and all the ways people are led to believe things that are not true.”

George and Gary were quiet that evening, but the two boys hugged Arthur as often as they could.

*****

The city of Amber was a major crossroad, and the city was a bustling center of trade. The city boasted crenellated stone walls with barbicans and bastions. There was no moat, but the gate which Arthur and his companions approached had a drawbridge across a gully that perhaps could be flooded in the event of an attack.

The bridge was guarded by a squad—a maniple, George thought—of city guards wearing army tabards with the city’s symbol: in a roundel, tawny; a mantis proper.

It’s a praying mantis caught in amber, George thought. He said so to Arthur and Gary. “I wonder why that’s their symbol.”

The civil guard was civil enough, and the sembler verified the truthfulness of Arthur’s story: that he was a healer and herbalist who traveled in search of new herbs. George’s curiosity about the city’s logo grew as they walked down the street toward the inn recommended by the guard.

“Look!” he said. “That’s an herbalist—see the logo? But it has the city logo, too. But it’s a different bug. It looks like a beetle.”

“That’s a Jewel-Smith,” Gary said, recognizing the same symbols he’d used at his father’s shop. “And it’s got a mosquito in amber.”

“Here’s the inn,” Arthur said. “Let’s see if they have room, and then we can investigate.”

Shortly thereafter, they were back at the Jewel-Smith’s shop. It took only a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside, and only another moment for the boys to realize what they were seeing. Many of the pieces featured amber stones, and many of those contained insects.

A tween, who had been sitting at the counter, much as Gary had been sitting when Arthur and George first met him, looked up, and quickly drew a cloth across his work. Not, however, before Gary had seen and recognized it.

“That’s a planetary gear,” he said. “Are you making an orrery?”

“You shouldn’t—” the tween began, and then continued. “What’s an orrery, and who are you?”

Gary looked at Arthur who nodded. “It’s okay to tell him,” Arthur said.

“I’m Gary, son of the Guildmaster Smith of Bowling Green,” that boy answered. “And I know what a planetary gear is, and so does Arthur”—he gestured— “and so does George. It’s not a secret, is it?”

“No, not really,” the tween replied. “I’m Kalin, son of the Guildmaster Smith of Amber. I’m making a toy. It’s to be my Masterpiece, and I don’t want anyone to see it until it’s complete. I guess you can see it, though. Just don’t tell my father—”

The boy removed the cloth, and brought from under the counter a wooden box. On the top of the box, four exquisitely wrought birds stood on the branches of a tree. Gary’s quick eye saw that the four branches on which the birds stood disappeared into the trunk through holes, rather than being fixed as were the other branches.

“The gear,” he said, “it will make them move?”

Kalin nodded. “They will turn from side to side, flap their wings, and—if I can ever get the last gear to work properly—open and shut their beaks.”

“Will they sing?” George asked.

“I don’t know how to do that,” Kalin replied.

“I have an idea—” George began, when Arthur interrupted, speaking Old Elvish.

“Nothing beyond this world’s technology, George,” he said.

George replied in the same language. “It’s just a music box,” he said. “Peter’s mother had one. I think it was dwarvish, but it didn’t seem to be a secret.”

“That’s okay, George,” Arthur said. He turned to Kalin. “I’m sorry, especially since you were willing to show us your secret, but I had to make sure…”

Kalin nodded. “Becoming a Master Jewel-Smith is more than just making a Masterpiece. My father has been drilling me on Guild Arcana for months. I understand secrets.”

“Would you two,” Arthur asked, addressing George and Gary, “like to visit with Kalin for a while—if he is agreeable?”

Kalin nodded. “I would like to talk more with Gary and George, and they are welcome to visit now or later.”

“Yes, please,” and “Oh, yes,” George and Gary replied.

This is a Good place, Arthur thought. And I think it’s a place we need to be for a while. Aloud, he said, “I’ll look around the market and come back here by vespers, okay?”

Although shops along the main street of Amber were open, business was light. Even in the city, most trade took place during the monthly market. Arthur walked from shop to shop, senses tuned to the pulse of the city, to the people around him, and to the three specks of light that were Gary, George, and Kalin. Even though he thought Amber and Kalin to be Good, he wasn’t taking any chances.

Arthur was so focused on what he perceived with magic that he was almost caught unaware when a man walking toward him stumbled on a loose cobble, and nearly fell into Arthur. Trying to keep from falling and from running into Arthur, the man flailed his arms and dropped the object he carried. Before it could hit the ground, Arthur caught the object—a ceramic jar with a loose-fitting lid. As the man regained his balance, he saw Arthur holding the jar, offering it to him.

“Very adroit!” the man said, taking the jar from Arthur. “If you had not caught it, the jar would have burst, and two ten-days work would have been wasted.”

“And this entire section of the city would have smelled of saffron,” Arthur said. He saw the surprise on the man’s face, and added, “I recognized the smell.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and then darted back and forth. Arthur, reading the man’s fear, continued. “I know its value, but truly, I am not a cut-purse or a footpad.” He smiled and prepared to cross to the other side of the street. “Light to you,” Arthur concluded.

“Wait, please,” the man said. “Forgive me for what I was thinking. I am a sembler…and see the truth and goodwill in what you say. Are you a cook, that you know this spice?”

“A herbalist, rather,” Arthur said. “There are some uses for that spice in compounds, but I know it mainly for its flavor and color.”

“Herbalist are you? Humph. I suppose there’s room for another in this city. That’s my shop,” the man said, pointing to the sign Arthur and the boys had seen earlier.

“Oh, I’ll not stay in Amber,” Arthur said.

“In that case,” the man said, considerably relieved, “will you visit me in my shop? My name, by the way, is Orloff. Perhaps you will come tomorrow, as I have to deal with this.” He indicated the jar with its precious contents.

Again, something seems to be bringing us to people—or people to us, Arthur thought. “Of course,” he said. “My name is Arthur, and I would look forward to visiting you.”

*****

Arthur and his companions had been in Amber for two tendays. Arthur spent much of his time with Orloff, whose practical knowledge of herbs exceeded that of Arthur, himself. Orloff appreciated Arthur’s offer to accompany him and his apprentice, Lucas, onto the countryside in search of herbs. Gary and George had become fast friends with Kalin. Having learned that Gary was the son of a Mastersmith, and that George was becoming an accomplished mage, Kalin was eager to both teach and learn from them. Arthur tested the matrix each morning and evening, and finally convinced himself that no one was pursuing them. No one, that is, who registered on Arthur’s senses.

It was a soft evening. Arthur, Orloff, and Lucas sat at a table in front of the inn. Supper dishes had been cleared, and their mugs were filled with ale. Around the square, linkboys lifted oil lamps into brackets that flanked the doors of the public houses, shops, and homes. Gary, George, Kalin, and several other boys chased one another around the central fountain in a game of tag.

A sharp cry drew Arthur’s attention to a shop. The ladder on which the linkboy stood had broken. The cry was the sound the boy made as he fell. The lamp—nothing more than oil and a wick in a pottery jar—dashed against the cobbles and burst. A pool of flame spread toward the fountain. The playing boys heard the cry, and ran toward the fallen boy, skirting the flames.

Open flame? It’s getting bigger! That can’t be, was Arthur’s first thought. Where are George and Gary? His second thought was triggered by the first.

Before Arthur could form another thought, the oil lamps around the square began to burst, spreading flames down the walls of the buildings and into the square. Arthur felt heat behind him, and knew that the lamps of the inn had burst.

Shit, he thought. A fire elemental…that’s the only thing…there he is!

Arthur reached for magic and hurled a knot of energy at the elemental. Just enough to disassociate it, he thought, and it’s got to be focused. If this kind of energy hit a person he’d be dead before a heartbeat...

*****

Arthur’s magic had either dissipated the fire elemental, or forced it away from the square. Without the elemental’s magic, the open flames from the oil lamps quickly extinguished. A few small fires remained where the original wicks lay on the cobbles. Gary and George ran to where Arthur stood.

“Are you both all right?” Arthur asked, scanning the boys with both magic and mundane sight.

“Yes!” the boys breathed.

“Lucas has a slight burn,” Orloff said. “I’ll take him to the shop and treat him. Others may be hurt, as well, and will be wanting healing and poultices.”

The compline bells had sounded before Orloff finished treating the last of his patients; several others had been taken to the temple, but none had burns more serious than first degree. Arthur and Orloff were back in the square, sitting at the same table, drinking fresh glasses of ale.

“It was a fire elemental, was it not?” Orloff asked Arthur.

“Why do you ask me?” Arthur replied, knowing that Orloff would see the half-truth in his question.

“You saw when we first met that I was a sembler, did you not?” Orloff countered.

Arthur nodded. “Yes,” he said. “And yes, I recognized it as an elemental. And before you ask, I attacked it with magic.

“Please ask me no more,” Arthur concluded. “It would only endanger you.”

“I don’t understand,” Orloff said. “You openly practice as an herbalist and a healer. You have gained quite a reputation for your powers. Yet you do not want to be known as a mage?”

Arthur sighed. “This will take more time than we have before curfew. Will you meet me for breakfast, tomorrow?”

Orloff agreed.

*****

Orloff listened attentively as Arthur told a somewhat redacted story of his meeting with George, and then Gary, as well as of the dangers they had faced. “So, you see,” Arthur concluded, “what the boys said? I think they’re right. We’re players, but not pawns, in the Forever Fight.”

“The truth, and enough of the truth,” Orloff said. “Thank you for the gift of your trust. What you said? It would have been impossible to believe were I not a sembler. The boys’ conclusion and your interpretation of it? It’s certainly the most logical answer. Your feeling that you are being…led, I suppose…led to meet certain people…Am I to think that Lucas and I?”

“Whether or not you are,” Arthur said, “you both have been good friends to us during our stay in Amber.”

“Which must end, I gather,” Orloff said. “The elemental…your enemies know where you are.”

Arthur nodded. “The boys are gathering supplies and saying their farewells. We will leave tomorrow.”

“Walk with me to my shop, will you?” Orloff invited.

*****

When Arthur and the boys left Amber the next morning, Arthur wore around his neck a tiny silver flask that contained seven drops of what Orloff described as the fifth distillation of the amaranth flower. Arthur had protested; he had spent enough time in an alchemic laboratory to know how much effort and magic was represented by that quintessential medicine. Orloff had insisted. “I have my own story,” he said. “It is not as exciting as yours, but that I learned how to distill the Amaranth was…serendipitous. Yes, serendipitous. I think you were meant to have it. At least, I would be very happy believing that.”