Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 38

On My Shelves: A Key, an Egg, an Unfortunate Remark

Marley Jacob is a wealthy old woman, known for her charity and eccentricity, a lawyer who no longer needs to practice but who has various unusual clients. She also has a nephew whom everyone – even, with sadness and regret, Marley – dislikes. Aloysius is the classic self-centered, unconsciously arrogant man who has literally never looked at himself in the mirror of the soul.

Or rather, Aloysius was that sort of man, and Marley Jacob had such a nephew. Aloysius was murdered, found drained of his blood over a storm grate, and Marley suspects that not all of the blood actually drained into the grate…

A Key, an Egg, an Unfortunate Remark is an absolutely delightful urban fantasy by Harry Connolly, author of the Twenty Palaces series, the pulp action thriller King Khan, and more recently The Great Way fantasy trilogy. I've mentioned before that the Twenty Palaces books were about as dark as I care to read, but this novel, like King Khan, was a far more fun read.

The main characters are Aunt Marley and her surviving nephew, Albert, and their investigation of Aloysius' death will turn out – naturally – to involve something far more than just the death of an obliviously arrogant man.

Marley is a magician, a witch, call her what you might, one who uses magic. But in this world Connolly has created a very clever description of magic; it is a thing that isn't real, but "not real" in the way that mercy and kindness (and hate) are not real, things that aren't part of the solid measurable world. Mostly she uses her magic in very clever, subtle ways, such as handing someone an object they want, yet having the object remain in Marley's hands. But, just as anger and courage have changed the course of history, Marley's power is more than capable of powerful effects indeed.

One very deliberately unusual feature of A Key, an Egg, an Unfortunate Remark is that not only is the main character an old woman (though with a strong and capable veteran nephew as her deuteragonist), but also she is utterly opposed to violence – not because she is incapable of it, but because she was all too capable of it when younger. Marley seeks peaceful solutions to conflicts, even when such solutions seem impossible – and she is generally right to do so.

That "generally right" bit is more significant than usual. The biggest single manifestation of "magic" is a sense of "rightness" – of how to make the right choice, even if you have no idea why, for instance, you have suddenly decided to turn left instead of right at that intersection and head to a building you've never been to, or chosen to answer a ringing telephone that isn't yours.

Speaking as an author, this is one of the most clever MacGuffins I've ever seen, ranking up there with the genius who came up with The Doctor's "regeneration" power. Here's a power that can be used to guide the plot pretty much without limit, basically "the Force tells me so". It allows the author to send his characters wherever they have to go, even into perilous situations, with perfect justification, and – even better – without knowledge, so that they can be surprised, startled, even terrified by what follows.

What makes the novel really clever, though, is that while Connolly makes great use of this MacGuffin, it never feels forced. I never had a feeling that I was just watching Marley's sense of "the right thing" drag the plot from point to point; it was all a natural progression from start to finish. This takes skill when you've invented such a wonderfully flexible and powerful narrative tool; there's so much temptation out there to use it to smooth over those annoying plot problems.

Instead, Harry Connolly gives us a smoothly-plotted mystery with many threads that Marley and Albert have to slowly gather together in order to discover the connection between Aloysius' death and a secret that threatens the entire city of Seattle.

I won't spoiler the actual plot any more; it's too much fun to watch it play out. I will say though that I thought the Godzilla reference was so beautifully done I read it three times.

A Key, an Egg, an Unfortunate Remark: a really wonderful book. Go out and buy it!

 

On My Shelves: JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure

What do you get when you have a Japanese who's a fan of Western horror movies and pop music and who's been involved in – and come to despise – the fashion industry?

No, no, not Kill La Kill, although there's certainly aspects of commonality.

What you get is Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. A manga by Hirohiko Araki which began its run waaaay back in 1987, it had a few sporadic one-off OVA/movie animations many years later, but only in 2012 did it begin its run as an anime (which is primarily what I know it from; I've seen pieces of the manga).

As of this writing, the anime has covered the stories "Phantom Blood", "Battle Tendency", and "Stardust Crusaders", with "Diamond is Unbreakable" starting this year.

All of the stories center around a member of the Joestar family whose first name also begins with the "jo" sound(Jonathan, Joseph, Jotaro, Josephine, etc.) who is drawn, sooner or later, into conflict with supernatural powers. Each major story arc features a different central character, although sometimes prior characters recur (for instance, in "Stardust Crusaders" the main character is Jotaro, but his grandfather Joseph is still present and active as a major player).

Each story arc also derives from, and plays with the tropes of, a subgenre of horror. "Phantom Blood" is a classic Gothic horror, with a "bad seed" named Dio being adopted into the wealthy Joestar family; all of the classic supernatural tropes are played with emphatically, with the "bad seed" at first convincing everyone of his goodness and causing trouble for Joseph, and then eventually Dio choosing to take a risk for supernatural power.

On the surface, this could make for a rather pedestrian retelling of any number of old stories. Typically for JoJo's Bizarre Adventure, however, this is all done in a ridiculously overblown fashion. There is never any drama so small that it cannot be turned to melodrama, never any pose so casual that it cannot be exaggerated to the point of parody. When Dio and Joseph finally confront each other and the truth comes out, there are absolutely epic-levels of Large Ham for both.

Each major story has a slightly different dramatic approach. "Phantom Blood" is a Gothic Hammer Film, complete with a bittersweet ending. "Battle Tendency" is more Indiana Jones. "Stardust Crusaders" is a shonen "race against time" sequence of challenges and battles.

Araki's dislike of the fashion industry shows by his deliberate use of the more ridiculous poses and imagery of the industry – which he turns into combat styles that manage to be both ridiculous and oddly cool at the same time by using incredibly muscled men instead of women (his female characters often use less of these over-dynamic poses than the men do). This echoes the recent "Hawkeye Initiative", except that Araki was doing this twenty-five years ago.

His love of pop music manifests even more overtly: characters throughout the series have names of pop bands, so much so that the American translations had to change them in order to prevent possible lawsuits. For instance, one of the allies Joseph Joestar acquires is named R. E. O Speedwagon. In addition, he envisioned the openings for the anime to fit to particular songs – and managed to get both Yes and the Bangles to re-record versions of their songs to fit these openings (Yes' "Roundabout" synchronizes with the combined openings for "Phantom Blood" and "Battle Tendency", while the Bangles' "Walk Like an Egyptian" synchs with both seasons of "Stardust Crusaders".)

None of this would work at all if Araki did not have a talent for storytelling, but he does. He plots out his stories meticulously, so that amid the parody and sometimes out-and-out comedy there are serious dramas, as well as melodramas, being played out. In particular he has a gift for true horror that even the oddities of JoJo's universe cannot blunt. The Stone Mask that can transform a human into a nearly-indestructible vampire is a creepy creation indeed… and the even more monstrous Pillarmen are quite honestly terrifying, beings of stone and unnaturally tenacious life that could literally threaten the world.

Against these monsters, the Joestar family wield various powers, whose advantages and limitations Araki has clearly thought out in detail. The first is Hamon, literally translating to "Ripple", a technique which allows a user to control their own spiritual energy and use it for a variety of effects (most importantly, they can generate an exact equivalent of sunlight, which will destroy vampires and their creations); the second, showing up first in "Stardust Crusaders", is called a Stand. Stands are individual supernatural manifestations from the souls of their users, undetectable by non-Stand users but quite capable of real-world effects. Stands can be awesome, frightening, creepy, or sometimes ridiculous, but all of them can pose significant danger to others, and some are exceedingly powerful.

I enjoy the hell out of JoJo's Bizarre Adventure; it works as a melodramatic shonen series, but has its own addition of, well, bizarre features that take it from a simple horror adventure series to a strangely impressive artform. Currently, I am about halfway through "Stardust Crusaders".

If you're looking for something a little different in your anime viewing, I highly recommend JoJo's Bizarre Adventure!

 

 

On My Shelves: One Punch Man

IN A WORLD… where monsters and supervillains run rampant, opposed by a variety of heroes and wannabees, there was a man who had reached the point that he did not care whether he lived or died; a monster he encountered was so amused by his "I don't care" attitude that the monster spared him.

But then the same monster tried to kill a child in front of him, and the man remembered that he had once dreamed of becoming a hero. After saving the child, he set out to train himself to be the greatest hero… for fun.

Saitama – for that was his name – turned out to be too good at his job.

One Punch Man is a comedy with a serious thread, a parody of all the over-the-top shonen series ever made, and all the ridiculously overpowered heroes and villains. The eponymous hero is Saitama, who has discovered after his training that not only isn't there any villain he can't beat, there isn't anything he has to punch more than once. In fact, most of his "punches" are more like a halfhearted swat. He has descended back to his old ennui, only occasionally roused from it by the appearance of something that looks like it might be tough enough to fight … and dropping back down when said something collapses before him like a mass of toilet paper in the rain.

Contrasting with Saitama is the disciple he somewhat unwittingly acquires in the second episode. Where Saitama is, honestly, dorky, lackadaisical, and often something of a jerk, Genos is the epitome of the earnest, all-too-serious warrior with a dark motivating past. A super-powered cyborg with an impressive array of powers and gadgets, Genos tries hard to be a hero – harder than Saitama, because Genos wants to be a good guy in the abstract as well as simple material sense. Saitama has lost that part of his dream and for a while doesn't even seem aware of it.

The comedy comes in multiple layers. The surface layer's simple – seeing all the classic shonen tropes of an approaching mighty enemy, the overblown posturing, the super attacks, basically stared at by Saitama who then blows them away with a single hopeful punch and then immediately falls back into depression at the realization it's over already is certainly amusing, and they find ways to make it still amusing after the first or second time.

The second layer is the referential one; this show refers to so many others visually, characterwise, and in other ways that it's hard to keep track. Saitama's outfit is rather similar to that of the food-superhero Anpanman. The first villain he fights looks basically like DBZ villain (later hero) Piccolo (except purple); different characters and art choices echo other shows from Macross and Western superhero shows to Naruto (Speed-of-Sound-Sonic looks in many ways like a close relative of Sasuke).

But the deeper layers are in the ways that the references and the characters interact. This is a world where cities are destroyed often enough that they are apparently not wasting their time giving them names, but just numbers or letters. They have a superhero association with rankings, tests, and a threat classification scheme letting heroes know what kind of danger an approaching monster poses (presumably so that the right level of hero can try to deal with it).

This setup allows the mood of the show to whipsaw with blinding speed. You can go from Saitama trying to find his way to the battle in time to fight, to seeing a deadly serious battle involving Genos (who, alas, seems destined to get punked in most battles). This is an amusing show in the literal sense of that word. I rarely had real belly laughs, but the show is fun in a way that very few ever are. At the same time, it is, like Galaxy Quest, serious enough within its own setting that when it actually has tense moments, I can take them seriously.

Saitama and other characters do grow and change a bit as time goes on. Saitama himself is most affected by Genos, whose earnest disciple behavior eventually gets through to the self-centered One Punch Man, enough to make him realize the other part of his dream, the part he left behind – defending people, being a hero because that's what a hero MEANS; not just doing it because it was interesting, or fun, or even a challenge.

Genos, on the other hand, is affected by Saitama's "accept the world as it comes" attitude and starts to look a bit more around him. This actually drives the serious part of the plot; the Genos we meet in the first episode wouldn't notice certain things that happen in later episodes.

There are only 12 episodes of One Punch Man out so far; I found it a fast, and very enjoyable, watch, and I hope they do more. I am a bit afraid that they can't manage this balancing act of humor and serious subjects for much longer, but I'm more than willing to give them the chance. Highly recommended!

 

Albacon 2016 Convention Report

Albacon (link goes to page for next year) is the long-running traditional SF/F convention located in Albany, NY. The venue has changed over time, as with many long-running conventions. This year it was held in the Best Western on Wolf Road. I've been in attendance since 2003 (and I attended one or two of the earlier ones years before).

 

I'll get my one gripe out of the way, because I prefer to say anything negative up front. In this case, it's a gripe about something that doesn't personally impact ME, but does impact other people that I know and care about: Accessibility. While the convention was at a hotel that was all one floor, which eliminated many accessibility issues, it's still important to check out a few other points, one of which is whether the hotel recognizes that people who don't walk anywhere need more space through things like doorways. The Green Room in particular had a VERY narrow doorway that made it extremely difficult for people in motorized chairs (of which there were several, including my friend Melissa Mead and guest David Kyle!) to get through, and I presume the same was true of at least some other doors in the hotel.

 

That, however, was my only complaint, and the rest of the convention seemed to go swimmingly!

 

 

 

The first event of the con wasn't actually part of the convention. My editor at Baen, Tony Daniel, came up to help support Baen people (primarily David Weber, but including me) at the convention, and offered to take us all out to Yono's, a very fine restaurant in downtown Albany, on the Thursday prior to the convention.

 

The day was made rather hectic by the fact that my son Gabriel had an operation rescheduled for that day; fortunately it was a fairly simple procedure and Gabriel came out of it with no real issues, so Kathy and I didn't have to cancel. We swung by Flights of Fantasy bookstore to pick up Maria Perry (owner and operator of Flights of Fantasy) who had also been invited.

 

Yono's is one of the, if not the, fanciest restaurants I've ever been in. It's the sort of place where you have multiple waiters and things are solely described as "courses" and you can have an eight-course meal. The food lived up to the fanciness; this was one of the best dinners I've ever had, and Kathleen felt the same way; it lasted about four hours from start to finish!

 

The major highlight of the dinner, though, was meeting David Weber and Tony Daniel; I already knew Chuck Rothman and Maria, who were the other two guests. Tony's a fairly quiet and reserved guy (at least based on my experiences during this con!). David Weber, by contrast, is one of the people I can actually describe with the word "ebullient". He wasn't as intimidating as I thought he might be (hey, the author of the Honor Harrington series carries a lot of gravitas by his nature), but instead was cheerful and talkative, with a vast array of anecdotes and stories that made the night actually seem too short. His wife Sharon, unfortunately, had been unable to come, but we got to meet her later.

 

The convention proper started on Friday, with a panel on "Point of View Waltz". Besides myself, the panel included Carl Fredrick, William Freedman, Jim Cambias, and Llalania Ghose (I hope I got the name right?). The major question of the panel was the different uses (and possibly abuses) of different points of view, which actually separated into two discussions: first, what the use/effect of the particular PoV styles themselves (first, second, tight third, broad/omniscient third) might have on a work or the reader, and second, what changing the point of view within a work might do. This was an interesting and energetic panel, with divergent points of view – some held, for instance, that first person tended to be a distancing choice, while others held it was the opposite – more intimate and direct. The second aspect is of particular interest to me as I use point of view shifts to direct attention of the reader and emphasize or minimize events or facts so as to produce specific effects at the right part of the novel.

 

My next panel was with Joe Fludd and Andrew Lieven: A Surfeit of Superheroes, discussing whether there were too many superhero shows/movies/etc., and why we might feel the answer was yes or no. (My main answer: "I sure hope not, because I've got an unpublished superhero novel right now".) Discussion was also pretty brisk, and I think the audience got fairly heavily into it.

 

As usual on Friday night of Albacon, we had the Ice Cream Social, in which everyone gets to pig out on ice cream and hang out together. This was where we finally got to meet Sharon Weber, and talk more with David.

 

(I am rarely jealous of anything about my fellow authors, except in the momentary spurt of "I wish I didn't have to have a 9-5 job" sense. However, at the convention for most of its run there were a couple of gentlemen dressed in fine military regalia of the Royal Manticoran Navy, holding down a table that was clearly a recruiting center! So I will admit I am very envious of David for having organized fans that dress in the uniforms of his universe's organizations and promote his work in such a highly stylish way!)

 

Saturday was the heavy-lifting part of the convention (and more so than I had expected, for reasons I will mention shortly). I had two regular panels, the Baen Roadshow, the Eye of Argon reading, and both a reading and a signing on Saturday!

 

First off were two panels, the first being "Great but Forgotten" – a discussion of works of SF literature, or authors, which the panelists felt were unfairly obscure. This was a fascinating panel, not merely because of the wide variety of works and authors mentioned, but also because in addition to Chuck Rothman, Anatoly Belilovsky, and myself, one of the panelists was someone who wasn't even present: Ramsey Campbell, whose health prevented him from traveling but was able to attend with full-video conferencing technology! His voice was clear and it was very science-fictional to see a panel running in real-time with a large proportion of participation from someone who otherwise could not have been a part of the convention.

 

The following panel was one I had myself suggested: "The Golden Age of Science Fiction is 12". This derives from Peter Graham's statement to that effect, meaning that the fiction you encounter and become enthralled by between the ages of, roughly, 10 through 14 will be the ones that will be most fondly remembered and influential on your later participation in fandom. Thus, the participants (Jim Cambias, Elektra Hammond, Rick Ollerman, and myself) were to enumerate and discuss the various works that were part of our "Golden Age". Occasionally the discussion veered into the more general Golden Age as well, since at least a couple of our panelists such as myself had been influenced directly by the works of the Golden Age itself. There was much nostalgia to be had (though probably a lot of puzzled looks from younger members of the audience who didn't know half the references!).

 

By this point I was feeling startlingly exhausted, and while I managed to grab a bit to eat (a big shout-out to the Green Room staff, who kept things going all through the convention!), I still was feeling oddly wonky. By the time I got to my reading, I was really kind of out of it, although I think I managed to look reasonably okay. Still, I was actually having to focus hard for a while on my reason for being there, and while I recognized several of the attendees, I actually couldn't put names to the faces at the time (something acutely embarrassing to me, and the more so since one of those faces was none other than Tony Daniel himself!). This fogginess had actually been plaguing me for a while, but it was only the next week that I found out what was causing it: I had become significantly anemic, something which is only now being treated.

 

It was a pleasant thing to find that there WERE people at the reading, at least; last year there had been none, at least in part due to the fact that the prior year the reading room had been far, far away from all other events. Fortunately, once I managed to decide on what I was reading, my brain slowly started to come back online as I sat and read. The fogginess returned once I had to get up to move on, but now at least I understand why; physical effort puts more demands on the oxygen in the system, and with less hemoglobin to work with, well, less oxygen.

 

At the subsequent signing I had two pleasant surprises. One was the arrival and introduction of Richard Shetron AKA "Multics", my email provider for about the last 20 years as the main mover of Wizvax/SGEinc.

 

The other was a gentleman who introduced himself as Joe Buckley. Yes, the ORIGINAL Joe Buckley, the archetype of all the Buckleys that we Baen authors have been killing (or in the case of me and Eric's Boundary series, almost killing) for years. It was a great pleasure to finally put a (real) face to the name of the man I'd been tormenting since 2005. He had me sign a couple of books, and I gave him a copy of Paradigms Lost so he could read about the latest way in which he'd met his demise.

 

The Baen Roadshow was next, a presentation about what Baen had currently and upcoming for release, and it was presented with excellent multimedia support by Tony Daniel; both David Weber and I were up front for the presentation. This included of course material on David's and Tony's own new releases, and also something on Phoenix Ascendant (Tony had me give a brief talk on the Balanced Sword trilogy) and showed a beautiful large-scale image of Bob Eggleton's new cover for the forthcoming Castaway Odyssey.

 

I went home for a short time, but I was back in time for the Eye of Argon reading. For those unfamiliar with this, The Eye of Argon is a sword-and-sorcery story obviously modeled after the work of Robert E. Howard in Conan… as written by a teenage boy named Jim Theiss. The story was found at a convention where someone had left a dittoed copy, and has been widely regarded (though, I think, incorrectly) as the worst SF/F story ever written. An Eye of Argon reading is an event in which participants attempt to read the story aloud – including any mis-spellings and similar errors, and without breaking out in laughter. Failure to meet these requirements forces the participant to drop out of the reading… and then proceed to act out the florid and sometimes bizarre action of the story as other readers continue from where they left off. I was eliminated somewhat less quickly than I was the first time – I managed two or three paragraphs – but still spent the majority of the time playing the part of the mighty-thewed barbarian Grignr. Much fun was had by all.

 

(note: were Jim Theiss still alive, I think I would not participate in this event; Lord knows I'd not particularly like the thought of strangers reading and mocking the stuff I wrote when I was still in high school. However, he unfortunately passed away at quite a young age, and this amusement can no longer harm him)

 

Sunday had two highlights to conclude the convention. First was Equal Rights for Robots, a panel that included myself, Tony Daniel, and Herb Kauderer; Debi Chowdhury was supposed to be on the panel, but had been double-booked to another. This panel discussed when, how, and why robots/AIs might or should be given the rights of human beings, and was pretty energetic in discussion, bringing up real-life and SF examples to argue various points; the panelists and the audience participated enthusiastically, with considerable divergence of opinion and perception highlighted.

 

Finally, at 6PM, David Weber and I had a book signing at Flights of Fantasy. Technically, this was supposed to be a reading-and-signing, but instead it became more a discussion and talk session culminated by book signing. This was a good signing – while of course David had a lot more to sign, I wasn't sitting there watching, but actually had people buying and getting their books autographed. Following this, both David and I signed some stock, and while David was going through his mountain of books (mine was more a molehill) he continued to regale us with stories – including a wonderful tale of playing a Japanese-setting RPG with people including Roger Zelazny, in which David took an NPC and ended up diverting the entire party down a course that ultimately took them a continent away from where they really should have gone.

 

I also have hope that next year I may also be attending Genericon, which this year was on the same weekend; for next year, Albacon has shifted their event about a month forward (to early April) and this will hopefully ensure that the two local conventions won't overlap! This is important if Albacon wants to attract a younger demographic and start becoming relevant as a convention to the up-and-coming generation of fans; we can't be competing with an anime and gaming convention and expect the younger people to show up in anything like significant numbers.

 

Overall I think this was one of the best convention experiences I've had and I certainly look forward to next year's!

 

Just For Fun: Death Battle!

 

"He's Wiz and I'm Boomstick –"

"—and it's our job to analyze their weapons, armor, and skills to determine who would win – a Death Battle!"

 

 

The idea of X versus Y, or "Who'd Win?" is probably one of the oldest of old ideas. I would be unsurprised to find out that Greek children argued about whether Heracles could beat Perseus. The basic concept of pitting real and imaginary characters against each other took on more energy and interest as various modern fandoms gained in strength, of course, and while you can trace the discussions back a long, long way – "Can Superman beat Captain Marvel?" was one in the days when my mother was president of the local Captain Marvel fan club – probably the most iconic in SF/F fandom is "Enterprise VS Death Star".

I have of course indulged in these arguments scholarly discussions many times over the years, and of course they tend to be resolved, or fail to be resolved, in similar ways even over the course of decades. Many people (my wife included) do not understand the attraction of such discussions, but there are – naturally – a heck of a lot of people who do.

The trouble with any such arguments where the "X" and "Y" are from differing universes is that each comes with their own baggage, their own sets of assumptions – and often with their proponents having a predisposition to interpret the information on each side through a particular lens. Yet there is a reasonable ideal in such discussions – one in which the assumptions of both universes are accepted as true for their respective character, and a good-faith effort made to try and compare the resulting capabilities.

A lot of groups, small and large, have tried to do this in various more or less public ways. Svudu has done their "Cage Matches", in which they pit a large number of fictional characters against each other in a tournament that ends with a championship match; it is common for selected authors to write stories of their characters' participation in the battle (my friend Harry Connolly's Ray Lilly, from his Seven Palaces series, was chosen one year and he wrote some awesome little pieces for Ray's matches). There is Bat in the Sun's Super Power Beatdown, a video show which bases its results more on popular discussions and voting.

And then there is ScrewAttack's Death Battle!

Hosted by Ben "Wiz" Singer and Chad "Boomstick" James, Death Battle! is the closest to the platonic ideal of the X VS Y debate I've ever seen realized. Unlike most of their colleagues, Wiz and Boomstick conduct painstaking research into the capabilities of their chosen combatants – and then present this research, with entertaining commentary, video clips, and all the trimmings, before the actual "Death Battle".

The concept of the Death Battle itself is of course a necessary conceit; in a "realistic" situation, many of the proposed conflicts would never turn into a fight, or at most would be a quick sparring match that was resolved shortly and ended long before it was determined which of the two was more capable. That said, the ScrewAttack production does often make a nod to setting up the bare bones of a plot in their actual Death Battle videos to at least partly justify the clash, whether it be sending Boba Fett to capture Samus, showing the Terminator materializing in Robocop's Detroit and starting its usual rampage, or setting up a misunderstanding between He-Man and Lion-O.

Naturally, it's quite possible to do tons of research and still end up presenting a badly skewed contest. But Wiz and Boomstick try their best to be fair in their presentation even when it's clear one or the other of them has a preference.

I first encountered Death Battle! when someone posted a link to Starscream VS Rainbow Dash. Yes, you read that right, the backstabbing psychopath of the Decepticons from Transformers versus the flying wonder of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. And Starscream loses.

(that was also the event that introduced the Ponies to my household, so Wiz and Boomstick are also to blame for the tidal wave of Ponies that inundated my household for the last couple of years)

What impressed me about that – and later – Death Battles was that they weren't afraid to simply follow the numbers (when available) or figure out comparisons even when those led to what might at first have been a pretty counter-intuitive result.

The Death Battle videos themselves are always entertaining, even though they run the gamut in quality from 16-bit fighting-game images all the way to 3-D rendered dramatic productions. The latter are generally reserved for the most heavily requested and anticipated events, such as Godzilla VS Gamera, Yang VS Tifa, and…

Son Goku VS Superman.

The latter was undoubtedly the most-requested and fiercely debated matchup Wiz and Boomstick ever had to face; I suspect even they found it somewhat intimidating, because the arguments on this one have been as intense – and intractable – as any such in existence. The fans on both sides are emphatic, loud, and sometimes, well, fanatical.

It was their handling of that battle – perhaps the greatest matchup of super-powered warriors possible – and the rematch that convinced me that these guys are the ones who really "get it" – not only why so many people engage in these debates, but how to do them justice. They determined that in the end, Goku would lose both battles; but while the numbers they ran in the first battle could be argued, they ultimately recognized – and argued – that the final deciding factor wasn't going to be found in numbers, but in the narrative purpose of each of these admittedly ultimate warrior heroes.

Goku's narrative is "rising to the challenge", being beaten to rise again, to challenge himself against ever-greater opponents only to eventually find another powerful challenger. By its very nature, this implies that Goku must never reach a true ultimate and final level of power, because then his narrative would end, his purpose would be fulfilled; he would have nowhere to go.

Superman's narrative is very different; he is the God Among Mortals, the being with Powers Beyond the Lot of Mortal Men who nonetheless chooses to walk among them. He is a symbol and a representation, not just of the best that we can be, but of the best the universe can offer. By his nature his power is the ultimate, or very nearly so, and while he may lose on occasion it is rarely if ever due to his actual power failing to make the grade.

Both heroes come from universes with wildly differing powerscales and with sometimes contradictory answers to questions as to what their limits, if any are; but this decision by ScrewAttack's Wiz and Boomstick was in fact a far better answer than any that could possibly be derived from just trying to do calculations and comparisons ("Superman lifted 200 quintillion tons!" "But Goku blew up a SUN!").

Most such matchups cannot be resolved in that manner, of course – but the fact that they recognized that in this case it could, because both characters were symbols and in their own way the same type of representative of their respective universes, was true brilliance.

X VS Y. A simple concept. Not so simple to execute. Yet Wiz and Boomstick execute it flawlessly, and they've done so many – over 50 as of last count – that they've matched up an awful lot of people thus far! If you want to see fictional characters matched up, and know you're getting the fairest matchup you'll ever see, there's nothing better than Death Battle!

 

Schedule for Albacon 2016!

In about one week Albacon begins, and I'll be there all weekend! Here's my schedule!

 

Friday, March 4

11 AM POV Waltz                                             Troy room

5PM Surfeit of Superheroes?                        Troy room

8PM Ice Cream Social                                    Colonie

Saturday, March 5

11AM Great but Forgotten                            Colonie

12PM The Golden Age of SF is 12                Troy

1PM Reading!                                                  Room 101

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Sunday, March 6

1PM Equal Rights for Robots!                   Colonie

Phoenix Ascendant: Chapter 26

Kyri had made a very puzzling statement...

 

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Chapter 26.

Poplock stared at her, as did Tobimar; Poplock hopped to her shoulder to talk to her more directly. "Um, that's what we've been trying to do for the last couple of weeks, Kyri. With all the magic I've got, all of Sasha's, and even Kelsley's."

He could feel her pulse, sense it hammering far faster than it should be. "Magic – at least the magic we have – can't do it," she said quietly, still striding towards the south. "The Arbiter can't. Even the power of Myrionar I command can't, because I can't manage to keep the power going once I'm hurt enough."

"So?" Poplock asked. "You have another idea?"

"A crazy idea, yes. But it's really the only choice we have. The Watchland's gone. Our friends… if they didn't get caught, they must be almost to the Black City by now. Our enemy must be ready to make his move. If I'm gone… Tobimar, I know you and Poplock won't leave Evanwyl, you'll stay for my sake… but can the two of you beat him by yourselves?"

Poplock couldn't even try to claim they could. Together, the three of them were deadly. But take away any of them, they weren't nearly as dangerous. He saw Tobimar shake his head. "No. No, we probably can't. And he's got at least three False Justiciars that we know of – Skyharrier, Bolthawk, and Condor." He looked at her again. "Where are we going?"

"There's a hill a little ways outside of town – you must have passed it when you first came here?"

Poplock thought back to the day – which seemed about a thousand years ago now – they'd first arrived in Evanwyl. "Oh, yeah. Over on the left… well, on the right the way we're going now. Nice smooth meadowed slope facing the east, and the river spreading out across from it."

"That's it. Called Trader's Rest."

"What's there?"

"My cure… I hope."

Poplock eyed the stars. "Hope you're right. That knoll's about eight, nine miles down the road. Assuming nothing gets in our way, that's still a few hours travel. Be well past midnight, and the sun won't wait."

Kyri nodded. "I know."

They walked in silence for a few moments. "What is the cure you think is there?"

"I'll tell you when we get there," she said quickly. "Tobimar… tell me about Skysand?"

"But…"

Even in the darkness, Poplock could see the momentary wide, terrified look in her eyes, a look that silenced Tobimar instantly. "Please, Tobimar; tell me about Skysand."

The exiled Prince of Skysand looked at Poplock with a worried, confused expression, but then shrugged, and began to talk.

"Well, it's… it's a big country, we cover a large part of the northeast corner of the continent. But… no, you don't want dry description. Of course not." His smile was forced, but the way he caught and held Kyri's hand was not. "When I stood in my bedroom and looked out, I could see the sun's light slant across the city, the shadows of the Seven and the One stretching towards the horizon, over sand shadowed gray and violet, with nodding green of the trees at the springs just becoming visible in the light of dawn. The roofs would go from a gray to rosy pink and white and light green as the sun sprang up from the sea, and you could look down and see into the central courtyards of most of the houses, squares of deeper shadow with people just starting to move. The Temple of Terian would sound the Dawn Chimes to greet the day, and there would be a whisper of movement, as thought the whole city were stretching, rising from its bed. The light would catch the dunes and turn them to molten gold and ruby, sparkling in the sun, and the caravan trails cut through them, lanes still touched with shade in the early morning…"

Tobimar spoke on, telling how he would usually begin his day, describing the great curved sweep of the bay and its blue water, with the wisps of black smoke and ash rising across the endless blue of the sky from the volcanic cone that brooded nearby, naming his sisters and brothers and the people of his household, outlining the city itself in detail – the streets, the sounds, the people. As they walked, Poplock found he was getting a clearer vision of Skysand now than he ever had before. Many of the facts he had known already – it wasn't as though he and Tobimar hadn't talked about their homelands before – but Tobimar was now weaving a complete picture, talking for hours without pause, and without letting go of Kyri's hand.

And – at least at times – he could feel that her terror faded, was forgotten as Tobimar spoke, as she focused on distant shores and the love that her companion had for his homeland.

Finally, Poplock could see a dark outline, a curve of blackness against the night that cut through the stars. "I think we're here, Kyri."

He could feel her pulse quicken again. "Yes… yes, we are."

She turned, walked swiftly – almost ran – up the slope, stopping midway, in the center of a broad meadow, barely visible in frosted starlight. She paused, looking outward.

The view to the east was very nice, Poplock had to admit. The river, as he remembered, broadened here, flattening to a shallow ford three-quarters of a mile across. The rippling chuckle of the water over countless stones was soothing, and Poplock's eyes could make out the motion of flow and ripple all the way across. Low bushes dominated the far shore, a flat area that Poplock suspected flooded regularly; trees didn't seem to reappear until near the horizon, a darker darkness in the distance. The horizon itself was a slightly brighter black. Dawn isn't all that far away.

"Yes," Kyri murmured. "This is how I remembered it."

Tobimar looked at her. "Now… what?"

Kyri took off her pack and searched through it. "Here we go."

"That's our climbing gear. What do you—"

Her swallow was audible. "Tobimar, I want you to take the stakes and ropes and bind me down. Hard. This is shadespider silk, it should hold just about anything, but still, don't take chances."

"Bind you down –" Realization struck Tobimar and Poplock simultaneously.

"Terian and Chromaias… Kyri, you're not –"

"Yes," she said, and her voice shook. "I am."

"That's suicide!"

"Maybe… maybe not, Tobimar."

"If Kelsley's right," Poplock says, "it is. When the sun rises, you go up in smoke."

"It hasn't got a complete hold on me. Not yet." Kyri put the rope and spikes into Tobimar's hands. "I can't burn it out of myself with Myrionar's power because the pain makes me focus on it. I have to stop. But the Sun symbolizes purity. I know it will burn me – and from my trying to use Myrionar's power I know how much it will hurt." Her voice was still unsteady. "Tobimar, Poplock, I know how crazy this is. But it's the only thing I can think of, and I have to have faith in Myrionar that I'm right. I will accept the purification of the Sun and hope that the power of… of the Phoenix," she managed a smile, "will let me somehow pass through that trial alive."

"And what if it doesn't?" Poplock asked bluntly.

"Then I die myself, not a monster. And that's a happier ending than any other I see before me now."

Tobimar stood stock-still for long moments. Then his head bowed. "As you ask, Kyri."

Her voice was filled with relief. "Thank you, Tobimar." She reached up and removed Poplock gently. "I… need to be exposed to the sun for this to work."

"What? Oh. Got it."

The Raiment of the Phoenix flowed off her – all but her helm, the symbolic profile of the bird of prey clear even in the pre-dawn gloom. "Keeping that on?" asked Tobimar, in the most unconvincingly casual tones that Poplock had ever heard, as he began hammering stakes into the ground.

"I do this as Phoenix, not as Kyri Vantage," she said. "The helm… won't make any difference otherwise."

Poplock couldn't argue that. Aside from simple travel support for her breasts and brief underclothes for her lower body, all of her was now completely exposed to the night… and soon to the light. I feel so completely useless here. All I can do is advise Tobimar on how to make sure the bindings will hold her even if she struggles hard. Which she will. No way that she won't when she's burning alive, even with Myrionar's power to keep the pain down.

Sound of hammer striking metal, looping of rope, more hammering, and the grim, grim look on Tobimar's face deepened. Poplock didn't want to look. But he also couldn't look away. If this didn't work… this would be the last time they ever saw Kyri alive.

Finally, Tobimar straightened. "It… it's done." Multiple stakes surrounded each of Kyri's limbs, but even with many strands of rope, very little of her skin was covered. "Try to break free."

Kyri threw her strength against the bonds; Poplock heard a faint grunt that showed more fear and desperation than Kyri would want to admit. But that does mean she'll be giving them a fair test.

But the bindings held firm. Even the Vantage strength could not overcome all of the many loops of spidersilk rope and multiple spikes buried deep in the earth.

Tobimar sighed. "All right. Looks like it will… hold."

The faintest ghost of a smile. "Yes. You… did that well." Suddenly her eyes went wide. "Oh, no, I forgot!"

"Forgot what?"

Poplock found it amusing – and heartbreaking – to see that even in this circumstance Kyri was able to look embarrassed. "Um… could you go into my pack and find…" She hesitated, then plunged forward, "find the phoenix and dragon figurines that I have in there?"

"I'll do it. I couldn't do any of the real work." Poplock bounced to Kyri's pack. He remembered the figures she was talking about, and what they meant to her. The ones she and her brother played with. The figurine she got the name "Phoenix" from, really.

It only took a few moments. He came back and put one figure in each hand. Kyri smiled at him, though her face was visibly pale in the slowly growing light. "Thank you, Poplock."

"At least it's something." He leapt back to Tobimar's shoulder; there was nothing left to do on the ground, nothing really at all left to do but wait.

He glanced backward. The horizon was lighter; Kyri was now easily visible, bound immovably to Trader's Rest, facing the east. "A few minutes now."

"Yes." She shifted slightly, though the ropes did not allow much movement. "Tobimar… I—"

"Survive this," Tobimar said. "No farewells!"

She was quiet, but in the pre-dawn light Poplock saw two tears flowing down her cheeks from beneath the helm.

But then he heard movement behind them, fast movement.

Tobimar heard it too, started to turn, but something smashed into both of them, an impact like a Dragon's claw. Tobimar tumbled away like a broken doll, striking a tree so hard that the trunk shattered, continued on; Poplock leapt clear, tried to roll, but another tree was right there in his path –

The pain was accompanied by the high-pitched greenstick splintering sound of his own bones breaking, despite the defensive wards he'd painstakingly woven into his harness over the last months. Poplock slid from the dented treetrunk, falling limply onto his back. Something was still moving near Kyri, and he tried to rise, to roll to his feet, but he could barely manage to raise one leg before red-tinged pain caught up with him and pushed him down into darkness.

 

 

 

Phoenix Ascendant: Chapter 25

Kyri was, in some ways, in more peril than she had ever been...

 

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Chapter 25.

Arbiter Kelsley wavered on his feet; Tobimar and Discoverer (previously Seeker) Reed caught his elbows, helped him to sit down.

Kyri looked out of the holy circle, and Tobimar felt a phantom pain in his chest as he saw her understanding that even this had failed. "Nothing at all, Arbiter?"

The priest of Myrionar shook his head reluctantly. "I can injure her easily enough, Balance save me. But to break that curse lies beyond the power granted me by Myrionar; I could feel the power simply turned back, dismissed as inadequate. Even with your assistance," he looked at Shasha and Poplock, "I cannot do more than momentarily blunt it, and it recovers any ground I deny it quickly, once I stop fighting."

"Poplock? There's got to be something—"

The little Toad flattened himself in a gesture of perfect despair. "Not that I can do. The Cursed are known all over Zarathan. They're not like the Stelati, or the Umbrals, or even the Veridiai – those can, sometimes, be cured by the right invocations, or even by the victim fighting it hard enough, praying well enough. I've never heard of a Cursed being cured, even early on. Wieran might have been able to do something. The Wanderer. Calladan Wysterios at the Academy. Khoros, if he was around. Idinus, of course. One of the greater gods, directly intervening, if they could. But anyone else? Swimming through thicker mud every minute."

Sasha Raithair simply shook her head. She can do nothing either.

Kelsley carefully cut across the lines of the holy enclosure, and the power faded. "We have tried for two weeks. Everything we could think of. I am sorry."

Kyri's face worked, and for a moment there was a glint of alien fury that frightened Tobimar more than anything he had seen in all his travels. "Failed again? Are you…"

She went gray with horror at what she was saying and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Myrionar, is it happening this fast?"

"If what Tashriel told you was true – and I am very much afraid it was – he was one of those there the day the Curse was enacted. He is one of the actual ancients of the Cursed, a vampire half a million years old. His blood, mingled with yours, is terribly potent," Kelsley said, the explanation in a tone of apology and guilt, trying to convince himself that it wasn't his fault that the last and only Justiciar was about to be lost. "It is astonishing that you have remained… yourself… for this long; he thought that the change would be complete in days, if your recital of his words was accurate."

"So it isn't my imagination. It's not just my being on edge. I'm… turning into a monster."

"Kyri, maybe –"

She made a savage cutting gesture. "No, Tobimar. No false comfort. You saw that I couldn't burn it out myself – I can't keep the power going once the pain gets too great. I think… I think we're out of options."

He didn't attempt to hide the tears going down his face. "I wish… wish I had one. But I think Terian's power –"

"—would burn me to ashes even faster." She forced a smile. "But that may be what I'll ask for."

"NO!" It wasn't just Tobimar; Poplock, Kelsley, Reed, and Shasha had said it at the same time.

Kyri Vantage took a long breath; it shook with repressed anger. "If necessary, yes." She looked at Kelsley. "How… how far is the change now? How long do I have before I go mad?"

"From the records… the time for the madness varies, but tends to be one of the last changes, perhaps the last change. It is moving quickly, though. It is evening now. I…" he hesitated. Then the priest's jaw set and he continued, "I… believe that you have seen your last sunrise, Kyri. The sun will burn you tomorrow."

Terian's Light, no. Not so soon.

Kyri didn't seem to see them now. He laid his hand on her shoulder and she reached up, gripped his hand tightly; suddenly she reached out and hugged him close; he embraced her as hard as he could.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her.

She kissed him, then looked him in the eye; horrific flecks of yellow shimmered within the gray. "It isn't over yet, Tobimar."

Suddenly there was a shout from the sanctum door. "Arbiter! Arbiter! Is Lady Kyri there?"

Kelsley glanced at them, shrugged, and went to the door. "She is here, but engaged for the moment."

"I must speak with her! It is of the utmost importance!"

"Brogan," Kyri muttered, turning towards the door. "That's Brogan, the Watchland's Head of House. Let him in, Arbiter."

The door flew open as soon as Kelsley undid the bolts and wards. Brogan, a tall man with a head bald and polished as an egg and a drooping mustache above a pointed beard, strode in and immediately dropped to one knee before Kyri. "Justiciar Phoenix Kyri," he said. "Thank the Balance I… could find you." His voice was clearly breathless.

"What is it, Brogan? What has happened?"

For answer, Brogan reached into his shirt and withdrew a long, sealed envelope addressed to Kyri in an elegant hand. "The Watchland – he's disappeared. Just left without a word or warning, with just this envelope and a note to have it brought to you immediately."

"Oh, snakes and dust, this doesn't sound good," Poplock said as he bounced back to Tobimar's shoulder.

Kyri had immediately taken the envelope; the seal broke with a flash of light, showing it had been keyed to her. She reached in and took out a letter; she held it so that Tobimar could see it as well.

 

My most dear and respected Kyri,

     If you have this in your hands, then I have gone. I have been frequently seized with the desire to hunt down the one responsible for using me as a puppet and a false face, and at the same time found myself unable to speak of it; merely writing this down has proven nigh-impossible.  

     You and your friends were right, I fear. Somewhere within me remains the knowledge of how to find our adversary's stronghold, but it will only reveal itself when this compulsion grows strong enough to triumph over my reason and will. This I am sure it will do, for it has only strengthened over each day, without my being able to inform any of this matter.

Rather than be caught by it unawares, perhaps to the detriment of others who might bar my path, I have therefore resolved to fight it no longer. I will prepare myself to confront our enemy as best I can, and let it take me whence it will; I believe, as do you, that this will be the Justiciars' Retreat.

Understand, Kyri, I am under no illusion that I will somehow be able to vanquish this enemy, this Viedraverion. I am a powerful warrior – perhaps stronger than you know – but I am not a Justiciar. But it may be that our enemy will not slay me outright, and so I write this note that you will know what has happened, and – if the Balance should smile upon me – perhaps be able to rescue me once more.

I do not ask you do so purely for my sake, although I certainly do not wish to die; I know you will attempt it no matter what the reasons. However, as your Watchland I give you this one command: do not risk Evanwyl for my sake. I will not be used as a hostage, and I insist that you not accept me as one. I will die for Evanwyl, as I know you would. Rescue me if you can, certainly – but not at a cost I will regret.

The compulsion has begun. I will place this in a sealed envelope to be found in my study, and then leave, locking the room so that – hopefully – I will not be able to undo what I have done here.

In the name of the Balance, I remain,

               Jeridan Velion

 

"Myrionar's Unbalanced Sword!" Kyri cursed. "Brogan, when did the Watchland leave?"

Looking slightly shocked at what Tobimar suspected was great profanity on Kyri's part, Brogan answered, "We cannot be absolutely certain, Justiciar Phoenix, because the Watchland sometimes would isolate himself for thought or other private matters for a few days. But we believe he left last night."

Tobimar cursed this time. "That's twenty-four hours ago. We could never catch him, and the trail will be cold. Sand and storm!"

"Add 'drought and freeze' to that, too," Poplock said. "If we'd been able to get on his trail quick – within an hour or so, say – I think we could have gotten through the diversion wards. We'd have clear indicators to follow and the wards couldn't change those all that quick. But after this much time? Not a chance."

Kyri's fist had clenched down on the paper, crumpling it into a compressed wad. "Kyri…"

"What? Oh." She slowly relaxed her grip, then nodded. "Thank you, Brogan. I will do what I can. Get back to the estate and let them know."

"I will, Justiciar. Thank you very much."

Once Brogan had left, Kyri straightened. "Come on, Tobimar, Poplock. We don't have time to waste here."

"But, Kyri… in your condition," began Kelsley.

"My condition isn't going to change for the better sitting around here, is it?" At Kelsley's reluctant nod, she smiled. "Then I might as well try to do what I can."

She kissed the priest on the cheek, then bowed, and led the way out.

Tobimar studied her narrowly from behind. "Poplock?"

"Yep. She's not angry. She's … scared. Scared half to death."

"But that note didn't have anything frightening in it."

"I know." The two continued in silence, as Kyri strode ahead of them, through the main temple, towards the doors. "But then why is she so frightened?"

It wasn't obvious to anyone else, perhaps, but he could see it – it was in the way she stood so straight, so tense, as rigid and unyielding as the stone pillar she was now walking past. Kyri was deathly afraid of something, and as he walked a little closer to her, he could hear her breathing, a little too quick, a bit too ragged.

Outside, in the night-dark streets of Evanwyl, Kyri turned south. Tobimar quickened his own stride. "What is it, Kyri?"

She didn't pretend not to understand. Her hand reached out, took his. "I believe in Myrionar."

Tobimar didn't quite get what she meant, but her tone showed that she was trying to explain. "I know."

"But… Tobimar, will you trust me? Will you believe in me?"

He stopped her, put her hands on her shoulders. "Kyri, I will always trust you. I will always believe in you. Curse or no. Always."

"Goes for me, too," Poplock said.

She closed her eyes, and two tears fell. "And will you do whatever I ask you to tonight, no matter what?"

"Are you going to ask me to … to end it for you?" Tobimar asked quietly.

The anger of the Curse tried to flare, he could see it in the tension of her arms, the twitching of the lips – but it subsided, left only the beautiful face surrounded by its gold-tipped blue hair, a face that tried to smile and failed miserably. "Not… not now. Not that way. But… something you won't want to do."

He almost started to question her, but an internal voice told him to stop!

She's asking me to have faith in her. To believe in her. And I just said I would. "Then yes, I will. No matter what."

Her shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank the Balance. Because I can't do this myself, and can't trust anyone else."

"Since I've agreed… what do I have to do?"

"We have to cure the Curse," she answered.

 

 

 

 

Phoenix Ascendant: Chapter 24

Well, Kyri had had a horrific shock...

 

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Chapter 24.

     Kyri found her hand on Flamewing's hilt, the sword already half drawn, before she caught herself. The horrific thought echoed through her, a sentence of death and failure. Not summon Myrionar's power? Be barred from Myrionar? No!

"That fast?" Xavier asked, unbelieving. "C'mon, she's gotta have some time!"

"The Curse is already on her," Tashriel said, the same horror in his voice, and a part of her understood that he knew what she felt. "Perhaps she has… a few minutes? A few hours? But no more than a day or two."

She concentrated, called on the power, intending to heal the scratches on Poplock from Tashriel's sandblasting assault.

Gold-fired agony exploded along her skin, danced through her veins like molten steel. She heard her own anguished scream and dropped to her knees. "I… think I have… no time at all."

Tobimar whirled on Tashriel, and it took Xavier, Nike, and Aurora to restrain him. "If we're going to kill him, fine," Nike said, "but not like that. We will do this with justice and judgment, not impulse and hatred. Right?"

"Right," Kyri said, and despite the pain which was slowly ebbing she felt a warm gratitude towards Nike. I swore to Myrionar that it would be Mercy and Justice before Vengeance, and that is more important for me than for anyone else, because I am the one who will be judged.

The pain had, strangely, cleared her head, and in its aftermath she felt less anger, more sympathy for the damned boy-demon in front of her. Her instincts told her that Tashriel was telling the truth now; it fit with what she knew of many demonic tales, and the way in which she had been told vampires of his sort worked.

But Tashriel was speaking again. "And you – you five – don't have time, either."

"Why not? We could at least take a few –"

"Then you have to kill me now," Tashriel said, and a blood-tinted tear ran down his face. "I will have to go back to Balinshar, and if he learns what I know of you, the Black City will be prepared – Kerlamion will be prepared, for Balinshar will surely tell him the truth, to ingratiate himself with Father and undermine Viedra."

Kyri heard multiple curses, and knew one of them was hers. As Rion, Tashriel had been present throughout their discussions; he knew the goal of the five from Earth and much about their abilities.

"Maybe we could lock him up, at least for a while," Tobimar said slowly, sheathing his swords.

"Where?" Poplock demanded. "If we were in Zarathanton, okay, sure, put him in the Star Cell where they locked those guys up, that'd probably hold him, but there isn't a place in Evanwyl that could do the trick. Didn't you watch this guy? If he hadn't been holding back, we could've all gotten bad hurt before we took him down."

"The Temple of Myrionar," Kyri said. "Maybe they could –"

Tashriel shook his head. "Arbiter Kelsley is a good man, and honest, but you know as well as I that Myrionar is very weak now. Weaker now than mere months agone, despite the works you have done – because Viedra's plan has taken all this into account, to weaken that faith beyond any easy point of return. All of the god's power is bound within or tied directly to you, outside of the simplest powers of the priests. I do not think he could create a sealed prison strong enough to hold me."

"Do you f… fricking want us to kill you?" Xavier said in outraged tones. "Because you're like really trying hard to make it happen!"

"I'm trying to keep you safe! I… he let me stay with you too long, with her too long! Don't let me be a weapon against you! I DON'T WANT YOU TO DIE!" Tashriel shouted.

Silence fell in the wake of that agonized declaration, and Kyri saw the bleak choices lying before them. But only one of them allows mercy or justice.

"Stand up, Tashriel," she said quietly.

He rose, slowly, eyes fixed on hers. She could read his readiness for the end in the way he kept his mouth clamped shut, tension in the jaw and down the neck clear in the lines of muscle and tendon.

She reached up, let Flamewing rise from its sheath, a foot, two feet –

-- and let it drop back with a ringing chime. "Go."

The sight of that jaw dropping, the eyes practically popping from Tashriel's head in Toad-like fashion – an expression echoed by all the others – would have made her laugh under other circumstances; as it was, she managed a smile. "You are someone's tool and weapon, and perhaps in cold, hard policy I should kill you. But you were a companion, and I think – from your words, your voice, and your willingness to pass on – that you mean what you say, and thus in your heart you are no enemy.

"Were we still in the heat of battle, yes, I might well strike your head from your shoulders; but I will not kill you in cold blood."

"Kyri –"

She looked at Tobimar calmly. "Would you kill him as he stands?"

She saw the lean, dark face go grim; the hands grasped the twin swords. But the swords stayed in their sheaths, and with a curse Tobimar let his hands drop. "No."

"No more will any of us," Toshi said. "Which leaves you, Poplock. If any of us could do it, I think you could."

The little Toad drew his blade Steelthorn and bounced to Tashriel's shoulder. Despite the nearness of the glittering steel, enchanted – Kyri knew – by the spirit mage Konstantin Khoros himself – Tashriel did not move so much as a hair.

"You would let me do this, wouldn't you?" Poplock said after a moment. "Just run you through the throat and chop the head off."

"Yes."

"Well mudbubbles. I can't do it either."

"Then we do have to leave now," Toshi said grimly. "Can you at least … dawdle on your return?"

Tashriel gave a weak but definite smile. "I promise to drag my feet as much as my compulsion allows. And I have more advice for you."

He turned to Xavier. "Xavier, you are the greatest weapon your group has for this. Not because of your stealth, though I'm not ever going to discount that, but because … well, of who you are."

"Who I am?"

"I can't say – not for absolutely sure – if it was your father, or your grandfather, or, at most, one of your great-grandfathers, but one of them was – had to be – the being that the demons fear above all others. You – and to my surprise Kyri! – have his eyes, but you have more; you have his face, his build."

"Whose face?"

"Torline Valanhavhi, the Eternal King of Atlantaea," Tashriel said. "I met him, once, long ago, when I was living, a child younger than any of you." Tashriel gestured.

The figure of a man appeared, tall, slender, dark-skinned. Kyri stared; except for the appearance of greater age – the man seemed to be about thirty-five – it was like seeing Xavier in a mirror, even to the gray eyes. Before him, the figure held two silvered-green blades identical to those which Xavier carried.

"And you wield blades like his. By your appearance, by your image alone, you will frighten and dismay any demon – up to, and including, the King of All Hells himself. So I say to you that you should remain hidden, even more than your friends. Show yourself only at the end, when you will need all advantages, and your adversary is the worst of all."

Poplock had straightened. "You know… he's right."

"What?" said Tobimar. "What do you mean?"

"Remember when we got ambushed by those demons, with Xavier? That Lady Misuuma?"

"Yes…?"

"Well, if you remember, she actually bailed on the whole battle right in the middle. I was chasing after her and I heard her saying…" The toad's face wrinkled as he thought, "um… ' Those blades and eyes… it is worse than she believes. If this new ally is truly what we think – c'arich! We must retreat.'."

"She seemed to have a thing about eyes – she was looking at mine before –"

Poplock waved that away. "Yeah, we know, but that got cleared up once we saw that you had Terian's blood in you. Terian's eyes are the same color, a pretty weird color for people from your part of the world, so that's what she was looking for. But then they got a good look at Xavier, and what'd she do? Flipped right out of her pond, that's what she did, and tried to run out on her own allies – when she'd set the trap to catch Tobimar."

"You're right," Tobimar said slowly. "Just the sight of Xavier's eyes and swords were enough to convince her to abort her own mission so she could carry the news back…"

"Except I punched her ticket canceled," Xavier said. "And thinking back, there were a couple demons I fought in my own quest that sure looked kinda panicked when I drew the swords and they got a good look at me. Makes sense." He looked over to Tashriel. "Okay, thanks. We'll remember that. But before we go, I've got some advice for you."

Tashriel bowed his head. "I will listen."

"You don't want to work for these guys. You've tried to help us. But then you say you can't fight 'em. I dunno, maybe you're right. But you know what?"

When Xavier didn't continue, Tashriel raised his head, met the Earth boy's challenging gaze. "No, what?"

"I think that's bullcrap."

"But I am controlled by the Curse! I am bound to the –"

"Bullcrap!" Xavier repeated. "You've got your own mind now, right? You're not formally with one or the other now, right? Okay, maybe it's not gonna be easy, but you've stayed here to tell us all stuff I know your bosses didn't want you to say, and you know what? You did that because you fought to tell us.

"I think you've been so convinced by those bastards that you can't fight that you're fighting yourself hard enough to keep you imprisoned. My sensei told me that there isn't any enchantment that can hold someone forever, if the enchantment isn't binding the person's will, their mind. If they can fight it, they can break it. 'The waves and wind can wear down a mountain, Xavier, and so it is with any binding, any enchantment; with enough time, none can withstand constant work, constant pressure, constant determination. All that is needed is the will to do it.' That's what he said."

She saw ages of conviction warring with a spark of hope. "But…"

"Yeah, but. But you have to find that will. You have to decide to do it, even if that's maybe going to get you killed. But hey, you were willing to die right here. You'll have to make a choice: is your own freedom worth dying for, even right after you get it?"

Tashriel stared at him for a long moment, then bowed deeply. "I… don't know. I don't know if I can believe in what you say. If you're right… I've lived as a slave because I bound myself there, as much as they bound me."

Kyri remembered the ancient, ancient tale of the Fall of the Saurans, and the tragedy and redemption of the Hell-Dragon, and its title. "Chains of the mind, Tashriel. Remember the lesson Syrcal learned."

The white-haired youth nodded, face still conflicted. "I… will think on this." A smile. "While I drag my feet."

"Still… we'd better stop dragging ours." Gabriel looked at her gravely. "But Lady Kyri, how --?"

"I don't know. Perhaps the Temple of Myrionar will have an answer there. But I know there is an answer, for I have kept faith with Myrionar, and It told me that always there is a way for me, if only I believe.

"And I still believe."

 

 

Chapter 23

Now they finally have someone they can ask questions...

 

-----

 

Chapter 23.

     Poplock looked at Kyri, who was clearly weakened and shaking with reaction from the attack and shock, and Tobimar standing near her. Right, I can take this myself.

"Okay, you've got a chance to talk. Better make the talk good. So you're a demon under Viedraverion's command?"

Tashriel's face twisted in half-amusement, half-misery. "I was… on loan to Viedraverion. He made my real master, Balinshar, give me to him for a special project – and used his father to put pressure on Balinshar to do it."

"So the first big question is… why you?"

"Because I'm… not really a demon. Not entirely, not in my… what's left of my soul. I was a human being, once. Then I became a vampire, then the Demons came for us and they captured me instead of killing me. At the time," another twisted smile, "I almost thought they did me a favor. I was deep in the madness that all the Cursed get when the blood takes hold. I… I think I'd killed some of my own people, it's all blurred, but I know that when I came to myself I really was grateful for a moment. Before I realized they'd simply killed everyone anyway and were making me one of them."

"Interesting," said Toshi. "But you must have had something special about you that made you worth saving."

Tashriel paused, then swallowed, looking at the others. "Yes. It was a huge secret. Balinshar kept that knowledge absolutely hidden from everyone; he figured that I might be a hidden weapon, a blade from nowhere, if he played things right. Realizing that Viedraverion already knew about it… that was a shock."

"Well?"

He took a deep breath. "I was trained in Thanalaran – I don't know what to call it in your language, exactly. It combined alchemy, sorcery, the powers of the mind, and mechanisms of science, devices –"

"Technomancy!" Xavier blurted out.

"Techno…mancy? Well… I suppose, yes, that's not a terribly bad way to put it. It was an ancient and secret discipline even in my era, long, long ago."

That makes sense. Poplock gave a satisfied bounce. "Okay, so now I understand why you were sent to Wieran. He was doing a lot of that technomancy stuff already."

"I found it almost impossible to believe when I saw it. He seemed to have single-handedly reconstructed things not seen since Atla'a Alandar. I was there as an assistant."

Gabriel was nearby, leaning against one of the unbroken trees. "Pardon me for saying so, but you're being very pleasant, apparently forthcoming, and so on. If you're such a pleasant fellow, why were you working for these people?"

The yellow gaze dropped, Tashriel's expression went nearly dead. "They… made me what I was. They can… are… making me do things. You've beaten me for the moment, I can think and act for myself for a little while… but soon I'll have to go back." He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood with one of his sharp fangs. "I… don't want to. But it's so hard to fight. Now that the matrix is gone and my service to Viedra's failed, I'll have to return to Balinshar, and I don't want to do that. But… I'll have to."

"Not if you're dead," Aurora said grimly. "And you haven't said anything that makes me sure you're leaving alive."

"She's got a point. We still don't know how you got in that tube, and whatever you have to say about Viedraverion."

"I… Speaker's Name, this is hard for me! I am fighting… very hard… to try to tell you. If I wasn't sort of between masters, not formally returned to Balinshar, I wouldn't be able to act at all!" The white-haired youth's hands shook; he clenched them into fists. "The tube was prepared by Wieran to Viedraverion's precise specifications and secured as you found it. Wieran was simply told to leave it available for later use. I was told to enter the tube, and what part I was to play and how I was to disguise myself, when it became clear that the 'endgame', as he put it, was starting. At that point Wieran would be far too focused on his own work to worry about my location."

"So Master Wieran had no knowledge of this trick of Viedraverion's at all?"

"None. Well… I'm sure he knew that there was a much larger purpose in the tube's presence, but not what it was, nor did he care much."

Poplock saw Kyri's head come up. "How did you manage to play Rion so well? You knew things that only he should know. How?"

"That was the 'matrix' I mentioned. Viedraverion transferred it to me when he sent me to Wieran, but didn't activate it until I entered the tube. It was…" He met Kyri's gaze; Poplock saw more sorrow there than he had expected. "You had already guessed the essence of it, really. It was a part, a scrap of the real Rion's soul, that I could… well, wrap around my own like a cloak and make into a sort of front that reacted on its own, using my soul and strength to translate its echoes of memory. I've never seen anything like it; I didn't think it was possible to do that so … perfectly. When I spoke as Rion, I almost was him. If I didn't let myself think too much as myself, if I didn't try to look ahead or behind like an actor, but rather let 'Rion' act… it could be nearly perfect. There were only a few minor gaps in its memory, but you already noticed and discounted those."

"What about our truthtelling? It covered that, too?" Kyri demanded.

Tashriel shook his head again, a slow, disbelieving motion. "In truth, I thought I might be discovered then. The matrix was already breaking, I had become too… caught up in it, too interested in becoming part of what I saw, for it to remain untouched. I… I didn't want to PLAY the part, I was trying to make the part follow what I wanted, and that stressed it too much. It managed to still hide my nature, but I had to be very, very careful about how I answered and literally force the remaining matrix to help in the answers. Some of them were… evasive, at the least, such as whether I attacked Helina – I made myself believe it was not really an attack, because she was cooperating with me – or whether I was your brother, because I was, with the matrix, the only part of your brother left. But at that point I knew that I had very little time left. Days, perhaps not even that. So…"

"Let's go back. Tell us about Viedraverion. We've heard the name, we know he's a demonlord and a plotter and all, but can you tell us more about him?"

Tashriel nodded vehemently. "Oh, yes. Balinshar hated Viedraverion, so he made sure I knew all about him, and spent time studying him to find weaknesses and blind spots." He looked at the others regretfully. "But… he doesn't really have any.

"Viedraverion is the first son of Kerlamion Blackstar himself. He has served a key role in many plans by the King of All Hells. After Atlantaea was brought down and the Sauran Kingdoms shattered, Viedraverion was sent out to scour the galaxy for remnants of the old civilizations and destroy or neutralize them… until there was effectively no chance for anyone out there to learn the truth."

Toshi looked up sharply. "That would have taken nearly forever. Galaxies are big."

"He knew that too. So – according to the records – what he did was let civilizations rise to a certain level, where they started locating and collecting the relics themselves… and then arrange the civilization to collapse. In effect, he got literally trillions or quadrillions of people to act as his searching parties."

Oh, mud and drought. "He's a long term thinker."

"Very long-term. He spent over a hundred thousand years on that assignment."

Nike stared at Tashriel. "I know Khoros was that old, but I still have  a hard time imagining something living that long without changing."

"Oh, it can change even Demons some. Balinshar used to rant about that; apparently before he spent a hundred thousand years manipulating civilizations, Viedraverion was really bright and manipulative but had a cold, hard approach that tended to drive people away; after he came back, he had learned how to work with people."

"I see," said Toshi. "Then when he sent you to Wieran, he had already planned your integration with Kyri's party. He was certain they would triumph over all odds, and return here."

"He wasn't certain," Tashriel corrected. "He believed things would work out as they did – with many, many contingencies prepared for various alternative outcomes." A corner of his mouth curled upward, and the yellow eyes were distant for a moment. "He… it was one of the good things about working with him, that I could see something so incredibly … well, beautiful as his strategies, laid out like a map of the future, illuminated in gems and gold."

"Screw your admiration for the artist," Aurora snapped. "What had he 'mapped' for you?"

Tashriel looked at her and Poplock saw what seemed honest guilt in his eyes. "I was supposed to gain your complete confidence, let you 'help' me regain myself, er, well, Rion's self, and then lead you to the Retreat where Viedraverion and the other Justiciars would be waiting for you."

"Then what were you doing –"

For the first time, color flamed on Tashriel's cheeks. "Rion loved his sister very much. And I was playing him for months. But I'm not her brother, and those emotions going through me… being near her… I found I didn't want to lead her into danger. *I* didn't want to. And my feelings… weren't brotherly, really, not once I started feeling them myself. Combined with everything else… I stopped thinking."

There was a moment of silence; Poplock could see that most expressions were a combination of sympathy, anger, and revulsion. Complex situation. "So," he said, "The important questions: what're his powers, and do you know any weaknesses or quirks he has we might be able to use?"

"Powers are easy. He's … really powerful in most areas. In his natural form – which is about seven feet tall, really broad, gray-skinned – he's phenomenally strong and fast, even for a demon. He's very resistant to most forms of magic and very tough against weapons of all kinds. He's also a rannon master – what you call psionics, powers of the mind – with a lot of experience in using it to kill, control and so on. Telekinetic, telepathic, self-enhancement, he knows how to use it all at an extremely high level of power."

Tobimar looked grim. "When you say 'extremely high', what –"

"That big wall of stone Aurora threw in front of me? He could just think at it, and it'd fly up a mile and come down on top of you. That's 'extremely high'. And he might be a lot stronger than that."

"Great Balance," muttered Kyri. "I … don't know if we can face this."

"Maybe you can," Tashriel said. "If he has any weakness, it is that of all demons: the power of the Gods of Light is a major weapon against them, and you are Myrionar's only real representative, now. Tobimar … I know he has true holy power as well. Together you might…"

He stopped suddenly, and his face showed horror and regret that sent a chill of fear dancing along Poplock's skin. "Oh, no. Oh, I'm sorry, Kyri. I'm so, so sorry. That's why…"

"What? What's why? Why what?" Poplock knew that didn't sound very coherent, but it asked the questions he needed answered.

"I… that's why I couldn't stop, why I had to…" Tashriel trailed off, cursing in a Demonic tongue. "No! By the Speaker and the Lady! That was why I couldn't stop myself! It was his contingency – he'd made sure I would do it!"

"Do WHAT?" Poplock bellowed.

Tashriel's face was even whiter than it had been. "I… exchanged blood with her. Some of hers in me, then some of mine to her."

Tobimar's blades whispered from their sheaths. "You monster. You mean…"

"Yes," Tashriel whispered. "She's got the Curse now. In a few days the change will begin. The madness will strike. And even before that… she will be no threat to Viedraverion.

"Because if she so much as tries to summon the holy power of Myrionar, it will burn her to ashes."